“I tink it’s a girl dis time,” my aunt, “Nagynéni”, said, closing one eye and framing my cousin’s pregnant belly with her finger like a movie director. Anyu, Nagynéni, my cousin Erin, and I were sitting in the living room, watching Erin’s two boys play with dozens of dinosaur toys.
“Yes, yes, that’s what your sister keeps saying, too,” Erin replied, only half paying attention as her youngest boy tried to reach for a large box of toys on a tall shelf.
“You’re carrying high. You’ll be surprised. It’ll be a girl,” said Anyu.
Erin rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, explain the penis in the sonogram then.” She stood up carefully, holding the precious cargo of her 9-month pregnant belly as she lifted herself from the couch.
“Eeeeeeeeeeh, dat doesn’t mean anyting,” Nagynéni said, waving her hand dismissively. “Ignore the penis. It could still turn into a girl, you know.”
“So, are you a little nervous about going in for the C-Section next week?” I asked to the back of Erin’s head as she walked towards her children.
“I really try not to think about it,” Erin said, effortlessly catching the box before her youngest dumped it all over the floor. She has an amazing way of spotting and avoiding disasters.
“I’m sorry to bring it up,” I said, “Mostly I was curious if it was better than going through actual labor.” Erin had the worst of both worlds with her first pregnancy. She was in painful labor for over 24-hours, only to find out that she had a tilted uterus, so she needed an emergency C-Section.
“No it’s fine,” she said as she slowly sank back into the puffy couch. “It’s definitely not better than natural delivery. After all, it is major surgery. And the recovery is-”
“You know, vhen I gave birth, I did it totally naturally,” Nagynéni interrupted. “And den dis nurse valked in and said, ‘Oh, no, YOU didn’t just have a baby…’”
“Yes, mom, we’ve heard this story ten thousand times. You gave birth and then the nurse thought you looked like a sex bombshell or something. ANYWAY. So, Steph, when you first get there, they strap you in and-”
Nagynéni continued, “My stomach vas completely flat! Like notting happened! And nobody vould belief me dat I just had a baby…” She smiled to herself fondly, remembering the birthing.
Erin ignored her. “So, after the epidural, all the doctors and nurses say, ‘Just relax,’ but it’s tough to relax when dozens of people are buzzing around you, and you’re half naked and unable to move. You just feel so vulnerable. But in the end, it’s worth it because you’re bringing this wonderful little-”
Nagynéni frowned, “You know, I heard dis voman, vhen dey cut her open, dey didn’t stitch her back together right and she got dis infection…”
“That’s a terrible thing to say to a pregnant woman!” I said.
She ignored by remark, continuing her rant, “She taught everytink vas okay, and then she lifted her shirt and dere vas all this pus…”
“Yeah, vhat’s gonna happen if you die?” Anyu said, suddenly alarmed. “I mean, vhat are we going to do with all your kids?”
“Um, I have a husband, you know,” Erin said, obviously offended by many implications.
Anyu shook her head furiously. “I don’t vant nobody dumping no kids on me! No siree!”
“You know, I’m the one that’s NINE MONTHS pregnant over here! Why does everything end up turning into something about you?”
“I vas never meant to be a modder,”Anyu said, looking off into the distance and frowning.
“Gee, thanks.” I sighed and tried not to be offended.
Warning: This is a “NSFM” story – Not Safe For Men. You have been warned.
I was about seven or eight years old when I first saw a partially balled up, bloody maxi pad in the trash bin. I immediately ran into my mom’s bedroom, bin in hand.
“Anyu, Anyu! Who’s BLEEEDING?” I said waving the garbage towards her face.
“Oh…uh…I sat on a nail at vork by accident,” she said, wringing her hands and pacing around the room. “So now I bleed all the time and I need a special tissue to catch it.” She grabbed a few tissues from her nightstand, threw them over the bad, and grabbed the trash bin from me. “Don’t tell anyvon, it’s shameful!” I believed her and forgot about the whole incident. It wasn’t until 6th grade that her little white lie became a big problem.
It was the first marking period of metal shop. We were making big useless metal key-chains or something when I felt a really weird, warm feeling on my seat. I stood up, looked down at the chair, and saw that it was completely covered in blood.
“I must have sat on a nail by accident,” I thought. I desperately tried to wipe the chair with a tissue I had in my pocket, but it just made the situation worse. I looked around at the classroom full of students and decided to hide the chair in the back of the class under an old table between massive piles of scrap metal. The teacher spotted my suspicious activity and walked over.
“What’s wrong, Stephanie?”
“Uhh…can I go to the nurse?” I whispered while tying my jacket around my waist.
“For what reason?
“Uhh….” I wanted to tell him, but I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, “Don’t tell anyvon, it’s shameful!”
I made up some excuse and made the walk of shame to the nurse’s office, clutching the sleeves of my jacket to my stomach with all my might. It was made of that horrible hot pink early 90’s ski-jacket material, so it kept on slipping off and exposing my shame. As I repositioned the jacket for the hundredth time, I looked up I saw something pinned to the door of the nurse’s office.
“Out to lunch, be back in an hour.” It was 12:15 p.m.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I walked over to the principal’s office. The meanest secretary in the world, Mrs. Deemie, was sitting at the front desk.
“Yeeees, can I HELP you?” she snapped, not even looking up from her paperwork.
“Um, the nurse isn’t in the office and I have a problem.”
“Well, then you have to wait.”
“But it’s an emergency…”
“What’s the emergency?”
“Um…” I looked around at the office full of administrators and blushed. I walked closer to her and said, “’There was blood all over my chair, Mrs. Deemie and….”
She looked up at me for one second. “Oh.” She reached around in her drawer for a second and handed me fifty cents. “Go to the faculty restroom and clean yourself up.”
I was completely baffled at how fifty cents could help me with my situation, but since I always obeyed authority figures in my youth, I took the money and headed towards the door. As I reached for the handle, Mrs. Deemie proclaimed, “Oh, and Little Miss? I’m going to need to take your name down and what class you were in when you got blood all over your chair. I’m going to need to send in a janitor to decontaminate anywhere you sat.”
The entire office turned around. My face turned redder than the seat of my blood-stained pants. I filled out the form awkwardly, still clutching my ski jacket and fifty cents in one hand, and scurried down the hall as fast as I could.
I entered the faculty restroom, praying for a miracle. I was hoping for some sort of pants vending machine or blood-extraction apparatus, but instead, there were just a bunch of normal toilets and sinks. I spotted a vending machine in the corner with a sticker that said “50¢”. There were no other words or symbols, other than a picture of some sort of cylinder thing on the left and some sort of rectangle thing on the right. I realized that the square resembled the special napkin that my mother uses to catch her nail-blood! As I inserted my money into the machine, I wondered how many women all over the world had to use these napkins because they had accidentally sat on nails. I turned the metal handle, heard a click sound, and a metal coin sound. I felt around at the base of the machine, jiggled the handle, and looked on the floor; the machine took my money and gave me absolutely nothing.
It was at this point that I started to feel a bit woozy, so I got into a stall to “assess the situation”. When I pulled down my pants and saw the sheer volume of blood that had accrued, I immediately turned to the toilet and threw up. After about fifteen minutes, I felt a little better, so I snuck back to the nurse’s office.She still wasn’t there. Painful menstrual cramps had started to kick in, so I went back to the lady’s room. I didn’t know what else to do, so I sat on the toilet and cried. Thirty minutes passes…forty…an hour. Eventually, I heard someone come into the restroom.
“Hey, who’s in there?” she asked as she heard my sniffing. “Are you okay?”
“My bottom is bleeding and no one will help me,” I whimpered. “Am I going to die?”
Through some magnificence power of persuasion, the teacher convinced me to come out from the toilet, convinced the secretary to call the nurse, and found me a nice bed covered in exam table paper so I wouldn’t mess up any more furniture. As laid on the bed, clutching my stomach, the teacher stroked my hair and asked me a very important question, “Stephanie…do you know where babies come from?”
“Yes. My Nagymama told me that kissing a boy puts a baby in your belly , then you get fat, and you poop the baby out of the bottom of your foot.”
She sighed, sat down next to me, and gave me a very brief, but graphic and accurate description of “the birds and the bees.” In the background, I could hear the nurse attempting to communicate with my mother on the phone, “No, she’s not in any trouble. No, she’s didn’t do anything. She just needs to go home from school…”
Eventually, my mom showed up with an extra pair of pants and a maxi pad the size of the Hoover Dam. I curled up in the back seat of her old station wagon and we road silently home. After taking some medicine and napping in my bed for a few hours, I decided to get up and play a little “Sonic the Hedgehodge 2” to pass the time.
My mom stood in the doorway for about a minute, watching me play the game. Eventually she said, “Stephie…I need to talk to you about something…”
I paused the game and looked up at her. “Yes, Anyu?” Most people avoid “The Sex Talk,” but I wanted answers! Why did Nagymama and Anyu lie to me? What’s the deal with this “penis” thing that people keep mentioning? Why the do restrooms have tampon machines if they never work? Also, what the heck is a tampon anyway?
Anyu furrowed her brow, pointed at me and said, “You get pregnant, I fuck you up.” Before I could open my mouth, she turned around, went back to her room.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I went back to playing “Sonic”. We never spoke of “The Birds and The Bees” again…but at least I manage to defeat Dr. Robotnik.
Most of us were deprived of something as children, whether due to negligence, accident, or just ignorance. Many of us decide to have children so we can give them the things we missed, but we often forget that our younger selves still live inside of us. Even as adults, we continue to desperately reach out to the same people that deprived us as children for some sort of fulfillment, only to be disappointed once again. It was only recently that I realized that once you become an adult, it’s your responsibility to protect and nurture the child within you.
My mother was raised to believe that you would achieve completion if you were loved and financially supported by a man - and she passed that token of advice onto me. I started dating at age 13 to appease my mother, as well as to fill the hole in my heart that was created by the absence of a father and growing up in severe poverty. I became a “serial monogamist”, dating one man after another, until I found a real jewel who proposed to me a week before my college graduation. He then accumulated $15,000 worth of credit card debt in my name (which, ironically, included the purchase of my engagement ring). He prompty took off to father a child with another woman, but not after completely destroying my self-esteem. After I explained the situation to my dear friend Lynn, she instructed me to make a list of 30 things I wanted to do before I turned 30. That way, I could focus my energy on positive goals that would nuture the damaged little Stephanie inside me, rather than just focus on the obvious necessity to pay off debt. Although 30 seemed a long way down the road at age 22, I rolled my eyes at her “self-help babble and created the list (mostly to appease her. I love you, Lynn!)
Lo and behold, the last five year have been the best years of my life. I’ve come a long way from being that shy girl in the back of the classroom, reading Anne Rice vampire novels and hoping that some prince charming would sweep me off my feet while disregarding my social anxiety, stutter, and goofy glasses.
I encourage you to put down that “Twilight” novel make the same type of list - 20 things to do before you’re 20, 40 things to do before you’re 40, etc. If that “round number” is around the corner for you, then make a smaller more manageable list - just for fun! And if you feel guilty about any of this for a second, remember, this is not for you - it’s for the child inside you. Treat her as if she was a real person.
And in case you’re curious, here’s mine:
30 Things to Do Before I’m 30
1.) Swim with dolphins. Or at least pet one. (6/22/09 - Thanks, Matt & Lee! Found a wading pool so I was able to interact with them without drowning.)
2.) Learn how to swim well enough so I won’t have a panic attack when I attempt goal #1. (I’m going to give myself a half a point for this one. I can now “doggie paddle” Thanks, Myk! I’m still way too anxious to tread water in deep water. I suppose it’s not a good idea to take a Valium and go swimming, huh?)
3.) Go to Hungary/Romania to see if everyone is as *quirky* as my family.
4.) Overcome shyness so I can attend networking events by myself, walk up to a complete stranger, actually look them in the eye, and hand them my card (5/06 - Wow, I would say I probably figured this one out, since I’ve been actually giving people networking lessons these days & hold my own freaking networking events.)
5.) Take dance lessons. Preferably something Latin & Spicy! ( I get half a point for this as well. My Salsa class was so small that they kept on making me do the “boy parts” because I was the tallest. Do’h!)
6.) Pitch an idea in front of Cartoon Network or Comedy Central. (9/21/06 - Won a contest where I pitched to over 300 distributors at OIAF. And yes,everything went wrong, it was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I’m glad I did it.)
7.) Go horseback riding. (05/07/06 - Thanks, Kea!)
8.) Start a business (Now I have three)
9.) Try sake. In Japan. 03/30/06 - Thanks, Liesje!
10.) Go to SeaWorld & Disney. (6/22/09 - Thanks, Mike, Lee & Matt! Unexpected Side Effect: Getting teary-eyed when I saw Mickey Mouse for the first time. This is very unlike me, so I guess lil’ Steph is still in there!)
11.) Going to a hot springs/spa (03/29/06 - Thanks, Liesje!)
12.) Finish a feature-length screenplay. (Now we have too many!)
13.) Finish that giant fish painting. (yeah, I still fail at this one. Not sure what to do - I started it in oil, and I hate it. Perhaps I should chuck it and start over.)
14.) Make a website. A real one, not this crappy geocities rip-off crap. I would say I have a few decent ones now.
15.) Reach a level of financial security that allows me to purchase property : business property for myself and safe residential property for my mother - none of this 425 square foot shack nonsense.
16.) Share my knowledge of “self-repair” by helping at least one woman repair her self-esteem and learn to love herself after being in abusive relationships. (Working on it)
17.) Organize that giant box of photos into some sort of logical album.
18.) Attend a Red-Carpet Event. (I’m going to give a half-point to this as well. I’ve now been to two red carpet events, but one red carpet was cellophane but had neato-spotlights outside - the other had a nice red carpet but no lights, glitz, and glamor. I want it all, baby.)
19.) Have enough balls to sing karaoke. (03/31/06 - Thanks, Liesje! And sorry to everyone else!)
20.) Watch Star Wars. (2/2009 - Thanks, Matt! And as an added bonus, I went to the Skywalker Compound and saw all of the props & drawings in real life. Yeah, I know you’re jealous. Thanks, Will!)
21.) Watch some Mystery Science Theater. I know ALL of them is too big of a goal, but enough to know what the heck all my dorky friends are talking about! (2006-2010 - Not only have I been watching them, but I went to go see both RiffTrax & Cinematic Titanic LIVE)
22.) Go on a cruise. My idea of a good vacation is one where the only decision I have to make is between Buffet, Sleep, and Pina Colada.
23.) Go to the New York Natural History Museum and see this squid fighting with the sperm whale. 5/2009 - Thanks, Liesje!
24.) Go to DC and go museum hopping. Thanks, Lisa!
25.) Ask a funny/nerdy boy out on a date 04/4/06 (You should try it sometime. They are much better than the controlling, beefcake sociopaths that they teach you to date in books and movies.)
26.) People watch within eyeshot of the Eiffel Tower. (I get half a point for this. I went to Paris Casino in Vegas).
27.) Go on a completely spontaneous road trip . 10/08: “Thriller! Chiller! Film Festival, Michgan” (Thanks, Matt! Tony was so surprised!); 10/08: Chicago (Thanks, David Prouty!); Grease trucks! (We make this roadtrip too often. We’re fat bastards)
28.) Go somewhere for the sheer sake of getting dressed up all extra-super-fancy-like. (3/10: Mutter Ball - Thanks, Dana!)
29.) Go to the Monterrey Bay Aquarium. (We came really close, dammit. I was within five miles of it and we didn’t have time! But we had a heck of a good time in Carmel - Thanks Matt L, Michelle, Emmett, Corey, Sara, Matt C., Mike, & Lee!)
30.) Take lots of pictures acting like an ass on a San Francisco trolley. 2/2009 - Thanks Matt, Lee & Ben!
So, now you’ve read mine - time for yours. Feel free to post it as a comment here, or as a Note on your Facebook page. Who knows; maybe it will become one of those annoying internet memes. At least this one won’t involve cats. Unless one of your “30 Things” involves cats, which I hope, for your sake, does not. That makes my inner child cry - and allergic.
The Manville Reformed Church, at South Fifth and Pope streets in Manville, will host a Hungarian Dinner at noon March 14.
The dinner will include homemade chicken soup, chicken papikas with dumplings, stuffed cabbage, cucumber salad, desert, coffee and tea.
Tickets are $12 for adults; $6 for kids ages 6 and up (under 5 years old free). Takeouts are available for 50 cents extra. Reservations are required for all orders — call 908-575-0173 by March 7th.
Since I have no idea if this letter will ever get to anyone in this mass conglomerate kinda world, I thought I should put it out to the internet to digest, just in case Mr. Montul “Googles himself”.
Dear Daniel Servitje Montul and the Staff of Entenmann’s/Bimbo Bakeries,
When I was a kid, my grandma (“Nagymama”) and I used to walk to down to the local grocery store every week. In “the old country”, walking far distances for groceries was a way of life, but my Americanized brain found the idea of lugging heavy grocery bags two miles in freezing New Jersey weather unappealing. To compromise, Nagymama promised me an Entenmann’s Chocolate Chip Cookie if I made the trek without complaining. Amazingly enough, her technique worked.
Every time we got home from the store, Nagymama poured me a glass of milk and sat me at the table.I starred at her in crazed anticipation as she unwrapped the giant chocolate chip cookie. She then split the cookie in half and waited for me to take a bite before enjoying hers. We carried on ritual for many years until I finally grew up, got a car, and moved to a big city that focused more on vegan sushi platters than cookies.
Two years ago, Nagymama started to have problems with her dentures. No matter how many times we had them refitted, they still caused the inside of her mouth to bleed. She eventually hid her dentures somewhere decided to go completely “toothless”. She lost her appetite and massive amounts of weight. We tried everything – blending things, mashing things; she just didn’t want to eat! Somehow, the same woman that trudged miles through the snow to get a gallon of milk and performed manual labor into her late 80’s could not bring herself to walk three feet over to the kitchen table.
My mother and I were at our wit’s end. We decided to lay out every kind of food imaginable in a sort of gluttonous smorgasbords of soft foods. Nagymama took a long hard look at the spread and then reached for a box of your Soft Bakes Cookies. Luckily, the new small cookie design was just the right shape and size for her to put into her mouth and “gum merrily”.
For the next few weeks, we placed cookies on napkins all over the house, just out of her reach, so she would be more inclined to get up and move around. She regained her appetite and just seemed so much happier. Most people don’t realize that even people without teeth can smile, but they sure as heck can!
Today, Nagymama is almost 99 years old. And she knows that if she finishes her dinner, she can have her Entenmann’s cookies. Although she might not remember birthdays and anniversaries anymore, even after 20 years, she looks at me and waits for me to take a bite of my cookie before she enjoys hers.
Some people say you need to remember to stop and smell the roses. I think it’s important to stop every once in a while and share a cookie.
My most sincere thanks to your company and your cookie,
A little while back, I was selected as a featured artist at the First Person Arts Salon. First Person Arts has a mission of transforming the drama of real life into memoir and documentary art to foster appreciation for our unique and shared experience.
The kind folks at First Person Arts wanted to know why I decided to choose animation as my original medium, move onto writing, and then juggle live performances for my series “American Goulash”. After all, the medium is the message!
I was honored to answer their call, and threw in some funny storties and cartoons in with the mix. Enjoy!
They didn’t leave a note. Since the car is 12 years old, I don’t have collision, so my insurance will not cover the damages. Ironically someone smashed the other side 2 years ago and drove off, so now at least it matches. I suppose symmetry is beauty.
Yanno, I just wrote a several page long post outlining my thoughts, anxieties, and general ranting about various items that have been stolen from me over the last few years. Now that I feel better having loudly banged that out on the keyboard, I’ve deleted it all to spare you the details. I leave you with this: I refuse to play be a victim here.
I’m thankful for my health since I was not *in* the car when it was hit, so now I am going to work towards fixing this situation. As for the Honda, I’m going to donate it to charity - most places can accept totaled vehicles for parts. But I’m in a little trouble because I need something to get around since I am sort of on the road for a living.
Okay, options…options..
Option 1:
When Ted Passon had his car flipped by Philadelphia, he asked for 300 people to donate $10 to help him purchase a new car. Philadelphia answered. I would humbly like to request $10 from my faithful readers to help me fund a new Goulash mobile. I see by my site analytic that this blog gets over 12,000 unique visitors a month that enjoy over 100 of my fantastic (and free) stories. 300 people donating $10 would account for 2.5% of my total monthly visitors, and be enough for a new [used] car. Currently, the ads running on my site are not even covering the costs of my web hosting, so I need to make this request.
BONUS: Anyone that donates over $100 will receive a free hand drawn sketch of “Nagymama”, signed by me. Suitable for framing!
If you like T-shirts or are naked while reading this, you can also purchase any one of these fine items from my Zazzle Store. I get about 15% of any purchases of my merchandise. Make sure you use a Zazzle Coupon Code to save on shipping & stuff.
Option 3:
Every year, I help fund the production of these materials for Project Twenty1, a volunteer organization that helps inspire, connect, exhibit, and promote artists through film. We now have Project Twenty1 DVDs & Memberships for sale. My partner and I have been fronting most of the cash to help pay for stuff like this, so any purchase helps pay back my initial investment. The rest of the proceeds go to a really good cause, and the products are amazing.
Bonus: If you are already planning on buying American Goulash shirts on Zazzle, you can also pick up Project Twenty1 T-shirtsas late Holiday Gifts and save on shipping!
Option 4:
If you don’t have any money to spare in this economy, please click one of my ads. Just once - any more will invalidate it. I’ll get a nickle, and every little bit counts. Or, if you think anyone is interested in hilarious-but-true stories, forward along this URL as your gift to me. I get a couple pennies from ads for unique visits, too!
Option 5:
Finally, if anyone knows someone trustworthy that is selling a used car around the Greater Philadelphia Area, let me know. I prefer a simple car, nothing sporty, nothing too big - something that doesn’t burn too much gas. I’m a hippie.
More pictures of the Horror (with snarky commentary!)
The smasher even left a piece of their car, but no markings. That’s stealthy! Maybe it was a Ninja…
Notice that there is no ice on the road, so it wasn’t a season-related accident. Someone must have reached for their cellphone or enjoyed too much holiday eggnog - at 8 a.m. They got started early, I suppose.
Cop told me not to even bother calling my insurance company. He also said they were going 25-35 mph. Either that’s a lie, or they build cars like crap these days. Or the car that hit me was made out of lead, bricks, diamonds, or something really hard….maybe it was the Wienermobile!
Since I’m into Marketing, I don’t want to miss this opportunity to brand…The stylish…new…’98 Honda Civic SMASH! Black, silver, and crackly all over! Limited edition!
It rubs against the wheel…for her pleasure.
Who needs a gas cap cover? With the new ‘98 Honda Civic SMASH, we avoid gas cap covers to give our customers aerodynamic style! Plus, it’s easier criminals can easily siphon your gas!
Why waste time opening your trunk… when it can be open ALL THE TIME! Can you still hide BODIES in your trunk? I say, “YES!” With the new Honda Civic SMASH, you can just put live people in there and wait for it to rain so they drown*. (*Drowning not a guarantee. They might be able to swim).
The New Honda Civic SMASH also has a gypsy curse on it! Just take a look at it’s vehicle History:
2005: Car Purchased in February. On May 3 (My Birthday), side window cut out & car broken into. Stereo, winter coat, painting to be delivered to client, as well as mom’s birthday gift (same day as mine) and the new stereo I was going to get installed stolen from trunk. Everyone in the entire parking lot also had their gas siphoned.
2006: The hood of someone’s old jalopy flew off their car on I-95. I swerved to miss it, but rather than hit the median, I let it bounce off my bumper.They kept on driving. I didn’t get the huge steaks it left fixed as a reminder that each day on this earth is a gift.
2007: Four Days Before Christmas: Opposite side of car smashed in Borders Parking Lot - hit & run. That side no longer opens.
2008: Two Days Before Christmas: Car broken into. No stereo for them to steal so they stole all Toys for Tots & Christmas Gifts stolen from locked trunk, my laptopp, & my aunt’s Christmas gift.
2009: Christmas Eve. Well, that’s the fun I’m having right now!
Think of the years and years of frustration you can have with the New Honda Civic SMASH! Yours for only $9.99! (Plus shipping & Handling. Limited time offer, call now to insure prompt delivery.Some assembly required. Void where prohibited by law. All Rights Reserved. No purchase necessary. Batteries not included. Authorized personnel only. One size fits all. May be too intense for some viewers. For office use only. Not affiliated with the American Red Cross. Edited to fit on your screen. Dry clean only.)
Thanks, you guys…
PS: Don’t tell Anyu. I’m serious. It will ruin her Christmas. I’ll tell her once this whole situation is sorted out.
On the eleventh day of Sexmas, I delivered to mommy…. Presidents Presenting!
(From left to right, top to bottom: Sexy JFK, Sexy Obama, Sexy Regan, Sexy Clinton, Sexy Lincoln. Click here for the large version of this photo. You know it would make great Desktop Wallpaper).
…And since I’ve been known to basterdise famous lyrics in the past (Remember “Piece of Meat“?), I thought this would be a great opportunity to break into song:
♫ And I’m proud to be a Hungarian-American who thinks Presidents are sexy,
And I won’t leave out any shirtless men due to political party,
And I’d gladly show these manboobs to you, even though some are not hairy,
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love these men, mostly for hilarity! ♪
Unfortunately, I was unable to include my boy Al Gore since he was never “officially” President. That’s probably for the best since for SOME reason, I was unable to find any sexy, shirtless Al Gore photos on the internet.
So I made one for my personal collection.
Hubba hubba!
On the tenth day of Sexmas, I delivered to mommy…. Sean Connery A-Sleepin’.
Originally, I would going to make Sean “Mr. September”, but I decided it might offend him because “it began with a bloody ‘S’!”
–
I like Sean Connery, too, but I haven’t seen much of his early work. My first “Classic Connery” moment happened when I walked in on my male roommate watching some hairy chested guy with a gun flailing around in his underwear.
“Eww, did I interrupt you watching old-timey porn?” I asked.
He shot me a dirty look from across the couch. “What are you talking about? This is James Bond!”
“Oh. Never saw it.”
“It’s .007! What’s wrong with you?!”
“I missed many popular films of the 70’s and the 80’s due to the lack of movie-watching technology in my childhood.”
“You want me to rewind it?”
“Nah, I don’t have time. When I have a chance to sit down for a few hours, I need to see ‘Star Wars’, the ‘Indiana Jones’ series, and the ‘Aliens’ series. And besides, this James Bond dude is kinda grossing me around with all his floofy chest hair and tiny bathing suit-ing.”
“That’s SEAN CONNERY, Stephanie!”
“No way…but he doesn’t have the accent!”
“Yeah, for some reason, he got more Scottish as he got older.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Guess it’s a sign of old age. The older you get, the more Scottish you get.”
“I can’t believe it. The Sean Connery I know and love is smokin’ HOT! This guy is hideous.”
“So, wait, what you mean to tell me you prefer old, wrinkled Sean Connery than young buff Sean Connery?”
“Well, yeah! Men get more distinguished as they get older.”
He smirked. “And they get more Scottish!”
“No, seriously! Men mature like a fine wine. Salt and Pepper = Chick Magnet.”
“I don’t know, I don’t really think about older chicks.”
“And that is why life is a cruel joke. Men hit their sexual peak in their 20’s, when they’re total morons. But women…we hit out peak in our mid-30’s to 40’s, we’re too busy with our families to go after the sex-crazed 20-year old guys, or we can’t find any 20-year old guys because they’re busy chasing 18-year old tail.”
“Hey, I’m in my 20’s and I’m not a moron.”
I waived him off. “Yes, yes, well, the first sign of being a moron is being in denial about being a moron. Enjoy your floofy chest hair movie.” I started to walk away.
“You know, Sean Connery even in his old age probably still have floofy chest hair.”
I turned back around and pondered for a moment. “Impossible. He’s practically bald. He can’t still have that burly mane.”
“Honestly, and this goes for men AND women, the older you get, the more hairer you get. And ironically, the hair is EVERYWHERE…except for your head.”
An image of Nagymama’s chin hair popped in my head. “Ah, you’re frightening me! When I get old, I hope I have enough money that I can pay someone to pluck my chin hairs. And if they start to grow uncontrollably, I’ll pay someone to kill me.”
“Hey, smothering an old person with a pillow is practically free!”
“Thank you. That’s kind of comforting.”
—
Regardless of my tastes, I know that my mother will enjoy the Classic Connery scene more than current Connery. I guess I’ll just add the rest of the photos I found to my personal collection…
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“I tink it’s a girl dis time,” my aunt, “Nagynéni”, said, closing one eye and framing my cousin’s pregnant belly with her finger like a movie director. Anyu, Nagynéni, my cousin Erin, and I were sitting in the living room, watching Erin’s two boys play with dozens of dinosaur toys.
Warning: This is a “NSFM” story – Not Safe For Men. You have been warned.
Most of us were deprived of something as children, whether due to negligence, accident, or just ignorance. Many of us decide to have children so we can give them the things we missed, but we often forget that our younger selves still live inside of us. Even as adults, we continue to desperately reach out to the same people that deprived us as children for some sort of fulfillment, only to be disappointed once again. It was only recently that I realized that once you become an adult, it’s your responsibility to protect and nurture the child within you.
The Manville Reformed Church, at South Fifth and Pope streets in Manville, will host a 
