Shout Out to Sabrina Rae for her huge promotion at NYC Opera!!! Not only does she have crazy responsibility, she has an assistant, and the best job title I've ever heard. She is now 'Manager of Major Gifts.' Hi? How cool is that? So whenever anything comes into the opera with a giant bow, she decides what to do with it.
Actually, I have no idea what it means. I like to pretend I know how operas function, but all I can deduce is that they raise a lot of money to spend a lot of money to put on shows for like the same 100 people (using their money).
When she worked at Glimmerglass, I went to see a performance and sat right next to her boss, which I didn't realize until I had finished the whole, "These are broken, mine are broken" routine. She turned to me and said, "This isn't your first opera is it?" and I felt like an 8 year old, and I was like, "Well, it's my first opera today. We had a late start." Very smooth.
Anyway, congrats sister! Can't wait for your business card! It's going to say MAJOR GIFTS on it! oh the pressure, of a birthday present. Anyone who has your card is going to think they have to go in on a pony now. Or at least a really big stuffed pony. ...Pony. (funnier 3x)
But speaking of business cards, I think I'm the last person in the world not to have one. I was at my friend Mike's place the other night and he's an artist so there were a lot of artists there, and they all had cards. It didn't seem very artist-like to have a business card. It's like street performers who have their cd's for sale. I hate that. The pastry chef from work was there and even SHE had a card.
-Suzanne, you make brownies, why do you need a card?
-It's good for business, plus it's free.
It's true! You can get free business cards made. www.vistaprint.com
So obviously I want to do this, but can't think of anything good to put on it. Nessa said it should read: F&B Needs Anticipator. I Know You Need Ketchup Before You Do.
But my real job would be ridiculous so I want something that is an exciting variation of the truth. Hmm, have to think.
Maybe, Jessica Martin
Sister of the Manager Of Major Gifts.
Including but in no way limited to ponies.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
This Could Save Your Life.
Just got a mass email from Michelle about a scam where people try to sell you perfume but it's really ether, and when you sniff it, they steal all your belongings. The same thing actually happened to me at the Saks perfume counter. And when I came to, I was naked and had to open an account to charge a new outfit just so I could walk out of the store.
Come on people!!!
If I receive one more mass fwd about how to protect myself from rapists, kidnappers, or identify theft, I'm going to attack someone--and chances are, if you have a ponytail, it will be you. What happened to the 'hey' email? Now it's all, 'Here are ways you could potentially die, thought you should know."
I have a feeling Karla has read a few too many of these emails. Whenever it's dark, she gets her keys out and puts the biggest one between her ring and middle finger. "This will let them know I mean business." Right. Key in the finger. I hear that's what all the insurgents in Iraq are using. The Ace Hardware In Baghdad is making a mint on copies alone.
I've said this before, but I really think the best self-defense can be learned from a precocious child. Not only is it most effective, it is also perhaps, the funniest thing in the world. We call it, Dead Weight.
I was reminded of said technique the other day on the train when a 5-year old was standing with her grandmother. In the stops leading up to theirs the grandma would say, "Almost our stop, get ready." But the child was enjoying the ride and made clear with shakes of the head that she had no intention of getting off.
When the doors opened at their stop, the old lady took the child's hand, made a move for the exit, and the child collapsed. The woman started yelling at the child in Chinese and now took both hands trying to lift her like a sack of potatoes. Nothing but a bobbing motion. The girl just lay there with a faint smile and her eyes closed as her grandmother tried dragging her off the train. It should be noted that closing one's eyes is imperative in that it gives the illusion of death.
The doors were beeping and realizing the urgency, the old lady tried running a little bit, still yelling, and dragging this child down the stairs, the heightened sound effect of lifeless feet hitting each one. When the train rolled away the little girl was lying on the street, eyes squeezed shut, with a huge grin.
Had it not been for the smile, this would have been textbook. If you're ever in trouble, just go deadweight. Your whole body as a boiled noodle. Fall to the ground and just flop around if people try to move you. Actually, this might not work for identity theft, but neither will a freakin key.
Come on people!!!
If I receive one more mass fwd about how to protect myself from rapists, kidnappers, or identify theft, I'm going to attack someone--and chances are, if you have a ponytail, it will be you. What happened to the 'hey' email? Now it's all, 'Here are ways you could potentially die, thought you should know."
I have a feeling Karla has read a few too many of these emails. Whenever it's dark, she gets her keys out and puts the biggest one between her ring and middle finger. "This will let them know I mean business." Right. Key in the finger. I hear that's what all the insurgents in Iraq are using. The Ace Hardware In Baghdad is making a mint on copies alone.
I've said this before, but I really think the best self-defense can be learned from a precocious child. Not only is it most effective, it is also perhaps, the funniest thing in the world. We call it, Dead Weight.
I was reminded of said technique the other day on the train when a 5-year old was standing with her grandmother. In the stops leading up to theirs the grandma would say, "Almost our stop, get ready." But the child was enjoying the ride and made clear with shakes of the head that she had no intention of getting off.
When the doors opened at their stop, the old lady took the child's hand, made a move for the exit, and the child collapsed. The woman started yelling at the child in Chinese and now took both hands trying to lift her like a sack of potatoes. Nothing but a bobbing motion. The girl just lay there with a faint smile and her eyes closed as her grandmother tried dragging her off the train. It should be noted that closing one's eyes is imperative in that it gives the illusion of death.
The doors were beeping and realizing the urgency, the old lady tried running a little bit, still yelling, and dragging this child down the stairs, the heightened sound effect of lifeless feet hitting each one. When the train rolled away the little girl was lying on the street, eyes squeezed shut, with a huge grin.
Had it not been for the smile, this would have been textbook. If you're ever in trouble, just go deadweight. Your whole body as a boiled noodle. Fall to the ground and just flop around if people try to move you. Actually, this might not work for identity theft, but neither will a freakin key.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Best Text Ever?
Woke up to a text message from my little sister. It read: "90 year old Dorothy got into the showcase with 40 cents."
Back story. Vanessa is maybe the most brilliant mind alive when it comes to guessing prices. Which comes as a constant surprise to me because I don't think she's ever bought anything on her own. Watching Price Is Right with her is just about the most entertaining thing one can do. Not only does she guess the price amounts almost perfectly every time, she guesses what games will be played and calls what products will be used with such clairvoyance you kind of get scared. And the prizes to get up onto the stage? The ones where some people guess a dollar? she ALWAYS knows the exact price. It blows me away.
"Um, how do you know the price for a keyboard and a set of knives."
"They've used that before."
When I watch it with her, tears roll down my face, it's honestly too funny. She has everything planned out for when she'll go on the show. Her run up to contestants row, whether or not she'll play the game, or just walk away, "If it's a grandfather clock, I wouldn't even bother playing. Just get me to the wheel and into the showcase." She's convinced that she would spin a dollar, and takes it personally when people get into the showcase with less than 80 cents.
And the Showcases! HA. If you ever see my little sister, ask her to announce a mock showcase showdown. It is perhaps one of the most brilliant things you will ever hear. She starts with a theme, as they always do, and then goes on to tell a ridiculous story about what happens to a barker beauty all the while including random prizes. She's a funny girl but this is hands down the most hilarious thing she does.
Um, right. Just had to share I guess.
Oh, and have your pets spayed or neutered.
Back story. Vanessa is maybe the most brilliant mind alive when it comes to guessing prices. Which comes as a constant surprise to me because I don't think she's ever bought anything on her own. Watching Price Is Right with her is just about the most entertaining thing one can do. Not only does she guess the price amounts almost perfectly every time, she guesses what games will be played and calls what products will be used with such clairvoyance you kind of get scared. And the prizes to get up onto the stage? The ones where some people guess a dollar? she ALWAYS knows the exact price. It blows me away.
"Um, how do you know the price for a keyboard and a set of knives."
"They've used that before."
When I watch it with her, tears roll down my face, it's honestly too funny. She has everything planned out for when she'll go on the show. Her run up to contestants row, whether or not she'll play the game, or just walk away, "If it's a grandfather clock, I wouldn't even bother playing. Just get me to the wheel and into the showcase." She's convinced that she would spin a dollar, and takes it personally when people get into the showcase with less than 80 cents.
And the Showcases! HA. If you ever see my little sister, ask her to announce a mock showcase showdown. It is perhaps one of the most brilliant things you will ever hear. She starts with a theme, as they always do, and then goes on to tell a ridiculous story about what happens to a barker beauty all the while including random prizes. She's a funny girl but this is hands down the most hilarious thing she does.
Um, right. Just had to share I guess.
Oh, and have your pets spayed or neutered.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Oh...hello.
So I've been sneaking into work a little later than usual to avoid seeing Laurentiu on his way out. Some might argue that this is immature. I'm simply trying to sidestep an undoubtedly awkward situation for us both. Like running into someone after a random hookup. It's just better for both parties and the elephant in the room if enough time passes so as to pretend it never happened. Particularly for me, so I don't say something like, "yup, we're were kind of engaged there for a second, huh?"
Avoidance and selective memory are the pinnacle of maturity. And also, carrying a check book. Who does that?
I was pleased upon entering to see only Fes. It was a first. Every other day I literally hide to avoid him. He's a mini-bar attendant (a miniature bartender, if you will) who insists on talking to me nonstop even though I can't understand a word he says. It's a mixture of soft-talking, mumbling, and non-English that leaves me screaming at him in my head while forcing a smile on my face. I thought I actually understood him say my name once. It turned out he was saying pasta. But I digress.
So Fes was talking about shoelaces, or cashews, or political reform, ( I like to think it was a combo of the three) and in walks Laurentiu. Shit. Ok, j, play it cool.
I was hoping to avoid you forever.
Don't say that.
We almost got married!
No, not that either.
"Hey." Nice.
"Hello, Jessica." Followed by 25 minutes of silence. Honestly. His shift was over at 3 and he stayed until 3:30 not saying anything.
Finally he says, "So, Jessica, do you not have maybe a friend who will marry me?"
What?! This kid has platinum balls!
"Oh man, kid. You have platinum balls."
LT: Sorry?
Me: Nothing.
Fes: You need wine glasses?
Me: What? No, I'm not talking to you Fes, thank you.
Fes: Cashews.
LT: You can think of no one?
Me: Um, no not really.
So with this he goes into the whole pitch--AGAIN. I thought this was over!! It's like a telemarketer pushing magazines who you've already said no to, shows up at your place of employment to sell you the thing you have no intention of buying. And I was doing everything in my power to avoid the metaphorical Cat Fancy subscription.
And that doesn't even make sense. I just wanted an excuse to say Cat Fancy.
(Note: domestic cats would only be cool if they wore pants and walked on their hind legs at all times. I think we can all agree on that. talk about fancy.) But I digress.
He went on to say, "I know you. They say, what this girl likes to wear? I say, the sneakers. They say, what this girl likes to eat? I say, the cereals."
I had to laugh. You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally when he rushes to find her on New Year's Eve to tell her all the things he loves about her? The was my own sad little Romanian version of that.
I love that you likes the converse! I love that you likes the corn pops! And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here today, because I was scheduled to work 7-3. But also, because when you realize your Visa has expired and you will be deported unless you spend the rest of your life with someone, (but really, 6-12 months, tops) you want to take fake relationship pictures and get married in Vegas and interviewed by INS, as soon as possible.
Avoidance and selective memory are the pinnacle of maturity. And also, carrying a check book. Who does that?
I was pleased upon entering to see only Fes. It was a first. Every other day I literally hide to avoid him. He's a mini-bar attendant (a miniature bartender, if you will) who insists on talking to me nonstop even though I can't understand a word he says. It's a mixture of soft-talking, mumbling, and non-English that leaves me screaming at him in my head while forcing a smile on my face. I thought I actually understood him say my name once. It turned out he was saying pasta. But I digress.
So Fes was talking about shoelaces, or cashews, or political reform, ( I like to think it was a combo of the three) and in walks Laurentiu. Shit. Ok, j, play it cool.
I was hoping to avoid you forever.
Don't say that.
We almost got married!
No, not that either.
"Hey." Nice.
"Hello, Jessica." Followed by 25 minutes of silence. Honestly. His shift was over at 3 and he stayed until 3:30 not saying anything.
Finally he says, "So, Jessica, do you not have maybe a friend who will marry me?"
What?! This kid has platinum balls!
"Oh man, kid. You have platinum balls."
LT: Sorry?
Me: Nothing.
Fes: You need wine glasses?
Me: What? No, I'm not talking to you Fes, thank you.
Fes: Cashews.
LT: You can think of no one?
Me: Um, no not really.
So with this he goes into the whole pitch--AGAIN. I thought this was over!! It's like a telemarketer pushing magazines who you've already said no to, shows up at your place of employment to sell you the thing you have no intention of buying. And I was doing everything in my power to avoid the metaphorical Cat Fancy subscription.
And that doesn't even make sense. I just wanted an excuse to say Cat Fancy.
(Note: domestic cats would only be cool if they wore pants and walked on their hind legs at all times. I think we can all agree on that. talk about fancy.) But I digress.
He went on to say, "I know you. They say, what this girl likes to wear? I say, the sneakers. They say, what this girl likes to eat? I say, the cereals."
I had to laugh. You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally when he rushes to find her on New Year's Eve to tell her all the things he loves about her? The was my own sad little Romanian version of that.
I love that you likes the converse! I love that you likes the corn pops! And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here today, because I was scheduled to work 7-3. But also, because when you realize your Visa has expired and you will be deported unless you spend the rest of your life with someone, (but really, 6-12 months, tops) you want to take fake relationship pictures and get married in Vegas and interviewed by INS, as soon as possible.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Preheat peeps at 325
Besides the obvious -- lack of baby pictures, mind blanks on your name during introductions, etc., you become aware very early of what it means to be a middle child.
For me, it came every Easter when we would search for baskets. We never did the egg thing, it was always a basket hunt. And mine was always in the oven. My sisters would search everywhere, my mom would often rearrange furniture to hide theirs. I always walked directly to the oven and pulled it out.
"Oh, Vicki you found it!"
"It's Jessica."
But if there are two universals about kids it's that they love to be timed--with anything--and they love to look for shit.
So the idea of a hunt for gifts carried over to all our birthdays. Our presents would be hidden in various places around the house to add to the fun. It was exciting to run around hunting for glimpses of wrapping paper, until it ceased to be, and we'd cry.
Realizing the whole house was too daunting, and all we really wanted was our stuff, the hiding places were narrowed down to 2 rooms, the living room and the kitchen. I think the kitchen was included solely for the purposes of my gifts.
This tradition continued as we grew up and the hiding spots could be listed with about as much effort as reciting the alphabet. It lasted through the eye-rolling angst of the preteens, "Oh, under the sofa cushion?! Good one mom--God!"
Through the high school, "No, I'm too old for that. But, ok, hide them. No--really, hide them."
And I tried to carry it to college but my freshman year roommate was not feeling it.
-have you seen my paper?
-HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
-no, seriously. I'm late for class and this is a huge deal.
-Then you better get to looking! cold, colder.
-Idiot.
My parents sent me a package and it got here a few days ago. They called to say not to open it until tomorrow. Right. Who gets a package in the mail (maybe one of the best things in the world, right?) and just lets it sit there? If anyone has that much restraint I'd like to meet you. Wait, no I wouldn't. Because you're probably not fun at all.
So they sent a basket that included an incredibly scary bunny pez-dispenser that I can't really look at after dark.
The note attached said, "This was in the oven." Cute.
Followed by, "Happy Easter, Jennifer."
For me, it came every Easter when we would search for baskets. We never did the egg thing, it was always a basket hunt. And mine was always in the oven. My sisters would search everywhere, my mom would often rearrange furniture to hide theirs. I always walked directly to the oven and pulled it out.
"Oh, Vicki you found it!"
"It's Jessica."
But if there are two universals about kids it's that they love to be timed--with anything--and they love to look for shit.
So the idea of a hunt for gifts carried over to all our birthdays. Our presents would be hidden in various places around the house to add to the fun. It was exciting to run around hunting for glimpses of wrapping paper, until it ceased to be, and we'd cry.
Realizing the whole house was too daunting, and all we really wanted was our stuff, the hiding places were narrowed down to 2 rooms, the living room and the kitchen. I think the kitchen was included solely for the purposes of my gifts.
This tradition continued as we grew up and the hiding spots could be listed with about as much effort as reciting the alphabet. It lasted through the eye-rolling angst of the preteens, "Oh, under the sofa cushion?! Good one mom--God!"
Through the high school, "No, I'm too old for that. But, ok, hide them. No--really, hide them."
And I tried to carry it to college but my freshman year roommate was not feeling it.
-have you seen my paper?
-HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
-no, seriously. I'm late for class and this is a huge deal.
-Then you better get to looking! cold, colder.
-Idiot.
My parents sent me a package and it got here a few days ago. They called to say not to open it until tomorrow. Right. Who gets a package in the mail (maybe one of the best things in the world, right?) and just lets it sit there? If anyone has that much restraint I'd like to meet you. Wait, no I wouldn't. Because you're probably not fun at all.
So they sent a basket that included an incredibly scary bunny pez-dispenser that I can't really look at after dark.
The note attached said, "This was in the oven." Cute.
Followed by, "Happy Easter, Jennifer."
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Get The Hell Out of Dodge.
A while back while running in golden gate park, a homeless man went out of his way to trip me. When I got up, i gave him this confused look of disappointment. Not so much anger, just more of a, "why would you do that to me?"
Laurentiu gave me the same look today when we met up and I told him I wouldn't marry him.
To be on the receiving end of that look is really hard. honestly, i felt terrible. If you've ever been lost or desperate in a foreign country, you know how hard it is to ask favors of people. You're kind of at their mercy. Granted, this was a huge favor, but still. If there was any other way that I could legally help him out, I would. Fraud just isn't for me. I can't fake laugh, how can I fake a marriage?
But he kept going on and made me feel so bad, I started to get pissed. I feel like I'm constantly apologizing. My whole job is to anticipate complaints, and when I fail to do so, say sorry like a million times. I'm so over it. I'm forever trying to find a universal truth and I think I've hit upon one. People are babies.
In the service industry, you're paid to apologize and smile when people do one or all of these things:
1) whine
2) Complain in hopes of getting free shit
3) Be babies.
And rich people are by far and away, the biggest most ridiculous babies. They're like those babies who wear glasses. Why does that child need corrective lenses? Will it be reading later, before it poops in it's pants? But I'm paid to listen to these people cry, often literally, over spilled milk.
Tonight a man called to yell at me because I "lied to him" about the grouper. The menu says grouper, we were substituting a halibut, he refused to hear it the 9 times I said it, so I just let him continue to say grouper. It's like when you're talking to someone and they keep calling you the wrong name, eventually you'll just start responding to 'Samantha.'
Anyway, it all hit me all at once that this is my life. This man, yelling at me on the phone over a piece of fish, this is what I do.
And I'm not sure if it was the combination of my failed marriage and the complaint. Or the weather, or the 'time to bake the donuts' routine I've been stuck in, but I'm so over it.
I'm in full-blown office space mode now people, I'm serious. I'm just looking for the most entertaining way to get fired, and then I think I'm packing up. It's late, I know, but you get flashes of clarity when a wealthy man is calling you a liar, and you say things like, "dude, I can't marry you," and feel guilty about it.
Laurentiu gave me the same look today when we met up and I told him I wouldn't marry him.
To be on the receiving end of that look is really hard. honestly, i felt terrible. If you've ever been lost or desperate in a foreign country, you know how hard it is to ask favors of people. You're kind of at their mercy. Granted, this was a huge favor, but still. If there was any other way that I could legally help him out, I would. Fraud just isn't for me. I can't fake laugh, how can I fake a marriage?
But he kept going on and made me feel so bad, I started to get pissed. I feel like I'm constantly apologizing. My whole job is to anticipate complaints, and when I fail to do so, say sorry like a million times. I'm so over it. I'm forever trying to find a universal truth and I think I've hit upon one. People are babies.
In the service industry, you're paid to apologize and smile when people do one or all of these things:
1) whine
2) Complain in hopes of getting free shit
3) Be babies.
And rich people are by far and away, the biggest most ridiculous babies. They're like those babies who wear glasses. Why does that child need corrective lenses? Will it be reading later, before it poops in it's pants? But I'm paid to listen to these people cry, often literally, over spilled milk.
Tonight a man called to yell at me because I "lied to him" about the grouper. The menu says grouper, we were substituting a halibut, he refused to hear it the 9 times I said it, so I just let him continue to say grouper. It's like when you're talking to someone and they keep calling you the wrong name, eventually you'll just start responding to 'Samantha.'
Anyway, it all hit me all at once that this is my life. This man, yelling at me on the phone over a piece of fish, this is what I do.
And I'm not sure if it was the combination of my failed marriage and the complaint. Or the weather, or the 'time to bake the donuts' routine I've been stuck in, but I'm so over it.
I'm in full-blown office space mode now people, I'm serious. I'm just looking for the most entertaining way to get fired, and then I think I'm packing up. It's late, I know, but you get flashes of clarity when a wealthy man is calling you a liar, and you say things like, "dude, I can't marry you," and feel guilty about it.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Coin toss.
As a child, i had a very hard time making decisions. Whenever we would go out to eat I would be overwhelmed by menus and choose instead, to order nothing. It was my little hunger strike to protest free will at Red Lobster. It became a problem, and thus was born one of a million Martin family sayings, "You can never go wrong with grilled cheese."
And to be honest, I still use this when out for lunch and unsure of what I want.
But my indecision with small things has pretty much disappeared and I've learned to jump on impulse for things like what to eat, buy, etc. But questions of life direction...forget about it. I'm 7 years old again with a billboard menu.
I was enjoying over the last few months, a relative calm in this department. Yes, I hate my job, but it's ok for now. Just living an easy, decision-free life, no worries, it was all very nice.
But then, someone comes along and hands you their future, and you're left to decide what to do with it.
Not to harp on it, but this marriage thing has been weighing on me. And what's ironic is that I'm so anti-wedding, I thought this would be something I'd never need to worry about. I was talking to my sisters about it and they agreed that besides being hilarious, it's actually a huge deal for this kid, because it's his life, and his chance to be successful in America (he was given a job with a bank which is dependent on his citizenship). gah, it's just a lot.
Nessa said he should pay off my student loan and then I should do it.
Brina said I shouldn't do it for less than $100,000.
And my mother, (who i KNEW i shouldn't have told) said i shouldn't do it because he might sell me into an underground sex trade. Right. He comes all the way to America, works for 8 months in room service, the whole time scouting me out as a potential sex slave, and then asks me to marry him in a way to get me to Romania where I will have no legal rights as his wife, and my story will be sold to CBS as the next installment of the mini-series, "Not Without My Daughter." Solid advice, mom, thanks for that.
But me and Raffi were laughing our heads off last night talking about the wedding. He's seriously the best roommate a girl could have. He's like, well, I'm totally there if you decide to do it, and we started brainstorming about possible wedding songs. He came up with the Harold Melvin classic, "If You Don't Know Me By Now." or ac/dc's "Highway to Hell." I appreciated his suggestions, but it's obvious if we were to get married the song would be, 'Shoop' by the prophetic Salt N Pepa. That's just a given.
And to be honest, I still use this when out for lunch and unsure of what I want.
But my indecision with small things has pretty much disappeared and I've learned to jump on impulse for things like what to eat, buy, etc. But questions of life direction...forget about it. I'm 7 years old again with a billboard menu.
I was enjoying over the last few months, a relative calm in this department. Yes, I hate my job, but it's ok for now. Just living an easy, decision-free life, no worries, it was all very nice.
But then, someone comes along and hands you their future, and you're left to decide what to do with it.
Not to harp on it, but this marriage thing has been weighing on me. And what's ironic is that I'm so anti-wedding, I thought this would be something I'd never need to worry about. I was talking to my sisters about it and they agreed that besides being hilarious, it's actually a huge deal for this kid, because it's his life, and his chance to be successful in America (he was given a job with a bank which is dependent on his citizenship). gah, it's just a lot.
Nessa said he should pay off my student loan and then I should do it.
Brina said I shouldn't do it for less than $100,000.
And my mother, (who i KNEW i shouldn't have told) said i shouldn't do it because he might sell me into an underground sex trade. Right. He comes all the way to America, works for 8 months in room service, the whole time scouting me out as a potential sex slave, and then asks me to marry him in a way to get me to Romania where I will have no legal rights as his wife, and my story will be sold to CBS as the next installment of the mini-series, "Not Without My Daughter." Solid advice, mom, thanks for that.
But me and Raffi were laughing our heads off last night talking about the wedding. He's seriously the best roommate a girl could have. He's like, well, I'm totally there if you decide to do it, and we started brainstorming about possible wedding songs. He came up with the Harold Melvin classic, "If You Don't Know Me By Now." or ac/dc's "Highway to Hell." I appreciated his suggestions, but it's obvious if we were to get married the song would be, 'Shoop' by the prophetic Salt N Pepa. That's just a given.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Where Was I?
Oh right. I met a man in Room Service, and we're getting married. (name the reference, win a prize)
If I may, let's return to the proposal. (Trivia: This is not the first time I've been asked to marry someone. A few years ago in Morocco, a man offered me camels in exchange for my hand in marriage. I swear to you, that's 100% true)
Laurentiu had just proposed. On my end, it was a complete arrest of breath accompanied by what must have looked like an attempt to touch my eyebrows to my ponytail. I waited patiently for him to say he was kidding and bring up the drug mule thing--no dice.
But I don't know why I was floored. Of course this would happen. It makes perfect sense. You dress up in a little room service uniform, express that you have no interest in guys, and the Eastern European sitting on a case of water asks you to marry him. It's textbook.
So I listened to his speech about his expiring visa etc, the whole time picturing the situation being played out on a filmstrip like they used to show in elementary school. Grainy pictures, with naration coming from an old cassette player:
-The lesbian nods slowly with widened eyes as the foreigner pleads his case. Beep.
-In his broken English he explains it is a business deal in which they both will benefit. Beep.
-They will take trips together, as photographs are needed as evidence of their relationship. Beep.
-In a years time, they will be interviewed by a government official to determine if he can stay. Beep.
-The girl tries her best not to imagine the young man speaking as Gérard Depardieu. Beep.
And this continued, until he left work, and then we met up last night to talk about it a little more. The thing is, after I stopped laughing, it didn't seem so crazy. Am I insane for even considering?? In a word--yes. But here are the pros:
1) Help out a friend in need.
2) The potential for the funniest wedding EVER in vegas with all my friends.
3) You only get one go in this life to collect as many kick-ass stories as you can, and this would qualify.
Cons:
1)hi, do you really need them listed?
2) I just came out to my parents, now I'd have to tell them I'm getting married.
mmm yeah, that should go over well.
3) As michelle said, "You'll have a divorce on your record."
So if I get pulled over or apply for a job they'll know I've been convicted of divorce.
But people, I'm a student of reason. Honestly, at this point, it's 90% no. But 10% of me can't help but think that a ninja-theme ceremony at Caesar's Palace is like, the best idea I've ever had.
If I may, let's return to the proposal. (Trivia: This is not the first time I've been asked to marry someone. A few years ago in Morocco, a man offered me camels in exchange for my hand in marriage. I swear to you, that's 100% true)
Laurentiu had just proposed. On my end, it was a complete arrest of breath accompanied by what must have looked like an attempt to touch my eyebrows to my ponytail. I waited patiently for him to say he was kidding and bring up the drug mule thing--no dice.
But I don't know why I was floored. Of course this would happen. It makes perfect sense. You dress up in a little room service uniform, express that you have no interest in guys, and the Eastern European sitting on a case of water asks you to marry him. It's textbook.
So I listened to his speech about his expiring visa etc, the whole time picturing the situation being played out on a filmstrip like they used to show in elementary school. Grainy pictures, with naration coming from an old cassette player:
-The lesbian nods slowly with widened eyes as the foreigner pleads his case. Beep.
-In his broken English he explains it is a business deal in which they both will benefit. Beep.
-They will take trips together, as photographs are needed as evidence of their relationship. Beep.
-In a years time, they will be interviewed by a government official to determine if he can stay. Beep.
-The girl tries her best not to imagine the young man speaking as Gérard Depardieu. Beep.
And this continued, until he left work, and then we met up last night to talk about it a little more. The thing is, after I stopped laughing, it didn't seem so crazy. Am I insane for even considering?? In a word--yes. But here are the pros:
1) Help out a friend in need.
2) The potential for the funniest wedding EVER in vegas with all my friends.
3) You only get one go in this life to collect as many kick-ass stories as you can, and this would qualify.
Cons:
1)hi, do you really need them listed?
2) I just came out to my parents, now I'd have to tell them I'm getting married.
mmm yeah, that should go over well.
3) As michelle said, "You'll have a divorce on your record."
So if I get pulled over or apply for a job they'll know I've been convicted of divorce.
But people, I'm a student of reason. Honestly, at this point, it's 90% no. But 10% of me can't help but think that a ninja-theme ceremony at Caesar's Palace is like, the best idea I've ever had.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Oh. My. God.
Where do i EVEN begin?
Let me preface this by saying that the thread that weaves the events of my days together to form my life, is absurdity. Everyone who knows me, knows this. I am confounded, dumbfounded, and surrounded by absurd situations--all the time.
OK, with that said...
Go into work yesterday, chatting with this kid Laurentiu, hella-cool, wicked smart--speaks 5 languages, was an engineer in Italy, and now waits tables in America.
So we're talking, and he's like, "Jessica, I need to ask you something."
For the record: i HATE when people say things like that. It's like begging my imagination to run wild.
-ok, shoot.
-Well, I can't ask you now, at work.
-um, ok.
-But I'd like to ask you...well, when do you have time to talk?
-Hi? have we met? I have about 8 hours, starting now.
So he goes on to say that he's scared of HR and doesn't want to embarrass me and can't talk about it now, can we meet up later and talk. I should mention that there's a little bit of a language problem, and he kept saying things like, 'meet in public places' to, 'eat the foods, or drink the drinks.'
At this point I have an exaggerated look of confusion on my face and I'm thinking, ok, this kid is not trying to ask me out. But having no ability to repremand my inner child and needing to say things the moment i think them, i go, "sorry, you're not asking me out, right? Cuz I'm gay."
I waited a moment, and actually saw the successful translation in his facial expression, and he's like, "no shit? ok ok. ok, this is, uhhh, super."
So we start laughing even though I still have no idea what he's talking about and i'm like, so what's up?
-Well, it's about business.
-Room Service?
-Nonono, a business between you and me.
-We have a business?
-Well, yes. we could. and it could be very good for us both.
-ok, is this business legal?
-....well, yes.
Note: I watched 'Maria Full of Grace' the other night, so at this point i'm pretty sure he wants to use me as a drug mule to ship cocaine to and from Latin America. But he's from Romania, so that didn't make much sense.
So for 45 minutes this back and fourth continued.
All aboard the Vague-Train!! We'll be making stops...later...at certain destinations...I guess...
Finally I'm like, OK, you're killing me--what are we talking about?!
And with this my friends,
He sits down on a box of Large Evians,
looks up at me and says,
Jessica, I'd like to ask you to marry me.
I'll give you a second with that.
To be continued...
Let me preface this by saying that the thread that weaves the events of my days together to form my life, is absurdity. Everyone who knows me, knows this. I am confounded, dumbfounded, and surrounded by absurd situations--all the time.
OK, with that said...
Go into work yesterday, chatting with this kid Laurentiu, hella-cool, wicked smart--speaks 5 languages, was an engineer in Italy, and now waits tables in America.
So we're talking, and he's like, "Jessica, I need to ask you something."
For the record: i HATE when people say things like that. It's like begging my imagination to run wild.
-ok, shoot.
-Well, I can't ask you now, at work.
-um, ok.
-But I'd like to ask you...well, when do you have time to talk?
-Hi? have we met? I have about 8 hours, starting now.
So he goes on to say that he's scared of HR and doesn't want to embarrass me and can't talk about it now, can we meet up later and talk. I should mention that there's a little bit of a language problem, and he kept saying things like, 'meet in public places' to, 'eat the foods, or drink the drinks.'
At this point I have an exaggerated look of confusion on my face and I'm thinking, ok, this kid is not trying to ask me out. But having no ability to repremand my inner child and needing to say things the moment i think them, i go, "sorry, you're not asking me out, right? Cuz I'm gay."
I waited a moment, and actually saw the successful translation in his facial expression, and he's like, "no shit? ok ok. ok, this is, uhhh, super."
So we start laughing even though I still have no idea what he's talking about and i'm like, so what's up?
-Well, it's about business.
-Room Service?
-Nonono, a business between you and me.
-We have a business?
-Well, yes. we could. and it could be very good for us both.
-ok, is this business legal?
-....well, yes.
Note: I watched 'Maria Full of Grace' the other night, so at this point i'm pretty sure he wants to use me as a drug mule to ship cocaine to and from Latin America. But he's from Romania, so that didn't make much sense.
So for 45 minutes this back and fourth continued.
All aboard the Vague-Train!! We'll be making stops...later...at certain destinations...I guess...
Finally I'm like, OK, you're killing me--what are we talking about?!
And with this my friends,
He sits down on a box of Large Evians,
looks up at me and says,
Jessica, I'd like to ask you to marry me.
I'll give you a second with that.
To be continued...
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Rainy Days and The Attack of Sloth Girl.
Hey, guess what?? It's raining out! you know what's better than a rainy day? A month of consecutive rainy days!!! It does wonders for the morale!
You know those people who go out in public with sweat suits on, and you stop to wonder, now is that really appropriate? Well, I'm that person...and yes, yes it is. Because nothing is more uncomfortable than wet denim and it's my day off and I will wear a sweat suit everywhere today. and when I come indoors I will switch it out for the fresh fuzzy hooded goodness of another one.
It's seriously SO wet outside. You know swimming?? that's dryer. I woke up early with delusions of grandeur thinking I'd take a jog on the beach, but it was pouring, so pancakes and my tivo list sounded much more appropriate. And that's what I've done. It's 130 in the afternoon, a shower is nowhere on my schedule and even typing 'pancake' is making me sick due to the amount of batter i've ingested.
Staying indoors for extended periods of time is not healthy. The effects are apparent. I was watching The Apprentice this morning, without the volume, making up the voices for everyone. If you've seen this season, there's a guy on it with a British accent, so it was particularly enjoyable to do his voice-over. This is a HIGHLY entertaining game and I completely recommend it to anyone who wants to feel bad about their life. When you're sitting alone in a jog-suit watching TV on mute, essentially talking to yourself and laughing til you cry, it's time to evaluate where you are.
OK, well I gotta get out of here. Thinking of going to the SFMOMA and i've bet myself a dollar that I won't go in sweat pants. I see that bet! and raise you!
sigh.
You know those people who go out in public with sweat suits on, and you stop to wonder, now is that really appropriate? Well, I'm that person...and yes, yes it is. Because nothing is more uncomfortable than wet denim and it's my day off and I will wear a sweat suit everywhere today. and when I come indoors I will switch it out for the fresh fuzzy hooded goodness of another one.
It's seriously SO wet outside. You know swimming?? that's dryer. I woke up early with delusions of grandeur thinking I'd take a jog on the beach, but it was pouring, so pancakes and my tivo list sounded much more appropriate. And that's what I've done. It's 130 in the afternoon, a shower is nowhere on my schedule and even typing 'pancake' is making me sick due to the amount of batter i've ingested.
Staying indoors for extended periods of time is not healthy. The effects are apparent. I was watching The Apprentice this morning, without the volume, making up the voices for everyone. If you've seen this season, there's a guy on it with a British accent, so it was particularly enjoyable to do his voice-over. This is a HIGHLY entertaining game and I completely recommend it to anyone who wants to feel bad about their life. When you're sitting alone in a jog-suit watching TV on mute, essentially talking to yourself and laughing til you cry, it's time to evaluate where you are.
OK, well I gotta get out of here. Thinking of going to the SFMOMA and i've bet myself a dollar that I won't go in sweat pants. I see that bet! and raise you!
sigh.
Monday, April 03, 2006
I'm not well
So I'm a horrible hypochondriac. It's bad. As soon as people mention illness, my eyes get itchy and I start to feel sick. I'd like to think it's because I'm so sympathetic, but, let's be real.
Without going into too much detail, there was a time I was almost positive I had contracted AIDS from a hot fudge sundae. Me and Nessa were on a road trip and stopped at a McDonalds in Georgia (if you can avoid it, never eat McDonalds. And unless life depends on it, never stop in Georgia). Long story short, we had been driving through the night, little sleep is no good for my imagination, and I thought my sundae had AIDS.
As we were driving out of Georgia and i was still freaking out Nessa goes, "Fine. Tomorrow we'll go to Planned Parenthood and when they ask you why you want an AIDS test just say it's very likely you contracted it from a hot fudge sundae."
That was enough to snap me back to reality,
But now that she's all med-school it's bad news bears for my craziness. I'll call with the most random questions and she'll calmly explain why it's not possible for me to have testicular cancer and I'll hang up relieved.
From our conversation the other day:
-hey, what's lymphoma?
-You don't have lymphoma.
-Well, what it is? Cuz I've heard if you have it you start to swell up and your ankles like fold over you feet.
-stop. stop. did you watch True Life?
And there it was. She caught me. There was a TrueLife MTV doc about weight gain, 'True Life: I weigh a lot' or something and i saw it recently. Every time they showed this woman who had lymphoma my eyes darted to my ankles to make sure they were OK. Her poor ankles, ooooh man. Not good. they had honestly swelled like 15times the normal size. and she kept putting socks on. All i could do was yell at the TV, "could you please not put the socks on!"
If you've seen it, you know.
Um, yeah.
On a semi-related note, thesmokinggun.com recently posted a memo from the casting director of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. The memo, distributed to ABC affiliates, basically asked to look for very specific diseases that would add to the emotional factor of the show. One of them included a rare disorder where children cannot feel pain.
um, what?
I looked it up, and it's true.
It's called CIPA and it disrupts nerve fibers so that kids can't feel pain.
Sorry, but just because little jonny can fall down a flight of stairs and not know it hurts, doesn't really mean he should get a pool and a 60inch plasma. We should be doing something to get ankles some new Kenmore appliances. Or maybe a new sectional for that poor girl who got herpes from her 99cent Jr. Frosty.
Without going into too much detail, there was a time I was almost positive I had contracted AIDS from a hot fudge sundae. Me and Nessa were on a road trip and stopped at a McDonalds in Georgia (if you can avoid it, never eat McDonalds. And unless life depends on it, never stop in Georgia). Long story short, we had been driving through the night, little sleep is no good for my imagination, and I thought my sundae had AIDS.
As we were driving out of Georgia and i was still freaking out Nessa goes, "Fine. Tomorrow we'll go to Planned Parenthood and when they ask you why you want an AIDS test just say it's very likely you contracted it from a hot fudge sundae."
That was enough to snap me back to reality,
But now that she's all med-school it's bad news bears for my craziness. I'll call with the most random questions and she'll calmly explain why it's not possible for me to have testicular cancer and I'll hang up relieved.
From our conversation the other day:
-hey, what's lymphoma?
-You don't have lymphoma.
-Well, what it is? Cuz I've heard if you have it you start to swell up and your ankles like fold over you feet.
-stop. stop. did you watch True Life?
And there it was. She caught me. There was a TrueLife MTV doc about weight gain, 'True Life: I weigh a lot' or something and i saw it recently. Every time they showed this woman who had lymphoma my eyes darted to my ankles to make sure they were OK. Her poor ankles, ooooh man. Not good. they had honestly swelled like 15times the normal size. and she kept putting socks on. All i could do was yell at the TV, "could you please not put the socks on!"
If you've seen it, you know.
Um, yeah.
On a semi-related note, thesmokinggun.com recently posted a memo from the casting director of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. The memo, distributed to ABC affiliates, basically asked to look for very specific diseases that would add to the emotional factor of the show. One of them included a rare disorder where children cannot feel pain.
um, what?
I looked it up, and it's true.
It's called CIPA and it disrupts nerve fibers so that kids can't feel pain.
Sorry, but just because little jonny can fall down a flight of stairs and not know it hurts, doesn't really mean he should get a pool and a 60inch plasma. We should be doing something to get ankles some new Kenmore appliances. Or maybe a new sectional for that poor girl who got herpes from her 99cent Jr. Frosty.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Seriously, stop.
I'm all for the cinematic quality the rain lends to certain situations. And as London exemplifies, even entire cities can become more charming with a natural shower. But I won't be standing outside blasting Peter Gabriel from a radio anytime soon, and San Francisco sucks in the rain.
The original slogan for Rice 'a Roni was actually, "San Francisco sucks in the rain" but the executives were all, that doesn't do much for the rice, so they changed it. But honestly, one more day of this and I'm going to break.
What kills me most is that people refuse to change their pace in relation to the bad weather. My personal curse is that i'm always stuck behind zig-zag walkers. Those people who stroll aimlessly one way, and then, nope, decide to go back the other way. Just in case you were wondering, they're the worst people in the world.
Zig-Zaggers with carts in the grocery store? The worst.
Zig-Zaggers on train platforms. The worst.
Zig-Zaggers with umbrellas in the rain? These people are like presidents of the club.
And I feel like it's gotta be a club. Only, how they ever get to the meetings is beyond me.
'Hey there friend, going to the meeting?'
'Well, I'd like to, but it's about 12 ft away so I don't think I'll be there on time.'
But why must the slowest people who chose to walk in S-formations always have the biggest umbrellas?? If it's not already hard enough to get around them on a sunny day, now you have this huge obstacle to contend with. It's like a really messed up version of Double Dare designed specifically to piss people off. And the physical challenge is just to see if you can go 3 blocks without kicking them.
Oh, man.
The original slogan for Rice 'a Roni was actually, "San Francisco sucks in the rain" but the executives were all, that doesn't do much for the rice, so they changed it. But honestly, one more day of this and I'm going to break.
What kills me most is that people refuse to change their pace in relation to the bad weather. My personal curse is that i'm always stuck behind zig-zag walkers. Those people who stroll aimlessly one way, and then, nope, decide to go back the other way. Just in case you were wondering, they're the worst people in the world.
Zig-Zaggers with carts in the grocery store? The worst.
Zig-Zaggers on train platforms. The worst.
Zig-Zaggers with umbrellas in the rain? These people are like presidents of the club.
And I feel like it's gotta be a club. Only, how they ever get to the meetings is beyond me.
'Hey there friend, going to the meeting?'
'Well, I'd like to, but it's about 12 ft away so I don't think I'll be there on time.'
But why must the slowest people who chose to walk in S-formations always have the biggest umbrellas?? If it's not already hard enough to get around them on a sunny day, now you have this huge obstacle to contend with. It's like a really messed up version of Double Dare designed specifically to piss people off. And the physical challenge is just to see if you can go 3 blocks without kicking them.
Oh, man.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
The 37 minute good-bye
usually my parents make their weekly call on Sunday, right after a huge breakfast and the paper, and then I have to hear about both. But my dad is always jumping the gun and calling on Saturday mornings, which I've asked him repeatedly not to do, because it means I'll have to hear the same stories twice. "Yea, dad. We talked about that yesterday." For a while I was screening my calls and just not answering when he would call on days other than Sunday, but that's honestly, like the biggest jerk move ever, and I had to stop. Plus, if i didn't pick up, there would be like 8 messages about squash in my voicemail.
I've learned over the years, that if i don't start to say good-bye the minute I pick up the phone, he'll never hang up. Really. But even with blatant hints, and flat out saying, "I have to go" he'll keep right on talking.
I just got off the phone with him. all my end of the conversation ever is, is saying what I need to do away from the phone.
-Hi dad-listen, I just got in from a run, i'm all gross, gonna jump in the shower and i'll talk to you guys tomorrow.
-Oh, OK. Just called to tell you that Rochester is selling the Fast Ferry.
-Pause....
-England might buy it! Or maybe Spain.
-Well, that's good. Can you tell me--
-They'll pay like $30 million for it used. I think it's $50 million new. So that's a savings!
-Um, yea. that's a deal, ooook, well
-Have you had any good salmon lately?
-Pause...
-I had the most delicious shrimp bisque the other night. Or was it crab? Nono, shrimp. ooh boy, it was good. We got some to go and I just had it for lunch with a grilled cheese sandwich.
-Speaking of food, I'm gonna grab some breakfast, I'll talk to you---
- And guess what? I was telling mom how much I miss the blueberry cobbler at the Basket Factory, remember that place? And guess what she did? she made one. only, it was cherry, but still.
-Pause...
And this continued, until I hung up, the right side of my face hot from the phone. tomorrow will be round 2, which is exactly like round one, only my mother will have stories too. "oh, Jessica, you'll never believe the bisque we had."
I've learned over the years, that if i don't start to say good-bye the minute I pick up the phone, he'll never hang up. Really. But even with blatant hints, and flat out saying, "I have to go" he'll keep right on talking.
I just got off the phone with him. all my end of the conversation ever is, is saying what I need to do away from the phone.
-Hi dad-listen, I just got in from a run, i'm all gross, gonna jump in the shower and i'll talk to you guys tomorrow.
-Oh, OK. Just called to tell you that Rochester is selling the Fast Ferry.
-Pause....
-England might buy it! Or maybe Spain.
-Well, that's good. Can you tell me--
-They'll pay like $30 million for it used. I think it's $50 million new. So that's a savings!
-Um, yea. that's a deal, ooook, well
-Have you had any good salmon lately?
-Pause...
-I had the most delicious shrimp bisque the other night. Or was it crab? Nono, shrimp. ooh boy, it was good. We got some to go and I just had it for lunch with a grilled cheese sandwich.
-Speaking of food, I'm gonna grab some breakfast, I'll talk to you---
- And guess what? I was telling mom how much I miss the blueberry cobbler at the Basket Factory, remember that place? And guess what she did? she made one. only, it was cherry, but still.
-Pause...
And this continued, until I hung up, the right side of my face hot from the phone. tomorrow will be round 2, which is exactly like round one, only my mother will have stories too. "oh, Jessica, you'll never believe the bisque we had."
Thursday, March 23, 2006
We Have To Name It?
An email was sent out at work announcing the birth of a colleagues son. "Healthy baby boy...mother is well...leaving hospital today ... name has yet to be determined."
um, what?!
Have you ever heard of this? How can you not have a name for your baby? That's like looking for a dog and never once suggesting what you'll call it. No, actually it's nothing like that. Because even people who will never have dogs, have names already picked out for them. If you can't list 3 names for a hypothetical dog, right this second, you're lying.
But a child?! You had 9 months, are you kidding me? Even Panda's can come up with names for their cubs and I think they have significantly less time to think about it. Granted, they could use an extra few months, they are notoriously horrible at naming offspring. "Yea, we're gonna go with Ling. And um, i guess ... yea, why don't we throw another Ling in there."
I thought I heard somewhere that you're not allowed to leave a hospital until the baby has a name. It'll be so obvious when the kid grows up that his parents put no thought into it and just spewed something out last minute. Like Jennifer Grey's character in Dirty Dancing.
The Director's Cut of that movie opens with her parents tapping on the glass of the nursery and a Doctor says, "You can't leave here until you give that baby a name."
And Jerry Orbach's character shrugs his shoulders and is like, "OK, whatever." And then he pulls a gun and gets all up in the doctor's face and says, "And I want her crib moved out of that effing corner, you dig?"
Oh yeah, Jerry Orbach was a Black Panther in that version. It was good.
um, what?!
Have you ever heard of this? How can you not have a name for your baby? That's like looking for a dog and never once suggesting what you'll call it. No, actually it's nothing like that. Because even people who will never have dogs, have names already picked out for them. If you can't list 3 names for a hypothetical dog, right this second, you're lying.
But a child?! You had 9 months, are you kidding me? Even Panda's can come up with names for their cubs and I think they have significantly less time to think about it. Granted, they could use an extra few months, they are notoriously horrible at naming offspring. "Yea, we're gonna go with Ling. And um, i guess ... yea, why don't we throw another Ling in there."
I thought I heard somewhere that you're not allowed to leave a hospital until the baby has a name. It'll be so obvious when the kid grows up that his parents put no thought into it and just spewed something out last minute. Like Jennifer Grey's character in Dirty Dancing.
The Director's Cut of that movie opens with her parents tapping on the glass of the nursery and a Doctor says, "You can't leave here until you give that baby a name."
And Jerry Orbach's character shrugs his shoulders and is like, "OK, whatever." And then he pulls a gun and gets all up in the doctor's face and says, "And I want her crib moved out of that effing corner, you dig?"
Oh yeah, Jerry Orbach was a Black Panther in that version. It was good.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
It's Sticky to Rock A Rhyme
The woman who restocks the Band-Aids in the kitchen first aid kit, came into work the other day. I love how many random jobs exist to keep this crazy world a'turnin. We have a whole cast of characters that come into the hotel at different times to "work" and we've affectionately named them all.
There's 'Tea Guy,' who comes in, looks at the tea, and then leaves. (ha. leaves). we've actually made up a song about him. The hook goes, "Just when you think your job sucks, Tea Guy comes, and you feel good."
There's 'Greasy Hands', a man who will show up from time to time to look under an oven or dishwasher, make coffee for himself and then head out. The thing is, we have hotel engineers to do this -- he's not one of them. We figure he found out that laying under machines for 3 minutes is a good way to get free coffee.
And monthly, there's a pest elimination crew, 'Da Crew' that comes in to spray everything. The spraying takes place after everyone has gone home, but the guys come in to wrap everything in plastic hours before hand. "Um could you hold off for a minute, we're actually using all this stuff." "Nope, gotta wrap it now." So we let them do it and then just rip it all off when they leave. It's like christmas morning, every time they come. "WHOA! and industrial freezer!! how'd you know??"
I'm not sure how Band-Aid Lady is compensated, but give me a box of j&j's and I can restock that shizz. But I guess I would be lacking the passion that she displays. Each time she comes in, we're stuck listening to her rant about different products for at least 20 minutes. This time, it was an impassioned speech about the stickiness of the Band-Aids we've been using. She held one in each hand, an original, and a new one, and moving her index fingers on and off the bandages, conducted the highly scientific industry test of stickiness.
"I'm testing them right now, and you know? I can't tell a difference."
Oh, and I should mention, Band-Aid Lady is crazy.
This is a true slice of her description of the new Band-Aid she was putting in the kit.
"Well, the flesh-tone are stickier. Everyone knows that. But in a kitchen, you need the blue, that's a rule."
"Oh, yea, i guess that makes sense."
"Well it's because they have metal detectors in them. So if you're using a knife or get too close to say, a mixer, or something, it has sensors that let you know. I don't know if you've ever tried one on and stood next to metal, but they'll let you know. Trust me."
To which Erik goes, "We're still talking about Band-Aids, right?"
Well played.
And Band-Aid Lady goes, "Well the chef up here complained that the old one's weren't sticky enough. So have him try these out today."
So Erik says, "Yea, and if he doesn't need one, we'll cut him so he's forced to try one."
And BAL nodded a few sharp nods, like it was a solid plan. "OK, good. Thank You."
I'm just constantly amazed by people.
There's 'Tea Guy,' who comes in, looks at the tea, and then leaves. (ha. leaves). we've actually made up a song about him. The hook goes, "Just when you think your job sucks, Tea Guy comes, and you feel good."
There's 'Greasy Hands', a man who will show up from time to time to look under an oven or dishwasher, make coffee for himself and then head out. The thing is, we have hotel engineers to do this -- he's not one of them. We figure he found out that laying under machines for 3 minutes is a good way to get free coffee.
And monthly, there's a pest elimination crew, 'Da Crew' that comes in to spray everything. The spraying takes place after everyone has gone home, but the guys come in to wrap everything in plastic hours before hand. "Um could you hold off for a minute, we're actually using all this stuff." "Nope, gotta wrap it now." So we let them do it and then just rip it all off when they leave. It's like christmas morning, every time they come. "WHOA! and industrial freezer!! how'd you know??"
I'm not sure how Band-Aid Lady is compensated, but give me a box of j&j's and I can restock that shizz. But I guess I would be lacking the passion that she displays. Each time she comes in, we're stuck listening to her rant about different products for at least 20 minutes. This time, it was an impassioned speech about the stickiness of the Band-Aids we've been using. She held one in each hand, an original, and a new one, and moving her index fingers on and off the bandages, conducted the highly scientific industry test of stickiness.
"I'm testing them right now, and you know? I can't tell a difference."
Oh, and I should mention, Band-Aid Lady is crazy.
This is a true slice of her description of the new Band-Aid she was putting in the kit.
"Well, the flesh-tone are stickier. Everyone knows that. But in a kitchen, you need the blue, that's a rule."
"Oh, yea, i guess that makes sense."
"Well it's because they have metal detectors in them. So if you're using a knife or get too close to say, a mixer, or something, it has sensors that let you know. I don't know if you've ever tried one on and stood next to metal, but they'll let you know. Trust me."
To which Erik goes, "We're still talking about Band-Aids, right?"
Well played.
And Band-Aid Lady goes, "Well the chef up here complained that the old one's weren't sticky enough. So have him try these out today."
So Erik says, "Yea, and if he doesn't need one, we'll cut him so he's forced to try one."
And BAL nodded a few sharp nods, like it was a solid plan. "OK, good. Thank You."
I'm just constantly amazed by people.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Always the bridesmaid
I don't get weddings. I suppose i understand the whole idea behind marriage but since most of the nation defines it as a union allowed only between a man and a woman, i'm inclined to find the whole thing a little silly. Like a sign of exclusion kids have tacked onto their tree fort, "No -- whatever -- allowed." OK fine, have your little club.
But people i love keep getting married so i'm not going to snub them just because i think it's ridiculous. I think balloon animals are pointless but i've never once passed up an inflated latex poodle. (how do they get that little ball on the tail?? i love that tail ball.)
Anyway, when i called my lifelong friend beth a few months ago, she answered the phone all flustered.
"can i call you back?"
"you sound nervous, are you ok?"
"shane is proposing."
which was followed by me cursing her out for answering the phone at such an inappropriate time until i realized i was ruining the moment for them and hung up.
when i called a mutual friend to tell her how crazy i thought this was she answered the phone whispering.
"why are you whispering?"
"i'm in the movies."
What's wrong with these people?!!
So beth asked me to be a bridesmaid which was super nice, and a little weird at the same time. we grew up together, so i think of all the little kid stuff we did, and now she's getting married, which seems like the most adult thing you can do. 2-year cellphone contracts freak me out. standing up there while she's being all grown up is going to be a true test of my maturity. good thing i'll be wearing the same thing as six other girls, it'll do a lot to establish me as an adult.
Could someone explain the bridesmaid dress thing?? I don't understand. If these are the people you're closest to, why would you make them all wear the same dress? Isn't that the big thing we're trying to avoid at parties? last year before my cousin's wedding i went into maxstudio and tried on the most ridiculous dress just because i thought no one else would have it. it had so many layers and straps it should have come with directions, and being the fashionista that i am, i got stuck in it. Seriously. arms above head, dress half on, head stuck in layers of material. For 20 minutes, trying to wiggle my way out of it, sweating profusely, hiding the fear in my voice when the sales people came by to check on me, until i honestly started to freak out. I was picturing how i could leave the store, without actually being able to see, no pants on, dress covering my upper body, hands in the air, without anyone noticing. Long story short, i had to be pulled from the dress, it ripped, i paid for it. You don't know humiliation until a stranger is pulling you out of a dress asking how you'd like to pay for it. And that's why i blush every time i see a maxstudio ad.
But i just got the pics of what we're wearing for beth's wedding, and to my complete relief, no straps. 'Cuz i love her and i wouldn't want to ruin her special day being the bridesmaid with the dress around her face.
But people i love keep getting married so i'm not going to snub them just because i think it's ridiculous. I think balloon animals are pointless but i've never once passed up an inflated latex poodle. (how do they get that little ball on the tail?? i love that tail ball.)
Anyway, when i called my lifelong friend beth a few months ago, she answered the phone all flustered.
"can i call you back?"
"you sound nervous, are you ok?"
"shane is proposing."
which was followed by me cursing her out for answering the phone at such an inappropriate time until i realized i was ruining the moment for them and hung up.
when i called a mutual friend to tell her how crazy i thought this was she answered the phone whispering.
"why are you whispering?"
"i'm in the movies."
What's wrong with these people?!!
So beth asked me to be a bridesmaid which was super nice, and a little weird at the same time. we grew up together, so i think of all the little kid stuff we did, and now she's getting married, which seems like the most adult thing you can do. 2-year cellphone contracts freak me out. standing up there while she's being all grown up is going to be a true test of my maturity. good thing i'll be wearing the same thing as six other girls, it'll do a lot to establish me as an adult.
Could someone explain the bridesmaid dress thing?? I don't understand. If these are the people you're closest to, why would you make them all wear the same dress? Isn't that the big thing we're trying to avoid at parties? last year before my cousin's wedding i went into maxstudio and tried on the most ridiculous dress just because i thought no one else would have it. it had so many layers and straps it should have come with directions, and being the fashionista that i am, i got stuck in it. Seriously. arms above head, dress half on, head stuck in layers of material. For 20 minutes, trying to wiggle my way out of it, sweating profusely, hiding the fear in my voice when the sales people came by to check on me, until i honestly started to freak out. I was picturing how i could leave the store, without actually being able to see, no pants on, dress covering my upper body, hands in the air, without anyone noticing. Long story short, i had to be pulled from the dress, it ripped, i paid for it. You don't know humiliation until a stranger is pulling you out of a dress asking how you'd like to pay for it. And that's why i blush every time i see a maxstudio ad.
But i just got the pics of what we're wearing for beth's wedding, and to my complete relief, no straps. 'Cuz i love her and i wouldn't want to ruin her special day being the bridesmaid with the dress around her face.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
could this BE more american?
Read an article a few days ago about recent studies showing a significant side effect of Ambien, the best selling sleeping pill in the US. It turns out, many people develop an eating disorder and sleepwalk into their kitchens making tons of snacks, and then head back to bed without realizing it. In one case, a woman gained 100 pounds before realizing the drug might have something to do with it. sorry, 100 freakin pounds??! around 40lbs, wouldn't she start to think, 'hey, i can't wear pants anymore. and why is the kitchen so messy in the morning? i live alone.'
In another case, a woman was found at different times making bacon and eggs in the night, heating the oven and eating sandwiches. people, she wasn't awake! "hey, what's for dinner? i don't know, let me go to sleep and i'll whip something up."
Only Americans could have side effects with such a strong lazy/gluttonous combo. i wish they'd give ambien to japanese people and see what happens. They'd all be making more fuel efficient cars and impressive origami in the wee hours of the night.
oh, america. we spend millions of dollars to fall asleep and wake up fatter. This is just the sort of thing i think the pilgrims hoped for on their voyage to the new world. Escape religious persecution and make eggs at 2 in the morning with your eyes closed.
Few people know this, but the first thanksgiving dinner took place after one of the native people gave everyone an Ambien. No one would have known about it had it not been for the brilliant sketch talents of a young Pocahontas. The next day when people saw the drawings, they agreed to try it awake.
That's true.
But the story does not end well, i'm afraid, for poor Pocahontas. After seeing her abilities, her people used her as a cariciture artist and she was never allowed to leave. That's why in every depiction we have today of Native Americans, they are seen riding bikes or playing beach volleyball.
In another case, a woman was found at different times making bacon and eggs in the night, heating the oven and eating sandwiches. people, she wasn't awake! "hey, what's for dinner? i don't know, let me go to sleep and i'll whip something up."
Only Americans could have side effects with such a strong lazy/gluttonous combo. i wish they'd give ambien to japanese people and see what happens. They'd all be making more fuel efficient cars and impressive origami in the wee hours of the night.
oh, america. we spend millions of dollars to fall asleep and wake up fatter. This is just the sort of thing i think the pilgrims hoped for on their voyage to the new world. Escape religious persecution and make eggs at 2 in the morning with your eyes closed.
Few people know this, but the first thanksgiving dinner took place after one of the native people gave everyone an Ambien. No one would have known about it had it not been for the brilliant sketch talents of a young Pocahontas. The next day when people saw the drawings, they agreed to try it awake.
That's true.
But the story does not end well, i'm afraid, for poor Pocahontas. After seeing her abilities, her people used her as a cariciture artist and she was never allowed to leave. That's why in every depiction we have today of Native Americans, they are seen riding bikes or playing beach volleyball.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Oh, that drunk girl with the beads? M'big sis.
my sisters are hilarious. Vanessa is witty funny and will act weird for a laugh, which is always good. Sabrina makes me laugh just by talking. And then she gets pissed because she's not trying to be funny, and gets mad that I'm not taking her seriously, and that makes me laugh harder.
Example. She called at like 1AM my time on Saturday to tell me about our cousin Steven's party in nyc. The kid went all out, and it sounded like an amazing time. I was trying to pay attention but she talks so fast normally that when she's drunk, there's just no stopping her.
I guess whoever got the most beads by the end of the night, won an ipod. So brina was going on and on in her very own special version of drunk girl dialect and I was trying my best not to hang up on her.
"So I was working the room, right? Talking to EVERYBODY getting their beads. They kept saying, you're gonna win, I want you to win."
"But you already have an ipod, right?"
"Yes, but still. So The whole night I had all these heavy beads on me, and they were hot and I was getting so sweaty and gross, and when we weighed them out at the end of the night, i was totally the winner. There was no contest. But Steven gave the ipod to this other girl! Can you believe that?!"
"Yea, bri, you have one, who cares?"
(screaming) "I DO! Those beads got heavy and my skin is all itchy now!"
Sorry, I freakin love my sister, but when people call me in the early morning to yell at me in slurred speech about sensitive skin and missing second ipods, I get full quickly.
"Ok, sorry Bri, I'm gonna go."
And like a switch, the wonders of drunk girl kicked in and she was happy as a clam. "OK, bye sister!! I'll send pics!!"
oh, I enjoy it.
it's heavy, but important.
Start light.
Ben Stein's column in Sunday's NYTimes opened with perhaps my favorite bit of dialogue in any film, ever. And that's saying a lot. It's the scene in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life when executives are in a meeting and they ask one of the members to comment on the meaning of life.
"Yeah, I've had a team working on this over the past few weeks, and what we've come up with can be reduced to two fundamental concepts. One: People aren't wearing enough hats. Two: Matter is energy. In the universe there are many energy fields which we cannot normally perceive. Some energies have a spiritual source which act upon a person's soul. However, this 'soul' does not exist ab initio as orthodox Christianity teaches; it has to be brought into existence by a process of guided self-observation. However, this is rarely achieved owing to man's unique ability to be distracted from spiritual matters by everyday trivia."
To which is colleagues reply, "What was that about hats again?"
Right, so Stein goes on to say that being grateful is a good way to find meaning and that, "to be grateful is to get rich not just quickly, but instantly." I like this, and I agree.
But I think that it's too neat and FAR too American to think that that is enough. Just being here is a ridiculously good fortune, and it's not enough just to say you're thankful for it. That's like the 7- minute soul workout and then back to hats.
Nicholas D. Kristoff wrote an incredibly powerful piece in the Op-ed section about the genocide in Chad and Sudan. What's happening there is abhorrent and that the world allows it to continue is inexcusable. An old roommate worked as a photo-journalist in Sudan, and you can't imagine the constant fear with which the people there must live.
I totally and genuinely urge you to help put an end to this by sending a postcard to our ridiculous leader encouraging him to grow a pair and do something. http://www.millionvoicesfordarfur.org/. Another great site to learn about more we can do is http://www.genocideintervention.net/.
People, this is really important.
Ben Stein's column in Sunday's NYTimes opened with perhaps my favorite bit of dialogue in any film, ever. And that's saying a lot. It's the scene in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life when executives are in a meeting and they ask one of the members to comment on the meaning of life.
"Yeah, I've had a team working on this over the past few weeks, and what we've come up with can be reduced to two fundamental concepts. One: People aren't wearing enough hats. Two: Matter is energy. In the universe there are many energy fields which we cannot normally perceive. Some energies have a spiritual source which act upon a person's soul. However, this 'soul' does not exist ab initio as orthodox Christianity teaches; it has to be brought into existence by a process of guided self-observation. However, this is rarely achieved owing to man's unique ability to be distracted from spiritual matters by everyday trivia."
To which is colleagues reply, "What was that about hats again?"
Right, so Stein goes on to say that being grateful is a good way to find meaning and that, "to be grateful is to get rich not just quickly, but instantly." I like this, and I agree.
But I think that it's too neat and FAR too American to think that that is enough. Just being here is a ridiculously good fortune, and it's not enough just to say you're thankful for it. That's like the 7- minute soul workout and then back to hats.
Nicholas D. Kristoff wrote an incredibly powerful piece in the Op-ed section about the genocide in Chad and Sudan. What's happening there is abhorrent and that the world allows it to continue is inexcusable. An old roommate worked as a photo-journalist in Sudan, and you can't imagine the constant fear with which the people there must live.
I totally and genuinely urge you to help put an end to this by sending a postcard to our ridiculous leader encouraging him to grow a pair and do something. http://www.millionvoicesfordarfur.org/. Another great site to learn about more we can do is http://www.genocideintervention.net/.
People, this is really important.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Orange you glad?
Yea Big East Champs!! So, Syracuse basketball is amazing. I love it:
a) because it's awesome
b) because it reminds me of the great times at the dome, ahh, dome sweet dome. and
c) well.. i guess that's it.
Equally as awesome is XM satellite radio which allowed me to listen to the game last night at work (i will now be paid $1500 from XM). But there's something very intimate about listening to a sports game on the radio. Baseball and football are no good for this, too much downtime, but college hoops? Forget about it--it's effing awesome! Not only do I have a newfound respect for commentators--the play by play is incredible, i'd kill to play one round of Simon says with them--but it's up to your own imagination to fill in where the players are and how they look. I was so all about this. For the first half of the game, I pictured all the PITT players as Snuggles the fabric softener bear, but I thought that was too cute and found myself routing for them, so second half I envisioned them all as that scary Bird lady character from Chuck E. Cheese. Right, so typing it out I realize I'm six years old. Hmm. Oh well.
But the commentators kept talking about the Gerry fan section at the Garden without giving it a name. They'd be like, "And look at the G-Mac fan section!" "All those people over there really love Gerry!" "They're going crazy over there in that particular area!" Cello?! give it a name-- I suggest G-spot.
Oh, and I have honestly, like 35 different Syracuse-related puns, so, get 'cuse to it.
aw snap.
a) because it's awesome
b) because it reminds me of the great times at the dome, ahh, dome sweet dome. and
c) well.. i guess that's it.
Equally as awesome is XM satellite radio which allowed me to listen to the game last night at work (i will now be paid $1500 from XM). But there's something very intimate about listening to a sports game on the radio. Baseball and football are no good for this, too much downtime, but college hoops? Forget about it--it's effing awesome! Not only do I have a newfound respect for commentators--the play by play is incredible, i'd kill to play one round of Simon says with them--but it's up to your own imagination to fill in where the players are and how they look. I was so all about this. For the first half of the game, I pictured all the PITT players as Snuggles the fabric softener bear, but I thought that was too cute and found myself routing for them, so second half I envisioned them all as that scary Bird lady character from Chuck E. Cheese. Right, so typing it out I realize I'm six years old. Hmm. Oh well.
But the commentators kept talking about the Gerry fan section at the Garden without giving it a name. They'd be like, "And look at the G-Mac fan section!" "All those people over there really love Gerry!" "They're going crazy over there in that particular area!" Cello?! give it a name-- I suggest G-spot.
Oh, and I have honestly, like 35 different Syracuse-related puns, so, get 'cuse to it.
aw snap.
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