Tag Archives: humor

Drive-By

Yesterday I had a dentist appointment.

Said sarcastically:  I’ve only been living at the Jersey Shore for 12 years (cough, cough) and my dentist, eye doctor and lady parts doctor are still an hour away.  I could never bring myself to leave them.

So I kill several birds with one stone.  I get my teeth cleaned, visit my mom in the cemetery, visit my dad and feed him hamburgers, subs, ribs and other artery clogging fare and sometimes I even get to see a friend or two.

After an hour trip up the parkway I popped in on Daddy with subs from Jersey Mike’s.  Did I say I was definitely cheating on my diet?  We chatted, caught up and I fixed his TV.

Aside:  My father and his TV issues are massive.  He wasn’t able to watch TV for an entire day because the remote wouldn’t work – and God forbid he called me to ask for help.  No.  He waited until I went up yesterday.  On Monday when I called him, he explained the dilemma and I schooled him in the art of using the DTV box to change channels – voilà TV!

So back to the TV repair daughter… I looked at the remote and realized the 9 was depressed.  I unjammed the number and snap!  The TV turned on and the remote worked!  He thanked me a thousand times, like I cured cancer (I wish).  I love my Dad!

At 2:30 I headed over to the dentist’s, and by 3:30 I was back in my car, top down, music blasting.

Should I ride by my old house?  Maybe I’ll see Skippy or Aunt Dolly?

2012

I gave in to my inner voice and swung by the old homestead.  Wow!  Does it look different!  They built a driveway (we had none) and a carport and an addition.  It looked nice.  It brought back so many memories!

When I returned to my dad’s house, I showed him the pictures.  I’ve been dreaming about that house a lot lately and those pictures made my father dream about it last night too.

He was telling me this morning that he was thinking about how many different people lived in that house.  Originally the house was three rooms (pre-addition) and a small upstairs.  My dad told me there was a host of boarders and tenants that lived with them.

Daddy was a cry-baby (his words, not mine), so he slept with his mother (my Nanoo) in the back bedroom where my Aunt Tootsie and Aunt Mimi also slept.  My Uncle Joe and my grandfather slept in the front room (I always knew it as the parlor) and the tenant d’année lived upstairs.

Imagine all those people in 3 rooms?  Crazy.  The Depression.

In between tenants, when my dad and his siblings got older, he and my Uncle Joe slept upstairs.

Over time tenants came and went, the family grew, moved out and then moved back in with and without their spouses and or children.  My Aunt Tootsie was the first of the family tenants.  Uncle Joe came next.  Then my mom and dad moved in and I came along 4 years later.

After we moved out when I was 4, my Aunt Mimi who was widowed by her 26-year-old husband (he died of testicular cancer) moved in.  I’m not sure of the timeline, but the next person that moved in was my Aunt Tootsie after my Uncle Teddy died.  Mimi moved downstairs with Nanoo and Aunt Tootsie stayed there until she fell ill and moved in with her daughter.

Now it was time for me to move in.  This was my third apartment after leaving my parents’ house.  I quit my job and went back to school for my Master’s Degree and teaching certification.  My parents offered to pay my rent for me but I wasn’t going to make them do that.

My Aunt Mimi asked me if I wanted to live upstairs in my old house, rent free.  Nanoo had already died a while ago and she was very lonely.  So I moved in with all my shit – furniture, clothes – everything!  My dad painted for me and my mom decorated the kitchen with black and white checked contact paper to give the room a little pizzaz.

I showered downstairs and was allowed any overnight guests.  LOL!  That didn’t work.  I had been dating my boyfriend John (now husband) for a while and he used to stay over and I would pretend he showed up at 6 am to see me.  I would go as far as to walk down the stairs, answer the door and walk on all fours back up so it would sound like 2 people coming in.

I was nuts!

Everyday when I came home, Mimi had to hear ALL the events of the day – no matter how mundane.  She and my mom were like the FBI!

I lived in that house for almost 3 years before I got married and moved in with my husband – right up the street.

All my apartments were in the same few block radius.  I went from Evergreen to Entwistle and then down to the end of Entwistle and back up to Passaic Ave – and now I live at the Jersey Shore – but that’s another story.

I loved living in my grandmother’s home.  It was so familiar and brought back so many memories.  I wish that we would have kept the house in the family – but I guess we all have to move on.

Move on but never forget all the good things.

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

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My Life As A Jersey Girl

For the first 4 years of my life, my mom, my dad and I lived upstairs from my paternal grandmother (aka Nanoo) and my Aunt Mary (aka Mimi).

We lived in 3 rooms.  A large old-fashioned kitchen with a big white sink like you would see in the movie A Christmas Story, a large living room with a scratchy yet pristine couch, a smaller flowered love seat that pulled out into a bed, a big reclining chair and a console colored TV.  The bedroom was small with a full-size bedand a small closet.  That was the only closet space in the entire apartment!  Oh wait!  Maybe there was one in the living room.  I can’t remember.

My Nanoo in her kitchen

We had a half bath with a toilet that was so tiny, if you were an adult your knees would hit the pipe directly in front of the bowl.  Showers and baths were taken downstairs at my Nanoo’s but my mother used to bathe me in the large tub adjacent to the kitchen sink.

We had no air conditioning, so we spent most of our warm evenings on the porch swing chatting with the neighbors.  This is the late sixties and early seventies, when you knew your neighbors and actually spent time with them.  This is before everyone got too busy to see each other face to face, before families started moving away from each other instead of living on the same block or in the same house for that matter.

Playing the organ in my Nutley kitchen

This was a time when we all gathered for Sunday dinner at 1:00 in the afternoon to enjoy a giant pot of gravy with meatballs and sausage, and a huge bowl of macaroni (not pasta) that my mom and maternal grandmother (aka Grandma) slaved over for a couple of days just to get the perfect flavor.

My dad and I were always disappointed when mom made a roast beef or some other non-macaroni Sunday dinner.  It just wasn’t the same without the smell of pork and beef wafting through the house.

In the Nutley kitchen with my cousins

In the summers I swam in my Uncle Al’s pool next door.  He really wasn’t my uncle but calling a neighbor or a cousin aunt or uncle to show respect was an upheld practice.  My Aunt Ann (aka Tootsie) also had a pool that we would swim in.  She lived on the next block up the hill from us.

My Nutley childhood is full of fond memories of people, events, smells and daily life.  It was simpler time.

In 1971 we moved to the next town over.  It was only a 5 minute drive but it seemed like a world away.  No more running downstairs to see Nanoo and Mimi.  No more running up the block to visit Aunt Tootsie.  No more running across the Pipeline to visit my Tata (my Nanoo’s sister) and my 2 cousins that were my age, Bobby and David.

I was alone in Bloomfield.  No friends.  No family.  Just mom and dad.

My Poppy (my step-grandfather – really my great-uncle) helped my dad put up a 18 foot above ground pool.  It seemed like days that they were digging.  My dad

In my pool

was a perfectionist.  Everything had to be smooth and level.  When it was done, I couldn’t wait to jump in!

I spent day and night in that pool.  I was part fish.  I learned how to swim underwater first (I had been swimming since I was 2) and then I gradually mastered the art of freestyle.  My dad was a great swimmer who could hold his breath longer than anyone I knew.  He would stay under water for what seemed like hours but was really A LOT of minutes.  It was unbelievable.  No one could match or beat his breath-holding expertise.

One day a neighbor down the street came over with his daughter and introduced himself as Dick and his daughter Susan.  He thought that we might be the same age – and we were.  Susan was my first friend and more importantly, my first BEST friend.  But Susan is another story – I’ll talk about her later.

Back to my my new house…

We finally had air conditioning!  Two units!  We all slept downstairs until I got a little older, then we moved upstairs.  Then we had 2 units downstairs – one in the

My 1st bedroom at our new house

dining room wall and one window unit in the den (once my parent’s room, then the den, now my dad’s room) and one in each of our bedroom windows’ upstairs.

We could NEVER have all 4 on at the same time or they would trip a breaker.  Two at a time my father said.  So during the day we had the downstairs 2 running and at night the upstairs 2.

He used to come in my room to wake me up (I was NEVER a morning person) and bitch and moan because I kept the AC so cold.  He’d walk in and say, “Jesus Christ!  I can see my breath in here!”  I loved it cold in the summer so I could snuggle underneath the covers.

During the summer we spent most of our time in the half finished basement watching TV, eating, playing games (this is when I wasn’t in the pool).  We had another kitchen in the basement and my mom did most of her cooking downstairs 1.  because of the heat of the summer (even with AC) and 2.  because she wanted to keep the upstairs clean.

Did I mention that my mom (and her mother) were OCD, clean-crazy Italians? ALWAYS cleaning the house.  You could literally eat off my grandma’s floors – they were so clean and shiny.

We weren’t ALLOWED to use the front door.  The living room was for company

Sitting in the livingroom

only.  Food was definitely off-limits there.  I wasn’t allowed to sit on my bed after it was made.  My mother always said, “Beds are for sleeping, not for sitting.”

That about sums it up.

My bedroom floor was covered with an itchy indoor/outdoor block carpeting.  It was an ugly gold and I hated stepping on it.  My walls were hidden with white wood paneling and wooden beams framing my bed.  My furniture was a dark, early American clunky set that was popular in the seventies.  One wall had ceramic Hummel’s that my mom made but I was not allowed to put up posters or anything like that.

I loved Donny Osmond and Michael Jackson but posters of the Jackson Five or Puppy Love were out of the question.  Phyllis put her foot down.

We had a half bath upstairs complete with a built-in vanity and a little faux fur covered chair.  It had a big sink that I loved washing my hair in.  All my makeup (when it was time for makeup), hair stuff and other toiletries were tucked away in  3 out of the 8 cabinets.  I loved that part of the house!

The kitchen was an open galley-like kitchen with a wall oven and a stove top.  My

Singing away in the kitchen with Grandma & Poppy

mom set up a small “ice cream table” with 2 chairs so we had someplace to eat besides the dining room – which happened to be adjacent to the kitchen.

The living room had a wall of built-in bookcases and cabinets from floor to ceiling.  It housed all the books we loved to read:  Reader’s Digest, how-to books, nature books, encyclopedias and all the treasures that I bought from the Weekly Reader and various book fairs we had throughout the year at school.

The curtains on the front windows were made with material from Germany or Austria that one of my dad’s bosses brought back for my mom.  They were pretty, white, lace curtains covered by a heavier material drape.

The entire house was wired for sound.  I mean it was ahead of its time.  We had speakers in the livingroom, kitchen, basement and everywhere else – all hooked up to a stereo system complete with turntable, radio and 8 track.

It was cool!

I loved my new neighborhood and my new friends.

To be continued….

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

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Is Monday a dirty word?

Now that I’m off for the summer, my days blur into nights, weekends into the weeks and times and dates are virtually non-existent.

Today, I even forgot to feed my cats dinner.  They ate this morning and have dry food out all day, but for some reason I completely spaced.  Maybe because Bailey, my male cat whose stomach can be used as an alarm clock, was snoozing at the top of the stairs all night long and didn’t bug me to feed him.

Anyhoo… besides vacuuming 2 times today, I did absolutely nothing except make 2 cocktails, drink them and pass out.

Yeah – that about sums it up.  My Sunday in a nutshell.

So now it’s 10:30 pm on Sunday night (I know it’s Sunday because Sookie is on and I know it’s 10:30 because I’m on my laptop) and I’m sitting here watching Newsroom, while Peaches snuggles next to me, trying to figure out what to write for my blog tomorrow and I’m coming up with nothing.

Partially because I have a raging sinus headache and partially because I don’t seem to give shit about anything for some reason.

I have nothing to reflect on tonight because my week has been filled with NOTHING.  Say it with me… NOTHING!

N-O-T-H-I-N-G!

Did I learn anything this week?

  • I learned that I have to shave ALL my areas daily.  I mean – who ever heard of 5:00 shadow on their legs?  Spending your summer in a bikini brings out the beast in my ability to grow hair.
  • I learned that like senior citizens, I now keep track of when I poop.  Furthermore I am jealous of people who poop everyday.
  • I learned – rather re-affirmed – that my cats may be the neediest pets on the Earth.  They don’t leave my side for a sec.  Why can’t they be normal cats who hide and hiss?  Not beg and cuddle and cry constantly.  I love them – who am I kidding?
  • I learned that I know nothing that goes on in my neighborhood.
  • I’ve also learned that I don’t care what goes on in my neighborhood as long as it doesn’t directly involve MOI.
  • I learned that with idle time all I can think about is sex and food – and don’t seem to be getting either.  Damn diet!  Damn husband.

But alas… enough of my rantings.  As you can see it’s a short list.

So tomorrow is Monday and I think I’ll go visit my dad and bring him food and pop over to the cemetery to visit my mom.

Monday WAS a dirty word.  It will be one again in September when I head back to work.  I relish my weekends then.

Is Monday a dirty word for you?

Boy!   I hope my next post is back on target…..

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Summer 2012 – Let The Vacation Begin!

Warning…  I swear a lot in this one….

Well, it’s 2012 and I’m off for the summer, soon to be broke and bored yet again.

This is the third day of my vacation and I’ve been pretty damn industrious.  I started DAY ONE on Tuesday with these Facebook posts:

  • Vacation Day One: Woke up with a headache +. Fed the cats, birds, squirrels and chipmunks. Coffee, breakfast, Facebook, Pinterest, Scramble. A little TV. Vacuumed downstairs and steps. Cleaned downstairs bathroom. Making a pot of gravy. Head better. Time 12:26 pm.
  • Vacation Day One Continued: Laundry. Lunch. Scooped kitty boxes. Washed dishes and cleaned kitchen. Brought pile of shoes upstairs. Admired the sun – maybe I’ll go out on the deck…. Made a batch of meatballs. It’s 1:57 pm.
  • Less industrious this afternoon: tasted a meatball. More laundry. Folded towels. TV, FB, Scramble. Downloaded a book. Thinking about a cocktail.

Not bad for a first day off!

DAY TWO on Wednesday went something like this:

  • It’s going to be 96 today!  I’m going to lay out all day (after I vacuum) and read my book, Not Taco Bell Material.  Let me get my Crystal Light lemonade, my phone, my Blackberry and…. oh shit… I need a beach towel.
  • Damn!  It’s hot out here!  Whew!  I’m sweating my ass off.  Maybe I’ll go inside and have lunch.  Maybe a meatball.  Mmmm.  These are good.  Wait.  I need more lemonade.  Hmmmm… maybe a cocktail.  A Vootbeer – yeah, that’s what I want.  Vanilla Vodka & diet rootbeer.  Yum!
  • Maybe I should lay on my stomach.  My back is so white.  No.  The friggin’ squirrels ate my beanbag lounge – what can I lay on?
  • Boy, this metal deck is hot.  The pool still looks like shit – I guess I’ll hose myself down.
  • Ouch!  That fuckin’ water is hot!  What is it boiling?  Lemme wait until it cools off.  I smell musty now.
  • I have mosquito bites all over me!  WTF!  It’s the middle of the day!  GD Jersey Shore!
  • Fuck this shit!  I’m going inside.  It’s too hot out here anyway.
  • JC!  What’s the temperature in here?  It’s too warm.  JCPL probably cut back on the electricity.  Fuckers.
  • Maybe I should get the mail.
  • Screw this.  I’m not cooking.  We’ll have leftovers.

DAY THREE – Thursday:

  • I can’t believe I was dreaming about Scramble all night.  Seriously.  I need coffee.  Maybe I’ll have some cantaloupe.
  • Oh how cute!  The squirrelies want to eat.  Should we throw them some peanuts kitties?
  • I don’t feel like vacuuming.  I’ll do it later.  I’m going outside.
  • Wow!  It’s hotter than yesterday!  Let’s see how long I’ll last.  I’m laying on my stomach today.  This towel should work.  Holy shit!  I think I burnt my boob!  This damn deck is like a frying pan.
  • I think I’m losing a cup-size.  I’m going inside.  This is ridiculous.
  • What day is it?  When’s the last time I showered?  I smell.  I’ll shower later.
  • Oooo… anyone on Scramble?

As you can see my week is deteriorating quickly.  I spent most of the day taking pictures of my pussies and backyard wildlife and posting them on Facebook,  fucking around on Pinterest and looking up recipes for Jello Shots!

It’s too humid to lay out without a swimable pool, work around the house, cook, bake or think!  

I know.  I shouldn’t bitch.  I have the summer off.  How many more days of this?

I really need a summer job!

Can anyone relate?   Teachers perhaps?

I’ll tell you one thing – if it’s only day three and I can’t remember the last time I bathed, I’m already in trouble.  At least I’m not double-fisting Champagne by the pool yet…  just give me a few more days.

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Kitty Talk: An Embarassing Admission Part 2

I don’t know about you, but I can’t help but baby-talk to my 3 kitty cats.  My husband makes fun of my catlingo but my babies know exactly what I say – at least I think they do.  With names like Bailey Boots Little Pussy, Peaches N. Crème de Menthe & Tia Maria Tigresse, it’s hard not to have fun.

Besides Peaches, Tia and Bailey I call them tons of names.  I don’t know how they know who I’m talking to, but they do:

  • Bailey, Boots, Bear, Buddy, Mommy, Bootseree, Baldor, G Boy, Mommy’s Boy, Kitty Cat Bat, Tee La, Mommy Ska La, Foo Fighter, Pretty Boy, Boo, Smee, Snuggy, Ma Moo, Boo Bear Boy, Teess, Swee, Cheese, Chicken, Mummy, Boodis, Butter Bean….
  • Peaches, Bear, Mommy’s Girl, Mommy, Bunny Girl, Cotton Tail, G, Buddy, La, Peachka, Snuggy, Bunny, Buddy Girl, Cheese, Chicken, Mummy, Butter….
  • Tia, Ti Ti, Ti Boo, Ti Boozen, Tia Boo bia, Tee, Baby Tee, Little Tee, Mommy’s Girl….

They also have their own theme songs (yes, I’m nuts).  If I sing Bailey’s song, he comes and Peaches does the same.  Tia – not sure.  Do you want to hear them?  Again, I know I’m nuts but I love my babies.

  • Bailey Bear with black hair, he’s my Bailey, Bailey Bear.
  • Peaches N. Cream, Peaches N. Cream, little itty bitty, bitty Peaches N. Cream.
  • Tia Boobia, foo-fighter fia, Tia.

My Catlingo continues to not only names and songs but to everyday cat chat.

Food is foodis.  Do you want me to open the door for you is you want Mommy opee up?  Do you want to go to bed becomes you wanna go seepy in the bed?  The only thing that seems to stay the same is do you want to eat? The backyard wildlife all have names too.

  • squirrels = squirrlees
  • chipmunks = ship monkeys
  • birds = birdies
  • rabbits = bunny wabbits
  • bugs = buggies
  • mice = mousies
  • ants = anties
  • cats = kitty cat friends

That about covers the yard and surrounding areas.  I know I sound like a total nut but I remember my parents always talking baby talk to our dogs when I was growing up.  Even with my pets, my mom, when she was alive and my dad always talked baby-talk to their grand-cats.  It’s a given.

Do you?  I think almost everybody does it, but many don’t admit it.  I can’t believe I am!

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Separate Bedrooms: The New Retro-Modern

I wrote this blog back in April…

A couple of years ago my husband and I had a huge fight (probably over something stupid) and he moved into the spare bedroom.

To this day he drifts in and out of our boudoir for various reasons:  sex, sleep, intimacy, his bed is not made….  Frankly, I am so used to sleeping alone (well not alone – with 1, 2 or 3 cats) that when he decides to invade my personal space (Isn’t that what marriage is?) without warning, I get absolutely NO SLEEP.

By the time I get acclimated to a warm, non-furry body next to me, he’s gone again because of his crazy work schedule.

Back to the lack of sound sleep….

Girls… you know what I’m talking about.  The burping, farting, snoring and general restlessness of a man is difficult  to look forward to.

My friend tries to convince me that it’s part of marriage and she’ll never go to sleep  without her husband next to her.  I agree – but once you get used to the less smelly, less noisy version of sleep, it’s hard to go back.  I already have to deal with the cats and my own ADHD.  Damn!  I take to 2 Benadryl every night so so I can fall asleep at a decent hour.

I am not a cuddler.  I am always warm and can’t stand the idea of someone snuggled up against me.  Maybe I’m a guy in a chick’s body?  Who knows!

It definitely got me thinking about the past and the practice of separatebedrooms.  My parents always slept in the same bed, but I think the kings and queens of Europe had the right idea.

Are separate bedrooms the new retro modern?

I think so.  Right or wrong.  Good or bad.  I think if it works for you, go for it.  What do you think?  I’d love to hear from you.

By the way, he’s back in the bed….  It was nice while it lasted.

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Image: photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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More ROOTS than Alex Haley?

When my husband tells me that I have more ROOTS than Alex Haley, I know it’s time to have my hair done.  Yes, it’s true, I’m long overdue, but sitting in the salon for hours and hours is not my idea of fun.

Losing a few hours in the chair is only part of it.  It will cost me +$200 + tip to get a cut, color and highlights and then have to wait a week for my hair to recover from hair-shock before I actually start liking it.  And the color?  The color is NEVER the same.  It’s either too blonde or too red or too ashy or too “not what I wanted”.

My hairdresser is great with color so it must be me.  I never seem to be satisfied with my “do”.  Maybe that’s why I wait so long to go back.  After 3 weeks my roots grow in but I tend to wait months.  Don’t forget about the cost of shampoo, conditioner, Keratin Mist, hair shine, silk infusion, root lift and hairspray.

As women we also have to worry about our nails.  I need to get them done at least once a month (not bad) and that’s not including warm-weather pedicures.  Our eyebrows, among other things,  need to be waxed.  We have to take care of our “stache” and buy a load of face creams, serums, collagen, $24 face wash, tightening lotions and makeup.  Don’t forget about teeth-whitening products and $45 body lotions.  All so we can look good and feel good.

What do men do?  Maybe some moisturizer?  Gel for their hair?  Men are usually not even concerned with changing their skid-marked underwear for a pair of new ones.  Most could care less if they wear brown, blue, black and beige all at the same time.  Yet even though the studies say, women dress for women and not men, we still want to look good for our spouses whether we’re 200 pounds or 100.

If I go out in sweats and no makeup, my husband says, “You’re going out like that?”  Make me feel good why don’t you.  So why don’t they think the same way?  Duh!  Because they’re men.  So ladies, raise your hands if you agree.  Try not to fault them no matter how much they piss you off.   Just love them for who they are…  farting, burping, loving husbands.

Image: photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.  Republished 2011.

Discourteous Richards: Always Alive & Well in NJ

I love to drive.  I own a BMW for Pete’s Sake.  They say it’s the Ultimate Driving Machine – and it is.  I love to maneuver up the Garden State Parkway sans traffic, put the petal to the metal and enjoy the ride.

With the top down, my IPOD at full blast I am unstoppable until I am hindered by none other than the Left Lane Dick.

The discourteous Richard:

  1. has no idea he or she is an idiot retarding your progress.
  2. has no clue that it is the law in NJ to keep right and pass left.
  3. is from New York or Pennsylvania – notorious Left Lane Dicks.
  4. is hanging in the left lane on purpose because he or she really is a douchebag.

Nothing makes me road rage more than a taste of a left lane lagger.

I have a 20 minute drive to work door to door and I find myself losing my mind as I try to fly up the highway.  I tailgate.  I scream.  I swear excessively.  I hand gesture and flip the bird.  I drive with my knee.  I pull up next to people and actually yell at them.  I cut them off.  I lose my mind!

When one of my road adversaries gets cocky and thinks he can scare me by tailgating my pristine automobile, I look in the rear view mirror, gesture to him to come closer, swear a few times, then slam on my brakes.  He usually backs off.

I’m tired of being strong-armed by stupid men and women on the road.  I drive like Mario Andretti – not a typical chick – no offense to my gender or any other but STAY OUT OF THE LEFT LANE!

Even if I’m passing on the left doing 95 mph and someone wants to go faster, I move it on over because that’s the way it should be.  Bottlenecking every single lane of the Parkway does nothing but create traffic and cause road rage.

Don’t we have enough of distractions on the road?  We need eyes up our butts and are distracted by screaming kids (not me), loud music, rubber-necking, LLDs and now the GPS.  It’s always so confusing.  It should stand for Go Ahead And Piss Me Off System.  It finds new ways to screw me up while I’m driving but I have found a new use for it.

I Spy.  Remember that game?  You tell me.  What do you see in my picture?  At least it’s good for amusement purposes.

So with all we have to worry about while driving, I wish we could get rid of the Left Lane Dick and push him into extinction because no one should be held back by a jerk off.

You can use that advice in life too.  Good luck.

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010. Re-published 2011.

My Early Morning Rant… And It’s Only Tuesday!

Last night I had terrible insomnia.  Without the use of much-needed Benadryl, I watched TV until I miraculously drifted off to sleep.

At 3 am like clockwork, my bladder beckons me and I roll out of bed, eyes half-closed, dragging my feet, but managing to step on my poor, little kitty Tia pretty damn hard.  Why the hell was she sleeping on the bathroom rug?

As usual 4 am comes early when you have a noisy husband who hates that his wife is home on vacation for 2 months in the summer.  Bang, bang, clack, crash, grrrrind, slam…. and he’s off… and I’m getting up to pee.

I rolled back into bed and Peaches joined me – she must have been looking out the front window.  I called for Tia – the poor kitty I crushed this morning – but she didn’t come.  I heard noise so I naturally assumed she was locked in somewhere.

Sure enough I open the guest room and smack her with door as she was eager to escape.  Poor Tia!

Now I’m really up.  Bailey is not even up yet!

I turn on Clean House: The Messiest Home in America – because frankly, there’s nothing else on at that time of the morning.  Maybe I’ll get motivated.

Oh yeah – let me text John and let him know that he locked the cat in the spare bedroom!

I thought I heard the phone, so I send another text and sure enough… he forgot his phone.  Great way to ignore me for the day!

Well, I might as well get the hell out of bed and make coffee.

As I reached the top of the stairs I noticed that the front door was left ajar once again.  I swear someone is going to come and kill me some day!

I also saw my tennis bag thrown on the floor of the foyer but no tennis racket (I guess that’s still in the car) – he must have taken MY car!

Yep.  The car’s gone and I can’t play tennis without my racket!

Oh well. I’m over it… until I open the fridge and realize that his lunch is still there but my marinating tortellini salad, that I made last night for company today, is gone.  I hid it in the fruit bin too!  So I guess I have to cancel my plans.  So annoyed.

MX@@#r F@@@XX!!!!!!!  XXXOOO@@XV!!!!!!

It’s only 7 am and I’m already pissed off!

So after all that ranting, here’s my recipe for Tortellini Salad.

Jacqui’s Tortellini Salad

1 lb tortellini, cooked and cooled
1 can corn, drained
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 small garden pepper, chopped
a sprinkle each of gray salt, pepper, garlic powder, cumin, ground coriander and salsa seasoning 
extra virgin olive oil

Mix all ingredients in a bowl.  Stir well.  Serve immediately or refrigerate overnight to allow the flavors to meld.

Serves 4-6

It’s easy and tasty, so enjoy!

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Twenties vs. Forties: A Top 20 REVISITED

After having one of those days where I just should have stayed in bed, I pondered my life both then and now and decided to make a side-by-side comparison of

Mom & Me in my twenties

what I wanted from life or did in my twenties and what I want from life or do now that I’m almost 43.

Things change and priorities shift as you get older.  When you have kids they change even more.  As a responsible adult sometimes fun gets put on the back-burner and a once clear-head become non-existent.  I miss that clear-head.

Me in my forties

When I was 20 I was living it up in Paris on my parents’ dime, footloose and fancy free.  My only concern was where the next best soirée would be held and who was going to be on the guest list of my next party.  At 43 I worry about paying my bills, money in general, the health and well-being of my family, my health, taking care of my cats, going to work and the list continues.

So let’s take this point by point so we examine the age gap and maybe now understand what our parents went through with us as cranky teenagers and crankier twenty somethings.

  1. 20:  I wanted a hot guy with a hot car.  Hondas need not apply.
    40:  I want my hot guy with his hot car.
  2. 20:  I drove a fast 1978 Camaro LT, 350 4-barrel with louvers, air shocks, fat tires and a spoiler.  I had a lead-foot.
    40:  I drive a fast BMW convertible  with fat tires and I still have a lead-foot.
  3. 20:  I worked at TSV Video (when I was in the US), watched movies all day, drank wine, flirted with the customers, watched and recommended porno, loved my boss Stan and used to arrange Gumby-like toys in sexual positions on his desk every night.  I rarely had to deal with any bullsh**.  My biggest responsibility was making change and setting the alarm.
    40:  I work as a teacher, enlighten impressionable minds all day, drown in paperwork, drink water or Crystal Light, recommend places to visit in Paris and I’m not commenting on the boss.  I constantly have to deal with bullsh**  from EVERYONE.  My BIG responsibility is other people’s children.
  4. 20:  I had a dog.  My parents took care of her and I played with her.
    40:  I have 2 cats and I take care of them:  butt wiping, baths, litter box scooping, trips to the vet, cuddling partner, Mommy, playmate.
  5. 20:  I pounded shots.  Many shots.  Body shots.
    40:  I sip good wine.  A lot of wine.  All kinds of wine.
  6. 20:  I tried to figured out new ways to get away from my parents.
    40:  I wish I still had both my mom and dad and now love spending time with my Daddy.
  7. 20:  I had a Mandee Charge Card and no debt.
    40:  I have too many credit cards to count and debt up the wazoo.
  8. 20:  I weighed 120 pounds and ate anything I wanted.
    40:  I’m always on a diet!
  9. 20:  I would stay out all night and party.
    40:  I will stay out all night and party but try to get home by 4 so I don’t piss off the husband.
  10. 20:  I wanted to be a translator for the U.N. or a big-wig in the international business world.
    40:  I want to keep my teaching job and hope my pension will still be there.
  11. 20:  I slathered on baby oil so I could get that deep, dark tan.
    40:  I slather on sun block and skin repairing cream to try to undo the sun damage of yesteryear.
  12. 20:  I had big, whorey hair.
    40:  I have big, whorey hair.
  13. 20:  Fifty dollars was a lot to spend on shoes.
    40:  Now I try not to spend over $500.
  14. 20:  I had no kids.
    40:  I still have no kids (by choice).
  15. 20:  I never wanted to go home.
    40:  I can’t wait to get home.
  16. 20:  I lived in France and loved it.
    40:  I want to live in France and I still love it.
  17. 20:  I had a boyfriend who wanted me to look like a Barbie doll.
    40:  I have a husband who wants me to look like a Barbie doll.
  18. 20:  Dressing like a whore was always an option.
    40:  Dressing like a whore is a weekend only option.
  19. 20:  I went to the gym almost every day.
    40:  I stare at all the gym equipment in my house and dust it off once and a while.
  20. 20:  I stared at myself in the mirror and thought about how hot I looked.
    40:  I stare at myself in the mirror and notice fine lines and aging and think about when I can get my first facelift.

Some things have changed and some things have stayed the same.  I believe age is only a number (even though it keeps creeping around like a bad case of crabs) but with age come wisdom and knowledge.  I’ve heard before that youth is wasted on the young.  I believe it now.  If we only knew then what we know now, we could have ruled the world.

I don’t know about you but I’m not done yet and I still plan on ruling the world.

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010. Re-published 2011.