Once again a Sunday afternoon rolls around and finds me enjoying the company of my family whilst nursing my hangover with the aid of fattening food and TV. As the afternoon progresses, the dynamic of our line up changes. Laura dresses and prepares to venture up to school...and her recently ex- boyfriend Matt takes her place in our group. Sundays have long been the guitar playing day and despite recent events, today was to be no different. Tom and Matt make themselves comfortable on the couch, following each others lead with guitar riffs and original songs. I sit across from them and enjoy the music while half paying attention to the Johnny Depp version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that has been broadcast on repeat for the last 36 hours...



I am in the group of people that will readily admit were terrified of the original Willy Wanka movie and thus attempted to avoid it at all costs. It wasn't until I got alittle older that I was able to view Gene Wilder's portrayal of Wanka as nothing short of genius. This of course does not mean that I am as of yet able to watch the entire movie...this simply means that I can appreciate a fantastic performance when I see one. That being said, I did not have alot of interest in watching the remake. Anyway...cut back to the present. Through the dueling guitars, I was able to watch the beginning of this remade movie...more specifically the scenes showing the 2 sets of grandparents resting in one bed, which happens to be conveniently positioned directly in the center of the Bucket's kitchen. Which brings me to the point of this blog....



Why the hell do the poor Bucket's allow both sets of grandparents live in one bed in the middle of their house? Targeting my anger more specifically, I hate grandpa Joe. This man is clearly healthy enough to accompany Charlie on his chocolate adventure. In the remake, this faker even shows enough stamina to jump out of bed and do a dance when Charlie returns home with the long sought after golden ticket. Any man capable of dancing is also capable of holding at least a part time job...contributing a little financial assistance to the struggling Bucket family. Or, at the very least, Grandpa Joe can help carry the community bed to an out of the way room or corner. Or even help Charlie's father build a second bed, thus eliminating the need for all the grandparents to share one queen sized bed. I imagine in a modern day telling of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Grandpa Joe would be eligible for disability and even an access card. The family would be on welfare and all of the grandparents would be living in assisted living communities. With this level of government involvement, some health care organization would be able to see that Grandpa Joe's only disability was laziness and therefore make him ineligible for the financial aid granted to the rest of his family. With any luck, Joe would find himself being hauled away to some workhouse....forced to live his remaining years participating in the manual labor he avoided during his vacation sleeping in his son's kitchen. Meanwhile, the rest of the Bucket family would spend the rest of their lives contently furnishing their government housing and standing in front of me in line at the Pathmark, buying ample Gatorade and Doritos with 4 different access cards.

bridezilla almost caused me to have a stroke

I sit here in Washington DC after spenting a fantastic day enjoying the sights and sampling the delicious foods from the Eastern Market. (We also ran into Al Frankin...the SNL alum Senator from Minnesota...only noteworthy because of my preoccupation with obtaining the hot apple cider inconveniently positioned directly behind him. No pseudo- celebrity or Senator is important enough to deserve my respect whilst blocking me from hot apple cider...hence he almost took an elbow to the chest) After purchasing fresh produce, we headed back to Kate's apartment for relaxation....and drinking. Within a short amount of time, I had depleted Tom of his emergency supply of Natty Light cans occupying the often forgotten posterior wall of the fridge. Understanding my level of intoxication, Kate wisely decided to begin cooking dinner in an attempt to dilute the alcohol streaming through my veins.

As is the case with any given Sunday at my house, we decided to put on a movie while enjoying the fruits of Kate's labor. Unable to agree on a movie, we settled on watching an episode of our much beloved Bridezilla. Bridezilla is a TV show that follows a soon to be bride during her planning process...all the while catching her acting in manner that would offend Joseph Stalin. This particular episode centered around a New York bride who behaved in such an entitled and superior way, that I literly sat on the couch with my jaw open and unable to formulate words. This bride spent most of her wedding planning mocking "poor people" and bragging about her father's endless wallet. Perhaps because I was mildly drunk off ghetto beer, I found myself shaking with rage and longing to rip her tongue out of her head...thus giving me a murdering instrument. ( To reader who do not understand me...I would use her own tongue to strangle the shallow life out of her body...no big deal)

Despite my mind being clouded with beer, I quickly recognized my physical inability to appropriately deliver to her the only thing she truely deserved....pain and suffering. However, the desire to smack her was too strong, so I decided to research the Bridezilla's website....hoping to discover a means of contacting this waste of life. Thankfully I was able to find a platform to broadcast my hate. The comment printed below is the actual rant that I authored and posted. Remember that this was written while I was wasted and running off of pure hate. I am very proud of it and can only hope that this Bridezilla reads it..although I have serious doubts as to her literacy level....

So, this stupid slut Karen ran her mouth saying that she hated poor people and she was better than everyone else. You stupid spoiled whore, you never worked a day in your life, you live off your father. Your are what is wrong with our country, I am a 25 year old who graduated from college with no debt, bought my own house and support half of my family and actually value more than material goods. You are a waste of life and I literally hope sickness and misfortune on you. You feel as though you are entitled to mock people who actually work for a living, make less then your father and cannot afford to spend as much as you on your cheesy, flashy, shallow, 1980's wedding. i watched your episodes of Bridezilla with a look of shock and disgust on my face, having to be told by my sister to calm down. Yes, I watched your episodes, thus giving you what you want...I have watched numerous episodes of this show for pure amusement. However, you are the worst...not the worst Bridezilla...but the worst human being on the face of the earth..Adolf Hitler had more positive characteristics. I CANNOT wait for you to get fat so that your husband leaves you and you are alone. I was raised with ambition and goals, understanding that I am worth more than one solitary wedding day. I will never be defined by who I marry and how lavish my wedding day is....EVERYONE gets married. It doesn't make you special. Nice mark you left on the world, you no frills anonymous whore. YOU are nothing and the world will be better when you die.

Mikey T's birthday

In keeping with my usual and comfortable pattern of life I hosted a party at my frat house in celebration of my cousin Mike's birthday this past Saturday night. My morning started out with me being ripped out of my slumber from my very excited and perhaps ADD affected sister Kate. She has picked up the habit of waking up at the crack of dawn and being unable to entertain herself for more that a few hours. Thankfully Laura is also a relatively early riser, so they are able to entertain each other until I regain consciousness...usually a good 7 hours after they begin their day. Unfortunately Laura had class bright and early, leaving me to be the Kate entertainer of the morning.



After quickly dressing and packing my to-go container of road grapes, Kate and I headed off to the Main Line. Kate recently noticed that a completely useless and unnoticeable lighter in her back console had liberated itself from its home...perhaps in an attempt to commit suicide. Regardless, Kate made us start our day at a Volkswagon lot getting the suicidal lighter fixed.



Through the very act of accomplishing this errands, Kate and I actively participated in our favorite form of sisterly bonding...the Ladies of Leisure day. Ladies of leisure day began last year when I begged Kate to accompany me to my first ever Cardiologist appointment. I, in turn, accompanied her to yet another Volkswagon dealership car check up. In an attempt to occupy our time until the car was finished we decided to patron a local mainline restaurant and share a delicious lunch...equip with a newly purchased 6 pack of beer. We sat in that restaurant all afternoon, drinking and chatting with the only other person there, who just happened to be our waiter. We laughed about how rich middle age women "lunch" with their friends in the afternoon of any given weekday afternoon.. This idea entertained us soo much that we began to hold ladies of leisure days every few weeks. Sometimes they involve Laura, all the time they involve alcohol. I cherish these days because they allow me to participate in my 2 favorite past times: drinking with my sisters and slapping a theme onto otherwise ordinary days of running life errands. This desire to live constantly in a theme was summarized best in a Paul Simon lyric....Steph Schramm lives her life in "the atmosphere of freaky holiday".



Anyway, after providing babysitting instructions to the mechanics, kissing her car goodbye and promising to return later for a recovery mission, we set off for a coffee shop and dollar store shopping. The only noteworthy occurrence during this time was the discovery and hasty purchasing of 2 of the most ridiculous hats in Pennsylvania. With the discovery of these hats, I was able to see what had been missing from each previous lady of leisure day: costumes! With these hats ever present on our head..we returned home to prepare for the night...stopping only to purchase beer and a birthday Hustler magazine with a bonus 100 hours of porn DVD.

It had been the plan for 2 weeks to drink at my house and then walk to my favorite local bar to dance ridiculously and make fools out of ourselves...a plan I felt we could easily pull off as we have had numerous dress rehearsals for just such an event. Just as I began getting in happy party mode...Mikey T delivered me some annoying and unwelcome news. It appeared that a previous friend of mine was also planning to have a night out at my bar. This "friend" and myself recently had a falling out over hair dye colors and opposing preferential toothpaste brands....so clearly running into aforementioned person would be awkward. I, myself, thrive on awkward encounters...but having been said persons friend for a number of years taught me that person gets nervous and uncomfortable in confrontation type encounter (not that there would be a confrontation). I decided to simple text message this person, providing alittle warning and thus preparation time for our converging plans. Like a smack in the face I recieved a message back subtly asking me not to "start trouble". I guess the smack part would be the fact that after our years of friendship, I was concerned for said person's comfort level, but was given back a response that would be more appropriately directed at a tantrum throwing toddler. But people change.

Despite my newly found hostility, our party continued. Earlier in the night I had invited my Uncle Pat and Uncle Buzzard to join our celebration. Putting the band of Mr Schramm, Pat and Buzzard back together is a constant goal of mine as combined they are the funniest people on earth. I was disappointed with each passing hour...losing faith in their attendance. However, at exactly 11:00, Triple H aka Uncle PAAAAAAAAAAAAAT made his guest appearance. After a bit of negotiation we were able to convince Uncle Pat and Mr Schramm into joining us at my bar...so we grab our Ladies of Leisure day driving hats and set out for the bar.

Thankfully due to our late arrival, my hostility inducing ex friend was no longer participating in her girls night out. We walked into a less than exciting group of Delco drunks...but it didnt take long for us to overtake the place. By this point, my little sister's boyfriend (Laura was at a concert) and a few of his friends arrived and joined our group. It should be noted that I also ran into my friend Chrissy who shared news with me that made me wish I had remembered to bring my murdering ax. Keep in mind my earlier experience with my "friend", the fact that I had been drinking for a few hours and my Schramm induced intolerance of disrespectful behavior. My hostility materialized into an angry text message directed at an only slightly deserving reciepient...and also kinda made me look like a crazy person. Ironically enough...I am a crazy person so apparently you get what you see.

After obtaining 2 six packs of rolling rock, our obligatory DJ harassing began. I threw off my shoes and bag and joined Kate, Mikey T, Buttons and Tom on the dance floor...the same dance floor Kate would claim a shorty was burned alive on. Eventually I looked up and noticed that my Uncle Buzzard had arrived..and now he and Uncle Pat were rocking the Ladies of Leisure day driving hats. I also caught a glimpse of Matt (Laura's boyfriend), who had decorated himself with every article of clothing I had removed. He then joined us on the dance floor and proceded to do the best chest out, arms back, bird resembling dance ever created. In this manner, we quickly moved (i would not necessarily call it dancing) around the small area reserved for drunk dancing. In a form of self preservation, the DJ began to only take requests from our group...My hostility may have been spilling onto others at this point...The highlight of my night was watching my entire family dance to Billie Jean wearing the ladies of leisure hats...followed by the choreographed Beat it Dance with added slipping in spilled beer and landed on my back move perfected by myself.

By the time the bar was closing each member of my group were each attempting to out do eachother with stroke victim impressions. I would not describe us as being in rare form...but we were is some form as well spilled out onto 420..Mikey T still drinking his last call beer. Finding ourselves kicked out of a bar after last call left us no choice but to.....begin the slow march home...??? Nope. Obviously being kicked out of a bar after last call, the most intellegent and sensible thing to do would be to drop and begin doing as many push ups as my drunk arms would allow. Thus, if you drove down 420 at 2:30 am on Sun Oct 4th, it was me and my uncle pat doing push-ups outside of Marty Magees. And I loved every minute of it!

favorite night part 2

Locating Laura was not a difficult task as this party was strangely female free... so without much effort I spotted her talking to the DJ. Every time we go out together we request the exact same songs...It has even gotten to the point that this DJ knows what to play before we ask him. Giving no thought to the other bar patrons, we converge on and thus dominate the "dance floor" and show off our sweet move. By sweet moves I mean I do the robot and the mom dance....and occassionally break out the electric slide. Nothing makes me more content than performing the electric slide to random songs....this preference actually got me kicked out of a bar in Wildwood. Laura, on the other hand, through years of soiling the family name by cheerleading (Schramm's do not cheer lead...we are the victorious recipients of said cheers by a worthless leader) has developed surprising rhythm..clearly overcoming her skin color handicap.


After a bit I decided stop dancing and pushed my way to the bar for another drink. Perching patiently at the bar awaiting my turn I found myself standing next to some random guy who began trying to make conversation with me. Having nowhere else to go I just sat their and made small talk with him until he got the bartenders attention and offered to buy me a drink. I tried to decline by informing him that he was going to buy me a drink that I was probably going to get for free anyway...but he was insistent. Deciding that I had already wasted enough time talking to him and now I was refusing free alcohol, I agreed to his offer. Although I am strictly a beer drinker, I told him that I would enjoy a red bull and vodka...obviously because I detest both red bull and vodka. I figured I could give it to Laura, thus making his attempt at courting me appear to be a generous act of sisterly love. After a few more moments of listening to this loose leaf paper resembling guy describe his law career in NYC I was able to free myself and return with my prize to my sister. Almost as if on cue, the second I reached Laura she swung her arms around splashing my free drink all over the floor. Laughing it off, we continued our dance party, all the while slipping on the pick up attempt of some poor guy who clearly did not know who he was dealing with.

By this time we had been in the bar for a few hours and were therefore a few hours more intoxicated. It had been a bit since my father fled us and the bar, "driving 150 miles a hour with his head on fire"...(my fathers favorite mode of transportation) My cousin Mike walked up to me and demanded that I order the obligatory Imperial Pizza..which everyone in Delaware County knows means the end of the evening. I placed an order right in the bar, screaming into my cell phone which at the time made more sense then stepping outside. I then located Kate and informed her of our pizza delivery imposed time constraint. We had to collect ourselves, make our exit and walk the mile to my house before the pizza arrived. Collecting ourselves turned out to be more difficult than originally anticipated. Usually 1 out the remaining 6 of us will assumed the responsible most sober position and leads the rest. Perhaps because that person ducked out hours earlier with his head on fire, there was no one to take the lead. I would locate my shoes and bag only to place them down elsewhere. Laura would locate her boyfriend but lose her pocketbook. Meanwhile, my sister Kate's boyfriend Tom was found surrounded by a group of females...much to her delight. Tom appeared to either be bumming cigarettes from them or showing off his impression of a stroke victim. By this point, many of those girl's boyfriends also began to notice and congregate around Tom. In a matter of moments a small fight broke out with Tom directly in the center. Poor Tom couldn't understand why he was involved in this fight. I, being the closest and most likely to jump into a fight without thinking, jumped into this fight without thinking. I linked arms with Tom and drug him out the front door...Outside we found ourselves alone.. and much like a soldier in combat, being isolated is a very undesireable position. Of the 2 of us, I was the least likely to be punched in the face upon stepping foot back in the bar, so I told Tom to place his hand on the exterior wall of the bar like a 3 year old would be told by his mother after getting out of the car in a busy parking lot. I walking back in intending only to grab my sisters and leave. Unfortunately this group of guys were still seething and Tom cannot follow directions. No sooner had I reached the top step when I saw these guys lunge toward me to gain access to Tom, who had followed me back inside. Now I found myself in the center of a fight. Before now I was able to completely understand this group's desire to murder Tom. He was drunk and talking to drunk girls who just happened to have drunk boyfriends. However, finding myself on the receiving end of their aggression infuriated me. Thankfully, during this time the bartender had begun making his way to the front door to return my debit card to me....a habit that leads to me believe that I am the only person alive the DESERVES to have their identity stolen. Frank the bartender is a big guy and the image of his picking up one of my offenders like a baby was priceless.

So now, just to recap...i walked into this bar, mocked everyone, demanded free drinks, destroyed the dance floor with red bull and vodka, proceeded to slip in it repeatedly and then participated in a bar fight. Normally these behaviors are not rewarded...especially by the bar's owner. Unless your Steph Schramm. Not only did I have the bartender run after me to give me back my debit card (a move I view as going above and beyond the call of duty) and save me from a fight, but got a personal apology by the owner (remember...Tom was in the wrong), a kiss and an offer to be taken out on a date. It is situations like this that perpetuate my insanity....it's simply the positive reinforcement of a negative behavior.




By this time my entire group had made it outside...unfortunately the last couple minutes added a degree of hostility to our otherwise cheerful clan. Kate was angry with Tom but he was too drunk to realize or even stammer a shallow apology. Likewise, Kate was drunk thus making it impossible for anyone to reason with her. Kate started off for home escorted by Laura and my cousin Mike. The only person not accounted for was Laura's boyfriend Matt...apparently he decided to sprint back to my house...stopping only to throw up in my neighbor's driveway. Since I was the only one left it became my responsibility to ensure Tom's safe arrival at my house. I firmly grasped his hand and began dragging him home. Thankfully, we were followed almost the entire way home by a white van...I was certain that we were going to be kidnapped or raped or asked to buy designer imposter handbags.


After a few blocks we were able to catch up with Laura, who was now walking alone as she didn't want to take the trademark horror movie short cut through the woods with Kate and Mike. She, too, had noticed the white van following our slow march home. Rather than ignore the lurking car, Laura decided to taunt the driver. Now, regardless of this creepy car's intent, it was 2 am and a drunken group of girls (Tom did not count as a man at this moment due entirely to his level of consciousness) was being stalked by a random van with unclear intentions. Intuition dictates that we get ourselves out of this situation as quickly and quietly as possible....once again, unless you are a Schramm. Schramm girls live in a protective bubble, confident in the fact that we can say or act in any manner we chose and regardless of the situation Mr Schramm will come to our rescue. Like the time that Kate got accused of stealing candy at the 7-11, Mr Schramm charged up to the store to clear his eldest daughter's name...resulting in a lifetime ban imposed on everyone in my family. Or the time Laura had friends over and a few of them sat outside of my father's house smoking weed, unbeknownst to her. My father physically removed the 2teenage boys and 2 girls from his front step by literally tossing them well past his property line...cops were called, charges were filed. The whole situation was resolved the next morning when one of the girl's fathers showed at Mr Schramm's house with a baseball bat...my father calmly walked over to him and plucked the bat out of this man's hand despite his attempts to maintain possession of his weapon. Or even the time that the hallway of my apartment caught on fire...blocking my only means of escape. Did i call the fire department? No, I called my father. I called him 3 times in a row each time reaching only the answering machine. So, I beat the fire out and continued my dinner. If Mr Schramm couldn't be reached to save me then it obviously wasn't a life threatening emergency. This backwards thinking is a direct result of our upbringing. Therefore, it is no surprise that Laura felt comfortable drunkenly heckling a creepy white van stalking her on her walk home from a bar at 2am.





At some point during our journey we passed by a nicely manicured lawn serving as a stage for a For Sale sign. Laura decided at that moment that she now could greatly benefit from the protection that sign could offer...most likely to send fear into the heart of the van's driver. Without a thought, Laura liberated the sign from it's home and proudly resumed her own personal parade. I was busy trying to reteach Tom how to walk....thankfully I have seen Santa Claus Is Coming to Town multiple times and was able to paraphrase the "put one foot in front of the other" medley performed by the Winter Warlock and Kris Kringle. We continued on for a few more blocks until Laura found a cat. She immediatly forgot about her sign and ran over to scope up a tiny gray kitten. The kitten appeared to enjoy her attention so Laura decided to bring him with us...despite the fact that we had 4 other cats at home. Finally, after what seemed like hours, our group reached our destination and we stumbled through my front door. We were greeted by an irate Kate, an exhausted Matt and a hungry Mike. Kate was still angry at Tom for his bar behavior and demonstrated it by flipping the 2 newly delivered warm and delicious pizza boxes over at him. They "fought" for a few minutes until fell asleep on my couch, palsy hands curled and mouth open. Each of us found our beds and drifted off to sleep...ending on of the funniest nights of my life.





Early the next morning I woke and venured downstaires to retrieve a cold glass of water. Returning to my room, I was greeted by Kate, who had followed me in and set up camp on my bed. A few minutes later, Laura awoke and joined us. We sat on my bed laughing about the previous night and attempting to fill in the gaps of our adventure. Moments later, from Toutant's room, we heard our familiar chant coming from Mike's mouth......Dick Smackarelli, Dick Smackarelli.....

favorite night part 1

I like to think that I come from a very politically active and aware family. My father is a councilman in Folcroft..which I'm pretty sure just means having the power to control police presence outside his unwanted neighbor's house. My older sister Kate lives in DC running the office of a certain pennsylvania senator whom shall remain nameless. Unfortunately my only contribution to the world of politics comes in the form of often requiring large amounts of alcohol to quiet the rage I have regarding politics and placing Anti-Obama merchandise around my entire house...Despite my own personal lack of legitimate activism, I live in a world surrounded by politics. Even as children, my sisters and I were expected to understand basic political hierarchies, news worthy events and matters of historic significance. Returning home from school with a report card showing a B in social studies was not acceptable... returning home from school with an A in social studies and a B in science was praised. After finding himself a bachelor in his 40's, my father even took to decorating his "bachelor" pad with framed copies of the Declaration of Independence and Constitution...very traditional single man decor. I can remember standing by his front door for hours trying to memorize the Declaration of Independence simply because it occurred to me that I could not recite it verbatim. Later this knowledge came in handy as a bar trick of sorts...usually involving a keg.

During the election last year I was elated to place numerous signs on my front lawn broadcasting my political beliefs like a spotlight...because everyone knows that the person who has the most signs on their front lawn will end up victorious and therefore has the right to shove their beliefs down everyone elses throat. With this in mind, I was willing to place any sign out front that showed my disdain for liberals and my faith in all things conservative. Therefore, when Kate told me she wanted me to place a sign on my lawn supporting a local politician that she had come to know through her job, I was more than willing. Proudly I displayed this sign...and more importantly I even remembered to vote for him on election day. (A minor miracle due to my extreme hate and preoccupation with wanting to hit everyone who attempted to hand me a vote for change pamphlet...i never claimed to be a rational person). Other outcomes of the election aside, it turned out that aforementioned politician won a seat as a state representative...obviously because of my sign.

Fast forward a few month and I learned that this man was being sent back into the military and he was hosting a going way party at my favorite bar. Usually I need only someone to say a word rhyming with this bar's name for me to want to go, so clearly there was no question of my attendance. My sisters and I decided to have alittle pre- going away party party at my house...which is not uncommon due to the fact that i own and operate a Frat House. So, we threw a party. We decided to head to the bar around 10pm, so we have a couple hours of drinking ahead of us. By about 9:30 that night, the party had dwindled down to my sisters, their boyfriend, my father and my cousin...obviously no one else though it would be as hilarious as we did to attend this bar party...(I think I failed to mention that, by this point, this politician had attempted to court Kate numerous times and failed..and therefore he became alittle bit of a joke to us). So, there we are, drinking in the living room and preparing to explode into what I can only imagine is the weirdest going away party in the history of Marty Magees (my bar). Understanding our level of intoxication allow the reader to understand why the next part of the story is so funny. Throughout the night this politicians name was said repeatedly in referencing our plans for later. Eventually his name was not good enough and he was simply being referred to by a Schramm- imposed name that rhymed with his own. Thus is the birth of Dick Smackarelli and my favorite night ever.

By the time we were getting ready to leave for the bar we had taken to only chanting Dick Smackarelli on repeat..gathered our stuff chanting, locked the door chanting and then walked single file down my walkway and to my fathers car chanting out new favorite phrase. We must have looked like some insane cult or drunken army. My neighbors certainly would have called the cops if we have even once substituted We love Allah in place of Dick Smackarelli. Thankfully no one made mention of anything that could be misconstrued as a terrorist threat and we made it to the bar without incident. By this point my father was only tolerating us because he, being a councilman himself, saw this as an important means of supporting other politicians. So, we arrived at the bar and again resumed our single file line and marched in chanting, now much more quietly.

My first reaction was that of horror...the bar was crowded but with people wearing dress slacks and tucked in collared shirts and despite the presence of a DJ, no one was dancing. Kate and my father immediately began greeting the people that they knew and introducing themselves to people that they should know. I couldn't be bothered with this...I had been in the bar for 7 minutes and did not have a drink or hear a song that made me want to dance. I pushed my way through the crowd to the bar and was greeted by my favorite bartender Frank. Frank took my debit card and opened a tab..and I knew from experience that this meant that I was going to be taken care of. Many times I have left this bar having purchased drinks for my entire group and owing only 13 dollars. So, I happily gathered enough drinks for my posse and set out to distribute them to their new owners. I found my father talking to a coworker...got caught in conversation. I found Kate talking to Dick, got caught in conversation. By this point I was even more annoyed, as I was still not dancing and everyone was spread out too far for me to find. Kate decided that this was the perfect time to introduce me to my new favorite catch phrase. I, of course, was not interested in meeting this geeky looking man but i played my part. He shook my hand and I greeted him with, "I had your sign on my front lawn, so...ya know...Your welcome." He did not look amused with me so I felt pretty safe walking away and heading back up to the bar, mostly because I wanted to get away from the political circle forming around Dick, Kate and my father. I reached the bar only to turn and realize that Dick had followed me..."Ya know", he said.."Your sister Kate is one of my top 5 favorite females that I wouldn't date". Liar, you totally wanna date her...I heard about the "business meeting" that ended with Kate having to defend her relationship with her boyfriend. "Oh, well that's nice..I like her too,..who else would you say is in that group...your mother?" I'm very clever. "So Kate tells me your a nurse.." True, I am a nurse....good memory. "You know, I could have your nursing license taken away from you if I wanted." Oh, okay, I see how this is going. Actually I don't because I don't even know what he is talking about. This small scale politician is going to go to Harrisburg and pull my nursing license and get it taken away from me? Okay, go for it buddy. I assume that he was attempting to impress me with his "power" but unfortunately for him power does not impress me and further, now he had threatened me. My response was to say the first thing that came to my mind..."I wish that I could build a time machine so that I could go back to November and not vote for you." With that I walked away in search of my little sister. ...

so many waterbugs

From the time I was in 8th grade until I last year, I lived in a tiny apartment with my mom and little sister Laura. This apartment was located behind the Dunkin Donuts on 420 in delightful Norwood...selected specifically so that Laura and I could attend Interboro High School. Now, the argument could be made that my parents obviously valued my older sister Kate's education and resulting success in life over their other daughters due to the fact that she was sent to Prendie, where as Laura and myself received our education in a school that trucked in mothers from Chester who regularly would physically remove each other from the middle of class to rectify some baby mama drama...but i digress. Anyway, Norwood itself is a rather nice town.. sans the attitude and personality of my beloved hometown of Folcroft but sufficient enough. So, in the spring of my 8th grade school year my mother moved us into an deceivingly normal looking 2 bedroom second floor apartment. Now due to lifetime-movie worthy family drama I was able to ignore or just not notice the fact that my mom had moved us directly into the only existing cult/ government biochemical testing ground in Delaware County. Slowly but surely this fact began to present itself to us.



This apartment building houses about 3 families in the front and 8 families in the back...luckily we ended up right in the middle of the "families" living in the back. One of the first realizations was that every family dwelling around us were actually related to each other. Fine..families are great. Except that this family would constantly park themselves outside on the only existing common area from sunrise to sunset. Although not initially annoying, hours and hours of exchanging fake pleasantries began to destroy my soul. Between myself, my sister and my mother we would spend approximately 63 minutes in our apartment a day. Work, school, friends, sports, etc caused us to constantly go in and out of the apartment, usually in a rush. Our neighbors, it appeared, never left the apartment complex. Im relatively certain that, much like how vampires are unable to cast a reflection in a mirror, these people would cease to be visible to the naked eye away from Huron Avenue. More annoyingly, these vampires seemed to all share the same hobby...catching us in mind-numbing conversations that never ended. I think it was a game and the object was to prevent us from living our life...and they got a triple word score for catching us if it looked like we were REALLY in a rush. More times than I'd care to count I was late for school or work because, although I left on time, I was caught the second I emerged from my front door and cornered into a discussion about whether or not I enjoyed magazines. Or I would return from working a night shift wearing my scrubs, covered in 3 different bodily fluids with a stethoscope still draped around my neck to my one neighbor creepily joking about where I've been all night..as though I were returning from an epic gang bang or my shift at Lou Turks.


The two most common and feared conversation starters were the brother in law duo of VV and freakshow. VV lived in the apartment with his wife and teenage son and daughter (leading me to conclude that they shared a room as the layout of the apartments were the same. There will always be something unsettling about the thought of a teenage boy and his teenage sister sharing bunk beds). VV got his name after we watched a Victim Channel movie called Video Voyeur...were the creepy peeking neighbor set up a camera to spy on his neighbor's wife. VV had an unnerving way of commenting on my physical appearance in such a way that I often felt as though he must be spying on us.. He also loved to compliment my perfume which, maybe I'm being alittle conservative, but I always found to be super creepy and totally inappropriate due to the fact that I was 15 at the time. As our "relationship" grew, VV felt more comfortable and entitled to pry into my personal life. It actually got to the point where each time I left my apartment, he emerged from his (hence the belief that he was watching us) and would question me about my plans for the evening. "Where are you going?", "Who are you going with?", "What time are you gonna be home?", "Does your father know where you are going?" Unfortunately I was raised with respect and therefore felt obligated to answer him despite the fact that all I wanted to do was kick him in the shin and throw lighter fluid on him.

Conversely, freakshow showed no signs of believing that we were actively involved in a romatic relationship...but he did show signs of dementia. At any given moment, he could be found camped out in front of his prized PT Cruiser, admiring it. He would get his lawn chair, cup of coffee and automobile wax and alternate sitting and sipping with waxing his car. Unlike VV, freakshow was much easier to avoid due to his routine and habitual parking spot. However, after a few years, our slum lord began enforcing his parking policy and requiring us to park in the lot in the front of the apartment...ensuring that I would be forced to talk to freakshow EVERYTIME I got out of my car. Sane people exchange shallow pleasantries with their neighbors or perhaps talk about the weather for a few minutes. My mentally ill neighbor would never allow me to slip past him without beginning a conversation about his great grandfather's affinity for wearing a polka dotted tie while mowing his lawn. Or his long lost brother who smugly ignores their family and lives down south...(He, by the way, was my favorite member of the family).
Our parking arrangements made it impossible to not walk directly past freakshow's campground...so I began experimenting with alternate routes to my apartment. I attempted to walk all the way around the opposite side of the building. This was surely an act of desperation due to the fact that the land housing our apartment also grew plentiful crops of waterbugs. Numerous nights I would be forced to put Laura on my back and carry her up the steps as her fear of these bugs left her paralysed. I would regularly sprint up the steps and through the walkway, hearing crunching underfoot the entire time. Each morning, this walkway resembled the hallowed grounds of a waterbug graveyard, serving as the final resting place for all the bugs who lost their lives in the previous nights battle. Therefore, it is obvious that my neighbors left me exasperated...forcing me to chose between hours of soul killing conversation or mapping out a new route with the threat of being eaten alive by the most disgusting and visually offensive bugs on earth. On the night that I decided to trial my new and unexplored route, I returned home from class at about 9pm. I purposely parked in the far right corner...the closest to my escape route. I caught a glimpse of Freakshow to my left and noticed him taking out a pen and paper to jot down notes for his immenent discussion with me. Thankfully it was not his habit to get out of the chair to greet me, therefore I knew that he would not begin talking until I got within earshot of his lawn chair. Smiling to myself, I gathered my textbooks and bag and boldly headed right....keeping my head down. The cement parking lot ended and spills into an oddly placed stretch of grass and weeds that the landlord prefers to grow until it reachs waist-high. Hidden under the grass lay uneven cuts of cement and steps as dangerous as landmines. Navigating my way through was difficult and uncomfortable. I stubbed my toe twice but refused to stop for fear of having a waterbug crawl up my leg. Finally, I reached the otherside of the mid-driveway jungle and happily stepped again onto cement. I broke into my usual spint and joyfully turned the corner to climb the steps which would bring me to freedom. Thinking to myself that my terrain was not quite as bad as I imagined it would be, I couldn't surpress a huge smile at my success. I would gladly stub everyone of my toes if it meant that I would be saved from even 2 hours a week of agitation. Deep in my thoughts of victory, I didn't even notice that VV sat waiting at the top of the steps to greet me.

because i do not have a reality show...yet

So, I really want to write a book. I like to think that I am motivated enough to take the time to organize my thoughts and package them together snuggled between 2 paper walls depicting an epic battlefield watercolor or cartoon woman walking down the street wearing pumps and applying lipstick. The only reason I am hesitant is because I have no interest in writing a work of fiction. Therefore I can either publish a novel about Gunning Bedfood Jr and his wooden leg or I can write a memoir. Clearly the memoir would allow me to do significantly less research and lessen the risk of being sued by the Gunning Bedford Jr Wooden Leg Alliance. However the memoir path requires me to superglue my life events together and carefully arrange them in a cohesive, interesting and understandable story that would climax with me unearthing some life affirming realization..followed by actually getting people intrigued enough to read it. Don't get me wrong, I think that my life is very interesting and book-worthy, just not to anyone except my cats. This is the position I find myself in today...leading me to blog. I hope to use this to compile my life and hopefully get one step closer to my second most desired goal in life of being an author. Obviously participating in a filibuster will always remain number one.