"You wanna start something, tough guy?"
I'm Not from Jersey. My Hair Isn't Enough
Quirky Doesn't Even Begin to Describe It
I'm In Need of Some Bad Medicine
Fiction: Very Slightly Off Balance
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
I Can't Guarantee You Won't Be Arrested
The Key to Living in New Jersey
Poetry Corner: Something's Fishy
Stuff That You Didn't Even Want to Know
Stuff That Doesn't Suck Like a Hoover
"You're
from Jersey? Which exit?"
To be perfectly honest, I don't really like my adopted home of New Jersey. I've tried very hard to like it and embrace all things Jersey. Some were easy, such as gaudy chrome and neon diners and those wacky Kevin Smith movies. But other things are more difficult to accept, such as toll booths every two miles, in-your-face rudeness, deplorable public transit, insane drivers, bureaucracy coming out the ass and people who refuse to speak English. Trust me, as soon as I figure out a way to get out of this darn state, I will. I suppose the reason that I am living in the winter of my discontent year round is due to the fact that I live in Union City. To be blunt, it's a ghetto. I tried to deny the fact that I live in a ghetto, but there's no getting around it. In Union City, there are more liquor stores than supermarkets. I know which street corners and store fronts you are most likely to score some drugs. Sometimes when I walk down the street, men whisper rude things to me in Spanish, thinking that I don't know what they are saying, but I do. Six years of studying Spanish have finally paid off. I get out of this hell hole as often as I can, usually visiting my lovely relatives who live in the very place I was trying to escape in the first place: the suburbs.
I work with a lovely woman who is an original Jersey girl. As in the island of Jersey, part of the United Kingdom, off the coast of France. She says it's actually a friendly place where her grandmother kept a pot of tea on the stove all day just in case someone dropped by for a chat. But, she also said it is rather boring. But that' s not the case with the Jersey that I know and love. There's never a dull moment, even when you want it to be. Like when I settle down to a relaxing evening of watching the culinary antics of the Iron Chef. First the ambulance screams by, then Mr. Softee chimes his song of sugar-induced happiness underneath my window, and finally, Rico Suave feels the need to share his merengue music with the entire block.
On
another note, I've noticed that I have lots of lists in this issue. I
don't know why, but I love making lists of things. I used to write out
a to-do list every Sunday night. And every Sunday, I would put at the
top of my list, "Find Lover." And there it stayed for months
until I found someone who met only that one criteria. I had to take "Find
Lover" off the list. Then he turned out to be a psychopathic alcoholic
who bled me dry, financially and left me an emotional wreck. So now I
have to put "Find Lover" back on the list, (that is if I ever
got around to making a to-do list) but then again, getting laid is not
really a priority for me right now. I would prefer a car that ran properly
and healthy, pain-free teeth to a meaningless fling at this point
In other news: Monstress is now on-line, thanks to my lovely cousin and web mistress extraordinaire, Amy Lee. My Christmas present was a domain name of my very own: www.monstress.org. There's not really anything there yet, but there will be some day, and it will be wonderful, just like the zine in your hot little hands. And you can send me email from there or you can write me at evonderheid@hotmail.com, if you're so inclined and I'll be sure to enthusiastically respond.
Oh, and to answer
the question posed at the top of this page: exit 16E off of the New Jersey
Turnpike.