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Dear Me: A Letter to My 17-Year-Old Self

Dear Me:

You’ve made it this far and so many never thought you would.  Congrats!

The 80’s did you well.  You finished out the decade by graduating from high school and getting your first job.  Good thing you took all those typing and business classes in high school.  They all paid off.

That Springsteen concert you attended was epic.  You know the one.  Tunnel of Love Express Tour, opening night Centrum, eighth row from the stage.  You skipped school to get the wristband and wore it for a week.  That show will remain with you and you will be a Springsteen fan for life.  By the way, he’s now 70 years old.

Speaking of musicians, don’t burn too many brain cells over answers to questions you ask them on call-in radio shows.  Fifteen years after the fact when you actually meet them, it won’t mean a damn thing.  Still, it will be cool.

On work, although you went to broadcasting school, you’ll pay the bills through insurance jobs and some freelance work.  Never give up on your dream of being a teacher, writer or radio personality.

You won’t love many, but the ones you do love will mean the world to you.  You will be devastated when you learn of your first love’s death when he was only 45.  Best of all, you will marry your best friend and you will live to see at least 25 years with him (and finish each other’s sentences on a daily basis).

You will go through eight years of infertility.  Don’t worry.  You will have a daughter who will be the light of your life.  Raising her will be the best and most difficult job you’ll ever have.

Sadly at age 27 you will become an orphan.  Even more sad, your much younger sisters will be orphans at ages 14 and 16.  And lucky you!  They will move in with you for at least the next ten years.  The good news is, they do grow up, get married and have families of their own.  And you love them.

The worst and most hectic six months of your life will occur at age 27, in 1998, when you are ten years older than you are now.  That June you will move into your first house, that August your mother will pass away, that October you will lose your job of nine years and best of all, that damn stray dog at your mother’s house just gave birth to eight puppies and guess where they will all live for the next eight weeks?  In your basement!  Fun times!

You will become a Patriots fan.  Yes, I know at age 17 you could care less about football, much less Patriots football.  But trust me.  They become extremely relevant.  You will love Tom Brady.

Lastly, your health.  No, you’ll never be skinny, although from the years 2003 to 2004 you will lose roughly 80 pounds and look pretty good.  Your early 30’s treat you well.  And although you have a lot of fun and do a lot of traveling to Canada, you do develop high blood pressure (runs in the family), gain a hernia from your C-section and develop diabetes in your mid-40’s.  But you manage it.  You have to.  You have so many to care for.  Especially yourself.

As you near your 50th year you’ll want to do something special.  It’s a big year.  You turn 50, your daughter turns 16 and you’ve been married for 25 years.  That’s something to celebrate.

So, self, get out there and enjoy the rest of your life!




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A part of me regrets it.

A bigger part of me knows what happened had to happen because everything happens for a reason.

Some things I miss. Most things I don’t.

I’m flattered and creeped out at the same time.

This fanship has set sail for better grounds.


Posted in writing

Decisions, decisions…we all make them

What we can all learn from disgraced Supreme Court Justice Kavanaugh (or as I like to refer to him: “Cuckanuts”), is that, no matter what you plan to do, don’t be an asshole at any time in your life.  It will come back to bite you in the ass. Plus, nobody likes an asshole.

Think about what repercussions your current decisions may have somewhere down the line.  You decide to drink and drive.  You “jokingly” pull your dick out at a college party and stick it in the hands of a random female.  You choose to have unprotected sex.  You get drunk and rape a fellow classmate.  You choose to ride the roller coaster after you ate pizza.  You adopt a dog or cat although you are severely allergic to them.  You wash your reds with your whites.  You get the shits from eating too many prunes because, hey, you love prunes.  You get the picture.

Of course, some repercussions aren’t as severe as others.  I mean, if you become President of the United States nobody’s going to give a fuck if you puked after riding the roller coaster when you were ten.  But it really means something if you admit on tape that you enjoy grabbing women by the pussy and then become the “President”.

People won’t give a fuck if you become a Supreme Court judge but fucked up washing your clothes while in college and ended up having to wear red underwear to your keg party. But they will be concerned if there are many sexual misconduct allegations brought against you from when you were at that keg party and then you become a Supreme Court judge.

The world won’t give a fuck if you shit your pants during a college football game because you ate too many prunes; because, hey, prunes are good for you.  But two women bring lawsuits against you for rape and you are now a pro athlete and part of the best team in football.  That’s heavy stuff.  Once again, you’ll be wishing all you had to worry about were having the shits.

The world won’t end if you’re a young, starving musician and adopt a dog or cat, even if you’re severely allergic to them.  Then you break out in hives daily.  But have unprotected sex as a rock icon and you could end up with a lifelong issue, be it medical or human.

The world may make it go viral if you are an up and coming star at the office who does bad karaoke at a Christmas party.  But if you are an important CEO who decides to drink at that Christmas party and then drive home, you are putting your life and the lives of many at risk.  Even if you’re just an up and coming star at the office who drinks and drives you’re putting lives at risk.  Just. Don’t. Do. It.

Cuckanuts may be sitting on the Supreme Court for now and that may seem prestigious in his eyes, but really, would you want to be him, knowing what you’ve done to many women, how you acted during your hearing, embarrassing yourself and your entire family and still embarrassing them and yourself every day?  Simply put:  in life, don’t be a Cuckanuts. Just. Don’t. Do. It.

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No Choice?

The other day when SHITHOLE held his latest pep rally in Manchester, NH, he told the people dumb enough to be there that they had no choice, they had to vote for him.  He may as well as hold a gun to their heads, since he’s now  forcing people to vote for him.  It makes you wonder if he would resort to violence to make it happen.  I wouldn’t put it past him.

Then today he picked on the Jews stating that any Jewish person who voted Democratic would be showing “great disloyalty” and “lack of knowledge”.

SHITHOLE wouldn’t know loyalty or knowledge if it knocked him into the next universe.  He hasn’t been loyal to the United States and he knows nothing about what the fuck he’s doing.  The only thing he’s been loyal to is himself and the only thing he knows about is what makes him happy.

The biggest thing I have gathered from SHITHOLE’S rhetoric?  Desperation.

But, man, if he thinks threatening people if they don’t vote for him or calling out classes of people is what is going to get him re-elected, he’s a dumber SHITHOLE than I thought.