Category Archives: Uncategorized

July 27, 2008 · 9:34 pm

To the Man/Boy at the MickyD’s on I-95…

it is so not OK for you to being wearing your pants that low!

Look pal, first off, you are way to old for this (mid 20’s at least).

Second, you are white. This is not your look, you are trying to emulate and it doesn’t work for you.

And lastly, you honestly walked like you had a huge load in your pants. I can’t believe that is either a) comfortable, or b) good for your back.

Now, I have an almost 16-year-old son, and I am not ignorant to the low-riding style. I get it. It is a fashion thing and that is fine. I am not saying you should wear your pants up high on your waist.

But let’s face it, dude, when your belt is tightened BELOW your ass there is no way those pants are staying up without that crap-in-the-pants waddle.

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July 26, 2008 · 8:15 pm

Highway to Hell

This photo best illustrates the way it feels to be driving on I-95 on a Friday afternoon in the summer. Not a great idea to leave the NY area at 3:00.

One must do things to amuse oneself when driving in this kind of traffic. Good music is a must. And of course carrying a camera.

This skull was on the back of an 18-wheeler cab. I particularly love his teeth. I asked Gary to slow down – from 10mph to 5! – in order to get this shot.

The trucker looked rather proud as we passed.

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July 25, 2008 · 2:20 pm

To the Man Driving the Red Convertible on Main Street…

… it is so not ok for you to be picking your nose in that car! (where the hell was my camera?)

What was he thinking? There he was, out in the open, this hot car and he has his finger jammed up his friggin nose to the first knuckle.

And he is digging!

I mean…really!

Here is what I think; when you buy a convertible, part of the paperwork should be a list of what is really not acceptable behavior with the top down. And on the top of that list would surely be PICKING YOUR NOSE.

FYI, we have a convertible. And honestly, you get alot of attention when you drive one. You can be marginally ok looking and people will turn to look at you. I believe the convertible makes you at least 40% hotter than you really are. And face it, it is a drive by. Imperfections don’t show.

Hey, a new line, “F the botox, drive a convertible”.

Have a great weekend all. Off on another road trip…

in the convertible

Note to self, “tell Gary not to pick his nose.”

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July 24, 2008 · 8:44 pm

The Ring, John Mellencamp and the Back Seat of My Car

Good title, right? I am sure I will get lots of hits from old rock ‘n rollers on this one (sorry in advance to disappoint).

This story is the perfect illustration of my style of living that my parents like to call, ‘Doing it the Amy Way’. It is very Lucy and Ethel and many of these things are so ridiculous that they seem made up.

I assure you, sadly they are not. Here is a little shadenfruede to make you all feel grateful that neither you (nor your spouse) has done anything this lame.

A couple of weeks ago we had the good fortune of getting VIP seats to John Mellencamp at Jones Beach Theatre (thank you Frankie P). For those who do not know it, this is another Long Island gem. (who would have ever thought I would sing such praises for Long Island). We had a great night with dear friends.

Here is where the action starts. I was in the back seat (with Riki, not John Mellencamp) on the drive home and I had an itch under one of my rings. When I went to scratch, the friggin thing popped off my finger and was nowhere to be found. We looked everywhere.

Suddenly, I look down to the seatbelt clasp and noticed there is a little space around it. I was convinced that was where the ring went. I stuck my fingers down there, when we got home I even used a shish kabob skewer to hunt for it. Out came the flashlights and that damn ring was nowhere. Gary thought I was crazy. (I wish I could say this is the first time I have done this, but once before I had my friend and her very fancy upper east side sister-in-law ransacking the garbage after a bbq to find another ring. We found that one)

After much grumbling from Gary, I convinced him that the car had to go to the dealer to have the seat removed. That was after a short consideration by Riki and I to try to remove the seat ourselves. We figured two jewish girls could cause alot more damage to the seat than it would cost to have the dealer do it.

Here is a scan of the dealer’s receipt. This is just way too funny (and yes it cost me $236!!).

I am happy to say, I am now wearing the ring again and smile whenever I look down at the keyboard and see it sparkling.

Hey, come to think of it, for $236 they could have at least cleaned it!

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July 23, 2008 · 10:08 pm

So you wanna be a rock ‘n roll star…

My husband came home from work yesterday with an envelope that his father gave him. Inside were original copies of his birth announcement, his bar mitzvah invitation and this business card from his teenage band. (guess which one was most precious to him).

For those who are not locals and don’t get the pun, Long Island is bordered on the north by a body of water called, you guessed it, the Long Island Sound. (how clever). Why would a teenage band have biz cards, you ask. Well, if your father was a printer, you had biz cards. And that made you very cool!

Note the exchange in the phone numbers with the letters in them. If the font and colors did not date this sucker, that surely does!

Gary was the drummer (everyone always loves the drummer). He can’t seem to remember exactly who Eddie, Jay and Paul were, so if any of you happen to know these guys, give us a shout.

This got me to thinking that my saving of ‘stuff’ – a trait I inherited from my mom – is a good thing. There is nothing more enchanting than when a joyful piece of your past is dropped in your lap. A little part of your childhood that was long buried is brought back, bringing with it a flood of precious memories.

Ok, so I am a bit nostalgic today. That is not a bad thing.

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July 22, 2008 · 4:54 pm

Do Not Flush Tampons… EVER

This one is pretty clear. It is the ‘EVER’ that really scares me into never even thinking of flushing a tampon. Funny, but I don’t even use them anymore (sans uterus) but I still feel guilty about all the ones I flushed in those very toilets 30 years ago.

As I have proven before, nothing funnier than a tampons post (unless maybe you count a flying penis).

This is an actual sign from the bathroom at my daughter’s camp, although I must admit that I took this shot a few years ago and found it in the camp archives. No matter, the message is timeless.

Imagine running a girl’s camp in the mountains. Now imagine being the plumber for the person that runs the girl’s camp in the mountains. It is safe to say this guy spends 80% of his time, not trout fishing in the lake, but tampon fishing in the toilets. I am thinking he probably must be mighty cranky about spending his summer this way. How considerate of these girls to try to end his plight.

Another great thing about this shot that is lost at this size and resolution is the graffiti. For decades we have been told not to write on these walls, but we cannot help ourselves. (the arts and crafts shack has my name all over the place). You can’t see it clearly but to the right of the sign it reads:

“jayme penis (hearts) ryan petafile insest’.

OOOOOK then. Spelling issues aside, are we not just a little bit worried about Jayme and Ryan here?

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July 21, 2008 · 10:45 pm

Hookers on the Highway


I have always been prone to obsessively photograph things. My son accused me of being ‘snap happy’ this weekend. (what? photographing three string mops against the wall outside the camp dining room is odd to you? You will eat those words when that shot appears here and you love it).

I need to always carry a camera with me because when I don’t, I am disappointed. I think, “What a great shot! Why didn’t I carry a camera?” (or as a producer friend used to say, “Amy, that is not a shot, that is real life”).

My poor husband. We have been on the road every weekend this summer and I am always shouting, “Wait! Stop, I have to get that shot”. That is almost as annoying as the fact that my bladder has a 2 hour shelf-life in the car. All that aside, I really am alot of fun on a road trip.

Back to the photo above. What the hell is this area used for? (Please feel free to speculate in the comments section) “Will everyone riding in the car with a woman they are paying to have sex with please check in at the Escort Area“.

Could this have been a final piece of Spitzer legislation? Ok, cheap shot but it was a great wrap up for this ridiculous post.

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July 21, 2008 · 12:22 am

Busting Chops


(I’m back – for those of you who might have missed me) Just returned from 4 days in the Adirondacks visiting the kids at camp. No cell service/no internet! More on that at a later date. 

Throughout history there have been revivals of a ridiculous sideburn fashion called ‘mutton chops’ for the obvious reason that the guy looked – well, pretty much like he had a little lamb hanging off his face.

For some reason – probably just because they can (or in some cases, kinda can) – 16-year-old boys at my son’s camp try out the growing of facial hair. Danny embraced this custom with a little more enthusiasm than his genetics would allow. (see above) He made a valiant effort at a goatee as well. Seemed there was simply more space than hair for the poor guy.

That said, on first seeing my daughter and asking how her brother was doing she said, “ his facial hair is soooo not ok.” She is usually very supportive but in this case I have to admit she was not too far off.

When I saw it, I was amused by the fact that my youngest was actually old enough to make this attempt. As the first day of visiting progressed we received all sorts of commentary about ‘Levinson’s Chops’. The older guys and most of his peers were supportive. The girls? Hands down felt they had to go. There were even requests to his counselors to shave him in his sleep (I think that was made by my daughter).

Danny? He appeared to enjoy the discussion without showing any signs of ego. I love this guy. He rises above it all and has a good time with it.

Saturday morning they were gone. I assume he was proud of his first attempt, felt the need to share it with us, but had grown tired of the growing.

This whole thing made me think, wow I am the mom of a facial hair grower. There I was, visiting the place I loved so much as a child. A place where so many rights of passage occurred in my own adolescence. This was our last visiting day at camp! Next year he will be a counselor. And she, well, she may be ready to move on after ten years.

Right there it occurred to me that I was aging out of this camp for the second time in my life.

I suppose you never stop the bittersweet job of growing up.

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July 16, 2008 · 8:52 pm

I’ve been slimed!!


Ewwwww! No really, I am so not kiddding! EWWWWWWWWWWW!

I just let the pup out for the 300th time to pee. We have these racoon-proof garbage cans (why am I suddenly blogging about garbage so much?) and I noticed that the cleaning lady did not lock the handles. The last time this happened the poor little guy got into the can, ate what I am pretty sure was 2-year-old halloween candy that my son threw out (in a Ralph Lauren pillowcase I might add) and then promptly dropped dead in the middle of the street in front of my house. (the racoon, not my son).

That said, the only humane thing to do is make sure the handles are locked at night. So – uch, I can hardly write this one – when I went to lock the handle, squeezing it with my left hand…

there was a friggin slug on it and it slimed me!! I am not talking don’t be such a girl it can’t be that bad kind of slime. I am talking washed my hands 2x and it still would not come off sort of thing. Seriously, this was some kind of cosmic sticky snot I had here on my hand. After the first washing I thought it was off and that there was just a little soap left on my hand. Of course I went after Gary as if I had cooties and kept trying to touch him. (I can be such an infant sometimes).

He was not amused.

I finally had to scrub it off with a towel (not a Ralph Lauren one, thank goodness).

This all begs the question: would you rather have a dead racoon in the middle of the road in front of your house, or be slimed by a slug and not able to get it off?

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July 15, 2008 · 8:47 pm

Where the Party At?

Oh the suburbs! You just never know when the zip code will give you a little laugh.

Garbage day, that is a concept you don’t know from in the city. But here in the burbs we have set days that the garbage is put out at the curb for pick up.

The other morning, after the dog walk (the wandering rascal is leashed for this) I was talking with the neighbor and his adorable grandson when I noticed that there was some garbage at my curb that I did not recognize. (yes, I am very close with my garbage if you must know).

Get this, it was a Coors Lite 12 pack. I certainly do not drink Coors Lite and Gary does not drink at all! And if you are all paying attention out there, the hormonal teens in my house are away for the summer. In this box were the empties, a few crumpled snack bags and right on top, neatly placed, a stack of red plastic cups like the one above. A regular little party on the go, if you will.

I am not sure if this is just a thing in our town, but for some reasons teenagers always drink beer out of these red Solo cups. Never blue or white or clear for that matter, only these red ones. HS kids here have actually gotten in trouble with the school district for having Facebook pics holding these red babies. Very incriminating indeed. (I am thinking their civil liberties might have been violated there, no?)

I digress, sorry. Being the CSI queen, or as Gary has dubbed me more than once, the Dick in the Mouth Detective, I came to the conclusion that some teen in the ‘hood did not want to get caught having a party while the rents were out and got up early to unload the evidence with my garbage.

Not only creative, but I have to say I was rather impressed at the environmentally sound means of disposal. I am thinking at that age we just left them on the closest street corner and ran away.

Ahhhh, GenGreen, how could I get mad at these little degenerates!

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