Two Elon alumni (2002) have pooled their talents to bring excitement and joy to your day. One is a classy woman who combines her Italian and feminine powers to influence men of all shapes and sizes. The other is a tall blond man who relies on wit and boyish good looks to impress women, especially when they're drunk. Join them in their epic pursuit of the phenomenon known as adulthood. NoSalesTax side effects may include addiction and abrupt laughter as colleagues look on in confused jealousy.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Eulogy for my Friend

I lost a very dear friend this week, terminating one of the most important relationships I’ve had in the past year. My companion and I were together through good times and bad, enduring a close-minded midget boss, a hellacious DC July, and lots and lots of beer. Sadly, my good buddy Food Stamps died on Monday as I used the last $1.51 on tomatoes and spinach.

Gone are the days of offering to buy girls a drink, only to return moments later apologizing because the bar doesn’t accept food stamps. I may need to rely more heavily on my other DC pickup line: “I have no family.” It works best around Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Sharing and Caring

At yesterday's Leaders Club meeting (HS kids), my co-advisor and I kicked off the evening w/ an always fun activity. Each person wrote their name atop a piece of paper. We then passed the paper to our left, eventually rotating around the entire circle before returning to the senders. The directions were to write one kind thing about each person, so everyone ended up w/ a paper filled w/ compliments. I received some touching thoughts, such as:

"I see a lot of passion for Leaders (Club) and the Y in you and you are doing a good job w/ your programs."

"I've really appreciated working w/ you. You've been a... committed youth worker, and a very fun friend. Thanks for all the laughs."

I found the last comment, however, slightly disturbing. It simply said, "You know how to have a good time." Somethin tells me the Village People used that very same line (most likely in the locker room) for inspiration in writing their infamous song, which shares the name of my employer. I always cringe when I hear people unknowingly singing the sex-centered lyrics of "YMCA." Ugh.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Email of the Week

Today's entry comes from my buddy Mary, whom I really got to know our last semester of college. She's one of the few girls who can make me laugh out loud. And w/ that...

i would love to come to boston...i have another friend there who I wanted to visit, but now since you're there, i have to visit ;-)

things are goin good down here...i bought a condo in april, so i am an actual homeowner...job is fine, not life altering, but i think its a great place to start and gives lots of flexibility, but enough about hooters...

Only one more night...

I hope everyone watches The Contender finale tonight. Two awesome fighters are duking it out on live TV for 1 million dollars- two guys who don’t have a shot in this world if it’s not using their fists.
And if this isn’t reason enough to make you watch, let me tell you my favorite things about this show:
1) Sylvester Stallone.
2) Hot, muscular men, on TV each week, sweating and running around without their shirts on. Just little satin shorts, boxing gloves and sweat. LOTS of sweat.
3) Reality TV drama.
4) Boxing, every week! Good old fashion knock outs.
5) Jesse FRIGGIN’ Brinkley. I know I already listed hot, sweaty, muscular men, but Jesse gets a number to himself.
6) The Greggster and I can enjoy the show together.
What am I going to do when the show is over?

Monday, May 23, 2005


Remember back in HS when AOL IM was all the rage, the newest thing to hit the World Wide Web? Since I'm stuck in the Teen Center this week, T-Rock and I have rekindled our college glory days of IMing each other on a regular basis. Here's a typical chat.

T-Rock: if i get married in delaware
T-Rock: will you come to my wedding?
J-Mazz: as long as I'm not gettin married that day
J-Mazz: sooooooooo, yes
J-Mazz: can I be ringbearer?
T-Rock: yeah sure.
T-Rock: just dont make out with the flowergirl
J-Mazz: damn

I can feel myself getting stupider and stupider each day. IM may be a daily feature, at least this week.

My Worst Kiss (and I've endured some bad ones)

I have a history of sports-related injuries. In the past five years alone I’ve had my front tooth knocked in, suffered a dislocated finger (much worse than a broken finger) and broken my nose by colliding into a point guard’s forehead. I almost suffered another painful injury my freshman year of college; I almost had my teeth knocked out one passionate night on Cocoa Beach.

After catching a midnite movie, I rode w/ a few of my friends (a guy and two girls) an hour east to Cocoa Beach. I have no idea where the idea originated, nor did I care. I remember speeding along the highway as Pavarotti blared through the speakers, a stark change from my usual Beastie Boys/Dave Matthews playlist. None of us were drunk.

We eventually arrived at the shore; my buddy and I, both tall, unfolded ourselves from the tiny backseat and ran for the beach. The girls followed. One of them spread a blanket on the sand, enabling us all to sit comfortably and stare at the autumn stars. After a while, my buddy finally got the hint and invited one of the girls for a walk. The other girl, a Jamaican native, and I soon found ourselves making out half naked on the sand. Unfortunately, things didn’t advance much further due to her painful kissing technique.

After a dozen or so times of her smacking her teeth against mine, I had to relegate myself to quick pecks on her lips. Anyone who’s had braces for two years can vouch for me on this one: There are very few things more important than teeth. And for that reason, I put a stop to the hanky-panky and hurtled the lower half of my body into the cold ocean waves. It was a long car ride home.

Tongue all down the throat

Life is full of disappointments, isn’t it? J-Mazz suggested I write about the worst kiss ever, and immediately a night in the fall of 1995 came to mind.
I should have known there would be a problem when the only things we had to talk about on the phone were the Rocky movies and fixing cars. I went to a soccer game to watch my dream guy sweat and kick a little butt on the field. It was a hot night and my hair was frizzy, but I was rewarded for sitting through the game when I met the dreamboat in the parking lot and he peeled off his shirt, revealing rippling muscles dripping with hard earned sweat. I saw a body that could kill, a body that could certainly kiss, no?
We got in his car, a restored and deeply loved BMW and drove to a party full of cool kids, beer and absolutely nothing interesting going on. The situation made me a tad uncomfortable, and I think he could sense that. I didn’t hang out with these people and I didn’t drink. We left, and started the drive back to my house, talking a little more about Rocky, a little more about the game.
Back in those days, I didn’t go out a lot. My parents were pretty strict, but they were always OK with me having company…so I figured the night would pick up after we went inside, he met my mom, and she went to bed. I was ready for some lip action on the ol’ family couch…
But then it happened. My dreamboat, hunka hunka burnin’ love of a boy leaned in for a kiss….and gave me what immediately just made me think of my worst kiss ever.
Can a tongue do that naturally, or does it take practice? Can a mouth have so much saliva, so much movement, so little talent? Can a hot Italian teenage boy with muscles and a killer tan really know so little about how to kiss a younger, impressionable, obsessed girl?
It was the ultimate disappointment. I squirmed for 20 seconds, letting him literally drool on my face. When he pulled away, when he removed his tongue from my tonsils, I believe I said something like, “Well, okay. Thanks. I’ll call you.”
I walked into the house and my mom was patiently waiting up, waiting to meet the super cutie I talked about the whole week.
“Well?” she asked. “Where is he?”All I could say was, “Mom, I sent him home. He is the worst kisser in the world, and I don’t want to even think about it. Goodnight.”
I guess the lesson here, is that some things are better left in our dreams. Or in our mouths. Not in someone else’s.

Kids Say the Darndest...

During a pre-school soccer class this morning, a boy looked up during stretches and said, "We're all gonna die in four months." That sounds about right.