Are You Ready Boots?

Oh boy, do I love fall! 

I love the smells, the slightly chilly mornings, the colors, the rainy nights that demand you curl up with a movie and takeout, and of course, the wardrobe. I wear layers throughout the summer so you can only imagine how I go to town in the fall. Jackets and sweaters! Blazers and button-downs! High socks and boots! BOOTS! YAY! I enjoy seeing people in their fall boots almost more than anything during this time of year. It's weird, I know, but I don't care.

People-watching is so good in autumn simply for the outfits alone. Sitting on a bench with a coffee and just observing is like having the world's largest shoe store on display. Gold and red leaves create the perfect runway for people and their boots. And even if I'm not crazy about a pair, I still appreciate the effort. I find myself thinking, "Hmm, those aren't my best show but thanks for putting them on today." 

Anyway, Meredith and I went boot shopping the other day and she found a great pair but they didn't have my size in the ones I wanted. After I spent a few days sulking and searching online, she surprised me by calling all the surrounding DSW's, tracking down a pair in my size, placing them on hold, and booking the most hilarious zip car in the world to take a field trip to get them. 

She's sort of wonderful.

Mer: OK, gray suede, 9.5, on hold about 20 miles away, I'll pick you up in the Smart car.

Smart car!!!!!

Boots, funny little car! What more could I want?!

The trip was hysterical, mainly because I barely fit inside. 

And I always thought I was longer than a Smart car, but it turns out that's not true. 


Once we got to the store, it wasn't much easier to fit into the boots thanks to all the junk they had stuffed inside. Every time I thought I had gotten the last bunch of shoe fluff, I found more.

Meredith was very helpful in documenting my sad attempts to try on footwear.

I eventually got them on. All my pride was lost in the process, but it was worth it.

I was so excited about them I didn't even mind that they blocked my view of the road for the entire trip home. 

Thanks Mer!

Now Is Not Snack Time.

I recently noticed a Polly-O string cheese wrapper in my bathroom wastebasket. 

This triggered two thoughts:

1) Hey, look! They still make Polly-O string cheese! 

and 

2) Who the hell is eating Polly-O string cheese in the bathroom?  

Deli Series: Andres The Sandwich Guy.

"Andres The Sandwich Guy" is the name of a cartoon I want Andres, the sandwich guy at work, to write, draw, and star in. He's the closest thing I've ever met to a real-life cartoon character (next to Geoff Gavett). Between his hilarious noises and impressions, his amazing accent, and the way his imagination works, he usually keeps me laughing throughout a shift. 

When Lindsey used to work at the restaurant (Hi Lindsey! Miss your face!) Andres would always hold his heart after she left for the night and say in his thick Colombian accent, "I juss... want to kees her." And then he would hold a fake person in his arms and dip them a little. 

"I juss... want to kees her." has become one of my favorite lines in life. 

When Lauren was promoted, this was the exchange we had:

Me: Congratulate Lauren! She's a manager now.

Andres (squinting with his head tilted): Why do you say this?

Me: Because it's true.

Andres: Why's it true?

Me: Andres, it's true.

Andres (smiling like a little kid): Good. She's hot. 

And every time it rains he says with such incredible passion, "I loaf the thunder! I loooooaf it!" 

He often dances around his station and makes random voices for the meats before he slices them. If you know to pay attention, he's the most entertaining person in the restaurant. 

Amalia has a nice post about some of his recent work. Enjoy:)

Cousin Steven's Wedding.

My cousin has always known how to throw a party and his wedding last weekend didn't disappoint. During the wedding party introductions, smoke and music filled the huge hall and when they announced Steven and his wife I turned to Mer and said, "I think my cousin is coming out of the floor."

Sure enough, there was this large movable staircase that appeared out of nowhere and Steven and his wife Lisa casually walked down.

The entire evening was sort of a variation on that theme.

I couldn't possibly describe it accurately. 

Prior to the wedding, my sister Sabrina attempted to coordinate plans, as she is wont to do. This is from a chain of emails concerning rides to and from the church/reception hall/Queens/Manhattan. 

Driving to the church:

 

Ness, are you and Andrea going with Mom and Dad? They'll pick you guys up in Astoria that afternoon, unless you want to take a cab to their hotel.

 

Jess & Meredith, will you guys come with me and Chris? We'll plan to leave around 1 pm on Sunday in case there is traffic.

 

After the wedding we'll drive back to Astoria, freshen up and take a car service at 5:30 (can be changed if we need to) from my apt. I've already scheduled the pick up.

 

Nessa & Andrea, I assume you guys will go directly back to hotel with mom and dad, then take the shuttle to the wedding?

 

I called the venue and they can call a taxi for us after the party, so Jess and Meredith, we'll take one back to my apt. and Nessa and Andrea, I think you guys are going back to Manhattan?

 

All sound OK?

xo
S

Andrea and I are taking an 18 passenger party bus. It will just be she and I. No one else is invited. We will be wearing party hats and have those blower things. Tell ya friends.

V

I will be using the handicapped entrance to the bus because I want to have a dramatic entrance, I will be lowered very slowly, please bring a trumpet/red carp/tuna sandwich

A

I always smile when Bri's amazingly detailed plans are met with responses like this.

Anyway, great food, probably too many beverages, and totally wonderful to see all my family. 

Steven is such a great guy and I'm thrilled for his happy life. 

Here are some pics:

And just to give you an idea of how hard it is to actually take a picture together...

Speaking of Rounds.

Mer: We were watching Grand Rounds today at work--

Me (interrupting): Ground Round?! Do you remember that place? Pay What You Weigh? Did you ever do that?

Mer: Yeah.

Me: My mom used to ask me not to when I was a kid.

(Cue Meredith laughing uncontrollably for five minutes.)

Nice.

Perhaps Something Different For The Church.

I dropped off a dress at the dry cleaners to wear to my cousin's wedding in New York this weekend and this is the exchange I had with the guy there.

Tailor: OK, one skirt? Dry-Cleaning only?

Me: Yeah, it's a dress. But yes, dry-cleaning only.

Tailor: No, skirt.

Me: No. Dress.

Tailor. OK... dress.

I get that I'm taller than your average bear, but geez! The dress is not that unrecognizable as a dress.

One Of Two.

Totally late the other morning, waiting in vain for the bus, I noticed an extremely well-dressed gentleman walking at a pace only slightly faster than not moving at all. 

Sweating and disheveled from my 8-minute sprint to the bus stop, it occurred to me that the Brooks Brothers Molasses Stride Man was either incredibly good at budgeting his time, or had absolutely nowhere to be.

I'll Be Rocking That Beet.

Since the very first time I delivered a bowl of borscht to a customer at work I've said, "Drop a beet!" while placing it in front of them. 

No one has ever laughed. 

Not once. 

This hasn't stopped me, of course. I've told myself that the day I get even the slightest chuckle out of someone, I'm walking out of the restaurant the way George Costanza left a room after telling a good joke. 

Anyway, a kid I work with was talking about his music promotion gigs the other day and dropping names of super super underground hip-hop artists like I should know what he was talking about.

-You know Tictic Boom? 

-No.

-BunnyLove?

-Nope.

-Pawned Yawn and the Day-Old Crew?

-Wait, are they kind of like BunnyLove?

-Well the lead guy--

-Yeah, I don't know them.

So I casually mentioned that I've been working on some stuff, mostly for fun, but asked him if he might be interested in promoting for me. And because he genuinely is a really chill guy, he lit up and agreed. 

-What are you into?

-Well I've been spinning for years as DJ Tanner, and I spit for a bit in San Francisco as Baby Bok Choy, but lately I've been working on vocal perc as DJ Cold Borscht. DJ Cold Borscht! Dropping Beets!

Long story short, look for me at BunnyLove's next show.

The Hits Just Keep On Coming.

 The other night at work as I was passing a table, a little girl pointed at me and shouted to her father, "He's BIG!"

A Letter.

Dear 4 Bed Pillows and 61-Piece Silverware Set That I Just Bought,

Thank you for making me look like a complete idiot while trying to carry you all home at once.

Sincerely,

Me 

Love.

Noticed.

Iced coffee costs more than regular coffee, but if you don't drink your iced coffee fast enough, it becomes the same temperature as regular coffee. And if you don't drink your regular coffee fast enough, it becomes the same temperature as an iced coffee that has lost its ice.

So I guess the lesson is, hurry up.  

Moving.

Sorry for the lack of posts during the month of August. I was in a very odd subletting situation (more on this to follow-- probably not though...) and felt busier than usual with life. 

I moved into my new apartment today and things couldn't have gone smoother. I genuinely wish that I always remember to be as awesome as the following people:

*MFB

*Kara Ohhhhhh, berg.

*JSjr.

If someone helps you lift even one box of the contents of your life, you should be thankful. Should the goodness of life be measured by the people who are willing to load a box of your shit into a truck? I don't know.  But I feel really lucky to know some truly great people.  

After moving the last of my belongings into my new space, I grabbed lunch and ice cream with my girl and came back to crack a few beers with my new roommates on the back porch. Sam Adams Octoberfest is a good reason to stick around Boston in the fall. While enjoying whatever breeze we could catch, my new roomie got a call saying he got a freaking fantastic new job, and excitedly stood up saying, "I should call someone!" We suggested his parents, and he agreed. The very least we can do for our parents is keep them at the top of the list for good news calls.  

I left the back porch for his calling area and moved to my room to unpack and organize. While rocking out a bit to the Satellite radio, Modest Mouse came on and I happily opened boxes to "Float On" thinking that the mood, the song, the vibe, was alright. 

Noticed.

Goodbye hugs are much slower than hello hugs. 

These Things Don't Happen To Normal People.

Motivating myself to wake up and hit the gym yesterday morning was surprisingly easy. I jumped up, got changed, packed my bag, threw on my sneakers and tied the laces tight enough so that there was no going back. If there is even a little wiggle room in my running shoes, it's far too easy for me to take them off, crash back into bed and tell myself, "Five more minutes."

Five more minutes is never five minutes.

Pulling my left laces nice and tight while scanning the room for other things I needed for the day, I looped the the bunny ears and spotted my cosmetic bag. Looking down to my foot, satisfied with the knot I had created, I lunged over to the dresser to grab my toiletries and promptly fell to the ground. In my haste, I had inadvertently tied my sneaker as tightly as I could to a strap of my book bag. Fully packed and heavy, it served as an anchor and literally pulled me to the floor.  Lying there like an idiot, I turned over and struggled to untie myself from my bag.

I eventually made it to the gym and things went well on that front. I showed up to work early because I wanted to enjoy the beautiful day and read for a bit in the little park by the restaurant. It's not even a park, really. It's a grassy area. Whatever, I could lay down and read, and it was nice. 

Twenty pages into my chill session, I started to get sleepy. I put my book on my belly and closed my eyes for a quick nap. I must have really been knocked out because when I woke up, a group of people and some sort of Park Ranger were standing above me. I remember flinching dramatically and immediately wondering, Um, what the hell is going on? as the woman dressed like a ranger kept talking about the Devotion House behind me. She was leading a tour, obviously, but why she chose to the lead the group of people to a spot directly above a napping stranger is beyond me. Lifting my sunglasses to rub my eyes, an old man in the tour group leaned down into my face and asked, "Is that a good book?!"

My life is a comedy.

I think.

A Weekend With The Fam: A Wrap Up.

It has been brought to my attention that I never finished the series of posts about my trip home.

While I currently lack all motivation to finish this story, here's a highlight reel:

-Part II ended with me finding numerous boxes of crackers in a closet. I later found cases of wine, beer, and soda in my old bedroom closet. Long story short, my mother hid food items for my father's surprise party in nearly every closet of the house. The ridiculousness of this was doubled by the fact that all said food and beverages were "hidden" under blankets. Behind every door I opened, a large mass of snacks was covered with a blanket. 

A Martha Stewart tip, Mom?

-No surprise here, my mom went overboard with food. The day of the party, Mer and I were sent on multiple Wegman's runs to pick up more of everything. It was OUT of control. While having something of a panic attack about all of the food, I managed to drop the world's largest fruit plate and had to pick that up off the garage floor piece by piece. 

-Part of the reason my mom likes throwing parties like this is so she can buy useless shit like a gigantic cooler. The picture doesn't accurately represent how large this cooler is. Apparently, Sabrina tried to talk my mother out of buying it by saying: a) We have a lot of coolers b) It's so gigantic that it's almost rendered useless. Agreeing to both points, they separated in the store. However, when Sabrina eventually met up with her again, this is what she found: 

It was used for the party and will now sit in our basement for the rest of our lives.

-My dad was surprised. Very surprised.  

-We ate, drank, and danced too much. Or, OK, I did.

-Julia was there and made me laugh out loud NUMEROUS times. 

-The morning Meredith and I were headed back to Boston, my father said something to her and smiled. I thought he said something about seeing her car. (My dad checks people's car mileage. I don't think he trusts anyone with less than 50,000 miles on their odometer.) It turns out he said he read the card she gave him. When I explained to everyone what I thought I had heard, Meredith looked to my dad and said, "Well we can still check those miles if you want." 

With that, my father lit up and my Grandma quickly informed her, "You're in."

It was a nice weekend. 

Sweet Ride.

Because of my new location, and the ridiculous excuse for public transportation that exists in Boston, it's absolutely necessary that I get a bike. Talking about it with Mer tonight, I mentioned that I found a gorgeous vintage road bike that I seriously want.

Mer: Vintage?

Me: Yeah, it's sick.

Mer: How vintage? Is it the kind with the one tiny wheel?

The visual of me rolling around town on this bad boy makes me happy.

Er'ting Gon Be Aight.

I found a place to live! Yee, and might I add, haw.

In a sign that sometimes things really do work out just the way they're supposed to, one of my new roommates included this in an email:

"ps- here is a picture of a wheelbarrow full of orangutans for you all to enjoy."

It's going to be a good year.

Breathe In.

So I'm about 4 days away from being homeless. Not really. Well, technically, yes really. My lease is up, I put off my housing search for far too long, and I'm scrambling. To say that I've been freaking out is fair and true. It's not good for a person like me to freak out. I don't wear it well. 

Luckily, I work with some of the most incredible people in the entire city of Boston, and almost everyone has offered me a place to stay. So freaking nice. But I don't actually like living out of a suitcase during vacations, so I can't imagine how that might play out for a month of couch surfing. It would make for good blog posts, to be sure. Staying with Harvey for a few nights might be interesting:) 

Searching Craigslist in the middle of the night (it's amazing how not knowing where you're going to live will negatively affect an already existing sleeping problem. Hmm, who knew?) and sending out emails to potential roommates at 4:00 AM has not worked out. I'm tired, overwhelmed, and out of it. I called my girlfriend the other night, just as I was finally drifting to sleep, and left a short message saying I missed her and loved her. It turns out I dialed the wrong number and left that message with my old hair dresser.  

I've been cringing about that during my breaks from looking for housing.  

Anyway, Meredith calms me. I miss her in general, but really miss her when I start to freak out about packing and finding a place. Talking to her today, she said she would post something on Faceplace or whatever, and send out an email to everyone at Smith. Which she did. She's amazing, and I'm so ridiculously lucky. When I told her so, this is what she said: 

Meredith:I'm a social worker. we use resources and connections to mobilize the communities around us in collective efforts towards the greater good. in this case, you.

Brilliant. 

Awhile ago, she asked why she wasn't mentioned more frequently in my blog. I tried to explain that it's dedicated to the absurdities in life and that including her in that wouldn't make sense. Her response, of course, was, "Well start another one!"

This is just to say that I'm grateful for her. Sans absurdity.  [Cue the cheesy music.]

"i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)"

The Cutest Name In The History Of The World.

My buddy Michelle just got engaged to her boyfriend and she is honestly one of my favorite people in life, so I'm over the moon excited for her!!!

I love her guy too, so all of this works out quite well! His last name is Beans and when they first started dating she would scream with delight every time she saw any type of bean. 

"BEANS!!!"

It was ridiculously awesome. 

When you shout "beans" like that, it's love. 

So anyway, her married name-- if she so chooses--will be Michelle Lee Beans. 

Say it a few times. 

Say it fast.

Now try to say it seriously, and slowly, like she's being called to testify in court or something.

Still cute.

Congrats Michelle!!!! 

There Goes The Neighborhood.

My sister and Andrea came up from New York for the weekend and Nessa mentioned that someone in her building used to live in Jamaica Plain. 

Ness: She said the only people who live here are gays and doctors.

Me: Yeah, that's why the houses are so nice.

Andrea: The whole neighborhood? What about a bisexual nurse? 

(Classic)

Me: Yeah, probably right on the border. Like 4 more years of school, or one really serious relationship away.   

Neat.

I've been looking for a new place to live. It has NOT been fun. Any good leads have been ruined by smokers (didn't everyone get the memo about smoking?!!), ridiculously high rents (Um, thanks, but for $1500 a month, I don't want to live with a stranger and his band), or cats. Effing cats everywhere! How do people "forget to mention" that they have five cats?! YOU HAVE FIVE FREAKING CATS! MENTION THAT!!!!

That would be like me showing up to an apartment with five kids and being like, "Oh! Forgot to mention, but I have five kids. Are you cool with that? They climb on everything you own and poop in a box in the kitchen. Is that going to be a problem?"

I went to look at an apartment tonight, and because I've been warned about showing up 10 minutes early to these appointments, I walked around Inman Square for a minute to kill some time. Checking my teeth in my reflection of a glass window of Punjabi Dhaba, I made awkward eye contact with a guy passing by. I messed around with my hair, shaking my head, trying to play off the fact that I had just been exposing all of my teeth to a window, and continued to make awkward eye contact while doing this. 

I strolled slowly to the apartment, wasting as much time as possible, and trying not to sweat through my shirt. I arrived at the place at exactly 5:30. Prompt, not pushy. Punctual, not weird. Sweaty, but not--what the what?! Why was I so sweaty?! Checking the door for a bell, a guy on a bike rode up behind me. We engaged in the squint/stare-down/you ask first, no you/light smile/shoulder shrug/apologetic introduction "Hi. Are you..."

We both arrived for our meeting at exactly the same time, which was perfect. He was very nice and the place was clean!!!! What a nice surprise! At one point a cat did jump out of a room and I nearly shit my pants, but he explained that it belonged to the person subletting and would be leaving with her. Phew. 

I continued to sweat as we walked from room to room, focusing only on my sweat. I must have said, "Oh, exactly" 300 times in a row because it felt like something that would fit well with whatever he was saying while I could concentrate on cooling my body using only the power of my mind. 

"Oh, exactly." [Wipe forehead. Deep breath.]

"Oh, exactly." [Pull shirt away from body. Think of winter.]

"Oh, exactly." [Scan room for cat...OK, seriously, where's the cat?]

After knocking on his roommate's door, and calling his name as we walked around the place, he explained that the other roommate wanted to meet me and was planning on being home. 15 minutes later, he finally walked in. 

Of COURSE-- no surprise here-- it was the guy who had seen me giving a monster face tooth inspection to an Indian restaurant's window. And of COURSE I had to tell him about this, because my fatal flaw is that I have to call out embarrassing situations before anyone has had the chance to even recognize them.

-And this is...

-Oh, hi! I just saw you a few minutes ago! I was staring into a window.

[Silence.]

[Sweat]

[Cat.]

-....Oh, yeah. Right. Right. I thought you looked familiar.

Truthfully, people, I debated doing my weird Indian restaurant window reflection face to really bring the point home, but I stopped just short of that. 

I'm so pleased that I did.  

A Weekend With The Fam: Oh Boy.

Part II:

Once we got inside the house, we were greeted by wine and appetizers. My mother doesn't consider a homecoming official without a cheese plate and some sort of layered dip waiting for you on the kitchen island. 

This was my first trip home in a year, and I can't actually remember the last time I was there with both my sisters, so it was fun to sit around the kitchen and chill like old times. My father quickly made this nice moment awkward while sharing a story. In an effort to include Meredith, he lightly punched her arm and said, "It's a guy thing. Right, Mer?"

Because it made no sense, we all laughed-- but my dad only recognized that we thought it was funny and continued to use the same line throughout the weekend. 

"It's a guy thing, right, Mer?"

"Dad, stop."

"She gets it."

"No, Dad. No one gets it." 

After dinner we were all hanging around the family room and when Sabrina put on some music, she and my father started dancing. Obviously. To give you an idea of what this looks like, this was a pic from his actual surprise party. (My dad and my cousin Chris.)

All of Meredith's nerves about spending the weekend with my family were quickly erased and replaced with sheer joy when she saw how embarrassed I was by this. Brina is a great dancer, and hilarious. And my dad is hilarious too. I would have just preferred that he waited 2 hours before dancing around the house in front of my girlfriend.

(Me looking away.)

Also, it's important to note that he still had no idea there was a party planned for him the next night. While he was trying to follow Bri's instructions, Meredith leaned over and said, "This could be his birthday party. He's so happy!"

I looked to my father's huge grin and high-kicking legs and shrugged. "Yup."

That night, while looking through a closet in the foyer, I found 20 boxes of crackers hiding under a blanket.

To be continued...

A Weekend With The Fam: Don't Be Nervous.

As previously mentioned, my girl came home with me a few weeks ago for my father's surprise party. We planned to get in Friday night, and the party was on Saturday. My sisters arrived on Thursday and Meredith wondered if having everyone there might ruin the surprise.

"Won't your dad suspect something is going on when all of his girls are home right around his birthday?"

"Honestly? No."

I met up with her in Northampton and we made the road trip to the farm, which was full of good laughs, music on shuffle, and an ongoing discussion about whether or not it's OK to fall asleep in the passenger seat while someone else is driving. 

Me: Loving someone means letting them fall asleep while you drive.

Meredith: No it doesn't. 

Me: Yes! If you love someone, you let them fall asleep.

Meredith: If you love someone, you should want to stay awake! 

We ended up agreeing that it depends on whether or not the driver is tired. 

Anyway, in an incredibly rare (read: inconceivable) moment, Meredith grew completely silent when we got off at the exit for my parents' house. Stunned and concerned, (read: She's never silent. Ever.) I asked what was up and she admitted that she was a little nervous. While this was just about the most adorable thing ever, I quickly tried to assure her that there was literally no reason to be nervous. Not one single reason. Here's why:

-My family is crazy.

-My family is loud.

-My family is ridiculous when it comes to food. My mother prepares enough food for one gathering to feed about 600 people. And that is NOT an exaggeration.

-They will start an impromptu dance party at just about any time during the day if an appropriate song is played. 

-They're pretty much the nicest people around.

Even after making all these points, she still wasn't buying it, and we drove past the farm in silence. Turning slowly into the driveway, I immediately saw my mother standing on the front porch flapping her arms in the air. I remember thinking, What the hell is she doing? I never told her when we were arriving, there's no way she would be outside waving. Maybe she's swatting at a fly or something. 

(She later told me that she sensed our presence with a mother's instinct. Ummm, OK. )

While she stood there flailing, my father came running out into the front yard yelling, "Jessie! Hi girls!!!"

As both Deb and Steve ran to the car, I turned to Meredith and smiled, suddenly realizing that maybe I was the one who should be nervous. 

To be continued...

Slacking On The Blog.

Long time, no blog. Sorry about that. Here's what I've been up to, because oddly, you're interested. 

1) Bought a tube of toothpaste and couldn't open it for 4 days. FOUR DAYS. I debated leaving a post-it on my bathroom mirror for my roommates that said, "Could you try to open my toothpaste?" but thought that would make me look like a bigger moron than usual. In my defense, the tube had a new specially designed seal that was ridiculous including grooves and a cap screw or something. 

I ended up cutting the actual tube with scissors.

2) Traveled to Miami with my best people and almost punched through a ceiling while attempting to dance at a bar on South Beach. Again, in my defense, the ceilings were incredibly low. 

3) Went home to my family's farm for my dad's surprise 60th birthday party and my girlfriend came along to meet the fam. Posts to follow on this, to be sure, but just so you know how the weekend went for me, someone found the cable to our VCR making it possible to watch old home movies. (Cue pained expression of embarrassment.) I'm quite sure I've never seen Meredith laugh so hard. And now whenever she gets a little grin from out of nowhere, I know she's picturing fat little kid me in my hiked-up Umbros and a Body Glove belly shirt. 

Grrrrrr.  

4) I bought a pack of gum with the flavor "Nonstop Mint" and the smell is following me everywhere. It's seriously such a strong smell. Every time I open my bag I am assaulted by the fumes of manufactured mint. It's making me sick. I think I'm going to have to throw it away, but it offends me to throw gum away instead of giving it away. Do you want a piece? 

5) Had this conversation with Jeffrey yesterday and was pretty unclear as to how I should respond to any of it:

Jeffrey: What's new, Jessie?

Me: Not much, Jeffrey. Going to New York this weekend.

Jeffrey: Oh! Do me a favor? If you go to the thing-- the thing is there, right? The thing?

Me: Which one, now?

Jeffrey: Rockefeller Center. If you go can you get me a Days of Our Lives hat? My sister-in-law threw away my Passions hat. She tossed anything that wasn't nailed down. My electric knife is missing! 

Book Update: You Don't Know Me.

The editor rejections I've been receiving have been pretty positive if you forget about the parts that say, "I don't want to work with you." 

Luckily, I'm quite dense.  So I read what they say and then nod with a smile, thinking, "Why, thank you!"

The main problem for most of the editors I've heard back from is that it will be hard to market my book because people don't know me. That no one knows who I am. 

To which I say, OF COURSE no one knows who I am! My own parents have trouble remembering my name! I'm not famous! My book is not about being famous! It's about life after graduation and trying to find a job using a resume filled with random summer jobs, a degree in film, and my complete lack of experience. It's about living with my parents, in my childhood bedroom, and trying not to suffocate from my life's absurdity as my father suggests careers for me to consider in aeronautics and Riverdance. It's about uncertainty, and trying to start a life for yourself, and being afraid, and being so confused there's little else to do but laugh. It's part of a story we've all felt. And true, it would be easier to sell if it was written by Kim Kardashian. But maybe a recent grad living at home, struggling to find a job, or searching for their passion, doesn't want to read about Kim Kardashian's path to success. Maybe they want to read about something that reminds them of themselves. 

Whoa, rant! Where did all that Kim Kardashian stuff come from? Sorry. Anyway, here's the latest rejection:

Hi Penn,

Thanks so much for sending this my way. Jessica has a likeable, witty voice and I found this to be incredibly readable. Not only that but the subject matter is timely and there will be a lot of people looking for someone like Jessica who has been through the same struggles as they have. Unfortunately, my colleagues who read this weren’t as enthusiastic about it. They agreed that Jessica is talented but worried that memoirs can be very hard to sell especially when the author doesn’t have a huge platform. So sadly, I’m going to pass. 

I really appreciate the chance to consider this and hope we’ll connect on the next one!

Best,
Laura

 

So the point of this post, dear reader, is to ask for any suggestions you might have to increase one's platform. All ideas welcome! 

Thanks in advance, Mom. (ps. this is your daughter...Jessica.)

That Sounds Good. I'll Have That.

My coworker Alex had this exchange with a customer the other day. As follows in his words:

"So the woman at table 1 just pointed to the menu and said, 'I'll have this, but hold the bacon.' I looked to where she was pointing and calmly explained, 'Well, that's the list of salad dressings, ma'am.' To which she replied, 'Oh. OK. Then I'll just have a coffee.'" 

Book Update: First Official Shout Out.

I was sitting across the street from the Booksmith last night waiting for the bus, after just having finished a 10-hour shift at work. The dark night and the lights from the store made for optimal people-watching, so I sat observing readers browse and exit with bags of books. Feeling slightly deflated about my own attempts to get published, I wondered if my book might ever hit the shelves of a bookstore. 

It's important to note that being incredibly tired and having to wait for public transportation is a great combo for feeling badly about yourself. If you want to throw a little pity party, work for 10 hours and then hang around waiting for a bus. If you want to throw a more extravagant pity party, spend a few years trying to get published, work a 10-hour day, and then wait for a bus outside of a bookstore watching people buy books that actually are in print. 

And maybe serve punch. 

Sitting there feeling like a jerk, I remembered I left something at the restaurant. Making my way back to work, I grabbed my stuff, noticing the lights of the 66 bus coming down the street. Not wanting to wait for the next one, I ran out of the restaurant, and darted across the street to the bus stop. Avoiding traffic, and looking quite stupid as I ran, I heard someone yell from a block down, "Hey!! OPEN-EYED SNEEZE!" 

The combination of words sounded familiar and then it hit me-- Hey! That's my book! 

I looked up to see a regular from the restaurant (who has been reading the blog) waving and giving me a big smile. 

I jumped on the bus, absolutely thrilled with the funny little moments life provides. 

There I was feeling sorry for myself, and just when I needed it, I got a random shout out. 

My first official shout out was an actual, literal shout-out. 

Book Update: Beer?

In the latest book news, more rejection! Yee, and might I add, haw.

This one was particularly wonderful:

Dear Penn,

I really like this writer – I mean, as a writer, but also as someone with whom I could enjoy a fun drink after work – and I enjoyed reading this. And I grimly suspect that when the book comes out, her situation will still be all too familiar to many new graduates and their families. But in the end, I just wasn’t sure we’d be able to get enough copies into reviewers’ and readers’ hands to make this work here.

So I’m sorry to stand aside, but I hope you’re hearing better news elsewhere.

All the best,

Reagan

Great.

Do you think I should be worried or buoyed by the fact that editor rejections now include offers to drink?

Oh No.

Just got an email from my literary agent saying that the new website will include pictures of the authors with their bios. If you've ever tried to take a picture with me, you understand why I started to sweat when I read this. 

I'm awkward. It's fine. I'm totally cool with it. I flail, trip, blush, miss social cues on the daily and have come to understand that that's just who I am. But bring out a camera and I immediately forget my Zen state of awkwardness and start to freak out. Every picture I take is ruined by the commentary I make about not liking to take pictures. So a head shot should be just the thing to snap me out of that. (cough). 

I'm thinking of just sending this one in because it's essentially the summation of every other pic I've ever taken.      

My Father Is Steve Martin.

Little shout out to my dad on dad's day! 

A few things you should know about my father:

-He has written some of the greatest letters I've ever received.

-He is genuinely thrilled to see everyone he runs into. Everyone. 

-He's the hardest worker I know. (And I know a lot of hard workers)

-He's silly in all the best possible ways. Just as an example, I've seen my father play fake guitar with a vacuum more times than I'd like to admit.

-He used to wake us up in the morning with orange juice in a champagne flute. When I was living at home as an adult, he still did this. 

-I once overheard him talking to someone at a party about me and my sisters and he said, "They're my life." 

Even though I knew this, and know this, overhearing him say it made me really happy.

A few oldies but goodies: 

Gay? God Bless

Loking Good, Feeling Good.

Blank Stare

Blank Stare II

Good Talk

That's Deep.

Smile, You're At Work.

Missed Call/Good Call.

Someone left their Blackberry at the restaurant today and when it started to ring, Lauren noticed the incoming call was from someone named, My Lovebug. 

Me: Please tell me Geoff isn't in your phone as Moondoggie.

Lauren. No! No. Definitely not. (Pause.) He's actually stored as G Wizard. 

Me: OK, that's worse.

Then I mentioned that I'm stored in my sister's phone as, Jessica Martin-- something I discovered while calling her and running into her at the same time. This still kills me. Her reasoning was that she has a lot of Jessica's in her phone and it's just easier to have last names. She never came up with an answer as to why I wouldn't just be known by Cher/Oprah/Sister status as the only Jess in there.  Whatever.

So I was telling this to Lauren and she interrupted me: 

Lauren: Your older sister?

Me: Sorry?

Lauren: You're in your older sister's phone as Jessica Martin?

Me: Yeah.

Lauren: I totally knew it was your older sister. Just from reading about her and hearing stories, I knew it had to be her.  

Not To Mention The Pigeons.

Statues get no respect. 

While walking through Davis Square the other day, Mer pointed out two children kicking the statues. I believe her I-spy moment was expressed with something along the lines of, "Those kids are totally kicking the elderly couple statues in the crotch."

And she was right. They totally were. 

Two children, barely at the waist level of the statues, stood in front of the elderly couple and repeatedly kicked them in their crotches using "Hiiiii-Ya!" sound effects. The kicks were delivered with 100% accuracy and Tae Bo speed. We watched them for about a minute. I have no idea how long they were doing it before we arrived.  

Now, I support non-violence and I support art. But this was funny. What killed me is that no one said anything. Where were their parents?!  And ironically, there was a little ceramics fair going on right next to this, so you would think one of the artists might have asked them to stop just out of fear for their own work. If two five-year-olds can continuously kick a grandma and grandpa statue in their hoo-has without a word from the crowd, imagine what they could do to a little clay coffee mug.   

Quote of the day.

Kelly: A girl I graduated from high school with is sitting at table 43. I should probably go say hello but I smell like french fries and have cream cheese on my boob. I think I'm going to pass. 

You Forgot This.

Researchers have found the world's oldest leather shoe, according to the Associated Press. Dated to be over 5,500 years old, the shoe was discovered in the mountains of Armenia in what archeologists believe to be the world's first bowling alley.

A researcher involved with the find said, "This is thrilling for many reasons, but mostly because we now know that the concept of rental shoes existed before recorded human history."

It is believed that the old shoe's owner left his footwear with the bowling alley staff as a deposit for a different pair of cowhide shoes specifically designed not to scratch the lanes. 

The discovery has led archeologists to understand that humans have been walking away with bowling shoes that don't belong to them since perhaps the beginning of time. 

Semi-related note: One time at the restaurant, a busser came up to me with a high heel. Explaining that he had found it at a table, he asked me to put it aside in lost and found.

Furrowing his brow, he asked, "How did she leave?" 

Then, smiling, he lifted himself up on the toes of his left foot, and walked away, shifting his weight to a lower right foot, then back up to his toes, and repeat.   

I Mean, Seriously?

The first time I met my girlfriend's parents, her father called me a liar. 

I should explain. 

To be fair, we weren't even dating at this point. But I had a huge crush on her and was nervous to meet her parents all the same. I wanted to make a good first impression--which is something I've never actually done-- so there was a little pressure. Her mother had prepared a fabulous meal at their beach house and right before sitting down to enjoy, I asked to make a toast. Raising my glass, I cleared my throat and said, "I'd like to toast to Canada. To the land... north of us. It's where I grew up. Anyway, they're very happy right now. Cheers!"

It was basically a word-for-word version of a toast Mer's father gave after Canada won the gold medal for hockey. I thought it might elicit a chuckle. 

Surprise surprise, I was wrong. 

Giving Meredith a little smile, I stood as her father considered me for a moment and then asked with genuine curiosity, "Where in Canada are you from?"

We had literally talked moments earlier about my family's farm in upstate New York, where I had mentioned I was raised. This hit him and he said, "Wait, you're not from Canada!" 

Meredith's mother quickly stepped in and tried to explain my reference. "No, Bob. She was talking about..."

"You're from Rochester! Or that port!"

"Right, I know, I was just..."

"So you lied."

With this, I burst out laughing. "Yes, I suppose I did."

I spent the entire dinner that night making sure all of my attempts at jokes were based on 100% truths.

Anyway, Meredith's old high school recently organized a production to honor their fantastic theatre program before the school is torn down and replaced by a new one.  Alumni were asked to come back and perform, and obviously, Mer was on that list. My girl can siiiing, y'all.

When I met her parents outside the auditorium, I was already sweating. It was easily 115 degrees in the school, and news flash, I've been known to get nervous. They both greeted me warmly and her father immediately commented on the fact that I had flowers. 

"Flowers? That's nice."

Looking around and noticing that almost no one else had flowers, I immediately started to sweat more. Were flowers a stupid idea? Shit.

We made our way into the auditorium and the temperature rose to about 135 degrees. It was uncomfortable. Tropical, really. Think of sitting in a cramped row of seats in a jungle theatre while trying to force yourself to stop sweating. It was like that.

The flowers started to wilt. Neat. Fucking flowers.

The event began, but because theatre people have been known to have a way with words (bug out eyes) the speeches lasted far longer than all of the performances combined. At one point, a man walked us through half of the school with his tour of words. "You start in the lot," he said, dramatically, of course. "And you come in through the lobby, and walk through the theatre, and onto the stage, and through the wings, and leave a door, and walk down a hall, and pass a room, and come to another room. Room 127." 

This is where I started to smile to myself. My little sister and I used to press on each other's legs at Sabrina's performances when we wanted to laugh at something. I had to actually fight doing this to Meredith's father as the man's speech continued. "And in that room... a piano..." 

I should mention that I've been having a huge problem trying to sleep over the past few months that has completely altered what I find funny. Listening to this man wax poetic about a hallway or the contents of a room now qualified as something that I wanted to cry laughing about. I was worried that I would bust with out a roaring HAAAAAAAAAAA at any moment. I was also worried that I had sweat through all of my clothing. I was also fidgeting uncontrollably knowing that the 2+ hours worth of performances that had already passed were about to be followed by a "Musical Medley" including  selections from no less than 17 musicals. What the what?!  

The flowers were now dead. 

The absolute, hands down, "I know I'm biased, but this is legit" highlight of the night was Meredith's performance. Driving around with her as she sings along to her playlist is easily one of my favorite things about life. I LOVE HER VOICE. But I've never seen her on stage before. She was incredible. She was just unbelievably good. Ok, you're going to vomit, I'll stop. But I'm serious. Worth every second of sweating it out in an auditorium. When she left the stage to thunderous applause, the MC's for the night came back out. With a shaking head and widened eyes, one of them responded to her performance by saying only, "I mean, seriously?!"

When the night fiiiiiinally ended (I'm not saying it was bad. It was truly wonderful. Truly. It just also happened to be longer than the Director's cut of Titanic), I leaned over to her parents and said, "The after-show dessert reception has been changed to brunch."

Looking to his program, and then to me, Mer's dad asked, "Really?"

Coming to my rescue with a soft smile and a gentle hand on his arm, Meredith's mother flatly said, "No, Bob."   

Chicago!

I spent my Memorial Day Weekend in Chicago, visiting one of the greatest people I know. My friend Katie possesses an energy that is instantly infectious. People just become happier and more positive around her. When I was considering a move out to Chicago a few years ago, Katie wrote me a Top 10 list of reasons why I should do it. Knowing about my cynical nature at the time, she noted, "I hope my enthusiasm for life doesn't discredit my opinion here." 

It still makes me laugh. Anyway, she sort of shows life how it's meant to be lived, so who better to lead us around the Windy City?

It's important to know a few fun facts about walking around Chicago with Katie.

1) She stops for every dog she sees. Every dog. The number one sentence for the weekend was, "Can I pet your dog?" which she asked to every owner as she bent down to say hello to their pet. It was basically impossible to get through a farmer's market with her considering the amount of dogs we saw. When we passed the cutest little puppy ever on a street in her neighborhood, Katie pushed her way into a crowd of children petting it and started to freak out. Someone passing by looked to the puppy's owner and referring to the group of people waiting to say hello said, "It must be hard to get to where you're going with that little one." 

He could have easily been referring to Katie.

There are also a lot of dogs in Chicago named Wrigley. A fact that my friend shared with me and we found to be true. "Everyone here names their dog Wrigley. Every other dog is Wrigley. You'll see."

2) She knows every person is Chicago. Wherever we went, she knew someone. It was weird, and hilarious, and wonderful. At one point, we passed an outdoor seating area at a bar and she leaned over to look a guy straight in the face to make sure it was who she thought it was and then casually mentioned, "That's my cousin."

Of course it is.

3) This was how she introduced me to every person we met: "This is Jess. She's moving here."

Which was followed by my nervous reaction, and heightened indecisive tendencies, and a rush of thoughts about my favorite girl in Boston that caused me to stutter through my hellos. "Well.. I mean, um, I'm just... visiting, really."

We had a crazy good time full of great laughs, wicked sunburns, exciting sports games, and lots of beer. Chicago is an amazing city full of incredibly nice people. I absolutely adore it. 

On my last night there, walking back to Katie's apartment with some take-out, she stopped to say hello to yet another dog. When she asked the owner the dog's name, he replied, "This is Fenway." 

I smiled to myself about the sign.   

A Lesson In Birth Order.

In the latest example of the difference between my sisters, Sabrina recently sent out an email including all of her contact information in London. Whenever she travels she sends her complete flight itineraries to my family, highlighting airport codes, dates, and arrival times, she mentions the names/emails/numbers of the people she's meeting, and shares all the necessary and unnecessary information concerning where she's staying. To give you an idea of how detailed this latest email was, she included the price per minute she will be charged on her international phone plan. 

So the best way to get in touch with me will definitely be e-mail. I'll check it every night, and I bought a data plan for my phone. If you need to reach me immediately, just call. My phone is unlocked and it's a $1.29 a min. It will be good in case there are "emergencies"...

Who does that? 

Anyway, last night Bri forwarded me this message from our mother:

Sabrina

 

Thank you for including me in your contact info email. As your sister was preparing to leave for the plane, her contact information was the following: I am staying on an island in Miami, There won't be an emergency.  I have my phone.  

Were you both raised in the same home? 

Love, Mom

Note: You might have noticed that the word "emergency" is thrown around a lot in these travel emails. For my mother, travel is simply a way to test how well you've prepared for emergencies. It's never really about enjoyment. It's mostly knowing that you've packed enough sprays, given the phone number of your hotel to your grandmother, and have an Ace bandage tucked away somewhere.