The Couch

Photo courtesy of Jen my childhood couch dweller.

My mother loves to decorate, but not for comfort or functionality. She decorates to achieve a desired look, and this couch fits that look. What ever that look is it sure as hell doesn’t fit anyone’s body.

First of all the seat of the couch is wider than the back. So when you sit in it you feel like a toddler sitting on a normal size couch. Your feet can't touch the floor because the bend in your knee won’t bend. If you sit forward on the couch with your ass on the edge of the seat you can touch the ground, but then your knees are in the air and you have no back rest. This is a very exhausting position and can't be sustained for long.
Since the couch is only an inch off the ground when you do decide to get off the couch you usually need some assistance. If you're really good you can launch yourself out of it without the assistance of others (but this takes practice). I don’t suggest any new guest trying to get out of the couch without one or two experienced spotters.

My mother’s technique for the couch is simple if you don’t mind crawling on the floor. She doesn’t bother to ever try and sit in the couch she just lays on the couch and when she is ready to get up she rolls herself around putting her knees on the floor and using the armrest as support to get up. This can be quite a seen at times. There is a lot of sying and rocking in order for her to get into the position. It never looks like it’s easy, but she manages to do it. This would also explain her hesitation to get off the couch to do anything. It is such an ordeal to get off the couch she very rarely answers the phone unless you call about 5 or 6 times in a row. That is her signal that you might be calling with something important enough to take the risk injuring herself while trying to get off the couch.

Luckily for my sister she is ten and flexible so she has very little problem with the couch. It is like her personal juggle gym. She jumps over the back and sliding into position like the duke’s of hazards into the General Lee. She then pops on the TV and takes over not allowing anyone to invade with out a fight. She will sit there with her homework spread out over the couch. Papers everywhere, the TV on the Disney Chanel and the computer on her lap.“Lilli, can I sit there” You point to the paper filled spot on the couch. She looks at you with such contempt. How dare you ask such a question can’t you see this is her room she is the only one that can sit in this couch comfortably.

My step father avoids the couch altogether and sits in the chair which has an awful view of the T.V. but is a much safer option. You are less likely to need assistance to get out of it.

To all soon to be visitor your only option is to lay vertical on the couch like a bed or sit in a small uncomfortable armchair (That is if you can get to it before my stepfather does). So relax, lay down with your feet up on the couch and feel free to take up most of it. No one else really wants to sit there anyway(except Lilli). But remember the dangers you may endure trying to get out of that couch. Make sure you have gone to the bathroom before you sit. You don’t want to be caught in an emergency situation causing you to injure yourself as you depart from it.

A little added bonus. We not only have a couch in this disastrous design we also have:
1 “useless spill your coffee everywhere really expensive” coffee maker.
4 Uncomfortable “slide your ass all over the place” black plastic space-age dinning room chairs.
1 Glowing tea kettle. I don’t really have anything bad to say about the tea kettle it’s kind of cool. It glows and you can see the bubbles when it boils.
And last but not least 1 button less silent toaster that doesn’t toast.

Dan's first time meeting my family

My father and sisters all live in California. So once a year I take a trip to go and see everyone. I love them all dearly but there always seems to be some kind of drama. I have 4 sisters all with very strong personalities. They are wonderful strong young women, but all just a little crazy and a bit overdramatic (myself included).

A normal conversation in this house to outsiders I’m sure sounds like a full all out rumbling argument.

When I lived in New York I had a boyfriend (will call him Dan). He was also from California not far from the area my father and sisters lived. He was quite and well mannered and came from a good family. His father was a retired professor from a well known University in California. He grew up in a nice quite house with a docile family that didn’t argue much.

My family on the other had is very dramatic. My father is a criminal defense attorney and he works out of his house a lot of the time. There is always some new case with some accused criminals that are in need of his immediate help. We frequently get calls from jail and he is on the news quite often. My father remarried when I was young and out of it he got 4 more daughters and I got 4 more beautiful yet loud sisters. One of my younger sisters (we will call her Tasha) during this time was just starting to move out on her own. She didn’t have much desire to go to college. But had a good job making pretty good money and was able to get herself a brand new car.

My boyfriend and I decided to take a trip to California to visit both our families. Before arriving I tried to give him some warning of the drama that was bound to ensue.

(Names have been changes to protect the innocent. acutally I just don't want to piss anyone off)

Me “I just want you to know that my family can get a little crazy sometimes.”
Dan “Julia, Calm down everyone’s family is a little crazy it will be fine.”
Me “Ok, but it can get a little overwhelming”
Dan “Don’t worry; I understand we are going to have a great time.”

We arrive at the airport, rent a car and drive to my father’s house. I call on my cell phone to announce to my family will be arriving shortly. On the other end of the phone I can hear the hustle and bustle of the household in the background.

Ring ring...
My father answers (the fact that some one answered at all was a miracle) “hello” ciaos in the background.
“Hi, daddy we are on our way to the house we should be there shortly I reply”
“What are you doing? Hand me that.” He yells into the phone.
Me “Daddy?”
Dad “Now what did I say, quit it and give me that remote.” (Ruckus and the sound of little girls screaming in the background.)
Me “Hello, Dad?”
Realizing he was on the phone with me he then says “hey, you’re on your way? Great see ya soon.”
Me “Ok see ya when we get there, by”


This is a pretty normal conversation with my father. You never know whether he is talking to you or someone else. He will have 3 conversations with 3 different people while on the phone with you.

As we pull up to the house we can see about 6 or so cars spilling out of the driveway and into the cul-de-sac (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cul-de-sac). One bright shiny new car in front of the garage door with the other older cars spilling out behind it. My boyfriend and I park in the middle of the cul-de-sac and go to the door leaving the luggage in the car. We can hear the noises from inside as we approach. Girls shrilly little voices arguing and the TV playing the crime network blaring over it all. I open the door and the noise burst out at us seeming to blow back our hair.

I loudly announce my arrival hoping they can hear me over all the commotion.
“Hey everybody I’m hear.”

I walk into the TV room where my dad sits on the couch with the TV at top volume and remote in hand. The TV room opens up into the kitchen where my stepmother is cleaning dishes and other misalliance household chores. As the girls run around making a mess quicker than she can manage to clean it up.

Dan seems a bit stunned at all the commotion but calmly fallows me in.

They all stop what they are doing to greet us. And then the drama begins. My Father starts to tell me about this big case he is working on. He is representing some people that where indoctrinated into this Muslim type cult. And now they are out of the cult and are being harassed. There has been some threats and beatings and all sorts of nasty little goings on. My father also tells us the leader of this organization has also been ambiguously threatening my father on his cable access TV show.

There is never a dull moment in the Washington household.

I look over at a speechless Dan. And get him a beer from the fridge. (He looks like he’s going to need it.) Right at that moment a frantic Tasha bust through the front door.

Tasha “Mom I saw him out side tell him I’m not here. Tell him I left or something.”

There’s a knock at the door.

I ask my father what’s going on. He ignores me and goes to answer the door while my stepmother informs me that Tasha has not been able to pay her car note and is now being fallowed by the repo man.

My father and has a conversation with a man at the door that we can’t hear.

I look over at a still speechless and yet some what intrigued Dan. Then go to the fridge and get him another beer.

My father returns and Tasha comes out of hiding.
Tasha “What did you say?”
Dad “He can’t legally tow or move any other cars to get to your car. (This explains all the cars in the driveway spilling on to the street) But I think he is going to wait out there until he can get that car. Tasha, I think it’s time to give up the car.”
Tasha in a winey annoyed voice “How am I supposed to get to work. I’m pregnant I need to get around. I have to go places.”

This discussion with my father and Tasha goes on for awhile while a very persistent repo man hangs out in our cul-de-sac smoking cigarettes and twiddling his thumbs. The other girls are yelling about some card game they are playing because my youngest sister is cheating.
Youngest sister “hahahaha I win”
Sister 2 “No you don’t you can’t do that. You’re cheating.”
Youngest sister “How can I cheat if I don’t know the rules”
Sister 2 “Gimme the cards you can’t play anymore”
Youngest sister while taking the cards and running and screaming in laughter “haahahahhahaha”
Step mom “Give your sister the cards”
Youngest “No”
Step Mom “For Christ sake if you don’t stop this mess I’m going to beat the living shit out of you” (this by the way is an empty threat and my youngest sister knows it so she continues to run around the house giggling with the cards in hand while sister 2 chases after her.)

At last Tasha decides that there is no way around it and she goes outside to reluctantly to give up her car. And my dad goes back to sitting on the couch and turns the T.V. louder trying to hear his true crime show over the noise.

“You know he’s an idiot. What is that girl Asian?” my dad says out loud. I’m not sure if he is talking to me or someone else in the room or maybe he is talking to the T.V.

Dan sits down on the couch with his 3rd or 4th beer in hand.

My dad starts telling him about what an idiot the guy on the T.V. is.
Dad “And you know that’s how a guy will get shot”
Dan looks over at me in confusion not truly knowing how people “get shot.”

All I can say to him is welcome to my family.

The next day my father goes to court and we stay at the house with the rest of the family. (Remember I told you about the Muslim cult leader) Dan and I sit and try to relax when there is a knock at the door. I go to the door to see who it is.

I open it to reveal some guys dressed in a suits and ties. They say they’re selling some bean pies. Why in a development of so many houses do you chose this one to try and sell your bean pies. I respectfully decline and shut the door. I watch as they leave not going to anyother house with there suspisions bean pies. All the while thinking about the case my father told me about the day before.

When my dad comes home I let him know about the two men visiting with the bean pies and he says they where probable sent over by the cult leader giving the message “we know no where you live”.

“Great! Are we going to get blown up or shot down by some angry Muslim cult” I think to myself. “I have always wanted a vacation where I have to run for my life. I feel like a spy or something. It’s better than a trip to an amusement park”

Trip to Sam’s Club!!! Sam’s club you wonder? Yes, Sam’s Club. Sam’s club has everything your growing family could need a six gallon tub of Crisco or variety of home surveillance equipment that can be easily self installed. Of course we can’t just go with one or 2 of us. This is an adventure for the whole family. We all pile into the washfam van (Personalized license plates aren’t they great! I’m being sarcastic) and head out to get are spy equipment.

Remind you Dan is sitting back just along for the ride. And what a ride he is getting I should have charged him an admition fee. This is way better than reality T.V.

When we arrive at Sam’s my younger sister’s take off running. They go through I isles asking my parents for something in each one.

Dad… Dad… Dad… Can I have this? Mom, can I get that?

We mossy along browsing the store like a spiraling tornado of noise and commotion. My father being the calm eye of the storm, seemingly oblivious to the commotion that surrounds him.
At last we go through the checkout line with spy equipment in hand along with various other things that my parents weren’t planning on buying.

When we get home Dan and I decide to install the video surveillance system. Dan is a bit of a tech nerd and loves this stuff. And I feel like a spy so I’m happy to help.

When we finish installing we go into the T.V. room to test and see if the equipment is working properly. We turn the T.V. on and snuggle around it to watch the front door. My sisters pilled up on the couch like a heap of puppies tangled together, my step mom in the chair with her feet on the ottoman and my dad fast asleep sitting up on the love seat.

I love my family! They are a bundle of excitement and fun. And every visit is filled with love.

I should be a doctor

I think I should be a doctor. I mean not a surgeon or anything like that just your regular primary care physicians. I don’t think I need school for it. Actually I’m almost positive from what I’ve seen school isn’t necessary. All I need is an office a few secretaries, a computer with internet (the internet is key) and a nurse or 2. Fuck the diploma. I mean I’ve been to the doctors. They haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know from looking up symptoms on the internet or seeing a commercial for a drug. If you got this you take that. If it hurts or itches there you rub some of this on it. I mean come on the nurses are the ones that do all the real work. Take blood, give shots, and talk to the patient. All the doctor does is comes in the room makes you breath in and out (I’m not really sure what this test is for but they always do it no matter what your ailment is). But I’m pretty sure it’s for congestion or pneumonia.

You say, “I have a head ache”
“Well… let’s take a look” the doctor says as he grabs for the stethoscope and puts it on your back… “Hmmm, now breathe in, and again.” He/she then flashes a light in your eyes a couple times and says. “Well ok I’m going to write you a prescription for Topamax. Hear you go. Take this to the front desk. Have a nice day”

Ok what was all the fucking breathing for? Are you trying to trick me into thinking you actually did something besides give me a fuck’in pill becase you saw the same dame comercial I did last night? Do you really not make enough money off me to give me more that 15min of your time? Maybe try explaining something for once so I don’t have to ask 20 questions. How about stop acting like you know everything and give me real reasonable options about what is happening to me.

If I was a doctor I would be like “Shit, I’m not sure what is wrong with you but I think it’s _____ and we should try ________ to see if that works. If that doesn’t work then we will have to try something else but it looks like from the symptoms you are describing it is most likely _______. Don’t you worry I’m here to help you and we will figure this out together. But until then let’s run some blood test to cancel out other possibilities”

That sounds reasonable right! Why the fuck can’t some doctors just say that?

I hope I don't get sick.

Love is like unsweetened chocolate. It taste good but it’s fucking bitter. Falling in love makes me sick. I literally get sick. My stomach turns, I can’t eat, I get dizzy, and I have trouble breathing. I’m not sure if I like the feeling or not. On one hand it’s exciting and tingles kinda like drugs. I even get a little woozy. But the hangover is a bitch. It’s much worse than a night of heavy drinking at least recovering from a hangover only last a day. But recovering from a love can take years. Sometimes you won’t ever recover. You drag yourself around with a dull langover (love hangover) for the rest of you life. I’m sure since the invention of devoice there are a lot of people walking around like zombies with some serious long lasting langovers.

These langovers take up so much of your life that it limits your chance to feel the good parts. The bitterness takes over and you don’t believe anything anyone tells you.

“You’re so sexy”
“You’re so amazing”
“God, you’re beautiful”

All the while in you head you think to your self “I heard this before and it didn’t end well. Where did I hear this? Oh yeah it was that fucker who hurt me. The one that made me feel like shit for months on end.” So you stop believing the words people say and you sabotage your love, by thinking this one is lying too, or once she/he gets to know you better they won’t want you anymore. You're damaged goods. It’s not your fault you’re only trying to protect yourself.

But the biggest fear is not only hurting yourself but hurting the other person too. the person you are falling in love with. You are reminded of all the pain you and your “ex” went through trying to make it work and in the end it failed. Why should this be any different? I haven’t changed; I’m still the same person. It’s so hard to remember that they aren’t the same person. They’re a new person and not that person that hurt you. They might see things in you that the last person didn’t.

So as the song goes “Don’t stop believing”

Oh god, that has to be the cheesiest blog I have written so far. I might just have to delete it.

Over Texting

Stop over texting!

O.k. I understand you may have an unlimited text plan and think texting is the best form of communication since the invention of cave painting, but I DON’T. I like to hear your voice. Sure you can text me if you are coming over and you want to tell me you’re on your way. Or if you are just thinking about me and wanted to tell me how wonderful I am. But I don’t want to have a conversation like this.

Text 1: Hey what’s up?

Return text: Noth’in :)

Text 2: Want to hang out?

Return text: Yeah sure where you wanna go?

Text 3: I don’t know what about the place on Charles Street?

Fucking call me, for Christ sake! You just cost me 50 fucking cents, to communicate something that would have been free and taken 2 seconds to say.

If you or your friend doesn’t stop this immediately and one of you call the other. This could go on for hours or even days. You will have a pages of text in you phone that say things like,“Yeah”, “Cool”, “ok”, “Yup” , and each one cost the person who doesn't have unlimited text .10 cents.

So is it my fault I don’t want to pay any extra 20 bucks a month for unlimited texting so I can be bombarded with “yeah” and “cool”? I do love all my friends. I Acutally love them so much I want to hear the sarcasm in their voice. You can tell so much more from hearing a person’s voice. Like weather they are pissed off at you, or if they are annoyed by you. If the like you. ;)

Now boys, I know it’s hard, girls can be intimidating. But you know what they like even more than text…. It’s hearing your sexy voice over the phone. So give it a try I bet you will get a lot more attention from them if you call. We don’t mind text, but we love it when you call. Flirting with text is fine but when it gets down to the nitty gritty, your ass better start calling.

Don’t get me wrong texting is awesome. I think it’s great for giving people a heads up on what’s going on or where to meet, an address or a picture of something you think they would like. But not for whole conversations, breaking up with someone, or informing someone of a death.

Text: "Billy just died thats way sad :("

Text: "I can't do this anymore. I think we should just be friends, Sorry"

If you want to chit chat or inform me of a tragedy; PLEASE just call. I would love to hear your voice. ;)

Ewww Yuck… but your kinda cute.

For some strange reason for centuries humans have gotten shits and giggles out of breeding animals to look as fucked up as possible. Example: the Persian cat. The Persian cat has been breed so its face is so flat it can hardly breathe, and its hair is so long that it can’t take care of its own grooming. So what you end up with is a spit snorting matted hair ball. They may be cute but grooming cost and vet bills will leave you broke.

You have to feel bad for little things those big bulging eyes looking at you as the continuously gasp for breath. They seem to be saying: “You did this to me, and now you have to pay. Clean my litter box. Take me to the groomer. My eyes are runny I need a vet appointment. What is that just dry food? Oh no that just won’t do. I will sit here and stare at you until all my demands are met. Now get to work pathetic human.”

Cats aren’t the only animal’s bread to mutation. This is also done with dogs For example: Pugs, greyhounds, shitzus, english bulldogs, and so much more.

I’m currently living with 3 of these deformed animals.

One hyper active pug with a smashed in face that can’t breath and spits on everything it comes in contact with.

A lazy spoiled greyhound with translucent skin that thinks it has the right to ask me to move out of my seat on the couch to make room for her.

And last but certainly not least a Persian. One of the dirtiest cats I have ever met. She always has something stuck under her chin, goop around her eyes and her little paws are always gray with dirt no matter how often you clean her.

Despite there deformaties and there personality disorders I think they are sweet and I love them. I’m not sure why. It’s like they have put some sort of spell on me that makes me give in to all their demands. I feed them, pick up their shit, take them for walks let them (all of them) sleep in my bed. It insane! They have some deformed animal powers that cause you to go:

“Aww, its ok. Here have the rest of my sandwich I wasn’t that hungry anymore anyway. You look like you need it more than me I can see your ribs, and your pointy nose did already touch the crust.”

“Oh it’s o.k. . . You can have that pillow I will use my rolled up pajama pants insted. Your eye goop is all over it and I will have to wash it yet again anyway.”

“No really paint on the walls is overrated. Go ahead and scratch at the wall until we can figure out what it is that you want. don't worry about trying to comunicate your needs in a less distructive way”

For: Bella (the pug) Daisy (the Persian) and Ember (The greyhound)
Thank you for keeping my days packed with hours of amusement and love.

Running Scared

I started jogging in the morning recently. I live in the city so I jog around a small man made lake. My biggest fear is being wrestled off the track and stuffed into a van, raped, murdered and left on the side of the lake to be found by one of my fellow joggers. Not to long ago there was a dead person found in a car next to the lake. This has made my imagination go wild. But it hasn’t stopped me for getting my daily exercise, because that sort of thing happens in this city much too often to. If I let it bother me I wouldn’t ever leave my house.

Yet it still lingers in my mind as I trot around the lake with my head phones on jamming out to some awful dance remix of some crap singer. (I like to run to poppy dance music. It keeps me moving. I think it’s the repetitive beat.) But as I run I keep one eye on the track and the other in my peripheral in case of a side attack. I’m on guard at all times ready to attack that anonymous ski mask wearing rapist, but usually it just another jogger that passes by. And when they do I jump and sometimes I even shriek or yell a little. Scaring both my self and the other jogger.

“Ahhh...” I Screaming hysterically. “Shit you just scared the crap out of me.” I try to say through my heavy breaths to the jogger tyring to pass me.

“Sorry” he replies with a strange look on his face.

“Oh my god! What was that?” I think to myself. Oh, it was just Brittany Spears heaving breathing during an instrumental break in the song. “♫ Don't you know that you're toxic… huh u huh huh…♫”

“Ahhhhh…” I scream again as the next jogger approaches. “Shit I’m going to have a heart attack if this goes on much longer” I think to myself as my heart rate races not just from the physical activity but from my delusions of being attacked.

I start to relize the other joggers must think I’m a lunatic, screaming as if I have turrets every time someone passes me by.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t run up behind a person?” I yell at them in my head as more joggers manuver to get by me. As if my paranoia is their fault and not my own for insisting to wear earphones while jogging.

At last I come to the end of my run, do my stretches and I think “I better fucking loose weight from this. Other wise it’s not worth the stress. Fuck that health shit this is way to dangerous.” Then light my cigarette and go home.

I love my animals but I might have to eat them.

Warning the fallowing may upset the average animal lover.

The Chinese culture eats dogs and cats. I'm pretty sure they don't taste that good. Other wise American’s would have found a way to make it socially expectable. You know how we love our food. Chinese food really isn't that good anyway. Real authentic Chinese food is bland and slimy. The American fusion Chinese food that we get at the local takeaway, that's a whole different story. That Chinese’s is pretty good. If you fried up some cat and slathered it in General Taos sauce, I bet it would taste pretty fuck’in good. (I do love me some General Tao). If I ever make my way to china I think I might have to try a little dog or cat. I mean really, what makes a cat or dog any different than a pig or cow. I really don't have the right to criticize. You have to remember it’s not like their eating someone’s pet it’s just some anonymous animal. Just like that burger you ate the other day was some anonymous cow. I seriously doubt that in china people are dognapping people’s pets for black market gourmet meals. But then again, you never know.

Now under most circumstances I wouldn’t eat a pet, especially not my own, but there is a time and reason for everything. One circumstance that I feel it is completely valid to eat your cuddly bunny or cute little schnauzer is during the apocalypse. When the apocalypse happens the pet owners of the world will be set. Everyone else will run out of food and we will have our dogs and kitties for reserves. Fresh meat well raised, lean, it’s like free range chicken. All these health nuts that grow there own veggies and shit would love it. They would know everything about there food from the time it was born. I bet it’s better for you than most store bought meats anyway. I’m planning on stocking up on Hoisin sauce just in case. I can see it becoming the next big heath craze.

“Know your meat! Buy your very own baby bunny today.”
“It’s 10pm did you know where your meat for dinner came from?”
“For good strong joints and bones choose Labrador they get a long with the kids and are big enough to feed the whole family.”

I love my Bella, she is a great dog. We cuddle every night together and watch T.V. She is like a child to me. I love her more that most humans I meet. But when the apocalypse comes and I'm out of food you know I might just have to eat her. Honestly, I think she would understand. I know she would definitely eat me if roles were reversed.

For: Bella, I love you my little roast piglet.

The Sandwich

The Sandwich has to be the most perfect meal ever conceived. I can't imagine a meal or single food being as good as any sandwich. Sandwiches make any meal portable and are a wonderful use for leftovers. Why would you ever need to eat anything else? Look at Jerry from subway. Even though Subway makes some of the worst sandwiches in the world. Which is one of the reasons he's probably lost all that weight. I bet you he lost his appetite from there crap bread and old veggies, and became depressed watching the subway employees just slap stuff on bread like it meant nothing.

Anyways back to what’s most important, the components of a great sandwich

The Components of a great sandwich are:

One, good Bread or Bead that best suites the sandwich you are creating. For example most sandwiches should have a fresh bread preferably whole grain like rye. But there comes a time when you are trying to achieve a sandwich that entices a childhood memory. I haven't met many children who eat "Brown" bread. The fallowing sandwiches call for paste white bread: The classic PB&J, The notorious "brown bag" Tuna salad (fabulous when served with UTZ salt and vinegar chips), The Plain Jane egg salad and last but certainly no least the all American grilled cheese. These sandwiches can be tarted up and guccified but usually taste best in there traditional state. Which is white bread and of course the cheapest ingredients you can find.

P.S. Egg and Tuna salads should only include mayo and Salt and pepper when trying to achieve a reminiscent sandwich. No fru fruy parsley and crap.

Two, is “the innards”. This is typical meat and veggies like lettuce but can truly be anything your heart desires. The best innards I have found to be are leftovers. Say you made a lovely chicken diner the night before and you have some biscuits, chicken, potatoes, and green beans left over in the fridge. Well you got yourself one kick ass sandwich. All you need to do is heat everything up in the microwave and toast that biscuit. Now stack that bitch up and eat away.
Leftovers are not the only good innards. You can get great innards at the deli. Buy meats that you know you like. There is no reason to explore. This is a sandwich for Christ sake not a gourmet meal. So stop trying to recreated that Gucci sandwich shit you got from Cosi for 10 bucks on your lunch break. Oh yeah and make sure you request your meat shaved. This is what makes the meat melt in your mouth. You also can get a variety of cheeses from the all American yellow to the horse radish infused cheddar.

Three, is The Assembled. The assembly of a great sandwich should never be rushed. Remove all the ingredients from the fridge prior to assemble. You shouldn’t need to look for anything half way through. Know what you want on your sandwich before you start to put it together. If you don’t you may end up with some thing strange that could ruin your sandwich experience. For example pickles and peanut butter or capers and apple butter. The only people who can survive eating these awful concoctions are teenagers and hormone crazed pregnant woman.
Also make sure to assemble in the fallowing order. It not only helps hold the sandwich together but it also harmonizes the flavors.

Bottom: one Bread slice
Middle 1: Condiments applied to bread
Middle 2: Meat, Bean or tofu (Deli meat has to be shaved)
Middle 2 ½: Cooked veggies
Middle 3: Cheese (use slices unless you have a cheese that can’t be sliced example: Feta)
Middle 4: lettuce, Greens or any other crisp veggie. Cooked veggies like potatoes, and grilled onions should go below cheese level 2 ½.
Middle 5: Additional condiments applied to top layer of bread
Top: one bread slice.


The Fourth, and final component in making the best sandwich is, packaging and wrapping. Packaging and wrapping are crucial to the longevity of a sandwiches life. With the right packaging a sandwich you made in the morning will be just as fresh when you go to eat it in the afternoon. First rule is if you plan to apply condiments like mayonnaise or avocados don’t wrap your sandwich in cellophane. Cellophane is the evil soggy sandwich maker. Cellophane can destroy a wonderful sandwich by mid morning. Try to avoid cellophane and sandwich bags. Wax paper is the best for wrapping sandwiches it helps your sandwich breath and keeps it fresh without the soggy mess. The second rule to a good pack and wrap is cover all areas, don’t leave any part of your sandwich exposed to the elements. Air can be a sandwiches worst enemy. Stale bread and crunchy dried out meat corners are sure to ruin and wonderful sandwich experience.


Needless to say I take my sandwiches very seriously and so should you. Don’t abuse this ideal creation of taste.



Remember to respect ... The sandwich.

Kamikaze Pedestrians

This morning on my way to work I encountered yet another kamikaze pedestrian. I swear this is some new craze taking the city by storm. It’s like sky diving or base jumping. There are 3 types of these road risk craving humans.

1. The “I'm too cool to pick up the pace”. These people meander across the street while the light is green not even at a crosswalk as cars speedily approach them. They don't even look at your car as you slow down to avoid hitting them. Sometimes they will even raise there hand slightly as if they have some supernatural power that will bring your car to a halting stop all the time not even acknowledging the person in shock behind the wheel. I understand you may not have some where to go, but maybe the person in the car is trying to get somewhere. Pick-up the pace, There is a car speeding tward you. Your life is at risk. This is not a time to dilly dally!

2. The “I needed to be on that side of the street so bad I will risk both our lives”. These People are worse in some ways because you never know when they are coming. They stand on one side of the street in a prepared to run stance and wait. Then all of a sudden they bolt out into the middle of the street trotting before your car. Sometimes they will even mouth the words "Sorry". Sorry, wouldn't fix your back if my reflexes weren't so quick enough to stop.

3. The “Street kid”. The street kid is usually found on side streets and allies but does venture to main roads on occasion. This specimen plays in the street without any regard for traffic. Usually any child’s game like tag or jump rope. You may need to avoid some routs completely because once they have taken over the street it is hard to get them to move. You could be sitting in your car all day waiting for them to mossy on out of you way. As they get older they are known as the “street thugs” they are usually boys. They still play in the streets but the games are no longer hopscotch and jump rope. As the age their interest turns to dice. And they only spill out onto the streets from the side walks taking up half of the road instead of the whole thing.


Now I ask them: “What makes you think I'm going to stop or even slow down for you? You don't know me. I could be some lunatic that is amused by vehicular man slaughter. Is this some new risk sport like bungee jumping? Are you getting off on the idea you might be killed by the grill of Hummer? If it is a sport how is it scored, and do I get points for hitting you? If so I will try harder next time.”

Confessions of a hair addict

To do my hair can take up to 3 hours. When I do it myself I don't sit all three hours I break it up in to sessions.


Session 1: Relaxer and wash about 45 min

Session 2: Blow-dry about 1hr.

Session 3: Flat iron and pin curl about 35min

Session 4: Take out pin curls and style 15 min


If and when I don't do my hair I look like a slob. My roommate on the other hand dose her hair in 10 min and even when she doesn’t it looks fine. She wakes up in the morning, shakes her head and runs a come through it. Needless to say I’m a little jealous

But what comforts me is knowing women have been burdening themselves with these torturous practices for centuries, and I’m not alone. I have been trying to make my hair straight all my life. I remember crying and not wanting to go to school as a child because my hair would frizz. I didn't and don't feel beautiful with out my hair done.

I have recently stopped relaxing my hair. The reason is because I had an awful experience. (I will tell you about it another time) But like any addict I can’t truly say I won’t relapse. And go back to my old ways. I have been clean since December, and will try my best to stay that way.

But my addiction started a long time ago something like this:

When I was in college I had a boyfriend who was Dominican. When his mother met me my hair was a mess. I had been struggled with it all my life. I could never get it to do anything except breads and pony tails even with a relaxer. My boy friends mother didn't speak much English but when she saw my hair I could tell she was appalled by the look on her face. Her hair was long and well kempt not a hair out of place. Mine was frizzy and wild popping out of ponytails every which way.

My boyfriend’s mother could tell I needed help. So she asked her daughter to take me to the salon with her. We went on a subway ride to a little corner salon. It was very small building but to my surprise when I walked in it was filled with women. There were Tons of women in various processes of hair torture. It was crowded, hard to move around and the hair dressers didn’t seem to ever take a break. It was like a well oiled machine.

My boyfriend’s sister told the woman in Spanish what needed to be done to my hair and the ride began. They plopped me down in the chair, sectioned my hair and began to apply the white cream. It burned a little but I was willing to take it if it was going to make my hair silky smooth. The aroma of rotting eggs lingered around my head. Soon it wasn’t burning a little it was burning a lot. I looked to the hair dresser who spoke no English but knew exactly what was on my mind by the look on my face, and rushed me to the sink to wash it out.
Ahhhhh…
The shampooing began. It seemed like they must have shampooed my hair 15 times. It felt nice, reliving. I was glad that it was almost over. But it was far from it.

“Deep condition” the shampoo girl said to me.
“Si” my boyfriend’s sister called out from the chair she sat in getting her own torture treatment.

A cream and a plastic cap were applied to my head and I was put under the dryer to wait. I didn’t know how much of an ordeal this was so I wasn’t prepared. No book, no portable video games, nothing but a Spanish soap opera on the T.V. in the far corner that I couldn’t hear over the blaring salsa music.

I sat and waited and at last I was taking back over to the sink to be rinsed.
“Yes, almost done” I thought.

Nope, honey, not even close.
A lady then took me to yet another chair and started rolling my hair. And then back under the dryer for some more soap opera and salsa music. This time it was for an hour. The day was passing by.

At last I was put into the final chair. She took out the rollers and I already felt the freedom. My head was lighter. A weight had been lifted. I could feel my hair bounce on my shoulders.

“Ouch, that hurt” I though as the hair dresser started to attack my head with a blow-dryer. She manhandled my head pushing it around to get to the hard to reach areas. Making sure ever strand was straight and flowing.

When she was done it was dark outside, but I no longer cared. I was beautiful. My hair was free flowing. I couldn’t stop shaking my head feeling my hair bounce from side to side. I was addicted I wanted my hair to look like this all the time. I never wanted to go back to those breads and ponytails they were so constricting.

I was free, but only temporarily. I would have to go back and get a wash and sets to keep it looking nice. Or try to wrap it at home.

But I'm willing to do what ever it takes because I’m hooked.

I haven't been relaxed since December but I still blow-dry and Pin curl.

7-11 Love

7-11 Oh, how I love the.
I fill my belly with your sodium filled tubes of cheese substance and mystery meat.
And quench my thirst with your chemical flavored neon colored frozen drinks.
Oh how I love you
The 7-11 clerk with the bad attitude and the red vest.
What is that? you just called me an asshole in Hindi on your Bluetooth.
I love you 7-11
How could I live with out your florescent lighting and sticky linoleum floor?
Your aroma of old coffee and rotating hotdog call to me in the night.
You are my booty call.
My undercover lover.
I know your bad for me but you just taste so damn good.

God bless America!

I have a small addiction to 7-11 Slurpees. My Favorite is Cherry, but I do like to try the novelty flavors they put out for promotions. The ones like God of war "Kratos Fury blackberry lime.” Not only did it taste delicious but it reminded me that I needed to run out and buy the game. (Don’t you love marketing?)

Whats wrong with me?

I keep hearing the same questions from woman of my age. They ask "what’s wrong with me?" They seem to be feeling like it’s there fault because the men they date are assholes. And maybe it is there fault. But I don't think they’re the only ones to blame. I think men just don't care about women. They don't have respect for women, and women of my generation seem afraid to ask for it. It seems like they feel like its asking for it is just too much. "He'll think I'm crazy if when he calls me I tell him to get lost because I haven't heard from him in 2 days." So they listen to his lame ass excuse. Unless you where in a fucking coma or lost your tongue. You better find a fucking way to get in touch with me.

I on the other hand leave at the first sign of no or little respect. I'm not sure if this works. But I honestly lose interest in a man if I feel like they aren't giving me enough. If a man doesn't live up to the expectations I have of him it's over. I don't want to talk about it. If you think we should talk you better be saying you’re sorry, because I don't care about your side of the story. I'm not unreasonable just realistic. I know myself and I need a lot of attention. If you don't talk to me for a few days I may be hanging out with someone else. Now this doesn't mean I'm sleeping with them, but it doesn’t mean that I won't later leave you for him. If I have to get my attention form some place else I will. No hard feelings it just didn't work out. If I don't feel like you are making an effort than I will stop putting an effort in. And it's over. No going back. I don't think we need to talk about it. What is there to talk about? How you miss me and love me. Well if you missed me so dame much you should have fuck'in called in the first place. If you had respect for me you wouldn't have acted in that manor and if you made a mistake than you should have apologized.

I have lost patience with men, and I'm fine on my own. If it's not love and I'm not feeling it I don't need it. Everything else is trouble.

Women, I don't know if there is anything wrong with us, but I do know that there is definitely something wrong with them.


Look Man, I'm a woman and your girlfriend. Not one of your buddies. Not your mom. Not your parole officer. Remember I don't have to do anything for you and I don't owe you anything. Every thing I do is out of the kindness of my heart and I can take it away at anytime. I will protect myself. You need to understand that and respect it. If you don't like it... well, fuck you there's more where you came from.

P.S. I'm really not a bitch. I just don't like to play games.

-JSW

I don't like you.

I don't like you, yeah you.
In fact I might even go as far as to say I hate you. You are the one that gives a bad name to the rest of us. I hate to think someone groups us together as one.
Don't label me.

Just because I might like the same music, live in the same town or have the same ethnic background as that prick over there. It doesn’t mean I'm anything like him or her.

I understand generalizations are hard not to make but please don't live by them. If you think I'm just like them or we are the same you are WRONG! There is no one in the world like me for good or bad. I'm different. And so the fuck are you!

You know that lonely feeling you get. That one that makes you want to connect to someone or a group. That feeling that causes people to join fraternities and sororities. A way to feel less alone and more joined to the people around you. That’s your mind reminding you that you are different. No matter how hard you try to fit in or how many groups you join you will always feel that lonely feeling. You know why? Because it's just you in that head of yours. And until you realize that you better start fucking liking yourself before you will ever stop feeling alone. You will wander from person to person group to group looking for something that isn’t there.

It's ok to be different. And it's ok for them to be different too. You don't have to like them. Hell, you can even hate them. But just leave them, us, and you alone to find ourselves for who we are. You can't stop yourself from judging people at first glance or even trying to group them together. It's human nature. What you can do is give them a chance to show you who they are. We can’t all agree on everything, but we could at least try to not get in each others ways of trying to like ourselves. It works both ways don’t think your anymore special than someone else because your black, white, gay, straight or any of those boxes you check on a government form. All we can do is try to be tolerant and not step on anyone elses toes while trying to be ourselves. Wouldn't you want someone to do the same for you?

Try to be nice to that man siting next to you and if he ends up being an asshole remember that was “that guy” not the next guy that comes along sits down. But if "that guy" does show up again feel free to let him know he's a dick.

A visit with grandma

I love my Grandma. She is one of the most interesting people I have ever met and will ever meet. She has one of the most expressive personalities with a no holds bar attitude, and yet a truly sensitive nature. She has been a nurse and stage performer. Her personality is larger than life. She is truly amazing.

Here is a story about her and I that happened recently.

Lately I have been spending a lot more time with my grandma because she is sick and needs some help around the house. I go over pick up her medicine from the drugstore, buy her cigarette and straighten up the house. Stuff like that.

Well the other day I was at work when I received a call from my mother.
"Julie, I need you to go to grandmas and help her find her medicine. She is in pain and can't find it."

My work isn't far from my grandmother’s house so it wouldn’t take long. So I tell my coworkers that I must leave for a family emergency and get in my car and go. On the way there I realize I forgot my keys to my grandmother’s house. "Oh shit" This is not a good thing. My grandmother isn't one to let a thing like this slide. In her defense she did ask me to put them on my key ring last time I was over. My nerves set in I'm scared.
I call mommy.

I stand at my grandmother’s door hesitant to ring the door bell.
Julia: "Mommy, I forgot my keys to grandma's house. And I know she is going to yell at me."
Mom: "Julie, don't be silly just ring the doorbell."
Julia: "But I know she is going to yell at me"
Mom: "Ok if she yells at you I will handle it"

I ring the door bell... and wait... and wait...

A ruckus slowly approaches the door. At its loudest the door opens. (Remind you I still have my mother on the other end of the cell phone to defend me in case of attack.)

Grandma: "WHAT! You didn't bring your god dam keys." The chaos ensues. Cats and dog clamor in excitement around the door happy to see a new face. "Oh for crying out loud, I had to get the fuck up out of bed and walk all the way to the front door. Why didn’t you bring your keys?"

“Tell her to calm down.” Mom says through the other end of the cell phone.
“You tell her to calm down she is pissed at me enough already” I say in reply.

Grandma yells to me "Don't let the cats out for Christ sake. The other day I had to run down the street half naked trying to catch that one there" She points to a white colored flat faced cat that is struggling to breath do to its bread for cuteness deformities. “Luckily some young girl helped me catch that little bastard in the end."

My imagination starts going. All I can see is my grandma run out in the street with just a towel on screaming at this young art student with funny colored hair wearing some tunic garb. (It probably wasn’t even a girl). While grandma screams "Help me get that fucking cat!"

I bring my self back to reality and talk into my cell phone "Mom, I'm going to get off the phone with you so can get this done."

Pushing my way through the door with pats and petting to get through the animals and into the house." O.k., Grandma I'm sorry. So where did you drop your pills." I say ready now to take on the task of searching for the missing pills.

“Next to the bed, Sweet heart." Oh god, I'm in so much pain” she replies.

I feel so bad for her. The shingles that cover her shoulder look incredible painful. But I know my grandmother and she is tuff and can handle more pain than most men triple her size. She may be small but she is one tuff cookie.

So I enter her tiny room where she has a small bed and a big flat screen T.V. my Mother got her for her birthday last year. This is where she likes to spend most of her time. The room is cluttered with notes to herself, articles of events past and photos of her beautiful family. (That includes me of course)

I search around the room looking by the fish tank, near the T.V., under the dresser and chair. No luck. So I kneel next to the bed to see if the pill bottle was kicked under. It’s dark and hard to see but it looks like one of the cats is under there. I call to my grandmother to get me a flashlight in order to get a better look. She brings me the flash light and I turn it on to examine further.

“Grandma there is a cat under your bed.” I call out.
“Oh yeah he likes it under there. That one always hides. He doesn’t come out much.” she replies.
“I think it might be dead” I say hesitantly.
Irritated that I would even say such a thing she replies “No it’s not”
“Could you get me a stick or something so I can poke it?” I say not trying to upset her.

She leaves the room and returns with a broom.

I grab the broom and maneuver it around the chairs, fish tank, and other pieces cluttering the tiny room, so I can get it under the bed and to “poke around” as it where. I poke the light colored lump of fur, nothing. The cat lies still. My worst thoughts were true. It’s dead.

I yell out to grandma “Yeah it’s definitely dead”
Grandma replies in denial “No it’s not”
“I’m sorry grandma” I say.
“I hope it’s not the one I like” she says seeming slightly annoyed.

I get on the phone to my mother. And explain the situation.
“I can’t go under there and get it.” I tell her.
“Well neither can I. I’ll call your father.” she says and gets off the phone to call for reinforcements.

This was a Friday and every Friday my father has a breakfast meeting with the accountant in his office. So he can be difficult to reach.

I try to make my grandma comfortable while we wait for my father to get out of his breakfast meeting and arrive to handle the situation.

“This is the worst fucking pain I’ve felt in my life.” grandma announces.
“Grandma, go sit down and relax until Graham gets here” I say trying to ease her.

I lead her over to the bed, (the dead cat still underneath) and help her sit down.

We wait with the T.V. blaring at full volume. I decide to call my dad, Graham, and find out what’s taking so long.

“Graham, where are you. Are you going to come and get this cat?” I say slightly annoyed that I’m still at grandma's instead of being back at work.
“I’m at the shop I needed to get a bag and shovel. How long do you think it’s been there?” He replies.
“I don’t know. How would I know? I will see you soon” I say and get off the phone.

Grandma and I go back to waiting. The doorbell rings finally and once again the chaos ensues. The dog barks and the rest of the living cats go to the door to greet my father. I quickly walk to the front of the house to open the front door.
My dad walks in with a huge shovel and one of those black construction trash bags.

“So how long do you think it’s been there?” He says with a slight smirk on his face.
“I don’t know.” I now say a little aggravated having to keep answering the same question.
“Does it smell.” he replies.
“No, not really.” I say recalling if I could smell anything over the abundance of cigarette smoke.
“Well, I’m gong to need your help. You're going to have to hold the bed up while I shovel it into the bag." He says.
“Really!” I replay not expecting to be involved with the disposal.

We enter the room where grandma sits on the bed that the dead cat lays under.
“Joan, you’re going to have to go sit in the living room while we do this." my dad says while motioning to me to get to work.

Grandma leaves and we get to the act of disposal. I lift the bed to reveal the cat lying limp and lifeless. As my dad takes the shovel and tries to scoop it up into the bag.

While trying to maneuver the carcass onto the shovel my dad announces: “Well it doesn’t smell. So it probably hasn’t been their long.” He seemed relived about his concerns of how long it had been there.

I say nothing trying to hold my breath and the bed up at the same time.

“Ok” he says as he closes the bag.
Grandma, yelling from the other room. “I want to see its face to know if it’s the one I liked.”

My dad throws the cat filled bag into the back of my pick up truck and I go back to work. Like most things that are put in the back of my pick-up it sits there for awhile. Until I ask my dad to remove it.

The next day or so my mother talks to my grandmother on the phone. The conversation went something like this:

My Mom: “Hi, Mommy, sorry about your cat. Wasn’t it the one with the brother?”
Grandma: “Yeah, I had both siblings”
My Mom: “Do you think the other sibling cat is morning the loss of the one that died?”
Grandma: “How the fuck would I know? Do I look like a fucking cat?”

Lost Fairy Tales

Women and men are lost. When was the last time you have seen a truly happy marriage or one that didn’t end in divorce? Civilization is deteriorating; it’s only a mater of time before men start clubbing women over the head and dragging them back to there cave. Or people start just fucking in the streets like dogs.

Why is this happening? Maybe because children are treated like animals or even worse accessories. Some not treated any better than your average house pet. Food, water, shelter, expected to be enough. No stability, no structure, spoiled with treats and bribes to keep them quiet. Left unattended to teach themselves the ways of the world. Only having their observations of there parents dysfunctional relationships as a guideline.

Society is creating a loveless horde of selfish beings that consume themselves with their own self pity. So focused on “ME” that children are lost to grow up without guides to show them the ways of compassion.

Love has become a story book fairy tale lost in fantasy land never to be recovered. Where are the parents to tell the bedtime stories that have taught us the lessons of life and love?

Little do we realize the thoughts that roam around in those little brains and linger as they grow. Wonders of why and is it ok? Do they love me? Do they like me? Am I just in there way? Even if they do feel love their questions are much the same. “Did they want me? Would they be happier if I wasn’t in the way? This is how they will see themselves and the partners they in counter on the way. As they grow they will continue the cycle with children of their own. Each generation is less human than the one prior. So focused on there own troubles unable to connect with another.

Should the new title of the classic children’s book “Are you my mother?” be changed to “Which one of you is my father?”

Men, Remember This

Men remember this the next time a Woman treats you like shit, leaves you for another man, and takes your children with her. You helped make that woman.

Look in to your past and remember that girl you slept with and never bothered to call. Remember the girl you lead to believe you were together until you got her in bed and then decided to ignore her calls. Remember the one that wasn't pretty enough to meet your friend. Remember the one you took home when you were drunk and... Oh wait you can't remember that last one.

Karma's a Bitch.

For Jen

-JSW

It's not all that complicated

It's really not all that complicated.
You're the one that made it that way.
Stop reading into it. The surface is usually the truth.

Don't make excuses for others behaviors. They do have a reason for what they did. Even if they can't admit to it themselves. They still meant it when it happened. They may feel sorry later, but be sure to know that it will most likely happen again.

The root of a person never changes. You are who you are. And They are who they are All we can do is try to make ourselves better.

Better than the people that hurt us.

Find people you can exist harmoniously with. Stop struggling to be with the wrong people. Live for today because you will always be running out of tomorrows.

-JSW