Jeff Says, "So I says"

Random dude says, Prez obama is from a different planet.
Random dude 2 says, If obama is from a different planet, then i wonder what planet bush is from.
Jeff says, Oh dang, well maybe he was from Yuranus.

This is a dedication to george w

Urgent Evacuate Immediately

Read my response to Mr. Darkness.  My name is necole.

Jeff Says, "Jesus wears Prada"

"It's all based on perspective, man."

Wayne Brosh makes plans to release the remake of "the devil wears prada" because we like the big boss lady and she deserves recognition.

"...and anne hathaway should die at the end if she makes a stupid mistake again, and turns down two times a major opportunity to publish a book (15 times, jeff adds, "after she did it with that muthafucka, she still didn't use him", i will add , properly).

Nicole Says,

I'd like to show my Mother Paris-- and Italy. We'd spend one week in Paris, then drive through the Italian country.  We'd stop in several cities; Florence also, but only for one or two nights.  The days are too busy, and I know mom prefers to be among the locals and not so much drowned in with the rest of the tourists.

In Paris, we'd walk along the Seine; I'd show her Notre Dame. We'd have a cafe everyday-- for breakfast and after lunch; we'd have a bottle of red wine every night with dinner.  Lots of baguettes. Lots of cheese. Lots of fresh fruit and vegetables.  Lots of French.

More people should learn to speak French; it truly is a beautiful language.

Mother would finally hear me use my French. I'm still very shy about that, I don't know why. I'm not very good at it, but I don't think she cares; she's proud of me regardless.

It's important that I show my Mother Paris at some point in my life because, I'd only succeeded in painting a very one-sided interpretation of the place, into which no travel guide would ever allow permission.  She should know I'd experienced Paris as a young american immigrant, a woman, a girl to most, "under-educated", "lower class", "doesn't speak the language very well"--

My Mother at least spoke English well when she'd come here to these american states.

The most difficult part about my experience in Paris was that I was alone and that I was an artist.  Artists need communities.  I had the good fortune of meeting fellow artists; it's just too bad I'd met them so late.

For anyone who comes to visit the place-- Paris is grand, Paris is romantic, Paris is Paris.

I know my Mother associates Paris with her daughter's misery.  I hope she knows that part of the reason I'd made the journey was so that I'd be able to better understand the one she'd had to undergo at a much younger age.  I do feel like I understand my Mother better now.  In this way, and after having witnessed just a glimpse of an immigrant experience, I have come to better appreciate my Mother's Journey.  This is my way of saying to Her, "I'm listening." I was deeply moved and inspired, the day my Mother said, for the first time, "I think I'm ready to go back home."


I know I don't do a good job of showing her how she inspires me; I hope now is not too late.  So before "too late" is now, I'll share a positive story with my Mother, knowing that she'll never want to visit the "land of my re-birth" if it remains only a place of great suffering.



One of the best parts of my experience in Paris was that I'd lived Paris, and without losing my personal identity, and my sanity.  I've danced in Paris; I've played in Paris; laughed, was naughty and nice; I know Paris better than I do New York.  I love Paris; I just don't like feeling alone which is something one easily slips into there.  Well, that is, some "one" like me.  It has nothing to do with the language.  There are a great number of fluent french speakers in Paris who also feel alone.

I'll never forget the day I'd called Mom from the Bois de Boulogne.  I was so happy, and only wished that I had been walking there with her.  I think she thought I was sad; and I was.  She should know that I was just as thrilled and excited as I was sad.  I'd finally arrived to the place of my dreams!  The hurt was only that I'd been alone and had no one with which to celebrate in this.

The Bois de Boulogne ("woods of Boulogne") is exactly like Central Park, except more beautiful.  There's no fence around the park, maybe that's why.  I dedicated a tree to my grandmother there.  I used to go there everyday when the weather was nice.  I lived in a beautiful area.  I literally saw le grand arc de triomphe everyday.  I literally saw le Tour Eiffel every night.


I should also take her to the Tour Eiffel; my Mother was the first person I'd ever heard to say its name in French.

I hope my Mother knows that I went to Paris to be like her, bi-cultural, and I no longer want to keep this "second" side from my Mother.  That's when I took to the camera; knowing that my Mother and I don't exactly speak the same literary language and that it might be easier for her to see the way I see the world, through pictures.  I think she can begin to better understand my Paris, if she were to actually see the place for herself, and with me as her guide.  This is how I'd come to say, "I'd like to show my Mother Paris."

Episode 6: Fly Checks Nicole's Schedule

Sees that she will be busiest on monday and tuesday and will therefore bother her between the hours of three and five on tuesday.

Episode 5: At Dunkin' Donuts, Jeff says, "at least it didn't spill on my computer"

Jeff orders an iced latte, in autumn.  I order a pumpkin latte, hot, not cold. No extra sugar.  Jeff likes sugar.  Jeff is a sugar-addict.
When the coffee girl delivered my order to the cashier while announcing, "One gingerbread latte", the cashier got mad and hollered back, "I said, One pumpkin latte, no sugar!"  She had yelled at the coffee girl for me.
I would have taken the gingerbread latte; I think it has the same syrup in it as the pumpkin.
Pumpkin lattes are delicious in the fall time.
I don't know how Jeff drinks cold coffee in the cold weather.
He says, "It's not that I don't like hot coffee; I prefer it iced."
Ok.
We waited for about ten minutes, but maybe I exaggerate. I just wanted my coffee so that I could go home and relax.
My coffee arrived; Jeff and I left.
I drank my coffee, it was cold.
I complained for a little bit, then we were home.
The Dunkin' Donuts we go to is not too far away; about a ten minute walk.
"Ten minutes" is earth-talk for, "not so far, not so long." It's like saying, "I'll be just a minute."
 If the cashier had told me, "I'm sorry, there was a mistake which we are taking care of right now.  It should be no more than ten minutes." I would have said, "Ten minutes!"
"Ten minutes" only works in certain situations.  Not a coffee shop.
When Jeff and I got home, I went into the kitchen to re-heat my coffee; if it was ever heated to begin with.
People boil milk in order to make cheese. When I boiled my milk, the milk steamed over and spilled all over the stove. When I went to move the sauce pan from the stove, the milk continued to spill over and onto the floor. Some got into my dishwashing gloves.
I cleaned up the mess and poured my pumpkin latte into a pink teacup that my brother just now broke.  He knocked over his tea with his elbow. I used a swiffer wipe to clean the floor.  He used a white towel with a little bit of soap and water to clean up the couch.
The floor is still wet and drying.
I was sitting on his bed when it happened. I also had some tea with me. I said, "Ok, after that, I'm definitely going to take all necessary precautions." I went to get a book and a coaster to both serve as a coaster to my cup of tea.  When I sat down on his bed, the tea began to spill.  A little bit got on his bed. I cleaned it up. Now I'm sitting at my desk, where I should be when I drink tea and write.

The pumpkin latte syrup was delicious. It was hard to enjoy, with a cheese film floating at the top.

Original Fly-ing Man