Captains Log:

April 24th, Year 2020, Day 1 of Covid-19 Quarantine.

10:00 Captains Log: Bad news has hit, as the Captain of the Home vessel I have heard chatter of an outbreak and have been informed a crew member of a sister vessel is having “virus like symptoms” and has recently engaged in missions with one of our crew members, an investigation is pending. This.Captain.is.now.on.high.alert.

11:00 Captains Log: Fears have been confirmed, this Captain has been informed by the medic symptoms are confirmed. I am being inundated with a verbal barrage of profanity by several of my crew members. I must leave Vessel Courtyard and am beaming to Home Vessel, I will be taking personal stake in this to avoid anarchy and mayhem. Order.will.prevail.

13:00 Captains Log: I have begun a sanitizing mission to reduce the spread of contamination. My uniform is discolored from bleach, my hands cracked and dry, I am covered in PPE, the mask making me light headed from my own hungry breath. I.Must.Continue.On!

14:00 Captains Log: Sanitizing mission was in vain. Besides a clean commode for my backside, this Captain and his crew have been informed we must isolate. Quarantine.is.eminent.

15:00 Captains Log: I inform my General and explorer crew on the Vessel Courtyard I am in quarantine. I do this with sorrow as we forged together into areas unknown, focusing on the final frontier, they will need to lead the course. I.will.return.as.their.leader.stronger.and.hopefully.not.fatter.

17:00 Captains Log: Mess Hall: YES! PIZZA!!

20:00 Captains Log: I find myself in unfamiliar surroundings. I am supposed to be in control but find myself pondering my next move. I reach for a 3rd glass of wine and realize, I have had enough, I must prepare my quarters. I rummage through a utility room and find an inflatable mattress. This will make for a fine slumber away from the comfort of my regular Captains suite. My.mind.and.body.are.weary.

23:00 Captains Log: Luckily I feel slumber overtaking me. I was worried my days of past and new predicament would prevent me from sleeping. I am relaxed and comfortable…what, what’s that noise? Who’s, who’s out there? I fear I’m not alone…HELLO? HELLO? I will resume my report shortly. I.Fear.I.Am.Danger…!

Don’t kid yourself, 70 is not the new 60, 60 is not the new 50, and 50 is definitely not the new 40. Fifty is fifty! At best when you turn 50 you may still feel 49 that’s only due to being in shock you just turned a half century. Physically at 50 you may be able to do some or maybe all the things you did when you were 40. Hell, I can still lift a small car like I did when I was 20, 30 and 40, but now at fifty, something will, I repeat, will – pinch, pop, go numb, become inflamed or flat out dislocate or break. You will NOT recover from the activity like you did in your younger years no matter how active you are. If you do, you are a freak of nature, and I am talking an X-Men type mutant. 

And…here’s my science of why:

Slower Protein Synthesis (the process in which our muscle cells regenerate) –  This slowing process much like my waistline and hair loss almost doubles every year after the age of 40. That means by the time you are 50 you are nothing but a limp hay filled scarecrow getting pecked by young birds! Drink all the protein shakes you want to try and reverse this, while you’re at it have fun trying to burn off the additional calories with your hay stuffed legs! If you are a 50(+) aged runner you will eventually if not already; hurt a knee, get plantar fasciitis or worse unprovoked ass cramping (this injury can also be caused by sitting on the toilet to long while checking Facebook.) Something will happen and you will not recover like you did when you were 40 or younger, because you are, whether you accept it or not, fifty. (Now wipe, stand and stretch!)

Nutritional and Hormonal Remodeling- There was nothing better then being in our youth, maybe you just got done with a hard workout and are hitting up a post workout meal or perhaps you had the late night “munchies” and stopped at a burger joint for a triple with cheese, large fry and a soda! Your body was a furnace! But, you are 50 now, not 20 and if you eat that crap the GPS tracking device your doctor planted in your ass when they gave you “you are now at that age” exam will signal chest pains with a side of stomach cramps and you will be running to the shitter for the next four hours. Much like our bodies change, droop, drop and wrinkle, so do our hormones and nutritional needs. Christ I want to go to Five Guys!   

You are not attractive – to 20 something year old’s…Make no mistake, I am super cute, my wife has to tell me everyday or I would cut off my ears which have taken over my head, get reconstructive surgery on my bulbous nose, and vacuum out my basset hound jowls. I am freaking eye candy! But I don’t pretend to kid myself nor should you. The 20 something year old you are eyeballing and you think is eyeballing you? Wrong! They are wondering if you are one of their parents friends and also wondering if you are going to snitch that they are vaping. And, if they do find you attractive it is only due to them thinking “I bet that limping hay stack can pay my tuition debt.” If you believe you are that person who thinks otherwise, who still says “I would wreck that 20 something year old, they don’t even know!” Reality check, when you are done in record time and are beaming from ear to ear about how you “tapped that.” Heed my warning, the next words from the child in your bed will not be “You want to meet my parents?” it will be, as you doze off into post coitus bliss, “You wanna go to the club?” At which point you will write a check to cover their school loans with a little extra for an Uber, roll over, and finish that nap. 

Today I turn 50. I feel great, I honestly do. I still run/walk, lift relatively heavy weights, do some yoga stretches. I feel forty…..pounds over weight, but hey I can cope with that. I am like a chubby weightlifter who can chase that Taco Truck and still be flexible enough to beat the five second rule of a floored accidental food fumble. Being able to do all that at 50 is a hat trick in my book. This entry in #Adulting is not to depress you. This is a reality checklist for us to accept we are getting older, to grow older gracefully, doing our best, feeling our best, while putting our best foot forward, all while keeping a sense of humor and without dislocating a hip. 

Now, stop staring at my ears! Happy Birthday to Me!  

“Mr. Esbrandt,

I would like to express to you my complete dissatisfaction I experienced while staying at your facility. Firstly I am a (super duper highest level elite) reward member and stay at (Name Brand) hotels all the time, this one was the worst of them all. The photos I have attached to this email are very disturbing and I am warning you to use caution when opening them. The condition of the room I was assigned was atrocious. I checked in and found the bathroom this way (see pictures enclosed) I was too tired to complain, but could not use the toilet, shower, or sink. Also the sheets on the bed were dirty, the desk had residue, the TV was old and none of the channels worked. What kind of hotel do you run? I would hate for (Name Brand) hotel company to see these pictures and how you do not care about their hotel. Please refund me my full stay, plus $250 for mental anguish, and 500,000 points or I will be forced to send this to corporate (Name Brand).” 

Signed,
Mr. C

Dear Mr. C,

Thank you for your email and the 7 multi angle pictures you took of the fresh number two YOU obviously left in the toilet. As well we thank you for the pictures of the black hairs you left all over the floor, tub and sink, which coincidentally resemble the ones on your head based on reviewing the camera footage during your check-in…at the exhausting hour of 4:30pm. I am happy to find another person like me who cannot stay awake past 4:35pm, I thought I was alone. This hotel has a triple inspection process for all arriving guest rooms, the third and last person to inspect the room being the department manager who has been with us for 17 years. The TV in the room is one week old, with a fully functional, recently installed entertainment package. As for the other complaints you mentioned in your email, and the the fact you decided to report them 36 hours after checking out, I feel no need to address them as you lost all credibility the minute my assistant lost her lunch when opening your poop pictures. We have taken the liberty of sharing your name and reward number with our network of 200 (Brand Name) hotels in the North East whom we share a database compiled of “Blocked Guests”. Congratulations you are it’s newest member! We also forwarded your name, rewards number and email to corporate (Brand Name) and have been informed “Oh, we are aware of him.” In closing a piece of advice, this is Bergen County New Jersey, we don’t take kindly to extortion, unless we are the ones doing it, Capiche? 

Timeline: The day before day 1, which I guess we can call minus day 1, or eve of day one. Anyway, it was a Sunday. Monday was the day! I was going to add some cardio to my workouts. Everyday, 4:50am, take a long walk with my Rosie uphills, down hills, navigate potholes and risk life and limb dodging wild rabbits! But first, (text message notification) “Your Door Dash driver with your delivery from Grillestone is on his way.” Sunday dinner! Take out! Roast Beef French Dip on a gum bloodying brick oven hoagie! With a side of fries, and some sushi, and I should probably not let this last buffalo wing go to waste. 

Monday morning, Day 1: My eyes are open before the chimes of the 4:50am alarm. I’m ready, I bounce up and realize I am still reeeaaaalllly full from last nights dinner. Too late to back out, Rosie is up and getting ready. I almost blackout from bending over to tie my sneakers. I wonder if they make slip-in, lace-less athletic shoes? As we head for the door to leave, now 5am on the dot, I get cutoff by 3 dogs barking informing me they need to take care of business. I tell Rosie, “You go ahead, I will catch up.” A quick number one for the three pups and I am out the door. I see Rosie she is about 5 houses ahead of me. My first thought, get the blood pumping, so I decide to jog to her. I take my first three strides and the French Dip threatens me with come up-ins. Steps 4 and 5 lactic acid is filling my legs and lungs. Six and seven I realize Rosie is walking faster then I am running and I am not catching up. I cough loudly, not to get her attention, but in hopes to wake a neighbor with an offer to drive me to her. I catch up. I attempt to hide my heavy breathing by keeping my mouth closed and breath through my nose. My breath pouring through my flared nostrils, blowing leaves on the asphalt equivalent to a high powered leaf blower. Day 1 sucks, maybe I will sleep in tomorrow.

Day 2: I ate a very light dinner last night. I am woken up by the alarm. If there is a hell it is probably a sweatshop of all bad people who are damned to make alarm clocks. Rosie is up, can’t back out. Only black dots and squiggly lines when I bend over this time to tie my shoes. I really have to research slip-in, lace-less walking shoes. Map My Walk tells us to “Start your workout.” Thwap! Face full of spiderweb! Day 2 has not even begun and it already sucks!

Day 3: Last night was leg day. Freaking alarm, I hate that chiming sound! Rosie is slow to move, is she going to call it!? Will I hear the words “Let’s just keep sleeping” not so fast buck-o. That’s not Rosie, she’s already brushing her teeth, the dogs apparently want to sleep in. I wonder if one of them wants to take my place? Can’t back out, 3 consecutive days creates a habit. I swing out of bed and yell “Sweet potato ass cannon!” as my legs remind me of every squat I did last night and buckle under me. Day 3, habit formed, every hill in my town sucks!

Day 3.5: Ding Dong! “Your Amazon package was delivered.” 

Day 4: I am up! No alarm needed! The anticipation is exhilarating. Shirt, shorts, socks and…SLIP-IN, LACE-LESS WALKING SHOES(!) complete Day 4’s ensemble of fitness fashion! Day 4 is going to be amazing! Let’s go pups time to go out and I will be off!!! No, wait, No, it can’t be! Is that…is that…thunder? Maybe I can get out before the ra…nope. Day 4 started out good, but now it sucks. 

Days 5 – 10: I am no longer in need of the alarm. My body now knows its time to get some heart health in. Days 5 -10 are more of the same, beat the pace from the day before. Swat mosquitoes, wave my arms in the dark like a Kung Fu master in an attempt to prevent walking through spider webs. Avoid eye contact with all the deer looking at us like we are crazy. Days 5 – 10 don’t suck too bad. 

Day 11 – 20: More of the same, pace on point, we are knocking a couple seconds off  most days, some days our legs don’t cooperate and we fall a few. The suspicious stares from the wildlife are consistent, we attempt to assure them we have no desire to share nor snitch on them as they eat peoples shrubs. Did I mention I do not need the alarm anymore? Did I also mention I do have an actual life aside from walking every morning? I have a job I go to, and sometimes that job requires me to entertain people. 

Day 21: 4:50am more of the same we are hustling. Feeling good. Light on our toes. 

Evening 21 and 22: I have been up for 21 hours. Its 2am. I am entertaining my employer and a former colleague. There are 3 empty wine bottles. 6 empty glasses that contained post wine cocktails served to us by my bartender. After my bartender left, I exuberantly slur in a drunken declaration of pride, “I have the liquor cabinet keys!!” To which my employer replies “woo hoo…well go get em!”  an additional 6 more empty glasses that are served by me. I will need to take a room I can’t drive home.

Day 22: 4:50am No alarm needed, my eyes open, my internal alarm clock chiming. I am still drunk. Oh Hell No! I am going back to sleep! See you on Day 23!

Day 23: Its pouring out. See you Day 24. 

Day 24 – 30: My slip-in, lace-less athletic shoes are paper thin. Probably why they were only $29! My feet hurt from them, but they are so convenient I decide to wear 2 pair of socks. The walking is easy, we glide up the hills without as much a gasp for air, but we continue to push to knock off a few seconds. We are now walking 2.5 miles in 3 minutes, the deer cannot even see us anymore! Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. 

Overall the heart health benefits far outweigh sitting on the couch eating Twinkies, although Twinkies taste better then bugs flying in your mouth at 5am. I feel thinner, albeit I am not. My intentions matter infinitely more than the results, at least in my world. We have far exceeded the 30 day mark and continue to walk and I continue to bitch at the alarm clock. It really is a habit now, one that I enjoy, the walking, not the bitching. If you ever get the oomph and want a challenge that even a baby can eventually do, I highly recommend walking.     

“Holy Sh*t this is really happening!” She is in white, I am in white. She does, I do…I now pronounce you…a few dances later, a plane ride to the Caribbean, get on the wrong bus to the resort, bowchickawowow, fly home. That went fast!
Ok I will see you next weekend! Man my mom is going to have a lot of laundry from this trip! Whats wrong you want me to drive you home? I can come over if you want…
Wait we are married! We are married…Married…

Three years earlier we were at my Senior prom, both dressed in white. Fast forward its our wedding day we look almost identical to prom day, she is stunning, I still had a fro-let, both in white. While our appearances hadn’t really changed much, the cost of the pictures sure did. The prom picture with us all in white cost $50 and came with a piece of chicken. This new picture of us in white cost about $30,000 and came with shrimp cocktail and a person to fluff my new brides dress, I think its called bustling. All I know is it made it hard to grab her butt when we danced.
This marriage is already off to a rough start!

They say the average marriage starts to fall apart around 6.5 years. Statistics state 60% of people married between the ages of 20 – 25 will end in divorce. We were together since we were 15 years old, engaged at 19 years old, married at 21 years old. If these stats were based on total relationship time, we are looking at a solid 6 months of bliss before we fizzle into couples purgatory. Not even 22 years old and I could be facing alimony payments. We better make this work, I will not pay for her to spoil some other man with 50% of my hard earned $12 per hour I contribute to this 6 month marriage!

Eight months later, HAH, in your face, still married! We showed those damn statisticians…“Bret, I am pregnant.” Of course you are babe! I am a stud! I am super potent, all you had to do is drink from the same glass as me and you’d get knocked up, I am surprised you are not carrying like 10 kids in there! With the exception of the I am pregnant part absolutely none of that other stuff was said. I literally tripped up the stairs, not down the stairs, up them in excitement. I kicked the bottom step and wound up on the landing, somehow clearing the other four steps between. Not only did marriage statistics not apply to me, but gravity did not either.

We live for our children. My child is my life. Nothing else matters but my kids. No argument from this guy here, but…what about US? Are WE going to get lost? Will we forget about each other? Not on my watch! I have no remorse in saying ‘you owe me!’ I was here before poopy diaper girl! Remember that bustle on your wedding dress? It prevented me from grabbing your butt for a full four hours! Alexis, meet Barney, he is a singing dinosaur you will love him, Mommy and Daddy will be right back.

Well that took longer then I thought. Who’s the marathon man? I am! Five years later and “Bret, I am pregnant.” Phew! Can I stop now, I need some Gatorade! Our baby boy arrives. Two kids, double the attention. But what about us? Are we going to get lost? Niko meet Alexis, Alexis keep your eye on the baby, Mommy and Daddy will be right ba…

6.5 years into marriage two kids, a shih-tzu and I am diagnosed with bi-polar disorder…fuuuuuuudge! Yeah, yeah, I get it! Lots of people have road blocks in their marriage, we have had a few in ours as well, dark times, I went on meds, got help…yada yada. Based on overall years we still beat the odds against us. My wife is a fighter, and in return she made me a fighter. Keep moving, nothing to see here, this a feel good story.

As the man of the house I made the decision we should stop at two children. We were maxed out, we were not capable of loving more. She fought me and argued and threatened but in the end I knew what was best for the marriage:
Me: ‘So ah, how many more times do you want the Big Bad Booty Daddy to knock you up?’
Her: “None you crazy bastard, as a matter of fact I made you an appointment to get fixed.”
Me: ‘Um, well, ah, fixed…?’

As you can clearly see I was firm but fair and she embraced my decision that two kids were fine.

We met young, were engaged young, married young, were young parents, I was “fixed” young, before most of my friends were even married. We beat the 60%, 20 – 25 year old age bracket divorce rate statistic. Other statistic of concern were, 41% of all first marriages end in divorce, 13% of new parents end in divorce, 1% of bloggers who write about their marriage end in murder. I mean the statistics are just stacked up against me! How did I do it!

From my perspective our relationship was successful due to me setting the ground rules. As our family grew I wanted to be certain we did not wind up in the abyss of statistics. I recall sitting Rosie down and having a stern conversation about what her role was, “Listen, I am your husband. I need you to understand in order for this to all work… Are you listening, this is very, very important. For all this to succeed you are now in charge of making sure I do not do stupid shit AND never leave me unsupervised!”
To this day she still agrees, this is the key to our bliss.

I have had a couple weeks hiatus from writing due to a travel schedule and some St. Patrick’s Day weekend obligations consisting mainly of finally trying to rid myself of that pesky liver of mine by consuming mass quantities of Jameson. My experience today warranted me to detour from my in-progress blog to write about the Bedlam at the Bakery I experienced.

If you ever stay at my hotel and I know you, I love to put an amenity in your room, champagne, snacks, beer, soft drinks. I want you, my friend, to feel welcome when you visit my hotel. About once a quarter my bosses come to town to visit. I love the company I work for, I love my employers. I love to get creative when they come and try to change up what I put in their room as an amenity each time. Today they are visiting for a quick stay over. They are from Houston, so I decided a nice little display of NJ pastries and a small aperitif to accompany would suffice.

Bakeries traumatize me. I get this crazy uneasy feeling whenever I go into a bakery, it’s a bit chaotic. You’d think being overweight I would be excited like, well, like a fat guy in a bakery. But nope.

A prelude to today’s apprehensive visit started some 6 months ago. I will not name the bakery because the bakery is a good location for baked goods and I’d hate to tarnish their hard earned solid 4 star reputation.

Six months ago I entered said bakery I ordered an assortment of delights to serve at a function, all went well. However as I exited the bakery, got in my car and proceeded to drive to the exit, the baker or baker assistant steps in front of my car and asks me which way I am heading, confused I said “I’m going that way…” nodding to the right, he proceeds to walk to my passenger door and says “cool gimme a ride to the bus stop” I’m no slouch in self defense, but I had no intentions of getting out of my car to pummel this little man, so as politely as possible for a NJ guy I told him “F*ck off, I ain’t no taxi” and rolled away slowly for affect thinking ‘I’m gonna give this bakery a break for a bit.’

Fast forward I’m in the same bakery anxiety level at about an 8 thinking ‘if someone asks me for a ride I’m gonna have to write a Yelp review.’

There are 12 cars in the lot of 13 spaces and it’s 11am so I’m already thinking this is going to be chaos, there is never civility in a bakery. I walk in and its me and 1 other patron in the bakery along with no less then 6 counter attendants. The other patron is in an in depth conversation ordering a birthday cake. This leaves 5 other counter people as I approach the sign that specifically states “ORDER HERE.” The woman attendant standing right in front of me looks right at me and says “can I help who’s next?” I spin to look to see if someone is behind me, I look up to see if perhaps I was supposed to take a number, maybe I missed a step. But no, I was officially the only other person in the bakery. I raised my hand and said “I guess that’s Me?”

“What can I get you?” The woman asks. I respond “I need a dozen pastry please.” “Cookies or pastry?” She rebuts. “Um, pastry please” I respond, to which she counters “the boxes are different…” Befuddled and on the verge of calling an emergency session with my therapist I respond with finality “pastry box please, I need pastry.”

“Which ones?” I am asked. I start my order by responding “I’d like 4 of the chocolate mousse with the whipped cream on the bottom tray here” as I am hunched over pointing at the glass completely aware she cannot see me pointing. From my huddled position I hear “You want any cannoli, we fill them in the back.” I rise, I am now at a precipice, I can lose my sh*t, I can walk out or I can ride this out. I choose to engage in the confection chess match and play on, “No…no cannoli today, I’d like to start with the chocolate mousse with the whipped cre…” “These?” I am cut off as she rises with a vanilla cream filled something…”No, no ma’am, these with the chocolate on the bot…” “I can’t see what your pointing at…” she interrupts again. “I know ma’am the glass counter seems to have us at an impasse, perhaps if I come around and serve myself we could get this done more efficiently” I smile and say. She responds by retrieving the chocolate mousse, with whipped cream cups. We do this dance for what seems like hours, a joust of finger pointing at glass and a plethora of “no not that one, this one please.” Twelve pastry and 9 minutes later, now the sole patron, I am ready to pay. I walk back to the register as the woman who assisted me meticulously wraps my box in bakers string, an art only comparable to a spider building a web. I stand at the counter when out of no where another attendant pops up and says “can I help whose next?” I look around, shrug and say “I’d like a dozen cookies please…”

I’m gonna give this bakery a break for a bit.

Today is my 49th birthday. As I get older and wiser (I use wiser loosely) I have some concerns and objections about this adulthood thing specifically all this damn ear hair!

Where did all my hair go, and where did all this “other” hair come from? The lack of landscaping on top of the ole noggin does not concern me in the least, I had terrible hair growing up, however I do not approve of the redirection of growth settling in and around my ears! I trim my ear hair daily, only to awake with a proliferation of newly sprouted wiry ear hair. It’s disgusting.

I like to think of myself as well groomed. Ear hair has made my grooming even more critical. It is like a seasonal Spring time battle between grass and weeds! Pull weeds in one section of your lawn, turn around and a wise ass gang of dandelions have decided to join the party. You don’t know where they came from, but there they are.

I have hair in other parts of my body, but have found solutions. One of the best inventions for random shoulder and back hair patches is the Back Blade (https://www.amazon.com/BAKblade-2-0-PLUS-Removal-Pain-Free/dp/B071JSSF8T) no more body hair for me, just don’t look in my ears or you may lose an eye.

In frustration due to my inability to thwart and remove the pesky ear hairs I decided to go to old reliable, Google. (As a disclaimer I do not recommend following the methods I attempted to use for hair removal.)

Google search: “How to remove ear hair?” : Electric trimmer: I use it daily. Electrolysis: Costly not available today. Tweezing: Rosie does that for me, painful. Duct Tape: Duct Tape? Wait, I have duct tape…let me see if there is a…HOLY CRAP there is a YouTube video on how to remove ear hair with duct tape and it worked for the old man demonstrating it! Cut a small piece, attach to area with ear hair, let sit for a minute, pull, SON OF A BITCH, that hurts! And, no hair on the tape. FAIL…next. Depilatory Creams: What the hell is that? Oh, its sort of like Nair, I have that. Apply to area, let sit for a few minutes, wipe off…tick tock, tick tock, goodbye hairy ears and…demon spawn ear hairs are still there! FAIL…next. Singe: Like use fire? Near my ears? Fire? Let me see if there is a…HOLY CRAP there is a YouTube Video!!!

Today is my 49th Birthday, I have 1st degree burns on my left ear, my right ear is still hairy.