Tag Archives: family

Guest Post: Decisions, Decisions, etc., etc. blah blah blah

November 28, 2009 By in blogging Tags: , , , , , 2 Comments

[Today I went to a football game and decided I didn't want to blog, so I asked my sister to do it for me. Don't be too hard on her. She's new to this whole blogging thing, but also, feel free to be hard on her because it will be funny.]

Hellloooooo friends. Melissa (Ashley’s sister) signing in. I apologize ahead of time, as I am not nearly as witty or intelligent of a writer (WARNING, WARNING!). Yet, as they say in the world of beer pong, darts and other highly sophisticated sports (what????), I am her “celebrity shot,” if you will.

Following the historic and alcohol lined road that is the celebrity shot, I too might seem to be drunk (i.e. I will probably ramble . . . a lot), and in no way will I care if I fail to make the crucial, arc shot into the last cup (this is code for my blogging skills are probably sh**). Although, along with the best drunks that have been honored as a celebrity shooter, I am just trying to have fun, and fun I will have.  (Side note: Perhaps my lack of pong ambition is why I am rarely asked to be a celebrity shooter?? Just saying.)

Soooo,  some of you may be wondering why I have a picture of Sweet Lou as my icon (Lou Pinella, manager of the Cubs). He clearly has nothing to do with beer pong . . . other than in his day he may have been a shining star of the sport (just look at him, he looks like he can throw back a few . . . yes?). Now, he is baseball, and I love baseball. More importantly, I love Chicago, the city where his team–those Cubbies– reside. I was lucky enough to travel to Chi-town this summer and visit the ivy walls of Wrigley Field. The city changed my life. I have felt for some time that I have wanted to move and find adventures in a big city. But now it seems these adventures could be a reality for me.  Hey Chicago, whaddya say? Should I move there today??

Now, who wants to go play beer pong?? Seriously.

CHEERS!

it’s funny, but awful

August 24, 2009 By in Me Tags: 4 Comments

perverseguiltI just got off the phone with my mother, who spent the last two weeks visiting her enormous family in Sandusky, Ohio. A couple of years ago, my grandmother — who we all Grammy — was diagnosed with dementia. Apparently, it’s getting worse and the doctors are testing her for Alzheimers. I’ve never had the best relationship with my grandmother. She liked to play favorites among her children and grandchildren, and sometimes she was just mean, but it’s still sad to hear about what’s happening to her.

The first thing my mom said to me was that because of the disease, she isn’t as mean as she used to be. Something about Alzheimers patients regressing to past times, but she gets confused a lot and can’t handle large crowds of people. When my mom asked her to name her brothers and sisters, she started naming her children, and when they showed her a picture of my Papa, she knew who he was, but couldn’t remember his name when they asked her. She just smiled. That’s the saddest part; that man was the center of her world for over fifty years.

I think my mom could tell she was depressing me, so then she says, “But it wasn’t all bad, we got some good stuff out of her that we never have before.” They showed her the picture of Papa in his military dress and her in her wedding gown, and she said, “Oh, I was married to him. That was the best day of my life.” So my mom said, “Why, Grammy? Because you got to have sex for the first time?” And she said, “Yes.”

grandpapala

July 31, 2009 By in Me Tags: , 13 Comments

liquorlogicI think that one of the reasons my mother loves me so much, aside from the fact that she grew me and then pushed me out of her vagina, is that I am basically the second coming of her father, Richard August Jeffrey, also known as “Dick.” Despite being having been blessed with a moniker that is also another name for a penis, my grandfather was one of the most gentle and kind men to have ever existed on this planet. I just called him Papa.

Papa was full-blooded Sicilian. He was a dentist, he was a golfer (when I picture Papa, he’s always wearing a golfer’s hat). He was five feet tall and had a big nose. He was also the world’s worst pack-rat.

When Papa died, I was only seven years old. I didn’t go to the funeral; I can’t really remember why. Maybe my parents thought I couldn’t handle it, maybe I told them I didn’t want to go. Either way, I spent a week in Venice Beach while my sister and parents went to Ohio. Because I wasn’t there, I didn’t get to help clean out the garage, but I’ve seen pictures. My parents couldn’t believe what they were seeing. The man had accumulated practically seventy-six years worth of junk in one space. Everything was half-rotted. There were pictures and old newspapers and bills and old tax forms. There was even a statement for $25,000 that Papa had lost on a jewelry scam in the 80s.

The lesson my parents took away from this experience was to ORGANIZE! EVERYTHING! As a result, we weren’t allowed to keep much that wasn’t of use to us. As a kid, my “useless” junk was in a constant state of peril. And it frustrates both of my parents no end that I seem to have inherited the Junk DNA from my grandfather. Packing has been sheer torture for the last four days. Logically, I know I can’t keep it all . . . but, what happens if I need it someday? What happens if I lose all my brain cells in a freak accident, like if I get hit by lightning? What happens if someday I have a kid who desperately needs a pair of ridiculous red dress up shoes? I mean, in ten years, won’t she be pissed that I gave them away? In all fairness to me, I did end up giving a lot of stuff away (or just tossing it). Here are some of the things that I’m NOT giving away, at least for now. Papa would be proud, don’t you think?

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