Hello World!

Welcome to the life and chronicles of My Jersey Boys and me, B (the only girl who hangs out with them). Our original mission was to prove that not all of Jersey is obsessed with GTL. Now it's kind of become the place where we share our random thoughts, ridiculous stories, regular quote updates, and maybe a picture or video here and there. There's always something going on...

Love from,
The one and only,


The Kroller Chronicles: Part 2 (according to D)

Posted by The one and only "B"... on 9:13 PM
Freshmen year of high school we were all pretty good friends. We hung out before school, during class, and after school. Although we had fun times in class, it’s what we created during class that caused a long sequence of events. We called it BP (The acronym BP stands for something). BP was a television show produced in our high school’s TV studio that we worked on for 3 years.  Over the life the show, the crew included me, J, C, and G (some people lasted longer than others). We lost touch with pretty much everybody else.  Certain people on the cast had a falling out with certain people on the crew.  Here is a rundown of the positions of the cast/crew on BP:

Producer/Host: Kroller
Director: D
Technical Director: J
Analyst 1: Munchie
Analyst 2: Jesus
Character Generator: C/G
News Update: G/Mayo
Audio Technician: Balls
Camera 1/Floor Supervisor : KJ
Camera 2: Does not matter
Camera 3: Yeah (aka Scud)
Tape Deck: Raw
Randomly on the Executive Council: Kloss

The show was boring: flat out boring. I never watched it. J never watched it. Neither did C or G, or anybody else. We would regularly talk about how dumb it was and how frustrating it was to deal with some times. Although we did not think very highly of the show, it did win a couple of awards. The awards are currently hanging in my basement. I think I still have those awards on my resume. Unfortunately, the attention given to winning awards caused some tension on the show. As the years went by, the seriousness of the show increased and caused severe splintering. For example, Kroller developed an executive council for BP, as well as a constitution. He posted both of these on the show’s website.

My junior year I brought my friend Raw onto the show. He was given the relatively simple task of starting and stopping the tape/disc that recorded the show. One particularly frustrating show, I walked out onto the set and told everybody how mundane and monotonous the show sounded. A small argument ensued, but the show continued and likely was a little livelier than before I left the control room. The next day, we were hanging out before school talking about how boring the show was the day before. I was doing most of the talking. Since I directed the show, if I thought the show sucked, it probably did. So I stated it. And Raw confirmed it. All he did was confirm it. Unfortunately, Balls was nearby and reported what heard to Kroller and Munchie. Kroller and Munchie had developed a man-crush and brought Balls along for the ride. When Kroller heard that freshman Raw was criticizing his show, he flipped out and tried to fire him. Unfortunately for him, he needed near unanimous approval from the executive council. Fortunately for Raw, I was on the council and refused to fire him. I brought Raw on the show, and I was not going to allow Kroller to throw him out. I was supported by pretty much everyone else, other than Munchie and Balls (and maybe Jesus).Kloss, who had no role on the show other than being on the executive council (he was fired by Kroller a year before), started telling everybody how Kroller was being a dick. It was funny. Kroller was really pissed at what Kloss was saying. He did not think it was funny.                                                                                                                                                

The situation got pretty heated. It’s amazing how much drama a dumb TV can have. It became very passive aggressive. Kroller tried to convince Scud, but Scud was easily swayed back to our side (being me, J, and G). Finally, I got a phone call from Kroller one day after school. Kroller said that he would agree to keep Raw on the show if I agreed to fire Kloss from his executive council position. Knowing that Kloss did not care at all about the position, I drove to Kroller’s house where he had a pre-made contract ready. Not wanting to be alone, he had Munchie at his side. We signed the agreement, and he POSTED IT ONLINE.

Here’s the funny part: The contract said, “Kloss has engaged in terrorist activities….”

Senior year, when we were all applying to college, Kloss’s mom googled his name on the internet and found that signed agreement. She notified the school, and everybody who signed the agreement was called in to the office. In the end, Kroller was the only person to be followed up with. He was nearly suspended.


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I'm on a That 70's Show kick...

Posted by The one and only "B"... on 9:44 PM

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Quidditch is in fact possible...

Posted by The one and only "B"... on 7:27 PM
I would like to thank D for sending me these pictures from Duke. It gives me hope for a brighter future...

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The “Kroller” Chronicles: The Beginning (According to D)

Posted by The one and only "B"... on 4:11 PM
Disclaimer: The following story is about a friend we had in middle school and early high school. Due to the nature of the story, we think it is only fair to change some of the names. Fortunately, the story is stunning regardless.

Other than the Scud stories, the “Kroller Chronicles” is our favorite epic story to retell. Unlike Scud, this story has a semi-cohesive plot. There is a rise in action and a fall in action. There are multiple climaxes…. Anyway, this story is bizarre (really bizarre).


I think I first met Kroller around the 7th grade. Our group hadn’t really developed yet, but some of us hung out with Kroller on a regular basis: J, G, C, and me. We ate lunch together. We played fantasy sports together. We went over Kroller’s house for parties and fantasy baseball drafts. We played pool baseball in Kroller’s pool. Middle school was a simpler time.

A quick description of Kroller: half Chinese, half Irish (Chi-rish). Unathletic. Neurotic. Slightly Below Average Height. Political Aspirations. Those are literally the words that hit my mind when I think of Kroller.

Although the good stuff begins in high school, I will list some of the high lights of middle school (in no particular order).

1. In his basement, Kroller had a wooden table and chairs. C was banned from the Kroller house after he broke chairs simply by sitting on them on separate occasions.

2. Kroller took pool baseball very seriously. One time, I hit a ball way out of the pool, all the way back against the far fence. As I was rounding 2nd base (in the pool), Kroller, who was playing center of the field (out of the pool), tackled me. Rather than run after the ball and try to get me out, he tackled me to stop me from scoring.

3. Kroller would brag about how good at pool baseball he was. Interestingly, he was one of the most unathletic people we knew. Additionally, who the hell brags about how good they are at pool baseball. It’s like bragging about how good you are at Scrabble. Anyway, Kroller was bad at pool baseball. Really Bad.

4. Kroller had a bizarre relationship with one of the teachers at our middle school. It wasn’t anything illegal. More like idol worship.

5. Kroller, J, and I had Ms. W for English. Kroller and J also had Mr. C for math. For English class, we had to write plays, so Kroller and J wrote theirs about Mr. C taking his son to a Mets game. Anything involving the Mets is funny by default, and Mr. C was a running joke among his students.

High School begins in Part 2.

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The Basement Show

Posted by The one and only "B"... on 10:15 PM

This epic saga to see J’s show can only be compared to Harold and Kumar’s adventures. Prior to heading down, J had been texting TK and I to spread the word around. Unfortunately, due to blanket and several highly recommended hits of nature’s best, I lost my phone and pretty much useless. Flash forward like 5 hours and were about to pile into B’s car to head over to New Brunswick to see J’s show and find R. This whole time, B was under the impression that the show was going to start at 9. However, J had sent a text to me which I never read because I was phoneless. Apparently, the show would start at 8:30, not over exaggerating, but B flips the switch and starts panicking…not OMG were going to be late, more like I’m going to cut off your balls Char and feed them to you…I was scared. (Note from B: I never said that. It was more the former rather than the latter) She might have fractured her arm, but anytime B gets angry, her balls drop and she gets insane strength. ***Side note: If B and I were to ever have kids, they would rule the world though sheer fashion sense and brute strength.*** So we arrive at Rutgers, where B parks pretty close to the show, but a mile from J’s house (Also, two blocks is not a mile). We come to the front door and find a sign saying “Packages in back” and so we head to the back of the house. At this point, I don’t know why I was leading considering I had never been to Rutgers before. On our way to the back, we feel the vibrations from the basement show and can only assume it was going to be an awesome show. As we reach the back door, I knock, however B slams me to the ground and has her way with me…just kidding, she pins me by the throat and says “just go in.” (Also, untrue.) So we’re in the house and walking down to the basement where we see J. J waves to acknowledge our presence just before a gigantic mosh pit decided to happen right there. Initially it was B who was getting the brunt of it, but eventually I stepped up and replaced myself in the line of fire. B, being my shining white knight saves me several times from the insane rockers. Not that I blame them, the band was jammin’ pretty hard and made you want to…punch a clown. During this whole jam session, B starts feeling herself and wondering why she was all wet…turns out the pipe was dripping water all over her. (You bastard....*laughs*). It was quite funny how she couldn’t decide between choosing to be wet or being subject to mosh pit incidents. J had on some neon green strings and from his recollection of the night, he didn’t have hard parts to play, so he was able to rock on with his fellow band mates. I also distinctly recall how J had two hours of sleep and had been smoking since the crack of dawn…overall, he performed admirably, although I was waiting for him to smash his bass on someone’s head. Anyway, after the show, J took us back upstairs to hang out and talk, mostly apologizing to B about miscommunications and all that jazz. R arrived fashionably late regaling us with humorous stories of the previous nights. In summation, this whole trip made me wonder why I attended a pretentious school when I could have been in basements with strangers arm-wrestling for beer.


A few nights ago B, Char, and myself all went up to New Brunswick to visit our friends J, and R.  On our way down there was a a little miscommunication with the details and we found ourselves calling R, which J told me to do, when we were looking for the place.  I talked to R and was already under the impression that R was there so i didn't bother asking him and so we drove on.  We found a somewhat decent parking spot and started on foot towards the house.  B called R again and we found out that R had just woken up so we told him to hurry and continued.

So we get to the house in New Brunswick and we walk up the front porch to the door.  There was a sign on the door that said "please take packages to the back" so we assumed that meant people too.  Loud thunderous rock and roll blared from the basement so we headed around back to see if there was another door.  We walked through the alley between houses and it was around here that a bad feeling suddenly struck me.  I'm not sure what it was, maybe it was the dark alley.  Nonetheless, we walked up to the back door where Char proceeded to knock.  No answer.  Finally, B takes charge and says "Char, just open the damn door." and walks straight through the door leading the way inside.  Char and B got down without a problem, but this random crowd of girls blocked my path to the basement steps with one of them being particularly fascinated by her own shoe.  Again, i don't know but she was in my way so i took a few steps through their circle and proceeded downstairs.

The music was loud and beyond awesome.  Cool fact, our buddy J was jammin' on that bass.  Anyway, the band itself was great.  However, a small mosh pit broke out in front of us and several people started getting knocked around including B who's possibly fractured arm is in a sling.  B was on the far right, Char in the middle, and i was all the way on the left where absolutely nothing was going on.  B got the brunt of it, at one point being sent flying up against the far wall and crashing into some random chick that spilled her beer on her.  At this point i was a little more than concerned seeing as how B, being the little badass that she is, drove us up there in the first place, and i could easily have seen that moment as being game over.  However,Char fished her out and she finished the show like a champ.

After the show we followed J upstairs and the three of us waited in the kitchen for him when all of a sudden we heard a familiar voice from behind us saying "Guess who just got here?"  We all turned around to see R approaching us.  The three of us exclaimed "R" (we shouted his name, not the letter R...durr) as he stepped into our little circle.  Great entrance... bad timing for the show.

B's POV:

So, I'm gonna skip the part of the story where we were driving down to New Brunswick. All I know is, we had Blanket for company, and I was stressed out as fuck driving in New Brunswick. All while chain smoking. It's my stress reliever, don't you judge me. Tk, Char and I found a place to park close to the show, which was lucky because we were running late. I made sure to write down the names of the side streets, because I know I'm not going to remember that later. On the way there, I called R to find out if he would meet us outside. I'm not exactly a fan of walking into random peoples houses. That's when R informed me that he just woke up, and didn't even know where the show was. I laughed, and told him where to meet us.

Luckily I know my way around New Brunswick now, since I have been there a few times. Tk and Char, on the other hand, not so much. We walked up the stairs on the porch and stood there for an awkward fifteen seconds, because no one wanted to open the door. I pointed out the sign on the door, and said, "Maybe we should check the back door." I was kind of hoping the back door would just be open. We walked around the side of the house, that TK mentioned was very much like an alleyway, when Char said to me, "It sounds like the band is in the basement." My reply, "Guess we better find the fucking basement." I'm starting to notice my swearing has become more frequent. Interesting.

We made our way to the back door, when TK had a Star Wars moment and said, "I have a bad feeling about this." I felt the same way, but it had more to do with the fact that I was just about to walk right in to someone's house. Char made it to the door first, and just stood there for a second before starting to knock. I walked up behind him, and said, "Char, just open the damn door." I guess I was in a take charge kind of mood. That, or I was wearing a dress and I didn't want to stand in the cold all night. So we opened the door, and walked right into the house. Of course, there's a group of people just standing there staring at us. Char took the approach of acknowledging them, and saying, "Hey, how's it going." Me, on the other hand, have had much practice with avoiding people. Thank you high school. You taught me that if you walk in like you know where you're going, and stare straight ahead like you're supposed to be there, no one will say shit.

I made my way carefully down the stairs, because my right arm is in a sling, and I can't hold on tight to the banisters. I know what you're thinking, "B, going to a basement show with your arm in a sling... Probably not the best idea." I knew what I was getting into. I made my way towards the front with Char and TK following behind me. We had to spread out and make our own line, because there wasn't much room. Like TK said, J was jammin on the bass. His new band was pretty awesome. Most of the guys at the concert were head-banging and moshing, which I would have totally participated in, had I not fucked up my arm. In my opinion, it isn't a good concert if you don't go home with a few bruises... I have plenty of stories about that, but for right now, I'm just going to discuss this night. At first I was on the outskirts of the mosh pit, occasionally getting bumped into. Behind me, two guys decided to get into a fight, and one of them tried to tackle the other. Which sent people flying. I had managed to get out of the way, but Char was getting sucked into the mosh pit. And by sucked in, I mean, he was falling backwards into the mosh pit. He had reached his hand out to me, and I attempted to grab him with my left, but it's functionally retarded. Eventually I pulled him out though.

Things calmed down for a little bit after that, because the offending parties went off to get another beer. We were able to really listen to the show, without fear of injury, after that. Then they came back, which was great in some ways, because everyone was getting really excited about the band. I just wish they didn't have to tackle each other. I was getting shoved around at this point, and instead of moving from my position, I tried to push back. Don't fuck with a one armed girl. If it comes down to you having to get hurt, so my arm won't get hurt, you're going down bitch. The only problem was... they were all bigger than me. And when one big guy goes to tackle another big guy, and you're standing in the cross-hairs.... Well, you end up flying into a table. Then, as if getting thrown into a table wasn't enough, I got thrown sideways into a girl with a full cup of beer. My only thought after that was, "I sure hope I don't get pulled over, because I am gonna reek of beer." Thankfully, things calmed down again, and we were able to finish the show without incident and in a happy place.

The only problem was, R texted me right before J's band started their last song. I tried to warn him.

At the end of the show, we decided to follow J upstairs. During this process, I turned to Char and said, "Man, I smell like beer. And not even the good kind." Which was great, because someone else heard me, and I heard this kid laugh and say, "You know when the beer doesn't smell right, it can't be good." I finally made it to the kitchen, where the boys were all standing, when from behind me I heard, "Guess who just got here?" R had made entrance history with that comment. That is all. Well, except for the fact that R had to bring up how I hurt my arm. It haunts me. I've just come to the point where I let people assume how it happened. If you want to see the whole conversation, I've posted it on our twitter. http://twitter.com/#!/myjerseyboys .... In my defense, it wasn't just some ordinary step stool. It's not like I couldn't reach something on the top shelf. I'm tall enough to reach that shit. No, I was physical therapy for my knee that I fucked up in a car accident. Seriously, bad shit happens to me. I am Murphy's Law: Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible time. I'm surprised people even bother to ask me how I get hurt at this point. Alright, that's enough.

Have a good night all!

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Thank you, College Humor...

Posted by The one and only "B"... on 11:43 AM
C found the greatest video ever. This is how we play Golden Eye...

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The Weather...

Posted by The one and only "B"... on 9:31 PM
Hey guys, TK here. This video is how I feel every time I turn on the weather and more bad shit is coming.

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