Confessions of Monogram Shopaholic: Pink Monogram Edition

Sooooo...I don't remember exactly how it came up...but one day, I looked Husband straight in the eye and told him that I knew the value of a dollar.  When he was done laughing...I'm pretty sure he shared his laugh with the rest of my family...who, judging by their laughter, seem to agree with him. 

When I see something I HAVE to have...I can't be stopped.  I may not know the value of a dollar, but I know the value of an item based on it's importance to me. I also know that the value of any item, for me, increases exponentially once it's been monogrammed.  Then the item becomes like me...one of a kind.  There is nothing I found, so far, that isn't improved by personalization.  You can imagine, then, that whenever I get loose on The Pink Monogram, I fall in love with everything!!!  When DH hears me mention The Pink Monogram I swear little cartoon dollar signs spring out of his eyes and his ears are full of cha-chingy, slot machine sounds.  


Hi.  I'm CAT.  I'm a shopaholic.


Just a few of my The Pink Monogram finds...

Ok, so maybe I'm not the MOST frugal person...perhaps I have a SLIGHT shopping addiction...there are worse things in life, right?  I mean, some people go out of the house with no makeup on!  Some people chew with their mouths open! Some people even where white after Labor Day!!!  But the WORST???  Some people don't volunteer their time or give to charity!!!


I know!  You're all shocked...but sadly, it's true.  

I am always more likely to shop from a merchant that I know gives back.  I approached my fantastic sponsor, The Pink Monogram, for a donation for the Queen of Hearts Aloha Fundraiser, I was barely able to ask before she was saying yes!  I don't know about you, but for my money...that I value in my own way (how many new monogrammed things I can buy with it)...The Pink Monogram is a merchant from whom I will ALWAYS shop.  Not only is everything I buy there adorable...at the end of the day, I know the more I shop, the more The Pink Monogram will able to donate when asked...all the while knowing, that no matter what I buy...it's just for me...one of a kind.
Like Moi.
Like The Pink Monogram.
THAT's VALUE.

Great!  Now I want to shop again...

XOXO,
CAT

Are You Asleep?

There are no stupid questions.  Au Contraire!!! There are loads of stupid questions.  I have always found, "Are you asleep," to be tops on the list.  Consider this...in order for one to answer the question, one must be awake...rendering the question moot...and STUPID!


I had a sleep study...such as it was.  I know you will all find this SHOCKING...but I, sometimes, very rarely, once in only the bluest of moons, can be just the tiniest bit fussy.  There is also just the slimmest of chances that I can be, hardly ever, really, a teensy weensy touch of a germophobe.  Mother has always called me "Princess and the Pea," when it comes to my bed...and evidently, this isn't meant entirely as a compliment.

I am also, an insomniac.  I was having a bit of difficulty understanding the concept of a sleep study on one who can't sleep before I got anywhere near the study itself.  Then I started to consider the logistics of such a study, even if I could sleep.  A strange bed, that other people have slept in...the sheets, that other people have slept in...the person watching me in said bed and sheets...and oh, dear, the downward spiral began!  Yes, I realize that I am an adult...but cooties are real, damn it!!!


My doctors insisted that I had the study done, so I had to come up with a way to make it work.  My own pillow was a start...though I was concerned about the case getting cooties, so I preemptively bought a new one and sent it to my darling friend, Preppy Poppy, for monogramming...so that the cootie infested case could be thrown away.  I know...you're all thinking...why didn't I think of that...but you didn't...and I did. It was brought to my attention that throwing away the cootie case would be "wasteful," and while my inner voice said, "go drive a Prius," my outer voice said, "you're right...I'll bleach and keep it for travel."  Moving on...this would only serve to protect my head from cooties, leaving my entire body exposed.  It was at this point that DH stepped in to save the day!  He humours me beautifully...and tho I tend to believe that it's more so that he can continue to laugh AT me, I'll take what I can get.  He ordered a pink, silk, sleep sack online!  I didn't know there even was such a thing!!!  I'm a little ashamed to admit that as I fancy myself a nearly professional shopper...but now we all have the benefit of his genius.  With pillow, Lysol (vanilla scented, of course), sleep sack, and my stuffed hippopotamus, Rio, in tow...I felt as prepared as I possibly could feel...though I still couldn't quite get my mind around a "sleep" study on an insomniac...


I arrived at the sleep center a few minutes before 9 and was lead to the study room.  It was then that things started to become worse than I'd imagined they could.  I noticed, in the hallway, a proliferation of ant traps.  Ohhhh...not good!  Throughout the course of the "evening," I came to notice them EVERYWHERE...including the staff kitchenette/break room, the loo, AND the room in which they intended to study my sleep.  If I were a sound sleeper, the ant traps alone would have made my sleep uneasy, to say the least!  This was, however, just scratching the surface of how bad the night would ultimately go.  The tech...and may I say, of course I may, it's my blog...was clearly one had been watching late night tv and called the 800 number to get "a healthcare 'degree' in just 17 months"...sent me to the changing room after he assisted me in choosing the appropriate pajamas from the 3 sets I brought...naturally I couldn't bring just one...I hadn't a clue as to the temperature of the study center or to which body parts he might need access...my sister thought my packing was "cute" which leaves me reasonably sure that, as it often does, "cute" means "I'm laughing at you" in sister vernacular.  Upon my return, I was finally able to fully take in the room and bed in which they intended me to sleep.  The room itself had aging paint that someone had tried to distract from by running wallpaper border around the room...not at the top, where it belongs, nor at the proper level for a chair rail...it was...random, to say the least...and peeling off the wall...and tacky as hell.  It had moons and stars on it, an attempt to encourage thoughts of sleep, I can only assume, and in no way matched the dreadful, blue light special, comforter, or the frightening looking blue pillowcases.  I prefer white sheets...in my home and especially when I sleep elsewhere...as they can be bleached, and might have, in this case, on some level, conveyed a sanitary impression, false though it likely would have been.  He then informed me I couldn't have my phone.  I was counting on Twitter, WhatsApp, Facebook, and streaming episodes of SeaQuest to get me through the night.  I had also, ever moi to be over-prepared, brought my Kindle, book light, 2 dvds from the best of "Friends" collection and the first season of "Footballers Wives."  You may not have ever seen "Footballers Wives," but it was a fabulously tacky, over the top, make "Dynasty" look like "Sesame Street," BBC show from 2002-2006.  Joan Collins even joined the cast!  I brought it because, I knew that I would be watched and the room listened to...but assumed the tech couldn't see the tv itself...and thought it would be a riot for...or completely screw with...the tech hearing them talk about a "bastard, hermaphrodite, baby."


He let me put on a dvd and set out what I would need through the night.  I started with "Friends," whilst he was in the room attaching the monitors.  I then attempted to lay out my pillow, sleep sack, Rio, lip balm, water, meds, sleep mask, and Kindle and reading glasses.  I pulled back what they were passing off as a comforter, only to be told he didn't know what my sleep sack was...and in the same way I wasn't allowed silk or satin pjs, I couldn't use that!  I looked at the sheet...the only sheet...the bottom sheet, to see that not only was it some sort of peach colour that had seen better days...it didn't match the pillow cases or comforter and didn't appear especially fresh.  Fighting back my disgust, I sat in the chair provided by the tech so that he could begin attaching the leads and monitors.  2 on each leg and I thought, "Ok...not so bad."  Time to move on to my head...where he measured the location of each lead with a tape measure and marked it like Sweeny Todd with a red wax pencil.  My skull aching from each new mark, he said, "Oh sh*t!  F*ck!  Does your scalp normally bleed?"  And then interrupted my stunned silence with, "Oh sh*t, no...I did that...don't worry."  Ummmm...I beg your pardon?  It was then time for the rest of the leads to be physically attached.  He applied one and taped it into place...followed by, "F*ck...I'm out of tape! Sh*t!!! Oh...no...I know what I'll do."  He leaves and returns with the tape dispenser from the reception desk!!!  Scotch freakin' tape!!!  After about 2 hours, he's finally done attaching everything and informs me it's time to get in bed.  I swapped out dvds, took off my slippers, and ATTEMPTED to slide into bed.  Slide, however, was out of the question.


The bottom sheet could only be classified by grit (the means by which sand paper is classified) rather than thread-count.  I took my bedtime meds...including my sleep RX, a significant dose of Halcion.  I attempted to get as comfortable as I could, snuggled up with Rio, and started watching "Footballers Wives."  As, at this point you can imagine, I lie there, wide awake, just this side of a cootie induced panic attack...the sleep tech came in the room, at what I can only imagine was at least once an hour, to ask, "Are you asleep?"  Followed with the admonition, "Try to sleep."  Really, genius?  Was that the idea?  He was watching me on video, listening to the room, and monitoring the leads, sensors, and whatever else he managed to tape or strap to me.  And I thought "Are you asleep," was a dumbass question before!!!  HA!


At around 0430 he came back in and said that I was finished for the night as I wasn't sleeping anyway.  He then began to remove all of the sensors.  It required a ton of alcohol wipes, and God knows what else, and a greatly unpleasant amount of force to rip off all of them.  To give you just a bit of an idea about how bad this was...

Just some of the skin ripped off by the tape!  It is now starting to split open...

When I showed the tech the damage he caused, his response?  "Did the tape do that?"  "Does it hurt?"  So I think we can unequivocally agree, that there ARE, in fact, STUPID QUESTIONS!


Now here I sit...exhausted...my skin ripped off in many places...unable to wash my hair without a pitcher of water, as the shower head is still too painful...and still wondering...WHY on Earth one would do a "sleep" study on an insomniac...
And THAT is NOT a STUPID QUESTION!

Lifestyles of the Sick and the Famous

Oh...how I have missed you, darling, wonderful, readers...

Wonderful news...your Holiday Wishes fulfilled...

I'm BACK!!!

I don't want to bore you with all the gory details or whine as if my life, on balance, is anything but enviable.  I am an incredibly fortunately woman and my New Year's Resolution is to be more grateful for all my blessings.  

Darling Husband, if you are reading this, skip ahead to the next section, everyone else, keep reading.  I have an amazing husband (most of the time)...who is my best friend...has given me a beautiful home, cars, shoes, clothes, jewelry, and all of those material things...loves me in spite of myself...and of whom I am enormously proud every day.  

I have a fantastic family.  It would doing an injustice to the word "dysfunctional," to say I have a dysfunctional family!  Sure...a lot of people THINK they have a crazy family...until they have met mine.  DH once recently said to me, "It's unbelievable you don't have MORE issues!"  Again, feel free to laugh...I nearly fell out of bed giggling!  Who am I trying to kid?  I laughed so hard I snorted!!!  My parents lived, more or less, around the corner from each other after their divorce.  When DH and I went back to visit, before Mother moved to Florida, Mother threw huge parties with Dad, Stepmom, Stepsibs, Pop pop, her boyfriend, and my inlaws.  Dad flicked a bottle cap at me in front of FIL because his beer, that he purposely carries in his shirt pocket for the sole purpose of driving Mother mad, was empty...FIL was in shock...though I can't say for sure if the look on his face had more to do with the flicking itself or that I knew what it meant and responded by bringing Daddy his beer...and the finger.  We have had to employ a "NO F-word in the Dining Room" rule.  This rule backfired upon it's inception...when I got up from the table, stepped one step into the kitchen, and, well...you get the picture.  Stepmom has called Mother to ask how to deal with Father...to receive the reply, "When he drove me crazy, I divorced him...I not be the best one to ask," followed by laughter on both ends of the phone...and probably nothing good for Dad.  Grams always called me a "jackass," and when finally called on it, she explained, "That means I love you the most!"  That's just the immediate family.  For the sake of everyone's sanity, I'll quit while I'm behind!

I have spectacular friends.  Some go back so far that, in one case, as Mother likes to say is, "the first man I ever slept with."  We were 3 and went to the same babysitter...another who, well, we met one on her 16th birthday, which was long enough ago that we now celebrate our anniversary rather than our ages, and our anniversary is more than old enough to legally drink!!!  Wonderful people that I've known as long as I can remember...and, largely thanks to the USAF, fabulous people all across the country and overseas.  I am honored and humbled to count such generous, smart, kind, patriotic...sarcastic, quippy, maddening, funny...as my friends.

But, by way of explanation for my absence, here goes nothing:

There is nothing new wrong with my brain.  

Who knew?

I'm going to go ahead and leave it that, because no doubt you feel like reading all of my problems about as much as I feel like listing them...but, I kid you not...a doctor said, "There is nothing new wrong with your brain."  Yes, I know you're laughing.  I laughed, too.  I have just about every specialist one can have...but for a podiatrist (Look out podiatrists of the world, you're next!)...and I thought I had heard it all...but this was a new one...even for me!!!  Ask yourself what kind of response you'd have had to that statement.  I can't remember ever having laughed so hard at a doctor's appt...until she said, "...and I agree with everything in that book..except that Evolution thing...but anyway..."

Thank You

I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you so much!  I have been deeply touched by your care and concern over these last few weeks.  I am fighting through and have no doubt I'll be back on my feet in soon.

In the meantime, enjoy your holiday shopping with Preppy Pink Princess sponsor:

The Pink Monongram

And dear friend to the blog:

Marley Lilly

XOXO,

~CAT

The Roof, the Roof, the Roof is on FIRE!!!

I apologize to all of you...I KNOW many of you have been expecting my take on soooo many of the events of late, but I am in Marathon Migraine Hell and it has kept me away from writing and the light of the computer.  That said, I have taken enough meds to try to catch a bit and comment on a few of the things for which you have been asking.

I blame the media!  Ummmm...sure.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess, living in a beautiful, quiet, suburb of Philly...still too young and sheltered to truly understand the danger and pain and negative in the world.  I will be leaving the dates out of this post...because...frankly, they make me feel old, but if you must know, google. We begin with this post so that you have a bit of background for my next.  


A group...a black Libertarian group/cult...calling themselves "MOVE," and all adopting the surname "Africa" formed in 1972 in Philadelphia. They help more than a few protests and refused to kill vermin...in fact drawing them to their property with their giant, inner city compost pile...and enraging their neighbors. This was not going unnoticed by the Philadelphia PD.  

In 19**, they had built themselves an inner-city compound and despite a court order, a year long stand off, the fatal shooting of a police officer and 12 other police and firefighters, not to mention 3 bystanders...and yes, 3 "MOVE" members...being injured in the crossfire...though 9 "MOVE" members were convicted for killing the police officer...they still refused to "MOVE."


Am I the only person to find irony in the face that they called themselves "MOVE" and yet refused to, well, move...


In 19**, they finally moved to a row home on Osage Ave.  As I recall, during that time, they bought neighboring row housing and tunneled between them.  The compost piles continued and they were cited for health hazards because of them.  Various charges and arrests had continued to accumulate against many of the "MOVE" (we swear we're not a cult, we are a black libertarian group)...and oh, by the way...whilst I understand the goals of current, true, Libertarians, and I do support some of their ideals...I am one who tends to believe too much freedom potentially leads to chaos, sorry Daddy...and all those of you who read my blog frequently are likely shocked it took me this long to even marginally digress, sorry to disappoint...but I have a lot to share with you and having been far more sick than usual, I want to take advantage of the time I'm well enough to write...what self-respecting Libertarian chooses West Philadelphia for their compound...and yes, every time I hear/write/read/say "West Philadelphia," the voices in my head IMMEDIATELY start suburban, private school, preppy white girl rapping the intro to "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," so for all those who just did, you're not alone...at any rate, James Joyce just tapped me on the proverbial shoulder and told me to get back to the story...where was I?  Yes, yes...Joe and Mary and Bob, etc, Africa continued to accumulate arrests for charges ranging including contempt of court, parole violations, terroristic threats, and...hello...it's a cult...building an illegal cache weapons. As you can imagine, tensions continued to mount.


Finally, in 19**, the city, and Mayor Wilson Goode, had had enough!  When police arrived to serve an eviction notice at "MOVE"s Osage Avenue compound, it lead to yet another stand-off.  There was tear gas, water cannons, the "MOVE" members began firing, again, at police and fire fighters...the escalation was intense.  It was the first time I can ever recall seeing such a thing...it was all live, unfolding right there on television...I, along with everyone else for a minimum of a 100 miles at least, was riveted and terrified.  It went on for what seemed like forever.  Then the news kept reporting that then Mayor Wilson Goode was considering something drastic...this had been going for years and action had to be taken.  He warned them repeatedly what was going to happen, though I they didn't believe him...frankly, when it was announced on tv... I don't think anyone did.  


"Mommy?  Daddy?  What's Napalm?"


Though some say it was a combination of C4 and Tovex...some say it was Napalm.  Late on the night of May 13th, by helicopter, the compound was bombed.  Romona Africa and a child called Birdie Africa were the only survivors.


There has always been a bit of an urban legend that the song The Roof is on Fire was about the "MOVE" incident.  Far be it from me to point out that the song came out shortly before the Osage Avenue fire.


Though the city denounced Mayor Goode's actions, no criminal charges were ever filed against anyone involved on the side of the City of Philadelphia.


Why, you may ask yourself, is this where I am choosing to start when there are a few issues on which many of you have requested I blog recently...it will become very clear to you in my next post, titled, "The British are Coming!"


Once I have addressed the topical issues you've been requesting, I'll try to provide you all with a better excuse for my absence, introduce some truly fab sponsors, get to some fantastic giveaways, and oh, my friends, the fun we will have discussing decorating, shopping, dressing and cooking for the holidays!!!  My honest love, thanks, and appreciation to all of you for your understanding!!!


XOXO,
~CAT

So I Was Thinking...Vol I

So I was thinking the other day...I think, by now, we can all agree this is a bad idea...but I swear it was an accident...I received, yet another, of those "Let's see who will forward this," "What's your favorite," "What did you have for breakfast," ridiculous emails.  Little aside...I NEVER forward them!!!  It doesn't mean that I don't LOVE the friends that send the to me...it means...well...when I got to thinking...it means a few things.

It definitely means introspection is not my thing.  Trust me...I'm as shocked as you are!

Maybe it means I don't feel like copying and typing all that stuff because...I just don't feel like it.  It's entirely possible it's a migraine or an RA flare in my hands creating this particular case of the "I don't wannas," maybe I'm in the car or at the gym...or really, I just don't feel like it.

But then I realized...when I was doing that thinking thing...that sometimes, it's none of anyone's damn business!

Why do randoms, to whom the email will ultimately be forwarded, need to know what I had for breakfast?  Why do they need to know what I'm reading?  Why do they need to know...or all of Facebook in my status, for that matter...what color bra I'm wearing....and why do they care?  I assure you, and this applies to even my very best friends, tho of this they are already aware, the ONLY reason I would give a damn about the color of ANYONE'S bra, is that they have visible bra straps...Ewwwww!!!  Outside of my head, I can't imagine my likes and dislikes are THAT life-changing to anyone.

Worse are those that ask for favorites.  That's what really caused all of this "thinking" silliness.  I realized I simply don't have answers to those questions.  They all ask:  

What's your favorite color?  Well, Pink...but I often like to answer Plaid or Argyle...you've got to mix things up...keep people guessing...
But that's an easy one.


What's your favorite food?  Ummmm...I kind of don't know.  Do I say chocolate...I do LOVE chocolate.  Or french fries...but not all french fries because some are soggy or have blechy coatings or seasonings (Can we say Old Bay?!?).  Is a sauce a food?  I mean, do alfredo and bernaise stand alone...or must I choose specifically that which they make the most delish?  What about bacon?  Grams used to put more and more bacon on anything people didn't like because everyone loves bacon.  This particular phenomenon gave birth to the transformation of the previously merely disliked sweet potato to the "God Damn Sweet Potato"...and on the subject of potatoes...yes, potatoes, I said french fries earlier and sweet potatoes now so I'm going there...my blog...you know the rules...double baked...love...mashed...adore...scalloped...well...how can it be that in high school I framed a magazine ad for the potato (because I HATE vegetables) that was a picture of a potato with green paint being poured on it that said something along the lines of "What must we do for you to consider us a vegetable, paint ourselves green" that I find scalloped potatoes...oh dear...I have no words.  Perhaps, yet again, a good time to switch to a fairytale.  Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess who sent to a sleepover in another Kingdom.  I was friends with the Princess at whose home I was sleeping...but her mother, the evil Queen...well...she was the type who wouldn't let yet leave the table without cleaning your plate.  The Princess and the evil Queen didn't see eye to eye on this particular issue for a number of reasons.  The Princess is a VERY picky eater and doesn't enjoy anything shy of being catered to.  The Princess had been taught well, by the Queen in her Kingdom, that a proper Princess ALWAYS leaves a bit on her plate.  A Princess owes it to her hostess to make any dietary needs known...generally this task is preformed by minions, but the Queen must've given them the day off.  Poor timing...really, REALLY, poor timing!  A proper Princess doesn't criticize what she is served, but does push the food around on her plate a bit, so as to be gracious give the appearance of eating and not insult one's host.  When the evil Queen asked the beautiful Princess if she liked scalloped potatoes PRIOR to cooking, the Princess firmly, tho politely, conveyed, in no uncertain terms, that scalloped potatoes...tho the Princess diplomatically kept to her self that this extends to any potatoes from a box...that scalloped potatoes were forbidden in her kingdom.  The evil Queen decided to test the Princess' resolve.  Ohhhhh, evil Queen, the Princess may have been a mere tot at the time, but she is the Princess, nonetheless.  I should mention, no judgment...you know me, I don't judge... that the evil Queen is BAD cook.  A poison apple would be step up!  There was, before my time, "the Lasagna Incident," in which, and the details are hazy because pretty much everyone involved ended up in the hospital, that, as I understand it, involved jarred sauce, possibly ketchup, and Velveeta!  Clearly the evil queen missed the memo, because as we sit down to dinner, the Princess' plate was piled high with scalloped potatoes made from a box.  I ate the rest of what passed for food in that particular Kingdom, yet the potatoes continued to stare back at me.  And the evil Queen decided, that the ideal way to teach the Princess a lesson (good luck with that), was to make her sit there until they were gone.  After quite some time...enough so that what had once made a vain attempt at looking like a potato...resembled in both appearance and smell...a cold, congealed mess of sweetbreads than anything I wanted to ever see baked, fried, or mashed again!  Still, the evil Queen thought surely her will was stronger than our heroine, our Princess.  The evil Queen decided to compromise and force just 3 bites down the Princess' throat.  It would appear that the evil Queen also missed the "No Means No" memo.  At this, the Princess decided to give the evil Queen just EXACTLY what she wanted.  Princess chocked down her first bite and while turning unpleasant shades of green, fortunately, our fair Princess looks fab in green, and her gorge began to rise.  The evil Queen insisted on bite number 2.  Princess warned her that bite 1 was not going well.  The evil Queen, refused to listen.  Princess took bite number 2 and gagged the entire time...it was a Royal struggle!!!  Still, the evil Queen insisted on one last bite.  When bite number 3 hit the gag reflex from bite number 2...things got VERY undignified!!!  The henpecked King quickly swooped me up and took me straight to the bath to clean me up...he managed to hide is laughter from the evil queen until we were safely in the bathroom with the door shut.  The evil Queen was STILL cleaning up after the Princess was all cleaned up and ready for bed.  She had also called the King and Queen of the Princess' Kingdom...both of whom had been subjected to "The Lasagna Incident," and laughed all night and the following morning driving out to retrieve the Princess.


So far, we haven't established my favourite anything...ahhh...but tomorrow is another day...and we shall carry on, my friends!


XOXO
~CAT

New Jersey: A Primer

Where to begin?  So many misconceptions, so little time.  People from New Jersey are not terribly entertained when upon meeting someone with the misfortune of having been born elsewhere asks, "What exit? Ha-ha."  5 coming from the north, 4 coming from the south.  Satisfied?  We do go "Down the Shore," not to the beach or whatever it is you other people do.  See?  You care what exit we're from, we don't give a damn where you summer.  We INVENTED IT...Cape May.  Look it up.  You watch loads of "Reality" and fiction shows about us...you think you know all about us....but again, notice we're not watching nearly as much "Reality TV" about you...because again, we don't give a damn.  Though there are those that would protest America's obvious fascination with New Jersey...I'm just the messenger here, folks...I would point out me thinks you doth protest too much!  Check the ratings on the Real Housewives of New Jersey, the Sopranos, the Jersey Shore, etc.  Go ahead, make the train wreck argument.  But try this on for size, New Jersey continues to be the most densely populated state in the nation, 11th in actual population while being the 47th smallest state.  Add to that the fact that New Jersey has nearly 1,000,000 acres of protected wetlands, not to mention the glorious home Mrs. Leeds, the Pine Barrens, 22% of New Jersey's land mass, only partially overlapping the wetlands and only marginally inhabitable...due in no small part to Mrs. Leeds' aforementioned 13th son. 
North Jersey and South Jersey are not the same thing.  We take that very seriously.  People from North Jersey favor New York teams.  People from South Jersey know it's all about the Flyers, the Phils, and the Iggles.  That's right, the Iggles.  Snowballs at Santa Claus and Vet Stadium (as my friend Jim would say, 40 on the curb for the Vet), home to the first on-site court and jail in sports, my friends!!!  People from South Jersey do not say "Joisey," nor do we think it's cute when when you do.  People from South Jersey drink "wooder."  People from North Jersey call it "Taylor Ham."  People from South Jersey know that is wrong...and stupid...it's "pork roll." 
Being from New Jersey, there is still much South and North (in no particular order) share.  For starters, we're from New Jersey...thank you, Jesus...and you're not! (I'm doing the thanking on behalf of my Jewish friends as well, you're welcome.) Bruce Willis, Bruce Springsteen, Bon Jovi, Grover Cleveland, Jack Nicholson, Buzz Aldrin, Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Woodrow Wilson, Judge Scalia...ME and FRANK SINATRA!  We actually DO know where Jimmy Hoffa's body is buried...and we're not telling.  Wetlands are better than deserts...just sayin'.  Most Diners in the world...yummmm....pork roll and cheese on a bagel.  7 malls within 25 miles...BEAT THAT!  Hospital waste on the beach?  Damn skippy...we like a challenge!  Monopoly?  You're welcome.  First baseball game?  Played in NJ.  First college football game?  Rutgers vs Princeton.  Rutgers won.  Walt Whitman...a poet, my friends, not just a bridge!  That "guido" thing?  Not new.  It didn't used to require an arrest record (the closest we got was a detention from Sister if our skirt didn't reach the floor when we knelt or our hair was too high) and an STD test...just a perm, a lot of gold, and Sebastian Spritz Forte.
All these things and more unite those of us from New Jersey.  Mother Leeds' 13th son...maybe he unites us most of all.  You may believe in the Loch Ness Monster, the Chupacabra, or North Carolina's Knobby (don't be sceered DT, he has purty harr), but those...well...maybe, maybe not...  Mrs.Leeds' boy, doesn't care if you choose to believe him....he IS.  Mother Leeds was known to dabble in witchcraft...and swore that on a dark and stormy night, her 13th child would be born of the devil.  When Lucas was born, he looked to all, a normal, baby boy.  As the local women put Lucas in his mother's arms, before their very eyes, his feet became cloven hooves, he sprouted wings and a forked tail...his head described in so many terrifying ways I dare not describe them here!  He flew from her arms, up the chimney, and has terrorized the Pine Barrens ever since.
This was in the 1700s, mind, and some have said that Lucas grew restless, finding the Pine Barrens too small and has since terrorized further north and west into New Jersey.


There are rumors though...terrible rumors...that Lucas has changed his name...and returned east...

...and had a bedazzeled lollipop named after him.  Mother Leeds was right!