Food trucks wilmington nc

Years ago, there was a freak accident at Tampines where a truck ran over two brothers who were crossing a traffic light junction on a bicycle. If I remember correctly that incident caused some MPs to call for the government to discourage construction companies from paying their drivers on a per trip basis. Apparently, it is assumed that truck drivers drive recklessly because they will earn more by making more trips.
I do not know the government's response to the above call for action. If they had done something about it, then I am shocked that they are not doing anything about PHV drivers and food delivery riders, some of whom drive / ride like they own the road.
Clearly, the incentives that are doled out by the PHV / Food companies are encouraging some workers to do their job as fast as possible with no regard for other people's safety. They will speed up on seeing amber light and when approaching zebra crossings (instead of giving way).
The longer the government allows such a behaviour, the bolder and worser society will become. They did the right thing banning PMDs but it was an afterthought. Banning incentives will be another effective move.

So basically we had been friends for a little over a year but we only started getting closer once we started making a plan to cosplay together at one of the biggest conventions in our area, and because of the characters that we chose to cosplay together (Beidou and Ningguang from Genshin impact) she jokingly started calling me her wife and I went along with it. We would video call every other day leading up to it, and when we roomed together at the convention we started getting a lot more cuddly every night when we'd call it a day. We left the convention wanting to try and find ways to visit each other but I thought that there wasn't anything romantic going on because I've had platonic friendships like this before with other queer women.
Fast forward to the last Friday before Pride Month, when she had posted about how much she missed me and a mutual friend asked me if we were dating, and I told my friend no but that I understood why people would think that way. I sent a screenshot of that conversation to my now-GF, and I said that half of the people in my city's cosplay Community thinks that we're dating. She told me that we might as well keep up the bit, and at which point I teasingly asked her if that was supposed to be a confession at which point she did say yes although she also admitted that she had been thinking about confessing to me in a completely different way at a completely different time. We ended up talking for 2 hours about it and we decided to make it official. At which point the next day I IMMEDIATELY last-minute booked tickets to take a 6-hour train ride to her City on the first day of Pride Month for the following weekend so I can be able to spend some time with her alone in the beginning stages of our relationship before she was going to fly back to her home state at the end of her college semester for the summer the week after that. And then the day after that I spent 3 hours at at least 5 to 6 different stores trying to find a plushie of her favorite animal so that I could give it to her so that she can cuddle it when I'm not there. I'm just super super excited that I can finally FINALLY be able to have somebody to call mine and the fact that it's somebody who started off as a friend of mine too just makes me so happy.
I'm with her right now as I type this after a long but exciting weekend of train travel, getting Korean food together, cuddling up on the couch and watching anime, and slow dancing in our PJs, having a picnic on the lawn outside her student apartment, getting food truck tacos, going to her favorite bar, and shopping together at Target through their Pride collection!
I will have to take the train back tomorrow afternoon and I'm already not looking forward to how much I'm going to miss her until she can come back to my part of the continent, but I'm so grateful that I have her and can even spend such a blissful weekend with her and I'm looking forward to getting to do all this again with her.

What was the most memorable adventure you've ever been on and why was it so special?

One way for Tolkien fandom to show solidarity with the Writers' Guild of America (WGA) strike: fans are fundraising for food trucks at the June 9th LOTR-themed day at the Amazon studios! Gennifer Hutchison and Helen Shang (ROP writers) have been very active on the picket lines & strike-related social media, and I think this would be a phenomenal way to show fandom support for the writers' contract negotiations.
"Ringers! Our time is now to help the #WGAStrike fellowship. We’re coming together to bring second breakfast and Elevensies to the picket line this Friday, June 9th for the LOTR themed picket outside Amazon. Wanna contribute to the cause? https://ko-fi.com/highvoltagemag"

Question: If April flowers bring May showers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Puritans and misery.
Part 1 - May Flower Moon
I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure this is a ghost story. It all started in early May under the, "Flower Moon".
In the still of the night, I awoke from a deep sleep to witness a moonlight so spectacular it hurt my eyes.
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
-Ann Ronell as sung by Billie Holiday
The birds were chirping loudly. I shuffled to the window. I looked up wide-eyed at the sky. There was the moon; big, round and golden like it didn't mind a big electricity bill. As I used the bathroom, I remember thinking that I didn't ever remember a full moon so bright it could light up my apartment.
I washed my hands then splashed warm water on my face. I cracked my neck. I dried my hands and face with a towel. I remember thinking if I didn't get back to sleep the day was going to suck.
Shuffling back into my bedroom I thought to look for my ski hat. I figured I could pull it over my eyes and escape the light under the blanket. Flower Moon was beautiful but so too is sleep. If I could just hide under the blanket perhaps it wasn't too late for sleep to creep up on me.
I have been renting the same sunny shoebox in old Brooklyn for more than 20 years. It's a corner apartment on the second floor of a 19th century walkup. Across the street, diagonally resides a community garden fronted by a very tall and expansive weeping willow tree that won't let me move away. I didn't know it's age until recently. But it's younger than me. Most things are these days.
I shuffled to the corner window to squeeze the blinds tight and that's when I felt grateful, grateful I had decided to use the bathroom first.
There, at the base of the hundred-foot-tall willow, behind the wrought iron fence, illuminated beneath the moon's glow, I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder. Standing beneath the moonlight, I saw, clear as day, a little boy in footed pajamas with a trap door. The little boy was holding a blue stuffed Grover Muppet in one hand and crying.
Trying to get a good look at the boy was like trying to look at something from behind a campfire. There was a shimmering distortion. What I could clearly see was that he was pointing down at the ground in front of his feet with the non-Grover hand. Suddenly, the little boy spun his head up and around looking directly at me. Eye contact occurred and then too, something I can't explain.
First, a truck transporting fuel broke loudly for the red light at the corner. Through the open windows I smelled what seemed like diesel. I grew light-headed. The room spun around. I remember thinking this feeling smelled both nauseating as well as timeless.
I reached down to try and pick up the floor and that's when it hit me in the face. A sharp pain across my cheek like I had been slapped in a 3 Stooges short. I felt icy fingers grab the hair I had not had in over 30 years and jerk my head back. I smelled more diesel. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing my balance.
Holding on to the desk, I noticed my mind's eye was playing the little boy's face like a movie. The camera panned in. His little boy face filled my consciousness like I was watching from the front row. He was about four or five years old with long dirty blonde hair. His face looked familiar from a dream.
Then, another slapping pain turned my last good cheek. Losing my balance, I fell ass first to the floor.
Out the window, from on my ass, I watched the traffic light turn green. I heard the truck lurch into gear, rev it's engine then drive away. As it rumbled off into the distance my equilibrium returned.
Muttering my life sucked I gently shook my head and felt for damage. Just my non-existent pride. I got myself vertical, yet once again; feeling a distinct twinge of anxiety.
I looked out the window but the little boy was gone. An FDNY ambulance took his place, it's siren jarring me back to reality. I closed the blinds and got under the blanket. I never did really get back to sleep that night. Or ever since.
Part II - Unhappily Ever Since
Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me... -Billie I keep seeing a little boy under the tree... - me ...
The first thing I want to say is that I keep waking up for decades at exactly 3:33 am.
It's the exact time my decrepit birth certificate claims I was introduced to this world. Can't say why, but ever since digital clocks became a thing, I'm up more often than not to witness 3:33 am transpire. Never remember it happening before digital.
One of my friends recently told me it was an angel number. I don't know anything about angels. Never met one. But I for sure have met some demons in my day. In fact. you might say I was born of demon mother, and I might not be offended. Back to my birth certificate. I was born and yes, still live in Brooklyn, New York. There were gaps but it's my home.
I moved to this particular apartment building a few months after 9/11. I had moved in with a woman at the tail end of doing a romantic nickel, but that fell apart like Madoff, Abramoff or Fuckoff, and she married another dude a year later. So, there in 2002, I and my faithful golden retriever, Spenser, found ourselves, for the very first time, on our own. And, we liked it.
Like I mentioned, Spenser and I lived diagonal to a community garden that fronts a big and beautiful weeping willow tree. I felt an immediate kinship as my favorite book as a child had been, "The Giving Tree" and that's what she reminded me of; only more beautiful.
There will be more about the tree. Anyway, the tree and I dwell in an old part of south Brooklyn called Park Slope, infamous for being the stomping grounds of a young Al Capone, and, believe it or not, young me.
That was a long time ago. Things have changed a lot since Al and I, were separately roaming the streets of Park Slope, looking for adventure and whatever came our way. I came up in the day when if you cried your mother would give you something to cry about. And, not going to lie, I cried a lot. I don't remember my dad that much.
I remember he was a hippie. I remember he had a big beard and moustache and long hair. I remember his denim jacket was always cold, smelling like weed and cigarettes. I remember he gave me, "The Giving Tree" and taught me how to read it. And then, I remember he was; gone. Just. Gone.
I also remember my mother. I remember her never talking much. I remember her just smelling like hair spray, cigarettes and instant coffee with sour milk. I never was able to drink milk, not even as a child, and to this very day just the sight of a milk carton turns my stomach to acid.
I lived alone with the old lady about half a mile from where I live now. Yeah, in over thirty years I made it a whole thirteen blocks. Like I said, my pride was non-existent these days unless I was sitting on it. Another, weird thing besides waking up at 3:33 am is I have a lot of memory lapses. It has been getting worse the last few years. Especially, since old Spenser had a seizure in my arms back on the 9/11 of '09. He was fifteen and my best friend. I'd always loved dogs. But after losing Spenser, I couldn't quite remember things right all the time.
Sometimes, it was little things. Like did I turn off the stove or lock the front door. Other times, it was deep things, like did the telephone repair man try to do something to me when I was five and left home alone. Like did I pull a kitchen knife on him before he scampered out like a thief in the night; scared he'd be caught by my screams for Batman? Did I remember my mother having strange guests over late at night? Did I remember being locked in my room? I just couldn't remember anymore.
I had taken to obsessively keeping lists. But you can't put ghost-busting on a list, can you? And that was my real problem. Ever since, the May Flower Moon the haunting just kept rinsing and repeating. Eat edibles, Nyquil, and Advil PM and still wake up at 3:33am. Smell diesel. Wave of nausea. Little boy in garden. Little boy crying. Little boy pointing at something. Little boy looking up at me. Little boy. Little boy. Little boy.
By last Friday, I was a mess.
My work is suffering. I am too embarrassed to tell my aunt or besties I see a little boy. They already think I am weird enough and last thing I need is a wellness check.
To remain scientific, I have continued my daytime visits to the garden whenever it is open. Everything seems so lovely in the day. I even brought the new woman I am seeing. She fell in love with the tree at first sight. The flowers are gorgeous. And the roses; so mesmerizing. Even the fish in the koi pond are happy.
But at night. Something isn't right.
...Weeping willow tree Weeping sympathy Bent your branches down along the ground and cover me Listen to me plead Hear me willow and weep for me...
My new friend at work I mentioned, who told me about angel numbers, asked me recently if something was bothering me. She told me when we met, she is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.
Part of it includes awakening every morning to read the Tarot cards and commune with who, or what, she calls, "spirit".
I cracked and told her about the little boy under the tree. She didn't bat an eye. She told me spirit wants something from me. I didn't know what to say to that so I just left it alone. I guess I'm afraid what if she's right. And what if I don't like what, "spirit" wants?
Last night was Saturday. I had a dream.
That night I dreamed about a collie I had when I was a very young boy right after my dad split. Her name was Pearl. I had found her on the street on my block and for some inexplicable reason had been allowed to keep her.
Not long after, one hot summer day in Prospect Park, when my mother was going to give me something to cry about, Pearl suddenly ran down the hill she was frolicking on, making a wide sweeping arc that screamed, "ride or die, full throttle, and damn the fucking torpedoes," it's trajectory directly between my mother's legs. Fur overcame flesh just in the nick before I was given something to cry about.
Instead, I laughed.
I laughed so fucking hysterically at the sight of her on the grass, on her ass; smug look gone with the wind; replaced by an expression seething red menace that would have been McCarthy's wet dream.
And, like the little boy at 3:33 am, Pearl's eyes met mine. She seemed to nod her collie head, as if she were acknowledging that, yes, she was the best dog and don't you forget it. I didn't cry much for a while after that till I came home from school and Pearl was gone. Just gone. To some farm I was told. Where she could be happier. So, I guess I did get something to cry about after all.
And then last night I had a dream.
Part III - It weeps for me?
I dreamed of Peter Pan and buried treasure. I dreamed of Stove Stop stuffing and commercials loud enough to drown out a breech birth. I dreamed of Spider-Man letting Uncle Ben's killer go free. I dreamed of being American. I dreamed of Watergate, the fall of the Berlin wall, 9/11 and watching people jump out windows to avoid burning to death out the window of my office.
I dreamed of Iraq and Afghanistan and George Floyd and Covid and never-ending cycles of boom and bust. I dreamed of a golden carrot on what started out as a stick but soon morphed into what I realized was a branch. A long flowing beautiful branch covered in red. A branch that hung low. It swayed along the ground, swayed above my head and there I was.
I was in the garden. Under the tree. I felt drops of warm dew caressing my face. I was about to reach up to caress the tree. My tree. I noticed I was wearing pajamas. Not the black satin jammies I had been wearing for decades but old footie pajamas. They were Star Trek pajamas. With three golden rings on the cuffs and a trap door.
A drop of dew fell in my eye. I wiped it away and looked at my hand. It was red. Red with blood. My Mickey Mouse watch involuntarily color-coordinated with the blood. It appeared to be just after 3:30 am.
Suddenly, a dog appeared. It was Pearl. Then another, it was Spenser. They jammed their snouts into my flannel covered crotch. I pet them both and noticed my tears mixing with the dewy blood drops turning them a soft pink under the moonlight.
"Good boy. Good girl." I said.
"Hi," a voice I recognized but couldn't place said.
I looked around. And there, was, the little boy. And, in his hand was Grover.
"Hi," I heard myself say.
"Who's the dog?" he said.
"That's Pearl. And this is Spenser." I answered.
"I know Pearl, silly. She's my dog," then, "Hi, Spenser."
Spenser left my crotch for the little boy's. They went together like peanut butter and sandwiches.
"Where are your parents?" I heard myself ask.
"Dad left. Mom told me to stay here until she comes back."
"When was that?" I asked.
The little boy shrugged then, "Been a while I guess," and he started to cry. Spenser got agitated and started to whine. I approached. I went to put my hand on the boy's shoulder and he jumped.
"Hey, it's okay." I took my hand back.
He looked up at me. Then he said, "You want to see something?
I said, "Yes."
The little boy fished around in his pajamas and pulled out something, it looked like a piece of rolled up construction paper secured with a red ribbon that matched the bloody dew drops.
He un-scrolled it then solemnly showed it to me.
It appeared to be a child's treasure map. That ended in the garden. Only it wasn't a garden. It said, "JUNK YARD" and there was a big X next to the corner of the rectangle the words were written in. I looked down at him.
"There's no junk yard here, son," I said.
The little boy looked away from Spenser and up at me. Pearl ran to his side. I felt six eyes on me.
"That's what you think," he said
A moment later there was the loud cracking of fireworks being detonated. I awoke in my bed. Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
I ran to the window to look out. But, unlike every other time for the past month, the boy was not in residence. He was gone. Just. Gone.
Part IV - The is The End
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
...
This was fucking ridiculous. I am sane. I am not mad. I'd been reading, "The Giving Tree," too much. Spending too much time alone working from home. Maybe I just needed to get away. Take a trip somewhere.
I realized getting back to sleep was going to be impossible. So, I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. No milk.
Back at my desk, my "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." glass mug of tea firmly in hand, I took a deep breath. There was no point in giving myself a heart attack. Maybe it was just anxiety. Maybe panic attacks. I had dated lots of neurotic women. That could be it. Maybe some Lexapro and I'd be good as new. I decided to check my email.
A woman I used to date from Queens and stayed friends with had sent me a link entitled, "Birth of a community garden." It was video to my garden. Before it was a garden. Over forty years ago. It was a decrepit vacant lot filled with dead cars and refuse and apparently had been a neighborhood drug bazaar. Like I said, things have changed a lot since Al and I were young as springtime.
By the time I moved back you would have never known what things had used to look like. Spray painted signs that read, "NO DRUGS SOLD HERE!" and the like. Just like the Batman, Dark Knight, the 80s were a time when Urban Renewal was striking back. And before you could say, "corruption at City Hall," there was fecund soil where once had stood God knows what.
It gave me hope that humanity wasn't so bad. Maybe I had just been going through a tough time. Maybe I should quit while I am ahead and get a good night's rest. So, I closed the blinds and went to bed.
Why I am never sleeping again
That night I dreamed I was part of the junk yard's saviors. Hauling out decades of festering trash and replacing it with good old Mother Earth. A whole community coming together to commune with nature. I felt myself smile.
All day we hoed the rows. The fecundity of the soil filling my nostrils. There was food and laughter and soon day turned to night. One by one all the gardeners left into the dusk. Soon I stood alone next to a young woman. She held a green army duffle bag. And two shovels.
"You look like a big, strong man. They're going to be planting a weeping willow tree here soon. But first, I wanted to leave the earth a special gift to grow up with the tree. This time I think we should give to the tree. Won't you help me?"
I felt a passing twinge of disgust. I rubbed my upper lip with the back of my hand and thought I smelled the faint smell of diesel. I heard myself say, "Hand me a shovel."
An hour later I had fulfilled the lady's request to deposit the duffel bag deep within the new garden's soil. She lit a cigarette I recognized. She blew some smoke in my face and it smelled like sour milk.
"Ever read a boy and his dog?" she asked.
I nodded.
"This is the opposite," she said. I smelled the diesel again and then remembered no more.
This morning I awoke feeling none too swell. I got my glasses on without dropping them for a change then sort of hobbled to the kitchen area to make some tea. I opened the blinds and there was my weeping willow tree. Swaying gently in the Sunday early June overcast chill.
Implacable. Inscrutable. True to it's nature. The day was gray as a widow's anniversary.
Well, there's always tea, I thought, ever the optimist. And then I dropped my, "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." mug on my foot, simultaneously battering and scalding it. I let out a yelp.
Then, mouth agape, I smelled the diesel waft in the window by the fire escape. The window, where, leaning against the fire escape's stairs I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder.
I spied two shovels and an empty duffle bag.
I wonder what spirit will have to say about that?
Willow Weep For Me?

Hi! Did someone attend ADID in Golden Gate Park this past weekend and remember what the names of some food trucks were? Specifically the Peruvian one.
My friend got some food there (“Inca bowl”) and I loved the taste but I don’t remember the name of the truck and I don’t know how to find it. I believe it was a red truck or had enough red on it.
Appreciate the help if someone knows of it!

Hey I'm looking to do a small event (3-5 trucks). Looking to do 2x food trucks and maybe a drink / dessert truck.

I was wondering if there was a selection of food trucks in Brockville. I do stop by a couple of times a year, but the only ones I have seen are the Shady Coyote (hard to miss, really) and I think one near the river. Maybe it's bad timing on my behalf, or I'm not driving down the right streets. Here in the West end of Ottawa, there's a large number of trucks/outdoor shacks on the main streets.
I plan to move to Brockville in the next year or two and would love to have a nice list of places to try, both when I finally arrive and on my visits before then... if there's enough to fill a list, that is. Thanks!

My spouse and I are finally doing the thing and starting a food truck. He has worked in restaurants for years and will be running the day-to-day operations, and I am working on the back-end stuff like permitting and budgets. We will be borrowing a sizeable amount from our families to get it going, and I am trying to figure out the best way to structure our business. I think a partnership LLC is the way to go, but it looks like we'll have to hire a lawyer to draw up an Operating Agreement. Would it be simpler to leave the business in his name only? Would that be a terrible mistake that would hurt us down the road? Is there a way to set this up without an attorney? We are and will be operating in Idaho.

So as per my last post, I didn’t have an SM well I finally got one and she’s been hiring people like crazy. She doesn’t take feedback well and keeps saying that she’s been in retail management for 33 years but it’s her first time at dollar tree. She doesn’t do anything the corporate way and threatens to write us up if she sees us talking to the cashier. She wrote me up today and everyone who worked yesterday because we didn’t push enough freight, which is really confusing because I did around 6 Uboats by myself and the other ASM did around 2. I talked with my DM and he keeps defending her for everything and saying that she’s making less chaos. I feel bad for the cashiers who worked yesterday because they got wrote up for doing their jobs, she doesn’t want the cashiers leaving their registers to stock or anything that they normally would. I’m about to just quit because at this point it’s getting to be too much. She has cut my hours and another ASMs to give more hours to our new ASM which lives with her. We have no room for food because she wants us to only do that until it’s gone but with me being a cashier half the time, I can’t do what a Merch Manager is supposed to do. She takes 7 smoke breaks a day which last around 10 minutes each but gets mad at us for taking our breaks. It doesn’t help that she has unrealistic standards for everyone and thinks we can get a truck out in a day when I have to be MOD and every morning i open by myself so. it’s a confusing situation. I put in for my vacation and when i get back from it, I will probably quit because I start college again soon so

Hi,
I was so hopeful I would never have to post here, but here we go.
Background: My husband and I recently bought a small cabin to retrofit into a tiny home for us. His grandma graciously let us place it on an unused part of the property aonth before the wedding. Husband and her had an agreement that following the wedding, we would be taking over all bills and maintenance cost, both on the property and for her personal home.
I also have an extensive background in event management.
Additionally over the course of our engagement his family has been purposefully rude, (they told him this to his face) and made multiple racist comments toward me and my family (I am half black, and my adoptive family is native).
Event- We had a split wedding. Our ceremony was smaller at a location incredibly meaningful for me, and a reception that was much larger with his extended family at a spot very meaningful for him.
On our wedding day we hadew a predictably stressful morning, and a beautiful ceremony.
Following the ceremony we had to change a flat tire on our car, and joked that it meant good luck for us.
Spoiler, it did not.
We arrived to the reception hall late for final set up due to the car issue, and immediately set to work. At one point, husband left to get an extension cord. A few minutes later, theajority of his family walk into the doors, forty minutes before start time.
Note: I had made it clear I did not want individuals in the hall prior to the start time.
Immediately I walked over, said, "Hi. If you're not here for set up than we can't have you here yet," and walked away.
Was it a little rude? Sure. Was I a stressed out bride trying to setup a good reception? Absolutely.
Immediately SIL1 walked over to where I was, and told me that I was extraordinary rude to his grandmother and family by not allowing them in so early. Additionally, grievances with the guest list/ceremony/and list of events was angrily and loudly told to me.
Following, after an immediately heated exchange, I walked over to his granola to apologize for any tone I might have had. To which she loudly and angrily denied, and said not only had she "never been treated as poorly in her life," but that she was leaving immediately and I was not allowed back on her property.
To which I responded angrily, saying that it was my reception and it was "fucking ridiculous" that we couldn't do this tomorrow. I turned around to see my husband there, told him to handle his family, and walked out.
His family then followed me outside and for the next three hours berated both me and my husband for everything from the cabin on his grandmother's land, the guest list, my religion, and the biggest one, not respecting his grandmother enough.
They said that we should've given her full control of the guest list, let her dictate the timeline and location of the ceremony, and that we take advantage of her. How do we take advantage? She will offer to do something, i.e. make food, take your plate, ect. Small things. Things, we learned the night of our wedding, that she complained to the family as her having to care for us. She also told them that she had been paying our bills and expenses for months. She has not, as we have only been on the property for 4 weeks at this point. Additionally we provide gas money and contributed to groceries.
Long story short, the reception did not happen. Instead we were separated and individually yelled at the entire night, with the crux being me "not being family first enough to marry him" because I will not blindly bow to his grandmother. Additionally they think that any time he has disagreed with or disliked something the extended family did, it was me pulling the strings.
My husband is an army vet, a firefighter, a former EMT, ect. He is a grown man and I certainly can not control what he does.
This has lead to an immediate NC with me and the entire family, and he is very LC with them. He has not spoken to his parents, aunt's, uncles, or grandmother since the wedding.
I'm distraught, because he had looked forward to his wedding his entire life, only to see it blown up. And I feel hopeless that I can't do more to help, as it's his family and his responsibility to take charge.
Any advice moving forward as we handle the downfall of this?

I am truly, sincerely grateful and thankful for all the help and support. ESPECIALLY the support! I live alone with my 2 rescues. Only family are an elderly brother and sister but neither live near by. No friends to speak of, so when anyone supports me I'm,... well, I get a little emotional. Y'all gave this old man a good day and I promise I won't squander all the good will. I'd just like to clear something up. When I said I was dreaming, it wasn't for a new truck, or fancy cloths or anything like that. I was just hoping for a little something so I could save some each month for the veterinarian. My kids are getting on in age and Carly has a significant heart murmur and sever allergies and Huey has epilepsy. Their all I really got in life. I would mortgage my house and sell my truck and walk if it came to that. Was also hoping to get a handyman to give me a hand with yard maintenance and some things around the house. Having rheumatoid arthritis, COPD, heart disease and dealing with MH issues kinda puts a limit on my mobility. And in case anyone's wondering, nope, never filed a claim for anything other than MH and tinnitus and don't have plans to file anything else because my service did not cause or aggravate those things.
​
I don't want to give the wrong idea. I'm not poor, I have food to eat, a roof over my head and the companionship of 2 trusted confidents. And I got the VA healthcare which I am SINCERELY grateful for. I'm kinda new to Reddit so I get lost a little but if I don't reply to everyone just know I can't thank you all enough.

We have a party in Golden Gate Park this summer and need to feed 50 adults and kids.
Any recommendations and suggestions? Seeking delivery into the park, affordable, yum. will eat pizza, dim sum/chinese or more. Alas, no food truck allowed or hot food prep onsite. We’re short on hands to haul it all in. Will supplement w fruit, veggies etc.

To start off I just want to say thank you to anyone who takes the time to read this and also that it doesn't not feel good sharing details of my relationship online but my Gf (Emily for the sake of the story) has encouraged me multiple to share on reddit. So here we go. Emily and I are in a argument today, the start of this was my younger brother(28M) asked if we wanted to join him and his gf(30F "Vicky") to go to the spring fair that the town he and I grew up in holds every year. At first I was apprehensive about this for a few reasons the 1st being that Vicky is an alcoholic with a rather serious problem who has a history of picking fights with anyone when she feels stress and makes scenes in public. For some context my brother has tried extensively to get her into rehab to no avail it just leads to her getting aggressive so he just does his best to keep her from getting blackout drunk everyday he doesn't drink anymore because of her and does his best to keep it out of their house. After mentioning it to Emily she wanted to go so I figured why not at least for the nostalgia of going back to somewhere we use to have fun as kids. So the plan was that we would go grab some fair food watch the derby that stated at 7:15 and check out what else is there. So to me if the derby starts at 7:15 that means get there for at least 7 so we can grab some seats, but to Vicky that meant getting in the car to leave at 7:30. I did not say a word even tho I think it is really rude and selfish, just tried to talk and joke with my brother who I haven't really seen since before Christmas (long story) so we brought the presents we haven't been able to give them yet, since it's June I was shrugging and making a wide eyed face in an awkward joking way when we handed them the gifts which I didn't have to do but was trying to lighten the mood since Vicky was storming around blaming everyone else for her not being ready yet, and then Emily who wasn't really paying attention when I was talking to my brother handed him some laundry detergent that she ordered to much of online and I made the same face. It was not my intention but without saying anything Emily took this to be deeply offensive as she thinks I was making fun of her and refuses to see it any other way. Also while this interaction was taking place Vicky took the opportunity to take a couple shots of Jägermeister when she thought no one was looking. By the time we actually parked it was almost 8 and Vicky was still taking forever to get out of the car and start walking toward the fair grounds because she is yelling at my brother how she needs a smoke when we get to the gate as I'm paying the absurd admission fee of $20 per person I can hear on the PA that the derby is finishing, I am not sure if anyone else heard it but within 30 seconds of getting through the gate Vicky started to have a panic attack. I am no expert but it's always been my understanding that it is best to give someone having panic attack space, not to surround them and repeatedly asked are you okay. So that is what I tried to do and let her and my brother have a moment since it is literally what Vicky was asking for. Emily took offense to this as well and thinks I was being insensitive and uncaring when in reality I was just trying to do what I thought was best in the situation since in the past Vicky seeing me when she gets like this makes things worse. We waited a few minutes for her to settle and feel okay while making it clear we have the option of leaving right then, it's no big deal. She decides no we should at least get some food since we came all the way there and weren't getting our admission fee back anyway. So we went and grabbed a blooming onion from a food truck. After receiving our food Vicky walked over to a corner I thought she was looking for somewhere to sit and eat since there was a bench over there but it was clearly for the food truck employees to have their break area. I asked 4 or 5 times what are we doing over here, do you guys want to go find some where to sit, let's go this way.. no one responded to me, I did not realize Vicky was having another panic attack since she was acting completely differently from the panic attack she had 15 minutes earlier, thinking I guess they're just waiting for me to move since my back was facing the only direction we can walk I see that the Emily is following me but she had already made it clear with her body language she wasn't interested in holding my hand walking through the crowd like we usually would do so I keep walking since 1 I hate being in a flow of crowded people 2 who stops and stands in the middle of where hundreds of people are clearly walking? We get through the crowd and Emily is right behind me but upset because she thinks I was insensitive to Vicky again/ thought I tried to leave her behind. My brother and Vicky were 20 seconds behind us we sat and ate without anyone saying much of anything then after maybe about an hour after getting through the gate we decide to leave. Get back to the car and Vicky is again angrily demanding smokes but also just realized she has no idea where her phone is so my brother and I spend a few minutes looking for it and then stop because it's not the first time she drank to much before leaving and just left her phone at home this upsets her of course but ends up being the case. So driving back home from my brothers place Emily is giving me the silent treatment, get home have a few minutes to unwind still not talking to me, she goes to start playing a game on the computer, I felt that was enough time for her to bring it up on her own and didn't feel like being treated like this again so I asked calmly if she wants to talk about what the problem is, Emily then proceeded to list the things I explained above while accusing me of being the problem and that I am at fault cause she thinks I was angry. It was a pretty bad night but reflecting I do not see how to do things differently in the future at no point throughout the night did I raise my voice, show any type of upset expression on my face, say anything that was rude or combative, I didn't take a deep breath because she gets upset when she can hear me exhale. I apologized for hurting her feelings about the laundry detergent but will not say I did it intentionally because I did not do it intentionally so she stormed off to bed. More silent treatment today until she needs a ride to work even tho I made it clear I'm not going anywhere today and she can drive my car herself since it's only a 5-10 min drive from our place she insisted I drive her. On the way there she tried to tell me an even more elaborate detailing of what she feels I did wrong while also insisting that I did not apologize the night before and I am not allowed to speak on my own behalf, then yelling at me every time I did try to speak which escalated and lead to her stating in a clear voice repeatedly that "now she is going to cry at work" like it is a threat or something. She deals with PTSD from SA by her stepbrother (she has given the green light for me talk about this on here, she did a post herself going into detail about it both to vent and for the sake of awareness about speaking out even when your family tries to tell you that you can't) I have known from the very start of our relationship and have always been as supportive and sensitive as possible when caring for her needs, not to say that I am perfect at it but I always have tried to be supportive in whatever way she says she needs. Like many other people I deal with my own anxiety, I have a different brother who I haven't spoken since I was 18 because he is an addict among other things but because we use to look so much a like I have been jumped twice, almost been stabbed and when I was in high school some guy came into my school with a gun threatened to shoot me in the face over problems with that brother. I don't try to use it as an excuse but the truth is I don't like large social settings, no matter how much I try it is hard to not be a little on edge, I pay a bit closer attention to my surroundings than the average person does and even tho I've explained it the best I can to her she gets upset when she notices I get like that and thinks there is no acceptable reason for my behaviour. We met when I was 19 and she was 17 she approached me at my work and asked for my number. We have been through a lot together and I love her however lately it feels like this is a repeating pattern where if anything goes wrong that negatively impacts her view of a experience it is my fault and keeps defaulting to yelling that I'm an asshole and she thinks I need therapy and tho I have explained repeatedly I have sought out someone to speak to online and the idea of sitting down and paying someone to hear your problems is a concept that I am not very comfortable with she stubbornly and in my opinion aggressively denies I am doing anything and inadvertently repeatedly states that she is "healthy" and I am not which feels really insulting after all the support I gave while she was going through her therapy which she procrastinated on for a year without a peep out of me because I understand it was a hard situation and that forcing yourself to "get help" is not necessarily the best move if your not mentally ready for it. TLDR -- Being called an asshole for how I handled Vicky having a panic attack.