blessed to smitherines

OK Computer: finally found in foci's glovebox. egads!


Foxyboxer tee: hand delivered and a $2 beer to boot. super!


The Cheech: departed for now, but I will be in his groovy company again come Thursday. Neato!


iPod: now fully equipped to plug in to my car stereo. fantastic!


New Years: jet set for Nashville with the usual suspects. woohoo!


Summer Buddy: friendship restored, and beyond. makes me smile!


Wes Anderson: brand spanking new and a double trouble feature too. shivery delicious!


Pens: All full of ink. not one has run dry. Yesssss!



All in all, I feel like it's thanksgiving all over again. My prayers reach up eternally for those who are a mite confused right now; a tad discouraged; a pinch misguided. My heart aches for your highs and lows and knowing that, spiritually, I have so often depended on you for guidance and clarity and that now you seem positively vacant from wanting that role whatsoever. Chin up dear soul... my love is still real and strong, so is God's.

Currently listening : Pinkerton By Weezer Release date: By 24 September, 1996

and lavishly so

Oh hypocrisy! That beast of a thing, hated by all; but when tried on for size, seems to fit so well!

***

Today's soundtrack:

Evening of the Day, Supergrass
Saint Simon, The Shins
Evil, Interpol
Cemetry Gates, The Smiths
Here it Comes, The Doves
Love Will Come Through, Travis
Loose Translation, The New Pornographers
All God's Children, Finn Brothers
Entire, The Spinanes
Let Go, Frou Frou

Currently listening : Life on Other Planets By Supergrass Release date: By 11 February, 2003

It's just like Loverboy said

Current mood: boisterously brilliant!

How do I continue to breathe? How do I walk away from my bed every morning knowing? How does my heart not throb in aching pain from the mere realization? But, I do just that: I breathe, I wake, I fulfill everyday rituals without ever once acknowledging the very center of my existence.

eh... I am prideful, and extraordinarily so.

It is now that I wonder, and try to count how many times in my life I have earnestly prayed for humility -- I should be careful of what I pray for.

I can recall sitting in my Biblical counseling classes, 7 years ago, and listening intently to Dr. Jerry Benjamin. What an incredible man of passion, for both God and others. He made a habit to address us as "beloved" and challenged each of us to take a long, hard stare at our own lives, our own spiritual fractures, our own outrageous pride before ever attempting to consult another person's needs. I had never realized how much of a challenge that actually is until I sat weeping, three days later, faced with a list of prideful motivations and infidelities to my God that stretched to infinity (or, at least through several pages of a lined notebook).

I will never conquer pride, I realize that. For as soon as I have, I will develop a new pride for my altruistic attitude.

This is what I do while working on the weekend... I sit here, and I cook my books. I punch in my figures and pour over the election law manuals. I balance my calendar with my event requests, and I build new fundraising goals based on past performance. I work... and I think about my ever prideful nature. Is it entirely unacceptable to talk to myself?

* * * * * * *

In other items of fairly uninteresting news, I have gone and reached the pinacle. I have been to the mountaintop. I have experienced elation, and this feeling far exceeds it. Folks, I have reached blue-star status on ebay. I should just quit now, because life doesn't get much better than this

my high horse choked quite some time ago

I'm not 100% certain what's going on in the country right now--what's going on in people's hearts--that there is an absolute epidemic of absurdly large coffe/tea mugs. No more shall we drink 12 or even 16 ounces of coffee at a time. We must now and forevermore consume legal addictive stimluants at the rate of 18 to 22 ounces a clip.

I speak this all with the same breath that I now use to cool the tea lurking in my 18 ounce porcelain treasure (mind you, not a miniature toilet, but a coffee mug. Ease your mind for heaven's sake).

Admittedly, I drink tea only to keep my hands warm in this Siberian hideaway of mine - also known as my office. The heater still does not work. It's a double whammy for me. The heat at work does not function, nor does the heat at home. Call me cold-hearted if you must. It's most likely accurate and for reasons entirely outside my control.
I will now type even faster (because I type so much faster than you for sure) in an attempt to warm these frigid and fragile fingers of mine.

Philadelphia vs. Milwaukee. Good stuff yesterday. Kelly and I managed to score club box seats to the game (thanks, dad) and scurried ourselves out to the Wachovia center for an afternoon of crass yelling and general harassment of the players. I like to harass the players. Granted, they don't hear a word that I scream, but I enjoy the harassment just the same. One of the Sixers is the spitting image of Ashton Kutcher.



Pretty boy couldn't land a basket if his face depended on it. He managed to pull out the fun stuff and save the game in the end though, so he was forgiven.
I could go on a multi-paragraph tyrade about the ridiculousness of the corporate run sports world these days, but that would require far too much energy. Instead, I will highlight my disappointement in not being one of the first 5000 fans to arrive at the game, hence denying me a Fat Albert bobble head doll. Oh, how I wanted one of those bobble heads. The tearing portion of this is that the sentiment is completely honest. I really did want one. I managed to convince Kelly to walk the bleachers with me in hopes that some sad and whiny 10 year-old had accidentally left their's behind. No such luck. Everyone was on their toes yesterday. But with a Fat Albert bobble head at stake, who wouldn't be?
Bill Cosby and Keenan Thompson attended the game for approximately 8.4 minutes--just long enough for Mr. Cosby to accept a Good Neighbor Award, thanking him for his continued service to the city of Philadelphia. He then proceeded to kiss and joke with four members of the press before exiting past the Sixers Dancers (who didn't really know how to dance. It was all pretend. They all operate on grants from the Government. That pesky "Get a girl who has no skills a job" grant. 'This young lady needs a job, real bad man.' 'Well, does she have any skills?' 'errr... well, see it's like this... Um... well, she can move her hips!' 'Great! That squeaks her right in for the "Get a girl who has no skills a job" grant!'). I digress.

I've been strangely silent the past two weeks. This is simply an excuse to end the silence. Furthermore, it will act as my once every two months "I'm sort of a bitch" commentary. Thanks.

I love you, heater

I happened to notice tonight that my toes are blue. I saw them and thought to myself: "If only my bedroom heaters worked, my toes might be a friendlier shade right now."

I sleep at night in my big, lonely bed with a heated hot/cold pack to fight the chill. The mysterious daggers forming along the inside of my windowpane are no cause for fear; they are simpy icicles settling down for the winter.
If you hear a strange sound, don't be alarmed. That sound is not the castanets being played loudly at the Copa Cabana, it is merely my teeth chattering to the rhythm of the night.

All I want for Christmas is heat, glorious heat.

french

toast

raw man poodles

Relationships? I suck at them. Sometimes I want to admit defeat. Wrap me up in tin foil and stick a meat thermometer in me... I'm still raw.

I took a percocet last night, just for the hell of it.
The hives are back, full force, making me want to claw out of my own skin.
The turkey is in the oven, and the house smells like pumpkin pie... but strangely, I don't feel like it's Thanksgiving at all.

I think I'm still a little doped up on the percocet. I never thought that I would feel this way, but it's sort of good to be on percocet on Thanksgiving morning.

is that an ampersand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

::Thursday::

I saw a gentleman this morning on the platform of the PATH train in Jersey City that looked like Luke Snell. I saw him for a mere moment before the train lurched forward and he was gone - just as quickly as he appeared. I was hoping for a second glance, but no such luck, none indeed.

I took the train this morning because the Foci is in the shop. It's been making some interesting sounds the past few days... well, no, interesting is how you describe a light rattle or a faint bumping every now and again. This sound was far more obtrusive. It rumbled, growled, groaned and moaned with the best of them (not quite sure who the best is - perhaps Joan Rivers? Her daughter Melissa?). So to the shop it went this morning and on the train I traveled to Jersey City. Immediately, I closed myself off from the world (not sure if this is blissful or sad - perhaps a mix of both. I have very mixed emotions about separating myself from my surroundings with something as simple as a set of headphones). So there I was, plugged into the iPod - yes, I broke down and got one. And let me tell you: contrary to televised media depiction, plugging into the iPod made me feel neither "hipper" nor "cooler". Be advised - and I was completely engrossed in my music. The glorious part of the iPod is that it takes life's soundtrack just one step further (or several steps, depending on how far you're going).
Everything is set to music.
Music is set to everything.
I made eye contact, and he smiled. I nodded my head as if to say: "Yes. I know. It's great, isn't it?"
I felt like I was on the same wavelength as this guy here, headphones fixed over the lobes, just like me. My head nodded rhythmically until he looked away and I realized that there was a grand possibility we were not on the same wavelength. In fact, it occurred to me that we might be on completely opposite wavelengths. I'm listening to Devil's Haircut. He's probably listening to... I dunno, Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir.
I'm delusional with these damned headphones plugged in; absolutely delusional.

::Saturday::

Have I slept lately? I don't think so. Instead, I've spent my time sipping Chablis and pumping iron. Snuggled down, but no sleep to speak of - just heavy covers and barely-awake whispers. Striped socks and rumpled trousers that should have been changed into pajamas long ago... it's a good kind of not sleeping though. It's a resolving kind of not sleeping. I covet sleep sometimes. I don't drive home late at night anymore - it's one of the most critical factors keeping me alive these days.

Marketing thought: stuffed John Natelli dolls to give out at future Swiss Auto Club shows. Cute, cuddly, featuring arms that jut out this way and that - gripping plastic drum sticks, fuzzy hair... we could include a miniature bottle of hair gel as a bonus... just a thought.

::Sunday::

Happy birthday Mike.
The new office is massive. It stretches from California to Siberia (observe: my personal office is in Siberia. The entrance to the building is in California. Bliss, bliss, bliss). Gregory's office will probably be lost in Scandinavia somewhere... we're still trying to map out that bit.

::Right now::

I'm at the office late tonight and have absolutely, positively no business writing in the ol' blog. I'm pressed though. I'm going to be here for about 4 more hours at least. I needed a breather. I feel like this entire entry doesn't make much sense. Admittedly, I'm suffering a love/hate relationship with the entire entry right this minute. Ignore me... I'm feeling faint.

tramp(oline)

Three is a pattern - is this why it is also (presumably) the perfect number? Three's company, which is pretty lucky for any blind mice that happen to be wandering around out there. Three Kings purchased matching blankets for three pigs, sealing their fate as party platter favorites. Three tradesmen (of meat and bread and candle wax, naturally) took an adventure to the three corners of the Bermuda Triangle and were tragically lost at sea. Their three wives (along with my three sons) were lucky enough to collect $3 million from a hollywood studio to bring their story to the public with the power of an epic blockbuster trilogy...
Three dots come together to form an elipses, pausing a thought, an instant "To be continued..."

To Be continued...

pour more beers!

I love the smell of dryer sheets after they've already been through the dryer cycle. I wonder if they smell like fresh laundry or if fresh laundry smells like them. At that point in time, I get the strong feeling that it all sort of meshes together into a new smell, one all its own.

The Foci took me down to the District this past weekend for an impromptu dinner visit with the GWU kids. They love me. They really love me. Amazingly so, considering the President's recent re-election (not that I had much to do with it beyond putting an unwanted sign in someone's yard and getting to the polls on election day). It's amazing how well we get on though. The group of them, all 15 of them, are the most politically liberal and passionate people I know. Alejandra and I are most definitely conservative and politically active both. But just five days after the absolute antithesis of their political existence is elected back into office, we are able to get together for a friendly dinner.

It is based on this that I can justly say: it is the roast chicken that brings us together. It is the sauteed cauliflower with curry and brandied carrots that bond our souls. It is the cranberry almond cous cous with orange blossom butter that springs the well of love in our hearts for one another. All that, and approximately 18 bottles of wine.
We all ate and laughed for hours. We drank like it was nobody's business. Two o'clock in the morning interrupted us and the room reeked of passion fruit candles, marijuana, and satiated appetites. We lounged and smoked and vowed to change the world. I assured Looney that he is the only liberal politician I would ever dream of working for. I wore my favorite blazer and smelled of vanilla. Life is good.

I sit here now in my office, talk radio blaring in the background. Alice, one of our Jersey City volunteers, is methodically stuffing envelopes. Her hair is a shade only carried by Clairol and her shirt nearly matches. Under these glorious fluorescent lights, she's all but glowing with mustard splendor. Alejandra's loft seems a million miles away - absolute eons ago.

I miss the District. I've been told the District misses me as well.

***

Gregory is in Honduras. Hrrmmmmm...
I miss him. I didn't think a week would be a big deal at all. Well, it's not, really. Well... I sort of miss him anyway. Damn. I can't even fully admit that I miss him. I suck.

***

So I got a little ray of sunshine last week. It was welcomed, and enjoyed even - although my heart was really with Huck and his bees.

Figure that one out if you care.

cap'n crunching paint by numbers

I must confess, I feel just a mite cheated.
Cheated out of at least one good, solid week of nail biting, heart pounding, nerve racking, edge-of-my seat action.

I'm disappointed.
My respect for Kerry is torn. I find his lack of action on the re-count front to be quite honorable. We've all been through a lot and I'm sure that thoughts of "Florida Re-Count Part Two: The Ohio Chronicles" didn't really have anyone experiencing a "two thumbs up!" or "Great holiday fun!" type sentiment.
That being said, I'm sort of disappointed with the lack of fire in his belly. Why not a re-count? Why not surety? Why not $4.8 million dollars in excessive legal fees?

My favorite numbers all night? Washington, DC - where Senator Kerry won 90% to 9% against the President.
I was sitting at the bar last night when those numbers caught the eyes of two drifters.
"Wow! Bush only got 9% in the District of Columbia..." (He pronounced it slowly - he had no idea that the District of Columbia meant Washington, DC, our nation's capital).
I had to remind him that there were only about 380 votes cast in Washington, DC. He scratched his head and looked away, sipping his bombay and tonic, which he paid far too much for.

The forecast is calling for rocks through windows here at Schundler headquarters in Jersey City. I'm not about to take my Bush/Cheney signs down though.

percocet

Current Mood: Apothecarian

At some point in time, I stole my parents' heart. I swept them off their feet. I won them over completely and 100àAt least... well, this is what I'd care to believe. Whether it is the truth or not, I have no idea.



My father was in a car accident when I was four. He spent the following 4 months in the hospital. 3 of those months, he was in traction. I was supposed to be in the car with him. They told him I would have died, seeing as how none of the seatbelts in the vehicle were functioning. This was taken a year later - you can still see the scar on his leg from one of his 6 surgeries following the accident. I was supposed to be there and it gripped his heart that I was not. He quit his high-paying job to spend more time with his family.



My mother's heart broke to pieces when my father was injured and in the hospital. My parents were not only in the middle of some severe marital problems, but they were also in the process of completely renovating the house. Mom had just had her fifth child and was at the end of the proverbial rope. I didn't know what stand-up comedy was, but I made it up real quick and on the spot. She laughed at most of my jokes and skits and this gave me the most minute sense of sanity. I missed my dad. And the babysitter that my mom used to leave me with while she was visiting my father in the hospital smelled of elderberries. I hated her.

I don't suppose my father ever expected to be broadsided on his way into work
one winter morning. I don't see that he would have expected for my nursery school schedule to have been changed just days before and for me to not be in the car with him. I don't imagine that my mother expected him not to come home that night. I don't bet that she expected to spend every afternoon at the hospital for the next 4 months. I don't think that either one of them expected the backlash they received from the five of us kids.

Expectations are funny things. I don't ever think I have it all together. So I won't sit here and say, "every time I think I have it all together..." That's just absurd. I know that I'm a mess. I know that I never have anything together. I know that I'm in serious need of strong organizations skills.

However,there is the occasional curveball. It's thrown, and only occasionally swung at. Evern less occasionally made contact with. And scarcely ever hit out of the ballpark. But there is that cureveball. And whatever expectations I did have go flying out the window like a stream of smoke from a cigarette, coiling slyly, this way and that. Although I feel like I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, some part of me must secretly think that I do. Because when these people or circumstances come floating about, they really do throw me for a loop, and it's insane. And it's crazy.

I wasn't expecting Gregory. I wasn't expecting him at all. He came out of nowhere and saved my day, so to speak. I wasn't expecting for someone to force me out of my miserable self-pity. I was expecting to wallow in it for quite some time; get nice and dirty. Get saturated, as it were.

Instead, I was made to laugh. I was made to forget. I was made to be a girl-friend, so to speak: something I've never been before, but was willing to try.

I wasn't expecting a revelation. I wasn't expecting a conversation. I wasn't expecting to be honest. I wasn't expecting to get past all the things that had seemingly hurt me so badly. I really wasn't expecting to feel sorry for the way that things turned out.
But I got one.
I was.
I did.
I am.

I'm sorry, but at the same time I am not. And I mean that in the kindest, least offensive way possible.

I saw a bumpersticker in Jersey City not five days ago that said: "Kerry for President... because he's not BUSH!" I grew sad thinking of people voting against Bush instead of for Kerry. It just didn't seem steeped in any sort of sound principle at all. That, and I felt sad for Kerry - a person whom many people don't particularly care for but see as a means to an end. I'm proud to say that I've completely put all of my political expectations aside. I've
cast them out from me. I live in New Jersey. I am a conservative Republican. I have no political expectations except for the occasional cynical one. Sad? Probably.

Swiss Auto Club rocked my world once again. I find myself paying closer attention. I find myself knowing every riff and every bass drum beat. I find myself wanting to leave politics forever and work with a rock and roll band... I never expected to get this involved in politics anyhow.

At some point or another, I stole my parents' heart. They stole mine as well, so I suppose it's all good and fair. I respect them more than any other human beings on the planet. They call me at least 6 times a day and it's annoying as hell. But, I figure if my parents love me, this is the least of my worries. I wasn't expecting them to care so darn much about me, but apparently they do.

without condition

You find the situation just a bit uncomfortable.
You'd rather stay far away from reality.
For you to understand would be clearly impossible, so you shut your eyes and swear you can see; claiming there is a god, but does that mean anything?

You're so condescending to those that you don't understand.
It's just too easy to make them your enemies.
Like an ostrich, you bury your head in the sand, and then you shout about all the things you believe. But if there is a god, don't you think he could see what you really mean, what you're doing?

So place all the souls that you know in their own little box.
It's quite convenient to handle them that way.
You're the only one you know who carries a cross!
You don't care what they care about anyway.
And you talk to your god, praying for those who sin, for their eyes to be opened...

You can't find the answers until you learn to question. You won't appear stupid, just ask for direction. You're insecure and it clouds your perception,
so STOP,
and listen,
and learn a lesson in love without condition.

** ginny owens. occasionally rocking my world so simply **

Everything is better on a kaiser roll

I'm not certain that the title is actually true, but I feel like most New Jerseyans feel this way. Egg and bacon? Better on a kaiser roll. Steak? Better on a kaiser roll. Butter? Better on a kaiser roll. Your mom? Better on a kaiser roll.

argh... I'll finish this later. It seems I don't have time to complete a thought these days. Drat.

As Steven Tyler once said: "It's Amazing"

Old English: 1
Moe: 52

Contrary to popular belief, I did not spend Thursday night downing several small bottles of Old English furniture polish. Nor did I spend the evening shooting pool at the Old English Pub (although... well, that would have been a really good idea).
Nay, I spent the evening driving around northern new jersey, top of the saab down. I successfully downed 52 oz. of beer in 30 minutes. Testosterone levels were high.

Please, allow me to explain something: most of my previous injuries have been testosterone induced. Certainly self-induced, but also testosterone induced.
Thursday was no exception. Example:

"Here. Have a 40. The rest of us are having 40's... and seeing as how we're guys, we're sure to finish them LONG before your wussy girly self does..."
(paraphrased in order to make my freaking point)

So how do I respond? Well, I respond by making damn sure that the 40, along with a 12 oz. bottle fo XXX, was down the trap within 30 minutes.

I spent Friday morning wishing I had jumped out a window. Gatorade made me feel only slightly better. Granted, 52 oz. of beer is not an extraordinary amount, but it did something to me that I don't care to experience again anytime soon.

Saturday night was spent with the brothers and Brandon (best bud since... well, since forever) amazingly called me to hang out (he hasn't returned my calls for about 6 months now. OK, so not best bud since forever. argh) and we decided to grace Finnagel's with our glorious presence. Much tequila was consumed. This is another example of the testosterone induced madness that I was speaking of earlier. Tequila? Sure. I'll have whatever you guys are having. And I'll be damned if I'm going to have a chaser to go along with it. Chasers are for wussies. I am not a wussy! I am a warrior!
OK, so we drank tequila, blah blah blah (blah cubed), and then JC, Tony, and I went home, watched a young girl get a DUI right in front of our house (long story - you can make one up if you'd like), and then left to go out and put up lawn signs for GWB. Out until 5 in the morning, with the dog, and AC/DC on the hi fi. I don't even know where all we put up signs, but we put up about 65 or so. We got tired after awhile and decided to call it a night. JC and I were halfway into a bottle of Petrone, and Tony (the only sober one with us - including the dog) was getting tired of driving. So we called it quits and head home at dawn.

hrmmm... JC is starting to get more political than me. But he's fun. He's fun when he's political and drunk.

customized tradition

Current Mood: satiably soulful

I don't want things to change from what they've changed to. I like them the way that they are. Right now, this is what I like. I enjoy right now because I love the feeling it gives me - to make someone else happy. All this, and I don't want it to change. No, not one bit.

Change (coinage or otherwise) is reserved for rainy days. Celestial tears wash away today's pain and pleasure only to be sent down the curb's drain and swished around, saving itself for later. I like it though. Sort of.

The fluorescent lighting in this office is reminiscent of "Joe vs. the Volcano" or "Being John Malkovich". Either way, it can't be good on the eyes.

The greatest time I ever had in the rain was with Brandon at a rest stop in Maryland. I don't remember where we were going (or coming back from), but it was pouring rain and the water was collecting on positively everything. Instead of running into the rest stop (stale pretzels and day old coffee waiting inside), we stayed just outside where water had filled the awning of a kiosk and we threw water at eachother until we were both absolutely soaked. We're such children. We were completely drenched and even managed to get a few innocent passersby a little wet, but for some reason it was so funny. We were probably high. Who knows?

I like the sound of the tires driving over the slick road. It sounds... dare I say? Yes, I will. It sort of sounds.... well, it sorta sounds sexy.

Oh baby, oh baby, let me hear the sound of your goodyears on the slick road again...

it's not raining right now in Jersey City - it's just a bit slick. But people are still walking by this office, on the sidewalk, holding fully open umbrellas. I wonder this, and it is this by which I am mystified: do they carry the open umbrella in the hopes that it might rain or in the fear that it might rain?
If I had the time to conduct a man-on-the-street survey, that's exactly what I would be doing right now, at this very moment.

For the record: I was leaving the office late the other night and pulled up alongside a car at a traffic light. On the back bumper of the car there were two bumperstickers proudly displayed. First one said "Go Vegetarian!" (please note the exuberant use of the exclamation point). The second one, directly beneath the first one, said "I ♥ Gorillas". Sadly, there was no repeat on the exclamation point. But the message was clear just the same.

Jersey City is so curious in the rain. I want more of it. I have very mixed emotions about moving to Mountainside come November. It will be nice to have a bigger office, and my own office at that, but I shall miss Jersey City something horrid.

For the record (yet again): Paige Davis was at my office the other week, and quite randomly so. I walked up the front steps and there she was, on the phone, sitting on the step. Her camera crew was in the pet shop next door and she was outside making a call. I had to ask her to move her knee in order for me to open the office door. She looked up, smiled apologetically, and gladly complied with my request.

I walked out 10 minutes later and she was there on the other end of the stoop, camera pointing at her, microphone in hand, doing her thing "Hi! Welcome to this episode of Trading Spaces! I'm Paige Davis!" (the exclamation points! again! argh!) and sadly I was walking out the front door with a huge garbage bag slung over my shoulder.

Apparently, the Pet Shop Boys were trading spaces with their neighbors and the show decided it would be pretty cool to stop by their shop and check out the scene in JC. Keep your eyes peeled for my black trash bag and humiliated demeanor.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's that time again. Back to work. Argh.

PUSHING: buttons, daisies, envelopes, helpless people down elevator shafts, etcetera

As of late, we have depended on mild forms of entertainment in the office. Argh...


****

Moe: If I ever get a boat, I'm going to name it... "Your Mom"

Amanda: (laughing because it's way too late and we've been at the office far too long)

Moe: And then, when people ask me where I'm going I can say: "for a ride... on Your Mom"

****

Moe: Gregory, there is a one dollar bill in my bed with me.

Gregory: That is amazing! Do you think that maybe your body is producing dollar bills as you sleep? If that's the case, I'm definitely on my way over there...

Moe: I'm not sure, but that's the most fantastic thing I've heard in a long, long time.

Gregory: Well, it's a slow road to financial freedom, but at least it's SOMETHING. I mean, take the Sally Struthers approach: for just the cost of a cup of coffee a day...


****

Moe: I swear, if I get ONE MORE infection in this eye...

Amanda: You're going to poke it out?

Moe: No!! I'm going to get a glass eye; one of those fancy deals with the Schundler for Governor Reform logo painted right on it. That way, everytime I go to shake hands with Doug Forrester or John Murphy I can stare them right in the eye with that shit!


****

Amanda: I'm going to put on the hugest gala this state has ever seen. I'm going to have 5,000 people there!!

Moe: what if there's not enough room at the Atri...

Amanda: I don't care! I'll have people outside, in the freezing cold, busting down the doors to get in! Bob Schroeder, and Doug Forrester, and John Murphy, and Diane Allen will all be out there, freezing, trying to peek in. And it WON'T be the cold air blowing off the Hudson that makes their teeth chatter that night!


****

Amanda: Moe, we have all these young, male volunteers coming in and it's all because of you!

Moe: No, no, no... Amanda, don't be ridiculous. Please. Are we being honest? Let's be completely honest...

Amanda: Moe! I am being honest! Think about it: why would all these guys be coming in unless there was a hot girl here to keep them entertained?! Why else would they be hanging around unless they had huge crushes on YOU!

Moe: What?! I look like POO... with orange hair!

****

Amanda: I'll tell you what... I'll go ahead and buy your line. But only as long as the money doesn't go to support your habit of being an ASSHOLE!

****

Christopher: The name Chris just pisses me off. I hate it.

Clarence: My son's name is Chris.

Chelsea: My best-friend's name is Chris.

Moe: My sister's name is Cris.

Clarence: So basically, what we're telling you is that we're about to jump your ass... Jersey style

Moe: Chris, you're not in Kansas anymore...

****

Amanda: Awww... shit on a stick!

Moe: Shit-ka-bob?

****

Moe: You know, for a cop, traffic duty is sort of like prostitution.

Amanda: What the hell are you talking about?!

Moe: Well, I mean, there's just no honor in it, you know? Just no honor.

****

Moe: Hey, Amanda, what's "Hackensack" Indian for again? County Seat of Corrupt Government or something?

the best I can do

Tragically, the best I can do is not all that great (as it turns out). But it's still my best. So brava! Everyone give me (moe, that's me. I'm moe. right here. look at me) a big pat on the back. A high five, if you will. Because my best has arrived.

This is completely uncalled for.

FRIDAY: Absolutely outstanding. My excitement for the Swiss Auto Club show was completely out of control. I'm super proud of the boys to say the least and was more than pleased to be there. Bought the new album and have been rocking it in the car ever since.

The Friday bit in all caps and followed by a colon made it appear as though I was going to continue in like fashion with at least one other day of the week.

haha. i fooled you.

I've sat down to write in the good ol' blog at least six (6!) times this past week and each time was met with so much information, events, words, phrases (a mere extension of 'words'), and emotion that I've found myself overwhelmed and really unsure of WHAT to write. Work has been overly female dogged although somehow pleasurable just the same. There's something about working really hard and getting it accomplished. Granted, I've been working about 14 hours a day this past week (and it will only get worse) but I've been really satisfied with actually getting things accomplished. The family has been great - Cristina and Cheech were in town for two weeks and just left yesterday. He's gotten so big, it's amazing. My dad ran over some woman in a parking lot the other week. That's not the best part of it though. See, the best part is that he ran over her on purpose. Isn't that just fantastic? I realize it's a tad severe, but really, he only did what everyone else was thinking. So it's at least somewhat justified (not like Timberlake and Christina).

PARTNER IN CRIME: I've managed to outdo myself yet again. I've managed to score myself one of the coolest cats on the planet and in him I've found a true confidante, a great partner in crime. He makes me smile at least 8 dozen times a day with crafty machination and random wordplays that are far too clever for me. He tells me long stories that I love and we poke fun of quirky and awkward everyday things as often as possible. Mr. Gregory Andres is soooo coool. Special even (in that very non-rainman sorta way). Stick around... 'cause I like you. I like you just fine.

Post surgery follow-up appointment this Friday. Should be tons o' fun to be poked and prodded yet again. Except this time, in vibrant technicolor! Well, I'll be toting a fancy scmancy blue health insurance membership card around in my back pocket this time around anyway, which is just as good (if not better) than technicolor - vibrant or otherwise.

I realize that I mentioned it in my last blog title, but failed to fully highlight the important role of the york peppermint pattie in my life these days. Please, do not misunderstand me. Do not believe for one second that I have no self control over such trivial indulgences. I really and truly do - it's just that the ypp is so special I don't want it to be gone from my life. No, not in the least. I see no reason to eliminate this tasty comestible from my diet and so I'm keeping it around. Its small, smooth roundness and fresh sensation has imbedded itself in my everyday routine and I just can't shake it. Experience it for yourself and you will be hooked, I'm sure. My mother has recently been found guilty of supporting my nasty habit - she brought me home a Costco size box of the little buggers. 180 miniature ypp's all for me! Good heavens, I hardly know what to do with myself.

On this note, my friends, I bid you farewell. As I said earlier, work has been somewhat of a bitch lately and I must arise early tomorrow morning to walk the dog (this is totally a metaphor, in case you didn't catch on).

Goodnight.

the perfection of the york peppermint pattie

Current Mood: shivery delicious

Full of smite am I right now.
At this very moment.

It's quarter past one in the morning. I have to leave for work at 6 o'clock tomorrow morning. I have to shower now for it will never happen later - er at least, it could happen but would ruin any promise I had of actually leaving for the office on time.

At any rate - all this aside, I am in such a state. The Garden State of Euphoria, if you will (and I will).

I will finish this some other time. I realize that I have been silent for quite awhile, but I will have to remain silent (or at least semi-silent) for a few moments longer. I'm falling asleep on the keyboard and I'm not the biggest fan of getting drool between the keys.

Farewell and goodnight,
moe

If Heaven goes to Betsy, then who gets Hell?

I have been working with such great velocity and ferocity lately that I've had little time to keep up with things like, well, the blog on myspace. Although I love it and hold it so dear to my heart, and although I've had so many good writing thoughts running through my head lately, so many good ideas, I've simply not had a moment to sit down and actually WRITE. It's left me slightly irritable, but still thoughtful as ever as I keep busy saving the world from such atrocities as New Jersey Republican party leaders, emphysema, crazed unicyclists, and the tragic and untimely death of the semicolon. As you can see, my schedule has been quite booked.

Yet, this is just an abbreviated view of my oh-so-busy schedule over the past two weeks. I have also managed to finish painting a wall in my room, make several impulsive ebay purchases, make a groovy new friend who is as big a dork as I, score tickets to a concert, not-so-fruitlessly garner media attention for a band I think is pretty cool, convince myself (not so convincingly) somehow that I can be seemlessly reunited as buddies with a former fling, taught someone the etymology and proper usage of the word machination, picked up my Cheech from the airport, attended three birthday parties in one weekend, told my mother that I love her, discovered that I really really do enjoy the Postal Service quite a great deal, made several other long and meaningless lists... ummm... let's see, what else.... A lot more of a bunch of nothing really.

*** And I shall miss Jersey City...

I won't miss the commute, but I will definitely miss our neighbors: The Pet Shop Boys, Baker Dorks, and Lombardi's (AKA: Death). I will also miss the parking tickets I seem to get on a fairly regular basis. I will miss the construction that they have been doing on the exit ramp off the turnpike for the past year and a half to no great or even somewhat successful end. I will miss the atrocious parking situation at the Jersey City post office. I will miss the potholes the size of volkswagens. I will miss my picture windows (that one is for real).
Schundler for Governor is moving. We are moving from Jersey City to a more central and certainly larger location where we will be able to facilitate a staff of 15-20 plus volunteers instead of our current number: a meager three. The office is moving to beautiful Mountainside, New Jersey - just moments from such great landmarks as Bowcraft, The Colorado Cafe, and (most importantly) the Echo Queen Diner. Apparently this office even has a shower - which is great considering how many nights I'm sure that I'll be spending there over the next year.
One thing I am really excited about is the 20 minutes that will be instantly shaved off my commute. Oh yes, I'm super excited about that. It will also be nice to eliminate the $150 I'm spending every month on tolls, as I will no longer need to use a toll road to get to work.

So, as of November 1st, Schundler for Governor campaign headquarters will be in Mountainside, New Jersey. Come and join the fun!