As I mentioned earlier, I am of Italian-American descent with a mix of Greek, Polish and Russian Jewish. So, therefore, I can Eat, Drink, Forget, Drink More and Nag, but I sure can cook. I am very proud of my heritage. How proud? I got it tattooed on my ankle.
I enjoyed being raised in an Italian-American household and in New Jersey, which is even better. What makes it the best is that I grew up in Bayonne, which is a small town about 10 to 15 minutes outside of New York City. It gets even more better. My house, 43 East 51st Street, is situated at the very beginning of the 14A exit of the New Jersey Turnpike.
I honestly loved those early formative years of my growing life. I loved going down to Wildwood Crest to the Pyramid Motel with my grandparents. I loved how they left me over night in the hotel room with my mom in order to go up to Atlantic City to gamble whatever little money they had. I still treasure that picture of me and my grandfather in the surf at the beach and how he would try to get me to ride the Haunted Castle with the fake red blood river. Thank god that's long gone.
Although I didn't appreciate it then, I appreciate now whatever disciplinary method they initiated at the time. But, in this case, it all depended on who was dealing out the punishment. For example, if I got out of line with my grandmother, I got a wooden spoon swiftly dealt across my ass cheeks. If it were my grandfather, a sturdy leather belt passed down to him from his father. If it was my mother, it was a high-heeled shoe flying across the room at 88 mph. Thus sending me "Back to the Future" efficiently. Yeah, there were days when she'd hit me with her shoe that I remember fond memories of being in the womb. If it were my uncle, it was a bong. Ohh, now here's a story! But that's for the next blog.
This is what an Old School Jersey Girl is composed of. She's tough, but tough enough not to land on the Six O'Clock news for killing her kid because he wouldn't eat the last two pieces of broccoli on his plate. She's determined and can do anything she sets her mind to. She never takes any bullshit no matter who it comes from. Lastly, she never has to pump gas. I, myself, am a rare breed. I grew up in a gas station and my grandfather taught me how to pump gas at the age of 4. So whenever I am in a state where I had to pump my own gas, I never freak out and squirm. I just flip it, open it up, charge my card, pump it, CLICK AND GO! Simple!
I think guys are intimidated by someone like me because of the following reasons. To this, I just say "Hey, I'm only human, but I grew up in New Jersey so, therefore, I'm radioactive." Fair enough?
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