Classy.

Awhile ago my roommate's buddy was visiting and she was telling me about the time she spent living in Arizona. She said it was a cross between LA and a small town the midwest. For me, the culture was perfectly described when she highlighted that people wore sunglasses at night while out partying at the hottest club, but no one commented on the fact that said club was located in a strip mall across from a CVS. 

Anyway, this was another gem sent from Brina's phone with the subject line, "Gotta love AZ."

Dry, Oaky, Slightly Bitter.

Bri spent last week with her best bud Jen and her family in Arizona. She sent me this photo with the subject line, "Mr. Salmon bought this in honor of you." Super sweet! Although, if this was the real middle sister wine, the girl in the middle wouldn't be the middle sibling. She'd be the cool friend hanging out with the older and younger sister while the middle sister was chilling alone somewhere in Boston.  The real middle sister would be a little cartoon person on the back of the bottle, listening to a drunken voicemail left on her phone describing the fun being had on the front of the bottle. 

Juuust kidding. Thanks Mr. Salmon!

Hide & Seek.

Actual exchange:

Jeffrey: I had to hide my Cleopatra wig.

Me: Hide it? Why?

Jeffrey: My brother is coming.

Me: Oh.

Christine: Jeffrey hides his wigs, porn, and tootsie rolls.

Me: Tootsie rolls? Oh, because you're diabetic? Well that's quite a stash, Jeff. Hope you picked a good hiding spot. Someone could have a very interesting afternoon for themselves if they found it.

Jeffrey: Yeah, I have to lose some weight though to do Annette Funicello. She's in my act.

Me: You have an act?! Where?

Jeffrey: In my bedroom. 

Back On Planet Earth...

BizBash | City Opera Targets Dancing Donors With Waltz-Focused Gala

My sister worked incredibly hard on an event that turned out to be a huge success. I'm proud of her, and impressed with what she does. However, in her first ever print interview (!) she was quoted as saying, "We also know that a large group of our donor base are avid waltzers and they're very active in the New York City waltzing circuit."

Right. Sorry, Bri. But avid waltzers?? Avid? If you waltz more than one time in your entire life, couldn't you be considered an avid waltzer? Actually, if I ever waltz once, I'm going to refer to myself as an avid waltzer. 

I guess I just really have no way to relate to her work experiences. My sister works with people who are part of a waltzing circuit. A lot of the people I deal with on a daily basis chew with their mouths open. 

Fucking Lynne.

This is the first in a 50 part series of posts dedicated to the people I work with at the deli. Just kidding. I don't know if I'm committed enough to do that. But I love Lynne and have to share this story.

So Lynne is one of the managers and whenever I mention her to friends or my family I refer to her as "Fucking Lynne" because she uses the word fuck-- a lot. I love it. LOOOOOOVE it. Of all the people I've met in my entire life, Lynne easily makes the Top 10 most naturally hilarious list. When I first started working, she used to explain things to me and then quickly follow with, "But don't do that because you'll fuck it up." It was hard to argue with such a direct managing style. Plus, she was right. I probably would have. But even after about 4 months she would still say things like, "Jess, you stay there because you'll fuck this up." and before I could begin to protest I'd think, "Well, she probably has a point." 

When a certain regular comes in looking for her, Lynne speaks through a wide grin, "How many fucking times does she have to kiss me hello, Jess? I don't fucking know. Is it 5 times, Jess? Fucking six times?"  And I tell this story all the time but when she first started with Weight Watchers--excuse me-- the "WW"-- I complimented her sandwich and she launched into this rant about points:

You can't have any of it. It's all I'm fucking eating for lunch and it's like 3 fucking points, or 6 points, I don't know. It's all about fucking points, Jess. I don't know. I just eat what Lisa makes me.  All I know is I get my fucking chocolate ice cream bar at the end of the night, that's like 1 fucking point."

OK, so you get it. 

Anyway, I left work in quite a mood the other day. I try to subscribe to a "life gets heavy, lighten up" philosophy, but I really wasn't having any of it that day and I was pissy. Pretty close to my version of a boiling point. Anyway, I left the restaurant and started to cross the street without a walk signal but quickly had to jump back to the curb to avoid the oncoming traffic. As soon my feet landed back on the sidewalk, some fool laid on their horn and started screaming out of a rolled-down passenger side window, "Stay out of the fucking road, lady!"

Well that's all I needed to hear. I was already worked up, but having someone scream at me for no reason sent me to an entirely new level of mad. I could feel my pulse in my neck and had every intention of giving them a piece of my mind. (Pointing was going to be involved. I was thinking of saying something like jerkoff. It was going to be epic.) As the SUV slowly drove past me, I steeled myself for verbal combat, looked into the car, and saw Fucking Lynne laughing her head off. 

I walked the rest of the way to the train with the biggest most ridiculous grin on my face as I tried not to keel over laughing on the sidewalk. Who would have thought someone screaming obscenities at me from a car would be the fastest way to calm me down? 

So Much Better Than Lemonade.

A little kid in my neighborhood was juggling in front of his house this morning and by his feet rested a box that said, "Tips." 

Jeffery's 60th: A Recap.

It was always a dream of mine to be a regular somewhere. To have a place where people knew my name and grabbed my coffee when they saw me come in without me needing to ask. (I have small dreams.) Just a, "Hey, Jess!" and to sit at the counter and talk about nothing in particular, and in doing so, cover all the really important stuff. That was basically it. I'm really bad at setting goals, but I remember thinking about this even as a child. I was talking about it to a friend once and he was like, "You know, you could just go to the same place all the time and then you'd be a regular. It's actually pretty easy." 

I work at a Jewish deli. I love it. I'm incredibly fortunate to have a funny job that combines my loves for people-watching, shooting the shit, and sandwiches. I've fallen in love with the art of simple conversation, and the fact that in a reverse-type flip, I'm sort of living out that "regular" dream by knowing the orders and stories of people who come in all the time. And my coworkers make me smile. How many people can say that? They're smart, each one of them is a distinct character, and they genuinely make me laugh. At some point, I'd like to write a post for each of them. 

So the restaurant had a party for a coworker's 60th Birthday and it was great. A random collection of employees, regulars, friends-- all people who know and love Jeffrey. Just really nice people drinking too much together. One of those life is so good moments. My buddy came along to meet "my weird diner family" and sent me this recap. The first part deals with an after party at the most random bar in America. Omissions have been made because I'm an idiot. 

Brace your face for cringing.

You were all over the place.  Tied-but-untied shoelace flying, you would stand at the bar, talk, then you'd take a big swig of your beer and CHARGE forth to bust a serious move on your own, knees popping, hands waving, making the best faces ever.  Then you'd get annoyed at Danny, or Roger(?) or Woodwind or whatever the fuck his name is, then you'd make fun of the other people dancing, then you'd get tired, and come back to the bar.   Rinse and repeat.  It was pretty amazing.  

Other highlights, from my perspective (let me know which ones of these you remember): 
1.) Your heightened interest in the backpack vacuum. Where does that come from?
2.) All of our conversations with Holly.  (She accepted her "Chubby" and gave a speech. Amazing. She explained how the corned beef separated her rings.  She said a lot of wicked funny shit all in a row, making it difficult to remember it all.  Either way.  Rockstar status: awarded.)
3.) Amalia saying "I can't dance, so I'm just going to point to my beer and look excited" and then proceeding to do so for the next hour on the dance floor. 
5.) You and ... Geoff's girlfriend? Lauren? ... imitating Larry(?)'s signature sign-off.  Too funny.
6.) Me telling you Larry (?) was looking at your butt, you not believing me, you shaking your butt in his general direction, and then realizing I wasn't kidding and seeing that he was then drooling.  You blushed. It was fantastic.
7.) Geoff.  His cigar.  Seee?!
8.) Jeffrey kissing you on the neck.  Friggin riot.
9.) Pretty much just how everyone loves you so much and is so supportive of you.  It's not an exaggeration to say it's a family, and it's amazing.  I loved meeting your friends, and putting faces to the names and stories I've been hearing all this time -- meeting that many at once was a li'l overwhelming, not gonna lie, but I loved it.  They were all so nice, and fun, and funny, and interesting, and that's really cool and rare.  You're really lucky, and I hope you know that :)

And for the lowlights, I'm gonna go with 
1.) My feet hurting like a bitch by the end of the night.  
2.) The awful music and dance scene at Wonderbar.  I kid you not, the 6'5" kid with floppy hair that was LEAPING around the dance floor literally elbowed some poor girl in the head with his flailing.  Not cool.  Funny to watch, but quite... ahhhhhhh... And lastly, and importantly, 
3.) Omission. Sorry, Bianca:( 

All that aside, it was fun. Not at all what I was expecting when you said "My coworker is celebrating his 60th birthday."  I hope I have that many awesome friends when I turn 60.  Hell, when I turn 26.  Damn.  

Well said, Mer.

Now About Those Cheesy Rolls.

In a find that has shocked the scientific world, a NASA team recently discovered a shrimp thriving under 600 feet of Antarctic ice, the Associated Press reports. 

This is substantial news for researchers. Besides the fact that life exists where it was believed it could not, the shrimp finding has now led scientists to wonder about the possible existence of a sub-glacial Red Lobster restaurant. 

When asked to comment, one Microbiologist said, "This is an important find for science, to be sure. But this is perhaps the news event of the century for seafood lovers."

Leaves An Impression.

A good way to say goodbye to someone at the end of the night is to slam your head into their car door as you're closing it. 

Blerg.

We Can Still Be Friends.

A coworker recently told me that another girl we work with mentioned that this kid John and I should date. It was immediately explained to her why that wouldn't work out. 

I particularly enjoyed this little story for two reasons:

1) Duh.

2) I like to give John shit for dating such a young girl. When I first heard her age and tried to figure out her birthdate I asked in shock, "Are you dating someone born in the 90's?!"

Everyone gasped. 

I was off by a few years. 

Anyway, when I saw him today I let him in on the love-connection plans.

-So Liz thinks we should date.

-Why, because we're both tall?

It was the perfect response. Exactly what my boyfriend would say. 

Good For You.

My sister called tonight to let me know that she secured a $100,000 donation for an event she's been working on. 

Me: So someone gave you one hundred thousand dollars today?

Bri: Yes, isn't that wonderful? Now we're just a few thousand away from our million dollar goal.

Me: Right. Well, just to put things in perspective, today at my job someone left me 48 cents.

That's Not Tr-- Ok, Good Point.

Harvey: I have exciting news!

Me: You do?!

Harvey: Well, not really. I mean, it's exciting to me, but I'm going to tell you anyway and you're going to pretend that it's exciting because that's how you are.

It's a service I'm happy to provide:)

I Almost Fell On Me.

Walking past the Somerville Theatre yesterday, not paying any particular attention to the man holding a stick under the marquee, I was about two steps away from having the letter "I" fall on my head. Stopping in my tracks, I looked up to the guy, who apologized. 

"What was that, an I?"

"Yeah, I'm switching the shows."

Making my way to the front of the marquee I took a look and sure enough, "VALENT NE'S DAY" was up there.

It made me laugh to think about how I might have explained that situation. 

"I fell from the sky and landed on me." 

"I hit me."

Or the more obvious, "I hit my head."

The Complexity of Genetics As It Relates To St. Patty's Day.

From a conversation I overheard:

-Are you Irish?

-No.

-Why not?

-I don't know. I guess because my parents weren't.

Waiting Behind a Couch.

Another kind no from the publishing world: 

Thank you for sending me OPEN-EYED SNEEZE by Jessica Martin. Martin is a smart, insightful, and engaging writer. Most importantly, she is a joy to read. Her descriptions of her life post college and her family were refreshing, funny, and blissfully not entitled. While I enjoyed reading this manuscript, I worry that post-college job and life anxiety is a commonly explored topic and it might be hard to generate publicity. So, I think this topic isn’t right for Dutton. That being said, I really enjoyed the read so I would love to see anything that Martin does next.

Pretty nice.

Well, even though everyone passed on that first round, I'm feeling pretty good about it. Here are the highlights: 

*The number of people who have read my book has nearly doubled! (from about 7 to 14. cough). 

*While the first round of editors wanted nothing to do with it, they didn't hate it. Sort of the publishing version of, "It's not you, it's me." Only, I suppose that's not entirely accurate. More of a, "Well, it's kind of you. Who are we kidding? It's you. But let's still be friends. Like later on... maybe." 

*The whole process is slow, but exciting. 

Waiting to hear about the fate of your book is like being a guest at a surprise party. If you've never had the pleasure, it's actually a lot of fun waiting for the birthday boy or girl to arrive. You're mostly giddy, and a little nervous, because you're never quite sure how they're going to react. However, you soon realize how much downtime there is waiting for them. Someone shouts, "She's here! Everyone behind the couch!" and your heart beats a little faster and you try to fight a ridiculous smile, only to learn 30-seconds later that it's just another straggling guest. It's a lot of misdirected highs until after about 45-minutes of crouching behind a couch in the dark you start to think, OK, I'm gonna go grab a drink and some cheese. Tell me when she gets here. 

I haven't reached that point. And to be honest, I don't think I ever will. I'm still a sucker for all of this, so whenever I get an email from Penn, I get a little excited, as if someone at the party has just dimmed the lights and yelled, "Places!"

$2 Bill.

Awhile ago at work a customer paid for his check using only 2-dollar bills, and because I'm easily amused, I thought this was pretty awesome. I excitedly ran over to Lauren and asked if she wanted one. "Hey, do you want to switch out two singles for a $2 bill? I think they're kind of lucky, right?"

Apparently her boyfriend also has lots of $2 bills, so she wasn't as impressed, but still, she took one, because they do feel kind of lucky. And a cute young couple at the counter overheard what I was saying and asked to buy one off me because they'd just put an offer in on a house and hey, a $2 bill couldn't hurt the process. 

So I've been keeping mine in the top zippered left pocket of my jacket. I like my outwear to have lots of pockets because that's where I keep all the fun stuff I don't want to throw away. Notes to self, or lists, or good fortune cookie fortunes, or stupid things that I think will bring me luck, like a $2 bill. Trying on an old jacket and going through the pockets is like opening a time capsule for me.

Anyway, I was running late yesterday and as I heard the train approaching at the station, I quickly tapped my card to run through the gate. A buzzer sounded. Grr. I tapped the card again, running in place the way you do to let the universe know that you're in a hurry and it should stop messing with you, but again, the buzzer. After 3 more tries and missing the train, it occurred to me that it was the first of the month, and I needed a new pass.  Blerg.

I immediately cut to a visual of me throwing my credit card in the bowl on my desk that morning. Why had I done that? I forget, but I knew I didn't have it on me. OK, cash. I ran to the ticket machine and started feeding it. Hearing trains come and go, I tried not to rush putting the bills in because everyone knows that as soon as you start that, they're just going to spit right out. Machines that accept cash are very sensitive to being hurried and fight back the only way they know how.  So I tried to stay calm, feeding it bill after bill, until I looked into my wallet and found that I was $4 short. OK, check the pockets, I thought. 

Bottom right pocket- Burt's Bees, keys, 34 cents, a business card.

Bottom left pocket- Phone, 6 dimes.

Inner right pocket- gum, notes.

Inner left- always completely clean so my wallet is easily accessible. 

Shit.

I knew where I had to go. 

Reaching into the top left pocket I felt the crisp folded $2 bill and made a light grumbling noise, upset that I'd have to part with it. Still two dollars short though, I wasn't sure what I was going to do. However, reaching into the pocket a little more, I actually found two more singles! I'm telling you, lucky! I fed the singles into the machine and just as I was about to throw the $2 bill in there, I noticed the $1, $5, $10, $20 sign on the machine. It wasn't going to take my lucky money. Really late now, I asked a group of people standing nearby if they had any singles. 

"I'll switch you for this $2 bill," I said. "I just need the singles because the machine won't take it."

Taking out his wallet and handing me two bucks, a guy about my age said, "Happy to help." Then turning to his friends he added, "These are good luck!" 

Love That Sweater. Injera?

A friend and I went out for Ethiopian food over the weekend. I'd never had Ethiopian but immediately discovered that it's awesome, and that I'm still about 8 years old. 

Looking over the menu, I couldn't help but comment on all the new foods I'd never heard of before.

-Oh nice, they have timatim fitfit. It's kind of like that British dish chim chiminey.

-Mmmm, gored gored. My grandma makes good gored gored.

-Azifa? That's a line from Clueless, right?

Luckily, my buddy played along.

-I think there's a typo on this menu. "Beef cubs" should be beef cubes, don't you think? Unless there's some sort of baby beef bear from Ethiopia that I don't know about. 

The waitress was very helpful, we ordered, and the food came out on the best thing ever!!! It's called injera and it's kind of like this spongy pancake-like bread, that you use to scoop up all the food and it's delicious, and fun, and we couldn't stop talking about the texture. Easily, the coolest feeling food I've ever had. Everything was very very good, but the injera! I wanted to make a sweatshirt out of it, or a blanket, or bath mat, or just put a big piece of it on my face. It felt so cool!

We spent 80% of the meal thinking of alternative uses for injera and every one of them seemed completely appropriate to me. Stuffed and happy, we left with like 3 pounds of leftovers.

So I got a text yesterday that said, "I ate that bread for breakfast and caught myself petting it. I thought I should admit that to someone."

It might seem weird, unless you've had injera, in which case, you totally get it.