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Showing posts with label jersey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jersey. Show all posts

3/12/2024

Jessie's Girls

Rick Springfield was my very first concert. 

It was July 26, 1985 and I was just about to turn 12.  We went as a family, which also made it my 7 year old brother's first concert too.  

You're welcome.

I don't really remember what I wore, but I know my mom dressed him in a button down, khakis and loafers like he was going to an insurance convention.  

We piled into our gray Chrysler LeBarron on a sweaty summer day, and cruised on down Route 3 toward Brendan Byrne Arena in East Rutherford, NJ. This venue changed names a few times over the years, to Continental Airlines to Izod to Meadowlands, and now I think is closed, but it used to be a pretty happening place.  It was also the spot where I saw my first concert with my friends at age 15 (on a school night!).

It was Bon Jovi. Yes, I am the quintessential 80s Jersey Girl and had the hair to prove it.

Anyway, back to my first love, Rick, aka dreamy Dr. Noah Drake on GH. 

As a pre-bday treat, we had floor seats a few rows from the stage. I don't think I understood how special that was at the time, but I know now. I do remember the excitement in the air when the lights dimmed as 'Til Tuesday opened and sang their one-hit-wonder, Voices Carry. 

Hush, hush! You might say ol' Richard's a one-hit-wonder too, but you'd be wrong. Sure, Jessie's Girl was #1 on the charts and in my heart in August 1981 (which, incicentally, is also when MTV was born), but no doubt if you were alive and had ears in the 80s, you've heard most of these catchy ditties:

  • Jessie's Girl
  • Love Somebody
  • Love Is Alright Tonite
  • I've Done Everything for You
  • Don't Talk to Strangers
  • Don't Walk Away
  • Bop 'Til You Drop
  • I Get Excited

So, imagine MY excitement when I heard he was coming to Florida's Friendliest Hometown. Nearly 40 years later, my mom and I were able to come full circle and relive an awesome memory from a lifetime ago.

As a treat this go round, I came thisclose to buying an autographed guitar for a cool $1K just to get to go backstage and meet him. But alas, cooler heads prevailed (aka my mom) and I settled for a t-shirt and an autographed Working Class Dog CD (which I can't actually play bc I don't have a CD player anymore, but is still befitting this trip down memory lane).

And at 74 years old (whaaaat?), Rick put on a helluva show. 

Singing and strumming and dancing and prancing across the arm rests in the audience to the tune of Human Touch. Iconic. He belted out all the songs above (which he also wrote), plus a few more including a surprise rendition of 867-5309/Jenny -- which is NOT his song, but it is MY theme song.

It's like he knew I was there...

So here's to you, Rick Springfield, for letting us feel like teenagers again, making us all wish we were Jessie's Girl and teaching millions the meaning of the word "moot."

3/11/2021

Bye Bye Boken

I was born in the Bronx and lived there for the first 6 years of my life.  I've also lived in NYC and CT -- twice.  But I've spent the majority of my life in NJ and I'm a Jersey Girl at heart.

There's nothing I don't love about the Garden State.

(And yes, I know that's a double negative, and no, I don't care.)

It's so pretty -- don't let anyone tell you different. The public school system is terrific -- no joke, we rank #1 in the nation for pre-K-12.  The people have huge hearts -- you just have to earn it.  Every gas station in the whole state is full-service -- pumping your own is simply barbaric.  

And the food is the BEST -- just try getting a decent bagel or pizza or chicken parm outside the Tristate Area.  It can't be done!

So, you might be asking yourself, why I would leave the paradise that is New Jersey (she asked without a trace of sarcasm in her voice)?

Well, as much as I love it -- and it's really all I know -- 2020 was a rough year for many reasons, not the least of which was my parents' health. They saw more doctors and hospitals in the past year than they've seen my whole life.

It became crystal clear to me that we can't be 1000 miles apart anymore.

I considered moving them back up north, or moving all of us to the Chicago area to be near my brother, but truly the best thing for them is for me to fit into their lives, not the other way around.  Deciding to make the move to Florida to help care for them was a tough one, but I know in my heart it's the right thing to do. And lucky for me, I found a great job in their community doing what I love.

I believe things start to align when you're on the right track.

So, this week, my brother flew down to be with my parents, while I drove home from FL to NJ for the first time since last June.  After 9 months away, my apartment had become the world's most expensive storage unit.  I hired a company to pack, move and put all my stuff into an actual storage unit.  And tomorrow, I turn over my apt keys and drive back down to FL.  For good.  

All this, in the span of a week.

So, now I sit here in Hoboken by the glow of my oldest friend -- TV -- surrounded by boxes stacked to the ceiling.  Exhausted, yet unable to sleep.  I'm typing this with a heavy heart for the many people and things I'll dearly miss.  

But I DO have a full belly.

I mean, I really couldn't leave town without ordering ALL my favorite dishes, right?  At emotional times like this, I turn to food for comfort.  Here's a hearty helping...



My go-to from Napolis --
large vodka pizza, arancini & cannoli. Buon appetito!

Del Frisco's Grille serves up a fine steak salad,
but the cheesesteak eggrolls are really where it's at.

You haven't lived until you've had
a prosciutto & mutz hero from Vito's Deli.
(Eating it on top of a moving box is optional.)

NJ is the Diner Capital of the World, so naturally,
I needed a grilled cheese w bacon & crispy o-rings
from Malibu Diner, a Hoboken fixture since the 40s.

Did you even order from Sushi Lounge if you didn't get
crispy rice?  No.  Also, some edamame and spring,
super kani and cali rolls came along for the ride.

A final stop at O'Bagel for a toasted sesame with cream cheese
and a Snapple. My breakfast of champions since high school.


If I had more time, I also would have eaten my way through Charritos, Benny Tudino's, Arthur's, Grimaldi's, Madison's and House of Que too.

SO, smell ya later, Jersey!

Kiiidding.

I find humor helps in these situations.  But seriously, stay #HobokenStrong.  I miss you already...


7/27/2019

Dear DMV

I love driving in Jersey.

Our highways are great. I think the jughandle is a glorious way to make a left turn.  It's sheer bliss that we don't have to pump our own gas.  I even think our state smells good!

You know what driving stereotype I DO believe?

The DMV is the worst.

YOU. ARE. THE. WORST.

When you sent me a letter telling me my license was expiring, I cringed. You told me I could renew by mail and save time. But you know what?  I hate my photo.  It's terrible. I blame you!

So, my vanity overruled my logic and I decided to come in for a visit.

Mistake.

The only time I've ever been psyched to be at the DMV was on my bday was when I turned 17 and got my first license. In fact, it was at the very same DMV I visited today.  The place was old 30 years ago.

Now, it's a complete shithole. (See above.)

A trip to the DMV is like a day in purgatory. The one in Wayne is literally falling apart. Even the signs that say "pardon our appearance" are peeling off. (The jig is up - no one believes something new is coming soon.) Everyone stands in line for HOURS. Are chairs so expensive? There is ZERO air in the dead of summer. Would a fan kill you?

Oh, and all your employees are like hostile zombies. Even the woman emptying the trash wore a tshirt that said "enemies" across the front.

So, morale is obviously an issue.

You know what else is an issue?  EFFICIENCY!

I actually had to visit you TWO times and spend almost FIVE hours of my life to get a valid, in-state  license renewed. Shocked?  Me neither.

Last Saturday, I arrived at 1pm and stood in a line under fluorescent lights in a steamy side room for two loooong hours until you closed. A smiling man in a yellow shirt eventually turned us away and cheerfully said to come back on Monday.

I bet he gets punched a lot.

Do you think if I could come on a Monday, I'd waste my Saturday with YOU?

No.

Today, I came back because I am obviously insane. I arrived at 11am -- FOUR hours before closing.  This time, we stood in a line OUTSIDE, baking in the sun. I didn't think to bring my sunscreen to the DMV, but no doubt the SPF would have washed away in a river of my sweat.




At noon, an officer told us that they might have accepted all the people they could see for the day.

Please note: It was still THREE hours until closing.

Ummm... what country are we in? What century is this?? What. The. Eff.

Please know, I speak not only for myself, but for the people I stood on line with. Twice. Inside and outside your flawed facility, my neighbors were very vocal as we experienced the 5 stages of grief together:

DENIAL
   "This shit costs how much?"
   "I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm going to Bloomingdales."

ANGER
   "Bitch, we're not moving"
   "I'm about to say fuck it & drive illegally."

BARGAINING
   "You want to sit in the car? No. If I have to suffer, so do you."
   "I owe you. We're hitting up Sonic after this. Get some tots and a Coney!"

DEPRESSION
   "I wish I would have never lost my license."
   "This line is mad long. I'm about to die."

ACCEPTANCE
   "There is no amount of deodorant that can keep me from stinking right now."
   "This is the greatest day of my life!"

(That last kid was getting his first license and a convertible BMW.  He doesn't count.)

In a miraculous twist, they let more of us inside. When I finally sloshed up to the counter -- nearly three hours later -- I noticed the woman who processed my paperwork was wearing a sweater.

"The break room is so cold," she said.

Right then, my head exploded, which was unfortunate because I was about to take a pic.

You take BREAKS when a hundred people are standing in the sun? And you CRANK the air conditioning in the break room while every other area is a sauna? And your staff is STILL miserable?

I can't.

After all that nonsense, I did get my license.  When she handed it to me, she said, "Pretty."

Don't you try to sweet talk me. Get it together, DMV!

You are awful.
Jen

9/10/2017

Back to School

Sorry...I went on a little writing hiatus.  But I'm back!

Let's get caught up: I turned 44. I miss Coke Zero. I liked Ozark, but didn't love it.  I'm psyched about Amazon & Whole Foods.  North Korea is giving me hives. Irma gave me 100 gray hairs. And I'm pissed Equifax leaked all our data.

Ok?  Ok.

So it's been a minute since I've been a student.  Or 11,563,200 minutes, but who's counting?

I was recently asked to give some advice to a graduating high school senior.  Over the years, I've given a lot of advice to students graduating college, but this was a first.

Oh, and she was born in 2000.  Just let that soak in for a minute...

Anyway, when I think about my own experience at her age, I was a pretty serious about school.  I was decently popular, but I do feel like I missed out on life because I was so wrapped up being the perfect student and daughter.

I was in mostly honors and AP classes.  I made the National Honor Society.  I tracked my grade point average down to the hundredth of a decimal point.  I kept a list of every book I ever read.  I graduated in the top 10% of my class.  I did well on my SATs, was accepted early decision to college, and started with a few credits in the bag because of my scores on the AP English test.  I never cut school, never drank, never snuck out at night.  I lived a very G-rated life.

College was a different story.

I didn't go crazy, but I definitely relaxed.  A lot.  Pretty early on I realized I didn't have to work all that hard and I'd still get grades of the A and B (and occasionally C) variety.

I worked my way into the classes I wanted so my roommate and I could have the same schedule (that was back when nothing was online so you could tell the professor that the registrar signed you up and tell the registrar that the professor signed you up -- and no one was the wiser).  I went to class regularly, but didn't study much.  I wrote every paper the night before it was due.  I slept through a French final (and still somehow got a B).  We went out 4 nights a week.  At least.

And I did just fine.

I graduated college with a 3.45.  Looking back, I wish I pushed myself just a tiiiny bit to make Dean's List at 3.5.

But I'm sure there was a happy medium between my high school and college self.  So when it came time to give that advice, here's what I said:

  • Go to class -- seriously, just go. It's why you're there. And you won't have to study as hard if you just listen and take notes.
  • Use the buddy system -- college is so much easier to navigate with a friend.
  • Figure it out -- you are in a giant safety net, use this time to learn what you like and what you don't about school, subjects, activities, relationships & life.
  • Be smart -- nothing is private and social media lives forever, so watch what you say and do or your parents will disown you and no one will hire you when you graduate. Kidding.  (Not really.)
  • Take naps -- preschool and college are the only times this is acceptable until you're 70, enjoy it.


So, how'd I do?  What would YOU have said?  Give me some advice below...


tags: jersey, rants


8/13/2016

Put Me in Coach

As I type this I'm sitting on a plane watching the Olympics.

Tennis.  Men's singles.  Nadal vs Del Potro. Nadal is winning. Maybe.  More on that later...

I think the Rio Olympics are coming at an interesting time.  Right now, we really need something to unite us as Americans -- to forget our differences, cheer for Team USA athletes (and their moms), and avoid mosquitos carrying the Zika virus.

Now, I don't consider myself a particularly sporty person. (What?!?  It's true. I don't like to sweat.)  But a little known fact about me: I've actually played FIVE legit sports in my life.

And no, I do not count competitive TV watching among them.


It all started with GYMNASTICS in the 3rd grade. That was very shortlived.  I loved the bodysuits and pigtails.  Who wouldn't? But gravity is a tough opponent. No matter what they tried, nobody could teach me to do a cartwheel, much less a back handspring.

I was more or a summersault kind of gal.  I don't think they give medals for that.







Then came SOFTBALL.  I was in the 4th grade and we just moved to good old Pine Brook.  My mom signed me up at the community center and my dad volunteered to be the coach.  I have no idea how he did it, being that he worked in NYC and all our games started at 4pm.  But that 100% explains how I played 2nd base for 4 years.

Yep.  Jackie Robinson.  Willie Randolph. And me.

This pic here shows our amazing uniform. We were nicknamed the Golddiggers, but not in a Kanye way.  More like we missed every ball that came our way.  My dad assumed it was because we were busy digging for gold in the outfield.




Once I realized I was wasn't turning pro, I switched gears to TENNIS.  My childhood best friend and I took lessons the summer after Freshman and Sophomore years  at a local country club where her family belonged. I'm pretty sure it was the basis for Red Oaks.  I remember everything about it -- my Tretorns, my brown Wilson racquet with the rainbow grip, my vast collection of Polo shirts.  What I do NOT remember is how to keep score.  Which is why I'm lost watching the Olympics right now.

Truth is, I was distracted by 2 boys -- brothers -- who we had crushes on.  I couldn't serve to save my life, but I had a decent backhand.  At least that's what our (paid) instructor told me.



Next up was FIELD HOCKEY.  I played an entire summer clinic before Junior year started. In the boiling heat.  I remember the skill drills, and the Indian sprints (though I'm guessing they're called something different now).  This was actually a sport I was good at!  Hockey spoke to my competitive nature.  Plus the uniforms were adorbs.  Two words: Plaid skirts.

I played a position called sweeper.  I even made the team! But it wasn't meant to be.  My hand got smashed between some sticks one day in early September during a scrimmage while we were fighting for the ball and I got nervous I would never have a career as an artist.  Ha.

So I quit.  But luckily, I still retained the benefit of never having to participate in gym class again for the remainder of my time as a Montville Mustang.


I laid low on the athletic scene until Sophomore year in college when I decided to try CHEERLEADING.  Think that's not a sport?  Watch Bring it On and get back to me. (Of course, I can't do any of those tricks, but I'm peppy. And strong!)

My roommate and I made a deal, I wanted to go out for the radio station and she wanted cheering, so we did both.  She was a Mighty Hornet cheerleader from a neighboring high school, and I was a cheerleader for the Montville Broncos in the 5th grade (see evidence above).  I would draw from that formative experience.

So, we tried out and made the team!  Cheerleaders for women's basketball... talk about depressing.  But very early in the season we got a lucky break.

The hot, pyramid-making, toss-them-in-the-air tiny cheerleaders for the men's basketball team did something to piss the athletic dept off and they kicked them all off the squad.  This left a glorioius opening for us to cheer for -- and travel with -- the men's basketball team.

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!

We partied with our mascot, The Stag (now lamely called Lucas).  We even cheered on the floor of Madison Square Garden!  That was fun.

I'm pretty sure I wasn't very good at this either, which is why I did it for only 1 year and did the radio station for 3.  But I did like the white uniforms.

I sense a trend here...

So, what have we learned?  Rallying together behind America -- good.  Zika virus -- bad.  Sports and me -- not a winning combination.

But at least I looked cute doing them.

So, were YOU an all-star athlete?  A benchwarmer?  A facepainter?  Share your stats below...


tags: jersey, sports

7/10/2016

Freedom

Ahem... is this thing still on?

Hard to say.

I'm sorry.  I know it's been ages.

You probably can't tell but I think about writing a lot.  Really, I do!  I compose posts in my head all the time.  They just don't actually make it to any place where people can read them.

I will do better.

So, let's catch up.  In the last 2 months:

  • My hair accidentally got dyed red.  It looked horrible.  Suffice it to say, I won't be going to Becky anymore.  It is now back to brown and all is right with the universe.
  • I produced a huge event, which required me to work for a month straight, including weekends. 
  • I also threw a 50th anniversary party for my parents in FL -- more on that in my next post.
  • I binged on a bunch of new(ish) shows -- Bloodline (Netflix), Roadies (Showtime), American Gothic (CBS), Animal Kingdom (TNT), UnReal (Lifetime) and Casual (Amazon) are worth a spin. The Night Of (HBO) also looks promising.  And for a good old dose of nostalgia, I've been watching Gilmore Girls (Up) reruns on the phone with my mom while we wait for the new one.
  • Speaking of nostalgia, I bought a pack of Fruit Stripe gum,  I used to love that as a kid.  It's terrible as an adult.  Itch scratched.
  • I've developed a mild addiction to Bai antioxidant drinks.  I'm partial to Costa Rica Clementine, Kula Watermelon, and Andes Coconut Lime.
  • I'm FINALLY off the steroids.  So, maybe I can get back to looking like myself.
  • I started driving for Uber.
I'm kidding on that last one. I hate strangers!

But I COULD drive for Uber now if I wanted to, because... I got myself a new car! I figure after 8 loooong years of being car-free, I did my part to help the environment.

Birds, you're welcome.

Now, its a luxury SUV for me. It's fast and shiny and black and perfect.

A car is freedom.

Some people hate driving.  Not me.  I made myself a car playlist that's like a soundtrack to my life.  I got a trunk organizer.  I renewed my EZ Pass and I sit in Lincoln Tunnel traffic every day on the way to and from work.  But I don't even care!  I love every single second.

I leased the same kind of car I used to have but it's gotten quite an upgrade.  It's like a spaceship.  It's keyless and voice-activated.  It has sensors all around that beep when I'm too close to something (or something is too close to me).  I think it parks itself.  It doesn't drive itself but I bet it would call for a pizza if I asked it to.

One thing that thankfully hasn't changed is that Jersey Girls still don't pump gas.  The Garden State says "no thanks" to self-serve stations.  I never even knew that was a thing until I went to college in CT.  Let me go on the record to say it's absolutely barbaric to pump your own gas.  

I'm glad some things stay the same.

Another thing that's still alive and kicking is sexism at the car dealership!  I went in by myself to spend my own money on my own car.  Every other jackass in this very fancy place was just window shopping.  And there I was, checkbook in hand.  But you know the first question they asked after my name?  

Is that Mrs or Miss?  

Pump the brakes, Allen.  This isn't 1956.  And who knows, maybe I am married in a parallel universe where you are also tall, good looking, and smart.

Anyway, back to the good news: I have a car and I can go to Target anytime I want.

So, where else should I visit?  Tell me in the comments below!


9/21/2014

New View

Remember when I mentioned I was moving?  Well, I did! 

Goodbye Big Apple, hello Garden State. 

I spent the first 5 years of my life in the Bronx, and the last 6 years in Manhattan.  And I liked it!  But let's face it, it's not like I was out at da club every night.  Or any night.  Ever. 

Aside from my easy breezy commute and delivery of absolutely anything to my doorstep, I don't know that I took advantage of all NYC had to offer, and that's on me.  But I don't have the free time, the wardrobe, or the energy to keep pace with the city that never sleeps.

I do know this: It feels good to be home. 

And probably not a minute too soon, as a lingering black mold situation in my old apt was probably killing me.  Or at the very least was "the match that lit a flame in my immune system," according to one of the docs I saw.

Anyhoo... my new digs are nicer, newer, 50% bigger, $600/mo. cheaper, and 100% more Jersey.  Yeah.  I may need my head examined next. 

Why didn't I do this YEARS ago?

Oh, and did I mention my view?  Remember my old view?  Now, this is what you'd see if you were standing on my terrace.  Not too shabby, right?  Come over sometime and I'll grill you up a juicy burger!

I've always said New York looks prettiest from New Jersey.  And when I'm not working, I can still keep an eye on her, but live in peace and quiet across the river.  Win win. 

With all this savings, I may even get a car again!  You didn't think I would actually SAVE the money, like, in a bank account, so I could buy a place and stop flushing $ down the toilet on rent -- did you? 

Silly.

So, a few days ago this blog officially had its six year anniversary.  Sadly, I've been blogging FAR less than I would like to, but I still love the old girl just the same.  And I love YOU for still reading it!  I know it's been a little stale lately.  Ok, ok, okaaaay.  A lot stale. 

I'm sure I will get inspired by my new view...

Now, as I did in 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013, here's a fond look back:

Total Posts I've Written (including this one):
253

Average Number of Posts I Write Per Month:
1.9 (down from 3.2 last year)

Average Number of Unique Visitors Per Month:
282 (up from 245 last year)

Average Pageviews Per Month:
1,490 (up from 1,071 last year)

Most Traffic Comes From:
Pinterest

Most-Read Blog Posts Ever:
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Pinterest (December 2012)
20 Apps I Adore (January 2012)
Pepe Le Pew (June 2011)
Comfort Food in a Storm (October 2012)
Miss Jennifer Goes to Washington (August 2012)
How the Hell is John Stamos 50? (August 2013)
Let Them Eat Jelly Beans (February 2011)
Facelift (July 2010)
Leftovers (November 2012)
Time (November 2010)

Most-Read Blog Posts This Year:
Dear Verizon
Spring Fling

Posts Nobody Gave a Crap About:
Rejected Candy Hearts
Jingle All the Way

Most Comments:
Dear Rheumatoid Arthritis

Most Popular Poll:
I Heart Rodolphe Lindt (this year)
Please Fix Voting (It Is Broken) (all-time)

Most Frequently-Used Tag for the Posts I Write:
Pop Culture

Most Popular Search by Visitors:
Dating


Here's a look ahead -- soon I'll update you on why I'm in a big fat fight with Ikea, and Fall TV is finally back, so the Loveseat Potato can't be far behind.

Thanks (as always) for reading!

PS: I took this pic one night outside my building, I think it's time to update the header...




tags: city life, health, holidays, jersey, writing

3/29/2014

This Girl Is Bossy

I'm pretty sure this is the longest I've ever gone without writing a blog post.  (Cough.)  I'm so sorry, I've just been working really long hours lately and honestly, I haven't felt all that creative. 

But then I remembered, I love to blog! 

So here I am.

One of the things I've been working on is a campaign inspired by Sheryl Sandberg of Harvard, Lean In and Facebook fame -- she also recently became a billionaire (underachiever). She teamed up with the Girl Scouts to encourage girls to lead by banning the word "bossy" because it's belittling and sends a message that they shouldn't speak up.

Maybe you've heard of this?

Well, nobody can argue with wanting to empower young girls to be their best, but I think banning any word gives it way more power than it deserves. Plus, you can't ban ALL the words, right?  First bossy, then bratty, then bitchy. 

It doesn't end.

What you CAN do is get girls (and boys!) talking.  Give them the support and tools to handle whatever comes their way.  So, we made this video:



Aren't they great?!

As you know, I absolutely love doing stuff with kids, and seeing these 8 and 9 year old girls speak their minds reminded me of myself.  So I dug up this old photo of me at their age.

(Note the Wonder Woman bathing suit.  It was 1981 and she was awesome.  Still is.)

Back then, I was labeled a "social butterfly" by my teachers.  My parents thought I was a bit of a ham.  And yes, my little brother probably thought I was kinda bossy.  But he loves me anyway.

I'm sure over the years I have been called lots of things -- some good, some not. As a matter of fact, when I was a senior in college, a grown man once said, "God help the man who marries YOU," because I refused to leave his travel agency until he refunded my money (and the money of my 5 other girlfriends) after he overbooked our Spring Break trip to South Padre Island.  He cut a check that day.

Come to think of it, the old goat may have put a curse on me...

Bygones.

Point is this: Bossy is in the eye of the beholder.  This label -- or any label -- sometimes says more about the person using it than it does about the person they are trying to stick it on.  The trick is to stay true to yourself.

And those bossy tendencies?  They can be used for good!  Like, to stand up for someone, or to take charge of a situation, or to right a wrong. 

To be the boss.  Just like Springsteen.

So, what do YOU think?

I mean, I'm not the boss of you, but if I were I'd tell you to ask your kids what bossy means to them and upload a video to the social network of your choice using #BossyIs.

Or you could just show me pics of yourself in a superhero suit.  I'd like that too!


tags: family, jersey, rants, work

3/12/2013

Milk's Favorite Cookie

Guess who turned 101 years old last week?

Me?  No! 

Oreo!

Yet another reason to love the Jerz, the Oreo was first sold in Hoboken a century ago.  Today, it is the world's best-selling cookie.  It has 32 million Facebook fans. 

And if you stacked the 450 billion Oreos made since 1912, they would stretch to the moon and back.

Five times.

They say women are more likely to pull an Oreo apart before eating it.  Hmmm... if only there was a robot that separated the cookie and the cream for you.  Oh wait, there is.  Named HERB.

They've come a long way since your lunchbox days. 

When you weren't looking, Oreos multiplied.  Been in the cookie aisle lately?  There are tons of variations on the classic chocolate sandwich cookie with the sweet cream filling. 

But are they better?  I had to put them to the test.

So, I bought 25 different kinds of Oreos (in the name of Important Research) and took over my parents' kitchen in Del Boca Vista. 

Here's how the cookies crumbled...


THE CHOCOLATE COOKIE COMPETITION

THE BEST:
Classic: "Pass the milk!" (mom & dad's fave)
Peanut Butter: "Oreo heaven." (my fave)

THE WORST:
Mint: "I like mint, but not this way." (mom & dad's least fave)
DQ Blizzard: "Tastes like... nothing." (my least fave)

THE OTHERS:
Double Stuf: "So sweet it hurt my teeth."
Chocolate Creme: "Chocolatey or chalky, I can't decide."
Berry: "Interesting."
Triple Double: "Too much cookie, too little creme."





THE GOLDEN COOKIE COMPETITION

THE BEST:
Neopolitan: "Berry good." (mom & dad's fave)
Golden Double: "Tastes like a Vienna Finger." (my fave)

THE WORST:
Heads or Tails: "Chocolate lost this flip." (everybody's least fave)

THE OTHERS:
Golden Chocolate: "Is this one a mistake?"









THE FUDGE CREMES COMPETITION

THE BEST:
Coconut: "I could eat the whole box." (mom & dad's fave)
Peanut Butter: "Tastes like a Tagalong." (my fave)

THE WORST:
Golden: "Was this a yellow one?" (mom's least fave)
Mint: "Not bad if you like mint, which I do not." (dad's least fave)
Coconut: "Yuck." (my least fave)

THE OTHERS:
Regular: "How can you not love an Oreo covered in chocolate?"
Chocolate Creme: "Yep, that's a chocolate!"






THE SPECIALTY CREME COMPETITION

THE BEST:
Gingerbread: "It's festive!" (mom & dad's fave)
Birthday Cake: "I think I like the vanilla-ish-ness." (my fave)

THE WORST:
Halloween: "Is this supposed to have a taste?" (nobody's fave)












THE CAKEY COMPETITION

THE BEST:
Brownie: "I guess I can like this." (mom & dad's fave)
Golden Cakester: "Tastes like a Twinkie... RIP." (my fave)

THE WORST:
Cookie Sticks: "This is a stupid idea." (nobody's fave)

THE OTHERS:
Double Stuf Cakester: "Will be a Devil Dog when it grows up."








BEST IN SHOW

Mom: Coconut Fudge Creme (Classic a close 2nd)

Dad: Classic Oreo

Me: Peanut Butter Oreo (Classic a close 2nd)










So, can you have too much of a good thing?  No.  Even the bad ones were still pretty tasty (except for that weird cookie stick and oily creme dip -- that was gross). 

But it's safe to say the classic Oreo is still the best.  Just don't forget the milk. 

And don't smile -- nobody likes "Oreo Teeth."




tags: food, jersey, polls, taste tests

10/31/2012

The Sandy Six

I just spent 110 hours in my apartment. Alone. From 7pm on Friday to 9am today (Wednesday).

I'm on the 28th floor. During the worst of hurricane Sandy, my walls creaked, the building swayed, and my windows bent. I was glued to Channel 11, WPIX, the entire time.

I stress-ate my weight in mac & cheese.

And I inhaled a whole bag of marshmallows.

I took this pic on my way home from work tonight. It’s 2nd Ave, looking south, from outside my building.


You’ll notice it’s dark in the distance, where 40-story apartment buildings should be. I missed the blackout by a block. The East River also rose over its banks and flowed past 1st Ave. That means I missed the flood by a block too.

I got pretty lucky.

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

It’s chaos out there. Taxicabs under water. Army trucks in the streets. Flooded subway tunnels. Failed hospital generators. Dangling 7-ton cranes. Boats in living rooms. Houses on fire. Rollercoasters in the Atlantic Ocean.

So many people that we know, that we’ve read about – and that we’ve yet to discover – are struggling. Maybe even you.  My heart and prayers go out to anyone suffering as a result of this storm.

I know I couldn’t have stayed sane the last few days without what I’m calling The Sandy Six (and no, I’m not referring to the weight I gained from eating all that pasta – that’s more like nine).  A big thanks goes out to...

1. Local News Anchors:
I love WPIX. Always have. Every night I go to sleep to Friends and I wake up to their morning "news." It’s the only news I ever watch, mainly because it contains a healthy dose of fluff. And since they’re located just a block away, when they show PIX Plaza, that’s my neighborhood. This week, their tireless anchors worked 8-12 hour shifts, around the clock, to keep us all informed. I felt like we were all in it together with familiar faces like Suki, Tamsen Fadal, Kaity Tong, Howard Thompson, and Larry Mendte. That was immensely comforting.

2. Weather People:
I typically feel like it’s ridiculous to try and predict the weather. Stick your head out a window – that’s the weather. But there was a science to this storm, and the minute-by-minute updates from Linda Church and Mr. G helped curb my anxiety. Bonus: they were right-on.

3. Field Reporters:
Everybody from the President to the Mayor urged people to stay indoors, so I’m sure it was hard for reporters and crew to be tossed about, all wet and cold and hungry, for hours on end. Monica Morales and Dan Mannarino in lower Manhattan, Mary Murphy on Long Island, James Ford and Mario Diaz in Jersey, and so many others did an amazing job. My imagination is always my worst enemy, so I was thankful to have their eyes and ears on the streets.

4. Phone:
Calls, emails, and texts with family and friends were the next best thing to having them with me.  That Alexander Graham Bell was really onto something!

5. Facebook:
I may have complained about a few “friends” last week, but I took your advice and hid them from my newsfeed. This left me with nothing but updates from people whose well-being I actually cared about.

6. Fridge:
Thank God for food. I must’ve eaten 10 times a day. I might not fit in my pants anymore, but it's a small price to pay.  A warm meal is a form of comfort too. Right? Anyone who needs one should come on over. I still have half a tray of homemade mac & cheese left.


I also enjoyed Mayor Bloomberg's Spanglish and the animated woman doing American Sign Language during all his press conferences.  Plus, I'd like to give Chris Christie a hug.

To everyone in NY, CT, and my beloved NJ -- here's hoping your blessings outweigh your losses and you too were able to find some comfort in this storm. 

To donate $10 to relief efforts, text REDCROSS to 90999, or find other ways to help.


tags: city life, jersey

9/11/2011

Angels

To say I have unresolved feelings about 9/11 is the understatement of the decade.

I thought about not writing this post because I don’t want to read it. I have spent the last 10 years burying every emotion, ignoring every image, and suppressing every memory because I just can not deal.

Even now.

It was a time of bottomless sorrow.  No question about that.  Although I must say, of all the unimaginable things to come out of that sunny September day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed) came one important realization: I now believe in guardian angels.

Call it fate, faith, whatever you will, I am thankful for several interventions that changed the course of events that day. Here's how the universe said, it’s not your time... 


SCHEDULE
Several days prior to the attacks, an executive at my company was scheduled to attend a conference.  He was to be a guest speaker at a breakfast being held on Sept 11th at Windows on the World, a restaurant on the 106 & 107th floors of the World Trade Center, Tower 1.

I had a good relationship with the publication sponsoring the breakfast, and I had been in contact with the event organizer via phone and email several times to coordinate the details. My boss, another colleague, and I were determining which of us would attend the event with this executive, when a scheduling conflict arose.  He decided last-minute to cancel his appearance, making it unnecessary for any of us to go.

I can't even remember what the excuse was, but everyone who did attend, including the woman I was emailing with, lost their lives that day.



SCHOOLTEACHER
I was living in Pine Brook at the time, and left for work that Tuesday like I did every morning. I would drive to Hoboken, park my car in a lot, and take the PATH train across the river to my office in lower Manhattan -- about 8 blocks from the WTC.

I was about to turn on to Changebride Road, the main street that ran through my town, when a woman flagged me down. Never in my 20+ years of living there had someone stopped me, but there she was, needing help. She said she was a teacher at one of the elementary schools in town. Her car had broken down (though there was no car in sight), and she wondered if I could give her a lift to school. Taking her clear across town would have made me very late for work, so I offered her my cell phone instead to contact her principal, or AAA, or her husband for help. She made a quick call and we parted ways.

The whole exchange took less than 10 minutes, but I know the time I spent with this stranger on a street corner in the middle of nowhere saved both my life and my dad’s. Here’s why…



DISCONNECTED
I was running late after stopping for the schoolteacher, eventually pulling into the lot in Hoboken around 8:45am. I should have already been on the train, so I quickly paid the parking attendant. My back was to the city, as I simultaneously heard an explosive sound and saw an expression cross her face that made me afraid to turn around.

Past the train station, I had a clear view of lower Manhattan.  One of the Twin Towers was billowing with grey smoke. My dad worked in Tower 1, on the 25th floor. I panicked and immediately called him. He told me they felt a pretty good jolt but they were alright. He said they’d been instructed to “stay put” and then the phone cut out.

I tried re-dialing but it was no use. The lines were all jammed, and would remain that way for hours. I saw a crowd gathering by the entrance to the trains, and I made my way over to a policeman so I could hear his radio. It was then that I watched the second plane fly directly into the left side of the second building, disappearing into a puff of fiery smoke. It was about 9am.  I remember someone in the crowd grabbed my hand and cried, “Oh no, not again.”

Completely frantic and realizing no one was getting in or out of the city, I ultimately left to be with my mom. I was in a fog, driving past the Meadowlands on Route 3 about an hour later when Peter Jennings’ voice on the radio told me the first tower had come down. I nearly ran my car into the barricade in the median.  I was home with my mother and my brother, glued to the TV, when we saw the second tower fall at 10:30am. No one had heard from my father since he told me he planned to stay put. We all feared the worst. My brother collapsed into a ball on the living room floor. I ran to the kitchen to vomit in the sink.

Sometime after 12:30pm, the phone rang. It was my dad, from a pay phone.  I can remember screaming to the operator that yes, we would accept the charges of his collect call.  He sounded disoriented, and had no idea the towers had fallen. Apparently, he had been assisting the first responders to pass out wet rags for people to cover their faces and was in the lobby helping to direct people away from seeing the carnage left by people who jumped 100 stories out of sheer desperation. Then, he suddenly left and headed south towards the Staten Island Ferry. He knew I worked on Water Street, but he wasn’t sure in which building, so he went door to door looking for me.

Our call earlier had been disconnected before I could tell him I never made it across the river that morning. He just assumed I had. His need to find me is what drove him away from that scene in the nick of time and undoubtedly saved his life.


ELEVATOR
Several hours after we heard my dad was ok, he arrived at my aunt’s apartment at 65th and Madison. With no way to get in or out of the city, and all streets shut down, he walked the 5 miles, covered in ashes. A dear friend of mine worked in Tower 2 of the WTC at the time. Her company occupied some of the highest floors in the building, putting her above the point of impact and seemingly sealing her fate.

I can remember being too afraid to know the truth, but I gathered up my courage to give her a call. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I had a sick pit in my stomach. Around 5pm that evening, my phone rang again. It was my friend. She would later learn that her colleagues made a life-changing decision to leave when they did. The group that went down in the elevator with her -- in the 15 minutes between the first and second hit -- were saved. The others were among her nearly 200 co-workers who never made it out.


FACE IN A CROWD
Thousands of stories surfaced over the next few days.  It took a full week for the city to open up again. The following Tuesday, I boarded a ferry, bound for lower Manhattan because the PATH trains were nonexistent. The boat was jam-packed, but totally silent, as we rode across the Hudson, utterly shell-shocked.

The smoke and soot still hung in the air, coating every surface.  A burnt smell stung my nose. Tears were streaming down my face as we pulled into the dock. Along the shoreline, I could see dozens of armed guards, dressed in camo and carrying assault weapons. A tank was there to greet us. It would stay like that every day, for months.  It was more than I could handle. This wasn't New York. It was a warzone.

As I stepped off the boat, a familiar face appeared. It was my boss. No, he was more than that -- he was a wonderful friend who came down to the ferry to escort me to the office. It turned out my mother had called him to let him know how upset I was. Ordinarily, I would have been humiliated by that, but these weren’t ordinary times. I was a petrified 28 year old girl. I will never forget his kindness that day, especially when I later learned that his partner had been sick, but he dropped everything to help me. He is an angel on earth, and still has a special place in my heart.




Divine intervention changed the course of our lives, and countless others, that day. I personally knew 10 people who were not as fortunate.

Every year, I go out of my way to avoid the retrospectives. I'm just not that strong.  Besides, I don't need to watch a recap of that unthinkable day -- all I need to do is close my eyes and see it unfold. This year, I decided to avoid the city altogether and set up camp with my brother, sister-in-law, and the munchkins up in CT.

We'll spend the day at the zoo, celebrate life, and count our many blessings.  Here's hoping you can too.


tags: city life, family, jersey, politics

2/14/2011

My Jersey Valentine

February 14th gives me acid reflux.

You can’t avoid it, even if you try, mainly because Hallmark’s bought every other commercial, declaring it the day we say, “I love us.” Or else it’s Kay Jewelers, the Leo Diamond, and marriage proposals in Chinese, Spanish, AND English. Every kiss may begin with Kay but every commercial ends with me throwing up a little in my mouth.

As you know, I’ve recently (reluctantly) reentered the dating scene. Virtually at least. And I can confirm that there’s no shortage of freaks waiting to meet me. The more things change, the more they stay the same. But since I’m waaay out of practice, I’ve decided it would be prudent to take a few lessons from people who have had FAR more experience with the opposite sex than I have.

I’m speaking, of course, of the cast from The Jersey Shore.

I snuggled up on my couch yesterday and read both Here’s the Situation: A Guide to Creeping on Chicks, Avoiding Grenades, and Getting in Your GTL on the Jersey Shore AND The Rules According to JWoww: Shore-Tested Secrets on Landing a Mint Guy, Staying Fresh to Death, and Kicking the Competition to the Curb. To call this a Master Class would be an understatement. I even took notes! 

Consider it my valentine to you.

Absorbing the dating advice in these ghost-written treasures took ALL my brain power. So to fuel my studies, I also ate a box of the most scrumptious mini cupcakes on Earth and watched Valentine’s Day and I Hate Valentine’s Day. I like to cover an issue from all angles.

I would also like to learn to “crush it 24/7.”

So single friends, we’re about to get schooled from 2 individuals who know a LOT about VDay (and also, perhaps, VD)…

ON PHYSICAL ASSETS
Sitch: “Milky white abs make chicks want to puke. Slicked up abdominals encourage the ladies to slip and slide.”
JWoww: “You can’t go wrong with cleavage.”

ON HAIR
Sitch: “Don’t be going to Supercuts. You want a barber who’s craft is cutting hair. It’s his art. He needs to wake up each morning thinking about cutting hair the same way I’m thinking about hitting the gym -- with passion.”
JWoww: “Humidity will make you poodle up.”

ON PERSONAL GROOMING
Sitch: “At a minimum, you’re going to want to shave your chest and six-pack. I trim, but don’t fully shave, my armpits."
JWoww: “An acrylic French mani is a must. No chips or smudges; your fingers should be flawless. Until you bust one scratching some bitch’s eyes out.”

ON CLOTHING
Sitch: “If you’re having difficulty deciding whether or not to purchase a particular garment, there is one sure-fire method left at your disposal. Put the magnetic security tag gently to your ear. If you can hear the faint, distant thumping of bumping club music, buy it.”
JWoww: “If I had to label my personal style, I would say it’s 'Sexy Sophisticated.' Some critics have dubbed it, 'Stripper Chic' -- and I can live with that.”

ON ACCESSORIES
Sitch: “Some cutting edge shirts today include a necklace integrated into the garment itself. If you think this means you don’t have to wear a separate, standalone necklace, you couldn’t be more wrong."
JWoww: “Never leave home without a change of panties. They could come in handy.”

ON PICKUP LINES
Sitch: “So many bros get all hung up on pickup lines, as if it really matters what you say to a girl. If you’ve chosen your target correctly, the first thing you say to her is merely a formality.”
JWoww: “Here’s a no-pressure opener that will get the conversation going: 'Hi.' (Basically, that’s about all a guy needs to hear to get his attention.)”

ON MS/MR WRONG
Sitch: “Nine out of ten times, the grenade is a grenade because she’s ugly and fat.”
JWoww: “Learn to spot a man-whore a mile away. This is a necessity. It will save you time, energy, and aggravation.”

ON DATING
Sitch: “If you roll up to a place out of the blue, having never been there before and having done zero recon, that’s the moment your date will know you’re a clown. Maybe you’ve been to the Olive Garden in Tom’s River, but does that mean you can trust the Olive Garden in Eatontown will be just as classy? Do you know for a fact that the chicken scampi will be succulent and the breadsticks unlimited at this strange new Olive Garden? No, dude, you don’t.”
JWoww: “If he’s interested, he is interested enough to ensure you eat well and get home safely in a cab. No cheap bastard makes a good boyfriend. And if he doesn’t know what a florist is, dump him.”

ON ROMANCE
Sitch: “When you bring a chick from the club back to your shore house, things should progress quickly from there. It’s the Jacuzzi, and then up to your private quarters for some pounding out. After you’ve done your work, you need your rest.”
JWoww: “Reheated pasta never tastes the same. When you serve it as leftovers on Tuesday, it just aint as good. The same goes for relationships. All that’s gonna come from getting back with an ex is heartburn.”

ON THE MORNING AFTER
Sitch: “I need to be aware at all times of the whereabouts of possessions like my cell, wallet, and jewelry. Believe it or not, some girls steal things as a memento of our experience together, as if smooshing wasn’t enough.”
JWoww: “It is a hard-and-fast rule that a Guido will never wife-up a one-nighter.”

A FINAL WORD ON BECOMING MS RIGHT
Sitch: “Once you get beyond the riff-raff at the club (ie: grenade launchers, zoo creatures, hypnotic hyenas, trash bags, etc), girls break down into five categories, from sleeper to keeper:
  • Fifth class: purely physical attraction with little to no emotional attachments
  • Fourth class: not cute enough to take her places where she’ll be seen, so watch movies on her couch
  • Third class: good-looking on the wrong side of gorgeous, take her out but spend your time in the dark
  • Second class: a girl you invite to dinner, giving her the full benefit of your GTL rituals
  • First class: beautiful, smart, classy, and cooks a mean chicken cutlet -- this is no chick, this is a lady”

So there you have it, sage advice straight from the experts. Makes me proud to call Jersey home. And thankful I can, in fact, cook a mean chicken cutlet. Maybe there’s hope, after all.

You know, all this knowledge is exhilarating!

I feel like I want to conquer new subjects -- like getting my finances in order! I wonder if MC Hammer’s written an investment manual?


tags: dating, holidays, jersey

1/11/2011

Fun & Games

Did you know 1/11/11 was the 40th anniversary of the card game Uno?

No? Me neither.

But if I’m to believe a couple of guys dressed up as a Wild Card and a Blue #4 who were standing outside Grand Central this morning, it’s true.

Who said one is the loneliest number? I love this game!

I have the BEST childhood memories of playing Uno with my little brother and our grandma. I can remember spending summers at her house in Jersey, sitting in the dining room with its giant wooden chairs.

She was Italian, so every game began with a meal to keep up our strength.  She would buy Entenmann’s lemon pie for me and blueberry crumb for my brother. We’d eat a big ol’ hunk, then we’d break out the cards and play Uno for hours in tournaments that lasted until school started in the fall.

Skip! Reverse! Draw 4! SUCH fun.

Now before you get all, “Awwww,” on me, you should probably know one thing: I cheated my ass off.

(don’t worry, it has since grown back with a vengeance)

You should also know I'm not a dishonest person.  I didn’t initially set out to cheat. In fact, up until my brother was about 5 or 6 years old, I used to just naturally win every single game we played, given our 5 year age difference. But something awful happened when he started the 2nd grade. He got smarter!

So, I turned to a life of crime…

He'd ask all wide-eyed and innocent, “Wanna play Monopoly, Jenny?” Well, sure! And while he turned his back to see what hijinks Gobo was up to down in Fraggle Rock, I’d swap little green houses for big red hotels. And my $50 bills magically became $500s before he could say, “Do not pass Go.”

“Feeling like Scrabble?” Oh yeah! I think I even convinced him that we were supposed to pick eachother’s letters. He never questioned it, even with round after round of letters like XPQZKJY.

“How about a game of Life?” Ab-so-lutely! My little pink and blue peg people multiplied quicker than a wet Gremlin, just so I could collect more cash presents.

“Anyone for Battleship?” This was too EASY! Maybe we played it wrong, but we could never see eachother’s boards, so if F8 was called, suddenly my submarine just scooted across the ocean. Nobody’s sinking MY battleship!

But Uno? Ah, that one really made me flex my phony muscles. It was the ultimate cheating challenge. No board.  No tiny pieces to manipulate.  No paper money to steal.  The real key with Uno was that I always volunteered to shuffle.

Never trust the shuffler.

As the cards made shuffling sounds, I’d quickly slide the good ones onto my lap with my pinky and then pepper them back into the deck so they would come up every 3rd card.  When I dealt, starting on my left, I'd be flush with picture cards and they'd have nothing but numbers. I was like a budding Penn & Teller with my sleight of hand.

Keep in mind, I was like, 12 at the time. But the fun and games came to a SCREECHING halt one day when we were playing Life and my brother caught me with my hand in the money pot. Hoo boy. That was not my finest hour. 

But I think it was a growing experience for us both. He came to realize he could kick my cheating ass, in more ways than one (or uno, if you prefer). And I came to realize that nobody likes a cheater.

Lesson learned!

I don’t cheat at games anymore.  Mainly because they all watch me like a hawk.  I'm pretty positive that the minute my brother reads this blog post, he's going to fire off an email to me (he maaay still be a little bitter). But I do hope he will also remember the fun times we had as kids playing games like Uno.

I can't wait to eat pie and play games with his kids too. And I promise NOT to teach them how to play "Aunt Jenny Style."

What was YOUR favorite game to play (or to cheat)?  Confess below...


tags: family, jersey, pop culture

10/28/2010

Trick or Treat!

I’m watching The Great Pumpkin right now. I forgot how much I hate Charlie Brown.

He’s just so depressing. That blockhead can’t EVER catch a break -- not even when he's out trick or treating.

All Chuck gets is a bag of rocks.

This got me to thinking about my own worst scores when I worked the Halloween circuit. (That sounds much worse than I intended. But in the wise words of Sue Sylvester, Halloween is the holiday where boys dress like girls and girls dress like whores.)

Anyway… back in Ye Olden Days (aka the 1980s), a sack of Halloween treats was fraught with danger. Would it be laced with Tylenol? Or perhaps a nice razor blade would be tossed in the mix? Or was all that candy-tampering just urban legend?

I dunno. Maybe it was a trick, but my mom examined our candy with the thoroughness of a forensic scientist. The hard candies went straight into the trash (or my dad’s belly) because they were deemed bad for our teeth. Once everything cleared inspection, my brother and I feasted on sweet, sweet chocolate.

Now, I don’t know what kind of loot people give out these days, but I grew up in your typical suburban NJ neighborhood. There was good candy -- none of it radioactive (contrary to some OTHER urban legends) -- and some families even splurged on the full size goodies instead of the mini snack size.

That was nice.

But occasionally, you got a rotten egg. Not literally, of course. That would be gross. So here are the 10 crappiest things I ever pulled out of my trick or treat bag:
  1. A toothbrush
  2. A small box of Sun Maid raisins
  3. A popcorn ball
  4. An apple
  5. A couple of pennies
  6. A #2 pencil
  7. Easter candy
  8. A single stick of Big Red gum
  9. A slice of zucchini bread
  10. A tooth stuck in a Milk Dud

I should probably clarify that last one, huh? It was MY tooth. Does that make it better?

Didn’t think so.

Ok, it was the 6th grade, and I was dressed as a Rockette, complete with fishnet tights and a sparkly top hat. I was out with a gaggle of 11 and 12 year olds -- my first unsupervised co-ed trick or treating adventure ever -- and we were about 5 blocks away from my house. My pillowcase full o'candy was getting awfully heavy.  So I decided to do the unthinkable: I ate a piece without it passing the mom-test.

I was born to be wild.

First, I ate a mini Hershey bar. It tasted like freedom.  I wanted more. So I popped open a small yellow box of Milk Duds. The caramel was irristable. The first one went down so smooth, I chased it with 2 more.

And that’s when it happened.

I opened my sticky mouth (probably to yap to my BFF about how I would someday marry John Taylor).  Only, my tooth didn’t come along for the ride. It just sat on my tongue, stuck in the Dud. The chewy candy must have created an unbreakable seal around an already loose molar, because I remember sticking my tongue into the gaping hole in the back of my mouth, and sure enough, it was gone. I tasted a little blood, but I didn’t panic. I just quietly drooled into my bag so I could cash the lump in later with the Tooth Fairy, and I tap-danced over to the next house.

In true Rockette form, I knew the show must go on.

So, my point is this: If you don’t want to be scraping eggs off your front door until Christmas, don’t hand out crap you find around the house, disguised as Halloween candy. And if you forget (or are too cheap) to buy the good stuff, at least have the decency to dim the lights and hide in the basement until the kids stop ringing the bell.

But MOST importantly, if you are a dentist, skip the toothbrush and go straight for the Milk Duds or the rocks. Those treats will totally pay for themselves.

What's the worst thing you ever got in YOUR trick or treat bag?


tags: food, grossholidays, jersey