Three Cheers for The Jersey Ju!

Oh, did you think this annual Jersey adventures recap blog was going to stop at year two? That’s cute. If anything, I’ve upped the ante by creating GardenStateGoofin, an account SPECIFICALLY for all of my Jerseylicious dalliances. All jokes aside, I will make a Grade A effort to be much briefer in this year-long summary of activities than I have in years past. Key word being effort. Sure, I can’t sit still and if I don’t have an activity planned for a weekend my head nearly explodes, but also, I get that not every activity is worthy of a never-ending ramble. That being said, while the stuff I share through my content on IG/TikTok is all positive vibes because no one wants to be tagged in a “your place stinks” post, you know you can count on me to keep it real over here and serve the tea. Let’s dive in to year 3 in Jersey, year 1 living in a beach town!*

*If I may quickly address this, obviously the biggest difference this past year was that I finally achieved my dream of living at the beach. And if you read my Side Hustlin Hack blog, you know it hasn’t been easy to maintain the beach lifestyle in this economy. I have to be both a penny pincher and work multiple jobs to hang onto this dream for dear life. So, I just wanted to say for realsies how grateful I am to be here and I’ve tried not to take any of it for granted because I also know what it’s like to get laid off and have to move back home. I’ve spent a lot of time this year appreciating not only the town I live in but also the condo I’ve landed as well – can’t beat my peaceful balcony view of boats passing through the canal! Basically romanticizing every little thing that I do like I’m the main character of a romance novel has become my way of life and I’ve loved it so much and also would love it if my romantic co-star would enter stage left now and whisk me and my beach cruiser right into the sunset. Kthxbyeeeeeeee!

Last Swim at The Jersey Shore.

Please mark Aug 13th on your calendars as the triumphant day that I returned to the ocean to overcome my recent fear of swimming here and also the traumatic experience of almost dying and declaring that I’ll never go back in. A real rollercoaster of emotions on this day. I have revealed to many friends (and probably all of you at some point too) that I’ve never been afraid of swimming in the ocean, but I’m also not overly confident about it either. I grew up vacationing in Jersey and Cape Cod and always went swimming with my Dad and older sister (my middle sister quit the ocean before she reached double digits when she learned fish poop and pee in it.) I won’t say I’m a strong swimmer by any means, but I floated around and enjoyed a dip or two on the occasional summer vacay. In 2018 I went on vacay to Wildwood and was taught how to boogie board and pee in the ocean. One small step for man, one GIANT leap for The Ocean Ju. Here’s proof of me being a Jersey Shore ocean lover back in the day (and an awkward bird, sick dino arms, lil Ju):

Upon moving here, I went in by myself with some rough surf post-hurricane, got womped a few times, and was like eh, I’m all set. Psyched myself right out and from August of 2021 to August of 2022, I never went in further than my shins and would just do a little splish splash whore’s bath to cool down. Let me also share that in that year span I took trips to Jamaica and Siesta Key where the water is calm, warm, and pretty clear and had no issues doing a nice salt water soak with my dad. It was just the Jersey Shore that had me on the ocean fritz. Where the water is not clear, the waves can be pretty rough, and I’m by myself 98% of the time so if I were to struggle or drown no one would be looking out for me. Sure, there’s lifeguards but also they’re more focused on the children rather than the woman in her thirties who should know how to swim by now. So my friend took me to the beach on August 13th and said, you’re gonna get in the water. And I accepted this challenge, mostly because the only option for peeing was a disgusting port-a-potty. I’d rather die. The first round in was lovely. I peed, I floated, I got an actual cool-down at the beach instead of just melting on my chaise lounge for hours. I came back and took this v. excited selfie as proof and sent it to my whole family to say I DID IT! I SWAM IN THE OCEAN! (Similar to me screaming I’M DOING IT the first time I peed in the ocean as a fully grown adult.)

The over-confidence was what killed me. I approached round 2 like an old pro. Like I’d been doing this every day and not like I just went in the ocean for the first time in years. I got too big for my britches and flew too close to the sun. I was floating and whizzing away and then I felt like maybe the waves were starting to get bigger than I was ready for. So I decided to exit earlier than my friend. I swam to shore and just as I was standing up a wave came at me full force and knocked me down, pulled my bottoms down to my ankles and rolled me underwater. Was I held down for 5 seconds or 5 minutes? Hard to say but my life flashed before my eyes and I thought about Annemarie in Blue Crush hitting her head off the rock and I was like well this is it for me, hope my friend enjoys finding me dead in the water with my bare ass in the air. As soon as I could, I resurfaced, pulled my bottoms back up and skedaddled back to my chair to act calm, cool & collected and pretend like I meant to do that and definitely didn’t just think I was going to die bottomless in 1 inch of water. Obviously, we are done with the ocean. (In New Jersey ONLY…I dipped in Florida again this spring where the waves don’t try to kill you repeatedly on 10 second timer. )

Rooftop Movie at The Baronet (Asbury Park)

This was originally suggested to me from a guy on hinge, and it IS an adorable date night idea, but that’s clearly not the journey I was meant to take here. I kept an eye on their schedule for the summer and when a movie I hadn’t seen yet popped up, I went…solo of course. Parking is a real bitch in Asbury and I’d say that’s the only downside to this. Otherwise, catching Top Gun 2 on the roof overlooking Asbury Park with an ocean breeze on a summer night Labor Day Weekend was a top-notch experience. Tickets were around $12, I brought my own beach chair, blanket, & tumbler of wine and sprung for fresh popcorn. Would definitely go back if I had interest in seeing another one of their movies. Could’ve for sure done without the couple who showed up late, pulled chairs together directly in front of me and unloaded a feast of Chinese food. Not only did they block my carefully curated perfect view, but their food stunk and they were annoying. If you get the vibe that people ruin my experiences more often than anything else, you’d be absolutely correct because we need a new plague.

Lobster Roll from Point Lobster (Point Pleasant)

I really want to love lobster and I try it every single time thinking this will be the time that I do, and it always ends up tasting fishy to me. Point Lobster’s Lobster Roll was recommended to me because of the copious amounts of butter they use. I’m never going to say no to anything dripping in butter. So at Point’s Seafood Festival last fall, I budgeted the $20 for this teeny tiny roll and deleted it in seconds. Can confirm, it is delicious. Can also confirm I threw twenty dollars away on something that was equivalent (filling-wise) to eating a few oyster crackers.

Sea Hear Now (Asbury Park)

Although I’m not a music festival girlie, and I certainly would never spend hundreds of dollars for two full business days of music when I don’t know half the bands, I was given the opp to sit on a patio adjacent to the festival to hear the headliner, which happened to be The Killers on night 1 of Sea Hear Now last summer. I wasn’t able to see the stage, but I could hear it now and when faintly off in the distance I heard the opening notes of Mr. Brightside, I asked everyone around me if they were playing that on the loudspeakers at the restaurant to warm up the crowd. To which everyone replied: no idiot, that’s The Killers starting their set and WHAT A BOLD MOVE. Honestly that’s why I thought it was the radio because who the hell OPENS with their biggest hit that everyone wants to hear?! Obviously a hipster band that wants to weed out the fairweather fans up front. I enjoyed singing along to the distant music, then I enjoyed even more double fisting for the rest of the evening, taking a bunch of drunk videos of people leaving the festival at the end of the night and then trying to become a bouncer at the next bar we went to. I think that’s about as close as I’ll ever get to attending a music festival and I’m good with that. I can’t imagine paying to have strangers crowding my personal space on a sweaty beach as they mosh to the whitest party song known to man.

9/11 Memorial (NYC)

I know NY is not NJ…but, the city was a cool 6 hour drive from where I grew up, so realistically, it took me moving here to actually have a lot of NYC experiences, therefore I’ll lump them in. I’m not a museum gal by any means, but I had always wanted to check out the 9/11 Memorial and Museum because my perspective of that day is WILDLY different and far removed from anyone who lives here. I wanted to see and hear the stories I missed the first time around and really view it through the lense of an adult rather than the 10 year old who saw some pictures here and there but never really fully grasped the weight of that day. My dad agreed to go with me and I can confidently say neither one of us would recommend this to anyone else. It was overwhelming at the very least. There was SO much to take in, and really it wasn’t a great setup to be able to consume everything that was being presented. The museum starts with the history and a lot of structural information about the World Trade Center itself, which wasn’t really interesting to me but not really having an idea of what was ahead, we took our time reading and going through this.

You kind of wind your way down into what is essentially the basement where all of the personal effects and debris and stories are. And there are SO many, obviously. So not only do you feel kind of trapped down there (a feeling I imagine was thought out when designing this setup) but it also feels like you’ll never resurface. There’s audio clips playing on loop of newscasters reporting, emergency services calls, actual voicemails from the victims, etc, etc, etc. It’s jarring and sensory overload and that’s just the sounds. On top of that there’s things to look at and LOTS to read. Each piece has its own plaque with a story. As this place was OVERFLOWING with tourists, you can imagine how stressful it is to stand and try to read something in size 12 font on a placard as people push you to also get closer and read it or what I noticed a lot of people doing, stepping in front of me to take a picture of the plaque as if they’re going to sit down later and go through the museum on their phone. It sucked and I was over it only about halfway through consuming it. I wasn’t retaining any of the actual stories because they were everywhere I looked and it was too hard to actually process anything. Then on top of feeling claustrophobic and like I didn’t know when we would come up for air, Apple decided to play a mean prank and do a test “emergency notification” while we were in there, which means everyone’s phones emitted that terrifying alarm sound at the same time and I 100% panicked and was convinced we were experiencing a 9/11 style attack of the remains of the original. So yeah, all in all, not for me.

Concert at Madison Square Garden (NYC)

Nothing brings you back up after reliving the most catastrophic terrorist attack on American soil than hitting up MSG for the first time to see John Mayer tickle those guitar strings for the second time. Even though Den and I were sitting basically up in the rafters (twas all I could afford), it was still a great venue and John Mayer knows how to put on a damn show. It was his acoustic tour and he made sure to remind everyone in the room that he knows his way around a musical instrument. Unfortunately, the tool behind us wanted to also remind all of us that he thinks he’s a phenomenal singer as he ONLY sang harmony to John for the entire show, trying to impress whatever date he conned into going with him. I hope she deleted his number immediately afterward. It was on the ole bucket list to catch Billy Joel at his MSG residency, but wouldn’t you know he decided to end it last month (selfish of him, TBH) making his ticket prices even MORE outrageous than they normally were this past year since everyone knew his time was coming to a close. THANKS A LOT, WILLIAM.

Ocean County Park (Lakewood)

You’ll pretty much only ever catch me exploring a new park during fall when I wanna peep the shit outta those leaves. Now that I’m in a different area, I relied on google to give me a park that *didn’t* consist only of hiking trails (paved path or I don’t go) and this was the winner. So I took Chuck on a rare weekend it wasn’t downpouring in October so we could appreciate some sassy orange leaves. Well, apparently we were way past peak and the showings were grim. Don’t know that I’d ever head back to this park, mostly because as we were getting in the car, I was approached by a stranger danger who seemed to have been loitering around the parking lot waiting to chat it up with someone and I was the clear winner. I got this man’s life story in a very brief amount of time and was also swindled into taking his number because as a millennial, my cellphone is never not in my hand, which really screws me over for any “oh I don’t have it with me” or similar lies to get out of exchanging numbers with someone you absolutely never wish to speak to again. So that’s how I found myself learning that he lives right across the street from the park and vowing to never step foot in this park again for as long as I live. He also did indeed text me after the fact. I may be eternally single, but I really know how to attract lonely old men! So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

Historic Smithville

A day trip spot that has often popped up in my searches, I trekked down there for one of my many gov holidays in November. It’s one of those classic “stepped back in time” little cluster of shops, restaurants, and outdoor space. Immediately felt like I forgot my bonnet at home and should be churning butter.

Instead, I took a billion photos, made some unnecessary purchases in the little boutiques and then saddled up to the bar for a solo wine tasting of course. Where I then got *just* buzzed enough to buy a $30 bottle of wine to take home for Thanksgiving. #SupportLocal. Did I personally fund the Village Greene that day? Probably. It was an adorable little fall excursion full of weird chicken/duck hybrid animals trolling around and also it would’ve been 18 million times more enjoyable if I had a buddy (read: huz) to share it with. As my therapist likes to remind me…both things can be true. Is this the theme of my life right now? Ya duh. PS I made the sole cashier at the florist leave the store to take photos of me with these wings. I apologized maybe 800 times for doing so. We literally had to wait for customers to leave so it wasn’t a free-for-all. But look how snatched I look in that skort poppin that leg with those giant wings? WORTH IT.

Count Basie Theater (Red Bank)

Seemed odd to be heading to the Count Basie to see a comedian who I discovered through TikTok, but those were the circumstances. Much like Smithville, this theater is a relic of the past and very historic-looking. My friend and I sat in the last row because that’s what $14 tickets the day of show will get you. We laughed at Trey Kennedy singing and mocking how stupid people are with a special side-show of the stupid woman in front of us hurling all over the floor then bouncing, leaving the cleanup on aisle barf for us remaining survivors of her carnage to manage. It was an evening I’ll never forget.

Cape May Christmas Parade

If a town is going to go hard in the paint for Christmas, I’m going to do my best to be present for the occasion. My godparents go to the Cape May Christmas Parade every year, and my mom and I decided to join this year. I’ve been to Cape May before at Christmas time so I knew they turned their adorable Victorian downtown into a festive dream, but I hadn’t caught the parade, where people put out beach chairs midday to save their spot and then just drink and eat as floats and dancers roll by all night long. As much fun as it is cheering for the local VFW’s decorated pick-up truck, gallivanting around Cape May drinking, eating, and shopping with my family was the real highlight of this excursion. Also scream singing Taylor Swift at Carney’s with a total stranger. And getting into an Uber that for sure had puke all over the door. And spending a night in the 5-star Sandbox Motel of Wildwood.

When we checked in earlier in the day, the owner/receptionist/manager/party enthusiast was for SURE still drunk, there were a bunch of people loitering by the front door and he said everyone was cool and they’re all regulars, so it’s a fun time and things tend to get loose with this crew. He referenced drinking no less than 10 more times during our check-in, handed us our key and just as we were about to let ourselves in, a kid comes RUNNING up to make sure we had a table outside of our room. In December. Once I saw all of our fellow motel homies sitting at their outdoor tables smoking cigs (or not cigs), I understood the company we were keeping at the Sandbox. We were invited several times to mix it up in Room 5 where everyone ends up at the end of the night. Committed to the bit, I was willing to do so but when we returned at midnight, Room 5 was dark. We outpartied the degenerates. Please enjoy the tour of our room, the swan towel really sent me.

Now here’s the movie theater production of the same 24 hours. See how easy it is to paint a completely different picture than getting sauced in a Santa hat and sharing a bed in a questionable motel with your mom?! That’s some Scorcese magic, BB.

Bluebird Farm Alpacas (Peapack)

December is when I started GardenStateGoofin and thus upped the ante with my content. My very first video was Cape May and I really leaned in hard to the cinematic feature on my new iPhone 14. This video is no different. Also, #grateful for the 60 degree December which made it a real joy to beebop and take a stroll with alpacas. This experience was absolutely a one and done. I learned MUCH later that there’s an alpaca farm in the town next to me and I really didn’t need to roadtrip an hour to kick it with farm animals, but I feel like it made the experience more authentic. My friend and I learned some alpaca fun facts, then we had ample time to kick it with them in their pens with bags full of food where my friend showed how seamlessly skilled she was at grabbing a selfie with these majestic creatures and every time I pulled my camera out near one they dodged me like total a*holes. Some of us are just more gifted at selfie’ing with animals than others. If I sound jelly it’s cause I am. Then came the walk and walk is a generous term, folks. Imagine walking your dog but it’s 150 lbs and just wants to eat grass and tell you to F off. We walked maybe 4 ft with them. The activity should’ve been called “bring an alpaca to eat grass and force it to pose for photos.” But now I can say I walked an alpaca and I have the piccies and vids to prove it and THAT’S REALLY ALL THAT MATTERS. TYSM JUNO AND PANCHO. PALS 4 LIFE.

Christmas at Palmer Square (Princeton)

Hey, here’s the tea. If you ever see on ANY list that one of the top Christmas cities in New Jersey is Princeton, you tell that list to buzz right off. I lived it, I saw it, it’s NOT. They paint pictures of ice skating and a giant Christmas tree and cozy little boutiques just like NYC. Well there’s only one Big Apple twin in Jersey and we all know it’s Freehold. Princeton has a 2 block radius of adorable-ness before it turns into a ghost-town and within that little square, there WAS a big tree, but that was about it. Their ice skating rink was embarrassing. My friend and I committed to trying out ice skating for the first time, picturing that it was going to be like Rockefeller and when we laid eyes on the iced over sandbox that they were charging people to skate on, we laughed out loud. No joke it took us 30 minutes of circling to even find it tucked behind a hotel, barely visible. I mean if we got on that ice we could’ve touched each end with arms outstretched. Big YIKES to Princeton’s Christmas game. That didn’t stop me from making an adorbs false advertising video because I wasn’t about to waste a trip with no content and I was trying to build my account. If there’s a lesson to be learned here it’s obviously don’t believe everything you see on social media, including mine.

Last Wave Brewing (Point Pleasant)

Full disclosure, I had been to Last Wave before, but I’ve never walked there with Charlee from my home. I chose the first snowstorm of the year to do so. Charlee gets exercise, I get to take blizz photos to capture the ONLY time snow is beautiful, and then I treat myself to a beer halfway through the walk. We all win. Charlee didn’t really though because there’s nothing she hates more than being in a place full of people and being leashed away from them. Homegirl is real social and just wants to be able to greet all at her leisure. Breweries may be dog friendly but they’re not down with letting your dog roam free and honestly I think they should reconsider (for Charlee only.) I awkwardly stood near a barrel directly on top of the bathroom because the place was packed and spent the next hour trying to keep Charlee from pulling me toward people while also spilling my beer from her jerky movements. It was SUPER fun. Brewery is great, my dog in a brewery? Not suh much. Tough stuff, lesson learned. S/O to the woman behind the bar who came over and intervened at one point because a group of touchy kids wouldn’t leave Chooch alone and she noticed how uncomfy she seemed. Girls supporting girls.

Hot Chocolate Walk (Red Bank)

This was advertised as a Hot Chocolate Walk and stupid me pictured Saratoga Chowderfest and deemed it a can’t-miss. You can tell it’s the dead of winter and peak seasonal depression when I’m willing to drive 45 minutes for drinking hot chocolate outside. If you’ve noticed a theme of me latching onto something and over-hyping it, you know what comes next. There was no Hot Chocolate Walk. In a small boutique that sold jewelry and art, we met a polar bear who (I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone but the statute of limitations has passed) talked to us and told us they had free hot chocolate inside. We got a lukewarm cup of Swiss Miss after pretending to be interested in making a purchase there. No one else was serving hot chocolate. No one was even outside. It was a true ghost town. Be better, Red Bank.

American Dream Mall / TILT Museum (East Rutherford)

Waited for my girlypops to get here for the drive into North Jersey for their version of the Mall of America. The mall itself is a mall, there’s fancy wings with stores that are above our pay grade, and then stores you would see at any other mall. They had a whole floor that was decked out like a winter wonderland which I creamed my jeans for. Majestic. An ice skating rink, a ferris wheel, a water park, legoland, etc. Those attractions all came with their own admission fee and we decided to go for the TILT Museum instead, which is a 3-D art attraction within our budget. You take a spin around (doesn’t take super long) and they tell you where to stand to take a picture or video of you interacting with the art. For an Insta-hooch like me, this was a dream. Since lil Kenz is an insta-hooch in training, she was on board as well. I mean, honestly if you don’t want a photo surfing a hot dog over NYC, you have a giant dump in your pants. It was a fun, unique activity and I definitely recommend it to anyone looking for something different to do.

Wish Upon a Jar (Point Pleasant)

Just down the street from me is an adorbsies little spot where you pick out your pottery, pay for the item, and then embrace your inner Picasso and paint away. You can bring your own food or beveraginos (adult or otherwise) and let the creative juices flow. It was the perfect activity for Kenz to get crafty, but to be perfectly honest, us adults found it incredibly soothing and I’d do it again anytime. Here’s our masterpieces.

Bury the Hatchet (Freehold)

I told my friends that I wanted to go to a gun range and we settled for weapons that can still harm you but probably won’t kill you. Whatever. Buncha pussies. Really it was just an opportunity for me to try something, be bad at it, then immediately be over it and more thoroughly entertained by demanding they take photos of me with the neon signs. Classic Ju. I still was a good sport and tossed every weapon at least one time before giving up. Still think this is better than bowling, but probably not as great as poppin caps.

Tall Oaks Brewery (Farmingdale)

Celebrated the first random hot day (followed by 2 full months of cold and rain before the sun made an appearance again) by having a good ole fashioned girls day at the newest brewery. This spot has the perfect outdoor space and if we had dogs with a quarter of the energy, probably would’ve been calm and pleasant. But alas, our girlypups are bursting with youthful exuberance and must sniff everything and everyone. So it was a Sunday of managing the dogs and managing to still catch a quick buzz in the sunshine. The owners were a real dream and tolerated us definitely overstaying our welcome. They’ve even continued to support Goofin on social media, which I quickly learned is the difference between a business I visit one time, and a business I’ll become loyal AF to. As someone in the social media game, it doesn’t take a lot of effort to acknowledge content when you’re tagged (a like, comment, or even share if you’re feeling generous.) Yet the amount of free promo I’ve given places and they still ignore it completely. DEAD TO ME. So when someone goes the extra mile to show some love for my efforts, they’re a friend for life. Tall Oaks being one of them.

Deep Cut Gardens (Middletown)

Really jumped the gun on Deep Cut because I was so hard up for bloom season. It wasn’t a TOTAL waste because the greenhouse part is all-seasons, but the exterior of this place was grim as hell in mid-March. I made a vow to go back in the summer when the outdoor garden would be poppin but honestly nothing sounded less appealing than giving up a good beach day to drive an hour to a garden. So, it is what it is. Did it bring me a lot of joy to see bright florals on a cold, windy spring day? Sure did.

Ocean Casino Resort (Atlantic City)

For my birthday this year, my sister and I heavily researched a number of weekend destinations driving distance for us both and after seeing the prices of those destinations and doing a quick reality check, we concluded that a Thursday night in AC was more aligned with our income bracket. Plus, my sister had never experienced AC and thought it was glam like Palm Springs, and I REALLY needed to be front row for the glass to shatter on that rosy theory. Witnessing her disgust as we stood in a Dunkin Donuts in downtown AC next to several homeless people AND got hit up for cash mid-breakfast was v satisfying. Unfortunately for my long-standing birthday curse, the weather was freezing monsoon in NJ and tropical summer breeze in Syracuse. ‘Cause of course. Kinda put a damper on my carefully crafted research of which places we could hit up along the boardwalk on my birthday bender as we were stuck exclusively in Ocean Casino Resort for the night unless we wanted to literally blow into the ocean. The resort itself is very nice. It’s brand new, so there’s only *some* suspicious stains on the carpeting rather than the entire place smelling like a stale cigarette and looking like a 50 year old jizz stain.

However, the crowd was dead as dead could be on a Thursday night a week before MDW. It’s not like we were there on a Monday in January. I mean I was wearing a walking sparkly billboard that said BUY ME A DRINK and not one person offered. Got a lot of shouted HAPPY BIRTHDAY’s which is good for NOTHIN. Get me drunk or get the hell out of my face. We played the slots, had some drinks, ate the finest cuisine (Wahlburgers), and then excitedly got into our matching espresso martini jam-jams and ate pringles until we fell asleep.

A Shore Summer Night with a Bunch of Mascots

For as much as I babble stories on every medium imaginable, I don’t know that I’ve ever written out the Mr. & Mrs. Met saga. In my first year as The Jersey Ju, I made it to Citi Field for the first time and declared that I absolutely needed to meet the Mr & Mrs and my godfather informed me that’s reserved for the people who fork over the big bucks for suites or private parties. So I settled for watching them trumpet all over the dugout when Diaz came out and immediately zoned in on the fact that Mrs. Met is draggin a wagon and can twerk like nobody’s biz. I proceeded to go to Citi 3 or 4 more times that year and never laid eyes on those giant bobbing baseballs up close and personal. Year 2, just after I published last year’s blog, I hit up my last game of the season with the whole fam dam. Lurking in one of the clubs we had access to because my sister is VIP, my dad caught wind of the iconic duo cutting through to their next excursion. My dad was overserved to say the least at this game, and had no problem flinging himself at them and asking if they’d take a picture with me. I would fawn over how my dad made my dreams come true, but he then wedged himself into said picture while chomping on a soft pretzel and I had to crop him out because he was also ruining my dreams. So was Mrs. Met, who saw Mr. Met stop for a photo, and bootscooted right over to the escalator, giving me a swan wave as she descended. With that gliding exit, she became my white whale.

On opening day this year I said I was coming for her. My first game of the season was dollar dawg night and in between jamming franks into my furter hole, I caught Mr & Mrs making the rounds at the top of a section. I ran right up to Mrs. Met, and said CAN I GET A SELFIE? She nodded her head yes and as I snapped the pic she walked away. ICE COLD. Now it was personal. I was going to get this twatwaffle if it was the last thing I did. Luckily for me, the happiest couple in baseball made a special trip to my backyard probably to drum up some fans because the Mets were stinkin up the joint. And I said COME TO MAMA! I rounded up a crew (someone I had never hung out with before, always good to have a brand new friend get a front row seat to your lunacy) and declared to my loved ones that if she gave me the Heisman one more time I’d swan dive right into the ocean. Within the first half hour of the event, I caught her going into the back for a cool-down and basically screamed right in her bulbous face asking for a picture. She obliged because she probably thought I’d burn the place down if she didn’t. And she was not wrong. And then I texted that picture to literally everyone who had been following this saga and said I GOT HER. And that folks, is how you turn taking a picture with a mascot into an Olympic sport. I had theories about how Mr. Met was a man of the people and Mrs. Met is probably supposed to act harder to get. The mascot handler really had a good laugh at that one. He was also probably entertaining me for fear of my mental stability. Whatevs. I got what I wanted.

Not pictured: Mrs. Met on her escape route, Partially pictured: my dad’s arm and foot as he slides in mid-chomp

After reaching the summit of a 3 year long quest, I was euphoric, and it was a summer night down the shore and that’s how I found myself accidentally having the exact classic Jersey Shore bar experience I was looking for when I went to Bar A 2 years ago. And those are the BEST kind of nights. I drowned myself in cucumber vodka, I danced to my favorite 90’s cover band and told them after their set that I was their biggest fan in a definitely creepy way, I complimented some guy wearing a shirt that said “stuffing wieners in faces since 2005”, I got a dirty look from his girlfriend, and I kicked it with an entire group of dressed up characters loudly wondering if any of them were attractive underneath their sweaty giant heads. I distinctly remember screaming to my gal pals “we should do this every weekend this summer!” And then I woke up the next morning with an anvil on my head and looked at how much money I spent and never did that again for the rest of the summer.

Beach Yoga at Tiki Bar (Point Pleasant)

This is more me patting myself on the back than anything else. Back in January, my dad and I went to B2 Bistro and our waitress was so fun and cool that I immediately wanted to be her friend but I settled for being her friend on IG and following along her yoga and photography journey. In summer she posted about holding beach yoga sessions and though I have never once done yoga, I AM obsessed with the beach. Looking for a reason to get out and be social and also maybe not be a fat slob all summer, I messaged her and asked how hard it was. I’ve got a real knack for turning a group fitness class into a war zone and I figured this would be no different. I got a foot cramp and almost keeled over in a Pilates class, I knocked a kid’s glasses off in a Zumba class, and the one spin class I took, I pretended to adjust the knob for more resistance when in reality I was barley staying on that v uncomfortable seat. Needless to say, I’m uncoordinated AF and it’s best that I flail in the privacy of my own home with a YouTube workout video. Obv she told me it was a gentle practice and to come anyway. And even though I had anxiety about it and I felt weird and I’m not athletic NOR flexible, I said OK! I was terrible at it. I had no clue what I was doing and my favorite part was the end when you get to lie on your back with your eyes closed and she came over and gave me a head massage. BUT I DID IT! And everyone was super friendly, she was a great instructor, I started my day at the beach, and it was good for me to push myself and be active. And I did it one more time and didn’t get any better but still felt proud of myself for making an effort, and then summer happened and it was either 900 degrees or pouring hurricane rains. So, maybe in the fall.

Boat Ride & Fireworks (Brick)

In year 3 I befriended someone with a boat. LUCKY ME! Always make sure your friends have money or belongings that can bring you up into another tier of society, otherwise they’re not worth being friends with. I’M KIDDING. But I am grateful for my first boating experience in Jersey, because I got to watch the dreamiest sunset and then fireworks over the water on the perfect summer night. Previously, I’ve only boated on lakes in Upstate NY on the rare occurrence when I’ve secured an invite on a friend’s boat and the biggest difference I’ve noticed between lakes and ocean is that lakes the boat barely moves and ocean it bobs around and makes me want to hurl over the side. So that’s always a good thing to learn when you’re on the boat with a bunch of people who are not experiencing debilitating nausea. Keeping my fingies crossed that I just need to tackle this head-on and get used to the motion of the ocean.

Argos Farm (Forked River)

My most recent adventure and another fail for the books. If you want to peep sunflowers in Jersey, Holland Ridge Farms, which I visited my first year is definitely top dog. Happy Day Farm, also a first year adventure would probably be a good bet as well (the sunflowers were already passed by the time I went for blueberry picking.) After seeing Argos sunflower selection, I’d say guh head and skip this one. First of all, the sunflowers were dead as hell. Which is no fault of the farm, that’s just weather, baby. But nothin worse than seeing a bunch of sunnies hanging their heads. On top of that, an employee asked us to watch her admission stand while she left for a few minutes. Sorry, but if I wanted to work here I would’ve applied for a job not purchased a one-time ticcie, miss thang. And the rest of the farm was really catered to small children and also incredibly empty on the day we went, which made it look even sadder. There was no booze to be had, which honestly should be a staple at this point. Even if families are attending, let the parents sauce it up a little while they tolerate their kids saying MOM WATCH ME for the 9 billionth time on the giant slide, or trampoline, or zipline. We were promised by the owner that their Fall Festival is their real bang piece and also includes a brewery, so I’m not counting out future vizzies to Argos, but I certainly didn’t need to catch their Sunflower Fest.

F Coved It Up

Snuck in another first right at the buzzer by getting on aforementioned friend’s boat and cruising over to F Cove on a Saturday afternoon. I bought dramamine and was ready to go until every person I was with told me I’d basically roofie myself if I took that and drank. So we cut out the drugs and I prayed I wouldn’t be the only one booting in F Cove *not* from booze. Happy to report I didn’t get nauseous OR blow chunks! Am I basically Skipper now? Pretty much. And after hearing for many summers about how F Cove is basically TRL Spring Break in a very small stretch of definitely pee-infested waters, I was prepped to see some sloppy. And honestly, everyone kept their shit together while we were there, which was disappointing to say the least. The spiciest spotting was a girl in a Trump 2024 bikini barely covering her big ole floppy cans and b*hole shimmying on a waverunner with boxes of pizza. I don’t know if she was selling the pizza or just showing us that she had it and we didn’t, but it was a real close call that we didn’t catch nip dumping out of that teeny tiny bikini. Good thing Trump’s name is so short. Though I have seen boats n hoes before, I’d never seen a pizza boat. And that was pretty great. Next time, I’m getting a pie while I float.

NJ Restaurant Hot Takes:

Nicholas Creamery – as a diehard soft serve girlie, this the ONLY place I’ve loved hard ice cream AND corn-flavored ice cream. Don’t question it, just do it.
Shore Fresh – Get literally anything here, it’s all delish. I’ve had crabcake, clams casino, steamed clams, lobster bisque, & clam chowder. All a delight.
B2 Bistro – Was nervous to try their sushi but it was divine.
Jersey Shore BBQ – Awesome burnt ends & brisket. Mac and cheese has been hit or miss on the soupiness.
Divi Tree Coffee Co – Bomb PEC & coffee.
Point Lobster – Ordered a lobster bake for the first time. Had all of the regrets in the world. Honestly almost puked from dissecting it to eat and ended up with lobster in my hair and under my nails. Stick to their lobster roll.
Shogun Legends – Very good sushi.
Bad Hat – One of those places where the portions are minuscule and you leave hangry.
Pop’s Diner – BEST home fries in the game. Perfect crispiness.
Sinner’s Steakhouse – I tomahawked and I never want to not tomahawk again.
Charlie’s – Way too fancy for me. I’m an uncultured swine and don’t want 4500 ingredients in my meal.
Broad St. Dough Co. – Two words: CHURRO BITES.
River Rock – Don’t eat here.

Continued Quest to find Jersey’s Best Spressy

Just gonna copy/paste what I wrote last year because it’s the best description I’ve ever given: For those who are new to my rating system, I’ll remind you that much like Whose Line Is it Anyway, it’s a game where everything is made up and the points don’t matter. If I get a nice bartender, score goes up, if there are an incorrect number of beans, score takes a dive, if I’m already drunk, well it could really go either way. This year’s *most surprising* top spot is Broadway Bar & Grill. Never would’ve thought a dive bar could give good head. The Mainstay was another sleeper hit, mostly because moments before I tasted their espresso martini, I had one of the most disgusting cocktails of my life that also happened to be neon green. Nevertheless, this quest will continue til I’m 6 ft under, trick.

Since starting GardenStateGoofin in December, I’ve posted two videos a week except for the week I was in Florida when I gave myself a true vacation from all of my hustles. You’re probably thinking, WOW you’re amazing, you’ve created 75 posts AND organically grown your following each month while also doing a full-time job and also Door Dashing and Rovering (for January & February) and also scheduling all the social media each week for an agency (from February to present) and also getting 3 humor pieces published and also blogging on The Salty Ju occasionally and also keeping your dog alive and also keeping yourself alive and also TRYING TO HAVE FUN AND ENJOY LIFE?! And to that I say, YUP. I AM amazing. I also get paid for exactly 2 of those things I just mentioned, my FT and my PT. So am I amazing or just plain dumb? Don’t answer that.

What’s important here is that the things I enjoy doing the most are the things very few care about and certainly won’t be paying any billz anytime soon. But realistically, if I started to get paid for any of these passion projects, they would become a job and thus be soul-sucking. I appreciate anyone who is reading this or who follows along on my variety of accounts and is somewhat entertained so that my efforts aren’t completely wasted. That being said, considering I did spend a whole lot of time these past 9 months making videos quite literally every time I stepped outside of my house, I’ll gently nudge you to cruise on over to @GardenStateGoofin on Instagram or TikTok and see what I’ve been up to! And HERE WE GO, let’s keep Goofin into my 4th year in the Garden State! (Not in the ocean though…never again.)

Salty Stories

Year Two as The Jersey Ju

Today marks two years since I relocated to the glorious Garden State in what will forever be remembered as the most traumatic moving experience of my life. As you might recall, I made ambitious bucket lists (yes, that’s right, plural) when I first moved here to really adventure it up and explore my new home state. After recapping what I accomplished in my first year, I decided to keep up the tradish. Mostly because I’ve done more in this state than half the people who’ve lived here their whole lives and also because I want to Jersey salute the haters who thought I’d never last here. I’m still standing, baby! And guess what? I don’t think I’m going to die every time I drive on the parkway anymore. In fact, I get pissy with out of staters who think it’s acceptable to go under 80 in the left lane. MAMA, I’VE MADE IT! Here’s what I accomplished this past year as I settled in and started to put down roots in the ole dirrty jerze. (I was told by a native New Jerseyan that no one from here uses that phrase and it’s embarrassing but then this individual got that exact phrase permanently inked on their body so I’m guessing they’re not a reliable source for what is and is not cool to say therefore I’m gonna keep saying it, so HA.)

Bar A (Lake Como) If you’ll recall I had my big J.Shore night out planned upon publish date of last year’s blog. I picked a Thursday night in late August, recruited my college gal pal, and went ahead and took a sick day in advance off for Friday anticipating a Gnarls Barkley hangover. After much polling of my dog park crew and co-workers, I decided that I was far too old to try to Beat the Clock at Bar A, but a little Thirsty Thursday seemed more approps. Well as it turns out, it was approps…for a nursing home. After surveying the crowd upon entry and seeing 4 olds dancing to a live band who didn’t play one cover that I recognized, I assured myself and my friend that we were just early. We sure weren’t! By 10pm the place was still crickets and it was officially embarrassing to be there. I asked the tween employees on the way out why their bar sucks so hard and they replied, “you come on a Tuesday for Beat the Clock, or you come on a Saturday, and that’s it.” Ope, ok! We then asked for a recommendation of a bar that might cater to the elder millennial crowd who didn’t want to hit up a theme night and fist pump our faces off at D’Jais and were redirected to Joe’s, which was indeed our target demo. Unfortunately I did not get to shout CABS ARE HEA and I certainly didn’t need a day to recover like I so boldly anticipated. But even more mortifying than that, I was so excited to break free for my first night on the town in a whole year that I bought a new top from where the youths shop and went all out thinking I might snatch myself a huz at Bar A. YOIKES. If I had recalled the sound advice from the great philosopher Ronald Ortiz-Magro when he so astutely said, “Never fall in love at the Jersey Shore. Never, ever, ever.” I probably wouldn’t have gone so hard in the paint.

Citizens Bank Park (Philadelphia) I kicked things off in my first year by finally checking Citi Field off the ballpark list and then that’s when I really popped off with my need to tour all the ballparks in America. I realized Philly was the next closest one I hadn’t been to yet and then from there it spiraled to spring training in Florida and a trip to Chicago for Wrigley. The ballpark journey continues with my dad and has been a great source of fun these past couple of years, but I’ll tell you what wasn’t fun… waiting a solid 25 mins in line to finally order a game day dawg at the home of the Phillies and paying $17.25 for this charred monstrosity:

CBP was nice (they had a whole ass rock climbing wall for kids) but I’ll never get the taste of that trash ass wiener out of my mouth for as long as I live.

Whale Watching (Belmar) If you’re a friend of the program you know how excited I was for this excursion and what a giant letdown it was. If you didn’t already hear me tell this story 6,000 times, read it here. I’d rather die than go whale watching again and in fact I saw a crew of whales casj flopping in the surf one random October morning and that experience was a zillion times better and it was F-R-E-E.

Jersey Shore House Tour (Seaside Heights) I’m trying not to be super repetitive because I’ve been known to blab about my many adventures on here a lot, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my viz to the iconic shore store and house. It’s important to reveal that I did visit the shore store in its heyday (2010) when I fully believed I’d walk in and The Sitch would be hand-pressing my tee. What happened instead was a hungover kid sold me a “Come At Me Bro” pinny, asked me if I wanted to customize it with my name and conveniently forgot to mention they charge per letter. Guess how much “Giantomasi” cost? So much that I still have that pinny in my dresser and refuse to throw it out because of how much I overpaid for it. I figure it’ll come in handy when douche-wear becomes trendy again. Unfortunately, back in that time, tours weren’t given of the house because they were living there. History was still in the making. I had wanted to reserve the tour for someone who would appreciate it as much as I do, and then I remembered I barely have any friends. So I waited until the off season and I booked it down to Seaside on a Friday to buy a onesie for a little meatball who was yet to be born and I got so overwhelmed in the store that an employee took pity on me and then talked me into a solo tour. No spoilers but his version of the tour included pointing out where Snooki peed her pants whilst drunk and asking me if I wanted to pose in Pauly and Vinny’s beds. I declined. I did accept every other photo opp and my biggest takeaway was that I couldn’t believe they lived in this rundown house with tiny bedrooms and bathrooms for as long as they did, but they sure are cashing in now. Also not to brag but Danny said “sup homie” to me while I lurked for far too long circling the store so I’m pretty much in.

See a Comedian at The Stress Factory (New Brunswick) I knew The Stress Factory was legit enough to get big names so I was quick to add this to my list, and even quicker to jump on the first comedian that I wanted to see (John Crist…not so much a big name.) I dragged a friend and her boyfriend who weren’t that into comedy, which always makes for a good time and definitely isn’t stressful at all. The good news is, I liked the comedian and it was a fun area and a club I’d definitely go back to if I had more friends who liked stand up comedy. Bonus: I got to fondle this weird Einstein statue in NB after perhaps being over-served.

Sandy Hook Lighthouse (Sandy Hook) Moving towards the sea has transformed me into a real lighthouse freak. Love a good phallic tower with a light at the top and will probably continue to visit as many as I can. Last fall I celebrated that old rapey white guy Christopher Columbus with a day trip to selfie it up with the oldest operating lighthouse in America. Felt right to peep something from the 1700’s on a day that glorified a man getting lost and then violently taking over the land he stumbled upon anyway. Classic Columbus. Anyway, there was nothing really to report about this lighthouse other than it was old AF. Forever trying to include my BFF Charlee girl in my adventures, I thought it would be swell to drive her an hour to Sandy Hook and that was a huge mistake on my part. I couldn’t figure out where the beach was, then tried to take her for a walk through the woods, locked eyes with a big ass deer and bootscooted right back outta there. When we finally found the beach, Charlee didn’t want to sit still and wrapped herself around my chair trying to strangle me with her leash. We left shortly thereafter but not before she took a steaming dump and I found out that Sandy Hook is a trash-can free beach and I had to drive home with her bagged shit stinking up the car. Can’t say I would recommend. (PS if a beach overlooks the NYC skyline, I’m immediately grossed out. I don’t care if that’s bougie but you can’t tell me water that close to a giant polluted city isn’t disgusting.)

Sea Bright Fall was aflush with paid holidays for ya girl and I made a point to bop somewhere new each time I had a day off. Election day brought me back to Sandy Hook for a bike ride (one that was much windier and colder than I had ever anticipated) and so I rewarded myself with a fancy lunch for 1 at the Rum Runner and traipsing through Sea Bright. The food was an absolute delight and the view of the water was perfect but I still haven’t gotten past the “everyone is watching you eat by yourself like a loser” insecurity and reading a book didn’t seem to help. Also this one lunch set me back a cool $50 so I decided it probably wasn’t worth it to go bankrupt for a bowl of soup and a glass of wine ever again. Sea Bright is cute as heck tho.

Yappy Hour at The Wonder Bar (Asbury Park) The minute I got a dog, I started hearing about the infamous yappy hour where humans get boozy while their dogs run around. Nervous to let Chuckletini loose in a bar patio, I decided to wait until late October to take her for the first time so it wouldn’t be crowded. I went solo imagining this would be the perfect environment for a single dog parents meet-cute. As I scooched my chair closer to a cute guy under the guise that I wanted to sit in the sun, he scooted away and our love story was over before it even began.

Charlee was timid at first and then seemed to have a good time so the next warm day I suggested a friend from the dog park join us. Well it seems Charlee got a little too comfy for her second rodeo, shouted bye mom and left me in a cloud of dust as soon as we walked in. What a teenager. If you know, teenagers were to run full speed in circles and hop up on picnic tables where people have drinks after splashing in the pool. To say she was cutting loose would be an understatement. Unfortunately, the dog bouncers were not appreciative of her giving drunk in the club at 4am vibez. She got a couple of warnings and then they told me to leash her up, to which I said do not punish me for my child’s actions. We left. And the very next day Wonder Bar posted this:

It’s a good thing Charlee’s not on IG cause she would not stand for being subtweeted like this. Here’s an idea, if you’re going to have a place designated for dogs to play in, maybe put a sign out front that only old and fat dogs are allowed. Because RUNNING IS WHAT DOGS DO WHEN THEY’RE OFF LEASH PLAYING. I could bring Charlee to a beach for 5 hours of running and then bring her to this bar and she’d see all the new dogs and a pool to dunk in and she’d be recharged and ready to go for round two. Cause she’s A DOG. If I wanted to be Tom Petty I could’ve commented that my dog got humped every 5 minutes while she was there but no one was stepping in to stop that. #VictimBlaming. Needless to say, we have not been back. The dog beach is less judgey.

Barnegat Lighthouse + Chicken or the Egg + Ship Bottom Brewery (LBI) What do you do when it’s 75 degrees in November? You go to an island that is typically a mob scene of bennies in the summer and live it up for the day with 0 crowds in complete denial that it’s about to be winter. My original calling for LBI was to climb Barnegat Lighthouse, but as soon as I moved here it closed for renovations and didn’t open up until Spring. Itching to fill the last beautiful day before my seasonal depresh turned all the way up, I decided it was worth the visit anyway and I’d circle back for the climb (which I did, recapped further down the list.) I recruited my ex-boyf to join me on this trip and that was the last time I saw him. He sleeps with the fish in Surf City now. Juuuust kidding, we had a bomb.com day of eating, drinking, and beeboppin around all different parts of LBI and tale as old as time, he decided a few days later that he never wanted to see my mug or talk to me ever again. Guess some guys just can’t handle a chick who can wear a plaid skirt that just barely zips and still manage to put away chicken wings and poutine at an alarming speed.

Chegg was as legit as everyone says it is and the ONLY wangz I’ve enjoyed in Jersey. I’ve sampled many a chicken wang since I moved here and they’ve all been saucy, soggy garbage, except for Chegg. Exxtra crispy just like mama likes ’em. I also fawned over a row of pastel townhouses in Beach Haven and manifested living there one day, got buzz lightyear at Ship Bottom Brewery and like always, made a merch purchase whilst under the influence. But I’d have to say the highlight of my day was driving past this little boutique covered in mosaics (Firefly Gallery in Surf City) and whipping the car over so I could photograph every inch of it. I went in and bought a cute seashell trinket and learned that the shop owner commissioned artist Isaiah Zagar from Philly to conduct a workshop in mosaics and what resulted was this beaut of a building that so many people had a hand in creating. I could’ve looked at it all day it was so cool and there was so much to see. Hopefully I’ll be able to do a day trip to Philly sometime this year and check out all of the mosaic art there, obviously with a cheesesteak in each meaty paw.

Life Changing Steak in Red Bank Look, it could’ve been the fact that this was my first meal post-colonoscopy and everything hits different when your intestines have just been wrung out like a sopping wet towel but I suspect Buona Sera lives up to the hype. It even earned a revisit for my birthday dinner with my godparents who are steakhouse connoisseurs. More importantly, after hearing all about how Red Bank is like the Saratoga Springs of NJ (or the closest to it) I’m happy to report I’ve made more than a few trips there now. It’s a cute downtown area with shopping, restaurants and bars but as my TogaTown peeps know, nothing will ever compare. (Also very cutely decorated for Christmas, shoutout to my dad for not only driving 10 hours for my butthole procedure but putting up with me making him pose in front of Christmas lights too.)

Christmas in NY & AC I make it my life’s mission to squeeze all of the Christmas joy out of the VERY short window that we’re allotted between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Last year I spent over $100 on a Christmas tree (the tree farms of Colt’s Neck bent me RIGHT over) but it was worth every penny to stare at that twinkly number in my living room and sniff its pine needles all month long. So if there’s a tree to be seen, or decorations to be appreciated you know I’ll be there. This Christmas I FINALLY got to Rockefeller and spazzed my face off with holiday sensory overload but before that I was in AC for a work trip and posed in front of every tree I could feast my eyes on. I also tried to dabble in a pop-up Christmas themed bar but apparently no one was working there the one night I was in town. Go figure. Didn’t stop me from sitting in Santa’s sleigh for the gram.

Playa Bowls I can’t go anywhere near the ocean without stumbling upon a Playa Bowls so I knew I’d have to try one at least once. And folks, once was enough. For a whopping $14 I got the Nutella Acai Bowl (recommended as the most popular for a n00b like me to try.) It truly felt like a chore to eat. In fact, as much as it pains me to throw away money, I didn’t even finish it because my mouth was so tired from crunching granola with the consistency of lug nuts while getting brain freeze. Also, I was still hungry after all that.

Power Bottom Comedy Show (Asbury Park) I’m constantly trolling social looking for a new fun activity to do and I stumbled upon Asbury Park’s own comedy scene via IG. On the last Thursday of every month, there’s a comedy show featuring local talent, a more well-known “headliner,” and cash prizes. I happen to love cash and laughing, so I dragged my mom who was in town to a show. We had no clue what to expect but showing up stupid early because they threatened seats would run out and being placed DIRECTLY in front of the stage was a hot start. What then commenced was so much amateur comedy that my mom turned to me at one point with eyes wide and whispered, “Is this it? Is this the whole show?” I assured her that there was a main act and he had been on the Tonight Show, then I snuck to the bathroom and double checked. Not only do I not recommend you bring your mom to a show where the emcee’s line of jokes circled graphic abortion, sex, and sex for drugs all while she makes eye contact with you but it’s also a terrible idea to sit the two people who hate attention the most in touching distance of the stage. When the guy who gets paid to tell jokes finally made it up there what felt like 6 hours later, he decided to do some light crowd work and he started with us. After asking us basic getting to know you questions and getting stuttered one word answers with wides eyes of terror, I think he realized it was best if he didn’t make two grown women piss their pants and pick on someone else instead. Thx for the memories, Power Bottom, it was a bonding mother/daughter experience but we will not be back. Also thank you mom, for never asking what a power bottom is.

Is this not the most dive bar bathroom you’ve ever seen?

Broad Street Diner (Keyport) Jersey’s chock full of diners and this one was highlighted in an NJ.com article of top spots so I took their word for it and drove out of the way for my first diner experience since moving here. I was underwhelmed at best. Food was nothing crazy, atmosphere was somewhat chaotic and I got the sense from the waitress that if I lingered for one more second past finishing my meal, she’d dropkick me right out of there. It was also the type of diner that is the width of a sidecar and I felt like a bull in a china shop. I’m not a particularly wide woman, I’m draggin a wagon but it’s mostly tucked behind me, and I had to turn sideways to walk toward my table so I didn’t inadvertently knock someone’s coffee into their omelette with my asshole. Not pleasant. I did want to take a selfie with the Elvis statue out front (because of course) but it was only my third time hanging out with the person I was with and it felt too soon for my annoying over-documentation side to come out and play. Open to suggestions on what diner I should hit next…only ones that can accommodate my Big Bertha width, pls.

Liquor Store Bar I will explain this New Jersey phenomenon as simply as I can to all of my fellow NY’ers. There’s many liquor stores in shopping plazas that are also bars. You walk into the liquor store and it looks like your average small corner liquor store with jacked up wine prices and then you keep walking and BAM, dive bar. Having one in the plaza across from my apartment and seeing the type of clientele that frequent said boozy combo, I never intended to make it my regular hang. But then, after joining a friend at a brewery and her cousin swearing that there was a dece liquor store bar around the corner, I was down to clown. As it turns out, she wasn’t wrong. It was a very normal bar and even had live music. And everyone there appeared to have all of their teeth intact, so I’d say it was a great success.

Cherry Blossoms at Branch Brook Park (Newark) This was recommended to me by several people who saw how much I salivate for bloomz. Many comparisons were made between this park and the blossoms in D.C. I figured it would be a mob scene, but as mother nature goes, you get a real limited window for peak bloom szn. Not having plans for Easter this year, I figured it would be the perfect place of worship for Chucks and I. So did everyone else in New Jersey. First of all, I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into travel-wise. I checked the website 100 times and followed the official instagram account and they very much made it seem like there was ample public parking lots. LIARS. Not only is this park dropped in the middle of downtown sketchtastic Newark, but it has absolutely no parking. It took me over an hour to get there (with Charlee panting in the backseat wondering what the hell I signed her up for) and then I sat in standstill traffic for another 30-45 inching around the park looking for any morsel of parking. Finally on the second rotation I was able to slide into a spot, get Charlee out and see that there were HORDES of people here.

This was truly my nightmare. It was comparable to the crowds at Rockefeller for the tree except there was no Christmas magic. People hogged entire trees for photoshoots, plucking flowers and playing with the branches, there were tripods and selfies sticks and girlies dressed in their Easter best and anytime I tried to roll up on a tree and take a photo, I had unwanted strangers in the background or someone hovering to push me out of the way. I walked for about 10 mins then found a clearing for Charlee and I to sit on a blanket so she could have water and not be dragged through crowds with no room to take a beat. So naturally our little moment of peace had to be ruined by a guy dressed as a clown with white mullet hair, who stood directly on top of us and blew up balloons. After the third balloon that popped causing Charlee to launch into my lap, I gave this creepmaster a look that told him I would tie his limbs up like the balloon animals he sucked at making if he didn’t get the hell away from me. And thankfully he picked up what I was putting down and got to steppin.

I snapped as many bloom glam shots of my child as I could and then when I thought I might actually murder someone, I decided to call it and drive back through the hellscape that is Newark (the amount of times someone either stopped in the middle of the road and got out of their car or backed out of a driveway onto me were enough to make me never drive there again.) Word to the wise, unless you have the sharpest of elbows and a real ‘fuck around and find out’ ‘tude, don’t go to Branch Brook Park in the spring. Also, def don’t bring your dog. (Sorry, Charlee.)

Freehold AKA “Little NYC” I’d meant to make it on over to downtown Freehold in my first year, mostly because it’s so close and also because one of the top espresso martinis on my list was there. But as you’ll recall in last year’s blog, most restaurant or bar items remained unchecked because one must have compadres to do that with and I’m somewhat lacking in that department. But this year, I made my way out to Moore’s Tavern on a Friday night for my fave 90’s cover band aptly called Nine Deeze Nite and I truly questioned what kind of crowd lived in Freehold. In one night I saw the whole spectrum. From hood girls rocking Jordans to a woman wearing a plaid overall skirt and yellow crocs to bucket hats to a gentleman the height of a jockey wearing a wife beater, tight jeans, boots and the LARGEST belt buckle I’ve ever seen. It wast truly comical. I could’ve stood there all night and open-mouth stared at the creatures that surrounded me but they took that as an invite to speak to me and obviously that wasn’t going to fly.

A couple months later, I went to get my annual blonding, also in Freehold, and my stylist was telling me the different restaurants or bars I could check out that are more worthy than Moore’s and her young twenties associate added that downtown Freehold was like a little New York. And I was off to the races. This one off-handed comment has created an ongoing bit for me and I don’t think this girl even knows how much joy she brought to my life. To be fair, she quickly admitted that she hadn’t been to NY and my stylist told me how wildly inaccurate this comparison was. But I knew I needed to get my peepers on Downtown Freehold, STAT.

As I drove in to meet my friend for some birthday cocktails, she texted me asking if I could see the skyline yet. Then she grabbed a seat at the bar and told me she was sitting with a view of the Freedom Tower. On my walk down an alley to meet her, I found this mural and nearly peed my pants from laughing so hard. Please enjoy what I think was meant to be an ode to famous singers (perhaps that’s a Kurt Cobain on the mic?) but all I can see is that weirdly large baby with an adult face being held by a mom that looks like she would topple over with the disproportionate size of this monster. The culture! The arts! The fine dining! Some people call it the concrete jungle where dreams are made of, but us locals just call it Freehold, baby.

Fox Hollow Winery (Holmdel) I haven’t made it to as many wineries as I initially hoped I would, but I treated my mom to a day at Fox Hollow on Mother’s Day and boy, what a delight that place is. They had several rosé options, a spacious patio, and live music. The only downer was that there were only portapotties available so obviously I held it because I’d rather give myself a UTI than go in one of those hot plastic stinkboxes. My mom and I channeled Joan and Melissa Rivers and situated ourselves right near the walkway to the main building so we had a prime view of everyone’s fashion choices. We should’ve had our own podcast with the color commentary that was flying. To be fair, if you wear a sleeveless khaki dress with trench coat style buttons and a collar, paired with over the knee black winter boots on an 80 degree day, you deserve to be serenaded with the Inspector Gadget theme song. But anyway, solid winery, would definitely go back, might suggest they never hire that singer again as his voice was terrible and he told people to submit requests then promptly said he didn’t know every single request he was given.

Proof that we looked cute, cause obv you can’t judge others outfits unless yours are on point.

“Two States at Once” in (Lambertville, NJ & New Hope, PA) + Peddlers Village If you’re noticing a theme this year it is: “not worth the hype.” When I was looking for a nice day trip to do on my birthday, several people mentioned Lambertville & New Hope. It’s a town in New Jersey, and a town in Pennsylvania and there’s a bridge you can walk over connecting the two and pointing out where the state line is so you can do the classic “two places at once” photo opp that A Walk To Remember romanticized for bucket lists everywhere. My parents and I headed down in the morning (another hour plus drive) and guess what?! Nothing was open. Ghostown, USA. We walked over the bridge, took a zillion photos, heard a couple store owners say that this town doesn’t wake up until around noon, and left. To be fair, even if the stores were open, both of these towns were Suckville, USA. Even Little NY aka Freehold had more to offer than a couple of antique shops mixed in with old lady fashion stores and a very weird sex shop next to an even weirder shop called The Creeper Gallery. That’s it. I just summed up that day trip way better than anyone else did for me. If you want to stand in PA and NJ at the same time, do it up. Otherwise, don’t fall for it. Since we had already made the trip, we scooted over to Peddler’s Village for more old lady/jerky/popcorn shops and lunch. I am glad we went there because I bought an overpriced duster that a bunch of old women convinced me I looked like Cindy Crawford in and I’m eternally grateful because I’m obsessed with that article of clothing and have worn it no less than 100 times this summer. It also annoys my sister beyond belief which makes it even better. S/O Sunflowers at Peddlers Village for my main character energy duster that floats in the breeze and my sunflower necklace.

Continued Quest for Best Espresso Martini in NJ As always, the grind never stops (literally) to find New Jersey’s best espresso martini. My highest score this year was an 8.6 for the aforementioned Buona Sera in Red Bank. I continued to order a spressy at every establishment that will make one and as you can see by my list, there’s still notable spots to hit, and more being added regularly. For those who are new to my rating system, I’ll remind you that much like Whose Line Is it Anyway, it’s a game where everything is made up and the points don’t matter. If I get a nice bartender, score goes up, if there are an incorrect number of beans, score takes a dive, if I’m already drunk, well it could really go either way. One thing I can say for sure is that you should NEVER and I mean NEVER get the espresso martini flight at Asbury Ale House. I can quite literally still taste the crusty old strawberry creamsaver they dropped in the chocolate milk Bailey’s shooter they tried to pass off as a martini. BARF ALL OVER ME.

Continued Quest for Cool Coffee Shop to write in like a main character in a movie This year I was really seeking that kewl girl writer who is inspired by the crowd in an aesthetically pleasing coffee shop and writes a best-selling novel while sipping an overpriced cold brew vibe. I checked out Offshore Coffee Co in Long Branch where I spent 90% of my time there trying to snag an artsy shot of the cool neon sign behind me without getting caught and looking like a loser. Coffee Surf Co in Belmar, which I didn’t realize was just a Playa Bowls with a coffee tap in it. And Shore Pour in Sea Girt, which was my favorite based on friendly staff who tossed me compliments and a super comfy coastal blue armchair that faced out to the street for prime people watching. Unfortunately, I knocked my cold brew over on said armchair and had to skeedaddle before anyone noticed. Even though my trashy Dunks-lovin ass was clearly not meant for a bougie coffee shop, this will not stop me from trying to be a trendy hipster.

Yellowcard at the Stone Pony Summer Stage(Asbury Park) Thirteen year old Ju was OBSESSED with Yellowcard. I knew their album Ocean Avenue front to back and watched their concert DVD on repeat. When it went missing (probably because my parents hid it) I was BESIDE myself. I’ll never forget trying to plead a case for me to see them live and my dad asking if he could watch a little of the concert DVD to see what the show was like. Welp, there was a section where they parted the crowd down the middle and told each side to run at the other side as fast as they could. Den was understandably out on having his youngest child trampled to death just because she loved the sound of a violinist in a punk rock band. Natch, I jumped at the chance to catch their Ocean Avenue revival tour this summer, very comfortably from a rooftop overlooking the show. Good news: they still slap, I didn’t have to be moshed around to enjoy it, and hearing Ocean Avenue on Ocean Avenue was THE stuff.

Free Pizza at Johnny Mac’s (Asbury Park) Johnny Mac’s is a dive bar I went to in my first year when I did the trials and tribs of online new friend meetups and at the time they were doing a speed dating night, which was equally as mortifying as my reason for being there. JMac’s claim to fame is that you get a free personal pizza with purchase of a drink. I stumbled back into this bar in March of this year as the second to last stop on my very first marathon of drinking night out in Jersey and it was packed with youths and I got a water and left scream-singing Taylor Swift. Probably could’ve used that pizza but it completely slipped my booze-soaked brain. HOW-EV-ER, I ran it back with my second impromptu AP bar crawl when my sister was here this summer and I DID remember the free ‘za and ooh baby did that come in clutch. Why you ask? Because the state of New Jersey doesn’t want to feed you while you’re drunk. Bars close early AF and there isn’t a pizza joint in sight and honestly that should be illegal, especially for a state that prides themselves on their pies. So shout out to JMac’s for doing it right. Nothing soaks up a night of spressy marts and cukes vodka like a hot and cheesy treat that you don’t have to share. I was so invested in shoving it in my pie-hole that a girl 1 billion times drunker than me locked eyes with me and goes “are you ok?” What a humbling moment.

Brunch and gallivanting in Hoboken I had heard of Hoboken all throughout my college years as the mecca of post-grad living. Full of bars and adjacent to the city, but less expensive, it was a rite of passage for my fellow Marist grads to bunk up in Hoboken and try on adulting for size. Obviously, I’m a little late to the party to pretend I have a carefree city lifestyle, but I was more than happy to spend a day there trolling around and pretending. The cherry on top is that I got to do it with my college TV production girlies as we reminisced on the good ole days when we would film each other fighting with lightsabers for an actual grade. We started with brunch at City Bistro which had a flower walkway and wall that seemed to be put there just for me to fawn over, then busted into an open house where I criticized every aspect of this million dollar gem as if I have any business doing so, and then hit up the pier for an overpriced cocktail and a billion tourist trap photo opps that I happily fell right into. Great first impression of a city. It’s a much smaller and more appealing version of NYC with greenery and adorbs brownstones and almost every storefront had some sort of floral decor, which I could barely contain my boner for. In another lifetime I definitely would’ve kicked it there in my youth but I’ll settle for exploring it on day trips.

Climb Ole Barney (LBI) I separated this out because my type A ass wanted to list my events in chronological order, and also this was a completely different viz so no sense in grouping the two togets. I’ve never been a hiker but for whatever reason I’m down to climb a bunch of stairs for a scenic view. Seems pretty stupid but it’s the life that I’ve chosen. On my last week before the 2 year anni, I kicked it into high gear going to LBI on a Tuesday and Margate on a Thursday to climb some shit. And whoa buddy, these 217 steps were a harsh reminder of how out of shape I truly am. Also, not to be critical but for a place that was just closed for renovations for almost a year, one would think they’d find a way to make the narrow spiral stairs into a friendlier two-way traffic sitch. Ain’t nothin worse than huffin and puffin your way up, watching your feet the whole time so your jelly legs don’t send you stumblin backwards only to feel a presence on top of you and realize it’s a whole human trying to come down at the same time. Lots of “ope, sorry’s” and flattening against a curved railing whilst wheezing and having a strangers arm hair tickle my bare skin. But other than that? What a rewarding view! Wish I could’ve popped open a chair and read my book up there to really make that calf grind worth it.

After stomping my shaky legs down and out I thought I’d check out Viking Village known for shops and seafood and when the GPS dropped me at what looked like a private boating slip, I kept on driving. Ain’t nobody got time for that. I did, however, have time to treat my stems to a relaxing day at the beach followed by a bike ride into town checking out all of the cute little boutiques (where store owners talked in not-so-hushed tones about how Kevin Jonas was just there) and ended the day with a twist on a cone like our dear Lord intended. Despite the fact that I didn’t find a public bathroom all day long and almost wet my seat on the drive back, cruising around LBI reaffirmed my lifelong belief that I belong in a beach town. (And coincidentally was a perfect way to celebrate the first day of “salt air & the rust on your door” month.)

Lucy the Elephant (Margate City) I don’t think anything on my bucket list has been as polarizing as Lucy. She was added as soon as I moved here and realized I was merely an hour away from a national historical landmark. But I quickly realized whenever I brought her up with New Jerseyans the reaction was either what the hell is that or I’ve heard of it, sounds dumb. YOU UNCULTURED SWINE. So after many months of floating a Lucy viz out to innocent bystanders and not getting any bites, I figured I’d force my niece to do it when she came to visit. Well she’s visited three times and we’ve managed to push Lucy off the list of activities all three times. So finally I said ENOUGH IS ENOUGH I BETTER GET INSIDE THIS ELEPHANT’S BELLY IMMEDIATELY and I called out sick with a severe case of elephant fever and got that shit done myself. If I’ve learned one thing about wanting to explore and do all of these things it’s that I can’t rely on anyone else to be interested or actually make a plan to join me, so solo is usually how I operate. Although may I add that 100% of the time I’d enjoy each of these activities more with a partner in crime, and I’d certainly appreciate not having to rely on strangers to take my photos. Lookin at you family who declined my offer to take your photo which was OBVIOUSLY code for “take mine too” and also at you, old lady who I then circled back to after a respectable amount of time and the grand finale was a picture that cut out half of Lucy. Obviously asking people to be my personal paparazzi is embarrassing as hell. I might have to start traveling with a tripod.

Anyway, back to my bae Lucy. I once again did ample research and nowhere in my readings did it say that I’d be charged a separate toll to get in and out of Margate City that could only be paid by cash (not EZPass.) That $2.25 entry fee set the tone for this day trip of gettin the treatment. There were about 4 parking spots at Lucy’s feet, kinda slim pickins for a self-proclaimed “roadside attraction”, so I had to do laps searching for a spot and when I found one it had a two hour time limit. Then taking the tour of Lucy cost $9 (round up to donate of course!) then I bought a stupid $6 magnet (round up again) because I’m a sucker for a souv. Then I bought a $16 belgian waffle sundae because I was hungry and deserved a lil treat. TAKE ALL MY MONEY, MARGATE! But cheapskate rant aside, Lucy is cool as hell. The tour, not so much. They jammed way too many people (mostly kids, probably should’ve rented one for the day to look less like a creep as I was the only adult not accompanied by a child) up a narrow spiral set of stairs into Lucy’s belly, where they flipped on a 7 minute video circa 1998, substitute style. Kinda a racket to make people think they’re getting a special tour when really you’re just paying for the money shot–atop Lucy’s “howdah” overlooking the ocean. That’s the word for her basket, that’s 9 bucks worth of education there, BB’s. I also learned that Lucy is older than both the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty, and she was a speakeasy during prohibition #Rebel. She is truly the world’s greatest elephant and all y’all who laughed at me wanting to go MISSED OUT on her magic so I hope Lucy’s creepy eyes that watch the ocean haunt your dreams at night.

I may never get over that there are pizza chains calls Tony Boloney’s and Johnny Pepperoni here. Way to lean into the stereotype, youse guys.

Staten Island FerryHawks Game Can’t say I ever had catching a Staten Island FerryHawks game on the list but I AM in my baseball era and checking out what is commonly referred to as the Staten Island dump seemed like promising people watching at the very least. What I didn’t realize is that I’d get a free tee, a front row seat to a game that overlooked the city skyline next to a dugout full of baseball babes, AND be entertained by half of the group I was with taking part in a balloon-popping game on the field between innings. What a solid first time as a Ferryhawks fangirl! If there’s one thing you can count on from me (other than googling every player that I think is a babe soda and finding out their age and height) it’s taking way too serious artsy photos when not one person asked me to do so. Pls enjoy me moonlighting as Ansel Adams in between selfies with a wiener hanging out of my mouth. Next time I grace SI with my presence, you bet your bottom dollar I’m taking a ride on that ferry!

That’s all she wrote (she says as if she didn’t just write 100 pages worth of words.) I still have many hot spots waiting to be checked off my NJ Bucket List (and more than a few lukewarm spots that I can’t seem to recruit a buddy for), but the good news is, I’m not leaving anytime soon because switching states is a real bitch oh and also, I finally got my beach condo so I’m gonna hold onto that sucker for dear life. I’m ready to embark on year 3 of touristing my face off every chance I get so follow along for more adventures of The Jersey Ju! Last year I asked if I had earned the right to call myself a Jersey Girl yet (how Upstate of me to ask permission), but now I don’t really care if I’ve earned it or not, which ironically makes me fit in here most of all. I’m a Jersey Girl, bitch.

*Unless of course one of those scary North Jersey girliecats tries to throw hands with me, then I’m obviously just visiting from humble little cowpoke Upstate NY and I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. Love you, bye.

Salty Stories

A Blubbering Whale of a Tale

Whale hello there! I’ve been chugging away at my New Jersey Bucket List, just trying to earn my stripes as a Jersey Girl and my next big check, my white whale so to speak, was peeping some big booty big ole humpbacks. My affinity for sea mammals begins and ends with my obsession with the cult classic, Free Willy. Ever since 1993, I’ve made it my life goal to become besties with a killer whale, set him free from greedy waterpark captivity, only to call him with my harmonica anytime I want to grab onto his fin for a quick ride or just talk through my hardships while I pet his smooth rubbery back. As it turns out, my life is not scored by Michael Jackson, and orcas don’t make great pets. So, I had to settle for taking a spin on The Royal Miss Belmar to feast my eyes on what guido and guidette whales are cruising around the Jersey Shore.

I had been casually slipping whale watching into conversation for a solid year, hoping someone would think that sounded like a krill-iant time. I had no takers and I finally decided to seas the opportunity and stop feeling so tide down. My sister (who went whale watching in Cape Cod) confirmed that it wouldn’t be weird to go by myself because everyone is looking at the water anyway and not the loser with a fanny pack full of snacks. So I decided to take the day off Monday and have myself a breachin’ time. Alright, I’m done with the whale puns…OR AM I? I found the top-rated whale watching tour in my area and when I went to purchase my ticket I saw the options were: general admission for $55, reserved seating for $85 and a “best view of the house” upper deck seating for $125. I wanted to guarantee as best as possible–within budget–that I’d have a banging view for ample pics and vids. After texting with the company (their only form of contact, big yikes) they advised me that there’s still an opportunity to get good seats with general admission but you’d have to arrive early, whereas the reserved seats are all at the front of the boat. I decided to splurge and laid down that extra cold hard cash to get myself those tip top seats. $95 later, I was ready to see some mother-F’in whales on a mother-F’ing boat.

I got to the marina, circled twice looking for a parking spot and finally found one under the bridge at the train tracks…the furthest away. I was *very* excited for this fancy whale watching experience that I paid top dollar for and kicking things off by emerging like a troll from under the bridge, huffing and puffing on a 10 minute walk to the boat ain’t it. A precursor for what was to come. I was met with the crew upon boarding and when I gave them my name, the Captain started to tell me to follow the rest of the general riffraff but then stopped and went, “OH, you’re VIP.” Yes, sir, I most certainly am. I sit VIP or I don’t sit at all. I’ve never felt more elite than that very moment. I sauntered up to the front of the boat behind my whale watch escort and he pointed to the roped off section and told me to take my pick.

I sat down with a healthy distance from the next group, thinking I was being polite, then promptly said F that and scooted as close to the bow of the boat as I could get, remembering that my sister told me that’s the hot zone for prime peeps. Then I sat in the direct sun for 30 minutes and roasted, sliding all over my VIP seat before the trip even blasted off. I’ve never felt like a bigger dirtbag imposter than when the deckhand came around to collect the reserved flags off the seats that I had accidentally been sitting on top of and I pulled it out of my swamp ass and handed it to him sopping wet. At least I managed to face my fears and ask the couple next to me to take this adorbs pic of me on the bow pre-swass, so the image I curated was very shi-shi even if my slippery limbs couldn’t cooperate.

We set sail and the ocean breeze was life changing for my overactive sweat glands. A woman sat down on the bow of the boat and declared that she didn’t show up early enough to get a good seat so she’ll just make her own. Ope, ok. This was my first indication that my expensive reserved seat meant absolutely nothing. That point was hammered home even further when the boat suddenly turned into a zoo of activity. I don’t know what it is about moving vessels or confined spaces that make people feel like they need to get up and jazzercise but it is downright infuriating. As we were on a modestly sized boat, the seating was similar to a row at a concert or the aisle of an airplane. Every time someone wanted to get through I had to shove my knees up into my eyebrows so they could scoot on by. No exaggeration, I spent an hour crunched in the knees to chest position as every passenger on this boat bee-bopped back and forth because they couldn’t possibly just SIT FUCKING STILL IN THE STUPID SEAT THAT THEY PURCHASED. At one point a guy stopped and stood directly in front of me and leaned over the boat, not only obstructing my view of the water, but putting his butthole in my face. That’s when I finally had enough and stood up to stretch out my legs which had been slung over my shoulders like a continental soldier to accommodate the “I just want to feel how the air is on this side of the boat” general admission crowd and stake my spot for prime blowhole views, not to be confused with prime butthole views.

Was there a ticket option for “I’ll sit where I’m not supposed to and you can’t stop me?”

We were an hour in and still hadn’t seen no stinkin whales and our naturalist (a PhD student from Rutgers) had been eerily quiet on the mic. Knowing that they don’t guarantee a whale sighting, but they offer a free trip if none are seen, I didn’t have a GREAT feeling about it. Finally with the NYC skyline in sight, the naturalist got over the loudspeaker and told us to keep our eyes peeled because 80% of the whales they see are in this area. Why humpback whales would kick it near a large city is beyond me, but I’m no expert. More time passed with no whales and she popped on again to say that we’re approaching a busy shipping channel and the whales like to hang here because it’s deep. Again, an area with tons of big-ass boats cruising through doesn’t seem ideal for a 30 ft whale to sunbathe. At this point the jig was up. I knew these fools had no idea what they were talking about or where they could find us some whales. I had been duped. I mean I could’ve cupped my hands to my face and spoke “whale” into the breeze like Dory and attracted more whales than this crack team could find with all their fancy boat equipment and the eyes of 100 amateur passengers searching the waters. They slowed the boat down and started circling a certain area and that’s when the naturalist nervously announced, “Obviously we don’t know where the whales are on any given day,” to which I laughed and replied out loud “NO SHIT.” But they decided to lurk near the shipping channel hoping to catch one, Chris Hansen style. Since they changed direction to go against the wind and try a different angle, they told the left side (my side of course) to be careful of waves. Not two minutes after I snarked the naturalist, I caught a little sea spray to the face. It was enough spritz for me to decide it was time to sit my ass down.

I wiped off my glasses after taking this silly little splish-splash selfie and no sooner did I put my phone back down that I got full on waterboarded by another wave. I was securely in my seat and looked like I got dunked under water. And then another one hit. I paid $95 for a VIP super-soaker seat.

After getting womped about 3 times, and one particularly spicy wave getting past the barrier of my sunglasses and hitting my eye, making it burn so badly I basically went blind, I decided it was time to find a new location. The boat had now been put in neutral and was rocking back and forth quite a bit, so with my one good eye, this disabled drowned rat hobbled over to the bow of the boat and latched onto what I believe was an electrical post. I turned to the couple who snapped my pic and told them “this is not a fun time.” They uncomfortably laughed, probably wondering why a sea urchin in need of an eye patch was speaking to them. It was at this point, drenched and blind that my sea sickness decided to turn up full blast. The bow where I was clinging for dear life was slapping up and down and we still had yet to see anything other than some crusty old balloons floating on the surface of the water. Don’t need binocs for those! As I tried to dry off and also not throw up or fall over, the naturalist continued to urge us to do her job for her and find us a whale. KEEP LOOKING! THEY’RE OUT THERE! It’s as if she wanted to rub it in that I only had one working eyeball.

We start to creep back to shore, already late for our 4pm return time, when finally the lady who made her own seat on the way there pointed out a whale off in the distance. Credit where credit is due, at least she was pulling her weight cause I was 100% over scouring the sea for a spout. We got all up on that whale and stalked it like their “complimentary next trip if you don’t see whales” policy depended on it. This company was not about to lose another cent. I learned that several people on this boat were on their second trip after not seeing any whales on their first so clearly this is much more common than they lead on. Shocker. We rotated around this whale who was lunge feeding and took turns with each side of the boat having a view. In my fake world brain, I was imagining I’d have a front row seat to whales flopping around the boat and I’d leave with amazing pictures. The reality was incredibly underwhelming. I had finally regained vision in both eyes but 20/20 really wasn’t necessary here. Everyone was crowded around each other, pushing to see, while also playing bumper passengers trying to keep balance. My phone almost fell overboard every time I snapped a picture and every picture that I took was of the water with a teeny tiny glimmer of a whale blending in with the waves. You could never tell when it was going to pop up and when it did (usually not where your eyes were) it dipped back down 3 seconds later. I’ve never been more unimpressed with something in my whole life, but that didn’t stop me from taking 100 pictures and videos of nothing, hoping for the miracle money shot that never came.

As the whale got closer to the boat (still not close at all), the naturalist chose that moment in time to share that this year in Plymouth a humpback flopped onto a fishing boat out of no where. She emphasized that whale was a juvenile just like this one and you just never know what could happen as the whales are only focused on getting fed. READ THE ROOM, LADY. While I’m on a boat choking back pukes trying to stay upright, the absolute LAST thing I want to hear is that the whale we’re trying to get closer to could just come aboard and launch us into the bowels of the ocean. Did I laugh at the YouTube video of this incident in Plymouth? SURE DID! But I was cackling because I was safely on land and the possibility of this ever happening to me was almost nonexistent. There is a TIME AND A PLACE for sea monsters can kill us without even trying stories. Gawd.

After we spent far too long watching this whale do virtually nothing but eat fish underwater, we found a second whale to creep all up on. This was one they’d seen before. Whale #91 to be exact. Y’all can’t even name your whales?! Come on. We watched him also do virtually nothing but eat fish underwater for another half hour (now an hour off schedule) and I counted down the minutes until I could get back to my seat for the hour ride back and hopefully eat my Ritz bits snackpack to stop myself from hurling. As someone who went on the Himalayan at the boardwalk last month and QUICKLY learned that I’m way too old for rides without getting motion sickness, I’m not sure why I thought being a first mate for the day would be kewl and not stir up my insides. Ya girl may be called The Salty Ju, but she was not cut out for the boat life.

I sat down for our journey back, relieved that we were in the final stretch, and my seatmate turned to me and genuinely said, “That was worth getting wet for!” Uhh, no ma’am. Without a doubt it was not. Did she also get salt water in her eyes because there is no shot anyone could’ve been impressed with what we saw. And as if she manifested that same fate into the air just by speaking it, within 1 second of the boat going full speed, I got the dunk tank treatment again. One little girl was standing in front of my seat with her head over the side of the boat LOOKING to catch waves to the dome and this is why kids are beyond stupid. (PS there was not a safety speech or lifejacket in sight on this ride and all of the children on board were running RAMPANT without parental supervision. Almost made me wish one got tossed over the side on a rough wave to teach those parents a lesson. ALMOST.)

**This is it. This is the best whale picture I got.**

Obviously there was no chance I was going to sit underwater for an hour and everyone else had already gotten the memo to get the hell away from that side of the boat. Unfortunately, the combo deal of high speed boat and lack of balance pretty much guaranteed I wouldn’t be making any big moves. I was able to essentially run/crawl to the dry half of the bow, lean my body weight into the side and get a two-handed death grip on the edge. Picture “I’m the king of the world” positioning but instead of a majestic cruiseliner gliding slowly through the air, the wind was whipping in my face and I was bruising from the amount my body was slamming into the side trying to stay upright. F-U-N! I somehow managed to “stand” this way for about a half hour. There was no one in sight, as they had all figured out a better way to endure this ride. All of a sudden, the boat went from full speed back to an even more nauseating halt and the naturalist hopped back on the hot mic to tell us they’ve spotted another whale and they want to photograph it for their own records. Oh ok, sure, babes! I guess I’ll just live at sea now while you do research and find another whale to assign an inmate number to. A three hour tour, indeed.

Now that the boat had somewhat stabilized, it was time to try and find a seat since the one I overpaid for I was only able to sit in for about 10 minutes. (In case you somehow forgot I got ripped off hoard.) I went to the inside part of the boat where some of the staff took one look at my about-to-Ralph face and said everything ok? Certainly not, Skipper, thanks for asking! I told them I was feeling a little nauseous and was looking for somewhere to sit. They directed me to the back of the boat, said it was less rocky there and told me to look at the houses on land to feel better. I told them it probably didn’t help that I was sitting in the splash zone and the deckhand goes, I did notice that. SIR, IF YOU NOTICE A PAYING CUSTOMER GETTING BOMBED WITH SALTWATER AND VISIBLY NOT ENJOYING IT DON’T YOU THINK IT WOULD BE NICE TO HELP HER TO ANOTHER SEAT?! Guess not. I thanked these two jabronis for absolutely nothing as they were about as useful as a poopy flavored lollipop and wobbled to the back of the boat, where everyone else had already migrated long before me. I found a seat on the very end and dropped into it, met by an incredibly dirty look from the lady next to me, even though I left ample space in between. Oh, exsqueeze me, is this real estate taken?! God forbid I take your precious buffer away from you for the last 20 minutes of this shitstorm.

My ass hit that plastic seat and I’m about to focus on the shore and take a deep breathe when I’m distracted by the woman two seats down launching into the air and projectile vomiting off the side of the boat like a velociraptor. Not only did I get to see her red puke soar through the air, but I also got to smell it! Then I got to jam my thighs into my brain so she could get by me and probably go upchuck some more. And it was in that very moment, as I tried not to start a chain reaction of vomz, that I decided this blog must be written. The rest of it could be chalked up to a crappy experience, but this horrible day being capped off by moving locations and sitting down in the exact right moment to catch the backsplash of an off-boat gommick?! PURE GOLD. That’s sitcom-quality no good, very bad day right there. There is no other way the experience could’ve ended. After the crew selfishly got their pictures of the whale (that they didn’t even tell us where to look for), they sped us back, making sure to hawk their merch and shove their tip jars in my facehole. Everyone on the beaches waved as we passed by, probably smiling and saying “what a bunch of IDIOTS” under their breathe. But I didn’t care because LAND HO, I finally got off that damn boat from hell. I would’ve kissed the ground if I thought I’d be able to without crashing into it.

This wasn’t the first, nor will it be the last time my unrealistic high hopes for a mediocre activity gets the best of me. The good news is that I’ll always turn my disappointments into entertainment for the masses (family members that read this blog) and the even better news is it wasn’t me who red wedding retched all over the Royal Miss Belmar. I’m proud of myself for going alone especially because if anyone went with me I would’ve had to tell them to shut the hell up because I was so naush anyway, which probably would’ve been less than enjoyable for them. But at the end of the day, I went whale watching and all I have to show for it are 75 identical mediocre pictures of the ocean, some of which also include my own finger. If I ever get the mermaid urge to go under the sea again, I’ll just stick to a Free Willy 1 & 2 dubz feature, pretend my BFF is a killer whale and call it a day.

***My hair was straight when I boarded this vessel.***

Salty Stories

One Year as The Jersey Ju

For anyone who read the angry novella of the worst moving experience of my life, not only did I somehow make it through that, but it was ONE YEAR AGO! I survived a whole ass year in New Jersey. And let me tell you, after almost dying every time I dared to get behind the wheel in my first few months, I did not think I would live to tell the tale. Luckily for all of us, not only did I survive, but dare I say THRIVED? I dare not. I’m totally kidding. I did not thrive in my inaugural year as The Jersey Ju. I waffled at best. And even though I believe I’ve become a more aggressive driver, and grown thicker skin (just a touch) like the combative people of my new home state…I have not forgotten my roots. And if there’s one thing I’ll do no matter where the hell I live, it’s create a bucket list in order to force myself (and unwilling victims around me) to explore and take a bajillion pictures. Since I haven’t blogged about my life in a hot minute, I decided to chit chat about all the things I’ve done in my first year as a Jersey Girl!

Can we call me a Jersey Girl now? That’s for you to decide and me to find out. I suspect no one truly becomes Jersey until they’ve completed a “locals only” journey of experiences much like Robin on How I Met Your Mother became a real New Yorker. What Maury Povich is to NYC, The Boss is to New Jersey and I trust that as soon as I catch that sweet goatee trolling around Asbury, I’ll be well on my way to being a true New Jerseyan. (Good news I have this hilarious Bruce shirt I got at a boardwalk tourist shop that definitely doesn’t scream BENNY and one can only hope I’ll be wearing it when I see him.) But for now, please accept the fact that I embraced my new home state in bucket list form as a giant first leap to becoming JERSEY STRONG.

Since I am nothing if not extra, I split my list into 4 categories. The first three categories I ripped EXCLUSIVELY from an NJ.com series that was published when I first moved here where Peter Genovese pointed out *the* thing to do in every county in New Jersey. I furiously scribbled down the ones that were up my alley (wine, food, biking) and then let friends and co-workers add in their own recommendations.

Obviously you have a set of eyes and can see that these two lists remain largely unchecked because both eating and boozing in public require an iota of a social life. I’m fine going out alone when I’m traveling because I’m moonlighting as a work jetsetter AKA #TheCorporateJu. Going out alone because I have no friends to join me?! MORTIFYING. There will never be a time where I’m out solo dolo and do not think every single person in that establishment has turned their chair to stare at me and wonder why I’m such a smelly loser. This is a hump I am yet to overcome and it would be cool if you could just support me in my insecurities here. If you recall, I did boldly show up to Taylor Swift Trivia alone. And it didn’t go well so that really set me back on my progress. Regardless, here’s a highlight reel of the Eats and Booze bucket list items.

Pete & Elda’s (Neptune City) Staring out hawt by ruffling some Jersey feathers…WHAT THEY SERVE HERE CANNOT BE CALLED PIZZA AND I WILL THROW HANDS WITH ALL OF THESE CENTRAL NJ NUTS WHO TOLD ME I JUST HAD TO TRY PETE AND ELDA’S IF I WANT TO KNOW WHAT REAL PIZZA TASTES LIKE. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. The sauce was weird, the crust tasted like a sweet croissant with flaky pastry consistency and I honestly could barely choke down my normal 2 slices that at a good pizza place I can delete in mere minutes. Sorry, not sorry.

Laurita Winery (New Egypt) is bumpin with events. I attended 90’s night in the dead of winter where I dressed like it was ’97, drove 45 mins with 2 brand new friends only for them to promptly tell me upon arrival that they actually don’t really like 90’s music and we should split. I drove more than I grooved in my overalls that evening so we’ll guh ‘head and take an L there. Still looking for any takers who want to attend line dancing night at Laurita so I can check line dancing off of my master bucket list (much alcohol will be involved.) Hit me up if you want to boot, scoot, & boogie.

Windmill Hot Dogs is the Hoffman’s/Heid’s of the Jersey Shore. If you know me, you know why I absolutely NEEDED to go there. A hoffies hot dog, cheese fries and a medium birch beer is my death row meal and I don’t think I’ve ever gone more than 3 weeks without tossing that five star cuisine down my gullet.* So it was time to see how the Jersey version fared and folks, it was NOT good.

*I just received my routine bloodwork results from my annual physical and my cholesterol was high. Can’t imagine why. My doctor noted that perhaps I’d had a greasy meal or alcohol in the days prior to the test. Uhh…yeah babe. All of the above. She also suggested I eat more leafy greens & legumes. I’ve never laughed harder at a doctor’s note in my entire life. A LEGUME?!

Not only was the hot dog about a solid foot longer than the bun, but this wrinkled ween looked like it was not a day under 100 years old. That dawg was on the rollers for a cool 8 hours just shriveling out of existence yet ironically, not getting any shorter THUS CREATING MY NIGHTMARE OF A HOT DOG. What am I supposed to do with that? Just take a raw dog bite until I hit bun a foot later? Get outta here with that trash. This wiener was so hard to stomach that I did something I’ve never once done during feeding time, I shared. Charlee Girl got to try her first two bites of hot dog (after I bit it off and peeled the skin because I was terrified she was going to die eating it) and you know what? She approved. So at least someone liked Windmill. Wasn’t a total loss but rest assured I will not be returning (sober.)

Alright, now we’re cooking with gas, a list exclusively of things I can do without companions! Although, the most disappointing discovery this year: both climbing activities have been ripped from my greasy little paws. Barnegat Lighthouse AND Lucy the Elephant are currently undergoing renovations and will not be open for climbing in the near future. My legs thank them, my excitement for taking a photo from the inside of a metal elephant trunk does NOT.

Manasquan Reservoir is not for casual bikers who take their beach cruiser out for a stroll as my vagina may never recover from the uneven gravel and overgrown tree roots for all 5 miles of this trail. Also I had Covid when I went so I really deserve bonus points.

Mantoloking Bridge County Park is actually just a boat slip (Thanks, NJ.com 🙄) and I really wish I hadn’t driven 40 mins with an over-eager pup looking for a walk to learn that. Even Charlee was like this place stinks.

Ocean Grove is the cutest G-D Victorian house beach town and I creeped the HARDEST on all of the adorbs porches and front yard gardens. (I’ve also been touring each beach town with Miss Charlee Pervs and so far Ocean Grove is #1 for quaint views & vibes.)

Thompson Park (Lincroft) became one of my go-to bike routes in the fall except for the fact that I still never figured out how to loop around it and got lost in it more times than I’d wish to admit. One time someone stopped me as I was putting my bike away and asked me which way to go on their bike and the jig was up. I was forced to confess that even though it was maybe my 5th time there I am directionally challenged and shouldn’t be allowed to bike without a GPS guiding me every step of the way. Gr8 golden fall views though.

Visiting Cape May Historic Lighthouse was the byproduct of REALLY wanting to see NYC at Christmas for the first time ever (an unchecked item to come in the next category) but Omnicron taking a giant dump on those plans. I settled for Christmas in Cape May instead and of course had to squeeze in a beach visit for lighthouse views on a freezing December day (after warming up with espresso martinis first obvs.) 10/10 would recommend taking the trip to Cape May regardless of the weather. Their downtown area was beautifully decorated for Christmas, they had lots of cute restaurants and bars to pop into and catching the sunset at the beach was the cherry on top. I took about 15 billion photos in the 6 hours I spent there and *not to brag but definitely to brag* my shot of the lighthouse from the sand has been posted on Cape May Point’s Insta & a random Cape May fan account no less than 3 times. So I am basically a Cape May legend. I mean this was their Christmas social post:

Not sure why they didn’t want to post this Buzz Lightyear selfie with the lighthouse instead, but whatevs. I accept.

Here’s a small sampling of photos I snapped that day:

Holland Ridge Farms (Cream Ridge) found itself a new seasonal sucker in me. A farm full of in-bloom flowers and photo props? SIGN ME UP. Fall gave us a Salty Ju birthday sunflower photoshoot (and a lesson learned that cutting your own sunflowers is basically an arm workout.) And Spring transported us right to the Netherlands with Tulips as far as the eye can see and a full day of Mother/Daughter flower bonding and modeling.

Mt. Mitchell Scenic Overlook (Highlands) has a nice view of New York City across the water (I confirmed this after texting a fellow Jerseyan because I would’ve hated to be the nerd who’s like check out those city VIEWZ and it was a peek at Red Bank or something.) There was also a 9/11 memorial and patriotic flower arrangement that I especially thought was cool as I was exploring it near the 20th anniversary of the attacks. I took about seven thousand pictures for such a small spot so clearly I enjoyed it.

And last but certainly not least, the bucket list that I created from my own brain, the experiences that I decided were vital to becoming a Jersey Girl AKA shit that I wanted to do now that I live 15 minutes from the ocean and one hour away from two major cities.

Eat a Philly Cheesesteak in Philly was my first check off the list at a social media summit last August, and it felt right to kick things off with a greasy food item. It felt even more right that after INHALING this cheesesteak, my boss witnessed a mouse scurry across the floor behind my chair. We were just starting to get to know each other and she got to learn real quick how afraid I am of creatures as I played can’t touch the ground and Usain Bolt’ed right down the stairs and out onto the street without a backward glance. Grateful the rodent waited until AFTER I finished my meal to show himself. Could’ve really ruined the experience at Jim’s South St.

See a show at The Stone Pony, a seedy rock club known for its affiliation with Springsteen. I knew I wanted to see a live show there but the usual suspects who perform there are *much* cooler than I will ever be. So all I had to do was wait for my middle school crush and favorite musician (former lead singer of Something Corporate/Jack’s Mannequin) to swing through. Happy to report I didn’t have to wait long because Andrew McMahon stops at the Stone Pony on every tour. I got to see him stomp all over his piano for the first time in four years and also learn that this historical music venue looks and smells like the basement of a frat house.

Place a bet in AC. Pretty spicy of my job to send me to both Philly and AC so that I could mix business with pleasure and accomplish two items on the BL. Knowing that AC is the epicenter for white trash gambling addicts, I was not all surprised to walk into Harrah’s on a Wednesday afternoon and instantly be smacked in the face by a cloud of cig smoke and a bunch of degenerates placing bets. Other than my tried and true $1 WPS bet at the Saratoga racetrack, I was a gambling virg and wanted nothing more than to have a very main character-esque on a heater at the blackjack table movie scene. I recruited my boss to document this which resulted in walking around looking for the easiest game to play but having no clue what we were doing and eventually asking a pit boss to direct us to a table for baby’s first gamble. He pointed us to craps and said they would explain it to us because there wasn’t a big crowd. They did not explain it but thankfully a fellow gamblin librarian held my hand and told me what to do. Within seconds of a stranger rolling the dice, I lost $10 and was frowned upon for bringing a paparazzi with me to the table. (Peep the pit boss holding up his hand, the universal sign for “cut the shit.”) If there’s one thing that I know about gambling, it’s to always walk away on top. I had a taste of the juice and I needed to finish my glass. So we found the ever-classic slot machine so I could feel the rush of pulling a lever and seeing dolla dolla bills, y’all. And lo and behold, I won $22 on my third spin. It’s a miracle I didn’t quit my job right there, saddle up to this machine for the rest of my visit and yank that lever on repeat with a fag hanging out of my mouth. Instead, I collected my cash (to be spent on a rubbery bagel and a water the next morning) and rode the high of being a winner for the rest of the week. See below for my US Weekly, Stars They’re Just Like Us photo spread.

Also important to note that I talked MAD shit about how boring this conference was going to be because there’s no way librarians get turnt, and then was proven very wrong when I took advantage of the awards ceremony open bar, got fuzzy on the deets, made a bunch of new work friends and stayed out until 1AM. Took me two days to recover. #IssaVibe AC, BAYBEEEE!

Go blueberry picking. Once I found out that the NJ state fruit is the blueberry, I knew that plucking my own was a must to become at one with my new roots. Turns out no one cared to share this experience with me, so I went ahead and did it by myself on the very last day of the season. And it showed. Pickins were real slim. But I got to dress like an actual blueberry, saunter around a farm on a Sunday morning and pick a healthy snack for the beach later. Win, win, win.

Try pork roll sammy. I learned immediately upon moving here that one of Jersey’s greatest and most fiery debates is over a piece of meat. South Jerseyans (and most of Central) call it Pork Roll, North Jerseyans call it Taylor Ham (a brand of pork roll.) It’s basically like calling those things that hold your boogz a tissue or a Kleenex. As a tried and true crispy bacon lover, it was going to take a lot for me to invite in a new breakfast meat…especially one that looks exactly like Canadian bacon. (Yea I got a lot of dirty looks for that, but I stand by it, COME AT ME BRO.) I asked several people how to order my pork roll and practiced it in the mirror so I didn’t look like a noob at the deli and there was literally no reason for me to get so worked up because the second I stammered out “pork roll egg and cheese on a bagel,” the guy behind me ordered a Taylor ham egg and cheese and the owner goes “A WHAT?!” The guy immediately apologized and said he just moved down this way and hasn’t adjusted to calling it pork roll yet. I giggled nervously thinking the owner was just messing with him. He WAS NOT. The owner legit almost kicked this poor soul out of his shop for ordering his breakfast sammy wrong. He shouted, “TAYLOR HAM IS A BRAND, YOU KNOW, SO IT’S JUST WRONG.” And before I could bear witness to a pork roll slapping, my sandwich was ready. I scurried out of there to enjoy my first PR with a side of fisticuffs over the name. I’ve grown to love a good pork roll egg and cheese, salt and pepper on a roll (bagel is too thicc) so I’m glad I gave it a chance.

Find Jersey’s best espresso martini. I got the best espresso teens on LOCK in Saratoga, so it was only natural that I begin the quest for the best in New Jersey. Since spressy marts (workshopping some sassy names here) are all the rage with the millennial crowd right now (may I remind you, I’ve been drinking them since I was in college, trendsetter 4 lyfe) NJ.com curated a list of the best spots. This was a good start for my list (see below) but I also like to go off the cuff and just order one anywhere I go for a full rating. This bucket list item is checked off because it’s a work in progress. I won’t stop until I reach the top, but trust that I’m working on it every chance I get. Very sorry to report that I got lost in the sauce and forgot to formally review at Wharfside, Birravino, The Shrimp Box or the second bar whose name I don’t remember in Cape May. Guess I’ll just have to go back and get anotha.

Eat crab legs. This one got added to the list after I admitted to my boss that I’d never tried a crab leg because I was intimidated by all of the tools needed to eat it and never want to be stressed while eating. Shouts to my girl Tiffany who was like oh we’re going to getchu some crab legs and I want to walk you through this v. buttery experience. So that’s how I found myself having a big ole plastic bag full of crab legs and shrimp for lunch on my birthday and then going back to the office with butter stains on my dress, smelling like a crustacean. Did it taste like buttery garlic deliciousness? YUP. Did I struggle the most to get even a morsel of meats? Also yes, which is why I don’t think I’ll be a regular crab-eater. If I can’t toss food down my gullet at warp speed, I don’t want it.

Mets Game @ Citi Field. Having been to a game at four major baseball stadiums, but not having checked both NY teams off the list, I knew seeing the Mets at Citi was a must and waiting until they were having a hot streak of a season really worked in my favor. Despite my dad peeling open a nanner on our drive to the train station and almost ruining the day completely with this stench-filled car snack, I’d say my first Mets game was a great success. Even though they lost, they held their own against a top MLB pitcher and I got to see what Mrs. Met is twerkin’ with when they brought in the trumpets for Diaz. Also GREAT game day dawg. WAY better than Windmill’s trash wiener. Next up to round out the Northeast: Citizens Bank Park in Philly.

Nascar at the Wall Speedway. Never even knew what the Wall Speedway was until I switched up my route to work and passed a sign that said Nascar was coming soon. As a born and bred people watcher, I knew this was a can’t miss and just needed to rope someone else into it. Luckily, I made a new friend from the South who was itching to watch cars spin around a track and we got ‘er done. Before I even entered the stadium I saw a gentleman wearing jean cargo shorts and I knew I was about to be in for a real visual treat. Follow that up with a kickoff prayer over the loudspeaker (because, and I quote: we put God before country) and 5 hours of cars driving in circles and spinning out, it was surely a sight to see…one time and one time only. Unfortunately I didn’t do my research and learned when I got there and looked to buy a beer that the speedway is BYOB, so I had to raw dog this night on pure exhaust fumes with no alcoholic lubricant. Fear not, I channeled my inner Ricky Bobby and got through it. SHAKE N BAKE, BABY! I saw a wife lap her husband in a race (who run the world? GIRLS) and this guy pictured below in a wheelchair yelled at my friend and I for standing too close to him. A true Jersey night.

Oh, did you think this marathon blog was done? YA RIGHT. Those were my formal lists so that I could get that orgasmic satisfaction of physically checking a box every time I accomplished something. But OBV I haven’t lived exclusively by a list for the past year. So here’s noteworthy things I did that didn’t come from a list! Honestly if you’re still reading at this point, God Bless.

See a show at Starland Ballroom. This venue has no historical significance and it’s on an old country road across from a VFW (I’m not sure if that’s true or if that was just one of the many jokes my sister and I made when she asked me where the F I was taking her because it looked like deliverance out there.) We caught Breland and Russell Dickerson on a cold wintery night and it was without a doubt the most fun, high energy concert I’ve ever been to. If you ever have the chance to see Russell throw it down onstage, GO. There’s a reason he calls his shows the RD Party. Also FWIW, this venue was way better than Stone Pony–ample parking, space to stand, and multiple bars for booze refueling.

Do a Jersey Shore Vacation fit for a 5 year old. The last time my family and I did a beach vacation was the summer before I went to college where I was fresh off of my wisdoms being pulled (still swollen) and we all wanted to murder each other on day 3 of sharing a rental. So it’s been a minute since I’ve seen the magic of a beach vacay, which I got to do when my niece came to visit. It was her first vacation and pretty much first time doing every single thing we did. We quickly learned that she’s a woo girl in training by all of her excited outbursts for each and every activity. It’s cool when you get to do childish things but no one gives you dirty looks because you’re with a child. From finding treasure in the Metedeconk River (not worth the $25 ticket price if you’re over the age of 5) to almost ralphing on the Himalayan and learning that I’ve finally aged out of theme park rides, this viz was easily the most jam-packed 3 days of activities since I moved here. If you want to see pure baby’s first vacay joy, check out the home video I made like it’s 1993 and I’m Uncle Joey carrying around a camcorder to document everything my nieces and nephews do. Honestly there’s never been a better description of me, so whatevs. Everyone will thank me someday, probably not after wasting 14 hours getting through this blog, but SOMEDAY.

PS save yourself from Jenks Aquarium…I’m not sure we can officially call this place an aquarium as it was giving basement apartment of a guy who lives with his mom and keeps a bunch of snakes vibe. I should’ve known from the second I walked in when they had a guard at the stingray tank and told everyone they could only go wrist deep and only touch the rays that come to the surface. BRO. What stingrays are coming to the surface at a crowded boardwalk aquarium? Ya gotta get your grabbers down there and rassle em up. Amateur hour.

Beach it up at least once a week…even in the dead of winter. Look, you can’t talk a big game about how you’d be infinitely happier if you could just live near the beach and then get here and not take full advantage of that. I specifically chose to live 45 mins away from work so I could be as close to the beach as my bank account would allow and even that hasn’t been satisfying. That 15 minute drive is a real boner kill when there’s people who can just walk outside their home and hit sand. I couldn’t manifest living at the beach harder if I tried. Anywho, I walked, biked, lounged, swam, peeped many sunrises and photographed the beach like nobody’s biz this year and if you don’t believe me, here’s proof of my love affair with all things sandy and salty. (For the elite few who received a Christmas card from me, I wasn’t kidding, I basically lived on the beach like a crab this year.)

P.S. When I went in January and the only other soul on the sand with me was a seagull that was keeping pace with me on a walk, I legitimately questioned my sanity. I also may or may not have cried because that was the terrible day that I got my mugshot NJ license photo and Roz from Monsters Inc wouldn’t let me smile or switch my registration over and my only companion was a damn sky rat on a deserted beach. Real talk though, this was easily the loneliest year of my life so big ups to that salty bitch the sea for being there for me on good days and a whole lot of bad days too. Yup, sure did just personify ocean water like a total looney toon but there’s a reason waves crashing is auto-programmed onto every sound machine…it’s soothing as hell. It’s also super loud and great for drowning out the sounds of an ugly cry, jus sayin. All in all the beach is my favorite place on this earth and is probably the main reason why I’ll be sticking around here for years to come.

Champagne spray on the beach. Seems fitting to address this activity after yapping about how I pretended to own beachfront property all year rather than shoving a beach cruiser into my car and driving into the land of the rich from sketchy Neppy. I paid off my student loans this year which means ya girl is 100% debt free and ooh baby is it sexy to be financially stable for the first time in my life. So I celebrated by tossing on a tutu, buying a bottle of champs & hitting the beach to give myself a little extra in a rap video booze-soaked dance. Best part about the beach in the winter? No one else is there. So I got to take a bunch of champagne spraying videos and sashay around like an idiot without any witnesses. It was a good time until my hands were sticky and frozen so I scampered back to my heated vehicle to regain blood circ.

See the Twin Towers Lights on the 20th Anniversary. As someone who grew up 6 hours away from NYC, I had a very distant perspective of 9/11. I was 10 years old and I couldn’t quite grasp the magnitude of what had happened and instead of observing and shutting my yapper, I decided to ask my parents to take me out to dinner that night to celebrate. Before you can compare me to a terrorist, I quickly backpedaled when I saw the look of horror on their faces and added “you know, to celebrate the people that survived.” I’m not gonna try and dig deeper on what was banging around that middle school brain of mine but it was obviously nothing profound. Regardless, I was able to go to a park in South Amboy that overlooks the NYC skyline and see the lights of the twin towers and talk to someone who had a much different perspective of that day, which really opened my eyes to how people were affected far beyond the site of the attack. It was a very cool night and although my pictures are absolute dogshit, and it wasn’t the clearest of views, it was nice to step outside of my idiot child brain and see the bigger picture. I’d still love to go to ground zero and walk through the museum, so maybe that’ll be on my list for this upcoming year.

Drink out of a stein at Oktoberfest. I always wanted to go to the real Oktoberfest but also didn’t have any friends that could be trusted to control themselves and not die of alcohol poisoning, so I’ll settle for a local version at a biergarten. Mostly, I’ve just always wanted to drink out of a honkin stein while wearing a trendy Euro hat and I feel like the extra I paid to get said stein of a beer that I didn’t even like was well worth it for the photo opp. PROST!

Get solicited for feet pics on Facebook marketplace. This one is really a reward (happy ending, so to speak) for the few, possibly none, that read this entire blog which pretty much turned into a scrapbook of my entire year. It doesn’t surprise me that it wasn’t until I moved to New Jersey that an innocent posting of brand new Sperry wedges catapulted me into the seedy underbelly of foot fetish internet.

And since I’m me and I live for content, rather than immediately blocking my podiatry perv, I played it through.

I’d like to say I’m a comedian who’s committed to a bit, but realistically, if I can snap a well-lit photo of my tootsies in a pair of trendy wedges and cash in on $50 without even leaving my couch, I’mma do just that. As it turns out, my man Tito decided after looking at my profile picture, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free. What I thought was a tasteful sneak peek (the first one’s always free, it’s the next one that’ll cost ya) apparently was enough to get the job done without exchange of currency.

I’ve changed my profile picture to one with closed toed shoes and going forward, I’ll drive a harder bargain. YOU WANT A SHOT OF THESE POINTED PEDICURED TOES? WIRE ME $100 OR KEEP IT MOVIN, FREAK. DON’T PUSSYFOOT AROUND THE DEAL. So whatdya think? Am I a Jersey Girl yet?

If this ratchet flip phone shot circa 2011 of me in my authentic Seaside Heights Shore Store pinny (personalized with my last name on the back) tells you anything, then yeah I’m JERSEY, bitch.

Salty Stories

Moving Still Sucks Balls

On day 2 of what was supposed to be a one day move, I was wide awake at 3 in the morning on a mattress covered in plastic, with a blanket and a couch pillow, sweating my life away and I opened the Notes app in my phone and typed “Moving Still Sucks Balls,” a blog title to return to at a later date when my life was not in shambles and this move from hell was over.

Well, squad, THAT DAY HAS ARRIVED! (I recounted the entire tale to my therapist last night and she told me that I’ve spun this into a very entertaining story and she felt like she was there with me. BINGO BANGO that’s all I need to blog this out.) BUCKLE YO SEATBELTS. The bitter and salty feelings are still brewing at the surface a week later but I can spoil the ending before I start from the top: I did indeed finally make it to New Jersey. For those of you who have been living under a rock, my 30th birthday gift this year came in the form of a full-time job offer in the dirrty Jerze. The job allowed me to stay remote for most of the summer and I set my sights on an August move, finding an apartment (in the midst of a mass NYC exodus to the Jersey Shore, #blessed) in late June. It was immediately after I signed my lease that I started looking into moving companies. As you may also know all too well, I’ve moved about 9 zillion times. As someone who has moved more times than most of you will in a lifetime, I can without a doubt inform you that it blows. It’s stressful and a ton of work and there’s only so many times you can guilt friends and family into being your free labor—especially when you’ve exceeded the appropriate amount of moves, of which I most certainly have. So this time around I decided to hire movers to make the transition smoother and also not have to listen to my dad bitch about loading my bike into a rented U-Haul for the fifth time in two years. You know how people say money can’t buy you happiness? If I had unlimited amounts of money and could’ve paid someone else to move my shit each of those dreadful times so dear old dad and I didn’t scream at each other over inanimate objects or a rented truck mishap, I’d be happy AF. But alas, my funds are limited and therefore I spent several weeks seeking out quotes to find the right moving company with the right price. (*important note: Despite having movers this time around I did still scream at my dad. But in my defense, he told me to relax. How a man who raised three girls still doesn’t understand that under no circumstances do you ever tell a female who is not at all relaxed to “just relax” is beyond me. Praying that screeching at the top of my lungs DO NOT EVER TELL ME TO RELAX finally hammered this lesson home for him.)

After getting ghosted by essentially every local company I reached out to, it was time to look at national companies and I was not pleased about this. Relying on someone in a different part of the country to handle my move? Sounds like a recipe for disaster. I stumbled upon a few names that essentially operated like sales call centers. Hard selling and pressure to make decisions on the spot when it comes to thousands of dollars are NOT my specialty. We’ll soon learn none of the skills I needed for this move were my specialty. Apparently snarky one liners and pop culture references will get you no where in moving land. My second call of national companies was to BLANK company. In the interest of my lawyer I should keep their name undisclosed at this time. We’ll just call them Dark Circle Moving. Dark Circle took a full list of my inventory—we’re talking a one bedroom apt here, folks, my biggest pieces were my couch, bed & dressers. The rest we could’ve wrangled into a few RAVs and a pickup if we needed to (as we’ve done before.) The quote they gave me was higher than I was looking to spend so I said thank you and intended to keep calling until I had collected enough quotes to make an informed decision. Dark Circle didn’t love that idea. They were not about to let me hang up without making a sale. They brought in the “manager” to close the deal and by close the deal I mean tell me a bunch of lies about how this company is not a broker and they’ll do the move themselves while also telling me an uncomfy amount of times that with his “special touch” he could bring the estimate down to what I was looking for. I don’t want to know what he was touching but my dad was standing right there listening and told me to just close the deal and be done with it. (He’ll deny this, but it’s the truth.) So I said fine and right then I was told to pay a deposit and sign a contract on the phone, allowing them to get me to sign whatever garbage they were peddling without reading it. IT WORKED! I signed a contract that said, “We can literally do whatever we want so ya done fucked yourself, boo”…in so many words, of course. I didn’t have a yummy feeling in my tummy about this.

A week out from my move, I still had an estimated price and an estimated move date between August 9th-August 10th. The Friday before I got a call from a quality assurances manager to update my inventory (read: increase my estimate per crumb that I added to my inventory) and tell me I’d need certified funds. Certified to who? Your guess was as good as mine. When I asked what day I’m actually moving he replied, “Oh I don’t know, I don’t handle that.” If I were to hear from someone that weekend, I’d probably be moving Monday, if I didn’t hear anything, I’d probably be moving Tuesday. Obviously the schedule was super reliable. So I just had to be ready to move my life to a different state for two straight days. I called customer service from the bank parking lot to see who I should make the certified check out to and she told me a completely different name…let’s just call them Eagle Movers. SO EITHER YOU GUYS ARE RUNNING AN ILLEGAL BUSINESS FRONT WITH A DIFFERENT NAME OR Y’ALL ARE CONTRACTING OUT MY MOVE TO A DIFFERENT COMPANY WHICH YOU SAID YOU WOULD NOT DO. Either way, NO. When I inquired what would happen if the moving company showed up and changed the estimate that I owed and got certified checks for, she replied “I’m not sure, maybe have them wait while you go back to the bank and change the amount.” Ironclad plan, dum dum. I got cash out instead. It honestly felt like a bank heist to have this much cash in my possession at one time. Clearly I’ve never dealt drugs.

On Monday I called for an update as to what time I could expect a truck to roll through. Customer service told me they couldn’t get in contact with the driver and they still weren’t 100% sure what day he was coming. AGAIN, not knowing if you’re staying another night or WHEN YOU ARE MOVING four hours away is PROBLEMATIC at best. I expressed my frustrations but as many of you know, I poop myself at any sort of confrontation. I get nervous and shaky voice and think of everything I should’ve said immediately afterward. Also this customer service bid couldn’t have cared less. In fact, SHE sassed ME. She told me she hasn’t called me back (I called 3 times on Monday throughout the day) because she didn’t have an update. OH GREAT. LET ME JUST SIT WITH MY LIFE IN BOXES AND MY THUMB UP MY ASS AND YOU LET ME KNOW WHEN YOUR TRUCK DRIVER IS GOOD AND READY TO MOVE ME. I said, “So a truck can just show up with no notice?” And she said, “Yeah.” Cool, cool, cool, cool. At 6PM she called me to tell me the driver would be there between 8 and 12 the next day.

GuEsS wHo DiDn’T ShOoooooOOOwwwWww?! I called at 12 on the dot and said where’s my truck? At this point customer service dumzilla already knew it was me, we needn’t waste time with formalities. She told me she couldn’t get a hold of anyone. Rinse & Repeat. Day two of this garbage. At this point I was now sniffing into other local moving companies begging them to take mercy on me and move me at short notice so I could tell Dark Circle to kick rocks. As you might have assumed, all the local moving companies laughed directly in my facehole. I had to wave my white flag. I wanted to be a grown ass bitch who handles her problems but my phone call confrontation stage fright was getting the best of me and it was time to call in reinforcements. I had my parents (waiting for me and the movers in New Jersey) pull a Mean Girls 3-way bullying call to rip customer service a new b*hole while I silently cheered them on from NY. The word scam was used gratuitously. They said they’d let us know within the hour where the driver was. They called back and said the truck got held up and would be there in 2 hours. I’m not a psychic, but I had a pretty universal calling that they were 100% blowing smoke up my ass. That was confirmed when I got a call and a text that read “hi call me back I am driver.” I call this jabroni back and he tells me he’s never even heard of my move and they just called him for the first time five minutes ago. He’s sitting on his couch, in New Jersey. He tells me he can maybe get there by 10PM. UHHHH? That’s past my bedtime, strange man. I hand off his number to my dad to deal with this hot mess. At this point I don’t think it could get any worse. Sure, zip on over here and move me out at midnight. While you’re at it, just take a load off on my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch and we’ll all set off in the morning together. WHAT.

The plan made by “driver” and my dad was for him to come at 8am the following morning and get this shit over with in one trip. I had now turned in my internet and started to head down to New Jersey with a car bursting with shit, including a mattress for me to sleep on in my new apt that night. I had already given up on this circus and was ready to at least empty my car. On the first 20 mins of my drive I received two other calls from different drivers both saying they were on their way to my apt tonight and could move me out after 8 o’clock. Sure, bruhs. Why don’t you all show up and move me out. The more the merrier. Another 3-way call took place in the Spectrum parking lot this time with a different customer service rep who conducted the first 10 minutes of the call thinking I was Angela. TIP TOP SERVICE. I told this gentleman that he was running an absolute shitshow. He didn’t particularly appreciate that. He got us nowhere and then hung up on us. We confirmed the 8AM time with “driver” and cut Dark Circle out of the communication since they proved to be useless idiot middlemen who can’t even get in contact with whatever shitty third rate moving company they contracted to. I turned around to head back to my packed up apartment and unload all of my cold foods packed into coolers back into the fridge. I gobbled two plain cheeseburgers and a medium fry, went to a friend’s house to shower for the first time in 24 hours and steal some wifi for a hot second (having TV’s packed and no wifi is basically the equivalent of living in Alcatraz), then came back to crash for the night. Started out on the couch, woke up covered in sweat at 1:30 AM with my feet hanging off POSITIVE that it was morning. It was not. So I pushed my plastic-wrapped mattress back onto the frame and stuck my boiling hot skin to it for a cozy night of slumber. Let it be known that when it rains, it POURS for ya girl. This exact week happened to be the perfect storm of the return of hotter than Satan’s butthole humidity (after crisp fall temps the week before) AND the shedding of my uterine walls. THREE CHEERS FOR RADIATING HEAT FROM MY BODY AND MY UNDERCARRIAGE. You know what’s fun about disposing of your period accouterments into a McDonald’s bag because you already took out the trash because you already thought you were moving? NOTHING.

“Driver” shows up at 9am. Within 30 seconds of him entering my apt he tells me that there’s no chance I was quoted the right amount with “all that I have.” WHO CALLED IT?! I DID, I DID, I DID! I would relish in being right but I cannot relish in anything that empties my savings account. Because of COURSE the moving company that shows up two days late is demanding more money from me to actually do the job. AS IT TURNS OUT, in the big ole scammy scam of movers, Dark Circle had me list my inventory in full and then said yeh we don’t care and quoted me for a truck space that wouldn’t even fit my couch. They knew I would never pay the estimate amount and I’m gonna go ahead and guess they didn’t care because they got my deposit and handed me off to scammers #2 Eagle Movers who would pocket whatever price they named from me on that day. My apartment in New Jersey has a flight of stairs (which Dark Circle was fully aware of) and yet I was charged an additional $150. For STAIRS. Bend me RIGHT over. I had to go to the bank and get out an additional $1300 and then I panicked because math is NOT a strong suit for me that I wouldn’t have enough still and stopped at a second ATM to get another $200 out. The fact that Bank of America didn’t send me a text that said, “u ok?” is still baffling to me.

When I finally returned with my disgusting amount of cash for a service that was 0% worth it, I was then forced to count out half in front of a driver who was staring at me. At this point I was full-on sobbing, which really didn’t do great things for my image as just thirty minutes earlier this same driver told me he’d rather deal with my dad “man to man.” You know, because women are trash. This particular woman (ME) is not a money person. When I was a Wegmans cashier and people asked for cash back, I almost ALWAYS added the amount wrong to the total and then had to count it three times before giving it to them. Handling cash makes me frazzled as hell. I don’t think I’ve ever once counted out exact change because the pressure of someone staring at me while I add in my dumb brain is enough to make me never use currency again. CC 4 LYFE. And now that my Discover taps? Woo baby, I will never pay any other way. TAP TAP, HONAY. Anyway, back to me snotting all over $1600 to a misogynistic a*hole. It was not a good scene. He had 0% sympathy as he grubbed all my money away from me. And to add icing on top of this very shit-filled cake, the minute I stepped out of my car into my new apartment that I’ve never seen before after a 3.5 hour drive and a bursting bladder full of iced coffee, this driver says to me “I need my balance.” OH ABSOLUTELY, GOOD SIR. God forbid I use the bathroom and look at my new home that I just shelled out $7K in a day to move into when I should be coating your palm with piles of cold hard cash instead. How could I forget?! It must be because I’m a girl with a tiny brain. Hey, while we’re at it, did you want me to also write out a quick check to send your kids to college as well? Everything’s on me today, no worries at all. You take whatever you need.

Welcome to New Jersey, indeed. Hope this crash landing arrival isn’t a foreshadowing into my new life as The Jersey Ju. Stay tuned as I surely use more hard lessons learned as entertainment for my blog!

The Salty Ju

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Tag Archives: New Jersey

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Moving Still Sucks Balls