Living in West Virginia During the Mine Tragedy...again...

Be forewarned: this is a rambling rant, but I'm angry and this is what happens when I get angry. You may not like me when I'm angry. I don't care.

As if you couldn't tell from the title of this blog, I'm a Jersey girl; however, my beloved is a West Virginian and we all now live here; I love this state and the people here. All that being said, I'd like to give you, dear readers, a glimpse into just why the coal mining tragedy is such a huge deal to every person here.

Being from NJ, when I tell you that I'm from a working-class family I mean that I am from a family of postal workers, school teachers, and engineers; you know - Bruce Springsteen song kinda stuff. My Beau is from WV. Although his family is now considered 'well-off' (hello - a moat!!), he too is from a working class family. But in WV a working class family is something totally different from (quite literally) anywhere else in America. Beau is from coal miners and farmers as is everyone else; every person whose family has lived in WV for more than two generations is tied to coal somehow. Beau's grandmother, although in no way related to any of the persons affected by the recent tragedy was devastated by the events because her husband, seventy years ago, was a miner. Her father was a miner and she proudly has the hard hat and headlamp he used. These deaths brought back the fears and worry that she had daily; her heart was broken for these women and children whose worst fears came true.

It took about two hours from the announcement of the mine explosion before I witnessed the two churches visible from my front porch to start gathering in order to organize their collecting of food and money for the people affected; two hours and we live 90 minutes away! People are running to their churches and other nonprofit organizations to donate what they can for these people because everyone in some way, is tied to the coal industry here.

I am continually amazed at how many people are tied to the coal industry and despite how dangerous the working conditions and the job's history of violence, these people are proud of their job and the people they work with. I'm not even a native here, but my blood boils when people in DC and the entertainment industry try to step in to our state and tell us how we're doing things wrong.

People are quick to make fun of and criticize West Virgina, but the reality is that 8 out of 1o Americans don't use their minds enough to realize that West Virginia is a state, not just western Virginia.

Day One

This is going to be a boring post, but you'll deal with that, I'm sure.

Yesterday was my first full day in my childhood home. We didn't do much, the weather was lousy so we couldn't take advantage of the pool that Joan brought, and we had so much random little things to do that the day go away from us before we had the time to do anything.

Floppy and I went to my Gparents house to help them with little things like laundry and dishes. I should explain that this is a bigger chore than you'd imagine. The Gparents live in a three-story museum-like house and they are in their nineties, so a simple task like bringing laundry up the stairs is a big deal. Floppy was really sweet and came with me and didn't complain once. I sent him up to the third floor to help Gpop bring things down (he's cleaning out his workspace) and before I know it, Floppy is running outside. I follow him out to yell at him, but I find him yelling up to the window where the aforementioned ninety-something Gpop is leaning precariously out, lowering random bits of metal and pipe out the window to Floppy waiting below. I realize at this moment that my summer is going to be a sitcom.

I go back inside and help Gmom fold laundry and cook lunch. They like to follow a strict schedule of lunch at noon sharp and supper at 6 sharp. The time is punctuated with random clangs outside. We took Gmom grocery shopping and to run errands and as a thank you I took Floppy to my favorite pizza place and bought him a slice and listened to him tell me about his school year.

I called Bea when we got home, but she didn't answer so naturally I just showed up at her doorstep. I believe I reminded her that I was here to spend the damn summer with her so I was going to force myself on her like the athletic boyfriend in a Lifetime special. We went to a diner and flipped through our elementary school yearbooks that we dug out of storage. We were loud and sat next to each other so I'm sure everyone thought we were life partners. Then we drove around the town we grew up in and acted like seventy year olds noting how things have changed.

Today we're scheduled to take the train to the aquarium and then Joan is taking the boys to Chuck E. Cheese while Bea and Bea's Mom go to see The Hangover. It's going to be a fun day.

Farewell, Whore...

Attention, 2 Jersey Girls readers:

Mame and I would like you to know that we are retiring the "whore" tag. Because we were just now talking about which tags we've used the most and I was looking at the stats and we have used "whore"...

Wait for it...

69 times. And there is really nowhere else to go with that, is there? I don't even know why we started using it, except that it's one of our favorite insults. (And no, we don't mean it in the slut-shaming sense. We're reclaiming the term, ok?) Here are all the posts tagged "whore." They...really have nothing to do with each other. HA!

Also, we'll probably totally forget and use it anyway. We just wanted to commemorate this special time. We are all class around here, let me tell you.

Terror At...4 and 1/2 Feet

So, I don't know about you, but I watch a lot of horror movies and crime-related television. (Newest tv obsession? Criminal Minds. SPENCER REID!!! Ahem.) And often, I'm quick to jump to worst-case scenarios when a situation seems like it might be a bit dodgy. A dude in a moving van? Clearly, he's looking for girls to make a skin suit out of. A guy dressed in a Santa Suit? Obviously, Silent Night, Deadly Night come to life! Someone who smells like formaldehyde? Well. That's just CAN'T be good. Anyway, it leads me to sometimes, shall we say, jump to conclusions. And by "jump," I mean, "take a huge fucking leap."

Last weekend, I did some stuff around the house and cleaned out my car, which it DESPERATELY NEEDED. OH MY GOD, GROSS. And then I drove out to a shopping center to run some errands. I was listening to music, enjoying the sunny day. And I suddenly heard a...knocking sound on the passenger side of my car.

[knock. knock. knock.]

I turn the music down and listen closer. I don't hear anything. Ok, maybe I kicked up a rock or something. Then a few minutes later, I hear it AGAIN. And it definitely sounds like a KNOCKING. I move my mirrors to check the side of the car...nope. Nothing there. Huh. Ok. I keep driving. I HEAR IT SOME MORE.

[knock. knock. knock.]

Is it the man with the hook for the hand?! Is it a ZOMBIE?! Did I run over a serial killer and now he's going to follow me around wearing a rain coat and wielding an axe?! IS IT A GREMLIN?! HOW MANY MORE HORROR TROPES CAN I IMAGINE HANGING OFF THE SIDE OF MY CAR?! I can't see anything out the window. The car doors are locked. No one driving behind me is frantically signalling to me. It's also BROAD DAYLIGHT. I'm almost to the shopping center. I'm not STOPPING ALONG THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, OK.

[knock. knock. knock.]

I arrive at the shopping center and park my car. I get out sloooowly. I look on the passenger side...

The fucking passenger side seatbelt is hanging out the door. I must have pulled it out when I was cleaning and they don't always go back up the way they're supposed to and then it got pushed out the door. It was banging on the side of the car while I was driving along, making this noise: knock. knock. knock.

I'm a paranoid idiot.

Small Town School Ancedote #1

(Seen/overheard on the way to lunch)

Student A: I wish that kid would stop making fun of retarded kids. (yelling) Seriously!! Knock it off!! That's not even cool!!

Student B: (making fun of the stereotypical, mentally challenged kid) That's not what your mom said last night!!

Student A: (yells back) No she didn't. My mom would tell you you were being dumb. Besides, when did you see my mom?

Student C: (staring at Student A) Duudde.....

Student A: (the light bulb goes off) Oh, he didn't mean it like that, did he?

Student C: (aside) There it is. (to student A) No, no he didn't.