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I thought David was my friend. When he came for a job interview, I opened up our home for him – supplied him with a warm bed, all the L&O episodes he could want, tasty eats, running water, not to mention a guest blog spot. Seriously, I don’t know what more he could want, but soon after he returned to WI he wrote this hateful blog in which he accuses me of the most heinous, insidious thing. He believes he has empirical evidence that I am from Jersey.

Those who have encountered me and spent roughly thirty minutes in my presence know that my hatred for the supposed Garden State knows no bounds. The Bean reminded me that posting anything like a license, passport, or birth certificate might not be prudent what with identity theft and all, plus I already have one passport floating around out there. (Don’t worry, Tom Ridge is on the case.) I offer the following evidence as to why I am not from the Dirty Jerz:

For starters, I was born in Detroit, MI, so by roots I am a Midwesterner which can account for my love of snow, cheese, and why I use the word ‘pop’ to refer to carbonated beverages. I do not vacation down the shore, either at Wildwood or the Jersey one. I never eat Velveeta, possibly the only cheese product that exists in the awful NJ. I do not need a circle to turn left. I can assure you that I own no reflective pants, impostor shoes, or aquanet. These supposed stylings that David speaks ill of are in fact beyond what his mind can comprehend as high class. If I truly was from Jersey, the Barnebey brothers (Evan and Taylor of course) would have tried to date me, and my long friendship with Whitney, the only other person who shares my disdain for the Camdenites, would have ended years ago after he figured out my ‘true’ roots. I also would not know or care about etiquette.

Oh, and I can read.

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