Welcome to the Big, Steamed Apple

Days 1 and 2: Welcome To the Big, Steamed Apple

Liz and I flew into LaGuardia Airport Friday morning. American Airlines, which I hate, ripped my brand new suitcase clean through. They said that if I wanted to bring it BACK to the airport within the next 30 days, they would repair it. They were unwilling to pay the $280 cab fare it would take for me to drive an empty suitcase from Brooklyn to Manhattan and then return to pick it up when they were through. Have I mentioned I hate American Airlines?

The Fodor's Guide to New York City says that New York is a wonderful place to visit any time of year... except July and August. In July and August, you may as well just shoot yourself. So that's good.

Upon arriving in Brooklyn, we found that my 83-year-old great aunt had, indeed, become an "old cat lady." Cats are CRAWLING everywhere... and urinating everywhere, too. At last count, she had 14. It smells so bad in the house that Liz started dry heaving as soon as she made it to the bathroom. The ironic thing about all of this is that my aunt is actually allergic to cats. She just feels sorry for all of them so she allows them to stay with her. But suffice to say that the house, which should be worth about a million dollars, is now worth about $3. I promptly announced to my aunt that we needed to go to the store to buy an air mattress to put upstairs (where the cats are ALLEGEDLY not allowed, but where I smell them all the same). The upstairs is filthy too, but at least I won't step on a cat.

Upon returning from KMart with $150 worth of bedding, Liz and I set up shop in the empty upstairs apartment. Then we discovered that the toilet doesn't work and the shower is broken. I tried to turn it on and it filled the tub full of mud. Around 8, we went downstairs to report these findings to my aunt, and she said she would call the plumber. Then she told us to get some sleep. We stared at each other in dismay. It was only 7 p.m. back home in Missouri. And we weren't going to spend any more time than necessary in the House of Cats. So we took off for a Brooklyn Dunkin' Donuts, which stays open till 11:30 p.m...

The next day Aunt J complained, "I thought you came here to see ME!"

I assured her that I wanted to spend time with her very much, but -- and this was put a bit more delicately -- I wanted to rip my own arm off and beat her cats to death with it. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't sleep. I had survived the night by burying my nose in the polyester KMart comforter and using it as a gas mask.

That morning, I vacuumed for Aunt J. I had to empty the filter of the vacuum (which was brand new) after cleaning JUST the dining room. She eventually got annoyed and waved me out the door.

Liz and I traveled all around Manhattan. It was a glorious Saturday, made a bit less glorious by the fact that we hadn't yet figured out the crucial balance between drinking water enough to stay hydrated and yet little enough to make finding a public bathroom doable. In between our Sex and the City tour and lunch in Little Italy (where $8 will buy you a "salad" consisting of two tomato slices and a piece of mozzarella cheese) I got a massive migraine. I didn't know if it would feel better to go lie down in the house of cats or keep walking around out in the sun. I settled for sun.

Around evening, both of our phones died... this made meeting Liz's friend in Queens considerably more difficult. We ended up at a little Greek place where I ate stuffed grape leaves, and we waited... and waited...and waited...and finally gave up hope of the friend ever showing. Back on to the only train we had managed to figure out: the F. Turns out the F is not the best train to take from Queens to Brooklyn. Yes, it will get you there, but do you really want to see Nevada in the process???

Back in Brooklyn, Liz and I discovered we have different mattress firmness preferences. In an effort to make her time easier, I gave in and let her adjust the air mattress to the setting marked, "Hard as a Rock." After tossing and turning for some time, I announced, "I'm going to pretend this mattress is a raft. And I'm Tom Sawyer, and I'm floating on it down the Mississippi River on it. That makes the fact that I'm filthy and sleeping on a rock a little more bearable."

Liz looked at me. "Shouldn't you be floating down the Hudson River?"

"Okay, I'm Tom Sawyer and I'm floating my raft down the Hudson River. That's why it smells so bad."

Liz snorted. "They have cats in the Hudson?"

"They are catFISH," I retorted. "All these damn catfish are stinking up my raft. But I'm not going to complain. I'm going to DO something about it!" I put the the earplugs I had brought along up my nose.

"See??" I stated joyfully. "Dow I cad breathe again! I'be breathing through by mouth idstead of my nose!"

"Great," Liz said. "I'm glad you are having such a blast."

"I'be dot. I'be just trying to bake the best."

"Well, where do I fit in to this little fantasy of yours?" Liz asked.

"You cad be Big Jib. He was odd the raft with Tob."

"I don't want to be a big black man. I'm a white, red-headed female."

"Fide. You're Add of Green Gables."