Month: September 2016

Mind Your Manners, New Jersey is breathtaking

Strangers Are Just Friends Who Will Arrest You

Go Jules Go

The other day, one of my Masters program professors reminded me of an old adage: Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.

Corny, sure, but it suddenly seemed like a fun challenge. In light of my landlord’s recent display of kindness (of which I am still highly suspicious), I thought maybe I, too, should adjust my attitude with this platitude.

I played out a scenario in my head first:

INT. GROCERY STORE – EVENING

“Hi!” I smile while the teenaged clerk checks the price of my almond butter. Forty-seven dollars, I want to tell her. That is the going rate for dry roasted almond pulp.

“Hello,” she grimaces.

“It’s so nice to see you, Kim!” I say, eyeing her name tag and assuming my role as transient bagger. “Let me do this. You’ve had another long day.”

She keeps her eyes on the task at hand.

“How’s your mother doing?” I ask.

“Um, fine,” she replies, glancing up briefly.

“And your dad?”

Kim stops, mid-scan, and stares at me.

“Do I…do we…I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“You do now! Did you see Sully yet?”

“Um…”

“I love Tom Hanks. Aren’t he and Rita Wilson so inspiring? You should really try to find a guy like that. Enough with the bad boys.”

“Who’s…Rita Wilson?”

“Just a friend we haven’t met yet!”

Then, armed with the confidence only new confidants can bring, I’d go into situations like the one I was in on Wednesday night -seeing Amy Schumer live- with guns blazing. (Not actual guns. Amy and I don’t like those.)

“Amy! Amy!!! Hi!” I shout from 17 rows back. “It’s me! Jules!”

When Amy fails to acknowledge this attempt, I stand up in my chair.

“It’s JULES! Remember the time we never met?!”

I step down from the chair and flag a security guard.

“Can you please tell Amy I’m here?”

The security guard warns me that I’ll be removed from the theater if I stand on my chair again. I nod, wait two minutes, and then sneak down the aisle towards stage left.

“Amy!!!” I whisper loudly, taking the first step onto the stage. I wave a fluorescent pink band. “I brought you a slap bracelet!”

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No matter how many times I run through this in my head, I wind up in jail.

How about you? What stranger would you like to turn into a friend? (And do you think you could do it without getting arrested?)

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New Jersey is breathtaking, PSAs

This Can’t Be Good.

Go Jules Go

This week has been filled with a delightful series of diversions. It’s amazing this post even ma–


Whoa.

What the…?

Is that my backyard?

I got home yesterday and someone had planted flowers. Lovely purple, orange and yellow, ah, daisies geraniums I-don’t-know-’ems, just to the side of my door.

I assumed it was the landlord, but even still, like any New Jersey native, my first instinct was suspicion.

I immediately texted a photo to Babs (my mom).

“Check the house. Is anything missing?” she replied in two seconds flat.

“Maybe he’s just trying to be nice?” My words sounded weak, even in writing.

“Did he use the flowers from your flower box?” she asked.

“No…” I answered.

“I hope they’re not flowers FOR YOUR GRAVE.”

“I hope I don’t come home tomorrow and they spell, ‘YOU’RE EVICTED.'”

It’s not that my landlord is a bad guy. No, no, no. He just, well, he seems to be of the more frugal variety, and in almost two years of renting, I haven’t seen any other display of Mother Nature’s bounty.

I’ll keep you posted. Random acts of kindness must not be trusted.

Have you had any surprises lately?

P.S. – Seriously, guys. What the hell kind of flowers are those?

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Blogging

You’ll Never Guess Who I Met in Maine

Go Jules Go

Hiya, Chipmunks! Welp, I’m back home in New Jersey, but alas, my heart is still in Maine.

And by heart I mean the better part of the paint from the side of my car.

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Last week, I drove north to Bar Harbor to relax, unwind and commune with nature. Instead I almost died three times.

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Mt. Sargent. Time #3.

One of those times, however, was positively pleasant. Because I died and went to heaven…

I met Peg-o-Leg’s Rambings and She’s A Maineiac!

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Left to right: Go Jules Go, Peg-o-Leg’s Ramblings, She’s A Maineiac

You heard me.

Last Sunday, the stars aligned and three bloggy universes collided (much like my car with many, many rocks and trees).

Peg (Peg-o-Leg’s Ramblings), Darla (She’s A Maineiac) and I stumbled across each other’s blogs eons ago, back when we were still trying to figure out how you posted the whosewhatsit up by the whatchamathingy. I’d been lucky enough to hang out with Darla before, but this time we upped the ante and met Peg in Portland, where she was visiting with family.

Any Catfish fan knows that meeting an online friend can go terribly, awfully, heinously awry – but not with these two. They’re every bit as hilarious, warmhearted and adorable as their words. Last weekend we were just a gaggle of blogging vets, inhabiting the same fresh Maine air, trying to fit four years worth of conversation into two short hours.


In fact, rather than try to cram all of the goodness into one post, I think I’ll let the two of them explain the rest. (Click on their logos below to check out all of the great things they have to say about me their accounts of our meet-up!)

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Uncle Jesse

Why I Should Just Leave My Dog at Home

Go Jules Go

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When I got a dog, I vowed never to leave him home alone for more than a half a day, tops. “It’s not fair to him,” I said. “I’ll be his whole world, the side pony to his elastic hair band, the ‘stache to his wet nose, the Kelly Kapowski to his Zack Morris.”

And for the past six and a half years, I’ve been pretty successful.

This week, I took my dog with me on a trip to Maine, and for the most part, the scene out and about has looked like this:

RANDOM PASSERBY 1: Is that a Labradoodle?

ME: Yup.

RANDOM PASSERBY 1: What’s her name?

ME: His name is Uncle Jesse.

RANDOM PASSERBY 1 (smiling): Dukes of Hazard?

ME: Full House.

RANDOM PASSERBY 2: Adorable!

ME: Thank you!

RANDOM PASSERBY 2: Is she a puppy?

ME: Nope, he’s six.

RANDOM PASSERBY 2: Wow, she looks like a puppy.

RANDOM PASSERBY 3: Oh my god. She’s so cute.

(Repeat above to infinity.)

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And then we dine al fresco.

On Wednesday, I took Uncle Jesse to Jordon Pond in Acadia National Park, and just as we set foot on the trail, a shout stopped us.

“Hey! Hey! Can I see your dog?”

A thin, middle-aged man took his foot out of a red kayak and jogged over.

No! Shut your eyes and turn around, madman! I thought.

Uncle Jesse squatted and pooped.

“Goldendoodle?” the man asked.

“No, Labradoodle.”

“I have a Goldendoodle. I couldn’t bring her today because I’m going kayaking.”

“Yeah… well… that makes sense,” I offered.

“Here, let me show you a picture.”

Kayak Man pulled out his phone and took three minutes to bring up a blurry photo of a giant Goldendoodle in front of a tent.

A park ranger who’d been within earshot approached. He stared at Uncle Jesse.

“Are you sure she’s a Labradoodle?” he asked.

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I hate you so much.

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New Jersey is breathtaking

New Jersey: The Greatest Country in the World

Go Jules Go

In angsting over pondering what to write about this week, it occurred to me that I needn’t labor so hard. After all, it’s Labor Day weekend for us Americans, and the only work we should be doing is squeezing every last, sweaty drop out of summer before she packs her bags and says sayonara for another year.

So, from the bottom of my Jersey girl heart fringe top, I wish you a safe, healthy and happy holiday. And to my fellow chipmunks across the globe sharing in the season’s end: Yes, yes you have every right to judge us.

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‘MERICA.

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