misREPRESENT in da Hood

Okay, so I am putting a disclaimer on this blog that I in no way under any circumstance endorse the imagery and/or symbolism of this picture. I am merely stating a visual fact of something that I saw today that was eerily odd.

So as some of you know, I am a counselor at a treatment facility. I teach kids skills. Not nunchuck skills, though I often wish I knew how, or computer hacking skills. I'm more a teacher of coping skills and anger management type things. Stop laughing, I already get the irony. Those who can't do blah blah blah.

I came into work today and it was business as usual. Some kids screaming, others begging to talk to me to escape the insanity, some wishing kind birthday greetings, etc. I love working with teenagers because it's never boring and I feel like I'm 15 on a good day.

Well, I saw one of my friends/coworker - T in da Hood's arms today. She was in restraint with a non complacent client last week who was trying to go on run (don't worry, we don't hurt the kids, they just hurt us) and she inevitably got punched in the arm. Nothing new. But the bruise tells a different story.

Now I'm not one of those "I saw Jesus in my toast this morning" folks, but that bruise looks an awful lot like a swastika to me.


Now I have seen bite mark scars, cuts, and a finger that was reattached from accidentally getting cut off in the magnetic door when placing a kid in a control room (for threatening a peer or staff with a weapon mind you); but my friend kinda looks like she was hit by Hitler himself. That is just messed up. Obviously unintentional on the client's end of things. I'm sure if this particular child had any say in the matter, this child would have tried to represent Gucci Mane's double G's.


Personally, I am against tagging people via the punch. I much prefer pretty ink done by real artist who aim to represent peaceful things like T in da Hood's actual tattoo placed right above this not-so-pleasant bruise.

On the Eve of Twenty Eight

So twenty-eight years old. It's heading around the bend. Just like the car with the two little old ladies yesterday driving down a one lane highway the wrong way with cement highway dividers hugging the tiny lane who almost hit me head on. I survived. I have had this weird thing about 27. Now I am no musician, so I'm not part of the 27 club or anything; maybe it's that stupid Katherine Heigl single forever movie revolving around those 27 dresses. Hmmmm. 28 should be better though.

Then reality set in. I went to Chili's the other night with some co-workers and saw something equally amusing and horrifying.



This may very well be as good as it gets. Obviously a man of many interests, I find the dichotomy of the Southern pride married to the misogynistic images of the Playboy Bunny, Slutty Girl Pinups, and the big ole' 69 charming. But I digress. I sit here in my swivel chair and pause. Although covered up for the sake of his privacy (which he doesn't exactly have on his own accord), I notice that he is willing to put himself out there, name, number, address and all. Maybe I should do the same. 28 isn't exactly young, nor is it old. Maybe this Prince Charming has a sticker fetish. Maybe he doesn't realize that he lives in a previous Union state and that the Union won. I mean, Illinois spawned Lincoln and a black President. Hmmmm. Maybe he believes that stars and bars represents to him falling out of a chair and hitting his head dizzy-style while at his local tavern. Maybe he believes that Stars and Bars is the name of a Paris Hilton's memoirs from prison. Belch. If he can crack open a can of PBR and settle into this crazy ride, then so can I. This is the year. 28. Good old 28.

Thank you Linus for paving the path.....

So I get told all the time that my "security blanket," which is not in fact a blanket at all, is in fact a small pink pillow named Pelle (pronounced Pell E). They all say it's ridiculous and I am too old. Well, as it happens, Pelle has provided me with much comfort and amusement to me, my family, and my friends throughout the years. And all you haters out there have your thing. Countless teddies, Frankie's, ba's, doggies, bunnies, ribbon wubbies, and the silky edges of blankets. You know who you are!

Pelle is an anomaly all his own. I would compare him to George Foreman's children, in the sense that this one right here is actually Pelle the 13th or something like that. He began as a blue pillow in my crib and evolved from my mom's nightgown that was made of a silky man-made fabric that reeked on middle class America. She ran out of blue somewhere around 6th grade and then he became pink. Through the years he has been fat, skinny, with fluff, without fluff, turned into a Travel Pelle for big adventures like going to Europe or anywhere where some mean person would lose my luggage. He now travels in my carry-on purse at all times. Nobody's taking my Pelle.

The fact of the matter is, he has been swiped before. My sister once stuck him in the freezer and she has repeatedly taken him when I wasn't looking and put it down her shirt, fully knowing I wasn't going down that road. I would scream and complain until my mom yelled at us. This was last week.

I have two dogs, Ellie (a beagle mix) and Tinkie (a Shetland sheepdog). Both of them are often on the prowl, Snoopy-style, trying to steal my Pelle. Envy is their sin. Sometimes I'll shove him under their little head's while they nap, but most of the time he's mine, mine, MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






So I thank you Linus van Pelt, for paving the way for me to be open in confronting my needs for a security blanket and countless hours of amusement for the people in my life. He will be with me someday, under my head, in my final resting place. The man I marry will just have to understand that I am weird and that Pelle is part of the deal, just like Ellie Moosebutt. No Pelle, no dice.

If you are in Greece and you say "it's Greek to me," the locals reply, "Δεν βρέθηκαν λέξεις," which means f*cking moron

So I went to meet up with my friend S and K at the "My Big Fat Greek Festival" tonight. I love Greek food, the funny costumes, the kick dancing and yelling OPA at the top of your lungs after you have no doubtedly hit the bottle of wine. What I didn't know what that S's lil' sister, let's call her LaLa, would be in town for festivities. LaLa is shiz-nittle-bam-snip-snap-sack. When we saw some kids getting their faces painted, I suggested she get hers done, her response was

"HELL YEAH!" So I painted this seahorse on her face.

I immediately decide that I should quit my job and become a carny who paints children's faces and sings theme songs at the top of my lungs, like from Full House and stupid shitty shows like that. "When you're drunk out there and feel all alone, your sober roommate will carry you home. Beer is....Everywhere you look. (Chipa-Dee-Ba-Ba-Dow)" Thank you Uncle Jesse.


Okay, so the night progresses and we end up going to downtown Rock Island to Steve's Old Time Tap for a beer and some chat. I forgot about LaLa out and about and downtown. Not ten minutes into sitting down, we are having a really super deep conversation about Beyonce's fake ass. Butt pads. Foamy butt pads. Hemorrhoid pillows to enhance her curves. Jay-Z's all snuggling up to her butt at night, thinking it's his pillow, and then she farts, and then he realizes pillows don't fart and he's all like "Damn girl. Why you gotta' be eatin' that shit that makes you all (insert fart noise from Jay-Z sticking his tongue out and vibrating it between his lips).

Direct quotation shouted out from LaLa to random people passing by on the sidewalk:


"Beyonce wears ass pads! My friend saw her live in NY and they were sticking out of her leotard...Everyone thinks her ass is real, but it's a damn sham!"

Visual aide:


Well naughty girl, this one's for you. www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3wtt8yRxYU

Doing Laundry at Mom and Dad's

There are many ways to make laundry more enjoyable. You could have conversations with other people, listen to music, secretly videotape your sister, your mother, and yourself in a little bit I call......

"Put the laundry in the basket."

Memory Lane

Warning: What you are about to read is something that occurred once in my teenage years and again post college. I do not want to endorse such an act, however, if you so choose to.....don't say I led you down this hilarious path of destruction.

1999 was the year. I was hanging out with my friends from school and some other boys from Moline High School. They were, shall we say, a bunch of professional assholes whose soul goal in life was to terrorize whomever came into their path with their special brand of humor. So a large group of us is sitting in the basement of a guy's house and someone drops the unholiest of ideas. The Poo Dollar. What do you ask is a poo dollar: It is a dollar bill which someone has smeared poop on one side and left the other clean so that the poopy side can be placed down on the sidewalk for an unsuspecting, greedy stranger to pick up and be horrified.

FYI....the below story is the shit.


Flash into the future. So while living in St. Louis, me, J#2, and J#3 are sitting around the living room sharing stories and good times when I unleash this little gem of a story. Immediately J#3 says "We have to do it!" J#2 is hesitant and says "No." J#3 is persistent and can bring something up until you want to do it just to get her to stop asking. Me, J#1 in this case, decides it must be done for sociological purposes. So the dollar is volunteered, prepared, and placed in a plastic baggy.



First outing: We attempt a Schnuck's parking lot in South County, only to find that people here are not that greedy. Not even by the cart corral. Hmmm. We try Home Depot. Apparently these people are already knee deep in manure and too focused on that to care about our lonely poo dollar.

Transportation and thoughts. Where to go. In a last stitch effort, we decide that certainly someone at the Walgreen's down the street from our apartment on Lindell would be the place for a pickup. Hot damn, we were right about that.

First guy pull up and parks in the handicapped space, not handicapped mind you, sees the poo dollar and reaches for it. He starts walking into the store and realizes that somethings wrong. What could it be? He goes into the store after dropping it smelling his hand and making a stink face. When he comes back out he says something to the poo dollar, as if it had any choice in the matter.

Next contender, also male, drives up to spot near entrance. Poo dollar has been placed poo down to conceal. He goes for it and picks it up to fling it in his car. He has this look of "I just scored a free dollar. Hells Yeah!" Then his face turns. The man realizes that there is something smelly going on. A face of disgust. He reaches into his car and throws it back on the ground and starts to stomp on it, as if to punish it. Meanwhile, back at the post in the car, we three are dying laughing. I mean, tears, difficulty breathing, and us trying to hide and look inconspicuous so as to not get caught.

Okay. So the last "taking" is the whole enchilada. A garbage truck pull into Walgreen's. A large man, kinda dirty, presumably smelly, jumps out and walks towards the entrance. He parks behind us. The man sees the dollar and jackpot, he picks it up. He too has that look of esctasy that can only come from two things, and this one is free money. (This is where things get tricky because we can no longer control our laughter at this point and I'm about to pee my pants.) The man realizes that he has been poo dollared and he looks pissed, and then he looks around the parking lot, see us, and starts walking to his truck. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. J#2 puts the car in gear and jets out. The guy is chasing us in his garbage truck. We are screaming and laughing and in tears at this point. J#2 is weaving in and out through the one ways in our neighborhood trying to lose him. J#3 looks like she is going to pass out from laughing and from excitement. We make it home safely finally, no garbage truck man in sight. Possibly one of the most, if not most, funniest things I have ever been a part of.

Visual aide: www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyqWq67kIBY

Seriously, I don't care who you are, if you judge. If you would have been there, you would have needed your inhaler. Cheers!

I Hope They Serve Beer With T Max

I recently read this fantastic little book called I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. I happened upon this book in a sea of Oprah recommendations when I was in the Denver airport at the very last terminal with only one tiny book outlet. I like beer and I am a jackass, so I thought this would be a riot. It was. It was an inappropriate riot, but a good read while waiting to fly away back to Moline, Il.

Well, I found out later that this book was being developed into a movie (see video at right to get an idea of what I am talking about) and that this guy, Tucker Max, was the biggest asshole in the universe. This was confirmed by a friend who had actually met him. I admired his putting his assholeyness out there like that, but I still couldn't shake how offended that I was probably either a One Star (aka common stock pig) or a Two Star (aka respectable pig) on the Tucker Max Female Rating System.

So I did what any respectable pig would do in this situation.

"I do wish I could blog longer, but..... I'm having an old friend for dinner."

Rub-a-dub-dub, I'm in the recession tub

Remember as a kid when they told you to save water. You know, like the whales were going to end up in a desolate, dried-up ocean if you ran the faucet too long while brushing your teeth. Well today I was thinking about those whales, the ones I killed as a kid because I needed to play in the sprinkler system, wagging my tongue in the water as to signify my liquid wealth. Ah summer.


Well, I decided that this extravagance has to stop. It's a recession dammit. I mean, seriously, they took a whole slice of cheese off of the Dollar Menu double cheeseburger and now it's the "McDouble"; sounds like McBullshit to me.


Back to the water situation. So we use something like 42 gallons for one shower. Then it got me thinking. I have this big mass of water in my backyard. Sure, it's usually used for swimming, but tomato/tamato. I'm going to save those whales dammit and wash my hair just like Aphrodite in my very own recession tub. Now my hairdresser would probably advice me against this (as she just dyed my hair), but it's for the whales and like hermit crabs or whatever.

you're not in the right VERNacular

On this holiday weekend, I thought I would drop off little bits of Vern's wisdom for you to pick up Hansel-Gretel style.


one of the advice relics from the basement

From the man cloaked in the blue robe.........


"You're not in the right vernacular." ~ spoken possibly just to hear his own name, and also to indicate that the conversational language has gotten too fancy at the dinner table. words struck from conversation include rhetorical, serotonin, and turgid.

"Ma, this is enough food to feed an army." ~ could indicate one tablespoon of mash potatoes or an entire plate of spaghetti. same verbal measurement anytime. also confusing because he is speaking to his wife.

"You have a champagne appetite and a beer pocketbook." ~ financial advice. could indicate daughters have spent money on a value meal at McDonald's or a bought a $300 purse. doesn't matter.

"Lights on, nobody's home." ~ euphemism for stupid. always used in context for cousin Normy, who I have been taught from early childhood to avoid in public. earliest memory includes running out of a Walgreen's in the mall during Christmas time, leaving our purchases to avoid awkward conversation about chickens or toupees.

"Elevator doesn't go all the way to the top." ~ see above

"Are you eating again?" ~ spoken during any meal. could be first meal of the day or last. same response.

"You can't beat kids. You can, but it doesn't do any good." ~ anti-child abuse advice

"It's colder than a well digger's ass." ~ measurement of temperature during winter months

"Wherever you go, there you are." ~ advice on geography

"Of all the places I've been, this sure is one of them." ~ additional advice on geography

"You can't push a noodle, especially if it's damp. You have to lead it." I have no idea what this is all about.

guess what's is still in my head after all these years

click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfDwMKRm2A0

pizza pizza


(saxaphone in background) dododododoodlado


pizza pizza


(saxaphone in background) dododododoodlado


pizza pizza

pizza pizza

pizza pizza
best song ever................have a good Friday. Wait, it's not 10 Commandments time. Sorry Charleton "Moses." Have a kick ass Friday home skillets.