I wrote a blog a couple of years ago about all of the things people wrote in my junior/senior high yearbook and for whatever reason it was by far the most popular blog entry I've ever written. Not sure why, but back by popular demand, here is the 2nd edition.
If you haven't read the first edition, I'll link you to it here:
http://jleardini.blogspot.com/2010/09/hags-and-all-that-other-stuff-no-one.html
Again, look for my present day commentary in red.
Jeffrey Leardini "wuz" here "87"
Yeah, that's right. Apparently, I was so pathetic that I decided to sign my own yearbook. One word - PLAYA
Good Luck See you in technology next year.
As this was written by one of my teachers, I should have taken this as a sign that things might not be going so well in class.
On the "Faculty" page, I wrote beneath it "Teachers"
Apparently, I was concerned that I might not figure out what that meant...
Jeff,
Good luck next year and summ
Love,
Stephanie
Is this like one of those dreaded word problems where they give you all of these clues...."Annnnnnd....SUM! QUICKLY YOU FOOL! SUM!!!!!!!"
Jeff,
So What's up? Have fun this summer get a girlfriend see you at LShS
Chow,
Stephanie
I believe Stephanie was majoring in Grammar with a minor in International Studies
Jeff,
hi! I'm glad we met and became friends. Stay sweet cute and smart! I don't really know what to say so I'll let ya go. I Love Joe!
Love,
Annette
Alright then I'll talk to you later. Buh-bye now. I'll make sure to rip this page out and pass it along to Joe.
Jeff,
What's up. Not much here. Later
Well, since you asked, I went for a run this evening. There was a slight dew on the lawn....
Jeff,
Maybe you'll pass and be with me next year in 9th grade. And you might be half the size as me by then.
P.S. Don't change your attitude.
Aaron
I should have realized I was behind the curve a little when my mom was still shopping at Osh Kosh well into my teenage years.
Jeff,
Hows it brewin? Have a good summer and I'll see you in 9th.
Joe
Well, as Aaron could tell you, my growth was somewhat stunted, perhaps by that Mochachino I enjoyed each morning....
Showing posts with label The Best of Leardini. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Best of Leardini. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
New Guy!
One of the funniest things that a few friends adopted while working at Tops was that whenever a new person started working there, we'd refer to them as "New Guy" or "New Girl". There was a guy, named Bobby Singh, who would actually go make name tags for the newbies that said "New Guy". In fact, I left to go to school and came back months later and was shocked to see "George", or whatever the person's name was, on his name tag rather than "New Guy". I was like, "New Guy, what's this all about," as I pointed to his name tag.
In any event, I have carried this on to all of my other jobs since. In fact, one time at my last job, a "New Girl" started and then a week later there was another "New Girl" in the same department. Needless to say, it was confusing. Proper protocol is that they keep the "New Guy/Girl" moniker for 2 weeks. After that it becomes ridiculous.
As I began a new job last month, I was now the "New Guy" and I told them that it was only customary that they replace my name plate with "New Guy". On a positive note, they have me listed in the company directory as "Jeffrey Thomas". UGH! Who does that? Was my mom in the new associate setup area? I told them they could call me JT for short. Ugh. That, and whoever set up my email account used my full name and so everyone is emailing me, "Hi Jeffrey!" Ugh!
One of the best parts of the new job, other than being called "New Guy", is that I get to bring Sammie to work with me. It's great, because she can play in the dog park that is on-site, or she can relax in my office. It's a lot of fun for her and it makes my day a lot more interesting. =)
In any event, I have carried this on to all of my other jobs since. In fact, one time at my last job, a "New Girl" started and then a week later there was another "New Girl" in the same department. Needless to say, it was confusing. Proper protocol is that they keep the "New Guy/Girl" moniker for 2 weeks. After that it becomes ridiculous.
As I began a new job last month, I was now the "New Guy" and I told them that it was only customary that they replace my name plate with "New Guy". On a positive note, they have me listed in the company directory as "Jeffrey Thomas". UGH! Who does that? Was my mom in the new associate setup area? I told them they could call me JT for short. Ugh. That, and whoever set up my email account used my full name and so everyone is emailing me, "Hi Jeffrey!" Ugh!
One of the best parts of the new job, other than being called "New Guy", is that I get to bring Sammie to work with me. It's great, because she can play in the dog park that is on-site, or she can relax in my office. It's a lot of fun for her and it makes my day a lot more interesting. =)
Now For The Pictures!
 |
| First Day on the Job! You can just barely see my "Scuba Hulk" placard that I was given when I got on board. It's Rock Star! |
 |
| I was trying to get Sammie to stay still but she was so excited about being at work that this blurry mess was the best that I could do. This is her first day on the job! |
 |
| Sammie checking out the happenings of the Companion Animal division. |
 |
| Sammie at the watering hole. |
 | <><>
| Sammie asleep on the job! |
 |
| I've found that one of the best ways to keep her busy is by stuffing her Kong with some food. She literally is going to town for as long as there is even the slightest odor of food left on the Kong. We are approaching "Squeaky Clean" status at this point. |
Friday, January 20, 2012
Friends Fo-Shizzle
So, I went out to play tennis tonight with my new San Diego best friend, Wilson. He's my new San Diego best friend based on the premise that he's the only person in San Diego that I've actually had any personal interaction with outside of work for more than 1 minute and 15 seconds. He takes the honor away from Erica and Tyler who are my neighbors across the breezeway and they were my best friends in San Diego based on the fact that I said Hi to them, they said Hi back and then I helped them carry in a few pieces of furniture.
So, as you can infer, my social calendar has been rocking and rolling, so I went to craigslist to see if someone was looking for a tennis partner and sure enough I found Wilson. I was pretty sure 20 minutes into our hitting session that he was going to walk off the court and tell me not to call him again as I was so rusty I couldn't sustain a rally of more than 3 shots (that's with the caveat that Wilson hit 2 of the shots before I hit a double off the fence or hit a grounder into the net for an inning ending 6-4-3 double play.)
Funny thing about tennis though, sometimes if you play for a long enough period of time, strange things happen. In this case, I was sweating and the steam was coming off the top of my cranium. Pretty sure Tom Cruise doesn't have this problem. Wilson, who was very well endowed in the follicle department didn't have this detriment, I'm sure. So, as the steam is accumulating around my face like I'm in a sauna, I actually started returning some shots in play. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating about not hitting a shot in. After awhile, Wilson stopped chasing my errant shots and just watched them like he was witnessing a fireworks display with his head cocked to the side facing up in the air.
One thing I've noticed after playing with my #1 San Diego friend (I'm going to play with a few titles and see which one sounds best for Wilson), is that I'm not 18 anymore. I remember when I was 18, I used to run and play all day long and never think twice about it. On one occasion, I wiped out on my bike, skinned my leg from knee to ankle, watched it bleed, and then proceeded to go on to the basketball game I was headed for. I played a full game of hoops, then rode my bike home and felt like a champ. In fact, I remember when I used to work at Tops, I had a friend, named Melissa, who came in one time to buy a sports drink and I was like what are you doing and she told me she was jogging around the city. I was like, "What?!? Are you crazy?" By all estimates, Melissa lived about 7-10 miles from Tops, and I might add that the road she lived on was not exactly "jogger friendly". I'm pretty sure that if she continued to jog and not get picked up before returning home that she probably jogged 20+ miles that day. I don't know what happened after she left, but that inspired me to start running and now I'm pretty much in constant pain. Ahhh...good times he said!
So, as I was saying, my game is pretty weak, so to compensate I've got to really hustle after every shot, because when I'm running all over the place, I actually tend to get some shots back. It's the slow shots that are hit right to me that I lauch to the moon. Well, after a few of these dead sprints across the court the thought occured to me that there wasn't a great flow of oxygen getting to my brain. Wilson was doing just fine. I could pretty much taste my spleen. He destroyed me on the scoreboard and as I was walking to my car, I thought well this is going to be an interesting night if I don't get some ibuprofen immediately.
The perfect ending to the night is that as soon as I sat down to relax, Sammie came and nudged me to go outside for a walk. Mercifully, she wasn't pulling or else she might have ended up dragging me like a corpse on the end of a rope.
Miles Walked Today: 2 (Does the dog ever get tired - I'm setting all kinds of walking mileage records in the brief time since I've moved)
Friends Made Today: 1
Friends Elevated to "Best in San Diego" status: 1
Odds that Wilson will ever call me to play tennis again: It's a crap shoot, but probably 60%
So, as you can infer, my social calendar has been rocking and rolling, so I went to craigslist to see if someone was looking for a tennis partner and sure enough I found Wilson. I was pretty sure 20 minutes into our hitting session that he was going to walk off the court and tell me not to call him again as I was so rusty I couldn't sustain a rally of more than 3 shots (that's with the caveat that Wilson hit 2 of the shots before I hit a double off the fence or hit a grounder into the net for an inning ending 6-4-3 double play.)
Funny thing about tennis though, sometimes if you play for a long enough period of time, strange things happen. In this case, I was sweating and the steam was coming off the top of my cranium. Pretty sure Tom Cruise doesn't have this problem. Wilson, who was very well endowed in the follicle department didn't have this detriment, I'm sure. So, as the steam is accumulating around my face like I'm in a sauna, I actually started returning some shots in play. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating about not hitting a shot in. After awhile, Wilson stopped chasing my errant shots and just watched them like he was witnessing a fireworks display with his head cocked to the side facing up in the air.
One thing I've noticed after playing with my #1 San Diego friend (I'm going to play with a few titles and see which one sounds best for Wilson), is that I'm not 18 anymore. I remember when I was 18, I used to run and play all day long and never think twice about it. On one occasion, I wiped out on my bike, skinned my leg from knee to ankle, watched it bleed, and then proceeded to go on to the basketball game I was headed for. I played a full game of hoops, then rode my bike home and felt like a champ. In fact, I remember when I used to work at Tops, I had a friend, named Melissa, who came in one time to buy a sports drink and I was like what are you doing and she told me she was jogging around the city. I was like, "What?!? Are you crazy?" By all estimates, Melissa lived about 7-10 miles from Tops, and I might add that the road she lived on was not exactly "jogger friendly". I'm pretty sure that if she continued to jog and not get picked up before returning home that she probably jogged 20+ miles that day. I don't know what happened after she left, but that inspired me to start running and now I'm pretty much in constant pain. Ahhh...good times he said!
So, as I was saying, my game is pretty weak, so to compensate I've got to really hustle after every shot, because when I'm running all over the place, I actually tend to get some shots back. It's the slow shots that are hit right to me that I lauch to the moon. Well, after a few of these dead sprints across the court the thought occured to me that there wasn't a great flow of oxygen getting to my brain. Wilson was doing just fine. I could pretty much taste my spleen. He destroyed me on the scoreboard and as I was walking to my car, I thought well this is going to be an interesting night if I don't get some ibuprofen immediately.
The perfect ending to the night is that as soon as I sat down to relax, Sammie came and nudged me to go outside for a walk. Mercifully, she wasn't pulling or else she might have ended up dragging me like a corpse on the end of a rope.
Miles Walked Today: 2 (Does the dog ever get tired - I'm setting all kinds of walking mileage records in the brief time since I've moved)
Friends Made Today: 1
Friends Elevated to "Best in San Diego" status: 1
Odds that Wilson will ever call me to play tennis again: It's a crap shoot, but probably 60%
Thursday, January 19, 2012
That's Offensive...I think...
Here's how the move went down - it was cra-shizzle...
Day 1 - actually, let's back the bus up - Saturday before day 1 - 6 or 7 of my best friends came over for what I declared as about "an hour's worth of loading". Sha-right. About 5 hours later we were almost done. Our house was trashed - literally. The only things left in the house were garbage and an air mattress. OMG - my body hurt so much!
Note to anyone moving - Forget u-haul, forget pods, forget 2 guys in a truck - they are all overpriced. We used ABF U-Pack it and the money we saved allowed us to get movers on the other end to move our stuff out of the trailer into our new apartment. ABF has it's pros and cons, mainly that you must have a place to drop the trailer on both ends and don't even think about the cubes unless you currently live in a shed or the like. Your best and only bet is to go with the trailer. It's a great deal. You only pay for what you use and the rates are very affordable. Instead, you could choose the other companies and while you're at it, why don't you just spend the rest of your money on mail order brides. Duh...
So...
Day 1 - We got in the car and let me reiterate that sleeping on an air mattress only works when you're making like Blair Witch or something. An air mattress in an empty room is horrible. #1 - It's freezing. Try sleeping on it - you'll literally think you're an eskimo. I didn't know if I was ready for a blizzard or bed. #2 - even worse is an air mattress on hard woods - the thing is literally moonwalking across the floor while we're sleeping. I'm like - is this an air mattress or a turbo flyer? On a positive note, we were already half way to the car by the time we woke up.
We got up at the crack of dawn - actually it was still dark outside when we woke up and I'm happy to report it was a balmy 17 degrees. With an absence of sweat on my brow and the defrost on full blast we backed out of the driveway for the last time. I don't get sentimental about most inanimate objects, but there is something to be told about all of the struggles we had in building our house and getting everything we wanted in it. There were battles, fights, and there was no giving in. Perhaps that's a good topic for the next blog, but for now, we were ambling down to the interstate and on our way.
If you've never traveled for 4 consecutive days in a car with a "large" dog, then I'm not sure there is anything I can say to prepare you for what you are going to experience. Side bar - according to all of the designations out west, Sammie is known as a "large" dog. Don't worry - we're all properly offended.
In any event, we drove for about 12 hours and stopped just west of Jackson, MS. It was a really cool drive and by someone's insistence (read: barking and slobber) we stopped about every 2 hours. On a positive note, that made the trip much more doable because you're always a maximum of 120 minutes away from stopping and stretching. I had never been west of Atlanta in the car, so there was a lot to see. On the way, we decided that Blood Gnome would visit all of the "welcome" centers. The best was on our way into Mississippi, there were 2 ladies at the desk next to the clock in shape of a state. I told Jill to ask the ladies if they would pose with Blood Gnome and they did. The picture was priceless because the one lady was smiling and the other was like - get this crap over with and get your sorry east coast/west coast wannabe butts out of our cotton-pickin state...If you look closely at the picture, she is ready to break the Gnome in half. In the vein of this is insanely ridiculous - I'ma tryin' ta do my state proud an'a I get these yayhoos comin' in with this stupid troll wanting a picture...
~Day 2 Tomorrow ~
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Can you tell me how to get...[redux]
Stop me if you've heard this one before...
2 Adults and a dog, drive across country in a car that is stuffed to the gills with worldly belongings...
Not even gonna lie. The first item in the car was my flat screen tv. The flat screen was getting packed and then "let's see what else we can fit" was employed. The dog was cramped. The wife was cramped. I was cramped.
Obligatory worst part of the trip -
Saying ok to my wife when she decided to put us in that Motel 6 in Big Spring, TX. I literally slept with one eye open all night long. That place smelled. There were sketchy people lurking in the breezeways with their doors open. Meh! Don't even get me started on the fact that the bed sheets were collages of all that was well and good with Motel 6. If that was truly the case, they would be empty/white except that the filth would show up in a NY Minute.
Obligatory best part of the trip -
Xanadu! Staying in the Hampton Inn in Tuscon, AZ. That place was heaven on earth or at least it seemed that way coming on the heels of the Motel 6. I was like hell with the road trip, I'm going to live in this place because this is clearly nicer than any place I've lived, let alone stayed.
So, here's the damage - 4 days, 36ish hours, stops at every "welcome center" rest stop to take the picture with Blood Gnome. That's an inside joke, but the gist of it is that I have a broken Cincinnati Bearcats Gnome that follows me everywhere. It's terrific and weird all at the same time.
Most importantly - 0 incidents, and at the end of the day that's all that is really important, isn't it?
So, while I'd really like to write more, the dog is pushing her wet nose into my arm. For those lay people, that's the I have to go to the bathroom type of nudge. So on that note...
2 Adults and a dog, drive across country in a car that is stuffed to the gills with worldly belongings...
Not even gonna lie. The first item in the car was my flat screen tv. The flat screen was getting packed and then "let's see what else we can fit" was employed. The dog was cramped. The wife was cramped. I was cramped.
Obligatory worst part of the trip -
Saying ok to my wife when she decided to put us in that Motel 6 in Big Spring, TX. I literally slept with one eye open all night long. That place smelled. There were sketchy people lurking in the breezeways with their doors open. Meh! Don't even get me started on the fact that the bed sheets were collages of all that was well and good with Motel 6. If that was truly the case, they would be empty/white except that the filth would show up in a NY Minute.
Obligatory best part of the trip -
Xanadu! Staying in the Hampton Inn in Tuscon, AZ. That place was heaven on earth or at least it seemed that way coming on the heels of the Motel 6. I was like hell with the road trip, I'm going to live in this place because this is clearly nicer than any place I've lived, let alone stayed.
So, here's the damage - 4 days, 36ish hours, stops at every "welcome center" rest stop to take the picture with Blood Gnome. That's an inside joke, but the gist of it is that I have a broken Cincinnati Bearcats Gnome that follows me everywhere. It's terrific and weird all at the same time.
Most importantly - 0 incidents, and at the end of the day that's all that is really important, isn't it?
So, while I'd really like to write more, the dog is pushing her wet nose into my arm. For those lay people, that's the I have to go to the bathroom type of nudge. So on that note...
Monday, February 21, 2011
Daily Musings
So, I've had this blog entry in the queue for about 3 weeks now about the vacation that Jill and I took to Stone Mountain, which is near Atlanta, Georgia. It's a neat area, but I won't spoil the blog entry that is waiting for some pictures.
I decided, instead, to write a little bit about what's been happening to me lately. I was out sick on Thursday and I missed BH's trip to the Sample Sale that takes place in our office. What the sample sale resembles is feeding time at the local trough. What it actually is the opportunity for is some great deals. BH never misses one. All of the offices have samples that they discard because they are not carrying the product, or the photography has been completed and the vendor does not require the sample to be returned, or something to that effect. I really wish that I had pictures of this, because it is truly an insane event. What happens is that BH will go down a few days prior and case the joint so that she can eyeball whatever she has interest in. It might be clothing, china, home decor items, seasonal merchandise, or some kitchen electrics. The assortment is never the same on any two occasions. What marvels me is not that BH will fill her car with a litany of merchandise, but that she will give away almost all of it. Apparently, there is a large fellow who lives near BH and so she will buy him bathing suits, golf polos, or any item that she can find in the largest size we carry.
I don't know what I'd think if my neighbor happened over with a golf polo and a bathing suit in his hand and told me that he picked that up for me at work. I'd be wondering what the matter was with the outfit that he was giving it to me. Was it picked out of the garbage? Did someone throw up on it after a night of drinking beer towers topped off with a Irish Car Bomb? Did someone with an infectious topical disease wear these clothes? But no, BH does this to everyone. So, on Thursday she told me that she got a whole car load of clothing, shoes, and accessories, and by this morning, she had given all of them away.
The thing that I love about working with BH is that she tells stories that never in a million years would cross my mind. One of the best things is that in her town there a quite a few differences from living in the big city. So many of the down home examples that she provides bring me back to a time in college where I was asked to show an example of taking things for granted. I thought and thought about what has happened in my life and finally I came up with an example.
When I was younger, my uncle and I enjoyed playing Super Nintendo games together. One game that we particularly enjoyed was Tecmo Super Bowl. We would each take a team and play out our season and if we met in the end then we would play head-to-head. I would practice and practice so that I could come out on top in this matchup against my uncle. We were both confident that we'd beat the computer controlled opposition, not only for the 16 weeks of the season, but also for the two playoff rounds that we would need to eclipse in order to get to our matchup. Our matchups were especially challenging because all of the games against the computer forced us to compete on the left hand side of the screen, moving towards the right. Once we went head-to-head though, one of us would have to play on the right moving towards the left, which was a huge adjustment. We tried to make the adjustment by playing a best of three series where we would each take a turn on the left side. At one point, I had practiced enough that my uncle could not touch me. I beat him like a drum. Then, I got overconfident. I didn't practice a lot and we went to play against each other, and I didn't even make it to the head-to-head matchup because I lost in the playoffs. I was so overconfident that I forgot what got me to that point. I was strong at running the football, but once I got into that game, I tried to throw on every down because I didn't think that I could run well enough.
So, that was the example that I wrote in my response journal to a passage we read from Beowulf. My teacher wrote in my journal, "A real down-home example!" That's what I think about BH. She tells me stories that are very important to her, but I don't see the connection right away. There is a saying that she has, "There's a dead cat in that river," or something to that effect. What I've learned from BH is that this phrase means that even though you can't see...you know what, I have no idea what it means. In fact, I'm not even sure I got the phrase right. She's got a lot of great stories, but there are quite a few that have me scratching my head.
If I had to tell you one story about BH that will tell you what a wonderful woman she is, it's that on my birthday this past year, she discovered that my favorite cake (other than ice cream cake) is cherry chip. To her credit, there is no southern born, southern living person alive who has heard of cherry chip cake unless they've been hanging around some northern folk. They don't even sell Cherry Chip Cake down where we are. BH went to every store that sold cake mix that she could think of and there wasn't a soul that even knew what she was talking about. Finally, she found some on-line and bought some and made me a Cherry Chip Cake for my birthday. OMG, it tasted so wonderful! The best part was that there was a minimum purchase of 4 boxes, so there were 3 boxes left over for me to make throughout the year. I still have one box left now! Ha Ha! I'm so glad that I got to meet BH because she is a wonderful, wonderful person!
I decided, instead, to write a little bit about what's been happening to me lately. I was out sick on Thursday and I missed BH's trip to the Sample Sale that takes place in our office. What the sample sale resembles is feeding time at the local trough. What it actually is the opportunity for is some great deals. BH never misses one. All of the offices have samples that they discard because they are not carrying the product, or the photography has been completed and the vendor does not require the sample to be returned, or something to that effect. I really wish that I had pictures of this, because it is truly an insane event. What happens is that BH will go down a few days prior and case the joint so that she can eyeball whatever she has interest in. It might be clothing, china, home decor items, seasonal merchandise, or some kitchen electrics. The assortment is never the same on any two occasions. What marvels me is not that BH will fill her car with a litany of merchandise, but that she will give away almost all of it. Apparently, there is a large fellow who lives near BH and so she will buy him bathing suits, golf polos, or any item that she can find in the largest size we carry.
I don't know what I'd think if my neighbor happened over with a golf polo and a bathing suit in his hand and told me that he picked that up for me at work. I'd be wondering what the matter was with the outfit that he was giving it to me. Was it picked out of the garbage? Did someone throw up on it after a night of drinking beer towers topped off with a Irish Car Bomb? Did someone with an infectious topical disease wear these clothes? But no, BH does this to everyone. So, on Thursday she told me that she got a whole car load of clothing, shoes, and accessories, and by this morning, she had given all of them away.
The thing that I love about working with BH is that she tells stories that never in a million years would cross my mind. One of the best things is that in her town there a quite a few differences from living in the big city. So many of the down home examples that she provides bring me back to a time in college where I was asked to show an example of taking things for granted. I thought and thought about what has happened in my life and finally I came up with an example.
When I was younger, my uncle and I enjoyed playing Super Nintendo games together. One game that we particularly enjoyed was Tecmo Super Bowl. We would each take a team and play out our season and if we met in the end then we would play head-to-head. I would practice and practice so that I could come out on top in this matchup against my uncle. We were both confident that we'd beat the computer controlled opposition, not only for the 16 weeks of the season, but also for the two playoff rounds that we would need to eclipse in order to get to our matchup. Our matchups were especially challenging because all of the games against the computer forced us to compete on the left hand side of the screen, moving towards the right. Once we went head-to-head though, one of us would have to play on the right moving towards the left, which was a huge adjustment. We tried to make the adjustment by playing a best of three series where we would each take a turn on the left side. At one point, I had practiced enough that my uncle could not touch me. I beat him like a drum. Then, I got overconfident. I didn't practice a lot and we went to play against each other, and I didn't even make it to the head-to-head matchup because I lost in the playoffs. I was so overconfident that I forgot what got me to that point. I was strong at running the football, but once I got into that game, I tried to throw on every down because I didn't think that I could run well enough.
So, that was the example that I wrote in my response journal to a passage we read from Beowulf. My teacher wrote in my journal, "A real down-home example!" That's what I think about BH. She tells me stories that are very important to her, but I don't see the connection right away. There is a saying that she has, "There's a dead cat in that river," or something to that effect. What I've learned from BH is that this phrase means that even though you can't see...you know what, I have no idea what it means. In fact, I'm not even sure I got the phrase right. She's got a lot of great stories, but there are quite a few that have me scratching my head.
If I had to tell you one story about BH that will tell you what a wonderful woman she is, it's that on my birthday this past year, she discovered that my favorite cake (other than ice cream cake) is cherry chip. To her credit, there is no southern born, southern living person alive who has heard of cherry chip cake unless they've been hanging around some northern folk. They don't even sell Cherry Chip Cake down where we are. BH went to every store that sold cake mix that she could think of and there wasn't a soul that even knew what she was talking about. Finally, she found some on-line and bought some and made me a Cherry Chip Cake for my birthday. OMG, it tasted so wonderful! The best part was that there was a minimum purchase of 4 boxes, so there were 3 boxes left over for me to make throughout the year. I still have one box left now! Ha Ha! I'm so glad that I got to meet BH because she is a wonderful, wonderful person!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Angels in the Outfield
Like most young boys, I joined a little league baseball team when I was in elementary school. I had some good years, but then when I was in 6th grade, my eyesight suffered and my skills went downhill.
I had perhaps the dorkiest glasses in the land, complete with the brown smoker's lounge tint in the lenses, so I refused to wear them in public. I was what you might call "not cool" during my school years and the glasses, in my opinion, were the reason for this. During baseball, I was seen as an equal and was never made fun of. So, I didn't want to experience the torture I felt during school while I was on the baseball diamond. It was more important to me that I fit in and play poorly rather than get made fun of and play well. As an adult, it makes no sense to me, but as an impressionable preteen, you couldn't convince me otherwise.
There was a rule in our league that every player had to participate for one plate appearance and two innings in the field as a minimum. So, there were several games where I would strike out and play my two innings in right field where no one ever hit the ball.
One such game, I was lucky enough to play the entire game in right field. As I mentioned, rare was the day when a ball was hit to right field, so for the majority of the time the right fielder had some time to collect their thoughts. Our field was unique in that there wasn't a fence around the outfield. If you hit the ball in the right spot, it just kept right on going and you could run all the way around the bases. During this game, there was a batter on the opposing team who liked to hit to right field and got to test this theory of running around the bases. In both of his first two plate appearances, he hit the ball about as high and as far as I had ever seen. There were some trees that separated the diamond from a small children's play area. Well, both of these shots screamed through the trees and kept going. If I had to estimate, I would say that the ball came to a stop about 300-400 feet from home plate, which was a very rare feat for a ball batted to right field. To say that the batter ran all the way around the bases was probably a stretch. Trotted or strolled might be a more appropriate term. I'm pretty sure he could have fallen to the earth and backstroked his way around the diamond before I retrieved the ball and threw it back in. There is a distinct memory that I have of looking up on both occasions as the ball soared over my head like a condor.
Despite these mammoth shots, our team was leading going into the last inning when my good buddy came to the plate again. I decided that no matter what I wasn't going to let the ball go over my head again. I positioned myself right in front of the trees that were so far back I needed binoculars just to make out the players at the plate. It was at this point that I noticed that a friend of our family, Father Dimitri, came to see me play. I have no idea why. I'm pretty sure my parents weren't even at this game.
Father Dimitri was a priest at the hospital where my mom worked and he came over to visit at our home on several occasions. I recall one year that he made a big statement about turning over a new leaf and sending out Christmas cards, which he apparently had not done in the past. We received at least 4, each of which was numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. We called Father Dimitri and asked him what the numbers represented and he replied that he numbered his cards as he mailed them out. We found this unusual because there were several days that lapsed between our receipt of each card, so we asked how many he sent out and the answer was that our cards were the only ones he sent out. He had to purchase a package of cards, though, so he just kept sending all of them to us.
Father Dimitri saw that I was playing right field and started calling out to me. I tried to acknowledge him, while paying attention to what little of the game I could see. He told me to move in and stop playing so deep. As he reasoned, there was no way this boy was going to hit this ball that far. I yelled back that he had just scorched back-to-back shots over my head. Father Dimitri didn't want to hear any of it. In part to have him stop drawing attention towards me, and in part because I trusted him, I took a few cautious steps in. Father Dimitri was now screaming louder than ever. "JEFFREY! COME ON IN! YOU'RE WAY TOO FAR OUT! THERE'S NO WAY HE CAN HIT IT THAT FAR!" At that point, I thought about it. If he hit the ball as hard as he did in the first two at bats, there was little chance I would catch it, even if I was playing at the edge of the trees, so what did it matter where I was lined up. So, I moved in. I moved in and I moved in some more. Father Dimitri continued to egg me on the whole way. Eventually, I was standing about 10-15 feet off the infield dirt. The coaches didn't say anything to me while I was moving in. I'm pretty sure they thought the same thing as I did about not being able to catch the ball regardless of where I was standing. I never got to complete this thought, however. There was a loud "PING" that disrupted my thoughts. I looked up and the batter had hit the pitch that was coming in and the ball was screeching towards right field. Time seemed to stop for a second. The din of the crowd was now silent. The seconds took minutes to go bye. My eyes widened to the size of melons and my mouth dropped open. The ball was coming right to me. I didn't have enough time to over think the matter. I took 2-3 steps in and stuck my glove up and heard the sound of the ball slamming into the rawhide. A puff of smoke flew up into the air out of my glove and the pain seared down my hand and arm like someone had just lit a match on my hand. I looked into my glove and the ball was in there, like someone had put some glue on my glove and the ball and they just stuck together. I did it! I saved the game! My teammates were jumping up and down running toward me and then off the field. For some reason, I didn't realize the magnitude of this event, probably because I was asleep for most of the game. I threw the ball into the infield and calmly jogged off the field.
In what was probably one of the proudest moments of my childhood, Coach got us all into a circle behind the dugout after the game and he praised all of our efforts. Then, in what was a complete surprise to me, Coach told the team that one person saved the game for us and without this person's efforts we would not have won. "...and that person is Jeff," coach called out to the group. He had a huge smile on his face as he walked over and handed me the baseball, explaining that the game ball was going to me today. I felt like I was a winner for one of the few times in my baseball career. I didn't have to go home and talk about how I need to work on my swing, or take some ground balls, or get hit in the head because I couldn't catch pop flies correctly. For this one day, I was a winner, period.
After the game, Father Dimitri came over and said, "I told you, Jeffrey! I told you!" I asked Father Dimitri how he knew where to position me. I don't recall his answer but I'm pretty sure God was involved. He brought this wonderful human being into my life and had him watch over me during a time when I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. Sadly, Father Dimitri would pass away a short time after this. I really miss him and wish that he was still a part of my life. I know that he is watching down on me from heaven, but I wish that I could listen to him tell me a story. Whenever we went to Mass, he would always tell a story during the homily that would be meaningful. I remember my parents always bragging to their friends about what a good priest he was. I only wish there were more people in this world like Father Dimitri. He believed in me when no one else did. I can't thank him enough. I just hope God is taking care of him as well as Father Dimitri took care of me that one day on the ball field when I was #1 for a night.
I had perhaps the dorkiest glasses in the land, complete with the brown smoker's lounge tint in the lenses, so I refused to wear them in public. I was what you might call "not cool" during my school years and the glasses, in my opinion, were the reason for this. During baseball, I was seen as an equal and was never made fun of. So, I didn't want to experience the torture I felt during school while I was on the baseball diamond. It was more important to me that I fit in and play poorly rather than get made fun of and play well. As an adult, it makes no sense to me, but as an impressionable preteen, you couldn't convince me otherwise.
There was a rule in our league that every player had to participate for one plate appearance and two innings in the field as a minimum. So, there were several games where I would strike out and play my two innings in right field where no one ever hit the ball.
One such game, I was lucky enough to play the entire game in right field. As I mentioned, rare was the day when a ball was hit to right field, so for the majority of the time the right fielder had some time to collect their thoughts. Our field was unique in that there wasn't a fence around the outfield. If you hit the ball in the right spot, it just kept right on going and you could run all the way around the bases. During this game, there was a batter on the opposing team who liked to hit to right field and got to test this theory of running around the bases. In both of his first two plate appearances, he hit the ball about as high and as far as I had ever seen. There were some trees that separated the diamond from a small children's play area. Well, both of these shots screamed through the trees and kept going. If I had to estimate, I would say that the ball came to a stop about 300-400 feet from home plate, which was a very rare feat for a ball batted to right field. To say that the batter ran all the way around the bases was probably a stretch. Trotted or strolled might be a more appropriate term. I'm pretty sure he could have fallen to the earth and backstroked his way around the diamond before I retrieved the ball and threw it back in. There is a distinct memory that I have of looking up on both occasions as the ball soared over my head like a condor.
Despite these mammoth shots, our team was leading going into the last inning when my good buddy came to the plate again. I decided that no matter what I wasn't going to let the ball go over my head again. I positioned myself right in front of the trees that were so far back I needed binoculars just to make out the players at the plate. It was at this point that I noticed that a friend of our family, Father Dimitri, came to see me play. I have no idea why. I'm pretty sure my parents weren't even at this game.
Father Dimitri was a priest at the hospital where my mom worked and he came over to visit at our home on several occasions. I recall one year that he made a big statement about turning over a new leaf and sending out Christmas cards, which he apparently had not done in the past. We received at least 4, each of which was numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. We called Father Dimitri and asked him what the numbers represented and he replied that he numbered his cards as he mailed them out. We found this unusual because there were several days that lapsed between our receipt of each card, so we asked how many he sent out and the answer was that our cards were the only ones he sent out. He had to purchase a package of cards, though, so he just kept sending all of them to us.
Father Dimitri saw that I was playing right field and started calling out to me. I tried to acknowledge him, while paying attention to what little of the game I could see. He told me to move in and stop playing so deep. As he reasoned, there was no way this boy was going to hit this ball that far. I yelled back that he had just scorched back-to-back shots over my head. Father Dimitri didn't want to hear any of it. In part to have him stop drawing attention towards me, and in part because I trusted him, I took a few cautious steps in. Father Dimitri was now screaming louder than ever. "JEFFREY! COME ON IN! YOU'RE WAY TOO FAR OUT! THERE'S NO WAY HE CAN HIT IT THAT FAR!" At that point, I thought about it. If he hit the ball as hard as he did in the first two at bats, there was little chance I would catch it, even if I was playing at the edge of the trees, so what did it matter where I was lined up. So, I moved in. I moved in and I moved in some more. Father Dimitri continued to egg me on the whole way. Eventually, I was standing about 10-15 feet off the infield dirt. The coaches didn't say anything to me while I was moving in. I'm pretty sure they thought the same thing as I did about not being able to catch the ball regardless of where I was standing. I never got to complete this thought, however. There was a loud "PING" that disrupted my thoughts. I looked up and the batter had hit the pitch that was coming in and the ball was screeching towards right field. Time seemed to stop for a second. The din of the crowd was now silent. The seconds took minutes to go bye. My eyes widened to the size of melons and my mouth dropped open. The ball was coming right to me. I didn't have enough time to over think the matter. I took 2-3 steps in and stuck my glove up and heard the sound of the ball slamming into the rawhide. A puff of smoke flew up into the air out of my glove and the pain seared down my hand and arm like someone had just lit a match on my hand. I looked into my glove and the ball was in there, like someone had put some glue on my glove and the ball and they just stuck together. I did it! I saved the game! My teammates were jumping up and down running toward me and then off the field. For some reason, I didn't realize the magnitude of this event, probably because I was asleep for most of the game. I threw the ball into the infield and calmly jogged off the field.
In what was probably one of the proudest moments of my childhood, Coach got us all into a circle behind the dugout after the game and he praised all of our efforts. Then, in what was a complete surprise to me, Coach told the team that one person saved the game for us and without this person's efforts we would not have won. "...and that person is Jeff," coach called out to the group. He had a huge smile on his face as he walked over and handed me the baseball, explaining that the game ball was going to me today. I felt like I was a winner for one of the few times in my baseball career. I didn't have to go home and talk about how I need to work on my swing, or take some ground balls, or get hit in the head because I couldn't catch pop flies correctly. For this one day, I was a winner, period.
After the game, Father Dimitri came over and said, "I told you, Jeffrey! I told you!" I asked Father Dimitri how he knew where to position me. I don't recall his answer but I'm pretty sure God was involved. He brought this wonderful human being into my life and had him watch over me during a time when I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. Sadly, Father Dimitri would pass away a short time after this. I really miss him and wish that he was still a part of my life. I know that he is watching down on me from heaven, but I wish that I could listen to him tell me a story. Whenever we went to Mass, he would always tell a story during the homily that would be meaningful. I remember my parents always bragging to their friends about what a good priest he was. I only wish there were more people in this world like Father Dimitri. He believed in me when no one else did. I can't thank him enough. I just hope God is taking care of him as well as Father Dimitri took care of me that one day on the ball field when I was #1 for a night.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Nausea from the National Writing Project
When I think about being different, there are many things that come to mind. Curiously, many of these seem to have occurred when I participated in the National Writing Project at UNC-Charlotte back in 2003.
The morning of our first class, I recall trudging down the hallway wondering if there was anyone in class yet. Upon entering the room, I noticed that not only was everyone already in class, but they had also begun their activities for the day. There was a single chair open on the opposite side of the room, which happened to be one of the many that were organized into a circle. This was the "Sharing Circle" formation where no one can hide or shirk away from participation. I stumbled across the room with my Fila's clomping loudly with every step I took, which was no easy task since the desks were practically touching each other. The backpack that I brought was swooshing against my body and I could feel everyone's eyes scanning me up and down like groceries being rung up at the register.
There's an uneasy feeling about being the last person in the room where the crowd has been established. I have no idea, even to this day, if there was an introduction period, icebreakers, or anything else that involved talking to each other. I recall as I was sitting down being very uncomfortable with the circumstances. I could sense that everyone was forcing themselves back into their writing to purposely ignore the disruption that I had just caused. Disruption is really not the word most appropriate for this scenario though. I think Tsunami would be more representative, but only if you were to imagine the before picture being a placid lake and then Leardini - Category 5 comes ripping through everything looking like a disheveled mess.
While everyone is trying their best to ignore me, I've decided this is a perfect opportunity to size up the room. Looking around, I like the odds of the situation. There is one other guy and everyone else is female.
Days and weeks would go by and this would be a group that I'd be very familiar with. It's the type of group that you wish would go on forever, but realize it can't because at some point you'd start to argue like a family, or even worse, realize that you have real obligations outside of this classroom. I seemed to be the comedic humor for everyone. Let's just say that unspoken rule #1 was that you DID NOT want to be glue sticking your papers into your daybook past the glue-sticking time allotment.
As part of being in the class, we all had to sign up to bring breakfast. Everyone was bringing the same things - muffins, bagels, fruit, etc. I thought to myself that these were pretty crappy breakfasts. I started each morning on a normal basis with a bowl of cereal, so I decided that this would be a perfect way for the group to start their day. Seriously, what is better than being able to eat in rapid succession without even having to look down at your food. It's the perfect meal to read the newspaper with or some other brainless activity. So for my turn, I went out and bought one of those variety packs of cereal and a gallon of milk. Everyone loved it and were equally amused. That was pretty much the only morning that people in the group commented about breakfast.
One of the more memorable activities in the group was a Cubing activity that Pat taught. For this, we were told the previous day to bring in a book that we enjoyed to discuss in class. That day, the only other guy in the class, Bill, was my partner. Truth be told, I really wish I could have partnered with Bill more often. He had a sense of humor that seemed to make everything out of my mouth seem like Amateur Night at the Comedy Club. One of my favorite stories that I sometimes recount with Bill is on this day when everyone in the circle is bringing in the classics, The Wind in the Willows, Wuthering Heights, etc. My book was The Final Season, which was written by Bill Parcells to chronicle his last season coaching the NY Jets. The best part is when we had to volunteer responses, I chose to answer one and I responded, "Well, in The Final Season..." The room, which was previously partially asleep, looked up as if to say, "What did he just the name of his book was?" As the realization that I chose a sports book set in, there was an eruption of laughter. To take things to the next level, for the compare and contrast activity, I chose the book You Cannot Be Serious, by John McEnroe. For some reason, I elected to punt when the topic of sharing my response for that section came up.
Truly, the most difficult part about the class is that it began at 8 in the morning. Campus was about 45 minutes from my house, so you can do the math on when I needed to wake up in order to make it on time. This, in combination with the fact that I had so much trouble falling asleep at a decent hour, made for some interesting mornings. I have vivid recollections of coming in and discussing the TV show, ElimiDate, which typically aired around the midnight or 1 a.m. hour. There was another girl in the class who watched and we would come in the next day and talk about the most ridiculous aspects of the dates. Over time, I used this time at the beginning of class to ease into the day. I would look around with awe and take notice of everything, like a newborn baby that was just being brought into the world. It was the type of notice that you'd probably tell people in New York City or Atlanta not to look like because then you're a prime target as a tourist. Of the more curious things that interested me was the fact that several people in the class wore sandals or flip-flops, compared with those who wore shoes or sneakers that were closed toe. Back in Niagara Falls, everyone I knew wore sneakers - See the Blog about how I had to wear Buddies - and the one time that I did wear flip-flops at Jellystone Campground, I tripped and fell because the flip-flops fell apart right on a rock path. One of the rocks, which was about the size of a jagged golf ball, went right into my forehead. That was the end of my love affair with flip-flops or sandals.
So, back to my class scenario. Each day when I was free writing I decided to remark on the ratio of closed toe to open toe. The funniest thing is that word spread around the class that I was writing about this, so the last day of class, almost everyone showed up with closed toe shoes just to see if I'd notice. That day, we all had to write a final free write that we would read to the class. I read mine and the last sentence read "By the way, today's ratio was 15-3, closed to open." Everyone started laughing hysterically. The kind of hysterical laugh that fades away until you can't hear it anymore. Sometimes I can still hear the laughter...
The morning of our first class, I recall trudging down the hallway wondering if there was anyone in class yet. Upon entering the room, I noticed that not only was everyone already in class, but they had also begun their activities for the day. There was a single chair open on the opposite side of the room, which happened to be one of the many that were organized into a circle. This was the "Sharing Circle" formation where no one can hide or shirk away from participation. I stumbled across the room with my Fila's clomping loudly with every step I took, which was no easy task since the desks were practically touching each other. The backpack that I brought was swooshing against my body and I could feel everyone's eyes scanning me up and down like groceries being rung up at the register.
There's an uneasy feeling about being the last person in the room where the crowd has been established. I have no idea, even to this day, if there was an introduction period, icebreakers, or anything else that involved talking to each other. I recall as I was sitting down being very uncomfortable with the circumstances. I could sense that everyone was forcing themselves back into their writing to purposely ignore the disruption that I had just caused. Disruption is really not the word most appropriate for this scenario though. I think Tsunami would be more representative, but only if you were to imagine the before picture being a placid lake and then Leardini - Category 5 comes ripping through everything looking like a disheveled mess.
While everyone is trying their best to ignore me, I've decided this is a perfect opportunity to size up the room. Looking around, I like the odds of the situation. There is one other guy and everyone else is female.
Days and weeks would go by and this would be a group that I'd be very familiar with. It's the type of group that you wish would go on forever, but realize it can't because at some point you'd start to argue like a family, or even worse, realize that you have real obligations outside of this classroom. I seemed to be the comedic humor for everyone. Let's just say that unspoken rule #1 was that you DID NOT want to be glue sticking your papers into your daybook past the glue-sticking time allotment.
As part of being in the class, we all had to sign up to bring breakfast. Everyone was bringing the same things - muffins, bagels, fruit, etc. I thought to myself that these were pretty crappy breakfasts. I started each morning on a normal basis with a bowl of cereal, so I decided that this would be a perfect way for the group to start their day. Seriously, what is better than being able to eat in rapid succession without even having to look down at your food. It's the perfect meal to read the newspaper with or some other brainless activity. So for my turn, I went out and bought one of those variety packs of cereal and a gallon of milk. Everyone loved it and were equally amused. That was pretty much the only morning that people in the group commented about breakfast.
One of the more memorable activities in the group was a Cubing activity that Pat taught. For this, we were told the previous day to bring in a book that we enjoyed to discuss in class. That day, the only other guy in the class, Bill, was my partner. Truth be told, I really wish I could have partnered with Bill more often. He had a sense of humor that seemed to make everything out of my mouth seem like Amateur Night at the Comedy Club. One of my favorite stories that I sometimes recount with Bill is on this day when everyone in the circle is bringing in the classics, The Wind in the Willows, Wuthering Heights, etc. My book was The Final Season, which was written by Bill Parcells to chronicle his last season coaching the NY Jets. The best part is when we had to volunteer responses, I chose to answer one and I responded, "Well, in The Final Season..." The room, which was previously partially asleep, looked up as if to say, "What did he just the name of his book was?" As the realization that I chose a sports book set in, there was an eruption of laughter. To take things to the next level, for the compare and contrast activity, I chose the book You Cannot Be Serious, by John McEnroe. For some reason, I elected to punt when the topic of sharing my response for that section came up.
Truly, the most difficult part about the class is that it began at 8 in the morning. Campus was about 45 minutes from my house, so you can do the math on when I needed to wake up in order to make it on time. This, in combination with the fact that I had so much trouble falling asleep at a decent hour, made for some interesting mornings. I have vivid recollections of coming in and discussing the TV show, ElimiDate, which typically aired around the midnight or 1 a.m. hour. There was another girl in the class who watched and we would come in the next day and talk about the most ridiculous aspects of the dates. Over time, I used this time at the beginning of class to ease into the day. I would look around with awe and take notice of everything, like a newborn baby that was just being brought into the world. It was the type of notice that you'd probably tell people in New York City or Atlanta not to look like because then you're a prime target as a tourist. Of the more curious things that interested me was the fact that several people in the class wore sandals or flip-flops, compared with those who wore shoes or sneakers that were closed toe. Back in Niagara Falls, everyone I knew wore sneakers - See the Blog about how I had to wear Buddies - and the one time that I did wear flip-flops at Jellystone Campground, I tripped and fell because the flip-flops fell apart right on a rock path. One of the rocks, which was about the size of a jagged golf ball, went right into my forehead. That was the end of my love affair with flip-flops or sandals.
So, back to my class scenario. Each day when I was free writing I decided to remark on the ratio of closed toe to open toe. The funniest thing is that word spread around the class that I was writing about this, so the last day of class, almost everyone showed up with closed toe shoes just to see if I'd notice. That day, we all had to write a final free write that we would read to the class. I read mine and the last sentence read "By the way, today's ratio was 15-3, closed to open." Everyone started laughing hysterically. The kind of hysterical laugh that fades away until you can't hear it anymore. Sometimes I can still hear the laughter...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
H.A.G.S. and all that other stuff no one ever means...
Real Comments from my Junior High/High School yearbooks. And really, could you make any of this up? My comments appear in red.
Jeff,
We've been good friends and I hope we stay that way. We have suffered some arguements. Good luck with the girls.
Love, Brandon
Jeffy,
Good luck in 8th grade and I'll see you over the summer. See ya!
Your Friend, Jim
P.S. Are you gay (With a line pointed at Brandon's comment)
Jeff,
To a cool friend, Sometimes. Good luck in 8th grade.
Jim
Well, at least I was cool some of the time...
To a Doll of a little guy, Good luck always
Mrs. Robinson
Now isn't that how every 13 year old boy wants to be known as? A Doll...nice job Mrs. R.
To a Cool, Skinny Dude
John
Jeff,
Good luck in the 9th grape.
Well, the 8th grape was delicious, so I don't see any reason why the 9th would be any different...
Hi Jeff
See you in hell
Brian
A.K.A. the Grim Reaper
Jeff,
Nice knowing you...
I saw this a lot in my yearbooks. Did people think that my life was in jeopardy and just didn't tell me?
Jeff,
Your nothing more than a stupid freshman this year but your moving up quick. Remember all the good times in Gilson's math class (who could forget that nightmare). Good luck with all the girls even thought you'll never have a girlfriend but you never can tell.
See you next year, hopefully.
Matt S.
I don't really see the need to be such an over the top ray of sunshine in yearbooks either....
Jeff,
Stay cool! Stop lifting weights and eating steriods your getting too big...
Derek
That must be how I strived to my .073 batting average in little league....
Jeff,
to one of my weirdest friends. I hope you get a hit during baseball season.
Tony
This one seems to ring true even today....
Jeff,
Did we save Alf this year? Don't get grounded and don't order from anymore children's menus. Have a good summer.
Andy
But the Grilled Cheese with Batman shaped french fries were so good! And who could forget Alf!
Hefe -
Well Big guy! Another year gone by! Have a great summer - see you next year!
Your Father -
Ron B.
Nice to know that my dad was in the 10th grade with me.
Jeff,
Even though I don't like you that much you are a Yankee fan so you are not that bad. Have a good summer.
Dave
Thank goodness for being a Yankee fan...
Jeff,
Stop sitting in my seat
Justin
I don't see your name on it.....
Jeff,
Why do you have to be so damn annoying
Love, Kelly
Because Justin keeps accusing me of sitting in his seat.....
Jeff,
I'm glad we've stayed frieds for another year. Good luck as a Jenior and with the girls. See ya af tennis.
Kevin
P.S. Sorry so sloppy
There's always one perfectionist in every yearbook.
Jeff,
What up? When I came to this school I never thought I'd meet a real movie star.
Your friend, Rob Z.
Well Thank you, Mr. Zombie. I'm disappointed that I got passed over for the role of Michael Myers as a little boy. As Mrs. Robinson clearly stated, I'm a doll of a little guy....
Jeff,
You are my hero. I hope I grow up to be just like you. I love you Jeff
Later, Duane
It amazes me in todays homophobic society how many guys freely admitted their love for other guys.....
Jeff,
Every time I think of English, I will think of the English GOD JEFF!...as you can tell, I don't get out too often but who cares, carry on, keepin on and don't get hit by a minivan.
Dennis
The good news is that the minivan missed me. The bad news is that the motorcycle didn't....
Jeff,
It was great meeting a fellow Dolphins fan. We had fun in Sr's and hopefully you'll have fun this summer. The Dolphins will beat the Jets and win the AFC east. Have a ball at work.
Kevin
Not even sure how to respond to this propaganda...
Jeff,
the years have gone by very fast. Always enjoy and remember the times we spent together like playing catch in your backyard to NYC. Enjoy life's best!
Your Friend,
Derek F.
I thought this was a nice sentiment to end the blog on "Enjoy life's best!" Nice touch, Derek!
Jeff,
We've been good friends and I hope we stay that way. We have suffered some arguements. Good luck with the girls.
Love, Brandon
Jeffy,
Good luck in 8th grade and I'll see you over the summer. See ya!
Your Friend, Jim
P.S. Are you gay (With a line pointed at Brandon's comment)
Jeff,
To a cool friend, Sometimes. Good luck in 8th grade.
Jim
Well, at least I was cool some of the time...
To a Doll of a little guy, Good luck always
Mrs. Robinson
Now isn't that how every 13 year old boy wants to be known as? A Doll...nice job Mrs. R.
To a Cool, Skinny Dude
John
Jeff,
Good luck in the 9th grape.
Well, the 8th grape was delicious, so I don't see any reason why the 9th would be any different...
Hi Jeff
See you in hell
Brian
A.K.A. the Grim Reaper
Jeff,
Nice knowing you...
I saw this a lot in my yearbooks. Did people think that my life was in jeopardy and just didn't tell me?
Jeff,
Your nothing more than a stupid freshman this year but your moving up quick. Remember all the good times in Gilson's math class (who could forget that nightmare). Good luck with all the girls even thought you'll never have a girlfriend but you never can tell.
See you next year, hopefully.
Matt S.
I don't really see the need to be such an over the top ray of sunshine in yearbooks either....
Jeff,
Stay cool! Stop lifting weights and eating steriods your getting too big...
Derek
That must be how I strived to my .073 batting average in little league....
Jeff,
to one of my weirdest friends. I hope you get a hit during baseball season.
Tony
This one seems to ring true even today....
Jeff,
Did we save Alf this year? Don't get grounded and don't order from anymore children's menus. Have a good summer.
Andy
But the Grilled Cheese with Batman shaped french fries were so good! And who could forget Alf!
Hefe -
Well Big guy! Another year gone by! Have a great summer - see you next year!
Your Father -
Ron B.
Nice to know that my dad was in the 10th grade with me.
Jeff,
Even though I don't like you that much you are a Yankee fan so you are not that bad. Have a good summer.
Dave
Thank goodness for being a Yankee fan...
Jeff,
Stop sitting in my seat
Justin
I don't see your name on it.....
Jeff,
Why do you have to be so damn annoying
Love, Kelly
Because Justin keeps accusing me of sitting in his seat.....
Jeff,
I'm glad we've stayed frieds for another year. Good luck as a Jenior and with the girls. See ya af tennis.
Kevin
P.S. Sorry so sloppy
There's always one perfectionist in every yearbook.
Jeff,
What up? When I came to this school I never thought I'd meet a real movie star.
Your friend, Rob Z.
Well Thank you, Mr. Zombie. I'm disappointed that I got passed over for the role of Michael Myers as a little boy. As Mrs. Robinson clearly stated, I'm a doll of a little guy....
Jeff,
You are my hero. I hope I grow up to be just like you. I love you Jeff
Later, Duane
It amazes me in todays homophobic society how many guys freely admitted their love for other guys.....
Jeff,
Every time I think of English, I will think of the English GOD JEFF!...as you can tell, I don't get out too often but who cares, carry on, keepin on and don't get hit by a minivan.
Dennis
The good news is that the minivan missed me. The bad news is that the motorcycle didn't....
Jeff,
It was great meeting a fellow Dolphins fan. We had fun in Sr's and hopefully you'll have fun this summer. The Dolphins will beat the Jets and win the AFC east. Have a ball at work.
Kevin
Not even sure how to respond to this propaganda...
Jeff,
the years have gone by very fast. Always enjoy and remember the times we spent together like playing catch in your backyard to NYC. Enjoy life's best!
Your Friend,
Derek F.
I thought this was a nice sentiment to end the blog on "Enjoy life's best!" Nice touch, Derek!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Car Accident
Today, I was driving home and I saw a teenager, probably 16 or 17 run into the back of a middle aged guy's SUV. The teen's hood looked like an accordian and the Guy was letting the Explitives fly! It didn't look like there was too much damage to the Guy's car. To make matter's worse, as the guy was screaming for the kid's insurance information, I heard a meek voice say that it was his dad's car. Uh boy!
Well, the insurance companies will sort all of this out and then they'll be good to go.
Several years ago, I was driving to St. Bonaventure and got into a car accident and I wasn't as fortunate. I was dating a girl who was pretty needy and I decided to drive down after work one night to go see her. The drive was about 2 hours. I left work at about 10:30. I was about 30 minutes outside of campus, when the snow started to pick up. I came around a bend in the road and my car fishtailed and then rolled backward into a ditch. I was wedged in and could not get out. The worst part about the accident was that the snow was picking up and there weren't any houses or cars for as far as the eye could see. I was in the middle of nowhere. Blair Witch looked populated compared to where I crashed.
After knocking on a farm house door with no answer, a car happened down the road. In retrospect, it probably was a good thing that no one answered the door at the farm house, because I'm pretty sure they were backwoods kind of people and were not going to take kindly to someone knocking on their door after midnight.
The car drove past me. At this point, I'm thinking that I could be on this road for a long time. It's important to note that this was before the time of cell phones. Suddenly, another car was coming towards me, slowly. This car stopped and offerred me a ride. Funny thing was that it was the same car that passed me earlier, but they saw my car in the ditch and realized that I wasn't a weirdo. They gave me a ride to campus, but as we pulled in to the parking lot, they revealed that they were both drunk. Which is worse? On one hand, I could be stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no help apparent, or I could be in a car, on snowy roads, with 2 drunks. Thankfully, I made it to campus safe and sound. I ended up living in my girl friend's dorm room for the next week while my car was being worked on. I basically had no money at this point, so it was basically a patch job. My radiator was cracked and the car was completely undrivable. Eventually, the car was fixed and I was able to drive back home, but it was a harrowing experience.
As a funny epilogue, I lost my front license plate in the shuffle and couldn't find it. Months later, after the snow had melted, I was driving down the same road and saw my license plate sitting on top of the ditch on the side of the road.
Well, the insurance companies will sort all of this out and then they'll be good to go.
Several years ago, I was driving to St. Bonaventure and got into a car accident and I wasn't as fortunate. I was dating a girl who was pretty needy and I decided to drive down after work one night to go see her. The drive was about 2 hours. I left work at about 10:30. I was about 30 minutes outside of campus, when the snow started to pick up. I came around a bend in the road and my car fishtailed and then rolled backward into a ditch. I was wedged in and could not get out. The worst part about the accident was that the snow was picking up and there weren't any houses or cars for as far as the eye could see. I was in the middle of nowhere. Blair Witch looked populated compared to where I crashed.
After knocking on a farm house door with no answer, a car happened down the road. In retrospect, it probably was a good thing that no one answered the door at the farm house, because I'm pretty sure they were backwoods kind of people and were not going to take kindly to someone knocking on their door after midnight.
The car drove past me. At this point, I'm thinking that I could be on this road for a long time. It's important to note that this was before the time of cell phones. Suddenly, another car was coming towards me, slowly. This car stopped and offerred me a ride. Funny thing was that it was the same car that passed me earlier, but they saw my car in the ditch and realized that I wasn't a weirdo. They gave me a ride to campus, but as we pulled in to the parking lot, they revealed that they were both drunk. Which is worse? On one hand, I could be stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no help apparent, or I could be in a car, on snowy roads, with 2 drunks. Thankfully, I made it to campus safe and sound. I ended up living in my girl friend's dorm room for the next week while my car was being worked on. I basically had no money at this point, so it was basically a patch job. My radiator was cracked and the car was completely undrivable. Eventually, the car was fixed and I was able to drive back home, but it was a harrowing experience.
As a funny epilogue, I lost my front license plate in the shuffle and couldn't find it. Months later, after the snow had melted, I was driving down the same road and saw my license plate sitting on top of the ditch on the side of the road.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Disc Golf
One sport that is up and coming is Disc Golf, which is played with miniature frisbees, baskets and courses of different terrain.
The discs are similar to golf clubs in that they are specially made for all different circumstances. Some are made for people who slice to the left/right. Some are made for distance, while others focus on accuracy. Each throwing style has discs that are unique to that throwing style.
I enjoy using the Tomahawk throwing technique. This involves throwing the disc like you would throw a tomahawk, or like a baseball pitcher throws a pitch.
Playing disc golf is very relaxing and a lot of fun. Each week my best friends and I get together at a different course. We've played just about every course in the area. I never knew that there were so many different parks that housed disc golf courses.
The BEST part about playing is that there is virtually no additional cost, other than the purchase of discs. You can get a starter set from Sports Authority or Dicks for around $20. After that, the only time you have to buy new discs is if you lose one, which is fairly common due to the courses being heavily wooded in some areas. Many experienced players own better than 10 discs though and have one for any occasion. You have to be prepared to throw in tight spaces, to curve to the left or right, go for distance, or a combination of these things.
Many people even bring their dogs to walk the course with them. The dogs we see are so well trained and behaved. I would like to bring my dog, but she's too young and would probably run all over the place and try to chase the discs.
The discs are similar to golf clubs in that they are specially made for all different circumstances. Some are made for people who slice to the left/right. Some are made for distance, while others focus on accuracy. Each throwing style has discs that are unique to that throwing style.
I enjoy using the Tomahawk throwing technique. This involves throwing the disc like you would throw a tomahawk, or like a baseball pitcher throws a pitch.
Playing disc golf is very relaxing and a lot of fun. Each week my best friends and I get together at a different course. We've played just about every course in the area. I never knew that there were so many different parks that housed disc golf courses.
The BEST part about playing is that there is virtually no additional cost, other than the purchase of discs. You can get a starter set from Sports Authority or Dicks for around $20. After that, the only time you have to buy new discs is if you lose one, which is fairly common due to the courses being heavily wooded in some areas. Many experienced players own better than 10 discs though and have one for any occasion. You have to be prepared to throw in tight spaces, to curve to the left or right, go for distance, or a combination of these things.
Many people even bring their dogs to walk the course with them. The dogs we see are so well trained and behaved. I would like to bring my dog, but she's too young and would probably run all over the place and try to chase the discs.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
8 Days of Celebration - Volume 2 - The Toss
One thing that we had always wanted to do is go camping. I had gone several times as a kid with my parents, but never by myself.
So Jill and I decided to go with Ben and Katherine Hutchens a couple of years ago. Not being that experienced, we went to a KOA campsite so that we weren't going to be totally roughing it. I talked to a friend a few years back who was talking to me about going camping and they were talking about bringing their own toilet paper and she made it sound like taking a dip in the lake was the equivalent of showering. I definitely wasn't going to have a Blair Witch Project type scenario, so the KOA was perfect.
So, we got there and pulled out everything and set up our tent and everything else. Before I go into the weekend, let me start off by saying that we were camping on a weekend where the humidity was at least 70%. It was awful. The first day, we inflated our air mattress and put our sheets and sleeping bag on top. When we went to bed, there was so much dew on our sheets and sleeping bags that I thought someone had drooled all over my bedding. It was so gross. There is nothing like being out in the wilderness and the sheets are literally sticking to your body like you're having a wet t-shirt contest. I swear you could have created a perfect mold of my body from the sheet. When we woke up in the morning, we packed our sheets and sleeping bags into the car, and didn't pull them out until right before we went to bed and that seemed to solve that problem.
There's something interesting about waking up on a campsite. You have to be conscious that there are several other people within a very short distance of you. For example, one morning I got up and noticed that there was a water jug outside of the tent next to us. I thought that was weird. I mean, if they wanted water in case they got thirsty before bed, why not bring the water in with them? Why leave it outside the tent? Well, the answer to my question was soon answered when I noticed that they brought the jug into the tent and then after a few moments, brought it back out and there was a yellowish liquid that had not previously been occupying the jug. What's worse was that I'm pretty sure this was shared by a male and female. How on earth did they execute that first thing in the morning? I mean, if they were awake enough to prevent spillage, they could have just as easily done the walk of shame to the bathroom, which wasn't very far away. But I digress.
There was a small lake behind our campsite, which was at least 3 quarters algae. There were so many lily pads that I could barely tell there was water. What little water I could see was so black, it was impossible to see more than a few inches into the water.
The lake was pretty modest. It couldn't have been wider than about 50 yards or so. I had this small mini football and Ben and I decided to try and see if I could throw the football and reach the other side. I was pretty confident because the ball fit into my hand well and like I said, the lake wasn't very wide. So I wound up and threw it. The ball launched into the air. I practically launched myself into the disgusting lake. Whew! That was close! Then this look of horror came over my face as I realized that the ball had no chance of making it to the other side. I see the ball plop down and determine that I can get a stick and bring the ball back to land. Ben and I walk around. Once we reach the other side, we see that the ball is about 20 feet away from land. I have my bathing suit on, so I figure that I will just walk in and get the ball. It's disgusting, but how deep could it be. Well, on my second step in, I'm sinking like I've just stepped into quicksand and as it is, the water is up to my waist. I've determined at this point there is considerable risk to any attempt at walking in to get the ball. As I mentioned before, there are tons of lilly pads for as far as the eye can see. I decide that this 4.95 football is valuable enough that I should risk my life by swimming into this black goop. I dive in and to my surprise, the lily pads are connected to the ground via a series of root type vines. I suppose I should have been paying closer attention in science class because I did not realize the root system existed, although it makes perfect sense now. So, I'm swinging my arms to create a path through the lily pads and the roots are coiling around my arms and legs. At this point, I don't know what is creating more panic, the root coilage, or the effort to keep my head as high as possible as to avoid the black sludge going anywhere near my face/mouth/nose, etc.
So, I get to the football and decide, rather than stop I'm going to make a U-Turn and head back. I get back and literally look like Swamp Thing. There is black and green sludge all over my body. Here's the worst part. We just realize that church is in like 30 minutes and I look at smell like a landfill. I go and simulate a shower and I'm pretty sure I clogged up the drain with mud, slime, and algae. In church, I'm quite sure everyone was looking at me to determine the source of "that smell".
What my friend Ben remarked about the experience is that it was "the roughest doggie paddle" he'd ever seen. But at least I still have my "prized" football.
So Jill and I decided to go with Ben and Katherine Hutchens a couple of years ago. Not being that experienced, we went to a KOA campsite so that we weren't going to be totally roughing it. I talked to a friend a few years back who was talking to me about going camping and they were talking about bringing their own toilet paper and she made it sound like taking a dip in the lake was the equivalent of showering. I definitely wasn't going to have a Blair Witch Project type scenario, so the KOA was perfect.
So, we got there and pulled out everything and set up our tent and everything else. Before I go into the weekend, let me start off by saying that we were camping on a weekend where the humidity was at least 70%. It was awful. The first day, we inflated our air mattress and put our sheets and sleeping bag on top. When we went to bed, there was so much dew on our sheets and sleeping bags that I thought someone had drooled all over my bedding. It was so gross. There is nothing like being out in the wilderness and the sheets are literally sticking to your body like you're having a wet t-shirt contest. I swear you could have created a perfect mold of my body from the sheet. When we woke up in the morning, we packed our sheets and sleeping bags into the car, and didn't pull them out until right before we went to bed and that seemed to solve that problem.
There's something interesting about waking up on a campsite. You have to be conscious that there are several other people within a very short distance of you. For example, one morning I got up and noticed that there was a water jug outside of the tent next to us. I thought that was weird. I mean, if they wanted water in case they got thirsty before bed, why not bring the water in with them? Why leave it outside the tent? Well, the answer to my question was soon answered when I noticed that they brought the jug into the tent and then after a few moments, brought it back out and there was a yellowish liquid that had not previously been occupying the jug. What's worse was that I'm pretty sure this was shared by a male and female. How on earth did they execute that first thing in the morning? I mean, if they were awake enough to prevent spillage, they could have just as easily done the walk of shame to the bathroom, which wasn't very far away. But I digress.
There was a small lake behind our campsite, which was at least 3 quarters algae. There were so many lily pads that I could barely tell there was water. What little water I could see was so black, it was impossible to see more than a few inches into the water.
The lake was pretty modest. It couldn't have been wider than about 50 yards or so. I had this small mini football and Ben and I decided to try and see if I could throw the football and reach the other side. I was pretty confident because the ball fit into my hand well and like I said, the lake wasn't very wide. So I wound up and threw it. The ball launched into the air. I practically launched myself into the disgusting lake. Whew! That was close! Then this look of horror came over my face as I realized that the ball had no chance of making it to the other side. I see the ball plop down and determine that I can get a stick and bring the ball back to land. Ben and I walk around. Once we reach the other side, we see that the ball is about 20 feet away from land. I have my bathing suit on, so I figure that I will just walk in and get the ball. It's disgusting, but how deep could it be. Well, on my second step in, I'm sinking like I've just stepped into quicksand and as it is, the water is up to my waist. I've determined at this point there is considerable risk to any attempt at walking in to get the ball. As I mentioned before, there are tons of lilly pads for as far as the eye can see. I decide that this 4.95 football is valuable enough that I should risk my life by swimming into this black goop. I dive in and to my surprise, the lily pads are connected to the ground via a series of root type vines. I suppose I should have been paying closer attention in science class because I did not realize the root system existed, although it makes perfect sense now. So, I'm swinging my arms to create a path through the lily pads and the roots are coiling around my arms and legs. At this point, I don't know what is creating more panic, the root coilage, or the effort to keep my head as high as possible as to avoid the black sludge going anywhere near my face/mouth/nose, etc.
So, I get to the football and decide, rather than stop I'm going to make a U-Turn and head back. I get back and literally look like Swamp Thing. There is black and green sludge all over my body. Here's the worst part. We just realize that church is in like 30 minutes and I look at smell like a landfill. I go and simulate a shower and I'm pretty sure I clogged up the drain with mud, slime, and algae. In church, I'm quite sure everyone was looking at me to determine the source of "that smell".
What my friend Ben remarked about the experience is that it was "the roughest doggie paddle" he'd ever seen. But at least I still have my "prized" football.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
8 Days of Celebration! Volume 1 - The Dairy Queen Chronicles
To celebrate the season of Hanakkuh, I am telling 8 of the funniest Jeff stories that I can think of. Here's the first.
The Dairy Queen Chronicles
So, back when I lived in NY I used to date a girl named Jocelyn. She was great for me because she helped me get out of shell. I definitely needed it. But, by the same token, she was a little impulsive for me. There were many times where I didn't know what was coming next. It usually takes 2 to Tango, so I'm going to leave the rest of that alone. While dating, we frequently visited this Dairy Queen near Angola, NY. Somewhere out there, there is someone reading this that will remember this incident. It was back in 1996. There are 2 that I'm going to bridge into 1.
Jocelyn liked to egg me on at various points and her sister Alison and I would return the favor by acting like #4 from the movie, Multiplicity. For some reason, we enjoyed doing this in public at the top of our lungs.
One day, we are in a tremendously long line, waiting to order our Blizzards. She kept doing something annoying. I don't have a clue what she was doing, but it was something along the lines of giving me a wet willie or flicking my ear. I told her to stop. She did it again. I told her to stop again. She did it again. After some time, you've got to realize that if you don't stop something, it will continue to happen. I told her that if she did that again, then there would be consequences. Always one to push the envelope, she chuckled and did it again. I picked her up and threw her, butt first, into a nearby bush. The best part was completely unintentional on my part. She fell rather far into the bush, and therefore couldn't get out. Imagine sitting in a chair and putting your feet into the air so that are feet are about 2 feet apart with your toes pointed to the ceiling (your feet should be above your head). Now take your arms and reach out as if trying to touch your toes. This is what Jocelyn looked like. Now, the 2nd best part was everyone in line that was standing around us. They began to laugh and cackle wildly. I think at one point someone helped her out. It certainly wasn't me. I was laughing too hard.
So, we get our blizzards and go sit in my car to eat them. Jocelyn sticks her finger in her blizzard and wipes it on my nose. Ugh! Disgusting. Nothing like melted ice cream near your nose on a hot summer evening. I told her to stop. She did it again. At this point, the germ-a-phob in me is starting to get anxious. I told her that if she did it again there would be consequences. Let me add in at this time that Jocelyn had long blond hair that was probably one of her favorite features. She wiped along slug's worth on my nose. At that point, I dug my hand into my Blizzard, whipped it out like I was rip starting a lawn mower, and ran my ice cream filled hand down the back of her head. She slapped the back of my scalp with a hand ful of her Blizzard. Before long, we were wrestling in the front seat of my car with ice cream flying everywhere. I sold my car in 1999 and there was still ice cream on the ceiling of that car the day I parted with it. So, we finished, and drove back to her parents house where my belongings were that I had to retreive to go home. In order to get my things I had to go through the living room where Jocelyn's mom was watching tv. We walked in and Jocelyn and I are both standing there in the hallway with crap eating grins on our faces. We're waving "Hi" as if nothing is wrong. Full disclosure; at this point, we're both covered with ice cream from head to toe. There are literally chunks of Blizzard mix in Jocelyn's hair. I had more Blizzard paraphenelia on my face than a Native America's application of war paint. Her mom looked us up and down like a meat head would undress the most popular girl in school. "You two are disgusting, " she snarled our way. We both let out a huge cackle and ran upstairs. My car smelled so bad for weeks. I remember several times getting in thinking that I had the B.O. car from Seinfeld.
The Dairy Queen Chronicles
So, back when I lived in NY I used to date a girl named Jocelyn. She was great for me because she helped me get out of shell. I definitely needed it. But, by the same token, she was a little impulsive for me. There were many times where I didn't know what was coming next. It usually takes 2 to Tango, so I'm going to leave the rest of that alone. While dating, we frequently visited this Dairy Queen near Angola, NY. Somewhere out there, there is someone reading this that will remember this incident. It was back in 1996. There are 2 that I'm going to bridge into 1.
Jocelyn liked to egg me on at various points and her sister Alison and I would return the favor by acting like #4 from the movie, Multiplicity. For some reason, we enjoyed doing this in public at the top of our lungs.
One day, we are in a tremendously long line, waiting to order our Blizzards. She kept doing something annoying. I don't have a clue what she was doing, but it was something along the lines of giving me a wet willie or flicking my ear. I told her to stop. She did it again. I told her to stop again. She did it again. After some time, you've got to realize that if you don't stop something, it will continue to happen. I told her that if she did that again, then there would be consequences. Always one to push the envelope, she chuckled and did it again. I picked her up and threw her, butt first, into a nearby bush. The best part was completely unintentional on my part. She fell rather far into the bush, and therefore couldn't get out. Imagine sitting in a chair and putting your feet into the air so that are feet are about 2 feet apart with your toes pointed to the ceiling (your feet should be above your head). Now take your arms and reach out as if trying to touch your toes. This is what Jocelyn looked like. Now, the 2nd best part was everyone in line that was standing around us. They began to laugh and cackle wildly. I think at one point someone helped her out. It certainly wasn't me. I was laughing too hard.
So, we get our blizzards and go sit in my car to eat them. Jocelyn sticks her finger in her blizzard and wipes it on my nose. Ugh! Disgusting. Nothing like melted ice cream near your nose on a hot summer evening. I told her to stop. She did it again. At this point, the germ-a-phob in me is starting to get anxious. I told her that if she did it again there would be consequences. Let me add in at this time that Jocelyn had long blond hair that was probably one of her favorite features. She wiped along slug's worth on my nose. At that point, I dug my hand into my Blizzard, whipped it out like I was rip starting a lawn mower, and ran my ice cream filled hand down the back of her head. She slapped the back of my scalp with a hand ful of her Blizzard. Before long, we were wrestling in the front seat of my car with ice cream flying everywhere. I sold my car in 1999 and there was still ice cream on the ceiling of that car the day I parted with it. So, we finished, and drove back to her parents house where my belongings were that I had to retreive to go home. In order to get my things I had to go through the living room where Jocelyn's mom was watching tv. We walked in and Jocelyn and I are both standing there in the hallway with crap eating grins on our faces. We're waving "Hi" as if nothing is wrong. Full disclosure; at this point, we're both covered with ice cream from head to toe. There are literally chunks of Blizzard mix in Jocelyn's hair. I had more Blizzard paraphenelia on my face than a Native America's application of war paint. Her mom looked us up and down like a meat head would undress the most popular girl in school. "You two are disgusting, " she snarled our way. We both let out a huge cackle and ran upstairs. My car smelled so bad for weeks. I remember several times getting in thinking that I had the B.O. car from Seinfeld.
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