I love too much. I love too deeply. I love with all my being and everything that becomes me.; consumes me.

Which is why I don’t swim in the waters at all. Dark like the midnight moonlight, cold and calm; tempting but dangerous. The water is to be feared. The water can drown you in your own recognizance. The Water can bring you to see things, terrible things you never knew. Monsters, and animals only danger knows.

But still I tempt the depths with my toe. Starting in a puddle, working my way up to a pond. But somewhere along the lines the water seems less dangerous; more comforting. I have confidence in the shallow spot of where I stand. Peering into the sapphire glass like a child finding her inquisitive side, my hand nestled in yours; I step.

And suddenly I am caught. Swept up in the riptide I knew nothing of. I had heard the dangers but it was never something I could experience before. And I am dragged. My heart is yearning, grasping, climbing, clutching. Reaching for something to cling to; reaching for you.

You cannot be swept up with me. It’s not safe-two of us out to sea with all our being fighting so fiercely upon the waves. Slapping and breaking water, sobbing and desperately wanting to have relief, I do not want to be alone. I am begging for saving and you are too close for your own comfort; you need to travel  back to coast lest we both be trapped gasping for air.

 I comprehend your actions.

I have never learned to swim for fear of drowning. I have never picked up the skill because it is not a skill I’ve ever needed. A minimalist in everything but emotion; I have learned to be prepared for anything and immune to what was thrown my way. But, you told me it could change my life. You told me I deserved to know how to swim.

I don’t think you knew what that meant. I don’t think you knew the requirements at hand. I don’t think you understood my determination to break down the barriers I put in place to keep from being swept off my feet into the murky waves. I don’t think you anticipated how soon you would have to pull me back ashore. So you couldn’t. You didn’t know. You didn’t know the more you floated away the harder I would struggle to maintain your grasp. I didn’t know the more I fought the farther down I would go.

“It feels like there’s oceans
Between you and me once again
We hide our emotions
Under the surface and try to pretend
But it feels like there’s oceans
Between you and me” 

Seafret, Oceans



I Have A Confession;

This has been brewing for some time now. And it’s Jamaican Me Crazy not being able to share this sooner. I Cannoli imagine how pissed some of you are going to be.

Okay. I’ll stop. I have a thing for super bad puns. The puns Dad Jokes are made of.

ANYWAYS…I kind of have a problem. And by problem I mean it’s a first world problem but a problem none the less. I have a hot beverage problem. It’s such a thing I have an entire drawer full of coffees and teas.


But the tea is in the back for a reason. My main go to in a month is not the expensive Starbucks, the Fruity bursts, or even the Giant Box of Great Value K-Cups.  It’s the thing dreams are made of.

image4(Please ignore the grossness that is my handle to the Keurig, I only push it down about 11 times a day.)

My Ultra-Caffeinated, Ultra-Natural, Ultra-Badass, LOCAL Utica Coffee.  You guys, you don’t even KNOW.

Their Mission Statement on Their Website states,

Our approach is simple: we use the highest quality coffee available, roast it in small batches for the retail and wholesale market, and adhere to business principles that embrace the culture, history, and vibe of our region. We practice current, sustainable, renewable business practices, hire local, purchase local (everything but our coffee beans, of course), and sell local.

Everyone with any conscience is behind that, but wait until you TASTE THE FREAKING STUFF. Their website has a TON of varieties listed from Flavored, to Origin and the ever-famous Adirondack blend. But I have a special place in my heart for the Wake The Hell Up! K- cups in the flavor Cannoli.

image3(I also have a box in Jamaican Me Crazy. It’s my third box since the 3rd of the month. Stop Judging me.)
image2(I meant to take a picture for you before I tore into the box like a crackhead finding some plastic wrap but I just didn’t have the self control.)

Now the great thing about these coffees is that I am a huge advocate of creamer. If I was not Lactose Intolerant, I would probably just drink that straight. Okay; I’m joking. I had a boyfriend who did that and I questioned what I saw in him badly enough to leave. Straight Diabetes. Be an adult and put booze in it first, call it Kahlua. God Damn…

Sorry. Anyways, I have a creamer problem, and this DOESN’T need creamer. Now I’m no coffee expert (That’s why there is Utica Coffee Roasters…) BUT! I can tell you that Cannoli is smooth but slightly acidic, and flavorful like a sweet vanilla cream without being overpowering.

Now the JMC flavor… I am new to this. I am not a fan of Coconut coffee, however this was again, smooth with slight acidity, and not necessary to be tainted with creamer. Which is a shame, because my creamer problem is almost as bad as my coffee problem. (Don’t even get my started on making my own… what do you think I do when I’m out?)


So all of this, with Pride as I announce no anxiety fits or heart attack – you may be asking yourself why I’m even going on. Well, I believe in sustainability. I believe in supporting local business. I believe in Good Freaking Coffee.

My friends know I don’t recommend anything I haven’t tried myself or researched thoroughly. My friends know that if I’m drinking coffee at 11:18 PM, it’s going to be Damn Good Coffee. My friends all now also have a coffee problem. So check the links below I left and explore the site. Not only do they have Ultra-Caf, but they have decaf, TEA, and merch. Hopefully get your purchases in before they place a block and alert on me.

Check me out on My Facebook for more things that are not funny.

They take Most Major Cards/Paypal. And hey! Free Shipping over $50!

You Can Find Their Facebook Here

You Can Trade Your Soul Here (It’s worth it Broseph.)






So, if you felt that America was great, but your navigation was left back in the Obama administration; have no fear! KartaGPS has  come to show you how to obtain GPS Enlightenment.

Featuring a Donald impersonator for your navigation needs via iOS and Android, KartaGPS uses the Donald’s voice to give you great – NO! THE BEST! places to eat, the most TREMENDOUS left turns, and even the reason to maybe appreciate him again. Or not. When in doubt, the company is also offering former President Bill Clinton. I wonder how many Lewinsky jokes before you just hear Hilary clearing her throat in the background?

The voice is free – let me know in the comments if you’ve had it since the release in May, or if you’re looking to try it out now.

FREE Supply Filled Backpacks Today!


Everyone loves Free, right? Well today, from 1PM to 4PM, stop down in one of the participating Verizon Wireless stores with your child and receive a FREE backpack with school supplies! A list of participating locations can be found Here.

They do ask:

“After you get your free backpack, share your photos using #WZGivesBack on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter to spread the goodwill! Check out all the fun at http://www.wzgivesback.com

EDIT: Their Facebook seems to have comments about people not being able to receive them due to plans being made for them prior- I would call beforehand if it’s a drive for you!



Another Excuse For Coffee? Biscotti!

College has started back up, and with hard work comes caffeine addiction. Or Coke. But I mean I don’t have the money for coke and I’m not looking to ruin my life so…COFFEE IT IS!

So while  procrastinating cramming on day ONE of classes, I realized two cups of coffee in and I was craving a sweet treat. Something to hit the spot that didn’t make me feel like I downed an entire package of Oreo’s, kind of thing. Something crunchy and still light.

Salted Caramel Chocolate Chip Biscotti.

HOMG. I ended up making four batches. Well, to be fair the first one was going great until I forgot about it in the oven on the last round. Kids woke up, coffee cup three needed to be made, I’m pretty sure I was still in my pajamas and knew we had an appointment in 30 minutes…

The next two rounds (which, being said the first round didn’t stop anyone under the age of 6 from devouring it off the plate, despite my eldest proclaiming that he doesn’t like the brown sides-even thought EVERY SIDE WAS BROWN) were true to form biscotti. Crunchy, sweet, coffee dipping, perfectionist-divulging biscotti. Quick, easy, and worth every misguided attempt prior to this.

The last round was just for the kids. They wanted “the hard cookies but not so hard, mom.” Those I took out after the first one and let them cool and set overnight, but you can pretty much dive in whenever on those.

Four batches, and the best picture I have for you guys is burnt ones because out of all four batches I don’t think they made it long enough for pictures!



Salted Caramel Chocolate Chip Biscotti

3/4c. Sugar

2 Eggs

Splash vanilla extract

1c. AP Flour

3/4c. Whole Wheat Flour

1t. Baking soda

1/2 t. Salt

3/4-1c. Kraft Caramel Bits

3-4-1c. Semi Sweet or Dark Chips (I used SS because I didn’t have dark)

Good  pinch of procrastinating on the first three labs you have

The fear of not having a degree after 10 years

The cat hair of the 13 cats you’ll have in the future, when you’re alone.

Optional: Sea Salt for sprinkling

Optional: Drizzle in melted chocolate


Preheat the oven to 300 degrees F. Cream sugar, eggs and vanilla. It’s going to look weird from lack of butter but do not be alarmed. It’s all still okay. THE EARTH IS NOT CRASHING DESPITE MY GRADE IN GEOLOGY RIGHT NOW I CAN ASSURE YOU. Keep the mixer on low-medium speed and add flours, salt, and soda. Don’t get too crazy on the speed or it’s going to blow up like my student loan debt. Scrape sides and gently mix in chips/bits/hopes/dreams. Spray a baking sheet with nonstick spray or use parchment paper and lay the dough into two logs. Or ten. But I mean, two is easier. Slightly round the rectangle logs along the edges so that there is a nice curve, much like the days of No Child Left Behind. Optional: Sprinkle Sea Salt across the tops if you would like.  Place in the oven and bake for around 30 Minutes.

Remove from the oven and let rest for ten (or twenty…I mean, you get to it when you get to it. Or when Thing One stops biting Thing Two in the Living room and OH MY GOD YOU DON’T HAVE TO WATCH PAW PATROL WE HAVE TWO TV’S JUST GOOOO!) minutes. Carefully slice into 3/4″ slices and turn on their sides all in the pan. Place pan in oven for ten minutes. Remove pan after ten and flip all pieces. Place in the oven again to bake for the final ten minutes. HERE IS THE IMPORTANT KICKER, FOLKS; do NOT forget they are in the oven!

Remove and let cool. If wanted, drizzle with melted chocolate. Dip in Coffee and the tears of realizing you have another 14 weeks of the semester. It’s not that bad. Wipe the blood off your Psychology text book and remember; wine is not acceptable all hours of the day, but coffee is forever.


Stolen Identity

I was assaulted three months ago.


I was violated by someone I trusted.


I was left confused, hopeless, and emotionally vulnerable by another person.



I was raped.



I did the right thing. I went to the police. I sat as they made me recount every detail of the incident, the person, the actions. I did the right thing. I went to the hospital where reality finally struck and I came out of shock to become a weak heaping mess on the hospital bed. They told me it was not worth the rape kit due to the trauma it would incite. The timing was bad. The details didn’t seem in my favor. I did the right thing. I waited as the police came to my house at 2:30 in the morning and collected my clothing. Took pictures of my house. Collected my bedding including pillow cases off my bed, leaving just a blank mattress and one lone pillow. I did the right thing.

I came in when they called me out of work. I came in to the station to ‘bait’ him into admitting he knew what he did was wrong. It wasn’t necessary; he already had admitted it and then some. He admitted he forced himself on me, he admitted he didn’t stop after I said no. He admitted he kept penetrating me as I laid there audibly sobbing. But I came in and got more admittance on text and phone recordings. I did the right thing. They gave me the pretense of the idea that if I did this, we would be able to arrest him within the following week. DO NOT go get an Order of Protection I was told. It would be made by the judge. I did the right thing.

It got passed to the District Attorney’s office. It sat for weeks. Weeks turned into months as I tried to play phone tag with the DA assigned to my case. Meanwhile I had my perpetrator casually appear places I had never known him to go. Parked outside my home on “public roads”, where nothing could be done because he was not contacting me. Driving the same direction as my path to work once or twice a week, despite working and living an hour from my work location. Public roads; coincidence. And I waited. I did everything I was SUPPOSED to do.

Three months of anxiety, and fear, and constant betrayal of my own emotions. Constantly hiding the feeling of paranoia. Constantly wondering if I was over it or just in another stage of denial. Constantly waiting for someone-a certain someone-to snap and attack me. Three months of trying to pretend everything is normal while knowing deep inside that nothing is normal. Three months of denying I was a victim in any way.

And then that call came. Three months of waiting for SOMETHING, ANYTHING. It came. The call that it was not worth the time and effort to push the case. A ‘He said/She said’ scenario.

It didn’t matter that I handed over my phone. It didn’t matter that I had pages and recordings for miles of him from day one admitting guilt and wrong doing. It didn’t matter that I have been in fear and paranoia for months. It didn’t matter that I have not slept more than four hours a night because the night terrors and the cold sweats make me clutch my knees and rock in bed sobbing. They make me check my children incessantly even though I know they are not in harm. Three months of checking every license plate of someone who appears to be following too close. Three months of assigned parking and (albeit a safety precaution,) alienation from my coworkers. It did not matter that I have thought about not getting out of bed in the morning; or that I would rather not try to make myself presentable because now every man (as ridiculous and untrue as I know it to be) is a threat. Because my perpetrator saw me at my worst. My worst physically; emotionally.

It will not go to court. There are no repercussions to him. There is no “slap on the wrist.” There is no consolation for the shell of a person I have become. It was never a question of letting it define me, or not “getting over it”. It is a question of what was taken from me. My trust, my sexual identity, my self worth. My confidence is gone. This was not an assault on my body it seems, but of my own inner self. This was an assault that was more personal than any Law & Order SVU episode will show you, this is more than the jokes the high schoolers will make.

I spent hours in the courthouse to apply for an Order of Protection. I did not receive one of those either. If I were to pursue through the fullest extent (if a judge has not already laughed at it) I would have to sit ten feet away from my perpetrator as he explained how he has done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve a piece of paper stopping him from harassment. I will have to sit ten feet away from the man I once trusted around my children. The man I trusted to know more about me than anyone else in quite some time. I would have to sit in proximity to this man…who knows he did something terrible and walked away smiling.

I requested to file anyways. We don’t have his information to file. There would not be an order for as long as a year.

There will be no OOP. There will be no case to trial. There will be no justice except for the justice of knowing I DID THE RIGHT THING. And by God, I am trying, Lord knows I am trying to maintain composure. I have done a decent job the last three months and amazed myself. But those three months I had hope. I had faith that the system would stand behind me. I had the impression that those who do the right thing will be granted the right course. And I’m sure, in some parallel universe that they do. I would never tell another woman or man to not follow the process of reporting and following. I just would make it clear that you can do the right thing, and still come out hollow and broken.

I will move on from this. I will pick up the pieces of my own pity party and not let this define me. I will not let someone else have the validation of taking everything from me past this. But how do you go about getting your identity back when you haven’t even had a chance to catch your breath yet? How do you put one foot in front of the other while you’re still trying to get up off the floor? I guess we’ll see.

And in the meantime, I can at least pretend that there is some comfort somewhere, that may he walk around day to day knowing that he is a vile person who is not capable of respect. He is not capable of taking more than someone else is willing to give. And I hope every person out there knows that they are worth more than what someone else defines them by. Especially when they do the right thing.




When your mouth fails to say what your mind can not comprehend; when the only emotion left is the unexplainable romanticism of what despair has crept in; and when your only form of convalescence is in the power of your soul-