mawwwwwwage

Recently I went to a friend’s wedding.  During the ceremony, and the reception there after, you could literally see the happiness shooting off this fella and his bride. If I had that hippy-dippy ability to read people’s aura’s, theirs would be a blazing hot pink surrounded by rainbows. It was great to see, and it made me reflect on the past few weddings I’d been to.

 

But the Background should be pink

But the Background should be pink

 

A friend of mine got married a little over a year ago.  And we had been friends for a really long time.  I’m talking, upwards of a decade.  In that situation, you really want nothing more than to be thrilled and excited your friend was getting married.  He found the person he wanted to share the rest of his life with, hooray!

(This sort of ties into my previous post, about my inability to sugarcoat things, and if I should even say anything…the quandry…blah blah blah )

A while before my friend walked down the aisle, I met his then-girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancee.  I didn’t know her very well, but she seemed very sweet…funny, entertaining, in love – and she seemed to take good care of my friend – which is awesome.  We hung out a few times after that, and I truly enjoyed her company.

I clearly remember where everything changed.

::cue ominous music::

One evening, we gathered as a group to one of my favorite local restaurants that was doing this great event called a “Beer and Bourbon” night, where they close down the restaurant, create a special 5 course meal paired with craft beers and Bourbons.  Its so awesome.  So, SO awesome.  We were all having fun, hanging out, and my friend’s girlfriend peers over her beer and goes “JoJo.  I broke him”.  Confused, and assuming there’s a joke somewhere, I got “Well how come?  I didn’t know he was broken!”

“he’s going to marry me!”

::confusion is starting to settle in::

“…okay…that’s great!”

My friend now interjects, and tells me this little story about how his girlfriend updated her Facebook status to “engaged”, spinning a little web of deceit.  He only found out after some of his friends started to text and congratulate him, looking to portray this is a funny joke.  A gag.  Now, I am not the girl who thinks its cool to drag your man down the aisle.  It is not a good look.  Not for me, not for you – not for anyone (and I can pull off orange taffeta).  I truly believe if you are going to marry someone, they have to want to marry you.  Enough to ask.  Of their own volition.  And if they don’t, or you have to trick them into it…you’re simply setting yourself up for failure.

As the evening goes on, she continues to tell me how there is a time frame in when they will be engaged, and then married, and then have children.  If the time frame gets delayed, she has a plan to move it along…by “forgetting” to take her birth control pills.

Hard Stop Number Two.

Yeah, that’s me.  Speechless.

At the end of the day, the only thing you can do is tell your friend the truth.  Which I did.  Afterwards, I continued to hear some horrible things she was doing, and saying about people I care a lot about – people I had been friends with for a very, very long time.  I could clearly see the kind of person she was underneath the exterior she was using to blind my friend.  He couldn’t – and it put a strain on our friendship.  It got to a point where he said to me (after one particularly ridiculous incident at their wedding – mind you, I’m trying to keep this story as vague as possible.  My friends know who I’m talking about, and so will he, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings with all the repulsive details about this woman) that he didn’t think I treated his wife with the respect she deserved.

I disagree, I think I treated her with more respect than she deserved.  If it were my choice, I would never have associated with her again, after I read a text she sent to a mutual friend saying she wanted to punch my friend out – for reasons that are so insignificant and immature – or told me she wanted to trap my friend into marriage by getting knocked up.  And we haven’t spoken, really, since his wedding – which makes me a little sad.

And this, friends, is one of the casualties of not being able to censor what you think of people.

Advertisements

Ain’t No Sugar Coats Here

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me for my opinion.  She prefaced it with “I am asking you this because I know you are going to tell me the truth, even if I don’t want to hear it”.  And she’s right.  While I never set out to hurt anyone’s feelings (friends and family), I’m not the girl you turn to if you want someone to “yes” you, or agree with you.

We all have those friends, or those people in our lives – and we need them.  Sometimes I just need someone to say “yes, Jo, eat that entire pint of Ben and Jerrys Nutella Core Ice Cream.  You had a salad for lunch and walked the dog today so it totally burned off those calories” not “eesh…thats like 1700 calories, you know its bikini season, right?”.  But when we come down to the important things – career, advice, family, financial, marriage – if you’re doing something stupid and you don’t want to hear it, just don’t involve me in your plans.  I’ll even listen to you after it blows up, and try to help you…I’ll never say “I told you so” but deep down inside I’m thinking “I wish you just listened to me in the first place”.

I’m not unreasonable.  I know that people don’t always follow logic.  I know that you are buying a new car for $60,000 and a $500 a month car payment that eats gas and costs an arm and a leg in insurance because you really, really want it…even though you’re on a tuna fish and ramen noodle budget…I just cannot physically tell you its a good idea.  My tongue will literally turn around, crawl down my throat and choke me before I tell you its okay to wear creamsicle taffeta overlay on a corset to work.

Not OK

Not OK

 

This can become a problem, though.  One that’s been detrimental to my friendships and relationships.  It has been, on more than one occasion.  Enough of a problem that I’ve considered biting my tongue sometimes and just not saying what I felt.

Considered…but won’t.  If I become that girl who censors herself because she might be afraid her friends won’t see it for what it is – straight concern for the people I love – then my friends won’t be able to put their faith in what I’m saying to them, all the time, is honest.

I still won’t break your horns for eating ice cream though.  IF you bring me a spoon and share.

My SUPER Super.

Let me start out by saying that my Super is genuinely a nice person. And I feel a little bit guilty about the post I’m about to write, and then I think back to how annoying he is, and I’m over it.

So I’m a pretty private person, in a lot of different aspects.  I mean, I REALLY value my privacy.  And there are a lot of things that I really don’t like – for example, I don’t like that I have to make small talk with the same person every single day even though we have absolutely nothing in common and nothing to talk about.  Literally, nothing at all to talk about.  I don’t like repeating myself over and over – if I tell you you’re allowed to use my BBQ – I mean it.  I don’t need you to ask me every single day if its okay, just fire that bad boy up and make yourself a hot dog.  If I am carrying a basket with 15 pounds of laundry in it, I don’t want to discuss the weather, I want to get inside and fold my clothes.

My super, like I said, is very nice – almost, overly nice.  He does things for me that I haven’t asked him to do, and while I appreciate it, I almost feel like I have to be nice to him because he’s constantly cleaning my grill and my windows.  And table.  And putting potted plants in front of my apartment.

My God I’m a jerk.  All those things sound great, right?  Well how about 5 o’clock this morning and I have to roll out of bed and walk my dog.  Guess what?  I don’t want to chit-chat, I want to walk my dog and go back to bed.  Or over the weekend, my friends came by and we had a BBQ – I’m not a TOTAL jerk, I invited him to come by if he wanted to join us, I had plenty of food and beer and everything…it just spiraled into a barrage of texts offering to go to the store and buy beer and food and all sorts of stuff for us.

No, Super, I simply want to give you a burger, have a few beers with you, and enjoy my friends.  I don’t want 85 different texts asking me nonsensical questions.  And, how are you getting to the store?  Not in my car, that’s for sure.

we all have these…

days where it’s in everyone’s best interest to stay the hell away from me.

Yea, I said it.  I’m in a mood today.  And I don’t want you to try and cheer me up – I’m not sad, I’m crabby.  I didn’t stay up late or go out much this weekend, or really any of that.  Quite the contrary, I did a lot of working out, cooking and cleaning (women’s work) so I was quite relaxed this morning.  Until I got on the train and the woman next to me spilt her coffee all over the place.

Really, lady?  You’re pushing 45, you still need a sippy cup?  And are the vulgarities necessary?

As she is cursing, I turn to her, press my finger to my lips and belt out a good ole “SHHHHHHH!”, then wipe whatever coffee that had touched me on her jacket and tried to settle in for my train nap. 

Which, I would have easily been able to get back into, if it weren’t for the two morons sitting behind me.  They each had an open seat in their row, but chose to yell across the aisle at each other, recapping their weekend of booze, broads and, most likely, venereal diseases.

They caught the death look and a “if ya’ll don’t pipe down, someone’s going to jail this morning”.

The rest of my ride was pleasant, but I guess I forgot that people in NY on Monday mornings don’t know how to walk.  I mowed down about four or five people before I even got out of Penn station.

The first man who asks me if “it’s that time of the month” is going to get brained.

just when you thought the old landlord was gone…

that crazy bitch strikes again.

Last weekend while I was preparing for my debut at the Case Race my phone rings – Caller ID notes it was my old Landlord.

Now, I’m hopped up on two 5 hour energy shots and I’ve got a purse full of beer, so I’m clearly in a great mood.

“yes, Old Broad, what can I do for you?’

I’m pretty sure she dropped the phone out of shock, ya’ll know she didn’t think I would answer.

Getting into it, apparently the old, pig-faced bastard that lived next door to me is sending her official court documents and blah blah blah blah friggin blah.

“haha oookay Old Broad, you just let me know how it turns out”.  I asked two people what they thought that meant and the consensus was she’s bored and looking to break my balls.  The other piece of advice was “if someone looks like they’re going to serve you with papers, avoid them”.  How do you know you’re getting served, you may ask?  Well, someone dunks a ball in your face.

No, not that kind of serving.  Alls I know if anyone asks me what my name is, I’m responding with “parles-tu francais? Oui?”

I knew 8 years of French would come in handy one day.

salt mines?

I had my poochie out a little early today and ran into one of my neighbors.

Pooch is a nosey lil bugger, so she stared at him, and I tried to convince her to follow me, but she insisted on stopping and saying “hello” (whilst attempting to take his banana). We talked for a few minutes, she got her scratches in, and he goes “well! Gotta get off to the salt mines!”

Is that a real thing, or is it a saying? I didn’t know there were any salt mines in my ‘hood.

Huh. Too much thinking before coffee. Off to the gym!

Hey Commuters!

I know that there’s always some confusion as to “who has the right of way on the sidewalk”

Let me clear this up for you: Me.

If I’m walking with a cup of hot coffee, opening facing out, its my suggestion that you stay out of my way.  If you get in my way, cut me off, or bump into me on purpose, I WILL spill my coffee on you.

I get a large for a reason.

There’s always mayhem on the corners in Gotham for some reason.  And people don’t flinch, they’ll walk straight without even looking, across a crowd.  I have respect for people like that – I’m one of them – and if you don’t get out of my way, or waffle, I’m taking you down.

Don’t get mad, that’s life in the big City, Kid.  Put your big boy pants on, dust off your bottom, and learn to walk like the rest of us.  Pissed Off.

squishy little fat kids

How in the world do we live in a society that has a 3rd grade child over 200 pounds?  Unless that little pork chop is 6 feet tall, his mother should be kicked in the face.

I think.  I don’t know.  Far be it from me to tell anyone how to raise their children, I still get annoyed when my idiot dog poops on the floor, but at what point in your child rearing do you look at your giant fat kid and say “man, I’m doing a great job”?

I understand that it is difficult to break into the whole “healthy living“.  And I’m far off from the exemplary person in that regards – I’ll out-eat just about anyone in a “junk food off”, and the other day I was at a football game and ate copious amounts of red meat, fatty meat, Doritos and beer.

But I also know how to counter that – with a run, or a bike ride, or a good session at the gym (maybe even a purge? JUST KIDDING).  I didn’t take any class on it, or get help from a personal trainer, I simply wanted to go to the beach in a bikini and feel comfortable, so I took the opportunity to teach myself how to maintain my weight and react to the negative factors on my diet with exercise and healthy eating.  85% of the time.  I’ve given advice to my friends about what can help them – but no one can force you to do the work, cook the food, or count the calories.

At the end of the day, its simple math.  You lose weight when the calories burnt is greater than calories consumed.  There, I broke it down for you in one sentence.

The mother of this little giant fat kid says she’s not a bad mother, and the kid is fat because of genetics.  That might be true, I would love to give her the benefit of the doubt and be able to say that she loves her children.  Interestingly enough, both her and her husband are also obese.  I’m sure there is a percentage of people with “thyroid issues” but I find it hard to believe that your thyroid is forcing you to eat a bag of cheese doodles in front of the TV instead of going for a walk.  And I’m pretttttty sure your thyroid isn’t whispering “eat that gallon of ice cream”.

There are so many shows out there to help aid in weight loss.  And they’re entertaining, but they’re also extreme.  Again, I’ve done enough research to know that it is NOT good for your body to lose 25 pounds a week, or go from a completely sedentary lifestyle to working out for 4 hours a day.  Unfortunately, when people go from one extreme to another, they’re merely replacing the addiction they had for food to an addiction of exercise. 

Neither is good for you.

There is a middle ground.

If you’re motivated, you can find the middle ground.

If you can’t get motivated, there’s a deeper issue.  And that’s sad, I wish that no one was in a position where they felt sad about something and turned to a substance to fill that void.  Studies have been done on several occasions equating food addition to a drug addiction, because it sets off feelings of pleasure when you eat a Big Mac.  I guess I just don’t fully understand a food addition because I’m able to indulge, and then go back to a normal diet.

The amount of morbidly obese people in our country now a day is staggering.  The amount of obese children is out of control; and its partially due to lack of education and lack of funding, but at the end of the day, when you have a child, you’re supposed to take care of them and teach them.  If all you know is to over eat and live an unhealthy life style, its concerning – to say the least – about where we’re headed as a country.

I bet ya’ll thought I’d be b-tching about the holidays today, eh?  Oh I don’t think so.

Sloppy Food? Sign me up.

I love BBQ.  Eating BBQ with 2 gay men (Wifey and Poodle)?  Well, that’s just an extra special treat. 

This place we went to was okay.  Not good, not bad – okay.  My Little Poodle got ribs bigger then the ones tucked inside his tiny poodle ribcage (and subsequently whined about the prospect of getting sauce all over his pretty shirt), Wifey got herself a rib combo and I ate catfish.

Oh shut up, sometimes catfish is a good choice.  We were gonna cruise gay bars after dinner, couldn’t have bbq sauce all over me.

The best part of this BBQ joint we went to, Dallas BBQ, were the giant drinks and the extra shots my waiter slipped me in test tubes.  And the two or three kettle and clubs he made me (f*cking strong, kid) whilst only charging me for one, well, thank you.  It kind of made up for the fact that the rest of the night I was invisible to every one of the opposite sex (think: water water everywhere, not a drop to drink).