A Peculiar guy named Geremy

AuthorGeremy F.

Flashback to 1993


Flashback to 1993:
My family moved from Paterson to Orange because my dad got a new job. I thought that we were rich because we owned a custom van and my sister and I had a bunk bed, but we were still poor. Moving meant different school district, and different school district meant new teacher, and new teacher meant Ms. Davis, and Ms. Davis meant pain.

Miss Davis completely disregarded the teacher’s handbook and she acted more like a mom, rather than a teacher. Miss Davis always spanked me with a meter stick all the time, not because I was a troublemaker, but because (as she announced in front of the class) she “didn’t want me to turn out like the other bad kids in the class.” I never understood that logic, but I took every lash like Kunta Kint…..ummm….I mean Toby.

One day Miss Davis was teaching the class Math, but instead of paying attention, I imagined that my chair was a spaceship. After a while, my imagination got out of control and I was making loud sound effects while shaking my chair.

“Stop it, Geremy!”

Minutes later, the spaceship was back in commission and the sound effects resumed.

“Stop it, Geremy!”

Minutes later…blast off time. I gave the countdown, then I blasted off, which resulted in me tipping over my chair and landing on the ground.

Miss Davis appeared out of nowhere and she roughly pulled me into the hallway, gripping me like her hand was a vice grip. She spanked me around 20 times and the pain hurt so bad that my butt went numb. I was near tears when I re-entered the room, but no one said a word because they didn’t want to experience the signature Davis Spanking®.

To this day I am scared to imitate a spaceship because I fear the wrath of Davis coming upon me again.

Flashback to 1991


I was in first grade in PS 10 of Paterson, NJ and I was pretty much the smartest kid in the class. I got straight A’s, and I was doing Math at a fourth grade level (thanks mom). My teacher made the Principal get me a Math specialist to come in every Wednesday to teach me advanced math…me and only me. Whenever I got A’s on the tests, she would give me rewards—usually something she created and designed.

One day, she gave me an envelope with a fancy star design on the front. Instead of throwing it away like the other things she gave me, I drew a little picture and put it in the envelope to give to the girl I liked…my way of flirting when I was 6. I told the kid next to me to give the note to the girl, but instead he gave the note to Pedro, the class bully.

Pedro was the only kid in the class who hated me, simply because he was intellectually impaired and I wasn’t. Pedro dressed in black sneakers, corduroys, and a “Viva Las Vegas” t-shirt everyday. I think that Pedro also had a moustache, but I’m not sure.

Pedro got the letter and figured that I wanted to be his friend, so he responded.

Dear Geremy,
I love you. If anybody mess with you, I’ll (expletive deleted) them up


After that, I instantly became popular because Pedro passed me off as his homeboy, and everyone was scared to mess with me for fear of answering to Pedro.

I’m kind of happy that Pedro got the letter instead of the girl, but I can’t help but imagine what would have happened if that girl actually got my letter. Maybe there would’ve been a Mrs. Geremology right now.

Flashback to 1990


One month after coming from Trinidad to America I attended kindergarten at PS 219 in Brooklyn, NY. Since we were deathly poor, I had to wear second hand clothes given to me by my grandmother. I had no idea how things worked in America, but I tried my best to fit in.

There I was, little Geremy walking to school with his metal “Incredible Hulk” lunchbox filled with water and crackers (that’s all we had to eat), wearing a red sweater, grey dress pants, and grey church shoes, otherwise known as my “Sunday best.” When I got to school, I didn’t know where to go so I walked up to a kid who looked like he was from Trinidad and I asked him in my best American voice, “yuh kno wheer mah class is?” He laughed and ran away-I guess my accent wasn’t very convincing.

I somehow found my class and I had a seat next to a girl. This wasn’t just any girl—this was the best looking girl in the class. You see, I was a man on a mission…a mission to replace my pseudo-girlfriend that I left in Trinidad (she didn’t know that she was my girlfriend yet, but I was planning on letting her know sometime before I left)

This girl was nice to me and followed me around everywhere I went. Sure she was good looking, but it was getting annoying! After two months of this, our friendship came to a highpoint/lowpoint. We were on the bus to take a class trip to the zoo and I tried to sit next to someone else…that’s when she got psycho.

“But…but I wanna sit next to her”
What did I get myself into?!

I sat next to her and she made me hold her hand. Minutes later, she made me hug her. Minutes later, she made me give her my lunch. Minutes later, she made me give her a kiss on the cheek. I felt violated. ENOUGH OF THIS! I did the only thing I knew what to do…I cried.

After that day, I avoided that girl like the plague, and every time she saw me she screamed “I’m GONNA GET YOU!”

From that point until 3 years later I was afraid of getting involved with American girls…and it was all her fault!

Happy Birthday, Geremy


Today is the day that I leave teenager-dom and enter into my twenties, or adulthood. It is scary to think that I will be having a Geremy Jr, getting married, buying a few houses, and graduating college all in my twenties (hopefully not in that order), but I have to accept it. Today is the beginning of the rest of my life.

I can’t properly appreciate today until I think about my previous birthdays.

Flashback to 1991.

My birthday fell on a Saturday and since we didn’t have much money for anything the budget for my gift was $2. My dad went to Radio Shack and bought a broken remote controlled car for 2.5 times his budget (or $5) because that’s what I really, really, really wanted. My dad came home and faithfully worked on the truck to get it working but he was taking too long.

After church the next day, I came home, didn’t bother to change my clothes and took matters into my own hands. I hooked up wire A to wire B, wire B to wire C, and wire C to the wall. ZAP!!!!! The power went out, my Sunday outfit had burn holes in it, and I was smoking…literally.

After I frantically ran into my parents room, my father checked on the truck and told me that I burned out the motors. I set the family’s money, my birthday present and my clothes ablaze by connecting 3 wires.

It’s all okay though because my dad made it up to me 11 years later by buying me a functioning gas powered automobile.

Happy Birthday to me.

A New York Experience


Billions of the people get on the bus each day and rely on the bus driver to safely take them to their destination…NOT ME. I’ve lived a semi-pampered/sheltered life during the last 10 years, which makes it hard for me to let go and let someone else be in charge of my environment.

Missed bus

On Thursday I left home around 10 to travel to NY, via public transportation. As I was driving to the bus stop, I couldn’t get there as quickly as I wanted to because there was a bus in front of me. After being stuck behind the bus for about 2 minutes I finally realized that I was supposed to be ON that bus. I overtook the bus, sped to the next stop, found a parking space, and sprinted to the bus stop. Unfortunately I wasn’t quick enough to get on that bus and it sped right past me, leaving me to wait for the next one.

I sat at the sheltered bust stop type thing and patiently waited for the next bus, which came 20 minutes later. I boarded the following bus, but since I’ve never rode on a bus alone I didn’t know how much was the cost for round trip fare. I figured that a 1/2 hour trip shouldn’t cost more than $20, so I handed him the bill and said “round trip,” hoping that I used the correct bus-lingo. The driver (who looked very angry) took the money, stuck it in his shirt pocket, closed the door and kept driving…..while I stood there waiting. Was I supposed to get a receipt of some kind? Did it cost $20 to ride the bus? Why wasn’t this dude giving me anything back?

I took things in stride and spotted an open seat on the somewhat crowded bus. When I began to walk to the seat the bus driver slammed brakes and I went flying to the front of the bus. As I held on to the bar for dear life, the driver handed me my change with a yellow tag type thing, and murmured “have a seat.” I wasn’t liking this.

Now, I’m generally a nice guy, but this was going to be a long ride so I found 2 empty seats and sat down in the middle of both of them—an act that screams “I’M SELFISH, DON’T SIT NEXT TO ME.” At the very next bus stop, a guy who couldn’t stop coughing and sneezing boarded the bus. Guess where he sat?? Right next to the selfish, 1st-time-riding-public-transportation-in-his-life passenger. JUST GREAT!

The ride was full of coughing, sneezing, “excuse me’s” and “God bless you’s,” but luckily the bus arrived in NY half-hour later and my interaction with the sick passenger was finally over.

At the port authority I met up with my friend and she gave me a tour of the city, which included a trip to: the atrium of the Marriott hotel, Times Square, Grand Central station, Central Park, the HOT subway, and some other places that I can’t remember.

Now for the part that everyone actually cares about…the pictures:

Homeless Guy
Some random homeless dude sleeping on the streets

The elevator in the hotel…hotness

Mad Taxis

Lights in the Hotel
Lights in the Marriott

One Bentley
Outside of the hotel I saw this car with 1 tall black guy inside. I knew that he was some sort of NBA Player, but I didn’t recognize his face

Two Bentley
Seconds later, a different color of the same car pulled out of the hotel garage. Inside, I recognized Spyda from “Streetball” on ESPN and “And1 Mixtape Volumes 5 & 6.” For anyone who’s wondering, the car is a Rolls Royce and it’s LONG.

This truck toppled this car. The worst part was that this street is a 1 way and there’s no other way for the cars to get past. The car—Mercedes CL600…a $130,000+ car…somebody’s got some ‘xplaining to do.

One of the horses that pull the carriages around Central Park. He looked very unhappy, but then again if you had to walk all day, everyday you would be unhappy too.

Protestor, or something
This was random and I didn’t catch the point of why he was there.

All in all it was a good experience and I’ll do it again sometime soon…but next time I have to drive the bus and no one is allowed to sit next to me.

Birthday Wishes


For Christmas of 2004, I asked for an Apple iMac—the cheapest Apple computer available at the time. I never actually thought that I’d get the Mac because it far exceeded the normal holiday budget of my parents, but I stayed consistent. Every time I was asked “what do you want for Christmas,” I always answered “an iMac.” When Christmas came, I not only got a Mac, but I got the flagship model of the Apple empire—the $2,000 G5 Super Computer/Cheesegrater.

Well, my birthday is coming up and I’ve decided to use the same principle to prepare my birthday list.

For my Birthday, I want
1) 1998 Lexus LS400
'98 Lexus LS400

2) $2,700
I’m severely over the miles on my lease, so the only way that I can turn in my car 14 months early is to shell out $2700, and the only other way for me to earn $2700 is to sell my soul, and/or my bod…..uh…. Nevermind.

3) (optional) A zebra
How many people can honestly say that they own a zebra?!?

So that’s my list. It is mainly directed towards the people who I live with, but if you feel like paypalling me $2700, or buying a zebra for me, don’t fight the feeling.

As my dad said, “you don’t get what you want, you get what you expect” and I am expecting a zebra with a $2700 check in his mouth to be sitting in the driver’s seat of a Lexus or Jaguar parked in my driveway on August 3. Now make it happen.

The Brisk Walk That Turned into a Mad Dash


I woke up at 7am this morning to take a walk around my neighborhood. Why? Because I’m random like that.

I started west on my block, then I turned onto a slightly busier block. A few hundred yards later, I made a left, a right, and another right and somehow ended up on the highway. I was on the shoulder of the highway staring at the fast-moving traffic straight ahead. I had 2 choices: 1) kiss the front end of moving semi-trucks, or 2) run like mad. Since I’m here to write this entry, you can guess which option I chose.

When I exited at the nearest exit, which happened to be about a mile down the road, I was in desperate need of a tank of oxygen, but the journey wasn’t over. I had a 1.5 mile walk home and my body kept telling me “just collapse already!”

When I finally got home, I dragged myself into my bed and passed out from exhaustion.

8 hours later, I woke up to type this entry.

1) Meet me 2) Remember me


I meet an average of 2 new people each day, but most people forget about me within a week of the initial meeting. My goal is to be stuck in the mind of those who I encounter like a tumor…a malignant tumor.

After thinking about different ways of achieving this goal, I came up with 3 options:
1) an 8×10 picture of myself
2) a Geremy F replica bobble head doll
3) a personal business card

Since an 8×10 of myself would probably be hard to handle because of the large size, and a bobble head doll would be too heavy (and freaky), I settled on the business card idea.

I want to be unorthodox by having a vertical business card rather than the typical horizontal format that everyone uses. Also, I want a simple design on the front with a brief summary of myself on the back. I want it to be simply amazing.

Biggest problem: I can’t design my way out of a paper bag (whatever that means), so I am enlisting the help of some of the visitors of this site. If you want to give it a whirl, contact me via e-mail, and you can be paid via cash, or some sort of barter system (I’ll give you my first born child).

Keep your eyes open, Geremology business cards are on the horizon.

The Three Salesmen



Earlier this week, I went with my pops to an exotic car dealership to buy, well, an exotic car and we were approached by 3 men who I would like to label “The Three Stereotypical Salesmen.”

Salesman # 1 looked like his name was “Big Al” . Big Al was a large man who wore at least 30 gold chains. Every word that came out of Big Al’s mouth sounded like a lie. Big Al seemed like the type of guy who would roll back odometers to fool a buyer into thinking that they are getting a car with 10,000 miles when they are actually getting a car with two gillion miles on it.

After my dad briefly spoke to Big Al about the car, salesman # 2 smoothly stepped into the office while speaking very loudly into his phone. I highly doubt that salesman # 2 was speaking to anyone on the phone because he seems like the type of guy who would speak to an imaginary person on his cell phone just to make people believe that he is someone important.

Salesman # 2 looked like his name was “Pretty Ricky.” Pretty Ricky was a tall guy who had light brown hair and hazel eyes. Pretty Ricky obviously thought that he was Mr. Hot Stuff. Pretty Ricky seemed like the type of guy who would be your best friend until you decide not to buy a car from him. For some reason, Pretty Ricky knew every way to push my buttons and I didn’t like it. Pretty Ricky, Pretty Ricky.

When my dad, Pretty Ricky, and Geremy (I like to refer to myself in third person from time to time) hopped into the car to take it for a test drive, Pretty Ricky nibbled on a “fun sized” bag of mini peanuts the entire time. He didn’t nibble on the peanuts itself, he nibbled on the plastic bag that contained the peanuts as if he was a little mouse. Pretty Ricky nibbled on the plastic so incessantly that I started to believe that the manufacturer of the plastic peanut bag soaked it in syrup. I couldn’t pay attention to anything in the car because Pretty Ricky nibbled as loudly as a hungry African wildebeest. STOP IT ALREADY, RICK!

When it came time to negotiate a price, the friendly faces of the two salesmen turned into the ferocious faces of hungry vultures. The men did not want to decrease the price at all, and they made it very known. When my dad pulled the old-fashioned “walk away and make them run after me” negotiating technique, salesman # 3 appeared out of nowhere.

Salesman # 3 meant business. He’s the genuine type of salesman who actually knows what he’s doing and is not out to scam you. Salesman # 3 seemed so innocent that I won’t give him a degrading nickname…he’s simply, “Salesman # 3.”

Just as my dad and I got into the car to drive away, salesman # 3 knocked on the window with his soft knuckles, and used his soft voice to settle on a price for the car that my dad was happy with.

…yet we didn’t complete the purchase.

I learned a few valuable lessons today:
1) Most salesmen fall into one of the three stereotypes
2) You must look for the “salesman # 3” if you want to be happy
3) If you are hungry, don’t nibble on the package—JUST OPEN THE BAG AND EAT THE NUT.

A Peculiar guy named Geremy