Lie or Truth: Which is Scarier?


People hate me because not only do I expose the truth about them, I am honest about the Devil I am. Take it or leave it. I believe in being upfront and open because I don’t like to waste time on liars or waste time on lying.

Yes, sometimes the truth stabs but I do not believe in sugar-coating and I do believe in calling people out on bad behavior. I equally accept people calling me out on mine because the things I say are shocking and sometimes offensive, even though I don’t intend them to come across that way.

I have always been honest about my shortcomings, so how about before you lie to me, you take a good look in the mirror and be honest with yourself?

Who are you?

You all know who I am. And I am not always fun and pleasant. I am loyal, but mostly unforgiving when you’ve crossed my path after I’ve fought for you. But now you fight against me? Good riddance.

I am very particular and protective about the people in my circle and quite thought I had the skill down, but there are still jerks in disguise that not only drain me, but make me look like a jerk in my loud self-defense. Oh, you’re the quiet one in front of friends so you are good.

NO. Just because everyone else doesn’t hear what you say to me doesn’t mean that I didn’t hear it.

But all my neighbors do hear you in the middle of the night as well as hear their walls shake and it’s embarrassing for me to even defend you because everyone is so worried about me. Just trying to live a normal life. And it really is awesome without the toxic people.

If you own yourself and your ish from jump, it’s someone else’s fault if he or she gets involved. If you lie about ish from jump, it’s your own g-d fault that that crashed and burned all over you.

#justsaying #learnedalotoflifelessonsataveryyoungage #nobullshit #willnottakecrapwithoutafight

Just saying.


Girl Crush! (es) in Levels

I love girls. Because here’s the TRUTH: Girls are prettier than boys.

While I have no interest in making out with a female, I am the first to say a woman is gorgeous. It could be that she’s genetically blessed and/or well-groomed. Nota bene: Those things are tossed out the window if she has negative energy.

But certain ladies walk into a room and light it up. My mom is one of them and I completely aspire to have that radiance.

I recently discovered that I have an issue touching these lightbulb girls’ hair when partying. I love hair. I didn’t have a first word as a child, I had a first sentence: “My hair pretty.” Except that I had no hair. It didn’t grow until I was four. My mother taped a different bow/hairpiece to my bald head each day for nursery school, which would inevitably fall out and end up in my cubby once a teacher found them.

But now, even as a grown up girly girl, I’ve never had that va-va-voom hair which I’ve forever desired. And for the past 5 years, this hair won’t even hold a curl. Therefore, I love voluminous party hair.

Enter Katie Griffin, the most festive, fabulous, best-dresser great-haired girl, like, ever. I call her my adopted sister, as she lives with my bro on the UWS but also joins in on plenty of family holidays because a working gal just can’t travel to Michigan all of the time. Seriously, NYC is serious.

At our Spring Fling party, KG was the talk of the night (I found out the next day from the dudes who crashed). There was even a situation where one guy said he didn’t want to step on his friends toes and pursue her. And all I could think was like duh, KG is my girl crush! However, neither of us are lezzies.

So let the men battle it out.

And you go girl!

With your damn fabulous hair.


911 Call

Telephone Reciever on a Spiral Cord

The most absurd thing happened on Friday morning. I was minding my business and working from home when the doorbell rang…mine and several others. I assumed (bad idea) that it was either someone who lived in the building who forgot their front door key, or a delivery since I was expecting two packages.

Without using the intercom to identify, I simply buzzed door person in. I peeked my head out the door to hear if the (supposed delivery) person would announce himself and needed a signature. Looking down to the first floor, I heard that the person was knocking on someone’s door. OK, not for me, back to work.

But moments later, he was climbing stairs and pounding on other doors, screaming something I couldn’t understand. It sounded like an older large man who was wandering about drunk in our 3-fl., 6 apt. building, thinking either that he lived here and was figuring out where his wife was to open the door (he does not live here; I know all the 20 and 30-something tenants) or (worst case) he was wondering what door he could get into to carry out some sort of crime…a robbery? a murder? He sounded that violently charged and upset. I panicked and bolted my door. I was home alone in the building.

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Grave Robber

HPMiniPinkI suffered the unfortunate loss of my pretty pink mini…I mean miniminimini hp, mini me, in all of her pink gloriousness this past week. I tried to get her back via the Grave Robber. WoW.

When Pretty in Pink first crashed and I could not bring her back to life myself, I went to the old school tool: the phone book. Not the online version on my phone or anything, but the classic Yellow Pages. How fabulous. I tore out the two pages of businesses under “Computer Repair” and selected “Grave Robber Computer Repair” because I loved the name. If that one didn’t work out, I’d check the loose pages in my purse and venture to the next shop.

I picked up little pink mini me and was off on my way. I arrived in front of a tiny storefront that had a sign indicating it was indeed the right spot, but more curiously, banners across the front windows shouting “FREE BOOKS!!!” As a lover of literature, I was even more elated I’d blindly decided on this establishment.

I walked inside…perhaps a 10×12 room, books stacked on all sides to the 13-ft. ceiling and almost half that height in the center. The only floor space besides a few feet around the door was behind the horizontal book stacks on the table in front of me, so high I could barely see over to what was directly ahead: a seasoned man on a bicycle—not a stationary bike, but a real bicycle mounted to the floor—riding away. He motioned for me to wait a moment, and I awkwardly stood there for a few minutes so he could finish/pause his workout and dry off while I perused his books.

He was able to get mini-me alive enough to run some tests which would take a few hours before he’d know whether it was fixable. He said he’d get back to me as soon as he had the diagnosis; he handed me a pen and an unopened envelope of mail that he struggled to find so I could write down my info. Bizarre business operative style, but I believed he knew what he was doing.

Anthony was punctual about getting back to me later that afternoon and very detailed in explaining what my options were because my hard drive had completely gone to the grave. He saved all of my data (I didn’t have everything backed up) on a flash drive, and the next day, I went to pick that up for $75, along with my mini’s corpse.*

He was on the bike again, I waited again, and then I asked him about the books. It turns out he collected them off of the street, books that people were throwing away, because he couldn’t bear the thought of people throwing away literature. Over the years, he’s given books to friends he thought would enjoy them, but he still has sooo many to give away. They are mostly fiction bestsellers—including several from the famous author who bought the house I grew up in—and some not-so-well known titles, but all-in-all, I think the story is intriguing. The eclectic Anthony wasn’t sure where he’d placed my hard drive amongst the stacks, so I have to return to the shop this weekend to retrieve that. I plan on taking several books home, too. What a fascinating world of people we live in!

*While my baby did not want to come back from the grave, she did let A have her info. [Always back up your data and write down all of your passwords in case you die. I realize this sounds morbid, but I have a written page of all of my important user names and passwords. My brother Piers is in charge of those in case I die anytime soon, because it is his job to publish the best of my written material that has yet to be unveiled to the world. I have so much of a written footprint; it’s an overwhelming a task to take care of this myself while alive.


One of my favorite times of year.

The Year Before Last: Kansas a.k.a. Anne came with me to my Aunt Mary and Uncle Steve’s Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania. The five-star dinner was fabulous as usual, involving lots of thanks around the table. Our tradition is to have everyone write down three things they are thankful for. My uncle’s mother puts the sheets of paper randomly under each plate. When we sit down, each guest reads another person’s list. It is really beautiful, and this particular year, there were lots of K-State Wildcat cheers after each reading in honor of my sister Kansas.

Then everything kind of sloped downward. Too much wine and espresso-shot drinking, smoking ciggs, a bloody finger, kids caught with pot, and some shedding of tears turned the night into a disastrous one, at least temporarily.

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Relationships: Hurricane Sandy Challenged All

Hurricane Sandy has had devastating effects on our region. We’ve suffered flooding, fires, no power, and damages that will take a long time to repair. Not just physical property damages, but emotional and perhaps irreversible damages to our personal relationships.

Just yesterday, a man pulled out a gun at a gas station. The longer our power has been out, the more and more anxious and frustrated people have become. I originally thought that nine months from now there were going to be many babies born, but in actuality—because of the length of the aftermath of this disaster—the devastation, desperation, and frustration that have arisen in people over the progression of this past week have made that seem less and less likely. Love in the dark is the last thing on their minds, let alone patience with others.

I’m quite sure that those who have been forced to stay home on curfew in pitch black, not allowed to walk outside because of power lines floating in flood waters, therefore stuck with their roommate/companion/lover for days on end without any access to the outside world, have flipped out on each other. There is only so much isolation or confinement with one person that one can take with nowhere to escape to and nowhere to breathe.

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The Best of Everything Central Avenue, Jersey City, NJ

Having lived here for some time, I have a pretty good idea about where to get the best everything in Hudson County (Hoboken and Jersey City). This series will start with what is closest to home: Central Avenue in the Heights.

Central Avenue offers some of the best products at the best prices. From farm stands to dollar stores and many gems in between, here are my recommendations:

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