No Fly List.

While waiting to present my boarding pass and ID at airport security the other day, a TSA official with a very loud voice said to the woman standing in front of me, "Ma'am, not to be rude, but your fly is down." As the woman blushed and fixed her pants, the guy kept talking. "Ma'am we are paid to observe and analyze the entire person. That includes from the waist down. And honestly, I'm probably the only person who would have told you."

Sorry, Which City?

A recent exchange that took place with a man sitting next to us at a Red Sox game. Ironically, no one was on first at the time:

-Do you live in Boston?

-Yeah. How about you?

-Which city?

-Oh, well I mean, I live in JP, but close enough. You live in Boston?

-Which city.

-Right, which one?

-Witch City. You know, Salem? 

-Oh, Salem. Witch City. I didn't realize they called it that. 

-Because of the witch trials.

-Right.

I turned away, slightly stunned that a city would willingly call attention to such a dark period of its own history, and then my buddy basically read my mind by saying, "Who calls their town Witch City?! That's like saying, 'Hey, welcome! This is where we killed a lot of innocent people for no reason! Want to take a ghost tour?'"

It might have been the best call of the game. 

Request And Dedication.

Pile of Cheese Guy came in for breakfast yesterday. When I handed him a menu I started to laugh to myself because I nearly greeted him with, "Hey! Pile of Cheese Guy!"

Sticking to a simple, "Good morning" it immediately occurred to me, why not fill him in on his secret identity? 

I have a theory that everyone in the world wants a nickname. How could they not? Nicknames mean that people find you interesting enough to remember by a name attached to some sort of story. It's nice. So I thought, how cool for Pile of Cheese Guy to find out he has an alias that he doesn't even know about!

It was relatively quiet in the restaurant and he was the only customer at the counter, so there wasn't any danger of embarrassing him. So as I poured his coffee, I casually mentioned that he was semi-famous around the deli as, "Pile of Cheese Guy." 

Looking slightly creeped out, he asked why.

I reminded him of this story, and he finally gave in and laughed a little. (Come on, pile of cheese is a hilarious combination of words!)

Pile of Cheese Guy: So what's my girlfriend's nickname?

Me: Well, she's Pile of Cheese. Obviously. You named her that. 

Pile of Cheese Guy: Right. Of course. And I'm...

Me: Pile of Cheese Guy. Because you're the guy who said "Pile of Cheese."  

None of this is particularly cryptic. 

But then I made the mistake of saying, "I've written about it on my blog."

As soon as the words left my mouth I felt like an idiot. I stood there thinking, this guy is going to think I'm insane.

"Good morning, Pile of Cheese Guy! Cup of coffee? Oh, p.s., you don't know me, but I write about you and your girlfriend on the internet. Orange juice?"

To my relief, he didn't call a manager over to complain about weird girl bothering him, but instead, pulled out his iphone to check out the blog. Just before typing the address he said, "Wait, I wonder what will happen if I google Pile of Cheese Guy!" 

Sure enough, the number 1 result was a post about him. 

It kind of made my day to see a person learn an incredibly random, unknown fact about himself. 

Anyway, before leaving he requested another post in his honor. 

As promised. 

A Superhero Who Blushes And Trips.

My roommate Jenna knocked on my door the other morning and greeted me with, "Good Morning, Captain Awkward."

The title is well-deserved. 

This Is My Favorite Scene.

For someone who grew up watching too many movies, who wasted most conversational opportunities quoting the lines other people wrote for screenplays, and who wished so badly for a perfect cinematic moment in her own life that she was willing to study film just for the chance to create it herself, it'd be pretty irresponsible of me to let the current wave of perfect moments go unnoticed. I'm catching them all. This one is shareable.

Scene: In a car, on a gorgeous day, on a joyride through the Boston area.

Soundtrack: Location-Freelance Whales.

Mood: Ecstatic.

With the windows down, the volume up, and the driver singing along to the best part of the song (ey-oh-we-ay-way-ay-oh...), the passenger catches the wind out of her side of the car with bunny hill movements of her hand. Looking through the sunroof to watch the clouds pass, the passenger glances at the driver.

Passenger: Hi.

Driver: Hi.

Returning her attention to the hand/wind combo out the window, the passenger realizes this might be the happiest she's ever been.  

Scene.

Take note of the cinematic moments in your life. They're important.

Oh, Harvey.

Harvey is one of the managers at work and he consistently makes me laugh out loud with his Eeyore outlook on life. He's hilarious, has an incredibly sharp wit, and I want nothing more than for him to be happy because I really love him. But every time I suggest something I think he might enjoy, he shoots it down with a wet blanket response. All of our conversations end with me saying, "Oh, Harvey!" 

Example: You know those pop-up ads online that ask, "When will you die?" and offer a quiz predicting your death? Well, Harvey took one of those. The last person on earth who needed to take this quiz, took this quiz.

Harvey: Well, I have 12 years left to live.

Me: What are you talking about?

Harvey: I took a survey online and it said I have 12 years left.

Me: Right, perfect. An online quiz. That should be entirely accurate.  

Harvey: 12 years.

Me: So live it up, Harvey! Go crazy! Date some hotties, have an extra martini with dinner, go wild!

Harvey: Nope. It'll be me and BoBo until I die. And he'll outlive me. So I have to figure out what to do with him.

(BoBo is his dog).

Me: Oh, Harvey!

It's really hard not to love Harvey.

Anyway, the other day Amalia and her mom (roommate? No, mom. Mom?!) popped into the restaurant to show off their haircuts and nails. Amalia happily mentioned that her nail color was "Hot and Spicy." Turning to Harvey I teased, "You used to wear Hot and Spicy right, Harv?"

With perfect comedic timing, he looked at me flatly and responded, "Yes. But now I wear Lukewarm and Tasteless."  

And then he turned and walked away.

YES! Wait, I mean, No!

Throughout this incredibly long process of trying to get my first book published, I've come to understand very little about the publishing industry. Good news is usually delivered by phone, bad news usually arrives via email disguised as positive news, and if they seriously mean no, they'll say nothing. 

It's not unlike my sad attempts at dating. 

So whenever my agent sends me editor rejections, I end up feeling good for a few minutes before realizing, "Oh, right. They said no." And then I become confused by the comments and start reading into things thinking, "Well maybe they actually meant..." until it occurs to me once more, "They said no."

Again, this isn't so far removed from, well, you get it. 

This is the most recent "no." Many of these rejections have been so nice I almost feel like putting them on the fridge. 

Penn,
 
Thank you so much for sending me Open-Eyed Sneeze. Jessica Martin is, without a doubt, one of the funniest, most delightful and ultimately endearing writers I’ve come across. I instantly connected with her story and that panic that slowly creeps in after college graduation. This was an absolute pleasure to read. With all that said, however, I’m sorry to say that despite this memoir’s merits, I’m afraid I don’t see a big enough audience for Hyperion to continue pursuing. From the bottom of my heart, I wish I had better news. 
 
I hope you have better luck with other houses. If in the future, Jessica’s platform grows and she’s still writing, I’d love to see her work. 
 
With all the best,
Kate 

This one left me wondering, so what's the problem? We don't have to go steady! Let's just make out a little!  

Note: I was just working off the dating analogy there. We were all on the same page for that, right? 

(sigh.)

Call Your Mom, Foo.

Look What I Can Do!

Hanging out with my sisters is just about the best time around. I saw them last weekend and had so many good laughs, it was awesome. 

The only thing is, over the last year, every time I get back to New York to visit, Vanessa's arms have somehow gotten bigger. It's kind of starting to scare me. She easily does 1,000 push-ups a day-- in public. Grocery shopping, out to eat, chilling in Central Park, wherever, I'll turn around and see that she's on the ground doing push-ups.  It's annoying and weird. But I guess totally jacked arms don't just magically appear.  It takes a daily regimen of being annoying and weird. 

While outside Lincoln Center enjoying the fountain, Bri and I turned around to find Nessa on the filthy ground doing crazy yoga moves and ridiculously fast push-ups. 

I'm telling you, WEIRD. 

Not to be outdone, Brina got in on the push-ups. (I'll spare you those shots, but trust me, they exist.)

I just stood there for a minute thinking of something equally cool that I could do, but only came up with showcasing my wicked sweet dance moves. 

As Nessa continued with her workout, I started to get arm-envy so I picked up the lightest thing I could find. My sister.

Trying to convince Sabrina that she was just as strong as Ness, I yelled, "Piggy back ride!" and tried to have her carry me around. 

That didn't work.

About 5-minutes into this, a security officer named Nomad (I've been having a lot of recent run-ins with this name) came over and started to ask questions.

Long story short, he asked us to stop. But not before taking this picture. 

I'm obviously going to have to frame this and give it to my parents. 

They're going to be so proud.

Go To The Mattresses.

In an ill-advised move, this couple attempted to transport a mattress by subway. I don't need to list for you the problems involved with such a decision. You're bright. You can figure it out. 

However, one thing I had not anticipated was a good old-fashioned couples argument taking place on both sides of the full-size mattress. 

Moving large objects can be hilarious, but mostly stressful, so I understand how having a mattress on the subway might breed the latter. But the first rule of carrying large items is, "Be nice to the person helping you carry large items." If you forget this one, you're likely to find yourself stuck halfway up a stairwell holding your end of an armoire. Fighting while moving is a classic opportunity for the offended party to walk three feet to the left and demand a thoughtful apology. Unfortunately, all apologies in these instances sound like this: "I'm sorry, baby! Now this is incredibly heavy and going to fall so get over here, idiot!" 

The girl in this photo, while tiny, was an important part of the mattress transport operation. It's a two-person job. But in anger and protest, she took a seat away from boyfriend as he yelled about missing their stop, that he was sorry, that she was being immature, that he would never forgive her, and that if the mattress ever made it out of the train, she couldn't use it. 

What's that line about never going to bed upset?