This Post Is Directed At Moreso A Specific Person Than Anything

Dear Randy,

I’ve been receiving a lot of emails lately.

They come from someone named ‘Randy the hairy faced chick’.

The subject line reads ‘I think you know what this is about’.

Randy [the hairy faced chick]? I do not know what any of this is about. Nor do I care to know what any of this is about. Personally, I’d much rather just keep to myself and not even dare opening your email. Because I feel only bad things could come about from something like this.

I’ve never known someone named Randy. Nevertheless a woman named Randy who had a follicle problem all about her face. And so trust me when I say that there is nothing in the world that could possibly be discussed with you, Randy [the hairy faced chick] that I would have even a glimmer of an idea of what you were actually saying.

My advice to you is to stop emailing me and to Nair your face.

All The Best,
John

They’ll Never Eat Anything I Even Touched Ever Again

For Thanksgiving, I was able to spend the day with Carla and her family. Because my mother was going up to Maine, I was able to be with the Lebanese loves of my life.

Sidenote. I’m assuming that, at this point, all of the world has seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Imagine that family. Pictured? Good. Carla’s family makes that one look as boring as a sequel to the movie Crossroads.

As a sort of thank you, my mother made some chocolate chip cookies for me to bring to the dinner, so I wasn’t going into the house empty handed. Carla and I both popped in two cookies each on the ride over, and by the time the plate hit the counter, Carla’s mom and her little sister Stephie had already grabbed one.

As Carla’s mom took a bite into her cookie, she immediately looked at us and said in her impossibly cute accent ‘Did Stephie have one of these?!’

The next thing I know, Stephie is freaking out in the kitchen, her EpiPens are no where to be found, and her lips are starting to swell into two, long pink balloons that clowns use to make animals.

Some of the cookies, apparently, were made with walnuts. Walnuts are to Stephie as…well…poisonous substances are to any normal human being. Within 15 minutes of being at Carla’s house, I had poisoned the youngest child of the house, causing her to drug up on Benadryl, thereby inducing a drug induced drowse effect that followed her for the rest of the day.

Whoopsie stroodles.

In related news, I’m thinking of starting a business. If you’ve got a relative or friend whom you deem to be obnoxious, intolerable, tiresome or in need of some form of abuse, call me. I’ll come over and give them a near death experience for a totally affordable price. Laughs for you. Life lessons for them.

Recap

I’ve a fun Thanksgiving story to share, but I’m just not going to share it right now.

Why?

Because it is 1:33 am, and in 1 hour and 27 minutes, I will be preparing the store to be ransacked by the most horrific, angry, price aware crazies in the greater Boston area.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Black Friday is upon us. Or Green Friday, as the retailers call it. And I’m working 3 am until 2 pm. With no sleep. While running on a Lebanese Thanksgiving and some [...okay, a lot] of Sutter Home wine.

Let the day begin.

In other news, the explosion was caused by a chemical plant, which had somehow caught fire, literally sending fireballs shooting into the sky. The damage is ridiculous, and people claim to have heard and felt the explosion tens of miles away.

One of my friend’s house received extensive damage to all of the back. Windows blown in, ceilings cracked, not to mention all of the things that were rocketed off the walls. My other friends had their door frame literally splintered, the 2nd floor windows implode, and their car [which was being repaired at the nearby gas station] reduced to a shell.

Thankfully, no one was killed or seriously hurt. Unfortunately, the damage done to the area is extensive. Many people aren’t even allowed to leave their houses, because they have to be ready for inspectors to check to see if there is any structural damage to their homes. Others have been forced out of their houses and are living in the local high schools because their houses were either too close to the explosion or have been deemed inhabitable.

Here are some pictures I took from CBS.

A photo taken from across the port.

One of the fireballs that exploded into the air.

A building destroyed by the blast.

Another shot from across the port.

An example of some of the houses that were destroyed. I believe about 30 houses were deemed inhospitable.

The explosion caused impact and structural damage up to a mile away.

The blast rocketed across the port and damaged or destroyed many boats.

An aerial view of some of the damage.

You can read more about the explosion here and watch a local news report here.

If you would like to donate anything to help with the rebuilding of a community or it’s inhabitants, please visit the Red Cross at it’s donation page. You could also use any of these other options, as well. Any assistance would do the victims of this explosion a world of good.

I’m Okay

For those of you who know where I live, you might also know there was a big explosion this morning at about 2:45 am.

I’ll give you all the brief version. About 2 miles from my house, a chemical company burst into flames, causing an explosion that was heard as far away as New Hampshire [33 miles away]. The impact of the explosion caused damage as far away as half a mile.

Some of my good friends live right around the corner from where the explosion occurred. Apparently, the explosion was so incredible, most of the North Shore [meaning north of Boston] was ripped from their sleep. Their door frame was blown into the house, and many items on the walls were pushed off.

As my friend and I walked around the area, we saw windows and window frames completely blown in, garage doors crumpled like paper, glass everywhere, as well as damage to about as many random things as you can think. Emergency response teams came from all over the area, including HazMat vehicles.

The port bakery and pizza factory have been completely leveled by the explosion. Other homes and businesses are all but obliterated. Flames apparently reached over 50 yards in height, as well.

Thankfully, only 10 people were hurt directly from the explosion, and they were considered ‘walking wounded’. As of right now [5:55 am] there have been no deaths or fatal accidents. Which is a complete miracle, because the chemical factory is located next door to a propane storage facility and pump. They were able to shut the gas off quick enough to prevent more explosions. If not, then things could only have been 10 times worse.

But to let you all know, I’m okay, as is my family and friends. I’ll keep you updated.

She Was Ugly, Too

To start this off, I think it’s time I tell you all that it is official.

I’m a filthy retail whore.

That being said, I went out to Express the other night to help a friend out with their floorset. They were low on staff members and needed extra hands to rearrange the store, so after working from 10 am till 5 pm, I rode out to her store to work from 9:30 pm till 4:30 am. I was so tired towards the end of it, I didn’t even want to expend the energy to speak. For those of you who know me, realize how tired I must have been for this to occur.

It was at about this time that one of the Express girls began to pack up to go home because her second job started in a few hours. For me, when I’m really tired, I get low on patience, rarely speak, and when I do it is usually harsh and bitter. For Express girl, she apparently divulges very personal information.

She started telling the story about how her parents have left her to pay for everything herself, forcing her to take up two jobs. Combine that with school, and it was like she had an 80 hour job a week on her hands.

To drive the point home about how heartless her parents were, she told us about the three months where her and her sister had to survive on their own for three months, all alone, because her parents decided to abandon them. Now remember, sleep deprived John doesn’t talk, and when he does, it’s usually scathing. But here, I began to feel my heart melt. I wanted to extend some sort of comforting word or gesture.

Then she finished the story.

“I mean, they like left us all alone at the cape house ALL SUMMER! I mean, who DOES that, you know?! Me and my sister TOTALLY had to fend for ourselves that summer. It sucked.”

All thoughts of a sorrowful word or a comforting hug were squashed under the enormous weight of the massive trust fund this girl undoubtedly has.

I vented.

“Wait. WHAT?! It was a CAPE HOUSE?! The way you were speaking, I figured your parents up and left you in a dirty apartment in the slums of Boston, not in a CAPE house on a fucking BEACH!”

She later said that she has two jobs because her parents said they wouldn’t fund her second, upcoming beauty pageant. Which would cost them upwards of $3,000. Sure, her parents are totally okay with abandoning her and her sister letting her and her sister stay at the beach house. But they gotta draw the line somewhere. And that somewhere is apparently a contest that judges their baby on pure looks and a half assed wish at world peace. Gotta pinch those pennies.

I don’t blame them, either. Because after I heard all this, I told her I didn’t even have the quarter she needed to buy herself water form the vending machine, even though I totally did.

Cape house my ass.

Football Fever

A week or so ago, I was over at Rob’s apartment after work. We were having a bite to eat and watching the big game. And when I say “we”, I mean Rob, because I was too busy staring at the bubble in my pizza that bore a slight resemblance to Nicole Kidman in The Hours. And when I say “the big game”, you should take that to mean the football game between the Whosies and the Whasitcalleds.

Obviously, I’m not a big football person. I understand football in the way I understand my digestive system. It’s made up of many parts. A lot of things go into it. There’s some churning and rumbling. And then at the end, some shit happens. It’s a very rudimentary knowledge.

My attention to the game, however little I was giving it, began to falter as time went on. Not because of the game itself, but rather how Rob reacted to it. Sometimes he would be jumping up and down, cheering and shouting. Other times he’d be swearing and saying how much the team he likes “fuckin’ sucks”. Actually, the entire time the game was on was actually one long, loud swear word punctuated with moments of silence. And I feel it was only because he needed to breath every so often that they even occurred.

The entire 6 hours [or however long the big game was...I'm sure it wasn't days, because I didn't miss any work, but I could have sworn the sun had set and risen at least once] I watched Rob go through what had to be one of the most emotional times in his life. Normally I would try to ocmfort a friend during such a tumultuous time in their life. But that was impossible due to the flying fists, kicking legs and high pitched obscenities. We’re talking self preservation here, people. I bruise like a summer fruit.

At the end of the game, the Whosies ended up losing to the Whasitcalleds. Or something like that. In all honesty, the way both teams looked at the end of the game, you couldn’t tell who had won and who got repeatedly run over by a fleet of SUVs. In any case, I had a blast, if for nothing than watching a normally collected person lose their shit over a bunch of grown men in tights jump on one another just so they can hold irregularly shaped balls.

This weekend, I’ve been invited to a football party, because there is a game that is supposed to be one of the biggest games of the year. Michigan vs. Ohio State*. I’m EXTREMELY excited to see how this one turns out. As in, I’m excited for the variety of snacks and possibility of beer.

*The ONLY reason I remember this because Bridget is from Ohio, and I tend to remember things regarding that state when they come across my path. Because, and let’s be real here, it’s a boring state, so if anything remotely noteworthy happens, you’ve gotta be surprised.

Yet Another Time I Embarrass Myself In Front Of The Internet

For my birthday over the summer, Vanessa made me this really cool notebook. She cut out all the pieces herself from different papers, like her old English book and a box of Cheerios. So I always carry it around and jot down ideas, posting possibilities and other fun things. Like lists.

I’ve really enjoyed writing lists, recently. It was during a brainstorm for a list idea that I realized something that I’ve always tried to bury deep down in my soul and deny to any and everyone.

I’m a crier.

I cry at a lot of different things, most of which are totally uncalled for and would make others either feel uncomfortable being around me or comfortable enough to taunt me. Neither option turns into a good scenario for me.

So for a week, I wrote down everything that made me cry. And here they are.

Things That Brought Tears To My Eyes

• The episode of M*A*S*H where BJ arranges a reunion party for all the family members back home so that the families could meet each other and share stories of their loved ones at war.
• A sneeze building up in my nose that refused to come out.
• Staring into a light to get the sneeze out. It works, sometimes. Try it.
• The episode of The Nanny where Grace or Maggie [I forget which one] tells Fran that she’s like their mother, and even thought they love and miss their real mother very much, they still love Fran, too.
• Snapping open a bag for a customer that ended up hitting me on the side of the nose, right near the eye, that resulted in a bit of bloodshed.
• Moulin Rouge. Multiple parts, really, but mostly when Ewan and Nicole reunite, then again when she dies.
• Yawning on the drive home from Boston with Carla, Amanda and Jason.
• Watching the movie RENT.
• Thinking about the musical RENT because I just saw the movie.
• Yawning in Carla’s kitchen while talking to Kristen and Carla.
• Powerful episodes of Roseanne.
• More sneezing/needing to sneeze/looking into bright lights in order to sneeze.

While many of these tears were shed in a Nyquil induced delirium or by the over zealous nature in which I pop bags*, most of them came about because of my ability to became so attached to characters in movies and 30 minute sitcoms that it can only be deemed unbelievingly unhealthy.

I’m not sure why, but my attachment to these characters is intense. And it doesn’t even have to be towards characters I like. Or even watch, for that matter. For example, I only watched the first episode of Dawson’s Creek. Yet when it ended, and I found out Michelle died, I may or may not have wept like baby. YET I DON’T KNOW THESE PEOPLE.

I am aware that the obvious answer to this problem would be to just stop watching TV. What you don’t realize is that I’d sooner shove toothpicks under my fingernails and go swimming in a pool of gin than give up the precious TV.

Hooray for the late 20th century upbringing!

*I don’t know if anyone reading this has worked retail, but popping bags is about the only thing that keeps me going back to the store. That, and when the receipt paper is about to run out, and I get to take it out and snap it like a whip, making the plastic cylinder inside go flying across the store. It’s fucking sweet.

I’d Have Voted Guilty Either Which Way

A few weeks ago, I was called upon to serve my civic duty. Whenever I had received the letter in the past, I had always phoned in, saying ‘Sorry! I’m in college!’, then proceeded to my next house party. Short of proclaiming a whole list of made up biases, there was no way for me to escape this particular jury duty.

Like all things proper, grown up and responsible, my jury duty assignment began at the ungodly hour of 8 am. To me, the only things that should happen that early are sunrises, news shows and walks to the bathroom for a half-awake piss. You’ve one guess as to which one I participate in.

On the way to the court house, I stopped by Dunkin’ Donuts to grab a coffee just so I could have at least one eye completely open during the proceedings. I had just taken my first sip as I was walking up the court steps when I saw the sign outside…

NO FOOD, DRINK OR CELL PHONES ALLOWED

It makes me feel safe knowing that the judicial system, with all it’s checks and balances, fair and just hearings and democratic modus operandi, starts it’s day off while I’m usually standing over a toilet. And under-caffeinated.

After chugging down as much hot coffee as I could, I was seated with about 100 other potential jurors, where we were soon sorted into two groups; regular jurors and Supreme Court jurors. Or, as I call them, the smart people and the illiterate dumb asses [respectively]. From the moment the court officer said ‘Jurors, read your letters to make sure you are supposed to be here, and not across the street where the Supreme Court jurors are meeting!’, the instructions were constantly interrupted by people who had just come to the glorious revelation that they were, indeed, OH! Supreme Court jurors!

This made me feel a lot better about those who will perhaps one day judge me under the guise of my peers.

After the division was final, my group was sent to wait further instructions on court cases. Across the street. In the church basement. Which just SCREAMS separation of church and state.

It was here, in the basement of Christ slash government waiting room of equitable justice, that I experienced the most gaseous event of my life to date. I don’t know what it was I had ate, but while I was surrounded by all those other potential jurors, I let loose a series of the deepest, most resonating foofs I’ve ever released in cultural memory. They didn’t smell at all, thank God*, but they sounded like a bull moose during mating season.

The reason why my flatulence was such an embarrassment was solely because of the situation I found myself surrounded by. In responding to my call of jury duty, I inadvertently stumbled upon what may be the most awkward social gathering of sad, pathetic people I’ve ever seen. Everyone there seemed to know one another. Sitting at what is probably the bingo table on the weekends, I watched people walk around the room and talk with one another, saying things like ‘I haven’t seen you since that last case…’ and ‘How long you think we’ll be here this time?!’ It was as bizarre as being at a meet and greet at the free health clinic.

After 6 hours of waiting and 4 near death experiences via a torn anus, the Judge himself made an appearance to tell us that, because all the cases had settled outside of court, our services weren’t needed. Not that I wanted to sit on the panel in the first place, but having the option to send someone to jail would have been a nice enough way to put an end to the day.

A little consideration is all I ask for.

*Also, big thanks to the Lord Almighty for the wonderful bathroom facilities.

Oh Hey, Internet!

I feel like maybe I’ve gone over this situation more than once with all of you, yet here I find myself, explaining away once again.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been in a kind of limbo. Either I’ve been extremely busy being busy, or extremely busy being anything but. In either scenario, I’ve found myself all the sudden saying “It’s WHAT TIME?!”, “I haven’t blogged in HOW LONG?!” or “Where ARE my pants and underwear?!” I’m usually asking myself that last one more often than not, recently, because my friend Kristen has about 3 loads of my laundry sitting in her room, and I’m left with nothing but tightie-whities, carpenter jeans from 98′ and various garments that are embroidered with the words B.U.M. Equipment.

I look snazzy.

To be very honest, I’m not totally comfortable with my situation in my life right now. I’ve been living at home for the longest time ever since before college, and that stress itself is enough to break a back. Add that to the fact that it takes an absurd amount of money to apply for jobs, and you’re left with a very broke John.

So the plan of action, as I see it, is this. Pay off my bills that need some expedient payment [student loans not included...apparently, loan officers are understanding of a recent grad student's lack of a green support system]. Stash some money in a savings account. Save up. Move out.

I had finished talking with my twin [fraternity wise], who had recently settled herself in New York City via a plan that I myself plan to adopt and put into action. She was hired to her job through a temp service that specializes in her field, and until she gets the money to get on her feet, she’s living with her sister.

Unless any of you wish to board a plucky, high spirited youth on the path to greatness on your couch for a month or so, I hope to be finding a job down in NYC after I have a substantial ‘green support system’. I can only hope that it will be easier once down there [finding a job], rather than having to board a train and risk indescribable humiliation and the possibility of a fracture.

Oh. And Happy Halloween. There’s some old school entries for you.