I have a confession to make: I have been a nail biter for as long as I can remember. I try to stop, try every remedy short of amputation, but nope. 
There is a method to my madness: I bite whenever there is a split or break. Turns out that is all of the fucking time.

I am currently following the gospel of @SimplyNailogical by using all of the oil on my nails in hopes to grow these fuckers out. And this isn’t just vanity driven either; imagine my scratching game with every eczema and atopic flare up… awww yeaaahhhh. 

Have any of you tried to get over a bad habit? What helped? 

Don’t say yoga. 

I wish I could give some awesome excuse as to why this blog fell to the wayside, like a secret mission or figuring out I’m a wizard. Alas, I just got lazy and forgot. 

However, this is a new beginning, a new country (not by choice), and a new married me, so what the hell? 

I’m still working my way around the internets, so bear with me. I will get this down…eventually.

PS- I am aware that despite my Bachelor’s in Creative Writing and tendency to be a grammar nazi, I write a lot of run on sentences. My apologies. 

I am mainly just doing this to see if this blackberry app works. I’m laying on the couch with Fred the Cat after a fantastic yoga class (Fred did not attend). Hopefully this works!

I should note before going into this story that I procrastinated for a good half hour, checking on Hollywood trash and seeing if Charlie Sheen is still alive, before actually writing this. I hope that isn’t a metaphor of times to come.

Returning to my actual post, I decided to tell you all today about a field trip that madre and I decided to go on. We go in the car, tried dealing with traffic on 95 North before taking the bridge to Jersey, and heading to the Philadelphia Flower show. We went on a Tuesday early afternoon, figuring we would avoid the weekend crowds.

Shit, were we wrong.

I have never seen so many feisty retirees in my entire life. Now, the theme was gorgeous and incredibly executed, but trying to actually look at a perfectly rendered French Cottage with rooftop garden is difficult when being shoved aside by three ladies with canes. This was only escalated when there was voices of anger and rebellion when the line wasn’t moving quick enough. I think a few art students there on a class project feared for their lives. Clearly, madre and I got out of dodge and over to less popular exhibits such as the ficus competition.

On the way there, we passed by the miniature exhibit with a line that reached well over 200 feet. Madre said, “Unless there’s a god damn roller coaster at the end of that line, I’m not standing in it.” Truer words have never been said.

Three hours and a kick-ass hanging plant that I purchased later, we retreated to get our car from the pay for parking lot. You’re supposed to to leave your car key with them, but take your house key with you in case workers decide to break in to your house or something. Madre didn’t because, “If they want to drive the hour and a half, find our house, deal with those dogs, and break in? Good for them.”

On the way home we stopped for junk food and to rent The Kids Are All Right from the world’s last remaining Blockbuster. Not too impressed with the movie, but it was better than watching Glee.

Until next time,

Ellee

I don’t ask that question in an existential fashion. I’m here on this planet because whatever higher power is up there clearly has a sense of humor. Like with creating a platypus, but with an awkward, short girl with a lot of moxie and even more allergies.

Originally, originally I’m from Northern Ireland in country Antrim. My entire dad’s side of the family still lives there. No, they aren’t leprechauns. My dad moved over here with nothing but $40 and his charm and somehow survived in Atlantic City. At times, I think he has super powers. He probably does get his strength from his glass eye; it’s the reason why absolutely everything in life works out for John G Dee.

My mother is from Philly. I think that should explain that. She won’t take your guff, and she will tell you whatever she thinks to your face. She has told me, among other things, that she wishes she could tell people she had a kind of tourettes, but with patience. She even tried to do this during the homily of my older sister’s wedding. She is also a hardcore cross-stitcher. Right now she is working on a portrait of Jesus for a (clearly) Christian friend, but she refuses do do his face until last because she doesn’t want him watching and judging.

My older sister is living in Northern Ireland right now with her new hubby. They just got married a month ago… so far so good. They’re just waiting on his green card/visa/whatever it is to come over here. Then she wants kids. Lots of them. This frightens me.

Then there’s me. After being born abroad, I was brought over to New Jersey to grow up. It has really helped shape my sarcasm towards so much in life. I graduated with a bachelor’s in May 2010, and I work part time in retail. I do theater and such, but I have an immune system that says it is a really bad idea to attempt to do that professionally. I have a new attempt at a life’s plan every week, which I’m sure drives my boyfriend up the wall. He’s very sweet in how he puts up with me. I have applied for a grad school program in film studies and screenwriting. I will probably be ungodly devastated if I do not get in. I’m a very self deprecating person, but I always dress cute. I’m about as left as you can go without treading on Stalin’s toes, and I’m a very proud feminist who happens to love playing with make-up.

After the whole “going to college thing” happened, I moved down to Maryland’s Eastern Shore on my family’s “farm.” I put that in quotes because none of us actually know how to run a farm. Still, we have horses, including my own Cody Monster, too many barn cats that keep multiplying because my dad feeds them way too much Meow Mix, two labs that I swear are actually bears in disguise, Jack the barn cat who decided to move in and has yet to leave, and of course, my trusty sidekick: Fred the Cat… who happens to spend the majority of his time looking at me judgmentally.  It keeps me grounded.

I’ve been on the Eastern Shore now for nearly a year, and I still have culture shock. It has it’s perks, like the annual reenactment of the Chestertown Tea Party (apparently, they had one, too) which is always better to watch while inebriated. Still there is a lot of not much here, and the people take some getting used to. I understand country club republicans, but not ones that wear camouflage, let alone tea-partiers who try to preach to you at the local restaurant… which is actually a gas station that doesn’t have gas.

Basically, I need this blog to keep me sane… somewhat.