All posts tagged funny

If NJ is the Armpit of the U.S., Short Hills is the B.O.

Published May 6, 2015 by Maryanne


Like Wart Hills, New Jersey

Yesterday I had a Julia Roberts in “Pretty Women” moment.

I was refused service because I’m not as “rich” as the cliques from the area I was shopping in yesterday. I can’t say the name of the venue because when I sent an email complaining to the owner, I promised I wouldn’t (and I always keep my promises). Let’s just say it was an eatery in Short Hills (or as I now call  it, WART HILLS) — where I was ignored while a wrinkly, miserable, too-skinny bitch took care of everyone who came in AFTER me.

Like Julia Roberts said, “Bad move.”

I’m Italian — and we are known for being generous and big tippers. And when I go to a place that’s a little out of my price range, I only go when business is good, so I’m not price haggling (like “rich” people usually do). Hell, half the time I throw things in my bag without even looking at the price tag! I’m not rich, but I am generous and spend like a rich person. (And am very rich in spirit because I’m always smiling and happy). So that lady missed out on very sweet tip.

Plus, you never know who you are talking to — and a professional writer (that would be me) is the LAST person you wanna piss off.

I had a similar experience over the weekend when I refused service at a hair salon in Denville. Let me say, I was dressed beautifully in a summer dress, but people do smell an outsider and in certain towns in New Jersey, that’s what they do because they have nothing better to do than size you up and cast you out in order to feed their egos.

But it’s funny, because one woman who was giving me an evil eye, looking down on me, had her husband right next to her checking me out. Ha! Guys always check out a good looking woman no matter how rich or poor she is. That goes back to Frankie Vali days with the song “Rag Doll” praising the girl from the poor side of town who has got it going on — yeah!

Maybe that’s what gets the goat of these uptight gold-digging c*nts? They spend so much money on themselves yet they are still SO INSECURE that they have to make other women FEEL BAD in order for themselves to feel good.

We all know sexuality goes right to the bone — you don’t need fancy clothes, botox or to be super thin to BE HOT. It must piss these rich bitches off to no end that their husbands, who are contributing to their seven figure salary, are checking out the middle class ladies. HA!

And while we are always speaking of racism and age-ism, etc. let me say here that prejudice against people (especially women vs. women) who are in a lower tax bracket is equally disgusting. Why is this not addressed more often? Why does a lot of money make someone “better” when all it really means is you know how to make a lot of money — that’s all.

Some of the smartest, classiest, prettiest, nicest, talented, creative, most spiritual, etc. people I know are in lower tax brackets.

And these people LAUGH at the Short Hills, New Jersey and their “vastly superior” mentality. Their uniform is hilarious: the attitude, the botox, fish lips, the yoga pants and the prance. For people who make a lot of money, you’d probably expect something just a little more unique, right? It’s like watching a realty show. Or, wait, it IS a reality show! It’s the Housewives of Wart Hills!

And before people think this is a diss on wealthy people in New Jersey, it’s not at all. It’s just certain lily-white areas that you see this kind of wealth-isms like: Millburn and Short Hills, Livingston, Chatham, Madison, Denville, some areas of Montclair (and as a former Montclair resident, it always cracked me up because they separated Montclair from Upper Montclair — BUT the real super mansions were NOT in Upper Montclair, yet those from UPPER Montclair insisted on the “UPPER” when they wrote “Letters to the Editor” to The Montclair Times).

There are wealthy areas in New Jersey where you get no attitude at all — like Princeton, where young men actually hold doors open for you. No one seems to be in a hurry down there and it has a genuine sense of richness, like an old Hollywood movie. Classes can mingle beautifully and we are all one.

My favorite beach in New Jersey is in one of the wealthiest areas: Spring Lake. And while on the beach in the summer, the residents treat my husband and I as if we live there too. It’s always a beautiful experience.

And in Hudson and Bergen counties, where there is more of a variety of ethnic groups, you get a better class of people too. It’s very old school, like living in the 1970s again when people were polite and respectable to each other.

I worked as a journalist most of my adult life and have been to homes of super wealthy people who treated me as an equal, like Paul Kolby who ran New York City’s Bitter End. He lived in Montclair and was one of those who didn’t fit the Montclair stereotype. A very down to earth man, he was, may he rest in peace.

And one of the richest rock stars in the world, Steven Tyler, was an absolute doll to me when I met him at the funeral of his ex-wife Cyrinda Foxe (who I had become close with during my career in music journalism). You’d never see someone like Steven Tyler looking down on others. He’s the salt of the earth.

And guess what else? One of my best friends lives in Short Hills — and she is NOTHING like the imbeciles who trot around thinking they are better than everyone else. She’s the nicest, coolest person in the world — a real angel on earth!

So, it’s all these great experiences I have to focus on before I get myself all caught up in a “rich” stereotype (that is very real). I have to remember that just because a certain clique of people think they are better than others, it’s not me who lacks class — it’s them. (Yeah, I know, another cliche, “money can’t buy you class” — but it’s true!) And I refuse to have these idiots break me and turn me into one of them by reacting as they would.

There are two things I always say to myself when I am a victim of wealth-ism (or in any situation where someone tries to belittle me or put me down so they could make themselves feel BIGGER):

1. Something a friend said a long time ago, which was GENIUS. “Some people think they are better than others. Some people’s math is wrong.”

AND … my favorite …

2. To belittle is to BE LITTLE.

Or I can just be really funny and tell these delusional jerks they remind me of the toque macque monkeys who have a caste system. Oh … no … wait … those monkeys are so much cuter than the residents of Wart Hills, New Jersey will ever be!


Reach Out and Touch Someone

Published January 12, 2015 by Maryanne

darlene foster photo - 2010 - hat

(photo by Darlene Foster) 

Earlier today someone called my home. It was a bad connection and we could barely hear each other, like an overseas phone call.

The guy kept repeating, “You don’t know who this is?”

“No, I don’t know who it is. Tell me.”

Then the guy starts yelling at me, “Grandma! You don’t even know your own grandson?!”

I said, “I’m sorry, I’m not your Grandma. You have the wrong number.”

He apologized. After we hung up I laughed. Then I really thought about what had happened and how sweet it was that someone, somewhere, was calling their grandmother. And how lucky they were to still have a grandmother. I was touched.

New Outlook

Published January 6, 2015 by Maryanne


I used to be afraid of driving in the snow. But for 2015, I have a new outlook.

If I get killed in a car accident, that’s an OPPORTUNITY to come back and haunt everyone who was ever mean to me … while they are taking a shower … on the days they forgot to shave. So there!

Happy Birthday!

Published December 19, 2014 by Maryanne

Happy Birthday Dogs

YES! I’ve come up with the least offensive Seasons Greeting — suitable for ALL!

If you say, “Happy Holidays” it offends Christians. If you say “Merry Christmas” it offends everyone else. So just say, “Happy Birthday!”

Happy Birthday is a win-win-win, because #1 Christians will think you’re saying Happy Birthday to Jesus; #2 Others will think you meant to say “Happy Holidays”; #3 Those who have birthdays around this time of year and often feel neglected because of the holiday hoopla will feel extra special!


Seniors Gone Wild!

Published March 14, 2014 by Maryanne

crazy coots

Being self-employed, public speaking is one of my newer specialties. Since last September I’ve been giving lectures on a variety of topics in assisted living facilities and libraries.

My lecture “Luck of the Irish” was a hit this month due to St. Patrick’s Day and I’ve already had quite a few bookings with more to go.

Today’s “Luck of the Irish” lecture was the most fun I ever had at an assisted living facility. So much so that afterwards tears were rolling down my face from laughing so hard.

I walked into a place I’ve never lectured at before and was thrilled to see more than 50 people in a banquet styled room. The more the merrier, I always say. Plus, I write my lectures with audience participation in mind, which is a very cool thing for seniors because they get to participate and feel as if they are a part of something.

Well, my presentation was off to rocky start as it was a pretty rough crowd. Some people were complaining the microphone was too loud, others complained it wasn’t loud enough. Then by some miracle I found a happy medium.

I got going and then when it came time to speak of Irish Wakes, an old biddy yelled at me: “THAT’S ALL THE IRISH ARE KNOWN FOR, DRINKING. I DON’T DRINK, I DON’T WANNA HEAR THIS!”

Wow. Okay. So I said, “No problem, we’ll skip that portion of the lecture.”

Moving along …

Next a brawl broke out between an old man and an old lady and they knocked a table over. It took three nurses to break it up! The old man was told he was going to be sent to his room, but he was screaming, “I WANNA STAY!” So they let him stay.

Then finally things calmed down, I won the crowd over and did a nice lecture.

The old lady who yelled at me apologized for being rude. Another lady apologized on her behalf and says, “She doesn’t like anything, she’s always like that. Pay her no mind.”

I asked for a show of hands one how many people liked the lecture and EVERYONE raised their hands, including the one who yelled at me.

I stayed about a half hour afterwards, speaking with all the residents who attended the lecture. Two ladies I was having a great conversation with, then a 97-year-old man walked all across the large banquet room to join in the conversation.

I was impressed by his speed.

The director complimented me on not skipping a beat when I was interrupted and wondered if I’d even come back after the brawl. I said, “Eh, it’s all in a day’s work!”

She said, “Already they’re telling me you were EXCELLENT and they want you back!”

Two hours later, I’m still laughing.

How Many Husbands?

Published July 20, 2013 by Maryanne

woman two suitors

This morning I was in a Hallmark store waiting for a gift to be wrapped, so I just stood to the side and let other customers go to the next register.

There was a man with a cane standing next to me, probably in his 60s or 70s. I had my left arm resting over my bag at the counter and he said, “That’s nice,” as he pointed to my left arm.

“Oh, thank you!” I said, assuming he was talking about my wedding band.

“How many do you have?” he asked.

“Husbands?!” I asked, with a smile on my face.

He looked baffled as I was, as he was referring to the tattoo on my wrist — not my wedding band.

Caught Monkey Footing!

Published May 15, 2013 by Maryanne

monkey footPhoto swiped from Google

Even those of us who are fit and healthy have their moments of weakness, times when we’re just too damn lazy to bend over and pick something up. So we do it the easy way. We pick it up with our toes. I call it “monkey footing.”

Today was one of those mornings. I just went grocery shopping, was putting things away, accidentally dropped my grocery receipt and picked it up with my toes.

My husband caught me and laughed so hard. He saw me do this before and thinks it’s very funny how I do the monkey foot so quickly and with such finesse.

“How long were you doing that? Since you were a little kid?”

I don’t remember, honestly, but to me that is one of the perks of springtime — you’re always barefoot so when you’re in a hurry, just monkey foot it!

The Name Game

Published March 24, 2013 by Maryanne


If you call me Maryanne: You’re mostly everyone I know and know that this is what I prefer.

If you call me Mare: You’re probably a lot of people I know who feel a sense of familiarity with me. I love “Mare.”

If you call me Mary: I don’t like that –Mary is not my name.

If you call me Aunt Mare: You’re my very cool nephew, Matthew, age 12.

If you called me Mare-Mare: You were my little cousin Keith who couldn’t pronounce my full name back in the 1960s.

If you called me Mare-a-ree: You were my grandfather’s retarded parakeet.

If you call me Scooch or Snuggle Bunny: You’re my husband.

If you call me Lucy (as in “I Love Lucy”): You are my husband or my brother-in-law.

If you call me Pain in the Ass: You are probably my mother.

St. Patrick’s Memory from 2003

Published March 16, 2013 by Maryanne


I was going through some of my old journals and I found this story from St. Patrick’s weekend, 2003. I was 39-years-old.

I was in midtown Manhattan with a friend and saw the play, “H.P. Lovecraft: Nightmare Suite” at the Common Basis Theatre. The play was decent, but the real fun was the bus ride home.

The night before I was out and did some heavy duty drinking, so after the play I was very tired. I just wanted to get back to my place and share a bottle of wine with my friend. I figured I could take a nap on the bus ride home and be rejuvenated 40-minutes later when the bus reached my apartment.

But no such luck.

In the seat right behind us, there was this annoying teenager, thinking the world revolved around her, yakking into her cell phone. Her voice was beyond piercing and she wouldn’t shut up!

Since I couldn’t nap and she was so irritating, in order to drown her out I decided to be equally as obnoxious and have some fun by singing Sex Pistols songs at the top of my lungs in a cockney accent.

After singing, “Wanna Be Me,” “Anarchy in the U.K.” and “No Feelings” I moved on to themes from children’s television shows like Mr. Rogers’ “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood …” and the Flintstones theme — also in a cockney accent. Then I sang a punk rock version of “Born Free.”

Surprisingly, no one on the bus got pissed off and the teenager finally stopped talking on her cell. So I stopped to catch my breath.

After a brief moment of silence, a couple of drunken Irish men started singing Irish songs. I thought it was very polite of them to wait until my “concert” was over and they were really good. In fact they were so good that my friend and I applauded after every song and encouraged them to: “Sing another one! Sing another one!” So they did.

They entertained us all the way to the bus stop in front of my apartment in New Jersey. I almost didn’t want to get off the bus!

I filed this memory under “The Day I was the Warm-up Act for a Wonderful Drunken Irish Singing Group.” Probably one of the best St. Patrick’s weekends I ever had! And I’m not even Irish.

Forgot the Pants, Remembered the Wig

Published December 7, 2012 by Maryanne

Toupee - chihuahua

Unlike how it was in the 1970s, men today have it easy when it comes to going bald. Once a bald spot starts coming in, they just shave their heads and they are automatically in vogue. Bald men today could get hot chicks, even supermodels. This look is now so stylish some guys even shave their heads before they start going bald.

But back in the 1970s, it was rare to see a clean shaven head. Middle-aged men, or premature balding men either dealt with it or they’d go the “toupee” route, which was before the hair plugs and hair transplants were popular in the 1980s and 1990s.

For those too young to remember, a toupee is used like a wig and it’s put over the balding section of the head. The natural hair can blend in with the toupee. My grandfather, “Poppy,” had a toupee. He wore it religiously. Once he purchased it, we never saw him without it again.

One day my grandmother was driving home and thought a cop was following her. She was so nervous she quickly pulled into the driveway and then without thinking, kept going, driving right through the garage door!

Poppy heard the loud noise and came running out to see what happened.

He was only in his underwear. And his toupee.