Happy Cinco De Mayo

Circa 2003:

Capps: I never liked you!

Circa 2005

Capps drops me off at my apartment in Morristown after a night of drinking:

Me: I can’t wait to go home and eat chips

Circa 2000, 2001, 2006, Revived in 2010

Me: Hi, I’m V.A.. Have we met? (I reach my hand out to shake).

Victim: Nice to meet you

Me: Great to meet you too! However, you are not drinking fast enough”

Circa 2010

Me: Elvis, I wish you would put as much effort into rubbing my feet as you do in professing your love for me. Love, love, love, blah, blah, blah.

Elvis: That’s a conflict of interest

Me: Jimmy Kimmel has narcolepsy

Elvis: No he doesn’t

Me: Do you know what narcolepsy is?

Elvis: Do you want me to smack you?

Me: Elvis, rub my face!

Elvis: You are taking advantage of me

Me: Don’t make me pimp slap you

Elvis: Do you know what Tiger Woods used for pick up lines?

Me: No. What did he use?

Elvis: Well, nothing really good but . . .

Me: Tequila makes me do bad thinks. Happy Cinco De Mayo

Laziness Gone For Lent! WTF is Lent?

What fucking happened to me? I got all wifey-ed up. I’m in a relationship with a very nice, great guy who doesn’t get my sick sense of humor. Nor does he really appreciate me sharing my thoughts about our life together.

So after 5 months of suffering in a job that wasn’t quite for me I have made some changes. Got a new job that is way better. However I managed to gain about 25lbs in 5 months. In my quest to figure out what I want to be when I grow up I used bacon to patch the holes in my soul that my job at the time created.

So now I’ve committed to 50 days of no laziness. What does this mean?

Sticking to my weight watchers regimen

Hitting the gym everyday

Today was Day 1:

7:15am: Alarm sounds. . . . . . Bullshit! Ok. 7:15 isn’t really that early however I can get up at 8:15 and be at work before 9:30. You see the struggle?

7:30 am: I get out of bed and head down to the gym

7:45 to 8:15 am: Cardio while holding 10lb weights

8:30am: Having a very difficult time blow-drying my hair because my arms are so tired

9am: Walking to catch the bus . . . . . is that bacon I smell.

7:30am: Plopped down on the couch with a huge mixing bowl of arugula with olive oil and vinegar. I’m kind of obsessed.

9:00pm: Polished off a bottle of Indaba. Tracking my points on WW online.

9:30pm: Tipsy stroll on the treadmill

Living Single No More

It has been quite some time since I have “blogged”. In that two plus months life has happened all at once. One of the most drastic life changes I have made was moving in with my boyfriend.

After five months of dating I moved in with the adorable Yugoslavian man who stopped me on the street months earlier.

Living with a man is an adjustment, well a man that is not technically a roommate. Male roommates understand boundaries, and with roommates there is no expectation of sharing or the “what is mine is yours” assumption. When you first move in with the person you plan to share your life with there are a few things that may come as a surprise:

Men don’t diet; they just eat less of something and lose 10lbs or take a walk and lose 5lbs (bastards)

When you move in with your significant other don’t expect the good leftovers to be there when you go back for them

It’s always best to be sick when you have someone to take care of you (even if they are trying to cure your kidney infection with “remedies from Montenegro”

Men should not be allowed to use bleach, unless pink is becomes the new white . . . . literally

Men take longer to get ready than women

Men like cheesy reality shows . . . a lot

Putting a dish inside an empty dishwasher is apparently not common sense

Snoring . . . . .VERY LOUD snoring

Nocturnal flatulent

Men are always better drivers than women even if they suck at driving worse than anyone ever alive

Men do not replace the toilet paper roll . . . ever

My boyfriend is awesome really though. He cooks and cleans and rubs my back :-)

9.9.09

Two years ago today I learned that I truly know nothing.

In my short 28 years on this earth I have seen a lot. I had seen and experienced many unfortunate realities all before becoming a high school graduate. So in the fall of 2007 I was sure I had it all figured out. I most certainly knew the “formula” of life, which meant that if “X” happens in your life there is no way “Y” and “Z” will happen. Um, that formula is shit and that is all I really knew. No formula was going to save me from life, or make things predictable. Life is certainly unpredictable and you can’t keep life from happening.

Two years ago today my life changed for the extreme worst however I was able to learn from it then change my life for the better.

Two years ago today many great people and I lost a wonderful person in our lives. His name is WES. He was vibrant, fun, comforting and perfect. If you met him, you knew him and you never forgot him. I could write a short novel about how wonderful WES was but I won’t. There are really no words in our paltry language to truly capture him and since I don’t speak another language I will leave it at that. However I will talk about what I learned from him.

WES taught me:
Laughing is the best way to spend time with a person you care about
People are important
You have to let someone in
You cannot live by a clock
Having fun should be a priority
You should love what you do for a living
It is ok if you are not a morning person
You should always say what you need to say
The most beautiful people are broken
You have to forgive, even if you are doing it for someone else

Everyday I think about WES and I will everyday for the rest of my life (or as long as I can see my left shoulder). Which brings me to the most important thing that I have learned from WES and that is – Don’t fuck it up. No matter how scared you are, how close someone gets or how hard it is – work it out because you may never have a second chance to fix it.

Feel free to share your memories of WES.

Make donations in loving memory of Warren E. Schnetzer at www.americanheart.org.

I am living with Buddy Holly and dating Elvis

How am I living with Buddy Holly and dating Elvis you ask? Well if you have ever met my roommate Jake you would understand the reference and my boyfriend’s name is Elvis. Yes, as in the king . . . or at least he thinks so.

I met Elvis in a relatively unconventional way. After a long day of drinking I was walking home from a bar in Murray Hill. I had my head phones on singing Evanescence at the top of my lungs while walking down 3^rd Ave. In the middle of “Bring me to life . . .” I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a guy trying to get my attention. I figure he is going to ask me for directions so I pull my ear buds out. He asks, “Can I buy you a drink?” I politely respond with, “No, fuck off,” and continue down the street singing “Wake me up inside, call my name . . .” I get about a half a block and he is tapping me on the shoulder again. I take one ear bud out proclaim, “What?” “Please, just have one drink with me.” I looked him up and down, it dawns on me that he has what sounds like an Italian accent. On his forearm there is a tattoo that reads ‘<>’. I tell him that he is a gangster wannabe, no good bad news m-f’er that needs to leave me alone. This charade went on for about three blocks until I finally gave in and had a drink with him.

The next morning he made me breakfast. As I was walking home I texted my cousin, “I think I met someone.” I pretty much new he was great right from the start.

I told this story to my soccer teammates. One of my teammates responded with this. “Tell your boyfriend to fuck off for me. By the way, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but just because he stalked you for 3 blocks at 2 in the morning while you were drunk doesn’t mean he loves you. I mean, if I were him the very next day I would have called you at least 50 times and hung up. So don’t fall for his psychologically unhinged romantic act because he doesn’t truly love you until you have to get a restraining order on him. Besides that though he sounds like a lovely guy” – Thanks Jon!

I am a lesbian at heart: homage to the Girouard siblings

I have known Jena Girouard for almost year now. Jena G, as I so affectionately call her, is one of the best people I know and I can’t imagine my life with out her. I have never laughed so hard around one person in my life, especially when she told me to get out of the car as we were driving 60 miles per hour on route 78.

I recently met Jena’s brother Mark. They are two peas in a pod and he is just as wonderful as she is. He looks and speaks just like Woody Harrelson and has a quick wit delivered with a southern drawl that will drive you to tears.

Here are a few conversations that have taken place between the Girouard siblings and me.

A phone conversation one spring day at work:
Me: Jena, I know why we (Jena-a Gemini, me-a Taurus) can be such great friends but never date.

Jena: V.A., please tell me, aside from the fact that we are not lesbians, why can we never date?

Me: Well we are both standing at a ledge about to step off, but we are at different ledges so that way we can talk each other off said ledges.

Jena: Yeah, because if we were dating we would be holding hands jumping off that ledge together, for sure.

My first meeting with Mark:
Mark: I new you were 60/40 lesbian! I could just tell.

Me: But I have a boyfriend

Mark: Nope 60/40.

Jena and I leaving a soccer game
Jena: I’m driving Darren’s lesbian car

Me: I’ve never heard anyone call a car “lesbian”. What kind of car is it?

Jena: A Subaru Outback.

Me: I love that car!!! That was my first car when I got my license. I miss it so much!

Jena: Yeah, exactly, that’s cause you’re a lesbian

Gotta love the Girouards. I have yet to meet the older sister, but apparently she loves lesbians so I’m excited to be inducted into the family.

Two Coke Cans and a Muffin: Quality time with Dad

ME

I have written about my biological father in previous posts as some of you might recall. He is a bit of a crack-head with the hiv and other diseases he has contracted through intravenous drug use. However over the past 8 years my brother and I have spent some “quality” time with him, although not by choice.

My form of quality time with my father came after a drunken arrest. My incarceration was directly and solely related to my father and his criminal past. I hadn’t spoken to my father in the months prior to ending up in court the day after Christmas. I’m sure I’d seen him on Thanksgiving which probably yielded some small talk but nothing significant or poignant.

I arrived at court in my Sunday best or as my co-defendants exclaimed “looking like a school teacher”. We were all sitting together in the court room when my father walked in. I shrunk down in the back of the court pew wondering what the fuck he was doing here. I assumed he had caught a case himself and was present for the hearing. Of course Josh and Jody (my co-defendants) loudly say, “Isn’t that your dad.” I said “No,” they said, “I know you don’t see him much but that is definitely your dad.” I said, “Fuck.” He spotted me and walked over. I said hello, and made small talk and asked what he had done to end up in court. He said nothing and that he was here to walk me through my first court hearing. My father has never shown up to a school play, sports event, recital or a milestone birthday but he decided to show up to the one event that I really didn’t need him for, especially since I have a B.S. in Criminal Justice.

So we make small talk. He tells me about the Hep-C drugs he is talking. I suggest some others that might be less abrasive since that is my field.

After hours of sitting in the court room they call my name. I go up and plead not guilty while my father stands proudly behind me. Most of the court staff knew him by name; they asked how he is doing and if I was his girlfriend. I damn near smacked him. Do I look like I’d date a crack-head? After my plea we proceeded to the back room where the lawyer that both my father and brother have on retainer asked if I need representation. I kindly declined. I spoke with the prosecutor who found the charge of resisting arrest peculiar, so he dropped the case; I just had to pay a $50 court fee.

I think they knew spending the day in court with my father was punishment enough and that I cannot be faulted for genetics.

MY BROTHER

My brother was not so fortunate to spend just a day in court with my father. Hell, he was not so fortunate just to spend the day in court, period. He had the opportunity to spend a few months in lock-up with my father as his roommate.

Recently during a family gathering the size of my father’s penis had come up in conversation. Over the years my sisters and I had heard stories of his mythically large penis. My brother confided that while they were doing time together that he discovered that indeed our father’s penis was huge, so much so that he felt gyped. Needless to say hysterics arose. Out of extreme curiosity I asked my brother to describe exactly how big he was talking. My brother’s eyes lifted and he tilted and shook his head struggling to think of the words to describe my father enormous penis. As he stared off into a corner he slowly said, “It’s like two coke cans”, we busted out in an uproar of laughter. We were all laughing so hard but my brother was still staring into the corner like he hadn’t finished thinking. Slowly our laughter died down and my brother announced, “And a muffin, it’s as big as two coke cans and a muffin.”

Hysterics ensued.

This was the explanation to one of my earlier posts. See Day 47: Alistair is a Cunt!