Jeffery's 60th: A Recap.

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

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

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

Brace your face for cringing.

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

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

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

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

Well said, Mer.

Now About Those Cheesy Rolls.

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

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

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

Leaves An Impression.

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

Blerg.

We Can Still Be Friends.

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

I particularly enjoyed this little story for two reasons:

1) Duh.

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

Everyone gasped. 

I was off by a few years. 

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

-So Liz thinks we should date.

-Why, because we're both tall?

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

Good For You.

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

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

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

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

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

Harvey: I have exciting news!

Me: You do?!

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

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

I Almost Fell On Me.

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

"What was that, an I?"

"Yeah, I'm switching the shows."

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

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

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

"I hit me."

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

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

From a conversation I overheard:

-Are you Irish?

-No.

-Why not?

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

Waiting Behind a Couch.

Another kind no from the publishing world: 

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

Pretty nice.

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

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

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

*The whole process is slow, but exciting. 

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

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

$2 Bill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bottom left pocket- Phone, 6 dimes.

Inner right pocket- gum, notes.

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

Shit.

I knew where I had to go. 

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

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

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

Love That Sweater. Injera?

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, my buddy played along.

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

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

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

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

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

Der Handschuh.

This isn't a story about gloves. 

It's not even a story, really. Not in the "once upon a time" sense, anyway. It's more of a reminder. Just a post-it to say that sometimes, things that you thought were lost can magically reappear. And how lucky you feel to find a pair of gloves that you carelessly misplaced. 

OK, it's kind of about gloves. 

I Miss Paula.

One of the best work-related memos I've ever read was at the hotel when a morning Manager report said only, "Jesus called in sick for his 6:30 shift."

I remember thinking, "Well that's never good."

But yesterday at work when we going through a list of attendees for a joint baby shower being held for two pregnant coworkers, someone asked, "Who's Paula?"

All of us paused for a second, kind of squinting in that way you do to nudge your memory, until finally, we just shook our heads. No one knew a Paula.

"Well she better show up." one of my coworkers said. "She signed up to bring like all of the salads."

I Think You're Doing It Wrong.

I saw a man attempt to parallel park last night with half of his body leaning out of the open driver's side door.  

You know the saying, "if you have to ask, you can't afford it."? Well, if half of your body is literally not inside your vehicle as you're trying to park, maybe you should circle the block a few times to find a pull-through spot.

It's not as catchy, I know. But there's truth there.  

Winter Olympics Fun Fact III.

Ice Dancing was the first Olympic sport to embarrass the families of those participating. 

Winter Olympics Fun Fact II.

Thanks to the aggressive Olympic coverage of men's and women's Curling, Procter & Gamble's Swiffer Sweeper and the iRobot Roomba have collectively seen a 56% increase in sales, beating analysts' forecasts for this quarter.

And the hardwood floors of the world have never been cleaner.

I'm Becoming An Incredibly Awkward Disney Character.

You know how in Disney movies animals just gather around the main characters while they're going about their everyday business? Well that's fine if you're a cartoon who occasionally bursts into song, but neither of those things apply to me, so I'd appreciate it if the wildlife would just stay away for a hot minute so I can walk around my neighborhood without screaming obscenities. 

I've previously discussed the cat problem in my neighborhood, and it's only getting worse. I have to say, "Go away, cat!" pretty much everyday because without fail, some freaky looking cat pops out of something and starts walking with me. I really don't like cats. And the other day while walking around Jamaica Pond I saw a horse. A horse! No one was near it, just a horse, chillin by the walking trail. When I eventually got closer, the horse was standing next to a sign that said, "I'm eating my lunch, please don't disturb." And of course, that freaked me out. It turns out it was a Police Horse (a cop's horse, not a crime-fighting horse) but where was the cop?! And why was the sign written in the first person like that?!

 

Being surrounded by random animals is by no means a new thing for me. But last night, I saw cat walking near me out of the corner of my eye, and as I turned to say, "Go away, cat!" I noticed that it was actually a giant skunk! People, I'm serious. I don't know how long it was trailing me, but it really would have been the perfect topper to my gem of a week if I was sprayed by a skunk.

So You're Telling Me There's A Chance.

I stub my ego enough in my everyday life that hearing "no" from the publishing world has actually been a welcomed little twist. True, they're not interested. But they deliver that unfortunate news in such a delightful way!

My agent wrote me last night with the rejections from some of the editors that currently have my manuscript. The rejections she sent were in "digest form"--her words-- probably meaning, "I took all the marshmallow charms out of the box for you, leaving all of crappy oat-like bits behind. You're welcome."

So here are my first official editor rejections!

From Quirk:
Jason Rekulak asked me to field OPEN-EYED SNEEZE—as it’s definitely more of a Margaret book than a Jason book—and it cracked me up! So many of Jessica’s stories hit close to home. (I seriously considered joining Jazzercize post-college. And, gosh, my mom would be thrilled if I worked for Riverdance instead of Quirk Books! Sigh…) Following the success of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, we are considering more and more quirky fiction, but memoirs are still pretty far outside our comfort zone. Please send me anything else you think might be appropriate for our list, especially funny, oddball stuff like this project. Best of luck finding a good home for it! 

From St. Martin’s:
Many thanks for sending OPEN-EYED SNEEZE by Jessica Martin, which I’ve now had a chance to read.  There’s a lot to like in here.  Martin offers plenty of laugh-out-loud moments and an endearing kind of self-deprecation.  There are good episodes, among them the story surrounding her time in England when she suffered a bout of, let’s say, immobility.  Like David Sedaris, the author is at her best when she’s digressing—something she does naturally and often.  But I’m afraid I had a hard time seeing this as book.  While I enjoyed that meandering quality, the stories eventually began to feel a bit toodirectionless.  The chapters seemed self-contained, not contributing to a bigger narrative arc the way I’d hoped. That’s all to say that I just didn’t fall in love with this one.  I’m afraid I’m going to have to bow out.  But I was glad to have the chance to consider it!  

Broadway:
Thanks so much for thinking of me for for  Jessica Martin's  hilarious memoir. I did read this  last night, and while I thought her writing  was incredibly frank and witty,  and her insights so keenly observed,  in the end I felt like her experiences  weren't quite unique or  singular enough to convince me we could get enough  attention for this.  On one hand, part of the appeal of her writing is that she  is so  relatable, as so many of us have had experienced this sort of   frustration over what to do with our lives, but given how crowded the  memoir  is, ultimately I felt this just didn't have that hook to make  it really stand  out. She's a great writer, no question, but  unfortunately the story itself  just didn't grab me as much as I'd  hoped.

Ballantine:
thanks for sending me OPEN-EYED SNEEZE.  I did get a chance to read the manuscript, and I found it funny and charming.  However, I don't know if there's a market for this.  Job-seekers and recent graduates totally need someone to relate to, but I think that they'd be drawn more to straight-out advice than a memoir.  

Gotham:
I actually did dip into the manuscript last night. Jessica is a good writer and I laughed out loud in several parts, but ultimately her negative tone was off-putting to me. She seemed to be trying too hard to make her experience moving home appear horribly pathetic, when in fact, her family sounds quite nice and supportive if a little annoying sometimes-- but whose family isn't? As you know, memoirs can be tough and I'm afraid this one just didn't speak to me enough to take it on. But I'm sure you'll find a good home for it.

That last one is probably the worst, but when I called to tell my mother about it she goes, "Oh, they thought our family was nice! That's nice to hear!"

Winter Olympics Fun Fact.

Beyond the aerodynamic body positioning techniques used on the in-run, and far more important than any stylistic landing points, the most pivotal aspect of ski jumping is the athlete's mid-air exclamation of "Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

 

Don't Steal It.

Tell me that an underwear company called Crocodile Undie isn't the best idea you've heard all day.

That's Deep.

I don't like when people say things like, "I'm really growing as a person."

It's always said as some sort of profound realization.

Of course you're growing as a person. You're not growing as a tiger. 

(or are you?)

Sabrina's 30th.

Pics from my sister's birthday. I don't know if it was because of her incredibly nice friends, the fact that my favorite person in the world flew in from Chicago, or just that Brina seriously knows how to throw a party, but the whole night was amazing.  

Get Off Me!

After what can only be described as the single greatest party I have ever attended, I woke up Sunday morning so incredibly thirsty that I could barely open my mouth to yawn.  I remember thinking, This is what sand must feel like all the time. But that thought was quickly interrupted by the intense pain in my legs.  

Despite my complete lack of dance skill, I've been known to take advantage of a dropped beat. So my initial thought concerning the leg pain was that it was related to a high heel/get low combo. Mystery solved. But geez, how much could I have danced? My legs were freaking killing me. Desperately in need of a glass of water, I tried to move off the couch in my sister's living room, but found that I could not actually move my legs. Now I was getting scared. With a mouth too dry to speak, I just said "ow" over and over to myself in my head as I tried to wiggle some life into my feet and did a slow oblique crunch upward to see what the hell the problem was. 

The good news first: My leg pain was not in any way related to dancing or shoes. I was immediately relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with any embarrassing aftermath concerning my attempts to glide. 

The bad news: My leg pain was related to me. Literally.  When I lifted my torso to look at my legs, I found that my little sister and her friend were BOTH laying on me. ON ME. Sound asleep. Two people, sleeping like babies, on top of my legs. 

I was so upset when I saw the two of them enjoying their rest that all I wanted to do was kick them. But having two people sleep on top of your legs all night causes that sleeping foot sensation for the entire lower half of your body. So instead, I just pinched Nessa's neck until she woke up and I was able to shimmy my way off the couch for some water.

Later that day, when I was recounting my wake-up call, Sabrina asked, "How did you guys fall asleep like that? Wasn't it uncomfortable?"

Dumbfounded by the question, I interjected, "Excuse me! I think you mean to ask, how did you fall asleep like that, morally?! Didn't it occur to you that, hey, maybe we shouldn't sleep on another human being?!"

Shaking their heads with a smile, both Nessa and her friend replied, "You're comfy."

Shopping list: Glasses, Flashlight, Cup of Coffee.

It can be pretty dark on my street when the other houses don't have their lights on at night. I'm prone to tripping or walking into things with even the best conditions, so when I'm tired and it's dark out, I really don't stand a chance.  

Just before reaching my apartment last night my foot hit something kind of light and soft. There are a lot of random cats around my neighborhood-- it really freaks me out--so I was pretty sure that I had just kicked a stray with my stride and was hoping to avoid stepping on it. After the initial kick, I jumped up and landed on something equally soft. This caused me to jump again, and once more, I stepped on something. A lot of jumping and a lot of swearing were involved, until I finally reached the back steps of my apartment and looked down at my feet. There seemed to be some sort of thick goo all over my sneakers so I ran to the grass to wipe them off thinking to myself, "What the hell was that?!"

By this morning, there was a fresh dusting of snow on the ground that made the entire street look impeccably clean. Walking down the driveway and onto the sidewalk, I saw splashes of red that stood out in such strong contrast to the white snow that I almost threw up. Slowly stepping closer, afraid of what I might find, I saw the squashed, ruined remains of three jelly doughnuts.    

Did You Know..

We could save 28 billion dollars in the national budget if administrative workers in government offices stopped stealing pens. 

That's true.

You Are Not The Father.

Egypt is set to announce the results of a DNA test conducted on King Tut, the Associated Press reports.  The test was run in order to learn more about the famous ancient king's lineage. The findings will be revealed on February 17 on Maury.

Book Update: And We're Off!

My agent* wrote me an email yesterday with the subject line, "And we're off!" letting me know that my manuscript has been sent out on its first round with publishers. It was a really exciting little moment for me to think that something I worked on will now be read by people who make books.  And I'd be lying if I said I didn't envision my manuscript wearing an oversized backpack, taking slow high steps to board a bus, as I stood back and waved, "Bye little guy! Have a great first day!" 

I basically did that every time I sent my manuscript anywhere. 

So in case you haven't been playing along at home, here's a breakdown of the events regarding the book:

1) Wrote a book

2) Googled "what to do after you write a book"

3) Bought a Guide To Literary Agents at the Union Square Borders in San Francisco. I distinctly remember this because at the time, I thought it was like buying a telephone book. Just find an agent I like and work with them. Easy!

4) Discovered that's not how that works.

5) Queried, queried, queried. 

6) Waited.

7) Heard a lot of "Thanks, but no thanks!"

8) Got an email from Penn Whaling asking to speak with me.

9) Had a "phone meeting" with Penn. Conveniently, she is hilarious, and agrees to represent me.

10) Danced around the apartment with my roommates' dog

11) Worked on the re-writes Penn suggested

12) Received "And we're off!" email. 

Stay tuned!

*It always feels slightly pretentious to say "my agent." So whenever I do, I say to myself in my head, "Your travel agent? Your insurance agent? Your secret agent?"

Who Are You Talking To?

I saw a makeover segment on the Today show this morning and with each reveal I said, "Oh, wow. She looks great."

Three different makeovers. Three times talking to myself. 

And it wasn't even that the makeovers were so unbelievable that I had to comment. They basically just got haircuts. But for some reason, whenever before and after pictures are involved I feel compelled to say, "Oh, wow. She looks great."

Watching sports or really bad reality television usually gives you a pass for talking to yourself in front of the TV. I'm definitely guilty of the solo "Did you see that?!" exclamation before hitting the 15-second rewind on the DVR. But this morning, after saying "Oh, wow. She looks great." out loud, three times in a row, really for no reason at all,  it occurred to me that I might be using television as an excuse to hear my own voice.

Missed That Preview.

Eat your heart out, Ebert and Roeper.

-Do you want to go see Crazy Face? 

-Hmmm. Crazy Face? Haven't heard about that one. 

-About the country music star.

-And his crazy messed up face?

-Crazy HEART. You know what I meant.

-No, I know about Crazy Heart. But now I really want to see Crazy Face. That sounds good.

-I'm going to hang up. 

-The one about the googly-eyed country singer whose tongue hangs out like a Chinese Crested? Let's see that. 

[Click.]

Seriously, though. I'd see that movie.

That Seems About Right.

A department store in the UK has started a new program that offers gift registry for divorce. Just like a wedding registry, customers are able to go around the store and pick out whatever they want, and then present the list to friends and family as a "Registry." Of course, the more obvious name for the list is, "Buy this shit for me." But department stores are very clever creatures when it comes to syntax.

The store behind the new registry says that couples going through a divorce will soon need life's essentials, because they could potentially lose half of what they own. So that amazing toaster you bought for your friends on their wedding day? Buy another one. That beautiful set of copper cookware? More, please. And if you gave cash? Well, lawyers aren't free you know. 

I have my rants about weddings in general, but this is ridiculous. How does your committed relationship translate to me buying you appliances? And furthermore, after you've taken the marriage for a test run and found that it's not for you, how does that translate to even more appliances?

You know who needs a gift registry? Unemployed people. They could use something nice. You know who else? People living with their parents. I've been there, and a flat screen in my room would have been more than appreciated if it meant I didn't have to watch House Hunters in the living room with Deb and Steve on a Saturday night. 

Mom: I like house #2. The neighborhood is great, and the kitchen is nice. What do you think?

Dad: House #3. The floors are beautiful and it's move-in ready.

Mom: But they want to start a family. #2 is better for them.

Dad: But as an investment, #2 doesn't make any sense. They''ll go #3. Although #1 is nice too. What do you think, Jess?

Me: I'm pretty sure I want to die. 

A divorce registry is completely awkward and I don't even want to think about what the thank you cards for those gifts might look like. Plus, years from now, who's going to want to look at their limited edition KitchenAid mixer on the counter and think, oh, that reminds me of my divorce.  

Aw, Man.

A few years ago in New York, after enjoying one too many adult beverages, I gave my phone away to someone. I vaguely remember saying, "Call me" but I certainly don't remember handing them my phone. That part was retold to me the next day.  Anyway, when I called the cellphone company to explain the situation, they informed me that there were about 40 calls to the Bronx on my bill. 

While annoying and expensive, that little situation had a very Eastern influence on my thoughts about possessions. Things come, things go. You buy things, you give them away to strangers when you're drunk and confused about the number exchange process. And for the most part, that's been my mindset about personal belongings. A lot of shoulder shrugs are involved.

Although apparently, my Buddhist thoughts concerning tangible items do not apply to frequent buyer cards.  I've been eating sandwiches at a great place in my neighborhood since I moved here and just recently realized they have a buy 10 get one free card. These tasty little numbers aren't cheap, so I was amped to get in on a freebie. I got my 10th punch yesterday and happily shoved the card into my back pocket, thinking about what free sandwich I would get next time. 

Cut to this morning, those pants and my fully punched card are spinning around the dryer. I only discovered this while cleaning out the lint trap, after the load of laundry was totally done. Seeing tiny bits of my sandwich card mixed in with that soft blue peel of lint that you can always lift off like a pudding skin wasn't the greatest way to start my day. I wonder if the people at my sandwich shop will be more understanding than my wireless provider.  

??Mystery Post??: Up Top!

The votes for the first ever interactive poll are in. That was exciting. [cough].

We're going with the Mystery Post this first time around, and ironically, what I'm about to tell you is no great mystery: I love a good high five. Love it. I can't help myself. 

Lately, I've had the uncontrollable urge to give everyone I pass a high five, encouraging them to go along with it by instructing, "Up top!" It almost never works. And then I'm stuck with my arm in the air. But I have this visual of walking down the street and getting a high five from everyone and I can't shake it. I mean, seriously--how cool would that be? 

I don't know why people are so anti-high five. It's fun, it makes you feel like you've done a good job with something, even if you haven't, and, well, I guess that's it. So I'm taking the Up Top! Revolution to the next level by inviting you to give somebody an "Up Top!" high five. Let me know how it goes. 

Team Coco.

Love it.

4 SALE: BARELY-USED LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW - MAKE ME AN OFFER!!! (UNIVERSAL STUDIOS)

---

Date: 2010-01-15, 12:55AM PST
Reply to: see below 

---

This is the chance of a lifetime to own your very own late night talk show -- guaranteed to last for up to seven months! Really must see to appreciate. 

Information for potential buyers: 

- Measures 100' x 100' x 32' -- plenty of room for a futon! 

- Designed for 11:35 but can be easily moved 

- Band can be sold separately 

- Buyer must honor Barry Manilow booking next Thursday 


MAKE ME YOUR BEST OFFER! (Also willing to trade for Coldplay tickets.) 

• Location: UNIVERSAL STUDIOS
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1553543187

And I have to say, Andy Richter had a great line last night. Believing that he finally had a gig that would be safe for years to come, he admitted that he has spent a little cash in the last seven months. 

"I dropped 400 grand on a Bar Mitzvah for my son. He's nine! And we're Lutherans!"  

Choose Your Own Adventure: OES Edition

Hello and welcome to what I believe is the first ever interactive post for this blog. 

Here's how it works: I'll give you the title and brief synopsis for a post, and then, based on your votes, I'll write that post and put it up here. It's just like all those reality shows you adore, except I won't be standing in front of a camera with a high-five and peace sign whispering, "SEVEN. Please call. SEVEN." 

Right. Well, we'll see how this goes. 

1) Hair Don't.

-While getting my hair cut, I discover that I have recently avoided a potentially embarrassing and awkward situation, only to have a different one quite literally shoved in my face. 

2) Sorry, We're Closed.

- I pass a styrofoam cup on the sidewalk attached with string to a cart of belongings, accompanied by a sign that says, "Back In Five Minutes." It reminds me of a story.  

3) Do You Have This In a Size Drunk?

-I randomly walk into Banana Republic on a night they happen to be serving wine and cheese. Awesome.

4) ???Mystery Post??? 

-This is like a "Chance" card. Who knows what it could end up being about! Exciting, right?

Unrelated note: Thanks very much to everyone who voted in the 2003, "Should I sell my kidney?" Poll. And many thanks to all the volunteers on the subsequent, "Who Needs Two?" Tour.

Appropriate Use of Unlimited Texts.

"I'm renting the complete first season of The Commish."

I Just Work Here.

Saw a girl working at a Rosetta Stone kiosk who looked so bored I thought she might tip over. Staring out at the feet of the people passing her by, she rested her head in her hand and her arm on a box of Level 1 Farsi. 

I don't know if I've ever seen a person less interested in anything. Don't you think she might want to learn one sentence in every language possible instead of falling asleep on a DVD tutorial? What sentence, though? Hmm. I don't know. Maybe she ran into the same problem. 

But as I watched her sink lower onto the counter, I was totally kicking myself for not knowing how to say "Timber!" in Farsi. 

And Don't Forget Your Booties.

"'Cause it's coooold out there today!"

"It's coooold out there everyday. What is this, Miami Beach?"

"Not hardly."

When my alarm went off at 5:30 in the morning the other day, I had already been awake for 2 hours listening to the wind.  Actually, to call it "wind" is a gross understatement.  It sounded like Mother Nature, Old Man Winter, and Death had all gathered right outside my window to blow out the trick candles on their joint birthday cake. It was loud, and scary, and just sounded cold. Can something sound cold? Yes. It can. If bitterly cold had an album, the sound of the wind that morning would be the bonus track.  

So the 5:30 alarm was by no means a wake-up. It just signaled that I had to leave my ridiculously comfortable bed and get ready for work. But on cold mornings, anything you do besides staying in bed seems asinine.

[Throw back blanket and comforter].

Mind: Why are you doing that?

[Sit up].

Mind: Well this seems silly.

[Get out of bed].

Mind: I sincerely hope you're just going to the bathroom and then getting right back in here.

[Take shower].

Mind: Do you have any idea how cold you're going to be when you get out of this shower?!

[Get dressed].

Mind: Don't do it you idiot! 

It's this duality of "I have to go to work" involuntary actions and "But it's really effing cold out" mindset that causes me to whimper throughout my morning routine. It's not until I walk out the door and that first burst of cold air hits me that my mind and body can agree on one cohesive thought. Namely, "Fuck."

I have a friend that says, "I LOVE the cold!" whenever someone mentions the cold, and I've tried to take this on as a mantra of sorts. So let me set the scene for you:

Still in the darkness of the early morning, I left my apartment to face the wind and snow--so much snow in fact, that I had no choice but to walk in the middle of the road like a crazy person.  Screaming, "I LOVE the cold!" over and over to myself as the freezing winter pounded my face, I hustled past the snow plows nearly running me over as I used the urban glide.

After about 3-minutes of this, I crossed paths with a woman doing exactly the same thing.  She didn't have a mantra, she was just screaming, "GAH!" (also a go-to classic) and she was running more than sliding, but same basic idea. With the snow and wind blowing all around us, we looked up for a second to catch the situation and both keeled over laughing in the middle of the road. Really. It was one of those What are we doing? moments that leaves you no option other than: Laugh with stranger.

I love the cold.

 

Is It Spicy?

New Years isn't really New Years for me without Chinese food. Up until I was 18, we spent every New Years Eve at my Great Grandmother's house and really good Chinese food was always a part of that tradition.  So even in years past, when I've tried to put an effort into making exciting plans for New Years Eve, I've always found myself out at a crowded bar asking everyone,"Do you want to go get an egg roll?"

Totally thought of a co-worker while planning my Chinese take-out order for this New Years Eve because of something that happened at the company holiday party last month. It should be noted that this girl has a fantastic sense of humor. She just also happens to believe anything you say.

At the party, a dance remix of The Black Eyed Peas Boom Boom Pow was playing for about six minutes straight. Unable not to comment on the ridiculous version of the song, I yelled over the dance track, "Whenever I order Chinese, I get a quart of Boom Boom Pow."

Nodding like it wasn't random at all to bring up Chinese food orders out of nowhere, she yelled back, "Oh, that sounds good." 

A New Decade: A Time To Reflect.

So my father called me yesterday to wax poetic about the changing of the decade.  Namely, he kept saying, "10 years, Jess! 10 years!" 

The thing is, after hearing it 15 times in a 15-minute conversation, it sort of became a good point. 

So eventually, this was my response: 

"You're right, dad. A lot happened in the last 10 years. You saw all your daughters graduate from college, travelled thousands and thousands of miles for visits and to help us move to different cities around the country, wrote so many great letters as the world's best pen-pal, started the business venture with the squash and saw that take off, had a lot of great laughs, and a lot of great meals, and you bought a different car, which is definitely something you don't do very often. It was a busy little decade."

To which he replied:

"You said it. A lot of change. So much is changing. Brockport is even getting a Metro Mattress." 

As I sat quietly on the other end of the line staring blankly at the wall, I was glad to know that even in 2010, not everything changes. 

I've Been Doing A Lot Of Thinking.

And the thing is, I love you.

"What's so bad about this? You've got Dick Clark, that's tradition. You've got Mallomars, the greatest cookie of all time. And you're about to give the Knicks their first championship since 1973."

Happy New Year! May 2010 be the year that you realize you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.  

At Citibank We Will Meet Accidentally.

I don't know why banks give out lollipops, but I enjoy it. Whenever I see a grown-up walking down the street with a sucker, I know they've just come from the bank-- because where else would an adult get such a sad looking lollipop? Actually, walking down the street with that cheap lollipop stick hanging out of your mouth is is like wearing a t-shirt that says, "Yes, Robber. I have cash." 

I've never really thought about that before. Maybe I should stop taking them. 

Anyway, I was at the bank filling something out at the counter and started sorting through the basket looking for a red.  Putting it in my pocket, I started to sort through again before taking another one. Looking over to the girl standing next to me, I smiled meekly, saying, "I'm that girl."

Shrugging her shoulders before grabbing a handful of suckers, she replied, "It's OK. I don't even bank here."

And Mall Parking Lots On Holidays.

My sisters and I went shopping on Christmas Eve because we love crowds, and angry salespeople, and waiting in ridiculous lines. If you go into these situations knowing how terrible they are, they actually become amazing. Playing games like, "Who hates the holidays more?" where you compare the miserable faces of shoppers, or creating the voice-overs for people screaming in their cars while trying to find a parking spot, is a guaranteed way to make the whole outing more enjoyable. 

You should really just go for the parking lot people-watching alone. It's classic. Watching people try to find a parking spot on days like Christmas Eve allows one to witness the entire spectrum of human emotion. Eventually, they just start trailing people with bags and the whole, "I'm not leaving!" thing starts.  But all the exaggerated pointing, and waving, and over-emphasized speech as people try to talk to other people through their cars with the windows rolled up-- it's funny. 

While circling around for our own space, Nessa came up with a brilliant idea for a video art piece where you just back in and out of a parking spot for a few hours on a busy shopping day to see how people react. 

I'd watch it.  

You're Welcome.

I debated not posting this, but 'tis the season for giving. Happy Christmas.

The 1950's Called.

They want their game show answers back.

This post could also be called, "These idiots will clap for anything."

The last time I watched The Family Feud was a few years ago and the survey question asked to 100 people was, "As good as?" 

When a member of one of the families answered, "Pie!" I told myself that I was no longer allowed to watch the show.

But when I had time to kill in front of the television yesterday, I thought I'd check in for 5-minutes to see if things have improved.

This is basically a transcript from the show because I ended up recording it and playing it back in complete disbelief.  

Host: We surveyed 100 married women and asked, when your husband is ignoring you, name something you can do that will certainly get his attention.

Dan: Not do his laundry!

[X]

Graceila: Wear something sexy!

[Ding]

Graceila: We're going to play!

Host: OK, according to 100 married women, when your husband is ignoring you, name something you can do to get his attention.

Graceila's daughter: Stop cooking dinner!

Family: Good answer! Good answer!

[X]

Graceila's other daughter: Start nagging!

Host: When in doubt, start nagging!

[X]

-Throw something at him!

[Ding]

-Cry!

Host: Show me, Cry!

[X]

So three x's, they switch to the other family.

Host: Dan, give me one good answer.  When your husband is ignoring you, name something you can do to get his attention.

Dan: Spend his money!

Family: Good answer!!!!

[X]

Host: Let's reveal the #1 answer. According to 100 married women, something you can do when your husband is ignoring you?

Note: This is where both families and the entire audience repeat whatever they see on the answer board in unison like it was the most obvious answer in the world. It's the collective Duh! moment. As good as pie? No, moron. As good as IT GETS. (in unison, followed by applause sign.)

Host: Survey says...

Entire audience: 'GET NAKED!' (palm to forehead. Of course! But what about when you're being ignored in public? Oh, no matter. Good answer!).

Host: And the other answer?

Entire Audience: FLIRT/GET IT ON! 

Obviously. Because nothing sets the mood quite like being ignored and throwing shit at people.

Every Christmas Song Should Be This Good.

If you've never played this game with someone, where you try to create and sing a song together at the same time, you've never really taken full advantage of the following:

-Long road trips 

-Short road trips

-Being drunk

-Being bored

It's instant fun and instant hilarious and my father kind of invented it. 

Happy Holidays, From The MBTA.

I realized a little too late last night on the train ride home that I had inadvertently sat across from a crazy person. I've built up quite a tolerance to this so I'm never really bothered by anything anyone says anymore, but this guy had me seriously concerned for about 6 stops.

Guy: It's all about child support and credit cards, Teddy. Child support and credit cards.

Me: [Close eyes.]

Guy: And somebody thinks they wanna control the taste? I don't think so! Hey, Teddy!

Me: [Thinking] Am I Teddy?

Guy: That's when I say to them, pow! pow! pow! I'll rip your face off.

Me: Oh, shit.

Guy: So if your face gets ripped, come see me.

Me: [Thinking] I should probably get off the train now.

Guy: Credit cards! Pow Pow Pow!

This is where a nice little internal debate began. Clearly, this man was not well, and had some ideas about faces, but if I got off the train before my stop I'd have to wait for another one and who knows how long that might take. So, do I risk him getting upset that Teddy isn't responding, and possibly have my face ripped off (pow pow), or get off the train and freeze while waiting for another one? Either way, the options for my face weren't looking good. 

I stayed on the train without incident.  Everyone's face was ok. 

Just Looking.

A Relax The Back store, which appears to deal exclusively in massage chair sales, has opened near work.  Without seeing the business plan for this company, and without any actual knowledge of massage furniture sales, let me tell you why this business will fail:  People who test out massage chairs are not looking to buy a massage chair.  They're looking for a free massage and 15-minutes of doing that weird vibrating "ahhhhhhhahhh" noise.

How many times a day do you think a Relax The Back salesman hears, "Just looking"? If they made the career move over from Brookstone, they're probably used to it by now. 

Everybody knows this is how a typical sales conversation at Brookstone goes:

Salesperson: Can I help you find anything?

Customer: Oh no, I don't think so. I'm just gonna play with this robot dog for a little bit, fuck around with the indoor helicopter, and then probably fall asleep in the massage chair until somebody asks me to leave.  Thanks though.

The Truth.

Sometimes rinsing out an empty peanut butter jar seems like the hardest thing you'll do all day. I bet even the staunchest environmentalists grimace a little when the peanut butter runs out. No one likes to rinse that jar.

I Don't Get Sick. (cough cough... puke).

In spite of my self-diagnosed hypochondria, I've been fortunate enough to avoid a string of colds, coughs, flu viruses, fevers, and becoming pregnant without knowing it before giving birth in the toilet. Have people seen the show about that one? Every episode ends the same way: "And then, looking back at her from the toilet..." It's really horrible.

Anyway, I was enjoying a fantastic weekend in NY up until Sunday night when V and I became violently ill at around the same time. Technically, she became sick a few hours before me, and I remember saying, "I feel fine! I'm having more pizza!" I later paid for that.

People, this wasn't your average bout with food poisoning or a little upset tumtum. We're talking cartoon-like illness here.  The kind that has you pleading to a higher power in the bathroom of your sister's apartment.  About three hours in, I even lacked the good sense to sing "There's the girl that I like..." to myself before getting sick. It was bad.

Luckily, Brina was there.  The girl has the bedside manner of a drill sergeant, but the needs-anticipation skills of, well, say, an event planner.  As Nessa and I ran back and forth to the bathroom all night, all we heard from Brina's room was, "AGAIN?!" But miraculously by morning, everything we needed was within arms reach of our sofas.

Brina: I did some research and you're most likely dehydrated. Drink this, and this, and this. Take this now, and this in 6 hours. Eat this banana, and these saltines, and there's organic applesauce and peanut butter if you're up to it.  I'll make orzo soup when I come home from work.  Here's your phone, which is charging over here. Here's the computer, fully charged. All of the remotes, space heater on, extra blankets, Christmas lights on or off? I'll wait here while you drink that and refill. OK, I'm late. I'll call this afternoon.

It was as well-planned as being sick could be. And just one mention of, "It smells disgusting in here."

Later that night, desperately craving our soup, we called her and she said, "OK, I'm just going to run into the first half of this concert I have tickets for, but I'll probably leave during intermission.  I'll make your soup when I get home."

Too weak to argue, I slowly hung up and ate another sleeve of saltines. Under my breath and under my blankets I softly said in a whine, "I want my fucking soup."  

When I woke up again at 1:00 in the morning, the cold bowl of orzo was by the rest of my Grandpa Joe setup by the sofa. Girl of her word. 

Bri just called me to say she was home sick.  Wish I could repay the favor.

Note: Instant rad if you get the grandpa joe reference.  

If You Were A Tree...

I've experienced comments and questions about my height since I was a little kid.  Once when I was like nine, a toddler came up and held my hand thinking I was his mother.  

I was nine.

So it's never anything new when someone asks me to reach for something, or stand back to back with their tallest friend. But this was an exchange I had with a coworker yesterday about the tree she bought for Christmas: 

Coworker: And we got such a great deal on it. It was only like $22!

Me: Oh wow, that's crazy.  But is it like a Charlie Brown Tree?

Coworker: No, it's big! It's like your size.

Right.

Around the holiday season, it's not uncommon to have someone hold a sweater or a shirt up to your body and say, "That looks like your size." But I think I'm the first to have that done with a Christmas tree.

Good One.

I love that this story is getting national attention for three reasons:

1) That picture is awesome and reminds me of a story. (To follow.)

2) Local news is pathetic, but dedicating 2-minutes to a high school yearbook story might be a new low. That's what high school news shows are for.

3) Wearing a t-shirt with her own face on it kind of makes me think we're on the verge of a whole new generation of message tees. "I'm With Her." "She's With Me" "Can I help you?" 

Arrows will be involved.

Note: My boss was saying that she doesn't like when pregnant women wear message t-shirts about their babies. I have to agree, except I wouldn't mind seeing a maternity shirt that says, "There's somebody in here!"

Anyway, about that yearbook photo story. 

One year in band (no comments, please) everyone dressed in uniform and went to the front of the school for group shots for the yearbook.  The photographer was standing on the roof of the school and it was sort of a big production to get everyone organized.  Bored out of our minds, my buddy Matt thought it would be a good idea to horn pop drastically every time the photographer took a picture. I agreed. So picture after picture, Matt and I would lean back as far as possible, shooting our saxophones into the air, while everyone else just stayed standing still.  It gave us a good laugh, photo shoot ended, class dismissed.

About three weeks later, the two of us were asked to meet with our band director in his office. Closing his door, and asking us if we knew why we were there, we both shook our heads.  I honestly had no idea. Opening up a large envelope, our teacher pulled out the pictures and slowly lined his desk with them.  

They. Were. HILARIOUS.

  

Even though these were large group shots, we totally stuck out and our faces were eerily similar to the girl in the news story. In many of the shots, Matt had taken his saxophone apart and was just holding a mouthpiece in the air. In others, we were basically on the ground in limbo-like stance. 

I have never wanted to burst out laughing so badly in all of my life. But standing in the band director's office listening to him yell at us, I figured my timing might be off.  When I'm not able to laugh, my eyes water. A lot. So he probably thought I was pretty upset about the whole thing as I stood there crying. When we were finally dismissed, we basically rolled into the hall laughing.

Just like the girl in the news story, none of our pictures made the yearbook either. 

Matt was later arrested for gang-related activities. 

I like reminiscing. 

Can't Wait Three Minutes?

While waiting for my popcorn to pop last night, I finished half a box of crackers. I remember reasoning to myself, "Well, I've got a few minutes to kill. Might as well have a snack." 

Ironically enough, that's how the first buffet started. 

Clearly, I've never done this before.

This is my bio for the agency website.  I didn't understand the assignment.

Jessica Martin grew up on her family’s farm in Brockport, New York.  She spent her formative years talking to herself in the mirror and memorizing lines from Full House episodes. She graduated from Syracuse University with a degree in Television, Radio and Film and that proved to be worthwhile in that she still enjoys all of those things.  After living in San Francisco, New York, and Boston, Jessica has learned the importance of light layers, irony, and remembering how people take their coffee.  

A fortune cookie once told her that she finds beauty in ordinary things, and she liked this.  But then another fortune cookie told her that she liked horse racing and gambling, but not to excess, so she’s not entirely sure what to believe.  She sort of thinks fortune cookies should stop pretending they know her so well. 

Open-Eyed Sneeze is her first book. 

j mo.

Notice: J Lo's new song Louboutins has been remixed for the sensible lesbian. 

The hook is now, "I'm putting my black Converse on."

Thank You.

Your Phone's Ringing.

After spending the weekend with my family, I'm convinced that it is actually impossible for my mother to reach her phone while it's ringing. Part of the problem lies in the fact that she never hears her ringtone, so every time she receives a call, the ringing is accompanied by everyone saying, "Your phone is ringing." Which is followed by my mother saying "Damn it!" and fake running to her purse. She employs the same run people use when a car stops and lets them cross the street.  It's basically just walking, but pumping your arms more than usual, to give the illusion of moving in a hurry. She uses this same "Damn it!"/fake run combo every time because she knows she's going to miss the call.  Hearing her phone ring isn't a reminder to answer her phone, it's a reminder to check her voicemail in seven minutes when she finds her phone.

Conveniently located at the bottom of her Mary Poppins bag, my mother is more likely to pull a floor lamp out of her purse than to find and answer her phone before the call goes to voicemail.  If she happens to have her purse on her while the cellphone is ringing, it's 30 seconds of ringtone, 15 reminders that her phone is ringing, numerous Damn its!, and the complete removal of everything in her bag, which results in the most random combination of items you've ever seen, particularly when traveling. Dog bowl, toothpaste, Big Mirror (which is a big 5x magnification mirror my mother always carries around and has so cleverly named "Big Mirror") and a shoe. 

-Where's the other shoe?

-It's in the back of the car.

So it was an interesting weekend of observing the various ways my mother missed incoming call after incoming call. My younger sister on the other hand, prefers that no one she knows ever hears her voice again, and texts almost exclusively. She left yesterday but I've been hearing phantom text message buzz's from her blackberry all morning. 

Anyway, when we were going around the table on Thanksgiving saying what we're thankful for, Bri said she was grateful to have four people in her life that she could always call.  To which Nessa appropriately replied, "Yeah, and at least two of them will pick up."

A Picture Paints 1,000 Words.

This pic was sent from Nessa's phone at the airport with this message:

Yet again, the difference bt sabrina and vanessa

Happy Thanksgiving.

I heart Thanksgiving.  Easily my favorite holiday. What's not to love?

-Food. Good.

-Football. Good.

-Naps. Effing awesome.

-Food again. Good.

Thanksgiving is basically just like every other day for me, except that the entire nation is in on it. So I kind of feel like I'm on to something with my life plan when I hear how much everyone else enjoys the holiday. "It's just eating, and drinking, and laying around! It's great!"

Yes. And if you plan accordingly, every day can be like that.

My family is rolling into town today and I'm stoked! This will be the first official family Thanksgiving that I've hosted.  Wine will help.  

We have a tradition every year of naming the turkey and then talking to it throughout the morning as it cooks. It's pretty messed up if you think about it. But we've been doing it since I was a little kid, so there's no turning back now.  We've never really come up with anything better than "Kimmy Gobbler" but because it's Thanksgiving at my place, I feel it's my duty to give the bird a new name.  No ideas yet, but I still have a day to think about it. 

Enjoy the holiday.

Just Me, Then?

I'm pretty sure I heard church bells playing "I've Been Working On The Railroad" this morning. Specifically, the "Dinah won't you blow your horn" section.  Is today some sort of sacred railroad holiday that I don't know about? 

Semi-related note: Once at a friend's wedding, the band played Greensleeves-- (I forget why)-- and my old roommie Jackie turned to me with an exaggerated look of confusion and asked, "What Child Is This?!" 

Skip You, Back To Me.

Heading back to my apartment last night, the sidewalk on my street was covered with a fallen deck of Uno cards.  If Hansel and Gretel's ill-fated walk through the woods had been sponsored by Mattel, this definitely would have been their trail. Every three steps, a 9, a Wild Card, Uno logo, a 2, Uno logo, Uno logo. 

It's lucky that so many of them were face down.  Had I come across any Reverse cards, I probably wouldn't have made it home.    

That's Not A Real Sentence.

Warning: Shameless praise for family member follows.

Congrats to my sister for working on the most successful fundraising gala in City Opera history! It's sort of a huge deal. For the last 3 months, whenever I've called Bri, I've been rushed off the phone by an ice-cold, "I'm extremely busy." 

Really? Because you had enough time to pick up the phone to say that.  

I always countered with an equally important, "Me too. I just called to tell you that I'm wearing a ball gown right now. And I'm talking to a Countess. And the mayor's on hold. So I have to go."

But she worked incredibly hard and the event was a smash hit, so good on ya, sister! I can't imagine planning anything bigger than a birthday party-- and even that would just be 15 minutes of staring at a list that looked something like this:

-Cake

-Dance mix

-Streamers?

I finally got to talk to her for more than five minutes over the weekend and I heard all about it. However, it's obvious that there's a certain disconnection from reality when you allow your mind to focus on a gala for months at a time. While describing the auction, this was an actual sentence she said without even the slightest hint of irony or sarcasm:

"And the wild boar hunting in Friedrichsruh, Germany with the von Bismark Family followed by a black-tie ball went for $30,000."

ACTUAL SENTENCE.

What's an appropriate response to a sentence like that? Really, I'd like to know. 

All I could think to do was laugh my ass off, which I did. 

I was so intrigued by this auction lot though, that I googled it and read the terms for the winning bid: Terms: Valid for two guns, Four persons for October 2010. Does not include accommodations; recommendations will be provided. A valid hunting license for Germany is required.

What?! So not only did the winning bidder have to have 30 g's to drop on The Sound of Music version of Duck Hunt, they also had to have a valid German hunting license. Which, I don't know, maybe all rich people have. 

-Is there a problem, officer?

-License and registration, please.

-My valid German hunting license? 

And what the hell?! Does not include accommodations but recommendations will be provided? 

"The von Bismark family would like to thank you for shooting boar with us. There's a lovely Holiday Inn Express about 350 miles from here."

How's Everything Going Out There?

I really hate when you're trying on clothes in a dressing room and the salespeople come to check on you a million times. 

-How are we doing in there?

-Everything OK?

-How's everything working out?

-Do you know how to put pants on?

I never know if they're talking to me, so my initial response is to say nothing. But then they knock, just to make sure I haven't died in there. "Hon, how we doing?" My reaction on the other side of the dressing room door is always an exaggerated eye roll. "I'm good, thanks!"

So I was trying on some jeans yesterday and all of a sudden, a ridiculously futuristic sounding alarm went off.  It was a cross between a submarine alarm and a space station alarm. Not that I have any firsthand knowledge of either type of alarm, but it sounded like something from a movie.  Fake enough to be laughable, unique enough for me to be like, "Um, did someone sink our battleship?"

The alarm was followed by an announcement, alerting shoppers of an emergency, and instructing them to leave the floor. I should mention that at the time, I was one leg into a pair of skinny jeans--probably the worst clothing choice for an emergency situation.  I froze for a second thinking, should I put these jeans on and leave? Or take them off, put my own pants on and leave? Wait for further instructions?

I felt like leaving the store in their jeans would be too close to stealing so I quickly tried to pull my leg out of the skinny cut, which was basically impossible. I started to speak to the salesgirl I assumed was waiting on the other side of my dressing room door.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Are people leaving the store? Hello?!"

Nothing.

Now I started to panic a little bit. Still unable to rip the pant leg off my ankle-- why so tight with the taper?!-- and not wanting to open the dressing room door without pants on, I started to speak louder. "Are people leaving the store?!"

Eventually, a voice came from the other side. "Do you need another size?"

That's honestly what she said to me. 

After asking about the alarm, she said she it was probably a smoke warning.

"Are people leaving?"

"No. I want to, but I'm here until nine."

I basically love this.

Miranda July would be the best person in the world to kill some time with.

And Leaf.

I think the original ice-breaking exercise took place on a late night train on Halloween. It involved costumes, beverages, partially nude college students, and trust falls. (They've been trying to sell the trust fall thing as a good way to introduce yourself to strangers since forever). It was just like a bar on Halloween, except that the lighting was brighter, and the constant stops encouraged people to push up against each other in a less obvious way than usual.

If you have trouble meeting people, you should really be riding late night trains on Halloween. It's a no-shame holiday, so basically any line you use is going to be OK. Examples include:

-"So, are you a sexy mouse in real life?"

-"So, are you a sexy dinosaur in real life?"

-"So, do you know if I can transfer to the Red Line here?" 

The particularly chatty girl next to us on the train Saturday night had leaves all in her hair and Super Mario standing behind her figured that was his in.

Mario: So, are you like Mother Nature or something?

Leaf-Hair Girl: I'm a tree. I had more leaves, but they fell out.

Mario: Well, 'tis the season.

(Note: I have to say, that was pretty good.)

Tree: It's funny that they fell out because it's Fall.

(Yeah, Tree Girl, Mario just said that.)

Mario: Did you get them to change colors throughout the night?

This is where I had to zone out. I'll admit I was semi-curious to see what sort of tree banter the brain trust could keep up, but Mario's fake moustache was a little crooked, and he was carrying a toilet plunger, and as mentioned, Tree just had leaves all in her hair, so I was a little embarrassed for the two of them.  There's a reason these meetings made the switch from trains to darker, louder bars.