This Is Why My Birthday is the Most Important Day of the Year


Okay, so here’s where I am going to try and explain exactly why my birthday is more important than yours.  I know it must seem crazy to hear at first, but it is in fact true, so bear with me.  I am in no way saying that my significance on this earth is greater than any one of yours (well, maybe just…just kidding), but the day I celebrate my birthday each year, July 8th, is.  And here’s why…

I count down to my birthday the way children (or my dad, haha) count down to Christmas.  On January 8th, I wish myself a Happy Half-Birthday, and proceed to tell everyone that I am 6 months away from my birthday.  Now, granted before I became an old woman of 24 I was much more excited to attain whatever age I was going to be back in the day.

For example, I counted down to 21 for a good two years.  Anywho, now that I’m older and don’t exactly want to slip closer to 25, and then 30, etc., I mostly look forward to the attention, gifts, dinners, and partying – all on my behalf.  I know that’s hard for some of you to grasp, because I’m usually not the self-centered, attention-hog type ;) Before this summer, for the past six years I worked as an Arts & Crafts and Theater teacher.  I used to make the children make me a crown and a sash in Arts & Crafts and sing Happy Birthday to me in Theater class, haha.

Anyway, because I didn’t have those fun accessories this year (my mom still bought me a little pink and rhinestone crown), a few days before my birthday this year, I explained to my boyfriend-at-the-time, David, just why this day is the most special day of the year, along with why I should have nothing but happiness and helpfulness and good thoughts sent my way, not the fighting that was going on with my friends over which club we went to that weekend.  I proceeded to justify my response by describing how other people we know (my family and friends) feel on their birthdays. Continue reading

I Finally Made My Way Into A FDNY Firehouse!!!

In another hot-firemen-related post, yet one more dream of mine has become a reality. Last night, I went to the city with my friend Lana. While we were out eating, Lana’s friend Diana texted her that she was going to visit her new boyfriend at his FIREHOUSE — and wanted to know if we’d like to go. WOULD WE LIKE TO GO?!

Within minutes, we were in a cab headed to the other side of the city. We walked in and met Diana’s boyfriend and another fireman sitting on the front of the truck with him. Then we sat in the office (it was air conditioned) and I showed them my Jen Pose whenever I see a firetruck.

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I Wish They All Could Be California Guys…

Okay, first of all I am completely singing the Beach Boy song California Girls right now. Secondly, in regards to this photo, ladies, you’re welcome.

Okay, so this post is about the super-hot, blonde-hair, blue-eyed, tattooed, musician I met from Cali while I was in Vegas.

He laid next to me in a lounge chair at the pool, and I asked him if he knew anything at all about Vegas, because my cousin Diana and I were all alone and waiting for the other 10 members of our bachelorette party, who were stranded at the airport in our very own version of Home Alone Part 2.

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I Hung Out With The Firemen From The Firemen Calendar!!!!!

A life-long dream finally came true last week when I hung out with the FIREMEN FROM THE FIREMEN CALENDAR. No, no, you did not misread that my friends. I, Jennifer Alyssa, conversed and rubbed elbows with the 2013 picks for the FDNY calendar and, even more surprisingly, lived to tell the tale. How my heart didn’t stop on the spot is simply beyond me.

My friend Lana and I drove to a restaurant/bar called Fusion in Sheepshead Bay last Wednesday night to go to a charity event in which the firemen would sign calendars and donate the proceeds to charity.  Now, I was supposed to be packing for my Vegas trip, but all I heard was the word “firemen” and I was there.

Photo by Neil S. Friedman from http://nfriedmanblogs.blogspot.com/

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The Hickey That Ruined Christmas

When I was sixteen, I decided that I wanted to see what all the hubbub what about when it came to hickeys. People were always talking about them.

Who had one? Who did it come from? Who pretended it was a burn from a curling iron? Who got burned by her curling iron and pretended she got a hickey? The list went on and on.

I decided to take matters into my owns hands, or should I say neck? One afternoon, I informed my boyfriend, Chris, that he was going to give me a hickey.

“Okay,” he said without any hesitation (as any seventeen-year-old boy would respond), grabbed my head and shoulder, and leaned in like a vampire to complete the mission at hand.

“OW!!!” I screamed, pushing him off of me, and holding my neck. “What the Continue reading

Confidence is a Virtue, Not A Vice

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I usually get attacked or criticized for being my usual confident self. But, the thing is, I’m not really sure why everyone has such a problem with confidence. When I meet someone who is happy with how they look or who they are, I take an instant liking to them.

Some of my readers left comments inquiring whether or not I get angry when negativity and anger is aimed at me. The answer to that question is “no.” My mother always told me that when someone is trying to pick a fight with me, I should walk the other way.

In this case, I simply click the other way. Because there are always going to be people who dislike you and there are always going to be people who don’t necessarily dislike you, but they have such self-loathing that they project their hatred onto you because…you’re there.

This, my friends and frenemies, should never hinder your confidence. Lady Gaga bans ice from her concerts because she’s afraid crazed people will throw it at her. Does she stop her career? No! She gets crazier! I relate to her oh so much, fans ;) Continue reading

Puppy Love vs. Puppy Lust

When I was sixteen, my high school sweetheart broke my heart. We only dated for a few months, but I was distraught when I broke up with him for being incredibly neglectful and friend-centered, as many seventeen-year-old boys will be (No, ladies, Edward was not really 17, he was actually 106, remember?).

Anyway, I’ll never forget calling my best friend Kerry and sobbing over the loss. I had turned on the radio to cheer myself up (a post-breakup mistake I never made again) and what was playing? I’ll Never Break Your Heart by The Backstreet Boys — his favorite band. Yes, I am aware that it is incredibly effeminate for a guy to love The Backstreet Boys and, no, the fact that he spent more time with his guy best friend than me didn’t escape me when we broke up, but anyway…the point was just how sad and ironic the song was at the time.

“I wanted to marry him. I need him back,” I cried for days on end. My godmother gave me this advice: “Jen, I hear you; I really do. But do me a favor – one favor. Go out with just one other boy before you get back together with this one. See how it goes. Then, if you still want to, get back with him. Okay?” I agreed, but really just wanted him. He was my first real boyfriend, my first kiss, and the first boy to ever pay any real attention to me, truly boosting my self-esteem. Now, not only did I feel the loneliness I had before meeting him, but it was ten times more heartbreaking bexause I knew what it felt like to “love” someone, be “loved,” and lose it all (Isn’t puppy love grand?) Continue reading

Our Fling Had Flung: So I Played The Game & Acted Like A Bitch Until He Came Back

A few years ago, after I broke up with my boyfriend, Austin, I met a guy who was, in all respects, the perfect rebound. Let’s call him Jack. Jack was older and had a job and spoke to me so eloquently. He complimented me and paid attention to me and wanted to hear about my day. He was sweet and kind and held my hand and kissed me. He made me forget that I was supposed to be sad.

I obsessed over Jack for a solid month, gushing about him to anyone who would listen. I couldn’t believe that he had liked me just as much as I liked him (well maybe not just as much, seeing as how I was planning our wedding and naming our children, haha).

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“I Can’t Be Rated: I’m So Great, I’m Numberless”

How many times do you hear “Dime Piece,” “She’s a Ten,” “She’s a Dime,” etcetera, in songs these days? Hell, I hear it from my friends all the time. For whatever reason, many people seem to enjoy the word “ten” over the words “perfect” or “beautiful.” I, personally, don’t refer to people as “tens.” I do, however, use all the other numbers quite often.

My friends and I rate people all of the time. Of course, our ratings often differ based upon our own individual tastes. “What do you think of that guy?” my friend Christine will ask me. “Egh, he’s like a 6,” I’ll say, looking him up and down. “No! Really?! I’d give him an 8 for sure!” And the same thing usually happens when the situation is reversed.

My guy friends are no different. My friend Luke will say, “Damn, that girl’s body is a solid 10. Her face? Like a 5…but who cares, man? Look at that body.”

My girls and guys are a little different in that aspect. I think girls take more time examining a guy’s face, teeth, hair, height, and style, before rating him. Most guys (especially those you are just looking at the menu because they’re on a diet…aka have a girlfriend) look at girls’ boobs and asses before their eyes make their way up to the girl’s face. Continue reading

Stage 5 Clinger

Usually, it’s girls who have the reputation for getting too attached too soon (hence the original quote from the movie Wedding Crashers). But sometimes it’s not the girls at all.

I can think of five relationships off the top of my head where the girl is clearly in control and the guy is not only more accommodating, but is flat-out too attached to ever let go.

While in Italy, my cousin and I met two very nice English girls named Jamie and Marie. They were staying in the same Bed & Breakfast as us.

One night, the four of us went out to dinner. To our delight, our waiter was stunningly beautiful. During the course of the night, he got more and more flirtatious with Marie. At one point, he said something to her in Italian and they both laughed, along with the girl sitting behind our table.

“Marie, what did he say to you?” I asked, really curious. Continue reading