A letter to my stockings.

Dear L'eggs Sheer Energy Nude stockings in a size B,

I would appreciate it if you would not spontaneously get a run or snag in you like so many of your sisters and brothers before you. You see, I have to go out to dinner tonight and it is vital that I make a good impression and feel confident. This is difficult to do when I am all to well aware that a run in my stocking is slowly making it's way up (or down!) my leg. I promise that if you can hang in there and do this for me I will always be sure to put you in the "delicates" bag and on the proper cycle in the washing machine.

With hopes for a long and mutually beneficial relationship,
Jenny

It's really been a year??

I got the message from one of my best friend's from high school. I had been on CNN all morning reading and watching the events of the Virginia Tech Massacre unfold. I remember thinking, "Thank God it's not here." Well, what I didn't know and what Cait messaged me shortly therafter was that it was about to hit home in a big way.

My childhood friend Dan O'Neill was killed in the massacre when he was shot in a classroom by the gunman. I didn't quite believe her when she told me, because the names of the victims were not being released yet. I kept checking CNN throughout the day, watching and waiting. It wasn't until I finally saw it in black and white on my computer screen that it became a reality.

As soon as I could, I went home. I grew up in a town in Rhode Island where everyone pretty much knows everyone. I was a "Saylesville" kid(our elementary school)...and so was Dan. We attended school together from Kindergarten until we graduated, and we were often in the same classes. He lived up the street from me our whole lives and he used to skateboard with my brother. He was a part of my childhood.

People came from all over the country, flying in to attend Dan's funeral, the memorials, and pay their respects. Facebook memorials popped up. The website where he had his songs posted (www.residenthippy.com) was flooded with people wanting to hear his beautiful music. Condolences poured in from around the world, and candlelight vigils were aplenty.

Media curiousity was high. Tributes to the victims were on all of the TV channels. In fact, his closest friends threw a memorial concert, and TV crews showed up to broadcast the footage. At his funeral, many people carried black umbrellas to shield themselves from the cameras.

We all came together that week...and we were there for each other. We were united in our childhoods, our memories, friendships, our shared experiences. I can't really describe the sense of community, but it was there. And it gave me hope...that even in the midst of something so unspeakably heinous, there was human compassion.

I can't believe it's really been a year. And I cannot imagine that the grief felt by his passing has subsided. Wherever Dan is now, I hope he is at peace. I know that he is deeply missed.

Unless you have a vision problem...

Then there really is only ONE of me. One of me to go around, people. So to everyone wanting a piece of me...BACK THE HELL OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Isn't that YOUR job?

IT guy: Helpdesk, Bob speaking. How can I help you?
Me: My printer isn't working. I just replaced the cartridge, but the menu is still distorted, the orange light is on, and it won't print.
IT guy: Well, what seems to be the problem?
Me: I do not know. It won't print. I have no idea why.
IT guy: Well, the menu is distorted? Like, smudgy?
Me: The font is different. It looks like some sort of default font. I don't know. I know nothing.

Jesus Christ! Isn't it THEIR job to figure out what's wrong? All I know is that my goddamn printer won't print!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*deep cleansing breath*

This is like that time I spent twenty five minutes on the phone with that IT guy who asked me at the end of the conversation if I was a student. Um, no. Oy vey!!!

I need to branch out.

All I seem to cook lately is Italian. Healthy Italian, and admittedly kick ass Italian(Yeah, I AM Italian), but still.

And this needs to be said. If I want to say that I used to be fat, then let me do so. You know it's true, I know it's true, and that's pretty much the long and short of it. Telling me I wasn't fat makes me trust NOTHING you say. Yes, I am no longer fat, but I REFUSE to deny my past. It's what brought me to where I am, and I am damn proud of how far i've come.

Warning to anyone selling BB or pellet guns.

If a 49 year old blonde deaf woman tries to purchase a b.b. gun from you, DO NOT SELL IT TO HER. This is my mother. She wants to shoot the squirrels that are eating from her seven (yes, 7!) bird feeders situated throughout her backyard. Let me give you a little background.

She is an avid birdwatcher and when I visit, she continually tiptoes in to the room I am in and gestures for me to "come quickly" and look at a "new bird." Apparently, birds have super hearing and the sound of her footsteps on the carpet will send them flying in terror. And she takes special trips to the store to refill her feeders. I have no clue why she loves birds so much, but I constantly have to stop myself from twirling my finger in the air and going, "Whoop-de-freakin-do."

I mean, she DID watch all those times I went, "Mom! Look at me! I can swim the butterfly stroke!" Yeah, I couldn't.

Now, the banes of her existence at the moment are these "damn squirrels" that have recently begun their reign of terror over the feeders, depleting the resources meant for the birds. She's tried everything- running out of the house and clapping her hands at them (maybe they think she's applauding?), profanity laced yelling, sic'ing the dog on them (I wouldn't be scared of Samantha, either), etc. She's a modern day Bill Murray a la "Caddyshack." These squirrels are her gopher.

So, last weekend she says to me, "I think I need a b.b. gun. I'm going to shoot to kill."

How lovely. This from the woman who put her treadmill in a room with such a low ceiling she can't even run without smacking her head on it. Yeah, that says it all. And also, she has a history of violence with squirrels. I secretly think that they're out to get her. We once had a squirrel come into our house via the chimney. She swatted him out with a tennis racket.

I mean, I know you guys are out to get money, but when the squirrel community turns on you for arming this woman, don't come crying to me. You've been warned.

What's a girl to do?

So, don't tell my aunt, but I LOVE to run at night. I usually go out running at around 9:00 or so and run miles. I live in the city, as I am sure you know, and I stick to well-lit places and the safer areas. However, I have come to realize that in this day and age, it's probably a good idea to have some measure of protection. I'll probably accidentally Mace myself, and i'm not keen on getting a license and training, so that's out.

Meet the stun gun.

http://gizmodo.com/377185/lipstick-stun-gun-comes-in-one-shade-frazzled-nads

This little puppy has it all- style, efficiency, and 350,000 volts of electricity.

Yes, I'll be ordering this. Oh, look! It comes in green.

I'm practically old! Ok, not really...

I figure I probably only have another ten years or so before I have to stop wearing stiletto heels unless I want to be permanently deformed and crippled. Micro miniskirts? Two or three years at best (I think alot of women miss this memo...skirts of a certain length are really only appropriate up until your early-mid-twenties.).

My best friend is turning 24 this weekend and I must say it's really odd to think about, particularly since I have known her since nursery school. I mean, I knew her back when she actually wore her glasses! That was a LONG time ago, people! And that reminds me...if you happen to be driving in RI and you see a slate gray brand new 2008 Nissan Altima with a license plate that begins with the letter K, WATCH OUT!

It's really weird when you realize that you are really growing up, isn't it? I mean, aside from the increasing responsibilities and the fact that some of the things that you do were considered cute, oh...let's say...twenty years ago and are not so cutesy as an adult. For instance, collecting Disney characters and Beanie Babies. Yes, there are STILL people out there who do these things, for the LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY! But I digress...Some people may say that it's over dramatic to ponder the aging process at the age of 23, but I think that this is when we often face our own mortality. Our parents are suddenly 20 years older than we always think of them in our heads, our friends are getting engaged and buying houses, we're graduating from grad school and getting real jobs...Things just seem to be shifting in high gear lately.

Adulthood. What a kick in the ass.

I must be nuts.

I gave my boyfriend the address to access this thing. But you know what? I refuse to censor myself!

Sorry, honey. One false move and it's going on here.

;) Just kidding. Maybe.

With one shoe on and one shoe off...

How is it that I ended up coming home last night with new shoes...one shoe in a ten and one in an eight and a half??

I swear I was completely sober. I don't even drink!

I've decided that I am not to blame. Holly is. I was laughing too hard to pay attention, dammit!

Third Graders...the new Children of the Corn?

Apparently, a group of third graders plotted to do bodily harm to their teacher, going so far as to bring handcuffs and a knife to school. I mean, what was this like?

"Homework? Check!
Webkinz duck? Check!
Handcuffs? Check!
String Cheese and an apple? Check!
Knife? Check!"

And how the hell were they able to plan this? They're in the third grade and there were nine of them! Either they had a massive playdate or they were out on the playground at recess hatching this diabolic little scheme. Holy crap. I hope they ARE charged with conspiracy.

The scariest thing I ever brought to school at that age was a snap bracelet. The more I think about it, the more I realize how rapidly our society is deteriorating, and it's blatantly obvious just looking at the overall average student today. So who's to blame? Pop culture? Commercialism? Parents? And how the hell do we fix it?

The other day I was walking down the street (actually, in Copley Square) and a group of boys(probably early teens) were walking down the street with their pants roughly at their ankles. I overheard the following (and if I heard it, you know it was loud!):

"That fucking bitch took me off her myspace. Fuck that, yo. I'm done with that shit." All his little punk buddies agreed that "the fucking ho wasn't worth shit." Great. Glad there's a consensus, boys.

Walking on the other side of me was a young mother, dragging what looked to be a three or four year old little girl. I'm sure she was so appreciative that her innocent child was exposed to that crap. Just lovely. But you know what? Chances are she's heard it before. It's EVERYWHERE. Where did it all go wrong?

And on a side note: the town I grew up in was recently voted one of the best places to live in the country and I must say, if this is the case, what the hell does the rest of the country look like?! This frightens me a bit...

CNN's going down the tubes.

I give you one of their top headlines: "NASSAU, Bahamas (AP) -- A Bahamas jury has determined that Anna Nicole Smith's son died from an accidental drug overdose and is recommending no criminal charges."

No shit! You don't say? It only took you over a year to determine that?

And???

This is hardly breaking, cutting edge news.

This, coupled with their hard hitting reporting on Paris Hilton's exploits in and out of jail will surely goes down as the greatest reporting of the era.

*eye roll*

I heart beantown.

Beantown meaning Boston, for those of you not in the know.

Every single time I drive into the city, the Prudential and the John Hancock tower loom in the sky and I feel like i'm truly coming home. From the crowded D line subway, to the construction at Copley, and the mad rush during baseball season, I secretly (and sometimes not so secretly) relish every little bit of it. So, just ignore me the next time I glare at you insane baseball fans sending up a "Yankees suck!" chant on the way home from a Red Sox/Bluejays game. Ignore my sneers, obnoxious frat boys checking me out and wolf whistling on Comm Ave. Rejoice in my eye roll, woman cutting me in line at the Boylston Street Trader Joe's during the after-work rush.

But you know what, guy in the electric wheelchair begging for change in front of Back Bay station...? I'm onto you. I saw you getting into the driver's seat of a Honda Civic not too long ago. Was this part of the "miracle" you talked about on your cardboard sign? Wow! If so, I'm a believer!

I worship at the altar of Louis Vuitton.

And premium outlet shopping, of course. It's not like i'm married to a sheik! Or Tom Cruise. And thank god for the absence of both of those scenarios in my life. I value my freedom!

Body woes , begone!

I feel fine about being clothed. I rather appreciate my body when it's covered up. Uncovered, however, is a different story. It feels like false advertising to me. Like when you take a campus tour the summer before freshman year, see the best dorms, and only go to the nicest classrooms. You're hooked! Then you arrive freshman year to find out that you're in a forced triple that looks slightly like that isolation tank you saw on "MTV: Real life: My life at Rikers." I can't help but wonder if that's what it feels like when I get naked in front of someone.

I just want to love my body, dammit!

Pregnant men? Hell has officially frozen over.

Apparently, there is a transgendered man who is pregnant with his and his wife's child.

I am really quite open minded and i'm happy that they're going to have a child that they will obviously be loving parents to...but one question (ok, many questions) weigh on my mind.

How do you explain that to a child?

I can think of few sentences more confusing and terrifying than "You came out of daddy."

Seriously. I'm getting that same slightly unsettled feeling after watching Arnold Schwarzeneggar prove how comfortable he is with his masculinity by making an ass of himself in that movie "Junior." Nothing says future Governor of CA like a man strapping on a pregnant belly and utilizing lamaze!

The Inaugural post...the pressure!

Eh. Today's Friday, thank god. I don't think I can take any more of this week. Plus, this weekend I am going to perform my official duties as a fashion guru.

I've decided, as a means of venting, to provide a short list of things that have irked/perplexed me this week. Why? I don't know, nor do I care. Because I feel like it! If this makes me a whiny bitch, so be it.

1.) Asshole who put his umbrella down on the only available seat of the train: Even if no one decrepit or handicapped was in your immediate vicinity, this was not an indication that the seat was any less desired! You're lucky I didn't take your golf (insert crude joke about sinking putts here)umbrella and start practicing my swing for my debut with the company softball team(which I am sure will catapult me to instant stardom).

2.) Why don't Randy and Simon stage an intervention for Paula? And Ryan, while they're at it??

3.) Peeps. Not only are these things horribly noxious, they also remind me of the fact that my aunts called male genitalia "peepers" with their kids. Christ. No wonder children grow up sexually confused these days.

4.) Why, in this glorious city that is Boston can I not locate the following items: a.) women's Ed Hardy Sneakers and b.) organic vodka? It's a travesty, people!

5.) Lastly, no, I do NOT want a free trip to "paradise." I think, deluded telemarketer who will not stop calling me, that your definition of paradise and mine are slightly different. You see, I do not think that touring swamp land that is "destined for greatness as the next big thing in timeshares" while listening to a speech in an industrial gym with no windows about how to get in on this "exciting new venture" is really up my alley. But thanks for the lovely offer.


You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.