Learning to curb expectations to manage frustrations...

I'm not good at this. But, I recognize I need to work on it.

Pastry has begun, only 3 classes down so far. I'm so happy I'm in school, you all know that. It was a big step yada, yada. I need to be really honest here right now though. I need to vent. I'm frustrated. There are two elements of the fundamental class structure that bother me: the class at present is very general and it relies heavily on teamwork.

My first clouded expectation of Pastry School was that everyone in class would be just like me. I don't mean short and adorable, I mean someone who has been cooking since an early age, someone who already knows how to bake a cake, a cheesecake, cookies, etc. I had this fantasy that on the first day of class we would launch into extravagant pastries, plating design and showpieces. That's my fault, but, was it too much to ask that my fellow classmates when met with the definition of "compound butter" not then ask, "what would you mix with butter?" I did a doggie head tilt on that one, not gonna lie. You couldn't sit and watch a cooking channel or open the pages of a beautiful, glossy cooking magazine or a good menu for that matter and not be met with terms that so many of my fellow students were struggling with.

My question to my fellow students would then be, "Why are you here?" and furthermore, "Why are you harshing my mellow?" On our first day, our Chef Instructor went around the room asking why everyone had chosen this career path, the kid next to me simply said, "I've always had a sweet tooth." I think I audibly groaned on that one. Now we could sit and argue that everyone has their reasons for doing this and one person's reason is not better than another's, but this is my reality you're reading and I say that for something like this, better that a class be comprised of people with similar goals on a more equal skill level.

The second thing that bothers me about the class structure is the teamwork. We are broken into teams of two for six lessons and then we rotate pairings for the next six lessons and so on. Normally this isn't a problem for me, I get along with pretty much anyone and like a variety of people. I also understand the reasoning, you're going to ultimately be working closely with people in a professional kitchen and you need to know how to work with all different types of people. The problem is 6 of the 14 people in my class speak very limited English. I spent the better part of the first day of class helping the Japanese girl next to me follow along in the Student Handbook. The second day of class I made sure I sat on the opposite end of the classroom. But, I was able to watch her soak Carrs Water Crackers in Sweetened Condensed Milk and eat them during our dairy tasting. It was gross and all I could think was, "this chicks palate is gonna be a problem." Luckily not my problem, because according to the team breakdown, her and I are not paired up. At least for a while. I guess the real struggle for me is that I want to be responsible for myself. If my Caramel burns it's my problem, it's my Caramel and it is not affected by the nervous nelly breathing down my neck asking me panicked questions that I can't understand while I have to stop and ask him to repeat himself 3 times.

Ugh, do I sound horrible? I probably do. I don't care. This school was a lot of money. I paid in full, in cash. I just want the education that was promised me. I don't want to hear on the first day of class that while we will do sugar work we're not going to spend time on sugar pulling or blowing, two fundamental techniques used in sugar showpieces. As someone who is interested in getting involved in professional pastry competitions that was a let down and now I have to seek out advanced classes that will cost even more money.

I need to curb my expectations. I did my due diligence. I know this is one of the top culinary schools in the country. I know their alumni have done amazing things and ultimately my future as a Pastry Chef is in my hands. I've also talked to some of my fellow students in my Culinary Management class that have begun their Pastry or Culinary classes before me and they shared the same early frustrations but they have all assured me that it does get better and I just need to give it about a month. Once everyone is brought up to speed on general techniques, we'll start learning things I don't know. That made me feel better. At the end of the day, all I want from school is to be taught things that I don't know.

Ok, I feel a little better...

I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't scared, but it's now or never.

"Don't let what you do define you", is an overused phrase and bullshit quite frankly. What we do does, indeed, define us. How can it not? We spend more time working than playing. More time with our co-workers than our families. Even if we have a job that doesn't require us to bring work home with us, we still bring "work" home with us. The stress, the politics. If you're wrong for what you do, you know it. If you've been ignoring this fact and doing it way too long the physical manifestations of your unhappiness can be brutal; headaches, sleeplessness, aches, pains…flu like symptoms for fucks sake. Think about that, your job can make you physically ill. The emotional strain does a number on you too, not to mention how you treat other people. Have you ever sat in your office chair and day dreamed about throwing yourself down the stairs? Thought about what the correct trajectory would be to not damage your face or permanently maim yourself? How to land and cause enough harm to get out of work for a few months but not end up with a permanent gimp? Yea, uh, me neither. That would be crazy. My job is making me crazy. The sales goals, the phone call goals, the processing of work goals, the don't make any mistakes or risk pain of death goals. I'm just not cut out for this anymore. I can't be Employee number C0004567. I just cannot.

I need a change, a big, COLOSSAL change. I've been thinking about this for years. What would "I" be good at? What do "I" enjoy? I've flirted with the animal thing; Vet Tech, Dog Walker, Groomer. For a whole host of reasons I decided my love for animals was not enough to enter that industry. I'm a creative person with an art background and I love to cook and bake. To me, Pastry is the perfect marriage of those two skill sets. I've been cooking since I was a kid, entertaining since I was a teenager. I'm good at it, I'm passionate about it and I know I can make a living at it. I feel it, deep down inside of me, a confidence that I've never known before. Maybe it comes with age, this newfound confidence. I feel that my drive and my abilities have finally caught up to one another, they've come together at this particular moment in my life. So, I'm going back to school. I'm leaving my job and I'm enrolling in Culinary School to become a Pastry Chef, and I'm scared shitless…

I think it's the lack of a paycheck and the freedoms that affords that I am most nervous about. No more just meeting the girls for dinner whenever I feel like it, I'll really have to choose my opportunities. No more Dunkin Donuts coffee twice a day. No more shoes, no more clothes, no more…gulp…handbags…hold on, I'm gonna be sick. OK, I'm ok. I can do this. I'm not a materialistic person, I just like new stuff. It's gonna get tight around here, I need to stick to a budget. Right now, I'm sitting on my bed, scanning the room for anything I can sell other than myself…don't look in the mirror Lauren. I am nervous about the commuting too. My sense of direction, well, it sucks ass, plain and simple. When Kathleen and I worked at NoName in the Walt Whitman Mall back in the day, she'd have to draw me a map in order for me to walk from our store to Sbarro to get a slice of pizza for lunch. (She probably bought the pizza too, but that's a story for another day) A map, for INSIDE the mall. It wasn't a huge mall. The commuting time from F-Town is gonna suck too. I need to work that out. I need to figure out a way to stay closer to the city for 6 months. Something where rent isn't too steep and I don't have to fear for my life. Newark is cheap, Newark is scary, so that's out. I wouldn't say I'm nervous about school too much. I don't mind unfamiliar situations anymore, I make friends fairly easily, I enjoy meeting new people, I get along with pretty much anybody. If you're lucky, as I have been, you foster close friendships at work and carry them through your life, I look forward to that happening at school too. New people to add into our mix. Be kind to the newbies people, I will try to select them based on your stringent, unvocalized criteria, but you all know I gravitate towards the nutty. Now, you look in the mirror…you're all nutty in your own special way, give yourselves a wink, there ya go.

I'm scared and I'm excited as all get out. I can do this people. I can be really, really good at this. I will make you proud. Hell, maybe I can employ some of you. Maybe we can create a sweet, little baking universe and all be happy…we deserve it.

Zoey. Mine.

"Hi, just wanted to call and let you know that we have a female Pug, she's not black like you wanted, she's fawn and the only one left of her litter. Just wanted to see if you'd like to come down and see her?" That's how it began, in 1999. Later that day we were in the car on our way to Puppy Barn in Cranbury, NJ where I walked into the store, marched over to a family holding her and without even meeting her yet, announced that, "I'm here to pick up my puppy", and as Jim puts it, "grabbed her out of some little girls hands". Zoey was tiny, too tiny, a runt most definitely. She had a huge forehead, gigantic googley eyes…pretty much the canine version of me. Haha. I fell in love, the second she laid on my chest, she was mine and I was hers. It was January so it took all of about 10 minutes to come to the decision that she would be my birthday present. We took her home that same day and introduced her to Pugsley, her beautiful, albeit Napoleonesque, one year old brother. He was unimpressed. He flattened her to the floor with one paw so she'd stopped moving long enough to sniff her and then he walked off. Completely unimpressed.

The day Zoey was fixed I was a nervous wreck because she was having surgery and she was so tiny and Pugs have trouble with anesthesia on account of the smushed nose. The Dr's office called me at work and left me a voicemail telling me to call them "immediately". Panicked I called them back to hear, "Well, she's fine don't worry, BUT we had to remove her female parts and an undescended pair of testicles." "Come again?" "Yea, ya know how you were concerned that her Vagina was a little weird looking?" "Um, yea and you told me to Vaseline my fingers and pull on her "lips" to close it up?" "Yea, well turns out that that's her penis poking out of there." "Ok, so basically I massaged her penis a couple times before I felt way too weird about it and stopped on my own?" A Hermaphrodite, or "Hermapholite" as Eric Cartman would say. My dog, of course. It certainly explained all the confused dogs that would come up and sniff her "Hello", walk away, tilt there heads and come back for a second whiff. They didn't know what the hell was going on. She was "special". I had to have her spayed and neutered on the off chance that she would trip and get herself pregnant. We made the decision to raise her as a girl. It was the right decision. She was the epitome of a delightfully spoiled, dainty little girl.

When Zoey was 6 months old we took her and Pugsley to a Pug Picnic organized by the Delaware Valley Pug Club. It was basically a bunch of snooty breeders looking at each others dogs, sizing them up. While Pugsley was a physically gorgeous Pug, perfect in every Pug way, there was my girl, still tiny and crazy looking with more personality then all of the other Pugs and people combined. I entered her and I in a "kissing contest" which went like this, when it was your turn you got on your knees, stuck your face in front of your pooch and the judges would determine who the most enthusiastic kisser was. Yea. We won. She went to town on me. Zoey, The Kissing Champion. I was beaming with pride, probably a little too much pride. We won a tote bag with the clubs logo screen printed on it. Some sore loser tried to get us disqualified because Zoey was only 6 months old and therefore still a puppy and "puppies always kiss a lot". "Seriously dude, you want the righteous muslin tote bag that bad?" He dropped it. People suck.

Dogs don't suck. It's no secret that I love dogs more than people. A dog hasn't learned the fine art of Bullshit. A dog hasn't learned at an early age the benefits of lying, stretching the truth or blowing smoke up someones ass to get what they want, manage a situation or elicit a certain reaction. What a dog says with it's eyes, it means with every fiber of its being. She would have followed me into a Volcano. That's no lie. She would have protested for a minute, she would have tried to "look" some sense into me, watched as I walked away, but as I started to get farther she would have panicked and ran after me. She knew I was hers, completely hers. She never took me for granted, she never used me, ok she may have played me for a cookie here and there but I was a willing enabler. (Random aside: I'm not one of those people that finds it entertaining to put a cookie on their dogs nose and command them to "Stay". What the fuck is that? It's a cookie. Dogs love to eat, they live for it. Commanding them not to do it for your amusement in the name of "training" or "discipline" is bizarre. Would you hold a plate of mac and cheese and chicken nuggets in front of your fat, hungry Toddler for your amusement? I think not. I hope not. If you do you're an asshole.)

Lest you think that I have zero perspective and I don't understand that Zoey was a dog and not a child, well, I really don't care. I do know the difference between an animal and a human child. But, don't be mistaken, the love I felt for her was the love that I equate to that relationship. That is my personal reality and experience. My love for Zoey was a deep, desperate love filled with passion and responsibility. I was her protector and her partner and yes, I was her Mommy. I did everything I could to give her the best life any dog could ever have. I know in my heart that she felt loved and she felt safe.

In the end, I did what was best for her, not for me. Her Vet promised me she would tell me when it was time, so that Zoey didn't have to suffer like her sweet brother did. So, when we discovered she had extremely aggressive Bladder Cancer and it would likely only be a matter of days before she began to feel pain, it was time. Jim and I both spent the night with her on the couch, where he had been sleeping with her for the prior 4 months. I didn't sleep at all. Just nuzzled her and listened to her breathe while I silently cried. That next morning, I sat in the grass with her for the last time so she could feel the sunshine on her skin. I have a picture of us together, me clutching her tightly to me, my face buried in her fur, my eyes swollen and red and both of us looking into the camera. I pull it up a lot. I will likely never share that photo with anyone else. It was her and I, saying "Goodbye".

Zoey's mark is upon me forever, her actual pawprints immortalized in the tattoo on the inside of my left forearm, complete with Cherry Blossoms, since her breed is of Chinese origin, and the Kanji that most closely conveys the term "Soulmate". Her mark is on my heart also. You know, when a really old tree is cut down and they can tell the age by the amount of rings in the wood? That is kind of how I visualize my heart. Deep within it, concentric circles of rings, a ring for each life that has touched mine. The thickness of each dependent upon the impact that life had on mine. Zoey's, Pugsley's and my brother, Jimmys, the thickest of them all.

I don't believe in a hereafter, so the Rainbow Bridge poem, while lovely and heartwarming, doesn't do much to comfort me. What still comforts me is that she was mine and I was hers and I took that relationship very seriously and I gave it the attention, love and respect that it deserved. I loved being Zoey's Mommy and I was damn good at it.

I grill, all dude-like and stuff...

Sunday, early evening, the clouds have finally cleared revealing a pretty blue sky and the sun I love so much. It's only about 70 degrees, perfect night to sit out on the deck with my laptop and a paper take away cup full of Mango-Passionfruit tea that I purchased this morning at the Hunterdon Land Trust Alliance's Sunday Farmers Market on Dvoor Farm. Every Sunday morning, after breakfast, I'm there getting some Jersey Tomatoes, Strawberries, a fresh bread and that freshly brewed, unsweetened iced tea.

It's almost full on Summer. This Summer is going to be a little more delicious than the last two as I have been gifted a brand spanking new Stainless Steel Weber Genesis E-310. I haven't really been cooking much in the last year. That is gonna change. I love this new toy! This big, gleaming hunk of stainless steel, with its 42,000 BTU per hour input and 637 square inches of meat hungry real estate, the "flavorizer bars" that I will admit make no sense at all to me and the sweet sound of a quick firing ignition. I even love the 6 tool hooks that "required" me to buy new grill tools with little loops that fit over the hooks.

Two summers ago I walked out to the backyard to fire up the old Charbroil grill for the first meal of the season and no sooner did I open the lid then a HUGE family of Mice scattered everywhere. I freaked. My Mom was here, I begged her to go outside and eradicate the Mice. The woman who would do anything for me, flat out refused. So, that grill went to the curb after spending a week with the lid up so the Mice would vacate.

I'm happy you see, because again, I'm "Manning" the grill. I "Man". I'm the "Manner" in the household. I really love to do anything that gets me outside and grilling lets me hang out in the sunshine and feed people. We brought the thing home a week or so ago and I have cooked every meal, with the exception of breakfast, on it. I started with your standard burger, first two attempts they were overcooked as I got my grill legs back. (Today's lunch burger, a perfect medium rare which for me is more leaning towards the rare side. I like some blood on my bun. It might have been the best burger I ever tasted. No joke. ) Later in the week I moved onto a Ribeye, Porterhouse, Shrimp and Veggie Kabobs, a dozen cobs of corn, a loin of pork, chicken breasts and sea bass.

I love this grill, but, I really love all my toys. I love "boy toys": electric nail guns, staple guns, power drills, hedge trimmers, cars. I long to buy myself a push lawnmower. I'm the type of person that loves activities that accomplish more than one thing. To me, mowing my own lawn would not only save me money, but it would get me free exercise and keep me tan all summer long. If it weren't for my severe allergies I would run over to Home Depot and buy one right now. If I knew how to shoot a gun and didn't have road rage issues, I'd probably have one of those too.

While I would never classify myself as a Tomboy, I did grow up in a Texaco station. When I was a little girl my Mom went back to work having raised my 3 older siblings who were then in College and High School. My Dad owned his own business and was essentially tasked in raising the last one, me. During the summer when I didn't have school I would go into work with my Dad. I'd follow my brothers around all day breathing in exhaust fumes and learning a varied vocabulary of expletives. I'd get the pleasure of a real Coke, out of the old style glass bottle vending machines. Nothing tastes better than a true, full sugar, ice cold Coke in a glass bottle. I'd hang out in my Dad's back office where he would give me busy tasks like counting change and putting them in separate piles so he could roll them in the little paper wrappers to bring to the bank. He'd leave me alone in there and I'd sneak peeks at his nude Playboy calendar that he thought he had so deftly concealed under a Snap On tools calendar. I was actually fairly obsessed with the nudie calendars. I still remember some of those pictures. I can hear the lightbulbs going off over your heads right now…"that's why she's like that!" Haha. One Summer my Dad hired a cute teenage girl to pump gas and on nice days he would pay her to take me to the beach for a few hours. I was too young at the time to realize what a great gig that was, I really hope that wasn't lost on her.

So, when I say "I'm half a dude", it's not only because of my raunchy sense of humor but also because I prefer the household jobs that are historically the man jobs. I'll trim bushes, wash mold off the house and deck, walk around with weed killer, fertilize the lawn, change lightbulbs but please don't make me clean bathrooms or do laundry. I don't even know when my laundry gets done. As long as it makes it to the hamper in my bedroom I can pretty much guarantee that at least once a week I will have clean, folded clothes in my room. It's a decent arrangement for right now. I go away with the guys to Key West for a week long booze fest and come home to a sparkling clean master bathroom and a vacuumed rug. I'm sure there was some snooping going on in my bedroom and the "cleaning" was an easy way to cover that up. But, I still appreciated not having to do it. Ya know, cause I'm a bit of a dude like that…

I was Steve McKenna'd in Key West...which is not half as dirty as it sounds.

Here I am sitting on my deck enjoying the New Jersey sunshine and trying desperately to maintain the great tan I developed spending the last week in Key West at Craig and Todd's timeshare at the "Windy Hyatt". I knew it was going to be a great week. Good friends, a beautiful pool, an island breeze and drinks. It really doesn't get much better than that for me. Little did I know that I would have one of the most excitingly spontaneous days of my life on this trip.

I had been having a conversation at the pool with the boys on Monday talking about a show called Drinking Made Easy that Jim had turned me on to. Xtina, Jenny and I have regular conversations about it. We discuss the bars they go to, if the bartenders were hot, how we are going to make the drinks they tried for our next Girls Night. We, um…do like our booze. For those of you that haven't seen it, Zane Lamprey, Steve McKenna and some other dude travel around the US essentially pub crawling. They hit up some fairly popular establishments and some off the beaten trail in each city they visit. It's a lot like the shows, Three Sheets or Thirsty Traveler with more personality, a little less class and no random pussy patch of hair under the hosts bottom lip. I ended my speech about the show when the boys promised to look out for it when they got home.

The day after that conversation, Wednesday, started awesome enough in paradise. We decided to get a cab into town to have breakfast at Pepe's, a spot Craig and Todd discovered on one of their prior KW trips. After breakfast we decided to take a stroll down Duval street. If you've never been on Duval, it's very similar to Bourbon street, all the bars open onto the street making it easy to look in and scan the joint before entering. Unlike, Bourbon Street, it doesn't have an overwhelming stench of last nights piss. As we are walking past Sloppy Joes, one of the more famous Key West bars, at 10am, I glance in and stop dead in my tracks. There is Zane Lamprey standing behind the bar with cameras and equipment perched all around him! I don't remember much other than yelling a "please can we go in!" to the guys as I run into the bar. Todd said I didn't make much sense, rambling about, "The show! Monday at the pool! I told you! Those guys!" I literally could not formulate a coherent sentence, that's how fucking excited I was. Something about these dudes I love. They are the perfect mix of fun, drunk and approachable. I dig it. So, anywho, the boys follow me into the bar where I immediately plop myself at the opposite end to watch all the goings on and order me and the boys drinks. Of course, I order a Margarita at 10:15am while gushing to the middle aged female bartender that I can't believe they are filming THIS show on my vacation. The bartender had no idea who Zane and Steve were. I was completely unable to use my fingers to text so I ordered Craig to text Xtina because I knew if anyone in the world would be as excited as I was, it would be her. I called Jim at work. Jim was very excited for me, asked me to not offer any blow jobs and to tell McKenna to "shave his fucking disgusting beard".

So, we are watching for a bit, my camera in hand, taking pics that no one yelled at me for. I was surprised by that truthfully. I was worried that my camera's flash could potentially screw up the camera men. I called the bartender over and asked her to please tell the guys that I would like to buy them a drink once they were done filming. Sure enough, bless her heart, the bartender did exactly as I asked. I heard Zane say, "oh that's so nice, but we are so full, wait let me tell her". Here walks Zane over to me and I have a shit eating grin plastered on my unmade up face, yes that's right, THIS is the day I go into town without a stitch of makeup on. I suck! Anyway, Zane comes over and says something to the effect of "that's so sweet, we've been drinking all morning. How about we toast one another instead?" I throw my cell phone at Todd and my camera at Craig and raise my Margarita high, looking as goofy as any bitch can look. Then I ask if I can come around and get a picture but I want Steve in it too. Zane says, "sure". Screaming crazily I ask Craig and Todd to follow me and I race around the bar. I get in the middle and we take a great, albeit sweaty (me), pic and then I stand there for a bit chatting with them. I ask, "what does it say about me that I am so starstruck right now?" and Zane says something to the effect of, "that you recognize quality programming and are pretty much awesome" to which Steve wholeheartedly agrees. Then I tell them that I watch all the episodes, yada, yada. Steve tells me to touch his beard because everyone thinks it's fake. Please picture it: I am standing there facing Zane and talking while I absentmindedly run my fingers through Steve McKenna's beard for way too long. It was quite priceless. I then politely thank them for their time and go back to my bar stool so I can watch all the post production.

Zane is walking around with his iPad (I think it was an iPad) with a camera man trailing him, telling the camera guy what to take film of. He was looking super authoritative. If I'm not mistaken the show is produced by Zane's own production company. Steve was just milling about. At one point I noticed another camera filming me, Craig and Todd while the beautiful, blonde production assistant watched in her iPad. Seemingly happy with the shot she nodded to the camera man and they moved on. We were the only ones I saw them do that to. The bar was empty other than us, two salty dudes at the bar, who remarked at how excited I was, and a table full of old folks having breakfast. The bar owner came over to me at one point to ask me who my cable company was as he had also never seen the show. As I'm taking the owner through the awesomeness that is Drinking Made Easy, and seriously, they could have hired me on the spot as P.R, Steve comes walking up to us. The owner walks away and Steve hangs out and chats for a bit. We talked about the episode they did in Napa Valley where after a grape leaf eating contest, that Steve lost to Zane, he was forced to get naked and run through the Vineyard, "the whole crew saw me naked that day", then we talked about the fact that he was happy the new season would not include food challenges because he gained 30 pounds by the end of last season and his wife was not pleased. We talked about what some of the new challenges might be. Zane came walking over and told me that they both have Facebook pages. Having both of their attention again, I asked if they would sign my ankle. Weird, yes, I know. Again, I was super excited. Steve jumped on it and signed right away. Zane made me promise to not have it tattoo'd cause some fan, who sees them often, asked them to sign his body for a tattoo and Zane said, he felt so much pressure to provide flawless penmanship. I assured them that I wasn't "that" chick. Then Zane walked away to work some more and Steve took my camera and tried to take two more shots of us together. Unfortunately, they were both blurry cause they look like they would have been really nice shots.

I can't tell you how nice these guys were. So friendly, coming over to me several times to just chat. I know I must have looked overly excited, but, hey, I was. The randomness of the encounter is what made it so amazing for me. I'm sure they don't realize it, but they truly made my day. I was exhausted by noon after having all that excitement. I kept that smile plastered to my face all day. The pictures are under my Key West album on FB if you want to take a look. So much fun!

"Now, I'm not saying she should have killed him…but I understand".

We all remember that Chris Rock bit about O.J. Simpson, while I don't agree with Mr. Rock's opinions on that particular "alleged" murder, I can say that is EXACTLY how I feel about the Clara Harris case. If you are not familiar with Dr. Clara Harris, who murdered her husband, Dr. David Lynn Harris on July 24, 2002, you can Wiki that mess. I'll explain a little, I'm not going to give you all the details as they've been reported, one because they vary from publication to publication but also because there are facts that cannot be repudiated, the woman killed her husband, running over him with her Mercedes at least twice with his teenage daughter in the car. So awful, so tragic and "I'm not saying that she should have killed him" but here is why I understand…

The unabridged version goes a little something like this, the fucking creep was having an affair with his receptionist. He hired this younger brunette (who ain't cute, if you were wondering) to work as the receptionist at his dental practice, he paid her way too much money for the job she did, gave her bonuses he didn't give to the rest of his staff, like his cock and money and maybe some more of his cock. He and Clara had 3 children together, Clara was also a dentist, at some point she got wind of the affair, confronted him, he apologized and promised her up, down and sideways that he had ended the affair. Like most of us women, Clara figured she had done something to drive her husband into the arms of a home wrecking skank so she started working out extra hard, got some plastic surgery, did anything she could think of to look more attractive for this roaming douche. As time went on Clara started to suspect that the affair was not indeed over as she had been promised. Clara hired a private detective and that's when the episode of "Snapped" got really real for me. But first, a random aside about my one degree of separation from the show "Snapped". (I really hope I'm not the only woman who watches this show on Oxygen. When Jim was pissing me off I used to love to click over to a "Snapped" marathon and just leave it running all day and say something sexy like, "you might wanna sleep with one eye open". So, anywho back to my brush with "fame"…one of the episodes covered the case of Melanie Maguire who was an Infertlity nurse at the clinic I used to go to. While I wasn't a patient when she was still working there the Dr. that she had an affair with and wanted to be with so badly that she killed her husband, cut him into pieces, stuffed him in suitcases and threw those suitcases off the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, did still work there, and on numerous occasions Dr. Bradley Miller was up to his elbow in my vagina. I must say, he was actually a really nice Dr. I couldn't help it though when he was all up in my biz-snatch I did stare at him and think "your dick must be something for some broad to take a hacksaw to her husband". I also used to giddily point him out to Jim whenever he walked into the office. But, he was also the Dr. on call when I miscarried twins and he was wonderful. Very comforting and very supportive. But that mess is a blog post for another day. Now back to Clara…

I promise I'm getting to the point that makes me want her to be a free woman. Stay with me. On the day she killed her husband, Clara had received a call from the detective she hired advising her that her husband was, at that very moment, at a hotel with Skankarella and the detective was in the parking lot waiting for him to leave. Understandably pissed off, Clara flew out the door to her Mercedes. In hot pursuit was her teenage step daughter who was also livid and jumped in the car because she too wanted to confront her Dad. Clara and the kid get to the Hotel, walk into the lobby and here comes the creep and Whoreface down the elevator. Clara and the kid confront him. Clara, incensed, goes to smack Bitchbag and here, my friends, is where I would have blacked out…THE CREEP, IN FRONT OF HIS DAUGHTER, PROTECTING HIS PARTY SNATCH, FROM HIS WIFE, (ya know the one who bore three of his children), GRABS CLARA BY THE HAIR AND THE BACK OF HER NECK, THROWS HER TO THE FLOOR OF THE CROWDED HOTEL LOBBY, SMACKS HER FACE INTO THE COLD, HARD, MARBLE FLOOR AND SCREAMS AT HER THAT THEIR MARRIAGE IS OVER!!!

Ok, I need a sec.

whoo…

Do you feel it girls? That churning in your stomach. Is it just me? Cause I'm typing right now and my fucking nose is sweating. I say to you, if a man I spent the last 12 years of my life with, who promised to love and cherish me, threw me to the floor in front of this slut and countless strangers so that I didn't smack the shit out of her…holy duckbills…I wouldn't have needed the car. (btw "duckbills" was an auto correct and I think it's super cute so I left it) People, I would have killed that mother fucker with my bare hands while telling Slut Cake to get a headstart, ya know, just to make it more fun. Seriously, this is what makes me insane about these long affairs and I'm not talking about a one night stand where some chick offers it up and the dude jumps at it, at this point in my life, I honestly don't even care about a one time momentary lapse in judgement. What I would care about is the emotional, long running affairs where one party is pretending to be a good partner, there has been no request for divorce, no discussion about the marriage not working, that person is just leading a selfish double life. I mean let's face it, the Mistress is getting the cleaned up, romantic, clean shaved sac version of YOUR husband. She isn't washing his dirty underwear, she isn't spreading Steroid cream on his Poison Ivy laden balls, she isn't sniffing the ass of his dockers to see if he can get another day's wear out of them, she's not wiping his ass after he has shoulder surgery. That bitch is getting sexy phone calls, gifts, candle lit dinners, head that last an hour and makes her toes curl, not the lazy ass "i'll give her three licks before I get to stick it". It's just gross. Screwing some random chick to get your rocks off is one thing, giving your heart to someone else is another thing entirely.

I feel desperately sad for Clara Harris. I know there are millions of men and women in this world that get served the same shit sandwich by someone who professes to love them. I understand that those same people don't jump in their car and run their spouse over. I understand too, that in time, many of them get over it and lead successful, happy lives. But, for whatever reason, whether biological or psychological, Clara could not. She lost it, she blacked out. This man wasn't a quality human being, I'm just saying…I get it. Had this been one of my girlfriends I would have been there with her. I would have rushed her out of the hotel, stuck her in the back of the detectives car where she would be safe from herself, gone back into the hotel, marched up to her husband and kicked him in the nuts so hard I would have broken a toe. As for his side piece, I wouldn't even look at her. I'd walk away and leave her holding the douche(bag), he'd only end up playing her the same way one day and that would be revenge enough. Karma, my friends, is pretty wonderful that way.

Remembering...(warning no adult content...trust me, it pains me more)

Fifteen years ago today my family lost my brother, Jimmy, 6 days before his 35th birthday. He died of Acute Pancreatitis brought on by undiagnosed diabetes. 15 years is a long time to miss someone. I think about him regularly, sometimes I just sit and replay conversations we'd had in my head so I never forget the sound of his voice. I dream about him, infrequently, but when I do, I'm glad, because in dreams you remember everything, the voice, the mannerisms, it's amazing how much recall your unconscious mind has. It's so important to remember…

I remember my Mom having been up at the hospital the entire day before he passed and being worried that she wouldn't eat, so I went to a local fish store and bought her a big steamed crab, because crabs were her favorite food. When she went to crack it open it's entire insides were black. Grossed out we threw it in the trash. When we went back up to the hospital that night there were new tubes that were snaking through his body sucking out a black liquid and I remember thinking that is a fucking omen and trying to shake the thought. The next day, April 6, 1996, I remember waking up and going to work because after a long night at the hospital, we felt somewhat hopeful, after speaking with a nurse, that he had a strong heart and with the proper medication he would make a full recovery. Later that morning, I remember my parents calling me at work and telling me I needed to come down to the hospital right away. I remember getting there and my father pulling me aside to tell me we had to come to terms with the fact that we were going to lose him, and I just didn't understand how the situation could turn so quickly so I reeled on the Dr. that was standing there and I demanded an explanation and he got defensive with me and said, "what you don't think I'm doing everything I can?". I remember an insane urge to kick the Dr. in the balls and my father telling me he needed me to get a grip. I remember waiting for my brother Anthony to get up to the hospital because my parents didn't want to sign the do-not-resuscitate order until we had all discussed it and I remember as we were waiting for Anthony, hearing "Code Blue in ICU" and me jumping from my seat and running into the ICU where I caught a glimpse of his bed surrounded by doctors, nurses and machines and a huge male nurse wearing a turbin literally throwing me right back through the swinging doors. I remember my Mother screaming for my father to "do something" and my Daddy, who was so smart and capable, looking more helpless than I could ever imagine was possible. I remember Jimmy's friend, Mike, crying so hard he couldn't breathe and my sister, selflessly trying to comfort him. I also remember how quickly Kathleen got from her apartment in Queens to the hospital and her sitting with me at his bedside because I knew when I walked away from his body I would never see him again and it terrified me. I remember the nurse running after me when I swiped a pair of scissors from a nearby desk because she thought I was going to hurt myself but all I wanted was a lock of his hair. I also remember my Aunt & Uncle bringing my Grandmother to the house so we could tell her what happened and the length of time it took her to process what we were telling her. She just sat there looking at us like we had all gone insane.

Jimmy wasn't only a brother to me but for as long as I could remember he was truly my best friend and my hero. We had a running joke in my family, every single time my parents would go on vacation or for an extended trip to our condo in Florida they would end up getting a call from Jimmy that began the same way, "Ok, so don't freak out, she's fine but…" and then he would launch into what ever type of accident I got myself into that required my siblings to take me to the hospital, whether I was launching myself off the back of the couch until I sprained an ankle or crazy glueing my eye shut. I remember when I was a little girl and my Mom went back to work my Dad would bring me to the shop and I would pull a stool up to whatever car my brother was working on and I would just sit and talk to him all day. I remember when I was in Jr High and he would get home late from work on a Saturday night and I'd be up watching Saturday Night Live he would come and watch with me. I remember when I was in college at Albany State about 3.5 hrs from home I would call him when my car wouldn't start and he would drive up to Albany after work to fix my car wherever it had crapped out, a friends driveway, the college campus, in front of my ghetto apartment. He never complained, often driving right back home when he knew the car would be fine and would get me to school the next day. I remember the night I glued my eye shut, I was sitting on my parents bed fixing one of my long fake nails and I squirted glue into my eye and immediately went to rub it and glued the lids together, while my sister was downstairs in a state of panic, calling poison control, I called Jimmy, he was holding one of his Triumph Car Club meetings at his shop in Bayshore. One of his friends answered the phone and was trying to make small talk figuring out which sister he was talking to, "is this the big sister or the little sister?" To which I replied, "put Jimmy on the fucking phone" , I then heard the guy say, "um, it's your little sister" as he thrust the phone into my brothers hand. Jimmy said, "what's up?", I said, "Crazy glued my eye shut", Jimmy asked, "are you home alone?", I replied, "no Diane is downstairs freaking out", He laughed and said, "I'll be right there". 20 minutes later I was in his car on the way to Huntington Hospital, meanwhile it's usually a 35 minute drive from Bayshore to Huntington. I remember how cool he thought it was that the Dr. had these special magnifying glasses to see the small amount of damage I had done to my cornea and my brother had to put them on so he could check it out. He then promptly fell asleep in a chair and the nurses let me lay in the hospital bed long after they were done patching me up so I could let him get a little bit of rest before he had to drive me home.

Remembering is important not only to keep someone alive and in your consciousness but the memories also help you make choices on how to react in the future. His passing taught me a few very important things: 1.) people grieve on their own time, in their own way and it's never right to judge how someone should behave or when they should "get over it". It's probably the worst thing you could say about someone that is grieving, that they should "get over it". It makes me insane. 2.) when someone passes and you are searching for something to say to their loved ones, it's perfectly Ok to only say, "I'm so sorry", stuff about "better places" and "looking down on you" and all that shit doesn't work for everyone, trust me, I don't believe in a hereafter, he lives on in my heart only and that is enough for me. Bringing God into it is not a comfort for someone who does not subscribe to your ideology. 3.) people who don't take the time to think before they open their mouths make dumb comments that live on in perpetuity. Lemme explain, at Christmas time in 1996 my Mom was at work and her and some co-workers were sitting around the lunch room table, the subject of Christmas plans came up and my mother was asked how her family would be celebrating. She responded that we weren't ready to celebrate that year. When prompted for an explanation by a new girl, in her early 20's, one of my moms fellow co-workers gently explained that Grace has lost her son in April and the family was still grieving , to this the dumbshit replied, "Oh you guys are so lucky you don't have to buy any presents." Now, I wasn't even in that room and I will remember that comment for the rest of my life. Fuckin asshole. On what planet is that an appropriate thing to say to someone who has lost a child? 4.) when you love someone that has lost someone dear to them, the time you are most needed is weeks later when all the excitement is over, when other people stop calling them to see how everything is, when the cards and the trays of food stop coming, when everyone else has gone back to their own lives that's when you are needed most. Cause that's usually when the anger comes. You realize the rest of the world is still spinning while your world has crashed to a halt. Those "stages of grief" are no joke. The anger was the toughest one for me, I was mad at the world for a good while, so mad that some idiot shrink wanted to put me on Lithium. Lithium ain't no joke. I declined the Lithium and found a new shrink that sat on the floor of his office with me and repotted Bonzai trees. Crunchy bastard, haha, but he helped…

If you made it to the end, I apologize that this wasn't a funny post. I suppose not all streams of consciousness are humorous, even when you're as warped as me. I'll make it up to you next time, I promise. :)