How About Some Head Shots?


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GA & Headshots 097

Photo credits to Chris D’Alessandro 7.30.15

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I’m Too Sexy For My Car

When I saw the beautiful new BMW that my attractive friend recently bought, it made me realize that I’m too sexy for every vehicle I’ve ever owned.

My first car was a double hand-me-down: a tan-colored 1970 Ford Custom (4-door automatic), owned initially by my father, then by my brother. The Custom was essentially a stripped-down cop-car. It was built like a small tank, and it was about as sexy as Andy Griffith.

They really were cop cars

Ford Customs actually were police cars for towns like Mayberry that couldn’t afford the luxurious LTD or Crown Victoria

My second car was another hand-me-down, but only owned once, by my brother. It was a beige, 2-door 1980 Ford Escort, upon which I first learned to drive a standard transmission. I remember bucking and jerking around an elementary school parking lot, trying to get the hang of “the stick.” I’d been at it for a month, but only around town, when I decided to visit a friend in Albany. Initially, I got stuck in rush-hour traffic in Hartford. I remember feeling the blood rise up my neck towards the crown of my head as I worried how I’d do in the stop-and-go flow. I actually drove well, and flew up towards Albany. But when I got to the toll booths at the NY state line, I lost my nerve. I bucked, jerked, and screeched all the way towards a very frightened toll booth worker, as the driver of a tractor-trailer behind me laid on his horn, because, apparently, he’d had about enough. (Hey, Brother Trucker from my past, that helped so much. Thank you.)

I bought my third car brand-new: a gunmetal gray, 1990 2-door standard transmission Nissan Sentra. It looked like a stripped-down BMW, if you squinted your eyes, and then shut them, and then imagined a BMW. It was a fine car, but I had an unpleasant purchasing experience at a slimy dealership. I won’t say where (mostly because I can’t remember), but it was in Hartford. The car ran great, and I finally sold it in the summer of 1999, to an Indian guy, who used a screwdriver as a stethoscope on the engine while it was running to make sure it was “healthy.” While I stood in the rain. And was eight months pregnant. (My response was, “What the hell are you doing? Either you want it or you don’t. Let’s get out of the rain.”)

When my son was very small, I drove us around in a white (4-door automatic) Oldsmobile Cutlass (a late 90’s model), that we purchased very cheaply from my husband’s Aunt Mary. It rode like a sailboat, and had a plush, red velvet interior. We cruised back and forth to Maine a number of times in that vehicle; it was like pulsing around in a giant womb. We eventually sold the Olds to a trailer park couple in Eastern CT, and they were so excited, I think they were planning to move into it.

The next car was another hand-me-down, albeit a very nice one; I loved that lavender-ish/silver 1992 (4-door automatic) Acura Vigor. They don’t make those anymore. It had been my in-laws’, it had black leather interior, and it was luxurious. I eventually had a minor fender-bender with the Vigor, and because it had depreciated so much, it was (heartbreakingly), totaled. (Part of being “too sexy for one’s car” includes it being officially totaled in a minor accident, which happened to me not once, but twice.)

Next came an immaculately maintained, dark purple (4-door automatic) 1998 Honda Accord sedan from Manchester Honda. It had relatively low mileage and was coming off-lease, previously owned by a curmudgeonly salesman with a three-mile commute to work. This was my first pleasant car-buying experience. The dealership had (and has) a “plain and simple” approach, offering their lowest, non-negotiable (and decent) price. (BTW they did not pay me to say this. But I will mention here that Manchester Honda also has a great service department. And that if they’d like to pay me for saying nice stuff, I’m open to it.) I don’t quite remember the disposition of this “eggplant” colored car. It may have gotten traded in for the purchase of one of the family cars; no one can seem to remember.

Enter the next car, which also got totaled in a very minor accident. It was a hand-me-down from my husband, a silver Honda Accord Hybrid (2002, 4-door automatic), which they also don’t make anymore. It was a lovely car. It was hit by a low-life in Hartford next to a construction site where a policeman was asleep, standing up. The cop appeared to be staring straight at me as the accident occurred, but claimed not to have seen it. The other driver didn’t yield to my right of way, and his jalopy lost its bumper as it rammed into, then backed off my car. It was pretty obvious who was at fault. If I’d had a gun, I might have shot someone that day, or later, on the day when my insurance company dropped me because the case had been mediated for so long. Definitely not sexy.

My current car is the only other car besides the Nissan that I bought new. But hey, it’s a humble 2012 Honda Civic sedan. And it’s brown. And it’s automatic transmission. And my bike rack has scratched up the trunk something awful. But I don’t care, because…I’m used to being too sexy for my car. I wouldn’t want to ever be upstaged by my vehicle.

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Dinner And A Show! Ben’s Deli (Scarsdale, NY), Saturday, 8.22.15 (7pm)

NOTE!!!!!! THIS SHOW HAS BEEN RESCHEDULED FOR SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7TH, 7PM. New flyer to follow with a better head shot of me!BENS0822NOTE!!!!!! THIS SHOW HAS BEEN RESCHEDULED FOR SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7TH, 7PM. New flyer to follow with a better head shot of me!

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Thank You For Not Deleting This

Whenever I see someone overcompensating, I want to smash every single window in their house.

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If I had a better memory, I suspect I’d be a lot less forgiving. #forget&forgive

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New York is supposedly the city that never sleeps, but I do think some sections are in a medically-induced coma.

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I wonder if retired prostitutes have residual pain from phantom penises.

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A friend said he “got a cat, or as they call it in China, ‘livestock’.” So I asked him if it was free-range.

Mia mad

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It would be fun to get a dog and name it “Zombeh”. People would constantly ask, “Oh, do you mean Zombie?” And you’d always just say, “No, it’s Zombeh.”

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Subway should’ve told Jared he could look at the kids’ menu, but no ordering. It makes so much more sense now when you think of how he kept saying, “What’s not to love about smaller portions?”

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I’m very excited that I lived to see the first black president, and now, maybe, I’ll see the first Jewish president. What’s next, black and Jewish? #LennyKravitz4prez #GoHisWay

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I found a sesame seed on my clavicle. That’s what I get for eating crackers in bed.

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Some people deserve to be hosed down with kindness.

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I notice I’m a little funnier when I’m slightly drunk. Then again, I’m slightly drunk, so what do I know?

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Physicists know better than anyone that the secret to a long marriage is the power of inertia.

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I have a bullshit-detector in my back. If something’s going wrong, or if I feel I’m getting pushed into a situation I don’t like, my sciatica acts up. It’s as if my unconscious mind is trying to say something to my conscious mind, because my conscious mind is asleep at the wheel. (My sciatica is also aggravated by Andy Griffith reruns.)

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My son went to Rocky Neck with a female friend, and I was going to ask if he had sex on the beach, but I’d rather not know if they’d been drinking.

Sex-on-the-beach

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Because That’s How We Roll: Survivors of Homicide’s 6th Annual “Roly’s Run” (Saturday, 9.20.15, Torrington CT)

Yesterday was the 5th Annual Survivors of Homicide’s charity golf tournament, which took place at Avon’s Blue Fox Run. I was honored to be asked to emcee the awards banquet for this fine fundraising event.

SOH golf tourney program 7.25.15 001

I could not have met a kinder, more life-embracing group of people, and I was honored to be invited back to speak at next year’s ceremonies, which will also likely be the last Saturday in July (of 2016).

Many of the holes had memorials for lost loved ones.

Many of the holes had memorials for lost loved ones.

I would like to mention in particular SOH event organizers Art Jensen and Jessica Pizzano, who ran a hugely fun and successful tournament and banquet. Thank you for including me, and I greatly look forward to future events.

soh golf tourney organizers 7.25.15

I met so many lovely people yesterday, but among them was a great lady named Rose Lagasse. She lost her son in 2008. The 6th Annual “Roly’s Run” takes place on Saturday, September 20th, in Torrington, and honors Roland Lagasse’s memory, as well as raises funds for SOH.

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Please consider taking your chopper out of the shed and/or passing the word to your fellow motorcycle enthusiasts about this event. I guarantee if you participate, you’ll feel great, and make new friends. For Life.

the keeper

For more information about Survivors of Homicide, please visit their website by clicking HERE.

SOH LOGOsandy hook

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See Jane Text

See Jane text.

Text, Jane, text.

Jane texts Dick.

Dick texts Jane.

Sends dick pic.

Jane blocks Dick.

Dick learns lesson.

Don’t drunk text.

And need better lighting.

guy-and-girl-texting

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Yays and Neighs and Mayonnaise

To the public figures who constantly self-brand by referring to themselves in the third person with a hashtag and/or to those who feel they can only express themselves with a series of hashtagged phrases: #waytobecool #butyourselfesteemisquestionable #yourmomdidacrapjob #PeopleLoveJoanna #Icandoittoo #Momsaidicould #I’mnotlisteningtoyounanananananananana #nana

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In an attempt to get a more diverse customer base, a successful restaurant chain is changing its name to Olive Skin Garden.

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People are getting “semi-colon” tattoos to signify they tried to commit suicide. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d think that if you’re going to pick a punctuation mark for that type of thing, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to get a slash mark? :-\ (Forward slash mark if you’re straight, and backwards if you’re gay)

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In Bridgeport, they opened two police substations within 300 feet of one another, like competing donut shops. That’s a neighborhood with both a high crime rate and glycemic index! It made me think, they should open police substations in all Dunkin’ Donuts. Think of the trips it would save. And those would be the safest coffee shops ever, because criminals would drive right by and say, “We run from Dunkin’!” What I’m really saying is, I want some fucking donuts.

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Some women complain about having to shave, ranting that they will spend  (on average) $10,000 and the equivalent of four months. shaving, over a lifetime. I want to ask, “Exactly how hairy are you?” Let’s not forget that most men shave every single day. From what I hear, it’s expensive and kind of a pain in the face. Frankly, I’m glad they do it because, no offense, I wouldn’t want to look around to see every man having a beard. It would seem kind of biblical. Like the end was coming soon. No, it’s the least I can do, every once in awhile, to shave my pits, and my kneecaps. I’m not that hairy, so my total lifetime investment shaving will be about two weeks and forty-seven dollars.

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In my next lifetime, I’m coming back as a scantily-clad woman who complains about privacy issues.

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If I had a better memory, I suspect I’d be a lot less forgiving. #forget&forgive

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The world may be going to hell in a hand basket, but at least it’s a designer hand-basket.

designer handbasket

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