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Last night I got sick, really sick. It happens every once in awhile, where I break out into these bouts of sickness. You see, I suffer from JGS, more oftenly called Jersey Girl Syndrome. It’s actually fairly well-known disorder, but thankfully it’s contained to our small state.

Last night I went to a bar with Mandy. I hadn’t seen her all week and we needed to talk about the PK business, about her boys. It wasn’t really a bar I go to on a regular basis, usually because it draws a weird crowd. Last night was no different- there was some sort of a 55+ dance and karaoke party going on out on the porch, and the indoors crowd looked rouch, huddling along the bar with almost every eye on the Phillies game. The guys were either older and moderately trashy looking or younger and extremely trashy looking. Many of the younger guys had some scantily clad girl clinging to their sides, with dyed blonde hair, the kind of eyeshadow a girl has in third grade when she first starts wearing eyeshadow, and a vacant expression on her face. We only went to this bar because it happens to be three blocks from Mandy’s house.

Mands and I joined that lovely crowd at the bar and sat down next to one of the more mild pairs of trashy old men- the one beside me was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses in the dark bar, his friend had on a tight black shirt that accentuated his saggy 60 some year old body. On the other side of them were the most extreme cases of trashy young guys. One had on a black wifebeater (I know, to a bar) trying to show off his muscles and hideous tattoos. He had more grease on him than the back burned of the bar. The guy with him had one of those Chinese print shirts, black with red dragons, and his ears had giant gauges in them. Sexy, right?

Mands and I both ordered vodka drinks, hers with Red Bull (she had a late night date) and mine with cranberry. Before I can even sip, the Phils scored another run. At this point they were 6-0. This is also when I start hearing the Extreme Trashy Guys yacking about how much the Phillies suck, how much they hate the Eagles, how shitty the Sixers are.

The Mildly Trashy Older Guys next to me were wildly arguing everything he said, laughing at the fact that these guys were Cowboys and Yankees fans in a Phillies bar. One of the, excuse me, assholes threw out the “you can’t even drink at the stadium” lines again and I turned and told him that you could, that they had bars in the stadiums, and that he had no idea what he was talking about. That’s where the trouble started brewing. He shot back some line that a preppy little girl like me had no idea what I was talking about.

Mandy threw out a low whistle and scooted her barstool a little away, full well expecting an explosion. My Jersey Girl Syndrome flared up. Within the next half hour, I had drank three of my cranberry and vodka drinks, asked the guy with gauged ears if he’d ever seen the scene in Disturbing Behavior where the guy has his nose ring ripped out (making a point to stare at his ears), insulted him to the degree that he was threatening me. The Mildly Trashy Older Guys loved this, prodding me the entire time, but told the guy that he wouldn’t live to lay a hand on me. Within twenty minutes the bouncer of the bar had to escort Gauged Ear Guy and Wifebeater Guido out, with nearby spectators clapping.


Meredith was relaying funny medical and vet school stories a few days back, mostly those of her friends. One of them came from a friend of her friend, who was in medical school this past year.

Apparently he had begun his practicals and had been doing fine until he got to his OB/GYN practical. And then he did horribly. He’d get flustered, embarrassed, and would stumble on his words trying to speak to the patient. Finally he learned that if he hummed while going about the process he wouldn’t feel as nervous. So as he felt his way around, he would sit there humming to relax him.

One day he was sitting in with a middle-aged woman, and happened to have his fingers…um….inside her while he sat there happily humming to himself. For a second she looked at him oddly, then burst out laughing. He asked her if he had tickled her, and she shook her head. “Do you know what you were humming?” He was absolutely mortified, and couldn’t remember for the life of him what he had been humming moments earlier. “No….” he said, with an overwhelming hesitance.

“You were humming the Oscar Meyer Weiner song. Oh I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner….


I stopped to pick up a coffee today from my favorite little coffee shop a few blocks away. In line in front of me was a mother on a cell phone, with her little son walking circles around her legs. I’ll skip my rant about how the mom was trying to care for the kid, order a coffee, and have a full gossip conversation on her cell phone at the same time.

Mom on cell: (to person on cell) …Oh my god, she was arrested AGAIN? I can’t believe it, some people can’t raise their children right. AGAIN?…..WITH COCAINE?

Her son: Who mommy, who?

Mom on cell: (to son) Lindsay Lohan, hon. (to person on cell) She needs to get back to that pricey rehab!

Son: (to barista) I loved Herbie: Fully Loaded. I like the car.

Barista: (to kid, while nodding head knowingly) Well, this is just like that, but more like Lindsay: Fully Loaded.

I had a great night out with Brian last night. We went for one of our usual walks and talking the entire time. Came back to watch movies here before he headed home for the night.

I climbed into bed and watched The Wire for a few hours, then checked my email before falling asleep. And there it was, an email from PK.


I tried to sleep on it for the night without responding, holding off for as long as I could. I finally fell to sleep a few hours later, but woke up early again. It was still sitting there. And then I realized how damn cheesy it sounded. How fake, how contrived. Even when it came to real emotions he couldn’t express them well.

I think about you a lot.
It’s really sad. I realize now that I loved that you loved me, I loved when I was with you, and I loved having sex with you – none of that was any doubt.
I worked really hard to force myself to uncover the true love I thought we were destined for, only because I knew you loved me and we were so perfect that if I could love you were truly would be perfect, whole. But it wasn’t organic – it was forced.  And I’m sorry we couldn’t be together right now.
If we were I’d tell you to read Twenty Something by Ian Hollingshead because it was amazing

Hope you’re good, and if you do end up here I’d like to start over sometime

let’s go to bed
let’s stop debating
look at the time
we’re always waiting
but we’re in love
and that should be just fine.

So now what?

 EDIT: I did write back to him:

I think about you a lot too. More than you can imagine. But we will never try this again. I will never go through your bullshit again. I don’t care if you loved me or didn’t love me- what you said to me and what you did to me hurt and I will never get past that. I was in New York last month to take my police exam and it was blocks away from where you used to live. And I was in Hoboken all day, knowing that you were in work down the street while I was at the pier. I’m going to graduate school. I got into a program in Philadelphia. I’ll finish that and move to New York. I scored in the top third percentile for the NYPD. And when I move up there, I hope I don’t see you.
I love you, I probably won’t get over you the way that I want to, but I’ll never be with you.

We did exchange a few more emails back and forth when he sort of rescinded what he’d said:

It wasn’t really a “let’s get back together if you could what what we were ‘together'” email. I was kinda just drawing a positive feature out of the new iPhone to be used in a context that we tried to supplement our long distance relationship with.
Other than that, sure, I guess I sometimes went along for the ride rather than confronted all of our issues because the ride was a lot of fun, but ultimately we were on two different tracks.
At no point am I claiming to have been wronged as much as I wronged you. You win. Always.

Does that first sentence even make an ounce of sense? And how does that possibly not come across as a “let’s try to work this out” email?

Just found a bunch of pictures from my camping weekend with the boys a few weeks back. These are a few of my favorites:


Me and Steve discussing over beers.


Zak and Spyder


This would ruin me for the rest of the night


Will taking BIG sips. About two hours after this photo we walked down to the beach and he decided it would be a fun idea to walk (fully clothed, with cell phone and wallet still in his pockets) out into the water to a dock about 50 yards in. And then when he came out, shivering and shaking, we laid down on the grass to watch stars. He then proceeded to vomit all over himself. Picture the little girl from the Exorcist.


End result of drinking.

Ian and I went for drinks last night at a bar local to his area. We spent the whole time talking (“does this mean we actually have to talk to each other?” he said, as I made him stop texting) and for quite a bit of time we talked about our good friend FaveDave. For the sake of background, FaveDave is one of the most brilliant men I have met in my life. He is an engineering major, and thankfully dumbs things down for us when he tries to explain exactly what it is that he does. We still have no idea.

Though he seems the archetype of geekiness, he has a relaxed and easy going nature. It’s true, he can be serious, but he has other sides to him. There’s the caring and devoted friend, the adventurist, the idealist. And then there’s DrunkDave, the greatest facet of his personality (kidding!). In fact, we have ultimately declared him our Favorite Drunk Person Ever, and we sat retelling some of our all time favorite DrunkDave moments. I then decided I needed a lapse from all of my mopey and pathetic posts, recounting them would be perfect!

  1. While SoberDave is probably one of the sweetest people you could meet, DrunkDave gets mean. Hilariously mean. With a penchant for involving food in his drunken dealings. My best girlfriends and I throw a cocktail party every year to which FaveDave was invited- and to which DrunkDave made an appearance. Of course the party itself became a raucous affair- Ian ended up stripping and dancing around the house, Mer tried to sleep in a utility closet, and the ever-lovable DrunkDave decided to throw quiches at Becky. She was not pleased, though he was. He fell to the floor giggling as she stormed out of the room. DrunkDave continued with the food, shaking up one of the unopened bottles of soda and opening it all over Jenny in the middle of the kitchen. The monstrosity that ensued can’t even be explained in words. Jenny grabbing glasses of water and pouring it over him, the two of them wrestling on the floor drenched in a sticky mess, DrunkDave trying to bite Jenny’s arm. The fight moved to the next room, where Jenny tried to escape up the steps with DrunkDave clinging to the back of her shirt. Unfortunately, a stray swinging arm caught him in the face and knocked him back down the stairs to the floor, where he lay unmoving. I naturally freaked, thinking that we’d have to take him to the hospital. No amount of pushing or slapping or screaming would get him to budge. And then someone, I think Ian, began tickling his foot and he cracked a smile. Jen, Ian and I somehow managed to each grab a hold of his body and drag him up the stairs, hitting his head and arms along the walls and against the doorframe. Jen and I stripped him down to his boxers and threw him into a guest bed, tucking him as he purred softly. In the morning he didn’t remember a thing.
  2. FaveDave, Mike, Ian and I went out drinking at a local college bar a few blocks from FaveDave’s place. It wasn’t even a heavy drinking night- I think I had about two beers tops. But FaveDave must have gotten sloshed because he insisted on doing karaoke. I’m a huge fan of watching, but I don’t even pretend that I have any skills in that department. Finally he rounded up some complete strangers (All moderately nerdy looking white boys) to sing “No Diggity”.  I dragged him from the stage and eventually from the bar and we left to go back to his place. We met up with his roomate ( Dan in the last post) and sat around watching tv. DrunkDave was hungry at this point and grabbed a giant tub of cheese balls. He started out eating them gently, one cheese ball at a time, and then progressed to shoving a handful of them in his mouth at a time. Cheese balls were flying everywhere in a furious rage. I pointed out to him that they were all over the floor, to which he took a handful of cheese balls and slammed his hand against my forehead and then falling over giggling in delight. Over the next half hour he repeated this many times to both Ian and I, slamming a handful of cheese balls into our foreheads and then doubling up laughing. If you think that cheese balls aren’t painful, know that Ian’s head was actually bleeding. The next morning he again didn’t remember it. He called me to apologize and said that he only understood how terrible it was when Dan actually admitted to feeling bad for me.
  3. I went to a party a while back with FaveDave that was being hosted by a bunch of people from his major. I had a breathalyzer with me, and Dave decided it would be a cool idea to compete with a girl to see who could blow a higher BAL. Brilliant, right? A few drinks after, DrunkDave was marching down the stairs with his shirt wrapped around his head, screaming that he was a ninja. This was shortly after he had been doing body shots off of a couple of the girls. He later says that this was his last complete memory, though he did have short bursts of memory after that. Of getting to the next party and hating everyone. Of loudly repeating how much he hated everyone. Of trying to mix himself another drink and instead pouring soda all over the counter. Of “escaping” the house into the pouring rain and climbing a fence somewhere. Of returning to the house wet a half hour later. I decided it was time to take him home when one of the two girls he was with came up to me saying “You won’t believe what Dave just said to me! He said ‘You may be way too hot for me, but you will never deserve a guy like me’!” The girl and I drove Dave back home from Manyunk and had to lock the doors because he insisted that he’d be ok to “walk home from here” and tried to open his door along 676. After he got back he realized that he might have locked himself out, but assured me that he would get to bed later. In the morning he called me, overwhelmed with shame and guilt. He called the girls and apologized, and the “You will never deserve a guy like me!” line has been embedded in our joke archives.

EDIT: A fourth memory from FaveDave’s graduation party/ going away party. We left his party to head to a friend’s house, where we sat drinking with a bunch of people that we had just met (Save for FaveDave’s cousin, who I’ve met before and awkwardly go to the same gym as. We’ve never actually said anything to each other, but we always stare at each other with that ‘I know that I know you from somewhere, but where?’ stare) A few of the guys decided that FaveDave needed to be thrown in the pool, so they grabbed him and picked him up- not a hard feat seeing as how FaveDave is about 115 pounds wet- and threw him over the side. FaveDave then decided the only option was to get out of the pool and strip off his shoes and dive in with his most graceful belly flop. He climbed out of the pool again, and with each proceeding jump he’d take off a layer of clothing until he was down to his boxer briefs. On his final jump, he jumped up high and pulled down his briefs to moon us mid-air.


Ian and I drove over to the Phillies game yesterday to meet up with a bunch of our friends (Actually, we stood outside the third base entrance for about ten minutes before Ian called Owen on my phone while standing on a giant block to see over everyone. Turned out that Owen was about 20 feet away standing on the same long block.) Ian waited outside for Dan and Dave and one of Dave’s other friends while Joe, Owen and I got our seats. The theme of the game seemed to be “10,000 losses“, which was a pretty terrible way to mark the game.

A bunch of frat-type guys sat down directly next to me and became immediate friends. They were obliterated- stumbling into their seats, sloshing their “water” and cranberry juices down. I scolded the one for talking badly about Burrell, then put my vote on him for the game (which I would later win around the fifth when Mark, the guy next to me, forfeited.)

When Dave, Ian, Dan and Dave’s friend finally got to our seats they all decided to have Dan sit next to me. Dan and I have a mixed relationship. I’d say it’s love-hate, but not really to either of those extremes. We bicker constantly, make fun of each other on a regular basis. Stayed true throughout the game too- whenever I’d cheer on a player he’d boo the same guy. 

After I got a little sloshed on vodka and cranberry juice with the guys next to me, the one turned and asked for my number. He was cute and fun and I considered it for a second. But before I could say yes I blurted out some lie, told him that Ian was my quasi-boyfriend and that I think he’d be uncomfortable seeing that. I don’t know why I did that, but oh well.

We left at the top of the eight, the Phils had a huge lead and we figured we’d get to the bar early. Headed back to a bar a few blocks from Dave and Dan’s place. It was this Mexican fusion type of a place, where we sat at this tucked away table and drank beer (well, everyone but me) and ate wings (again, everyone but me). The conversation got sordid at several points, and it was sweet of Dan to point out that I was chewing all of the ice out of my glasses of water. We talked about jobs and money too, where I basically felt fucked. Most of them are engineers and starting out with a rather large salary. I’m probably going to end up living in a box of an apartment with my dog and books eating Ramen noodles. Despite that, we had a great night out.

Um, hi. How’ve I been? Great, you know, getting into my GRAD SCHOOL PROGRAM THAT I REALLY, REALLY WANTED.

Can you tell I’m a little bit excited? This is my new school:


I wasn’t all that excited Tuesday morning, in fact it was the first time that my life was such a debacle before eight am. I was signed up to take my GREs at eight in the morning, and had readily gotten up, dressed nicely, and listened to Victory on repeat (I have a friend from college who swears that it is impossible to fail a test after listening to that song, regardless of how little one studied for said test). I drove to the testing site, which was probably about a fifteen minute drive from my house, and got there a half hour early. We had to sign some pledge that we wouldn’t cheat, that we were who we claimed to be, yadda yadda. I gave the woman all of my information, she asked for my license. At 8:05 she starts walking me into the testing room when she stops and goes “oh wait, we can’t take this license, it’s expired. Sorry, you can’t test today.” Um, excuse me? I just paid $130 to go through hell, and you’re telling me I can’t even go through that hell? I freaked, mildly, and demanded other options. She said I could use my passport, which was conveniently located in my purse…at home. She told me that I had twenty minutes to get home and back before I was cut off for the day. I was driving about 90 miles an hour home, sans license, when I hit traffic on the highway- there was an accident at my exit. I finally made it home after calling my lovely friend FaveDave and crying to him. He calmed me down, made me breathe, then made me speed my little butt back to the testing site.

I was ten minutes late. Luckily, after some begging (read: demanding), the woman allowed me into the testing room.

The test itself? Worse than hell. It is painfully designed to be difficult because it wants to challenge you at all times. Which sucks, seeing as how I had words with eight syllables and math problems that made me tear up a little.

I finished in three hours, and surprisingly my score wasn’t bad. It was actually rather good.  I rushed home again and emailed the head of the department with my score. Received a return email the next day saying that my scores were way above what they expected and that I was a definite for the program.

On top of all of this, I also got an interview with my high school crew team to be an assistant coach. It won’t exactly pay the bills, but I want to coach more some day, even if just at a high school level. Plus, all of the coaches were the ones who trained me, who raced with me around the country, who went to nationals with me. It’s going to be great working with them on a different level now.

I went out last night with Mandy, Zoey, Ian and some others to celebrate last night at a local bar. We ended up staying late, getting so drunk that we stumbled home (well, I stumbled the three blocks home). The bartender had been giving me free drinks, and his friend bought me a shot to celebrate. I thought he was cute until he mentioned that he was 42 (I could have sworn he was 28!) and a grandfather (um, no). All in all though, it was a great night out celebrating.

Edit: I need to add in a quick memory from last night. One of the guys from our group was showing me his Blackberry because I happen to be ob-freakin’-sessed with them. He was even letting me text to someone he called “Bobby”. I sent him some sassy text message, and the kid started laughing. He was laughing so hard he could barey spit out “You just sassed Congressman Andrews!” Oops.

I got my NYPD scores back today from the NYPD exam I took a few weeks back. I had expected to do at least moderately well, considering some of the people that were nearby (yes, I judged!). After we had taken the exam we were allowed to write down our answers on a pink sheet of paper. The department put up the answer sheet online today, so I hastily printed them out (they had a different answer key for each time slot that had gone- I was Saturday AM)  and then began to check my answers against the key. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Right? I almost peed myself, but then realized that I was checking my answers against the wrong answer key. Brilliant.

So I did well. Really well. In fact, I scored in the upper third percentile for the exams from that weekend. Considering that there were probably at least a few hundred people taking the exam, I feel really good about that.

I was so pumped that I took a break from studying to go to the gym with Mandy, where my adrenaline kick had me run for an hour. It was the strangest runner’s high I’ve ever had- I didn’t even feel tired at the end, just hot.

And the studying that I took a break from? I’m taking the GRE’s tomorrow at 8 am. Am a bit nervous, but have been draining the contents of the practice workbooks into my brain for the past few days. And directly after, I will empty my brain of a good portion of the words and fractions that I will never, ever use again.

Xander went home to shower, then came back over. With backpacks simply filled with water bottles and a map we jumped into my car. He was hungry, so we drove over to a diner (yes, we live in New Jersey) for a quick lunch and a chance to pore over the map. We originally intended to drive up to Live Earth, but decided against it last minute in favor of an adventure.

I pointed out some places I wanted to go simply based off names: Oyster Creek, Double Trouble State Park. He chowed down on greasy hash browns and eggs while I devoured the names of the lighthouses along the coast. Our waiter asked us where we were going, Xan smiled and simply said “On an adventure.”

Back in the car, we decided to put away the map and just drive, windows down, music playing. It’s such a strange feeling- I’ve been spending so much time with someone that I’m just reconnecting with. We sang along to music for a bit, then switched over to listen to comedians. Xan was pretty set on going to the shore, despite neither of us having on a bathing suit, so we drove east. A bit later, we found ourselves on Pelican Island and then in Seaside Heights.


It was the perfect time to get to the beach- it was late afternoon so the sun wasn’t as hot, the people were thinning out, and the beach taggers had long gone home. We sat in the sand talking and watching the surfers in the waves, then walked along the water with jeans rolled and sandals in hand. We weren’t there for long, but it was refreshing.

In our way of falling into ruts, we listened to comedians and talked about relationships on the way home. I told him about my relationship with The Coach, and about my terrible attempt at a one night stand with The Battery. We talked shortly about PK too, but I didn’t answer his questions and changed the subject quickly.

It’s strange to be able to spend time with someone that you once felt so much for. I look at him now and don’t feel that sexual attraction that we used to have. We are turning out to be completely different people, though still good friends. It won’t ever be back to what it was, but it’s nice to know that we can get along like this.