Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Fly Into the Light of the Dark Black Night

I stood out on my cousin's back porch from about one o'clock in the morning until three, drinking Miller High Life and staring at the spot where I last saw my uncle and kissed him goodbye before I headed home to New York. There I stood alone, wondering how this could have happened. I saw him two months ago. His newest grandson is just six weeks old. My five cousins are young, ranging in age from 13 to 26. They still need their dad. How could something so small take down such a large force?

The day before was a Wednesday. I was sleeping and in my dreams I heard my cell phone vibrating across the room. It went off over and over. Finally I realized the phone was ringing in real life and I got out of my bed and took my cell off the charger. I flipped it open and saw that I had nine missed calls. One from my aunt and eight from my sister. My heart sunk. I thought something had happened to my 80-year-old grandmother. I called my sister back. To my surprise and horror, the bad news was about my mom's little brother, my Uncle Brian. She said he was in the hospital with a blood infection from a cut on his leg. He was in critical condition and not responding to medicine. My aunt and my grandma were already on the road to Pennsylvania where my cousins were waiting for them at the hospital.

I immediately sent a text all of my cousins asking them what was going on. I was waiting for a response, telling me that they message had been warped and that he was on antibiotics and he'd be just fine. I figured I'd go out there over the weekend and bring him a six-pack of some exotic beer and we'd sneak drinking it in the hospital room when the nurses weren't looking. No one answered me. After 45 minutes of gut-wrenching anxiety I sent a text message to my oldest cousin's husband asking him if everything was alright. He sent me a message back saying that his wife would call me in a little bit. I took that two ways. First, I thought everything was okay and they were in no rush to call me back. Then I thought, what if everything isn't okay, what if they can't call me because he's going downhill. I almost threw up.

Finally about four hours after the first notification, my cousin called me. I ran outside to talk to her, away from my daughter, who talks through all my phone conversations. I said, "What's going on? Is everything okay?" She said, calmly and matter-of-factly, "They admitted him at four o'clock this morning. There was a cut on his leg that got infected and it got into his blood. They put him on the respirator. There was nothing else they could do, Jeri, he's gone." It seemed like minutes until I could breathe again to ask her to repeat herself, but in reality, the words came right away. I thought I heard her wrong. She said, "He died, Jer." Then she started to cry. I said, "Oh my god, Meg, I'm so sorry. How could this happen?" She said, "I don't know."

The doctors wanted to talk to her, so she said she'd call me in a little bit. I went into my house holding back the tears and walked upstairs to my older sister's house. When she saw me the color drained out of her face. She said, "What happened? What's wrong?" I have no poker face and I never cry. If I well up, you know something bad has happened. I told her that our uncle had passed away. She covered her mouth and her eyes started to water and said the same thing I had said minutes earlier, "How did this happen?". She ran to tell her husband and I called our younger sister. I caught her just in time, she was about to leave for school. She went into hysterics immediately. I told her to come to our house. Then I called my dad at work. He couldn't believe it, he didn't even know my uncle had gone into the hospital that morning. He said he'd be right over. My sister and I had to go up to our mom's job to tell her. I felt like military officers walking up to a widow's house and bombarding her with bad news. She knew something was wrong when she saw the two of us standing outside her classroom door. She cried as soon as, if not before, the words came out of Kathy's mouth. She was going to finish up at work an meet us at our house. As we all sat in the living room, we wondered the same question over and over. How could something like this kill him?

My Uncle Brian, who was also my godfather, was larger than life in personality, size and heart. He stood six feet and four inches tall with a football player's build. He was taller than his kindergarten teacher and was taller than my mom by the time she was eight and he was five. He was a prankster and tortured his sisters with his shenanigans. He was athletic and popular. Uncle Brian was captain of the football, baseball and basketball teams in high school. He started dating his future wife when they were around 16 or 17 years old. They married and had five children, four girls and one boy. They moved their family from Long Island to Pennsylvania in 1991. Although far away from the rest of our close-knit family in miles, our bonds were never broken. We visited them and they visited us and all of us kids looked forward to the gatherings every time. As a matter of fact, I consider my cousins to be like more sisters and a brother and five of my best friends.

Shortly after I learned to drive and got a car I started taking random trips out to see them, more often than my parents knew about. Sometimes I would go for the day, other times I'd stay for a while. When all my cousins were at work or school, my uncle and I would sit around and hang out. He'd bring out these crazy beers that no one had ever heard of and we'd sample them all. He'd play Jimmy Buffett for me on his guitar. He would tell me jokes, most of them awful, but we'd laugh hysterically anyway. It's those times I look back on now and wished I had held on to a little longer. He lived every moment of his life to the fullest and never took anything too seriously. I like to think I inherited that trait from him as well as his affinity for anything with Hawaiian print. He was always wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He had a special nickname for each of his kids as well as my sisters, our other cousin and me. He and my aunt called me "Jeri Pins". My aunt put her arm around me at the viewing while I stood in front of him and said, "He loved you. You were his Jeri Pins." That was the only time I couldn't keep it together. He always treated me more like another daughter and less like a niece and that meant so much to me. I only wish I could have told him that.

It will be three weeks tomorrow since he passed away. Our family is still reeling. No one can understand why this had to happen. He was only 53. I seem to be stuck somewhere in shock/sadness/anger, although the shock is now slowly fading. Now I'm either upset or pissed. Sometimes I feel like I can't breathe when I think about him. I feel like our family got cheated out of another 30 years with the greatest father/son/brother/uncle/grandfather/great-uncle I've ever known. My heart is broken, selfishly for me, but it's shattered for my cousins. It seriously hurts me to see them like this. I want to help them and fix this, but I can't. There is nothing anyone can do. I feel helpless. I can't even help myself through this, there's no way I can help anyone else. I have him with me always, in my heart and also in the urn necklace my cousins got for me.

Funny side story about him, a few months ago he was here visiting. We were all at my grandma's house. I was leaving with more crap than I showed up with, as usual, because my Grammy loves to send me home with stuff. He grabbed the bags and walked me and my daughter out to my car. I kissed him goodbye and told my kid to give Uncle Brian a hug and a kiss goodbye. She kissed him and said, "Bye, Uncle Friend." Uncle Bri and I laughed and he said, "Uncle Friend, I like that, I'll keep it." and I laughed harder and told him, "Uncle Friend sounds creepy!" and I continued in a creepy old man voice, "Hey little kiddies, I'm Uncle Friend, want to come home with me?" He cracked up and told me he didn't care if it sounded creepy he thought it was cute that my 2-year-old made it up. Thinking back on it now, my daughter was right. That's who he was, my uncle and my friend.

True to the way he lived his life in love and laughter, he had a smirk on his face at his wake. That is so him. Smiling as always and loving everything. Nothing in life should be taken too seriously because life can sometimes be taken far before we expect it to be. You should never be unhappy with your life and love your family and friends like today is your last day.

I love you forever, Uncle Bri! Thanks for the memories!

Friday, September 18, 2009

It's Personal

A few nights ago the best show on cable TV, Red Eye, showed a clip of video personal ads that had to be from the 80's or the South, either way, it was a good time. It got me thinking though. What would *I* say if I had to "sell myself". This is what I came up with:


JP: WF, 5'7", chubby, blonde hair, green eyes. Sarcastic, cynical, cranky, insomniac. Slightly witty. Geeky nerd. Technologically moronic. Fag hag. Narcissistic for average-looking. Long legs, no torso, big head. Agnostic, awkward, stubborn Irish/Scottish/German/English. Libertarian; Liberals/Democrats need not respond.


Seeing it in print, I don't seem like much of a catch. It scares me to think about what kind of guy would answer this. Yikes!

Free Falling

I was quite the lush back in my early 20's, as I'm sure has been realized if you've read any of my other entries. I was in the volunteer fire department for a short time back then until I moved out of district. If you know anything about volunteer fire departments, especially on Long Island, you know they love to party. Not to mention, they throw some of the best parties ever. The holiday party and the annual installation dinner are the highlights of the year. This story starts at the holiday party one cold December night and ends the next day in the ER, as usual.

The catering hall that we were having our party at was serving the 'mini Buds' instead of the normal 12oz bottles. I think the minis were like 8.5oz or something close to that. I called them beer shots. That night I drank enough of them to build myself a nice 3-D pyramid with the empties. Someone counted around 30, give or take a few. Needless to say, I was pretty inebriated. Also going on at the hall in another room was a sweet 16 party. I convinced a few of the drunk wives to crash the birthday party with me. I walked in, ate some one's food and was video taped wishing the birthday girl a happy sweet 16.

Our party ended and I somehow wound up at the firehouse. Oh no, I take that back. There was an after party at a bar first. My car and car keys were MIA, so like I said, *somehow* I ended up back at the firehouse eventually with a few other guys. I don't remember what we were doing while we were there supposedly sobering up, but I remember a few of us getting in trouble. It might have had something to do with drunk munchies and raiding the walk-in fridge, maybe.

The next thing I know, we're being yelled at by our company lieutenant in his office. The other two guys run out of the room, so I follow them. Lt. is right behind me and all of us are laughing. We run down the office hallways, through the lounge (over the couches), and out into the truck room. Then I follow the morons up the step into the cab of one of the trucks, through it and out the other side. I need to point out quickly that I'm still dressed up from the party. Skirt, high heels, the whole shebang. When I opened up the other door I turned around to see where Lt. was. He wasn't behind me anymore. While I was looking around I jumped down onto the step and went to jump to the floor. Unbeknown to me, the heel of my shoe was stuck in the grate. I dropped 3 feet down to the floor landing directly on my left kneecap and twisted my ankle in the process. Without a blink I got back up laughing harder and ran out back and smoked a cigarette behind the storage building. Not long after the sun started to rise and I really wanted my bed. Like I mentioned before, my car was missing. I called my little sister at 6 or 7 in the morning and begged her to come get me. She picked me up and brought me home and I fell fast asleep in my bed.

My dad woke me up sometime in the afternoon, inquiring the whereabouts of my car. I got up to get my phone and immediately fell to the floor. Confused and thinking I was still drunk, I tried to get up and fell again. I managed to get myself sitting on the edge of my bed and I looked down at my legs. My left knee and ankle looked like the belonged to a 500 pound man. My leg was like 5 times it's normal size. I tried really hard to think about how this had happened. I didn't remember right away that I fell off the fire truck. My dad again asked me not to divulge to the ER staff that I was tanked when I did this. I say "again" because this was not the first or last time I ended a night of drinking, shenanigans and debauchery with a trip to the hospital.

First I have to call around to the other department members to find my car. My ex-boyfriend(who was not my boyfriend at the time) and his sister had taken it to their house when I wasn't paying attention. They were nice enough to bring it over. I get to the ER (BTW, no one in my family ever comes with me. I always have to drive myself.) and I wait forever for a damn x-ray. In the end I had chipped the top of my kneecap (to this day you can feel the chipped piece floating on top of my kneecap). Also, I sprained my ankle so bad that I was told I would have been better off breaking it. Comforting. I had to wear an air cast for almost three months. That really sucked.

The moral of the story: It wasn't a good party unless I ended up in the ER. Judging y my injuries, this party was AWESOME!

Raising the Bar: A Love Story

I used to live at the bar, one in particular, Mr. Beery's. It's a dive. Back when I was 17 I started frequenting this hole-in-the-wall. When I turned 21 I had to tell everyone it was my 25th birthday. Before 2004 this was a place for sad old people and bikers. Over the years they've been booking "better" bands and hiring younger bartenders and now it's geared toward emo dweebs. Just thought I'd give you a little background. You're welcome.

I think this story takes place around 2003-ish. My bar years are mushing together these days. There's this crazy lady named D-Rock, who to this day, is still there every night. She's probably in her 50's but she looks to be about 100 years old. She has a raspy voice, dresses in leather and calls all the younger regulars her "grandbabies". Her nephew, Jimmy, came to the bar one night to see her. He was decent looking and seemed fairly normal for someone related to D. He starts talking to me and buys me a drink (the way to my heart). At some point in the night he says, "Would you go out with me?". I thought a date would be nice since I had only been on one up until this point in my life, so I said yes. He immediately starts telling everyone who will listen that I'm his "girlfriend". Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were out of junior high school. Silly of me to confuse "asking someone out" with "going out with someone".

At this point I realize that he must be just as nuts as his aunt. I'm not going to lie, I was a little disappointed that I was not going to wined and dined. However, I did think this was hysterical. I decided to play along, don't judge.

The next night I meet him up at Beery's (BTW, I refused to give him my number). He brings me flowers. I'm not really a big flower person, especially not in a bar. Especially not THIS bar, especially not from him. He tells me that some woman wants to kick my ass because she's in love with him. She must be a prize. He then mentions that she's at Beery's too and points her out. HO-LEE-CRAP. Sitting at the end of the bar is this woman big enough to eclipse the sun. She looked like Mimi from The Drew Carey Show, only with brown hair. She was as wide as she was tall and had on what can only be described as 'clown makeup' she was also wearing what had to be a moo-moo, no joke. This whole situation was becoming more and more comical by the minute.

Jimmy is a hanger. I hate being leaned on and clung to. Unless I actually like the person, then it's okay in moderation. Now he was staring to get on my nerves. I had to shake him off me and force him to sit a seat away. Mimi-Twin had been staring a hole through me the whole night, looking at me like I'm a picnic lunch. Then it happens. Jimmy says we should get married. Wow. This must be every girl's dream. Laughing, I say yes. I put out my hand for a ring. He obviously doesn't know how to propose because he holds my hand instead. Then he starts to lean in to kiss me. I've never in my life eaten snacks off the bar, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I reached over an grabbed pretzels and shoved them in my mouth. I finish chewing and asked him where my ring is. He informed me that he doesn't have money for a ring. I asked him how he was going to afford a wedding and any children I might bear for him. His answer: "We're in love. Everything else will work out". I spit out my drink.

Although hysterical, I thought I should take a day off from the madness. Plus, I'm pretty sure Large Marge wanted to swallow me whole. Someone at the bar gave my "fiance" my number. No one would admit to it for fear of being killed by me. Jimbo called me over and over from a payphone. I didn't answer. Things started to add up. He had no phone and no car. I didn't know his last name and he proposed with no intention of buying me some bling, all within a few days time. He had serial killer written all over him.

The next night, after a day of 900 phone calls from various payphones, I met him at the bar. I tried ignoring him, but it wasn't working. I acted like a bitch, I yelled at him and flirted with anyone who walked by. He looked sad and defeated, which made me almost feel bad for a split second until I remembered that he's certifiable. Then he said something snarky to me so I yelled for all of Mr. Beery's to hear, "How can you treat me like this? I thought you loved me! I can't marry such a douche! The wedding is off!" I was going to throw the engagement ring at him, but there was none. He ruined my attempt at being over dramatic.

Big Bertha smiled at the end of the bar. I hadn't noticed earlier that she was missing a tooth or two. Cringe. He left with her that night. A few weeks later I heard they were engaged. He must have wanted to take his time with her and not rush like he did with me. They deserve each other. I hope they spawn a whole army of ugly, crazy children, just for fun. Maybe those kids will grow up and repeat the lunatic cycle of life, that is, if their mother doesn't mistake them for Bonbons and accidentally eat them.

Good times.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Chicka-Chicka-Bow-Bow

It's extremely hard to embarrass me. This may be one of the only times in my life that I actually felt it.

When I was like 18 or 19 years old, me, my gay husband and my BFF were out driving around. We stopped at 7-11 to get coffee. We got back in the car and were just sitting in the parking lot. One of them, I don't remember who had the brilliant idea, thought it would be funny for me to buy a Play Girl magazine. The only reason it was funny was because you actually had to ask the old man at the register for it. Of course I thought this was a great idea. So I did it. The old man didn't think it was quite as funny as we did. We looked through the mag and all it's awfulness. It was so bad it was comical and we seriously wondered who would buy and read this crap regularly.

Anyhow, we drove around and hung out for a while and then we all went home. I took the PG into my house so I could show my younger sister and we could have a laugh together. Which we did. I didn't know what to do with the magazine since I lived with my parents. I was scared to throw it out for fear that they might see it in the garbage. So I did what any normal moron would do and I put it under my mattress. Being me, I forgot about it. For years.

One fine day I stumble into the house, drunk. (First I have to explain the way my bed was for this to make more sense. I had these BIG formica bunk beds. It had drawers on the whole left side and under the bottom bunk. The bed was in the corner of my room against two walls, so you can imagine why I called the bottom bed "the coffin". I hope this helps with the rest of the story.) So I fall into the house and up to my room. I get to the top of the stairs and my dad yells up to me that he and my mom had to go into my room earlier to find our cat who liked to hide under the bottom bunk. (The only way to get under the bed is between the wall and the bed. He used to slip between and sit behind the bottom drawers.) Our cat was old, but usually if you called him, he'd come right out. He didn't. They thought he died under there and took my mattress and the wood support under it off the frame. Don't worry, the cat was fine but it was at this moment I realized that the Play Girl magazine was under my mattress. I was going to throw up. My parents didn't mention it, they just complained that my room was a mess. I ran into my room and lifted the mattress. The magazine was gone. GONE. They had to have seen it since it's no longer where I'd left it. To this day, they probably think I'm a pervert.

Eventually I was able to look at my parents again. Fast forward another few years when my boyfriend and I were taking apart this monstrosity of a bed to make way for a more adult bed (being at this point I'm now like 23 years old). I take off the mattress and lift up the wood support and what to my wondering eyes should appear? That fricking magazine! My parents must have thought they were being slick and put it back in the wrong spot! They had it between the wood and the drawers! Then I had to explain this to my boyfriend because now he thought I was some sort of perv.

Next time, if there is one, I'm just going to throw it in the garbage. Or not buy one at all. It's funny at the time, but in the end, I guess it's still pretty funny.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Wimpy Wimps Who Are Wimpy

Where did all these wimpy people comes from? When did we become such a pampered, prissy, whiny, easily offended society? What happened to the America that doesn't take shit from anyone? Where have all the cowboys gone? (Okay, well I just wanted to say that.) Aren't we still the greatest nation in all the world? Yes! Yes we are! Can we start acting like it? I sure as hell hope so!

There's a growing trend and it's getting worse every year. It starts like this: "I'm offended by....". Fill in the blank. Fill it in with anything ridiculous. Sure, some things can be taken the wrong way, but lately it seem to be trendy to be offended by everything. I almost feel left out since most things don't bother me. Maybe people should try harder to offend me.

I think everyone needs to take the pole out of their arses. Unless, of course, you like that sort of thing and in that case, I hope I didn't offend you....not. Yes, I said it. I was going to say, "psych!" but I restrained myself. Lucky you. Anycrap, back to the matter at hand: Wimps.

Wimp- –noun
1. a weak, ineffectual, timid person.

Not only are the majority of adults in the US wimps, but they are raising wimpy offspring. Little kids are whiny brats because they are being sheltered by these nutso lulus. They may as well be in a big old bubble. Helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, soft foam under the playground, stop signs on buses, EVERYTHING IS GOSH DARN CHILDPROOF! What's next? Ass pads for when they get their butts kicked at school? How are kids supposed to know if something is dangerous? This is why these kids grow up into jerky teenagers. I never wore a helmet, or any kind of body protection. I played on rocks, sand and broken beer bottles. I ACTUALLY had to look both ways before crossing the street once I'd exited the bus. Survival of the fittest, I say. I survived my childhood without all the buffers. I had even been shocked by an electrical outlet on more than one occasion because I didn't have those fancy outlet covers. Here I am, alive and well.... well, I'm alive.

Also, I've noticed that parents are quick to do work for their kids. Homework, school projects, selling crap, etc. My parents never did any of that for me. If I asked what a word meant, my dad handed me a dictionary. If I had cookies to sell, my mom didn't take the sign-up sheet to her job, I had to go door to door and do it my damn self. Oh, but they aren't allowed to do that anymore. And everyone gets a flipping prize. Stop rewarding mediocrity! How are these devil spawn supposed to understand the satisfaction of achieving a goal on their own? Everyone is so concerned with kid's "self esteem" but what these morons don't realize is that they are setting the children up for disappointment later on when they are unleashed into the real world. No one in the real world cares about your self worth.

Here is some unsolicited advice for parents: Cut the umbilical cord... pay attention now.... At. Birth. Stop hovering over your kids their whole life. Also, giving them a good smack on the ass every once in a while isn't child abuse, it's discipline. You're not supposed to be their friend. You're supposed to be their parent. Now stop it before I give you a time out.

Even the TV shows aimed at the young are making them prissy. Someone is always whining or throwing a fit and the other characters are like, "Oh no! What's the matter? What can *I* do to make you feel better about *you*?" Bullshit. It's one thing to raise a caring kid, it's quite another to raise one into a doormat. Other kids will pick that up immediately and use it to their advantage. They should be able to stand up for themselves and be somewhat self sufficient when they enter school. Unless, you don't mind being called to the school once a day to wipe their ass or their tears, or both. Have you ever seen "Bedazzled" with Brendan Fraser? You know when he's that overly sensitive guy serenading his girlfriend and crying at the sunset? That's how I imagine these people.

This same holds true for the grown ups, or "grown ups" as I like to call them. Stop being soft! Stand up! Grow a fricking backbone already! And for Bob's sake, stop taking everything so seriously, you're making us normal people look bad.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Patriot Day

I don't get serious very often. I don't think life should be taken seriously at all. However, this is one of a handful of topics that I don't take lightly.


A few days from now our great nation will remember those who lost their lives during the September 11th attacks. It's been eight years, yet to some it seems like yesterday. Still to others, unfortunately, it's almost like it never happened. I think a lot of people forgot what happened that day, which is a travesty in itself. Not only should every American remember 9-11-01, they should remember how they felt when they heard the news or watched the scene unfold and also how they felt in the days and weeks that followed.


I remember as a kid, my parents talking about the assassination of JFK. They could recall every detail of that day. I never understood the significance of this until 9-11, although, I could slightly relate when Princess Diana died.


That day is etched in my memory forever, as it should be. Every minute is burned into my brain. The day seemed longer than usual. I was watching the news when the first plane hit and I stared as the chaos unfolded. I could see smoke from the main road by my house that heads west. I watched building 7 fall through binoculars on the side on Ocean Parkway. My boyfriend at the time was a volunteer firefighter. My dad worked across the street from the UN building and my best friend was living and going to school in Manhattan.


I couldn't get in touch with my dad or my friend for a while, but I finally did. My boyfriend and other volunteers were called in to cover the city firehouses while their men and women were at ground zero. Some of our volunteer firefighters were also city firefighters. I didn't hear from him all day. I sat at the firehouse from around 11pm until he finally came back after one o'clock in the morning. That's when he told me two of our volunteers (who were also career firefighters, one of which was the Chief of our department) were missing at the World Trade Center.


I don't remember sleeping that night. Not that I sleep usually, but especially not that night. When the morning came it felt surreal, almost like a bad dream. One of our volunteers had come home, but not our chief, he was still missing.


Why has our country forgotten? Collectively, do we have the memory span of goldfish? How could the patriotism and love of country that emerged in the days after have dissipated so quickly? How will the newer generations of Americans understand the reality and magnitude of "Patriot Day" if they are only reading a few paragraphs about it in a textbook? I'm waiting for the day my daughter is old enough to grasp the depth of what happened. Not to sound mean, but I hope she feels how I felt, she may even cry and maybe she should.


It's sad that only once year Americans remember. We should remember every day. We should remember those who lost their lives at the hands of terrorists. We should also think about the men and women who put their lives on the line for us and our freedom every day, as well as and especially, the men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. We should ALWAYS feel a sense of dignity and pride for our nation, no matter what political party you belong to, if you do at all. Our pledge of Allegiance and National Anthem should be recited loud and clear, regardless of your religious affiliation, or lack there of.


Even if you lived thousands of miles from NYC that day, you felt it. Even if you didn't personally know anyone who was killed, you still felt a loss. It's THAT feeling that made you sad for your fellow Americans, scared of what might come next and proud of the way we all pulled together.


We are AMERICANS first and foremost and with all the (democrat/republican/liberal/conservative) bickering; THIS should be the one thing that unites us… more than once a year.


I know I'll never forget as long as I live, even if I tried. I'll certainly never forget our Chief, Lt. K. 288 Hazmat. He and so many others gave their lives in an effort to save as many others as they could. Chief's body was eventually found in the command center of the South Tower. It was November 30, 2001, to be exact. There was a video that was shown on TV a few weeks after the attacks. He was on it. It showed him walking into the tower with his crew. He never walked back out.

Final thought: ‘Patriot Day’ should be every day.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Facebook Quizes

Why do I bother, really? Nine times out of ten, they are completely off, but I just can't help myself. It's like crack or Pringles... or both.


JP completed the quiz "which country hates you?" with the result "antartica hates you"

"You are peppy and loud and far too giddy. Go away, you are giving them a migrane and they want nothing to do with you. They are sick of you pep rally's to save the polar bears! The polar bears are ok and don't need you a.d.h.d help ok?! I know it may be hard to comprehend but you are too accepting and nice and you will regret it soon. Leave antartica alone, they don't want you no matter how much you did to support their causes."

Absolutely inaccurate. Loud? Maybe, but in an obnoxious bitchy way, not preppy and certainly not giddy. Those words have never been used to describe me unless it was preceded by, "JP is most certainly NOT..." Also, I have OCD, not ADHD. I am the opposite of accepting and nice, I'm dry, sarcastic, cynical and crabby. Polar bears don't want me near them? Well they can stay the hell away from me too because I might just make a nice rug for myself out of them. In addition, whomever wrote the quiz results should immediately return to the third grade for spelling and grammar lessons. Morons.



This one was slightly more accurate:

JP completed the quiz "Scrubs Personality Quiz" with the result "Dr. Kelso"

You are business first...ALWAYS! You take your job very seriously, because you feel that is the best way to approach everything. You like jokes and fun, but only when you're the one doing it. Deep, Deep, DEEP, down, you are very kind and caring, but it takes a lot for you to show it. You are the boss, and people know it, and are intimidated by you, and that's how you like it.

Honestly, I thought I was going to get Dr. Cox. This is result doesn't make me as sad as the other quizzes. Dr. Kelso would have been my next choice. I don't have a job to take seriously. I do like jokes and fun but only when I'm the one doing it or the other person has the same sense of humor as me. Deep, deep, deep down I still don't give a rat's ass. You'd have to get deeper than that. I am the boss, but no one listens to me anyway.


JP completed the quiz, "Which 80's Song Describes You" with the result, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun"

You live in the moment and life is a big party. You rarely come home before dawn, and your phone rings at all hours of the night. You still don't know what you want to be when you grow up, and your parents are constantly on your case about your lighthearted attitude towards the future. Your bedroom has an impossibly tall ceiling.

I'm not sure what the height of my bedroom ceiling has to do with anything, especially considering I live in a basement apartment, it's not that tall. On the other hand, this quiz might actually have been dead on. I don't get around to partying all that often anymore, but when I get the chance, I go all out. My phone does ring at all hours of the night and my parents (even though I don't live with them) still wonder what the hell I'm doing with my life. I may be a cranky betch, but I'm a fun cranky betch.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

In Dreams

I'm not talking about the RDJ movie, I'm talking about what happens during the off chance I catch some sleep. The other night I had a dream about the Red Eye (Fox) boys. Of course, it was the last thing I watched on TV before dozing off.

I was babysitting Greg, Bill and Andy; in the dream they were toddlers (which would almost make this more of a nightmare). Anyway, I was trying to prove that Bill was gay so I handed a fake toy phone to Greg and Andy and tried to get them to talk on it. They both threw the toy without hesitation. Then I gave the phone to Bill who proceeded to talk a mile a minute on it, hence proving my hypothesis since we all know that straight men generally don't like to talk on the phone.

Also in that same dream I went to Target and when I got there I realized that I had no shoes on. They had recently moved everything in the store around and I had no clue where anything was. I ran into my friend there and she and I had to search for the shoe section. We never found it.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Halloween 2009

I was on the phone with KT and Halloween came up. At this time my kid was "exercising" on my "yogurt mat". KT suggested that I dress her up as Olivia Newton-John like in the video "Physical" for the big day. I thought this was an excellent idea and will be so much better than all the other kids in her class dressed up as Spiderman and Disney Princesses. LAME!

I'm in the process of drawing up a picture to show just how awesome it will be. While I was thinking about her costume I thought it would be a great idea to convince my youngest nephew to be her ex-boyfriend who faked his death.

Her costume: Side ponytail (teased hair), head and wrist bands, tank top with an over sized off-the-shoulder short sweatshirt, leotard, leggings, leg warmers, BK high tops, blue eyeshadow, pink lipstick and way too much blush.

His costume: Bad toupee, creepy look on his face, fishing pole, fake passport and plane tickets to Mexico.

The best part of my idea is taking pictures of the whole ordeal.
Picture 1: Them together
Picture 2: Him running away
Picture 3: Her crying to news crew
Picture 4: Him on beach with a drink

Now I just have to get my nephew on board! Somehow I don't think my sister is going to go for this.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Is the General Population Stupid or Are They Just Dumb?

I'm in the process of helping my friend find a new car. I saw an ad for a 2003 Honda priced at $3,100. I thought this was a bit odd since I have a 2005 Honda that's worth nearly $11,000. I sent an email to ask a few questions:

Hi, I saw your ad for the 2003 Honda and I had a few questions.

Does the backseat have the latch hooks for a baby/child car seat?
Has the car been in any accidents and would a car fax report be available?
Are the miles mainly highway or city?
Is there a maintenance record available?

Thanks! JP


Here is the email I received back:

Hello there,

I'm writing you regarding my 2003 Honda Accord EX Sedan. The car is in perfect condition, no scratches or any damages and it has a clear title. The car has 83,765 miles on it. If you are interested in purchasing, the price is $3100. I sell the car at this price because I can't enjoy it due to my job (I work as a casino dealer on a cruise ship) plus that I have some personal problems. Regarding the payment I will use only eBay Vehicle Purchase Protection Program so we can both be protected. I just need your full name and address so i can open a case.(with no further obligation or fees). Please reply


Mileage 83,765
Body Style Sedan
Exterior Color Nighthawk Black Pearl
Interior Color Gray
Engine 4 Cylinder Gasoline
Transmission 5 Speed Automatic
Drive Type 2 wheel drive - front
Fuel Type Gasoline
Doors Four Door

Have a nice day!

Thank you!
Samantha


Um, what? This is all the same crap you had in the original ad (minus the part about your job and personal problems). You seem a little slow, but that doesn't mean I am. Here is what I wrote back:

Hi, thanks for the quick reply. I'm looking for a car for my friend.

You didn't address any of my other questions. I need to make sure that a child's car seat will be secure (the latch hook question) and also about the car fax report, the maintenance record and if the mileage on the car is city or highway.

I'm sorry to hear about your "problems" but that's not my concern. Also, I don't need to know what you do for a living. You could be a hooker for all I care. You should actually read the email I sent you. Maybe next time you write back you could make the response slightly relevant.

Thanks again,
JP

Am I wrong here? Stay tuned for updates on this on-going saga.... if Dimwit actually writes back.

Jesus H Christ!

If you're a serious Christian, I suggest skipping this particular entry.

A little religious background: My mom (the church lady) is Lutheran, my dad was raised Catholic but once he was done with Cath school he became Agnostic. My sisters and I were raised Lutheran. I've been Agnostic for the last 7 or 8 years.

I have nothing against other religions. I like learning about them actually, but if you really love Jesus, I implore you not to read on.

The story of Jesus Hesus [hay-soos] Christ (that's what the "H" stands for, you know. I thought for a while that it was "Harold" but I was wrong).

Jesus was a drama queen. Walking on water, c'mon. What a show off. Besides, the real story is much more interesting. Here's how it goes: Jesus and his pals were hanging out, doing their thang, you know turning water into wine (that's another story), drinking and having a good time. There was a light rain outside, so they were indoors. Once it stopped raining they decided to go walk around town, at this point they were ossified. They stopped in town square to socialize and talk to chicks. Right there in the middle of town was a huge shallow puddle. J-Hoose (as his Canadian friends called him) was splashing in the puddle, minding his own business. His crew (drunk as they were) started yelling and carrying on that JHC was walking on water. Jesus thought this was great. All the townsfolk were cheering him and word spread throughout the land that he was somehow subhuman. What people don't know about this story is that Jesus was so pissed that he got his Birkenstocks all muddy.

In relation to Jesus, I offer up this little gem:

Since the rest of my family celebrates x-mas, I go along with it. I like getting presents. Up until last year I did a good job of keeping Jesus out of it for the sake of my daughter. Someone thought it was a good idea to give her a book about baby Jesus and then to add insult to injury, they read it to her. Needless to say, I've since hidden this book from her. I try to emphasize Santa. He's the cool one. One day shortly after the holidays she was talking about baby Jesus and his birthday aka Christmas. My response: "Did Jesus ever get you anything? Does he sneak in and leave you cool presents? No. No he didn't. Do you know why? It's because he's selfish and doesn't care. Santa's ass is the one you should be kissing. HE brings you presents because he's a cool guy."

Unfortunately, she repeated this to her dad and I got yelled at. I hope she doesn't tell the kids at school someday. No one will want to sit near me at the PTA meetings. It's not my fault that she remembers everything. I hope she'll thank me when she's older for being honest with her. Oh, except for lying to her about Santa.

Bring on the hate mail!

Pants Off Dance Off

Pants-shmants!

Everyone that knows me, knows that I don't like to wear pants when I'm sitting around my house. Also if you know me, I've mooned you at some point for complaining about me walking around in my undies. I (usually) have a long-ish t-shirt on, so I don't see the problem.

These days instead of bothering my parents and younger sister with my pants-less-ness, I scar my nephews. I live in an apartment in my older sister's house. She and her husband have five kids. The older ones should learn to knock or just stay out of my apartment all together. The younger ones haven't seemed to notice, mostly because they don't like to wear pants either. My oldest nephew in particular has not only seen me sans pants, but has also barged into my apartment when I was walking around in my bra (I actually had pants on that day). You think he would have learned by now. The thing they should really worry about is that fact that I don't like to wear underwear once I put pants on. I try to remember to wear it when I have a skirt on. The gays seem to really appreciate the effort I've been putting forth in this area, as do most of my friends.

Why should I compromise my comfort for the well being of others? The answer: I shouldn't. If you have issues with other people's semi-nudeness, that's your problem, not mine.

I think it was a lot worse when I lived with my ex-boyfriend. We lived with his two sisters and one of them was married with two kids. Also, his best friend lived there too. He was a drummer in a band that was sort of popular around the Long Island underground scene. He always had musician friends and groupies in and out of the house. Back then, I was skinnier and in better shape, so I really didn't care, although the drifters were kind of put off. Like most of those people don't walk around their own houses half naked. Suck it up, suckers!

I also don't like wearing shoes. I wear flip flops from April to October. When I was a teenager my friends and I would wander the streets all day during the summer and I wouldn't wear anything on my feet. Thinking about it now, that was a pretty bad (and gross) idea, but I was a dumb teenager, so that's my excuse.

Coats and jackets bother me too. I never wear them. I don't care how cold or snowy or rainy it is, I refuse. They are nothing short of annoying. I can't drive when I'm all restricted with a big clunky coat on. It's so much more comfortable to just wear a hooded sweatshirt over whatever I'm wearing. If it's a fancy occasion, I just don't wear one at all. If you think about it, I'm walking from my house to my car and from my car to where ever, so what's the point? I'm only out in the cold for a minute. Besides, freezing your ass off builds character, or at least that's what my parents told me when they didn't want to rive me to school in the winter.

If it's any consolation, I always wear a bra.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Partial List of Celebs I Stalk

I should really make an effort to come up with something to write once a day. I'm going to give it the old college try.

I watched Eagle Eye last night. At first I only started watching it because Shia Labeouf was in it, turns out it was a really good movie.

I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that *I* thought he was cute when he was in the Disney TV series "Even Stevens". Back then I was a nanny and the kids I babysat watched the show. I remember thinking that he would grow up to be a good looking adult, and MAN was I right! I never let it slip though, I could have gone to jail... but now that he's in his 20's it's okay for me to say such things. Now I'd be known as a cradle robber and not so much a sick pedophile, which of course is much better.

Also in the movie is one of my favorites, Billy Bob. I like older men, but I'd have to be older than I am now in order to stalk him. No more than 20 years older than me is acceptable. Billy Bob is a little younger than my parents, that would make for some awkward holidays. He and my dad could sit around and reminisce about the 60's. Maybe they went to Woodstock together.

RDJ is still in my grasp but he had to go and get married. I think I liked him better as a druggie anyway and not so into health food and vitamins (Yuck!). Of course if he were to get a divorce and come knocking on my door, I'd eat that crap and take those pills with a smile on my face.

Then there is Anthony LaPaglia. He's too old for me too, which make me sad. It also makes me happy in a way. Sometimes he makes a face or the camera is at a certain angle and he looks like an Italian version of an Irish guy I dated once. It's kind of creepy. On the topic of "Without a Trace", I'm also a big fan of Enrique Murciano. He is perfectly in my age range specifications. Just throwing that out there, Enrique, in case you ever read this. According to IMDB.com he can change a flat tire in 1 minute and 19 seconds. This would certainly come in handy considering the way I drive. Again, just putting it out there.

Well there you have it, whoever "you" may be... probably talking to myself. The partial list of celebs I stalk. Just in case anyone is reading too into that word, I mean cyber stalk, I don't actually show up at anyone's house. Although... that could be arranged if any of the said celebrities were interested.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Top Ten Reasons Why Gay Marriage is a Bad Idea

I didn't write this, I found it somewhere on the great world wide web, but I love it, so here it is:

1. Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

2. Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

3. Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

4. Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

5. Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britney Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

6. Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7. Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

8. Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

9. Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10. Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Liberals & Toddlers

"I'm surrounded by small whiny people... No, not liberals, toddlers. Although I can see where that might have been confusing." ~Me

Believe it or not, people trust me with the care of their children, don't ask, I have no answer. Over time I noticed a trend. Liberals and toddlers are very similar. Here is where I'll keep a running list as the similarities come to light.

Liberals are like toddlers:

~They lie
~They smell funny
~They cry about everything
~They can dish it, but they can't take it
~They don't make any sense, but they talk over you anyway
~Even if they get caught red handed they either blame someone else or they pretend it never happened
~They can both drive a sane person to drink
~They make a mess and YOU have to clean it up
~They both take things from you and yell, "MINE!"

Blog I Wrote for Another Web Site 11/5/08

Oh Boy... Obama
Nov 5 2008 12:20AM

Don't bother flaming, this is for me to vent.

I'm extremely disappointed in the outcome of this election. I am scared for this country more than I've been during 8 years of W. A man whose birth certificate was in question, whose pastor hates white people, who fraternizes with domestic terrorists, whose wife thinks we are a mean country, who won't wear an American flag pin, who wants to change the National Anthem, who was to socialize healthcare, who wants to take money from the people who worked hard for it and give it to others (these among other things) is now leader of the free world.

I've always been proud to be an American, tonight I'm sad and scared for this country. I think a mistake has been made.

The double standards during this past year have been incredible. I feel like most of the country has been brain-washed by a smooth talker and ignored the living hero who nearly died for us. I don't care what anyone says, I do not stand behind him, the same as I did not stand behind Bush. I'm not a racist (since this seems to be the retort for disagreeing with Obama) I do not agree with anything he stands for. Somehow being a republican or a conservative makes you evil or racist or both these days. I'm not interested in making history. I don't look at this as a historical election, regardless of what the outcome could/would have been. I'm concerned with my values and my family. I'm generous when I can be and I'll help my friends or a DESERVING stranger (whom *I* choose). I am NOT my brother's keeper and I don't feel like I should be forced to be.

He is a shady character and I don't like this one bit. This is going to be bad. Very bad.



(8-16-09)
I should have been a psychic... or maybe unlike most people I was actually paying attention.

Thanks Blake Shelton

Thanks for being hot, talented, funny and an anti-supporter of PETA (they are dipshits!).

Also, thank you for bringing up that a (large) drunk woman fell across your lap on the airplane. You gave me a flashback of a trip I took when I was 17.

My BFF moved to Florida when we were 13. Every year after that my parents would put me on a plane and send me down to stay with her for like 2 weeks. I thought they were being nice, but thinking about it now, I think it was more for them than for me and Kristin.

One x-mas vacation when I was 17, or maybe I was 16, I could have been 18, whatever. Anycrap, I had gotten bumped off my flight and rescheduled for the next one. Mind you, my parents didn't stay at the airport with me, they would drop me off at the outside baggage claim and be on their merry-me-less way. So the airline gave me quite a few coupons for free alcoholic drinks or snacks for all the inconvenience. So I finally get on the plane in the last row, you know, the loudest spot on the whole aircraft, the ass of the plane. I'm sitting next to this guy, whose name is escaping me at the moment, he's like 35ish. He also had a bunch of coupons. I was not old enough by a long shot to order my own drinks. So this guy (let's call him Sam for the hell of it), Sam thought it would be a good idea for him to order my drinks for me so they wouldn't card me. It went like this: Sam says, "I'll have a gin & tonic, and my wife here will have a rum and coke." I was in heaven and seriously thought about telling Kristin to hit the road, for Sam was my new BFF.

Well, if you know me, you realize that those coupons ran out before we were over the Carolinas. Sam's did too. Also if you know me, I sometimes get a little boisterous when I drink (just a little). Apparently Sam does too. Boisterous and fricking hysterical! Well, we thought we were anyway. A few other passengers offered their drink coupons to us if we would just shut up. I guess they don't get our humor. So needless to say we went through those coupons like they would explode if we didn't hurry up and use them.

Sam and I had a wonderful drunk time on the ride down to West Palm Beach and in a way I was so happy that I had gotten bumped off that first flight. I stumbled into the airport where Kristin and her boyfriend were waiting for me, I said goodbye to Sam and then I puked.

Oh Sam, I wish I could remember your real name. You were such a great pretend husband. I hope someday I marry someone just like you.


November 2, 2009: I remembered his name when I was trying to go to sleep last night! Well, I'm like 90% sure. It's Ryan! Or Tom. I'm pretty sure it's Ryan.