Facebook’s “25 Things About Me”

Overnight, everyone in the universe posted “25 Things About Me” on their Facebook pages. It’s out of control. I tried to resist the OCD-like temptation of doing the list, but with several hours at a desk at work, I caved in. I wanted to post them here too.

25 THINGS ABOUT ME

1. There are 14 puppets looking at me right now.

2. I named one of the puppets Phyllis.

3. My boss is talking about yoga from behind a cubicle. I keep saying “oh yeah”, “really”, “thats cool”…

4. I am joining the Greenpoint YMCA this Sunday in effort to start one of my New Year’s Resolutions… on February 1st. January is so cliche. I want to look like Brad Pitt in ‘Fight Club’.

5. My neck hurts.

6. I have to poop, but I’m afraid the Afternoon Pee Bandit may have already been in there and I don’t want to wipe up the pee on the toilet seat.

7. I firmly believe that ‘Yo Gabba Gabba’ is the best show on television.

8. I wonder how this exercise is different than just doing status message updates.

9. When my baby brother was brought home from the hospital, I bit him on the arm. My mom asked me, “Why did you do that?” I answered, “Because I wanted to see if he was real”.

10. I’m dying to go to Coachella this year, but I live far away. The Killers AND Amy Winehouse at the same show? I would die.

11. About five years ago, I made a hand written will in one of my journals. I wanted to make sure my Patsy Cline CD and Jake Gyllenhaal magnet collection fell into the right hands.

12. Most of my job experience is in special education, but I sit at a computer all day and answer phones and stare out the window and wish there was something else somewhere else.

13. Twizzlers make me fart.

14. I pooped my pants on the soccer field when I was 10. Even though my dad kept yelling, “GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME, MARX” from the sidelines, I couldn’t help but constantly think of the turd in my shorts. At halftime, I tried to go to the restroom to clean up, but they were locked. Instead, I found a nice, pink house in the nearby cul-de-sac and asked the old lady if I could use her facilities. I left my poopy underwear in her wicker trash can.

15. I was a phone sex operator for three days. It was insane.

16. I’m planning a surprise party for my birthday.

17. I cannot live without Tabasco sauce.

18. The most rewarding experience I’ve ever had was volunteering at Re-Creation Summer Camp for 15 years. It’s a camp for adults with developmental disabilities. The unconditional love from the friends I’ve made there have made me so happy and I hope I have done the same in return.

19. The second most painful experience in my life was when the director of the summer camp tried to fire me for, literally, no reason. If there was a reason, it was mean-spirited and ill-communicated. I’m still trying to figure out the art of forgiveness on that one.

20. I think 25 things is a lot of things. I hate myself for caving in and making this list.

21. I was a candy raver in the deserts of California.

22. I am in love with my beard.

23. I believe in things like “there is good in everyone”, “love at first sight”, and “everything happens for a reason”.

24. Crazy people make me crazy.

25. My blog can always be found at www.marxthespot.wordpress.com

The Other Side of Normal

“My name is Sandra. Don’t call me Sandy. It sounds like candy and I’m not allowed to have candy.”

This week, my morning bus commute has brought a new friend into my life. Her name is Sandra and her work schedule recently changed from afternoon hours to morning hours. She lives a block away from my apartment and we meet at the same bus stop every morning. She wears a lot of pink and has very long salt and pepper hair that is usually wrapped up in a bun or ponytail. Her brown eyes sparkle with a youthful innocence and she flashes a warm smile to everyone who happens to walk past.

On Monday, she walked right up to me and started waving. I had never seen her before, but I was familiar with her instant friendliness. I took my headphones out of my ears to hear what she had to say. She told me the bus was 4 minutes late. I was surprised that anyone bothered to keep a watch on the transit schedule, but Sandra had a printed copy of their online timetable. We chatted about how cold the weather was and that she hoped there would be enough seats on the bus because she hurt her leg at workshop last week. Someone named Curtis told her to rest and that her leg would heal very quickly. As soon as the bus turned the corner, she stopped talking to me and zoomed to the front of the line. Once seated, she started talking to other people. Some ignored her. Others smiled and nodded while she talked. Some shot her dirty looks and scooted in the other direction.

Once Tuesday morning came along, so did Sandra. She was already at the bus stop when I walked up. She was in the middle of talking to an older Latino guy who wasn’t paying much attention to her. The bus came almost immediately and we all piled on, Sandra leading the pack. I didn’t say anything to her on the bus. She was busy looking through pages that had been torn out of magazines and saved in a giant manilla envelope. Once she inspected the contents and put everything in the order she wanted them in, she closed the envelope, kissed it gently, and hugged it close to her chest. As I walked down the aisle to exit the bus, Sandra poked me in the leg with her finger. She laughed and I told her to have a good day. On my way out the door, I heard her yell, “I ALWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY!”

I was running late this morning. I had forgotten that I would most likely see Sandra. I was jamming out to Rihanna, tapping my feet to the beat to stay warm, when Sandra appeared right in front of me. She was carrying two very big jugs of Apple Cider.

“Wow, you must be thirsty!”
“It’s not for me!”
“Who is is for?”
“We are having a Thanksgiving party at my workshop today.”
“But it’s not until next week! Why so early?”
“Because we’re really excited to be thankful!”

You know when The Grinch’s heart gets so big that it doesn’t fit in his little, green chest anymore? I sort of felt like that. A tiny tear formed in my eye, but didn’t go anywhere. The frosty, bitter wind dried it out. Sandra and I kept chatting.

“What are you thankful for?”
“I’m getting an award tonight!”
“What kind of an award?”
“I’m getting a certificate for attendance and for punctuality!”
“That’s great! I don’t think I would be able to get those.”
“Yes you can! You only have to try harder!”

I love Sandra. I hope she is on my bus every day. Forever.

I miss working as a job coach or a camp counselor for people with developmental disabilities. There’s something about my special friends that always made my day. I cherish my experiences with them. I think about them often while I am at my desk answering phones for rich people. The friends that I have made through my life, who work in workshops and are worried about magazine clippings, possess something that those on the other side of “normal” struggle to have – unconditional love.

Who are the normal ones. Who has the disability.

Re-Creation Summer Camp

I didn’t attend Re-Creation Summer Camp this year. Browsing through the internet, I stumbled upon this delightful video that was taken at camp this past June. It makes me really happy to see. I think no matter what I do or where I go, I will always think of camp during this time of year. I love camp!

Black Power

My first summer in NYC, I was hired as an art teacher for a pretty well known summer camp company and placed at a school in an area of Brooklyn called Brownsville. My first day there I found out from some of the other teachers that the guy I was replacing walked out of his class because the kids drove him crazy. OK. I’m ready. I’ve worked with emotionally disturbed teens before. I can deal. Now before I continue, I feel it is imperative to this story to say, that I was the only white man on campus.

My first class involved collage work. I had saved up a bunch of my old magazines and brought them in for one of my favorite art projects. After I was finished explaining the project, I asked if anyone had any questions. One boy politely raised his hand, waited to be called and said ‘We don’t like white people at this camp’. Without hesitation, I replied, ‘Well I really like black people and I am the new art teacher so you’re going to have to get used to me’. A cute, little, pudgy girl named Princess came up to me with her hands on her hips, looked me up and down with burning judgment and asked ‘Is Santa Clause yo daddy?’ My shiny, happy retort this time was, ‘Yes he is and he told me that you aren’t getting anything this year if you are mean to people’. She rolled her eyes and said, ‘Surprise, surprise’ and walked away. Princess indeed.

During one week they were having some sort of very disorganized camp olympics. Kids were dropping from dehydration from sitting out on the asphalt black top that served a variety of uses…..lunch area, snack area, sports, water games, rally meeting place, picnic area, hospital, synagogue….Anyway, my role as Art Teacher was to judge the artistic merit of each team’s banner. Fourth place was the Red Devils. Third was the Green Hornets. Second was the Gold Angels. As I was announcing these winners in front of the entire congregation, it became so funny in my head that I was such the outsider here at this camp. The looks on some of the kids and counselors faces were so pissy. I almost started laughing out loud when I announced the winners….The Black Panthers.

The entire team rose to attention, marched in unision up to me on the stage, and chanted ‘Power…yeahyeah…Black Power’, their powerful voices booming across the school. Standing center stage, I applauded as the team leader excepted their trophy. I shouted ‘Give it up for Black Power’. I had meant to say Black Panthers, but you see how I could get caught up in all the excitement.

After that, the kids kind of liked me. They thought I was funny. I had won them over as much as one gay, white dude could in a month and a half. Some angry kid named Kevin would eat paste, throw chairs, and cuss me out. He was twelve. Everyday was a new adventure in how far he could push me before one of us started crying. He drew me a very angry picture of himself. After he was finished, he happily gave me the picture. I thought it was sweet that he made it for me. Perhaps this was a breakthrough! The picture was of him as a powerful robot shooting a rather large white guy with sonar rays.

Triple Obsession

It has been crazytown stressful trying to read Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. I got the book at midnight this past Friday and over the next two days I had a multitude of people calling, texting and IMing me about where I was in the book. I was always behind them. They were relentless. It’s very hard to speak in code and try not to give anything away. They said I read too slow. I said they read too fast. I tried to explain that I had other things in life to do – like laundry, catch up on my DVR, and continously watch the online live feeds from the Big Brother 8 website.

Buying the 24/7 live internet feeds for this season of Big Brother has been the best 40 bucks I ever spent. You get to watch reality TV unfold before your very eyes in real time! That means you could get an hour long conversation about who can fart the loudest OR you can see a girl fight with her dad, unedited, with so much anger and hostility OR you can watch them sleep OR you can watch my new reality TV boyfriend, Nick, talk about what celebrity guys he would have sex with IF he was gay…not that he is, just IF he was. Here is his adorable confession to his favorite cuddlebuddy in the house…

I have also been obsessed with religious toned hate mail on my blog. A select few of the naughty people at summer camp have discovered my blog and have been reading vigorously. My favorite part of it is when one guy calls me an “ASSHOLE” and in the same breath quotes Bible scipture at me. I have ceased communication with them, since I am soooo over it, but gosh darn, gee whiz, if the whole argument isn’t juicy blog reading! Also, when I started blocking comments, they started sending me hate emails! You just can’t keep religious hypocrites away…isn’t there a spray for that? Like Raid, but for really, really, huge, religious insects and rodents?

…And Scene

So The Catholic Lady didn’t call me because she got food poisoning from some bad salmon. We met. I gave her all my camp knowledge. She treated me to a bowl of shrimp bisque for dinner. I like her alot. She is a terrific lady. I am thinking of turning straight and becoming a devout Catholic so we can get married. The Douchebags (Spank Humphrey and his wifey-poo) received a nice picture frame and a standing ovation. This will be their last year involved with camp. It will be the first year of a new beginning that includes a team of volunteers. The Catholic Lady said “After this year, the words ‘Spank and Larry’ need not be mentioned because they are in the past”. I couldn’t agree more. So, after this entry I will not dwell on their negativity and hypocrisy any more. I just want to say one more thing – I win….and scene.

Camp Crisis Averted

After much stress and anger, The Camp Debacle of 2007 has been resolved. While I cannot go into great details at this time, I can say that I am mostly happy with the outcome. The best is that the whole thing ended up being MY decision on what to do once camp was upon us. I will accompany the CEO to camp for a few visits during the week so that it is clear I am not leaving camp. I actually am working on a very special project to help the longevity of camp using my knoweldge, experience and skills in the field.

This year, instead of serving an active role at camp all week, I will be serving camp in a different capacity off-campus throughout the week. I was officially invited to camp through the CEO of Catholic Charities, but was also given the option to help in a different way during this year at camp to avoid a direct conflict with “Spank Humphrey”. Turns out, “Spank” REALLY doesn’t want me there for his own personal reasons. It’s funny, because no matter how much I dislike “Spank” (and that dislike has now been solidified in hate), I would never tell him that he couldn’t be a part of camp. I wonder what his answer will be to people when they ask him why I am not at camp.

I understand that I am a very vocal person and that rubs people the wrong way. However, when you are in a leadership position, if you can’t take criticism and if you can’t attempt to communicate and make improvements, then you probably shouldn’t be leading. Also, it hurts me to think about how we used to be friends, especially myself and “Spank”’s wifeypoo, and somehow it all has come down to his little tantrum against me.

So, while I have decided to sidestep little Mister Poopypants this year, I know that in the end, myself and Catholic Charities will be working together to help pave the way for a new camp experience. Go figure that Catholic Charities and myself have made such a great pair. The CEO is truly a very respectable and fair woman. A regular Ebony and Ivory, we are!

Camp Bu$ine$$

You know what really sucks? The Catholic Church. You know what sucks harder than that? People who say they are acting in the name of God and their religion and everything but they are really just out for money or vengance. You know what sucks the hardest though? That there isn’t alot you can do about it.

A few entries ago, I briefly posted what is happening between myself and the summer camp I volunteer at every year. Catch Up here if you need to. Anyway, I have not only emailed Terrie, the Executive Director of Catholic Charities, but I have also had a nearly two hour long phone conversation with her. On the phone she guaranteed me that it wasn’t an issue of discrimination for being gay. She also told me that “Spank Humphrey” (who is the current camp director with his wife, Maria Humphrey) doesn’t have any decision making power at camp and that they are essentially ‘lame ducks’ here to govern camp through the upcoming change over to new directors. Terrie also layed out all her visions for the new direction of camp, most of which seemed fantastic. She was a very straight forward and caring individual. One big difference I disagreed with was her intention of ‘graduating’ volunteers from the program. After a certain amount of years, people would be asked to leave, basically ripping the heart of why the campers are even at camp – she would be taking away their friends. I told her of my camp experience and educated her as to the relationship aspect of camp – that the campers come to camp to visit their friends that they have made there year after year. This was a concept she admittedly had not given much thought on. She told me to be patient and let her navigate these upcoming changes. Seems that after our phone call, her email to me saying there was definately no space for me at camp was void, however, she also didn’t say ‘Yes, you are coming to camp’. We said goodbye with the understanding that a decision would come down the road after she had been able to interview some of the new camp director applicants.

That was three weeks ago. During that time, parents of campers and volunteers who are friends of mine have written and called her office. They have all voiced their experience with camp and also the importance of having stability and trust in the program. Oh yeah, and they all say how fucking awesome I am. So, that was step one of ‘Operation Jeff At Camp’.

So a few of my friends have had interviews with her. During one of the interviews, Terrie mentioned how frustrated she is with “Spank Humphrey” (for a multitude of reasons). One being how he has decided to not invite ‘a particular volunteer’ (read = ME) back for staff this year and that she didn’t see why she was having to uphold this decision. She said how she has looked in my volunteer file and can see nothing but positive reviews and evaluations. She wasn’t sure of the reasons for my dismissal is what it seemed. OK, so already it seems that Terrie has been untruthful to me. “Spank” actually IS making this decision! It also seems that she’s starting to think a little deeper into this whole camp issue. Which is good to be educated on a subject before you GO AROUND CHANGING IT!!! I also know part of her thinking is to turn the camp into a money making possibility for Catholic Charities. Good thing we are focused on WHO THE CAMP IS FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE!!! Catholicism is just a business.

Now, I am back to my original reason for being upset. If “Spank Humphrey” has the NERVE to decide to not have me at camp, my anger will explode. He has been a non-communicative, unorganized, and terrible leader over the years. He led a cheer against Servite High School (an all boys school) where he chanted ‘HOMO-SEX-UAL’ over and over. He showed up one evening at camp completely drunk from a wedding reception, but then had no trouble firing another volunteer for the same behavior. He brought a troubled teen to camp who ended up abusing his camper. He played tricks on new counselors by waking them up in the middle of the night, much like a hazing. These are just some of the reasons why my distate in his leadership is so extreme. I have included several of these issues in my own evaluations of camp through the years. I think that, in addition to being homophobic, he just doesn’t like me.

To think, that after my conversation with Terrie, I thought I had jumped to conclusions about “Spank”. I was mad at myself for assuming the worst immediately. I thought it was a lesson in waiting to get the full story before getting angry. Nope. Turns out my instincts were right. Frank is a jerk.

So what do I do? I have a phone conversation scheduled with Terrie tomorrow night. I am going to try to force a decision out of her. I also will ask her point blank if “Spank” is involved in this decision. She mentioned in one of her emails that “IF it is my conclusion that there will be conflict, decisions will be made that focus on the campers and their week with us. That does not determine future decisions ~“. This warns me that “Spank” does indeed still have decision making power. It also tells me after this year (his last) that future decisions regarding my involvement will not be affected. Hmm. If that is true, I see a very clear case of discrimination on his part. The campers and their families want me there. It should be that simple.

Any suggestions?

Catholicism. Wow.

So I received what was very close to a form letter-type of an email from the Executive Director of Catholic Charities, who governs the summer camp I have volunteered at for the last 14 years of my life, telling me, “Thank you for your interest, however due to a restructuring of camp staffing this year, there are no positions available at this time.” I was very unceramoniously dismissed from my volunteerism at a camp for adults with developmental disabilities. A camp that relies heavily on relationships and experience has told me that there isn’t any room for me. Really? The Catholic Church is turning down volunteers? There is too many helpful people?

A few years ago, I was demoted from my position as Assistant Camp Director without any feedback to my performance in the role. I was simply told ‘You don’t represent Catholic Charities in a Catholic sort of way’. Neither does the priest who fucked his altar boys. I tried to let the demotion and those words slide, but it appears that I have to defend my dedication this year and it is really getting me mad.

Many of the returning staff, including myself, have built long lasting and deep relationships with the campers, their families and each other throughout our camp experience. I have been involved with their families for years outside of camp as well. I have decided to reply to the Executive Director via email and explain how involved I am and that I am not just a name on a piece of paper. Then, I will inform some of the families and returning volunteers of this development and see if anyone would like to speak on my behalf about how fucking awesome I am.

Anyway, cross your fingers, because I don’t wanna have to take on the Catholic Church. I would though. I always dreamed of being on the cover of The Advocate, but as John Cougar Mellencamp always said, ‘When I fight authority, authority always wins’.

Black Power

My first summer in NYC I was hired as an art teacher for Oasis Summer Camps and placed at a school in an area of Brooklyn called Brownsville. My first day there I found out from some of the other teachers that the guy I was replacing walked out of his class because the kids drove him crazy. OK. I’m ready. I’ve worked with emotionally disturbed teens before. I can deal. Now before I continue, I feel it is imperitive to this story that aside from the three white ladies that were in charge, I was the only white person there. Specifically, the only white male.

My first class involed collage work. I had brought my own personal stash of magazines since the camp had zero budget. While I was explaining the project, some kid straight up interupted me and said ‘We don’t like white people at this camp’. I replied, ‘Well I really like black people and I am the new art teacher so you’re going to have to get used to me’. I asked if anyone had any questions about the project. A cute little pudgy girl named Princess raised her hand and asked ‘Is Santa Clause yo daddy?’ My retort this time was ‘Yes he is and he told me that you aren’t getting anything this year if you are mean to people’. Her deadpan response was ‘How is that different than last year, Mr. Jeffrey?’ Princess indeed.

During one week they were having some sort of very disorganized camp wide olympics. Kids were dropping from dehydration from sitting out on the very popular asphalt black top that served a variety of uses…..lunch area, snack area, sports, water games, rally meeting place, picnic area, hospital synagogue….Anyway, my role was to judge the artistic merit of each teams banner. Fourth place was the Red Devils. Third was the Green Hornets. Second was the Gold Angels. As I was announcing these winners in front of the entire congregation it became so funny in my head that I was such the outsider here at this camp. The looks on some of the kids and counselors faces was so pissy I almost started laughing out loud when I announced the winners….The Black Panthers. The entire team rose at attention, threw their fists in the air and marched in unision up to me on the stage. They chanted ‘Power…yeahyeah…Black Power’. I applauded as the team leader excepted there trophy from me as I shouted ‘Give it up for Black Power’. I had meant to say Black Panthers, but you see how I could get caught up in all the excitement.

After that the kids kind of liked me. They thought I was funny. I had won them over as much as one gay white dude could in a month and a half. Some angry kid named Kevin would eat paste, throw chairs, and cuss me out. He was twelve. Everyday was a new adventure in how far he could push me before one of us started crying. He drew me a very angry picture of himself that I hang on my wall. I thought it was sweet that he made it for me even though it is clearly a picture of him as a powerful robot shooting a rather large white guy with sonar rays. There is blood coming out of my broken skull. The robot has a smile on his face.

Campety Camp Camp

Every year is always a new experience at ReCreation Summer Camp. I began as a volunteer counselor when I was a junior at Mater Dei High School. This year was my 14th year attending camp. I have had various roles: Two years as a counselor, eight years as a team leader, one year as a camp director, three as part of the drama staff, and a partdige in a pear tree.

This year I spent alot of time living in The Now of camp and really soaking it all in. As a side effect, I feel that I may have been more of a watcher instead of a participant. I enjoyed all the moments that tend to fly by. The arrival of the new counselors when all the team leaders and staff are “surprising” them while they walk up to the Marywood campus. The bewildered and sometimes comical looks on their faces during my yearly Boundary Tour (which I always get told to ‘take seriously’ but I think that breaking everyone in with humor at the front will help people relax and acclimate better to the group mind of camp). The arrival of my friends with disabilities when their parents are dropping them off. The individual cheers that each one gets as they head towards check in. Waterfall at sunset. ‘The Friendship Song’ in all of its disjointed harmonies. The prayer intentions of the people at camp, the sign of peace and The Our Father during Mass (Honestly, those are the only parts of Mass that I attend. I still feel icky during any Catholic gathering after being told “I don’t represent camp in a Catholic sort of way”). Meal times. Hugs. People losing things and having to sing ‘Im a Little Teapot’ in front of the whole camp. High Hopes. The dance. Holding auditions with Jill Brown and having her tell me that the reason she finally let me be a performer in her talent show this year is “because you are a really good friend to me and my mom and we love you. You mean alot to me and I miss you when you live in New York”. Watching everyone who auditions for Jill really give their best and truly committing to the pirate monologue and dance sequence. It means the world to her. Gabe’s pirate monologue. Hot Disneyland. Almost capsizing the boat on Pirates of the Carribean with Theresa Fischbeck and Tim Johnson not letting me forget about it the rest of the week. Getting Kellie Collins on the Matterhorn if it was the last thing we did. Petey Pete’s Paradise Club. Playing Catchphrase with the counselors during free time. Creating the staff song with everyone. Breathing. Being. Living.

I almost was unable to make it out this year. I hit a very rough spot in the job section of NYC. I could barely afford toilet paper let alone a flight out to California and back. Even though I have been seeing progress as far as my artistic goals are concerned, I have yet to see the same progress in the pocketbook. Thankfully through the kindness of friends on MySpace and my mommy I was able to get out here by the skin of my teeth. Thank you all!

Fact of the matter was, I was not emotionally and mentally prepared to miss camp. I have been a part of camp and it has been a part of me for 14 years. I have grown up (and out) at camp. The relationship I have with several of the returning campers is a wonderous recipracle entity that thrives on unconditional love, respect, and laughter that highlights to me what humanity is all about. So many lessons they have taught me. Sharing equals caring. Shine as brightly as you can. Make room for everyone on the bus. Everyone needs hugged at least once a day. You are born the way you are and there is always a beautiful reason behind it. Too many enchiladas make you poop alot.

While I would really love to be at camp every year, at this point my opinion is that the future is just that…the future. In a perfect world, I would guarantee that I will be there. However, The Now must take me there. I cannot plan for it. If it is as intense and crazy as it was the last two months, with trying to get here and at the same time make rent and eat at least one meal a day, then I am probably going to be unable to make it next year. I do feel strongly that even if I don’t make it, several pieces of me will always be at camp. I can’t count how many people I told they should do camp and they have. Many of them are team leaders and staff now. They carry on a long tradition of greatness that was at the camp even long before I arrived. That greatness is something we should carry year round and demonstrate as we live our lives in The Now throughout the year.

All too often we take our lives too seriously and forget just how simple it can be to enjoy everything around us. I try to remember that every day. This is especially true since the car crash I was in earlier this year that flashes before my eyes everyday. Every day I am reminded that I am alive. Even when my temper or ego gets the best of me, I try to take a step back and break that barrier within me. Basically, keep myself in check. Every day should be appriciated. Every moment. That’s The Now that we should be clued into. Hopefully, next year, The Now will lead me back to camp.

Thank you everyone who donates their time to ReCreation. You are truly a family to me and others inside and outside of camp.

Harajuku!

Duck Butter

I have been presented with a charming new phrase.

It’s been really hot recently here in Southern California. Abnormally hot. “It’s a dry heat”. But still it’s totally absurd and the global warming on this planet is to blame (along with all those snooty Christian soccer moms that drive SUVs).

This heat creates a moist and humid atmosphere in many crotches across the world. I have heard the phrase “Swamp Crotch” used several times in the past. OK. Sure.

This past week at camp many of the gentlemen complained that they were producing too much “duck butter”. Especially after walking around in record heat at Disneyland for six hours. Small giggles erupted everytime this phrase was used. I didn’t get it and finally inquired….It is the slipperly dampness that forms between the scrotum and the inner thigh. It produces a personalized odor for each of its manufacturers so that no one’s duck butter tastes or smells exactly the same. Like I said, charming.

Here is an official defination I found somewhere online: The combination of sweat from the ballsack and anus that creates a buttery film on the grundle and butthole. occuring usually from an unwashed scrotum creating a smelly odor that worsens in thickness and odor by the minute. Also known as DB or Deeb.

What do girls call their moistness I wonder? Can anyone appropriately use this phrase in a sentance? I am disgusted and delighted all at once.

California Adventure (Prologue)

Lose a job. Cry. Eat Macaroni and tuna for weeks. Steal toilet paper from restaurants. Get really emotional that Starting Over is being cancelled from network television. Cry. Freak out. Work a sample sale for Jay Strongwater: Jewelry for the Home. Order room service at The W Hotel. $27.00 Cheeseburger. Deal with silly girls with inferiority complexes that we hired from Craigslist. Win the battle over the last Pepsi. Cry. Perform. Perform. Rehearse. Perform. Cry. Breathe. Cancel appointment with Doctor Thomas. Cry. Reschedule appointment with Doctor Thomas. Babysit. Run. Jump. Play. Outsmart. Outwit. Outlast. Survivor: New York City.

The last few weeks have been rough. I truly didn’t think I was going to be able to volunteer this year at ReCreation due to being out of a job and not having money. Somehow, through the generous donations of friends and the sheer power of positive thinking, I will be getting on a plane tomorrow morning at 11:00am to fly to Long Beach, California!

Don’t miss me too much while I am gone. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back!

Smootches!

Poopy McPooperson

When life gives you lemons…make lemonade!!!

That’s such a cheery and witty thing to say when someone is down in the dumps. I believe the intent is to encourage those in the dumps that ‘every cloud has a silver lining’, ‘the sun will come out tomorrow’, and that ‘everything happens for a reason’…BUT WHAT ARE THE REASONS DAMN IT!!! I’m freezing, why isn’t the sun out right now? I am having trouble finding my silver lining.

I have yet to secure a new job or even secure the hopes of a new job. The job market in NYC totally sucks. I have been trying to keep an upbeat attitude and not worrying about it, but attempting to be a beacon of positivity is a tough role. I have been practicing living in The Now and it has been very cleansing and freeing. The Now has been pretty awesome for awhile. The Now is totes lame currently and I am not sure how to deal with it.

I can’t wait until The Now brings me to Re-Creation Summer Camp. Its a camp I have done since my junior year in high school. This will be my 14th year volunteering at a camp for adults with developmental disabilities. I have been planning though email with one of my friends with down syndrome about her talent show plans. We will be holding auditions and having callbacks to cast her show. Its very exciting for both of us. Especially since this year she told me that she wants me to be in the production. Usually I gladly take a quiet backseat, but this year she told me she wants me to be a pirate in the show. I can’t wait.

If you know of any gig$ let me know. I am willing to do anything. Yes, anything.

I am very thirsty. Its hard working making lemonade.