Showing posts from October, 2005

In My Life, God Is Real

I believe. Does that mean I’m trying to convert you into being a believer? No. Can I simply display my faith in God on my blog? Of course. I would never disrespect your beliefs—for whatever they may be…you may comment as you please. I do appreciate opposing comments, because what fun would it be if everyone agreed with you? A healthy debate is okay. A debate where there are insults, name calling and/or derogatory assumptions made about another person, is just plain ignorant. I would love to share my views as a Christian. (Dzer—not a word!) First of all, my faith in God was from experiencing His presence. It wasn’t from my parents, because we never went to church. I come from an Italian family. They are non-practicing Catholics. I turned to Christianity when I was twenty-three years old. My journey on learning about Jesus was amazing. I had to learn about Him first to experience the wonderful outcomes of his miracles. Not only have I experienced Jesus’ works by myself “ alone ”, but ot

Hindsight 20/20

“Why did God let this happen?” Many of us ask this question when we find that things aren’t going our way, or something terrible has transpired in our lives. Some people even lose their faith in God, due to negative circumstances that occur in their lives. “If there is a God, then why did He let this happen?” God does things in mysterious ways. No one can see the ‘big picture’ of what God has in store for us. In fact, God will put a situation in our lives, or a person, that will produce a negative outcome. Why? Any negative experiences we have almost always produce a positive one. “What the heck are you talking about Deb?” Think of it like this… Artists, writers and musicians…what do they all have in common? Most of these people do their best work when they are in a depressive state of mind, or when they are on an extreme emotional high. Their talent is an outlet for them to express themselves. “Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us.” ~Ecclesia

Big Brother & a Friendly Stalker

In this day of age, we’re faced with the dilemma of war, terrorism and crime. Some of us walk around with pepper spray or hold our key tightly in our fist sticking out of one finger like a knife while walking to our cars, in case someone attacks us—so we can knock them out as well as stab them with our key. We’re never safe. Even at malls, we have to have eyes behind our heads in order to get to point A to point B. My sister Dawn was once followed by a man at a mall in Nanuet, NY. She walked over to her car, opened the door and got in. She began fumbling with her purse and putting her bags in the backseat, when some guy just opened up the passenger side of the car, and sat down. He put a knife to her stomach and told her to put the seat back. “Please! Take my money, take all my credit cards—take the purse!” “Put the seat back, now!” “I promise I won’t say anything to the police, just take anything you want!” She screamed. “Now!” He demanded. Dawn quickly opened the car door and scre

Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: Fwd:

Why can't our friends simply throw us an email to say "hello", instead of a cheesey forward? From fairies who give you good luck, to dancing leprechauns who gives you a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, to the dirty jokes-- as well as the St. Novena prayer that grants all your wishes. If you don’t pass it on to eight or more people, you’ll have bad luck for the rest of your life. If you send it to ten or more people, you’ll get a phone call from a loved one telling you how much they love you 11:11pm. Why do we fall for these forwards? The real question is--why do some of our friends “only” communicate with us through forwards? Here are three rules of mine: 1. Open forwards that are only from friends who actually send you ‘real emails’. 2. Delete forwards from the people who just want to put you on their mailing list so it appears as though they have a lot more friends… 3. If this person keeps forwarding you, without any other types of communication,

House Calls

What happened to house calls? When doctors and other specialists used to come to the comforts of your own home, and service whatever needed to be taken care of? Stop—I am not referring to escort services…I mean, a few hours ago, I called my chiropractor and told him I couldn’t make it today. “Well, why?” “I can’t move. I can’t drive myself alone to your office, no less walk down the flight of stairs without locking up.” “Oh.” The doctor said in a ‘not gonna make a sale sort of tone’. What do these doctors want? I then went to call my masseuse. “I’m so sorry to cancel, but I can’t even get off the couch or move. I need someone to drive me in, which won’t be till the end of the week.” “Why?” “Because my back is out.” errr.... ???? MORON! Did you not hear what I said to you? Do these people literally think that if you snap your back that you can maybe jog over to their office so they can massage you for one hour? Are they smoking crack? Believe me, there would be nothing better right now

Face Marks

Since I am in no way shape or form ready to head out into the real world to pick up my film due to my bad back, I decided to write about my chiropractor experience I had yesterday. This is how it started… I was helping a friend out at a bar & grill. I started bartending for a little while to make extra cash, and of course, have a little fun. I didn’t realize all the ‘behind the scene’ work that went into bartending. I have a whole new respect for bartenders now—as I always did, since they were handing out my medication. I always assumed that they merely just “served drinks”… I didn’t realize that all the stock-- bottles of liquor, 50 lb bottles of wine packed in boxes and tubs of ice were all brought in by the bartender themselves. All the lemon, lime and orange wedges all cut up at 10am. Celery sticks cleaned and cut fresh for those delicious bloody marys… It’s just like getting ready for a huge party. Everything has to be perfect. Glasses stored in grates have to be brought up fr

One Hour Photo

“Your ticket please?” “Oh, sure…” I said, to the boy behind the counter. “Debbie?” “Yep.” “Okay, your photos didn’t come in yet.” “Huh? Isn’t this a one hour photo? I gave you twenty-four hours.” “Yeah, but it sometimes can take a day or two, depending if we have to send them out due to an overload.” “I see…You need to do some major fine printing on your sign then...Can I come back tomorrow?” “Yeah, it should be ready by then.” The boy said, in an uncertainty in his voice. Suggestion? The sign “should” read: ONE HOUR PHOTO Please be aware that your photos may be delayed a few days due to high school kids handling your precious film. Has anyone else ever experienced this before?

Are We There Yet?

“Twenty-five bottles of beer on the wall, twenty-five bottles of beer….knock one down, pass it around, twenty-five bottles of beer on the wall...are we there yet? Are we there yet?” Driving down to Rehoboth Beach, DE for a much needed vacation, I should have put sails on top of my car. It was torrential downpours with side-swiping rain making the roads literally a raging river. Overturned tractor trailers, major traffic delays and ambulances rushing on the side of the highway passing through for emergencies made me feel very uneasy about this trip. It got to the point where we had to pull over at a rest stop because it was now zero visibility. It’s supposed to be a four hour trip, and we’re used to driving much more than that—so it wasn’t a big deal to make a pit stop. “I have to go to the bathroom anyway, let’s go inside for a little while.” I said, as I parked my car. “Want me to get you something to eat? You hungry Deb?” “No, I don’t want anything on this trip for the sake of stopp

Vacation Time!

“Underwear?” “Check…” “Socks?” “Check…” “Extra sweaters?” “Check…” “Water?” “Check…” “Toiletries?” “Check…” I said, remembering the most important thing... “Madelene! My bloody mary mix!” “Check…that was first on the list, Deb.” I never leave home without my famous bloody mary mix. This ensures me that I can drink like a fish every single night of my vacation. No holding back here. We’re finally leaving tomorrow for our vacation. Our plans have changed a tad, due to circumstances-- but it worked out well, because we are heading south, to a gay community that our friends suggested. Work is off my list of ‘things to do’. No more men telling me I give great head--- on their pints of tap beer; for I’ll be on the other side of the bar telling some female bartender the same tacky innuendo. I’ll be in the company of my two closest friends, and my Madelene. No time for flirting with the bartenders---it’s time to have my annual good time with my sweetie! Madelene and I were supposed to leave

Public Notice

“Turn here!” Madelene says, as we’re swerving in and out of the aisles of the mall’s parking lot. “Ugh! I hate that!” I said, frustrated over the fact that there was a short car deceiving me of a parking spot. Being that it was Columbus Day, sales were on the rise, and so were the crowds of people rushing in. I desperately needed new comfortable shoes for work and some new clothes for vacation next week. My feet hurt, my back hurt, and I was not in the mood to struggle my way through crowds today. I had a hangover from the night before, which left my stomach feeling queasy and my head a bit too fuzzy to concentrate. “Oh look Mad, this woman is about to go to her car!” I said, in a stalker-like voice. I literally followed this poor woman and her two kids to her car. I am sure she knew we were desperate for a parking space, but the fact that I was driving real slowly behind her didn’t ease that awkwardness of, ‘get off my fricken back you moron’! I would have thought the same. “Lovely

Just "Jack"

“Don’t talk to him, until he talks to you…” “Huh? Aren’t you supposed to ask him what he wants to drink?” “No. His moods are unpredictable. He’s a little prick who has manic moments---I think he’s on meds.” “Who isn’t these days?” I said, as the waitress was trying to give me tips on how to handle certain regulars. Low and behold, Bob walks in and sits at the corner of the bar. He doesn’t make eye contact. I throw a coaster his way. Nothing is said. No eye-contact, just plain awkwardness. I had to. I had to test it out. “So, would you like a drink?” “I’m at a bar, what do you think?” He answers back in a sarcastic little son of a bitch tone. “I’ll have a chardonnay.” “Coming right up.” I said, as if he asked me nicely. I didn’t budge to his bi-polar moment, I just served. Minutes later, a beautiful woman comes walking in. She walks over to Bob, kisses and hugs him, and then sits down. I throw a coaster her way. “Hi, what can I get for ya?” “I’ll hov’a umm, muhh, kay---rum and club.”

Table for Two?

While wiping down the bar, this little old lady in her late nineties comes up to me and says in a shaky voice, “You know, my husband and I used to sit at the bar and eat dinner all the time. Now I’m too old to do that. It’s for the young people. I wish I could still eat dinner at the bar.” “Well, why don’t you? I’ll serve you the best drinks and it would be nice if you could keep me company while I work. Please feel free to eat at my bar!” I said, so she would feel better. “No, no, no, it’s not the same anymore dear; it’s just not the same...” She said, looking at the huge bar in front of her, as if it were bringing back good memories. I felt so bad. Madelene and I always eat dinner at the bar. We hardly ever get a table. I wonder, when we get to be that age, will we resort to getting a table? It’s so much fun to sit at a bar, eat your dinner, along with other people and socialize. I’d be so thrilled if older people did this. Do we get more insecure as we get older? Or is it that

I Totally Lied!

What to Say? “So are you married?” “No.” I said, not elaborating any further that I was gay as I poured the man his merlot. “Sorry. That was a personal question, huh? I just saw that beautiful, sparkly ring, so I was curious.” What would YOU say? “Oh this? Family heirloom. My mother gave this to me.” I said, frustrated over the fact that I now lied to this poor man. I totally lied! Eventually it will be known that I am gay in there. Our clientele is a mix. There are gays, lesbians, bi-sexual and straight people that come to this bar. I just couldn’t blurt out those two words. “I’m gay.” I wasn’t embarrassed or anything; it was just that this man was sitting at the same spot at my bar for five hours. He only had two glasses of wine. He drank them very slowly. He left when my shift was over. “It’s about time they get someone who looked like you behind that bar.” “Tee-hee.” Tee hee? Did I just giggle like a fricken bimbo? I didn’t know how to respond to that. My boss comes up to th

AA's for Quitters

“What’ll ya have?” As I toss a coaster to where the big bearded Harley guy is sitting. “Bud.” Never did I dream that one day I would be planted on the other side of the bar. But here I stand, with a smile and ready to serve up your favorite poison. Not only am I the addict, I have become the dealer now—except it’s legal. That will be my day today. By the looks of the weather and how gloomy it is, I predict it may be slower than usual. Last night, Madelene and I went to go to the liquor store. Really, I know what you’re thinking, I should get my butt to AA, but no, I can’t drink all that coffee. It makes me too nervous. That stuff is worse than wine! Getting back to walking into the liquor store…It’s like a warehouse full of toys for me. “Mad! Come here! Look what they got!” “You want white this time Deb? You usually drink cabernet.” “I know, but I’m in the mood for some chardonnay and Chinese food tonight.” “Oooh, that sounds good!” Mad said, apparently tired of washing down her food

Sounds of the Season

Tossing and turning, Sunday morning at 9am, I reached over to Madelene’s side to realize she wasn't there. I was still too exhausted from having back pain all night. I struggled to pull myself up. Rubbing my dry eyes so I can see what’s in front of me, I begin to hear something really strange; almost bazaar-like. What is this noise? I walk out into the hallway, and into the living room to realize the TV was blaring polka music. “What the? Who the? Huh? Oh no no no no no!” I said, running over to the remote controls to quickly change this awful sound. I then forgot that Madelene loves “Sounds of the Season” satellite station, on the music channel. Usually, she puts this on during the holiday season. Fine. I can handle a little Jingle Bell Rock, what I can’t handle is polka accordion music being blasted throughout the entire house when I first wake up. She must have had some huge crack pipe dangling out of her mouth that morning. I wasn’t having it. “Good morning sweetie! I made you