"There's Talk Of A Blizzard."

Three things you should know about my father for the purposes of this post:

1) He loves to quote the movie Groundhog Day and whenever there is predicted snowfall, he will say, "There's talk of a blizzard." incessantly. I wish I could call him right now on internet speakerphone because I'm 100% positive that's how he would answer and I'd like for you to hear it.

2) He packs the car for road trips to NYC like he's traversing the Oregon Trail. Growing up, we would wait patiently in the car as he ran back to the garage numerous times for flashlights, work gloves, snowsuits (even in summer. not kidding.), atlases, tools, fire extinguishers, you name it. I can't remember a single road trip to my grandmother's house as a child that didn't involve being asked to rearrange suitcases so my father could pack extra produce to give away, multiple pair of work boots, and some oil filters. It only ever ended when my mother started screaming at him to stop and threatened to leave without him.

I'm convinced this is why I only ever travel with a carry-on. 

3) Clearing snow is an art for him. Some people enjoy watercolors. My father plows the driveway. 

Anyway, there's supposed to be a lot of snow headed our way and it reminded me of the huge snowfall over Christmas in NYC. The snow was so bad in Manhattan we were literally walking in the middle of the road because it was the only semi-clear path. In Queens, cars were buried under six feet of snow thanks to the plows. It took some people hours to dig out. When my parents came in from my grandma's house on Long Island, I worried about how long it might take my dad to find a spot, but not that he would have trouble digging out. Digging out a parking spot buried in snow is sort of the only thing he's been packing for his entire life.  

So you can imagine my shock when he arrived at Sabrina's and asked for a shovel. It was sort of like my father driving to NYC with only three tires on the car. I couldn't actually believe it. He immediately started panicking, believing that every shovel in Queens would have already been sold. Hauling off to find an open hardware store and a snow shovel, Nessa captured his success.

The way she tells it, my father jumped through the snow piles outside of the hardware store, walked into the street and yelled for Ness to take a picture of him with his shovel. Holding up traffic by extending his arm in the air, cars beeped at him as he smiled, gleefully holding his new purchase, saying, "Thank you! Thank you!" Nessa said she had to ask him to get out of the road. 

They dug out a spot in no time and my father refused to move the car until they left a few days later.

Anyway, all this talk about a big storm made me think of it. 

Buy a shovel now. Stay out of the road when you do.

I Don't Want To Call You Boob.

A couple weeks ago at work Michael said, "There are two types of humor. ____ humor and ____ humor." 

I couldn't quite make out what he said but I was almost 100% positive that the first category he mentioned was "boob humor." So naturally, I asked in confusion, "BOOB humor? What's that?"

Everyone turned to look at me. The unison response was, "He didn't say boob humor."

Looking to the floor, I simply said, "Oh." 

A three-beat pause elapsed before the rainstorm of comments fell down on me.

-Well, we know what's on your mind.

-Clean it up, Jessica. You're at work.

-Is that all you can think about?

-Where did you even get that?!

Growing redder by the second I had no choice but to defend myself. Looking to Michael with a pained expression of embarrassment I yelled, "You said boob!" 

Note: Shouting the word boob is not a good defense and will only make people laugh harder at you. 

Laughing nervously, unable to say anything else, I covered my burning face with a check presenter and waited for everyone to walk away.

Love Is.

It's kind of a difficult to explain, but here's all you need to know.

-I needed to do laundry this morning but didn't have any pants to wear to the laundromat. 

-I borrowed a pair of Mer's sweatpants but couldn't figure out the drawstring so my underwear was showing most of the time as I walked down the street. 

-I was carrying my belt because that's what you do when your jeans are in the washer.

-I was wearing my work sneakers, which are HIDEOUS. When Sabrina visited me she literally bent in half laughing when I put them on.

This is what was going on.

In short, I looked like a crazy person. This picture doesn't really give you a sense of how insane I actually looked, but trust me, I was embarrassed. On our walk back to the laundromat to switch my clothes to the dryer, Mer held my hand the whole way. It struck me that maybe that's what love is. Maybe love is holding hands with the person you're with even when they're carrying a belt, wearing moon shoes, and showing oncoming traffic their underwear. 

Can't Stop.

The Drifters version of White Christmas is hands down my favorite Christmas song and I can't stop singing it. I try to hit the low "do do do do" and the high "I-IIIIIIII'm dreaming" parts and obviously, cannot. 

Walking in the snow this morning, making weird faces as I tired to sing bass-- just butchering the song-- I laughed to myself. 

I love Christmas. 

Regifting.

I was joking around with some coworkers the other night, asking if it would be funny if I walked around the restaurant using something of a chicken dance movement, and while demonstrating, I slammed my leg into a wall. Dominic happened to be behind me when I did this and started laughing uncontrollably. For the rest of the night, whenever he passed me, he would simply point, say, "ha" and walk away.

Anyway, it reminded me of this little number from last year, and I figured it's about that time again.

Addendum.

This should have been included in the grab bag of thoughts but I forgot.

-If you have a pair of cool hipster glasses, you better make sure that your other friends don't have crazy weird glasses too, because when a group of you head out together with your stylish glasses on, you look ridiculous. One person in a group of friends can have fashionable frames. Maybe two.* Any more than that and you look like a walking advertisement. 

*This does not apply to Europeans. You can't help it.

Grab Bag.

Just a little of everything.

-My roommates and I decorated the tree the other night with homemade paper snowflakes, purple garland from the dollar store, candy canes, and two pig ornaments. Stepping back together to look at it, Kathleen tilted her head and asked, "Why does it look so...nice?"

-Home Alone is a perfect movie. Home Alone 2: Lost in New York is a slap in the face to the original. 

-Someone was arrested on the bus I took home from work the other night. A cop pulled the bus over, boarded the bus, and arrested a kid for tagging something with spray paint. I'm sorry, but can you think of a worse getaway car than a MBTA bus?! Especially the 66?! It stops like every 10 feet. What was that fool thinking?

-I thought as I grew older, the people in the Olive Garden commercials who laugh for no reason would annoy me less. It turns out the opposite is true. 

-People put their bananas in produce bags at the grocery store. I see them do it. Why do they do it?

-I learned how to tie a bow tie and I'm quite pleased with myself. For some reason I always thought that was something everyone should know how to do. Just in case. 

-I'm digging on the Miniature Tigers right now. If I had a car I'd drive around listening to them today.

-If I hold the door open for a mother with a stroller, I'm not a door person. If you're behind the mother with a stroller, and you're not a child, and you don't have a stroller, hold the door for yourself. 

-Furthermore, people in revolving doors, we're in this together. Push! I'm not going to push the whole door for you.

-I've been thinking a lot about doors lately.

-My buddies at work had the best conversation about games the other night. Electronic Mall Madness, Girl Talk, CrossFire, and Dream Phone. Do you remember Dream Phone? It should have been a huge red flag for me as a child that I shuffled through the cards of hot guys looking for a girl. 

Where's The Couch?

This is a joke I made up for Mer over the summer:

Two social workers walk into a bar. What would that look like?

My girlfriend invited me to her department's holiday party last week and to say that I was nervous is a gross understatement. I'm nervous all the time anyway, but knowing I was entering a room full of psychologists, psychiatrists, and social workers--basically the Chex Party Mix of people who could analyze my every move-- made me sweat in the 20 degree weather as we walked over to the Harvard Faculty lounge. 

This was the conversation we had as we walked:

Me: Are you sure what I'm wearing is OK?

Meredith: Yes. 

Me: It's not going to be fancy? You promise?

Meredith: Jess, I have no idea. 

As we walked closer to the building I saw people through the windows.

Me: Damn it, Meredith! I told you it was fancy! People are wearing vests and ties!

Meredith: Jess! Calm down! Those are the waiters!  

We checked our coats and walked into the main room where Mer started pointing people out to me. That's the Chair of so-and so. That's the Chair of whatsername. As she pointed to important people I couldn't stop thinking about the Annie Hall line, "Two more chairs they got a dining room set!"

She introduced me to her incredibly kind colleagues and they all immediately asked me one of three questions:

1) Q: Are you a social worker? A: I'm a social worker supporter!

2) Q: Are you in the mental health profession? A: [Immediate flash of the restaurant] Indirectly.

3) Q: What is it that you do? A: I feed the hungry.

I finally relaxed after settling in for a minute and was having a nice conversation with someone when a waiter walked by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres and asked, "Vegetarian spring roll, sir?"

Motherfucker! Honestly people, I've been called sir at least 13 times in the past 3 months. It totally threw off my game. 

Grabbing my second drink in a 10-minute window, I wondered if anyone noticed. I've never in my life been in a room with so many good listeners. People asked me questions and then waited patiently for my answers. The only problem being that I never have anything to say. So it was a lot of awkward silences as Mer schmoozed and I tried my hardest not to say stupid things like, "The food's delicious. I was just expecting some Freudian dip."  

I became acutely aware of everything I was doing. Stop twitching. Smile less. Why are you nodding so much? Wait, no-- nod more. Not so fast you freak, your head will fall off. Did they just ask you a question? Redirect. Did you try the spring rolls?

Mer was totally in her element and I loved seeing how much her coworkers respect and value her. It was the best part of the night for sure, and totally worth any discomfort on my own part. Grabbing some desserts, we stood talking to some of her favorite people when her friend looked to the gingerbread man on her plate and asked, "How do you eat a gingerbread cookie? Legs first? Head? It says something about you."

Meredith considered the question for a moment and then answered. "Legs or arms, I'd say."

"Good. I'd be worried if you went for the head first."

Starting to sweat again, I looked to the mini fruit tart on my plate and didn't dare touch it. 

When Life Gives You Lemons.

When we arrived in NYC late Friday night for my little sister's birthday weekend, Nessa and Andrea had a living room picnic waiting for us. The only possible way to make wine and appetizers with your favorite people even more fun is to throw down a blanket and serve everything picnic style. I was so ridiculously happy.

Clearing some space on the blanket for a large gift box, Andrea surprised me by saying she had a belated birthday present for me. The girl's got a sense of humor that totally appeals to me so I smiled wondering what sort of joke gift waited inside. 

She didn't disappoint. This is what I found. 

It was a Buddha Hand and a remote. The gift that keeps on giving.

Andrea: Do you know what that is?!!

Me: It's like a lemon, right?

Andrea: How did you know that? The woman at the grocery store was like, 'How am I supposed to ring this up?'

Anyway, we got a good laugh out of it and the next morning when we were heading out to brunch, Andrea stopped me at the door and said, "Don't forget your lemon!" She had fashioned a leash out of a belt and asked me to walk it down the street. "You know what they say. When life gives you a lemon, put it on a belt and walk it."

It was an excellent point. So I did.

There is no way for me to accurately describe the public response to the lemon on a leash. People were appalled. Seriously. I received so many dirty looks, people in cafes shook their heads at me and glared, parents held their children tighter to them, and dog owners pulled their buddies on leashes away from mine. At least six different people asked me if it was an octopus, to which I replied, "Yes. Yes it is." 

Sabrina's been having a lot of fun with the fact that so many people have been calling me "sir" lately, and she came running up to me laughing saying she overhead someone say, "That guy is walking an alien."

One woman stopped and asked to pet it. Only one older couple knew it was a lemon and asked me if I was making a statement. 

Me: No, just walking it.

Andrea: When life hands you lemons...

And then the two older people burst out laughing before walking away. 

At one point, Brina started screaming and pointed to a Food Emporium truck stopped at a red light that had two giant Buddha hands on it. What are the chances? I ran over to the truck, holding my leashed Buddha hand up to the driver, smiling like an idiot. He just waved flatly. Is it possible he gets that a lot? 

Anyway, it was a nice New York moment. Thanks, A.

I Saw Sparks.

A clear sky/cold weather combo motivates me to get out and start my day. I jumped out of bed at 6:45, threw on some sweats, grabbed my laundry, and headed for the laundromat. I figured I would throw a load in the washer, run over to Meredith's to say good morning, run back to dry and fold my clothes, and then run back to her place to walk her to work. 

Everything went to plan and I was quite pleased with myself. Even if I do nothing else with my day, finishing a load of laundry is a big enough accomplishment for me. And I did it so early! I'm a go-getter!  Holding Mer close as we walked to the hospital, I had a goofy grin because it was just a really nice moment. Crisp, cold weather, spring fresh scents, neatly folded t-shirts, all good. Stopping to give her a kiss goodbye, I leaned in smiling, touched her nose with my nose, and heard her yelp in pain as she quickly jumped away from me.

"Ow!"

"What?!"

"I just got a static shock from your nose!" 

Rubbing her nose, we had to laugh. 

I get static shocks all the time in the winter and my clothes straight from the dryer probably didn't help. 

When I kissed her again, the static electricity returned. We both flew back Matrix style, grabbing our noses, shouting "Owww!"

We parted ways saying goodbye with pained expressions and half-covered faces. 

It was very romantic. 

I Love Him.

I used to play the shaker egg in a band called Man Jeggings. 

That's true.

Is This Thing On?

I recently asked my coworkers to be honest with me about a possible Truman Show situation happening in the restaurant. Everyone remained silent, only helping to solidify my theory. 

This was an exchange I had with an older customer the other day. It's important to know that I'm a middle child and have been asked to repeat myself all of my life because no one was listening the first time. As a result, I don't enjoy repeating myself. It's equally important to know that I grew up with a very loud family that used outdoor voices to speak to people 2-feet away. The volume always increased when discussing food. This killed me as a kid and to this day, it actually pains me to yell indoors.  

OK, so those points are made. Here's the scene:

-And what would you like as your side, sir?

-What?

-Your side?

-What's your vegetable?

-We have broccolini tonight.

-What?

-[Deep breath] Broccolini?

-Lini?

-[Raising my voice a little]: BROCCO-LINI. BROCCOLINI.

...

It's long broccoli. 

What?

[Leaning closer] BROCCOLINI. It's like long skinny broccoli.

Sure, fine, broccoli.

And then I burst into tears.

You try shouting broccolini into a stranger's ear without thinking you're being secretly filmed. 

Go Turn On My Tree.

This never gets old for me because it's basically the summation of my Christmas tree experience since I was a child. Well, this and this.

I'm A Grown-Up.

I came home to my apartment this morning to find a half-eaten dinosaur cake on the living room table, the remains of about 300 chicken wings, and I'm currently waiting for my landlord to come replace the dishwasher that set on fire last week. 

Do dishwashers set on fire for other people? Is that like a common problem? 

It's important to know that I don't respond well to emergency situations. When I heard loud popping and saw billowing smoke coming from the kitchen the other day, my initial reaction was to run around screaming fuck for 30 seconds. There's no stop, drop, and roll procedure for kitchen appliances so I thought the running/shouting obscenities combo was solid.  I was nervous that the smoke would set off the alarm so I started flapping my arms like an idiot, and jumping a little as I did it, thinking that this too was part of the plan. When I finally decided to open the dishwasher door and kitchen window, I noticed our smoke alarm on the window sill without any batteries in it. I looked at it, bit my lip and nodded. Talking to myself I said, "So it looks like the jumping wasn't necessary."

Our landlord responded to an email about the smoking dishwasher by saying, "Please don't attempt to use the dishwasher."

Thanks for that.

Anyway, I'm still waiting for him to get here, but it's always nice to have a minute to reflect.

Eight of Diamonds? Three? King?

I'm working on a character called the Apathetic Magician.  

Cue The Music.

Things at work tonight could have gone better for the first 4 hours to say the least. Two elderly women split a sandwich, finished every last bite, and then complained that they hated it. Really? Then where'd it go? When the sandwich was comped, they left me nothing. Makes sense. Their bill was nothing. 

Then a delightful woman at another table handed me 27 cents after paying her $43 check and said, "This is for you." Picture how you might respond to a person handing you 27 cents. Now release that image and smile and say thank you. 

So when a group of fun gays sat in my section and started joking with me, I was beyond thrilled. It was seriously the only thing that could have saved my night. When I asked why they were in such a great mood, they said they had just come from seeing Amy Sedaris speak at the Booksmith. 

Cut to me squealing. 

We all started sharing our favorite things about Amy Sedaris (mine being numerous Letterman appearances and her tip to put marbles in your medicine cabinet when guests visit). The guys told me she was still at the store signing copies of her new book, so when Maggie got the green light to go get a copy signed, I took notice. Looking around at my section, I asked Val to keep an eye on my tables and shouted from the door, "Drop a check at 66! I'll be right back!"

Leaving like that felt cinematic. I exited the restaurant and started running down the street. Running. No coat, my apron with check presenters stuffed into it still around my waist, actually running to the bookstore. If life were a movie, this is where a song would play. (Suggestions welcome). The opening riff to Black Eyed Peas "Pump It" came to mind immediately, but perhaps that's too commercial. Maybe something like, Wolf Parade's "I'll believe in anything" is more my speed. Either way, it felt like a moment. Running past slowly-strolling couples, my apron falling down my hips, I laughed to myself. It felt good.

I made it to the Booksmith and walked in to a semi-quiet store. Clearly, the signing had ended. One older woman stood talking to Amy as I waited patiently behind her. Catching my breath and fixing my hair, it occurred to me that I smelled strongly of potato pancake and was wearing an apron with a "Knish Happens" t-shirt. Oh well. 

I bought her book and she asked if I wanted it personalized. 

Me: Yeah, thanks.

Amy Sedaris: OK, I just need to see a receipt.

Me: [Laughing. Perhaps too hard. Stop laughing so hard.] Could you just make it out to Jess?

Amy Sedaris: Jess? How do you spell it? J-E-S-S?

Me: Actually, it's K-J-E-S-S. The K is silent.

Old woman: KJess? 

Me: The K is silent.

AS: OK, well I signed it FAmy. The F is silent.

I had a laugh and then dug around inside my wallet with my shaky hand for the business card I had printed up for my book. They were free. The back of the card says, "Get free business cards @ such and such company." so it's basically a business card for this printing company and not my book, but that's what you get for Free. For $3.99 I could have opted to have the card say nothing on the back, but then they wouldn't have been free. I pulled the card from my wallet [sniff sniff. Who smells like a deep-fryer?] and said with bright-red cheeks, "I know this is cheesy, but I wrote a book. I have an agent, I'm just looking for a publisher. If you could check out my blog, that'd be amazing."

Amy Sedaris took my card [Don't look at the back. Don't look at the back.] and said, "Open-Eyed Sneeze? That's a funny title."

And then I shit my pants.

Not really.

I said thanks again, and ran back to the restaurant to check on my tables. Because my coworkers are seriously kick-ass, they listened as I told the story and raised their paws for an up-top when I mentioned that Amy Sedaris said the title of my book out loud. 

It was sort of a big deal for me.

Seriously, Why Aren't You Telling Your Friends?

The Tell Ya Friends Campaign rolls on!

Remember in Sister Act when Delores Van Cartier sang, "I Will Follow Him" with the nuns?

Yeah, me too.

Anyway, will you follow this blog?

If I reach 100 by Friday, I'll pick a follower at random and send them an Arby's gift certificate. 

Come on, people. Arby's. 

You Don't Have To Sing.

I've never really enjoyed celebrating my birthday. I love other people's birthdays, but could totally skip over my own. When I was a little kid and allowed to have a sleep-over birthday party for the first time, I fell asleep around 8 o'clock. When my mom woke me up and told me I was being a bad host to my friends who were there to celebrate, I responded with, "Just tell them to go home."

Real nice, I know.

Anyway, my least favorite part of birthdays is the Happy Birthday song. It's terrible. Sung in a restaurant, it's pretty much the saddest song ever. Meredith has heard me rant about this numerous times, so when she excused herself from the table the other night at my birthday dinner, I was not at all concerned. She would never have the waitstaff sing. She knows how I feel about it. 

After we had finished our incredibly delicious sushi, I heard a familiar and terrifying sound. Three various pitches coming from three annoyed people, using the first word to steel themselves for the embarrassment of singing, and the attempt to find a key that suits them. A sound that is annoying to hear 364 other days of the year, but one that will literally make me sweat on my birthday. The shaky and out of tune, "Haaaaaaaapppp...."

It was weak in volume, but powerful enough to make my heart sink to the floor. I saw the glow of a single candle out of the corner of my eye and felt the temperature on my face rise about 35 degrees. As the three servers rounded the corner to our table I shot Mer a look and her smile quickly faded as she tried to convey with her eyes, "I didn't tell them to sing!" Standing next to our table, I smiled meekly at the timid chorus and looked to the other tables that had turned to watch. 

If you've ever tried to take a picture with me, you know I talk awkwardly throughout the process. I do the same for the birthday song. So while the slowest version ever of "Happy Birthday" was being sliced thin and served raw at our table, I talked through the entire thing.

"Happy birthday to you..."

"OK, thank you. You really don't have to sing, it's fine."

"Happy birthday..." 

"Oook, thanks everybody, that's nice, but you really don't have to... "

"To you..."

"OK, how 'bout I just blow the candle out and we'll call it a day? Oook, you're gonna keep going."

"Happy birthday dear..."

[Pause]...

[Pause]...

[Pause]...

Honestly people, this chunk of time following the "dear" felt like an hour. I was so interested in the song ending that it didn't occur to me for at least 10 seconds that they had no effing clue what to call me. The restaurant was silent, my face was completely red and my head was down staring directly at the table top, when it struck me that these people might wait all night until I gave them a name. At the exact same time, Mer and I looked up and flatly said, "Jessica."

When they finished the song, the time-lapse with my name struck me as so funny that I started laughing uncontrollably. It was so perfect. 

Quality Family Time.

A scene from Thanksgiving morning:

Brina: Oh no! It's 9:30! We're missing the Parade!

Mom: No, what clock are you looking at?

Brina: The stereo. 

Mom: That's wrong. [Looking to the family room clock]. That says 8:15 so we're fine. It's 7:55.

Just In TIme For The Holidays!

I fell asleep on the sofa in a horrible food coma and woke up to this. I thought it was a weird dream. 

Do yourself a favor and watch the commercial. You can't make this stuff up.

Because old aprons weren't instant enough, we bring you the Instant Apron! Literally saving you seconds in the kitchen, the Instant Apron is the cooking garment choice of complete morons! What's the hardest part about preparing a meal? Why, trying to fit your fat face through an apron hole, of course! The Instant Apron erases all of that! You'll feel more confident around sharp knives, hot ovens, and gas ranges when you're no longer struggling to tie yourself into a piece of cloth for 35 minutes. The Instant Apron is fire resistant and it needs to be! Chances are if you're wearing this, you have no f*cking clue what's going on. And the Instant Apron makes a great gift! Nothing says, "Here, idiot!" quite like the Instant Apron. Impress your friends with your style! The Instant apron comes in many exciting pattern choices such as, "Cow" and "Mediterranean." The "Elegant Black" Instant Apron is so elegant, you can wear it to fancy events. Think of the time savings there! So if you're the type of person who makes blended milk for your family's dinner, call now! 

This Will Probably Get Published First.

I'm going to write a children's book called, Dogs Can't Have Egg Nog. 

Cheers!

Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite. I feel grateful for little things all the time, so it's nice to have a day when I can share and not get looked at like I'm crazy.

In no particular order, here's a very short list of some things that I'm completely thankful for everyday:

-My first cup of coffee in the morning. I actually get excited.

-The way jeans fit for the first wear after you've washed them.

-When the bus comes immediately as you've walked up to the bus stop.

-When you hug someone and they smell nice. 

-Having exact change at the grocery store.

-Modern Family.

-A good playlist.

-Impromptu dance parties.

-My best friend. She's thoughtful, wicked smart, has the most beautiful singing voice in the whole wide world, and makes me laugh until I cry. It also doesn't hurt matters that she's really really pretty and my girl.

-My insane family.

-Having a good laugh with my coworkers.

-Having a chill table of customers.

-Getting a hug from Joaquin.

-Chilly weather and light layers.

-A good pen.

-Cereal.

-Socks.

-Fun take-out and a movie.

-Health.

Make a little list, it's fun. Eat a lot today--that's fun too.

Addition.

My sisters and I spent last night looking at childhood pictures, which was hilarious. But I found a great old photo that I thought fit well with a recent post. Check it.

Observation of the Day.

Today I passed an older gentleman wearing an iCarly hat.

NOOOOOOO!

If you know anything about my fears, you'll understand why I was dry heaving when I saw this. 

Gotta Support The Team.

Had this gem of a conversation with Tara tonight.

Tara: Did you ever have a Starter jacket?

Me: Oh, indeed. San Jose Sharks.

Tara: Was it teal?

Me: Yup. And had a giant shark on the back. 

Tara: Yeah, I remember that one.

And then she walked away.

"Aw, Man. They Love That Stuff!"

My father has had the same job since he was nine. 

Seriously.

There are pictures of him interning at an even younger age, but basically he started part-time as a 9-year-old and never looked back. 

Farming is a lifestyle more than a career choice. I met someone at the restaurant one time who said he was a farmer and I became totally excited. 

"You are?! My dad's a farmer! What do you grow?"

"Well, I have a small patch of sunflowers. I don't actually plant them or pick them, but I sell them for profit. And it's fun to say I'm a farmer. I really develop real estate."

I just nodded politely. 

Farming requires an incredible amount of dedication. It's investing your entire life in the ground. The EARTH. Not to get all hippy about it, but it has always blown my mind. My dad and his brothers entered a business contract with Mother Nature without any guarantees. The deal was basically that they would show up everyday for about the rest of their lives, and try to make something grow. If something did grow, they'd pick it. And then they'd start all over again. The commitment astounds me. Without exaggeration, I have trouble agreeing to be with a wireless provider for two years. The fact that my dad has made farming his life for his whole life, humbles me.

Growing up, whenever we saw our dad on a tractor, or forklift, or huge truck, or any piece of machinery, he'd shout at the top of his lungs, "Hi girls!" He was always so freaking happy to be doing whatever it was he was doing. His happiness made me really proud.  

Around this time last year I walked into a Shaw's and the first thing I saw was my family's squash. Brina and Ness text me whenever they see it in NY.  Every time this happens I feel like my dad has shown up to surprise us, shouting enthusiastically, "Hi girls!" 

I love to think that a part of him is with us in our cities. 

Anyway, there was a really nice article about the farm in the Rochester paper today and I had to give my dad a shout out. When I talked to him this afternoon he was on top of the world. Always one to return a compliment, this was our exchange:

"Dad! I'm so proud of you! You grow the best squash!"

"Thanks, Jess! You do too!"

Yay Martin Farms!

Note: I know this was mushy, but that's how I like my squash.

Tell Ya Friends Campaign 2010.

A combination of factors have recently forced me to take inventory of what I have going on in my life. These factors include:

1) I finally caved and joined Facebook. This was basically at the nudging of my literary agent who said publishers are asking what sort of following I have. The short answer is that I have no following. Once when my parents came to visit me in SF, I walked a block ahead of them and when I turned around they were no longer behind me. They were following a group of Japanese tourists heading in the opposite direction and apparently the language difference and lack of daughter didn't register. That's a true story and the one I feel like telling publishers. 

I'm on facebook now, trying to find a following but really just falling into the pitfalls of Facebook-- namely looking at people's pictures and realizing that a large group of people from my past now have babies. BABIES! Holy crap, so many babies. I saw a pregnancy picture of an old friend and was thiiis close to writing, "Damn, you got fat." but stopped myself. Parents can be so uptight. 

2) My birthday is coming up. I've been having minor panic attacks in the middle of the night because I'm about to be 29 and I'm thinking I might have misspent my 20's. And while totally teasing, Meredith has implied that I'm ancient. Her jokes are good, I'll give her that.

Me: I want to be with you for a long time.

Mer (Nodding the way you do to someone in a hospital bed): As long as you have left.

But at the beginning of November we had a moratorium on all age-related jokes. 

Me: Hey! You said!

Mer: I said I'd try. And I am. I'm trying.... And I'm coming up with some really good ones. 

3) I've had a string of "Oh, no. This is your life" moments at work where elderly people scream at me about their sandwiches.

Me: Would you care for anything else on your sandwich?

Old people: LIKE WHATTT???!!!

Old people love to ask the "Like what?!" question while conveying absolute disgust for my existence. They are completely confused and clearly offended by an offer to top corned beef with a tomato. 

Me: Oh, anything you want! Lettuce, onion...

Old people: [Shaking their heads, dismissing me with a wave, frowning with a bad taste face like I've just asked to shit on their sandwich and then screaming] NO!

By the fifth time an old person yelled, "LIKE WHAT?!" into my face yesterday I replied, "Anything you want. A moustache. A sneaker..."

They didn't hear. 

Anyway, enough is enough. I'm making a full-effort push to get this first book of mine published. But I need your help. I'm launching a Tell Ya Friends campaign to get the word out. Somebody must know somebody who knows somebody. And if not, then maybe numbers will help the process. So please, if you've ever come close to cracking a smile on this site, let a buddy know. If you have ideas for me, let me know. If you could help spread some buzz about Open-Eyed Sneeze in any way, I'll love you forever. And if you need anything else on your sandwich, you know where to find me. 

Wiggin' Out.

I neglected to tell one of my roommates that my sister was in town this weekend. So when I heard Sean in the kitchen this morning, I told Bri to say hello.  This was the conversation I heard from my room.

Bri: Morning.

Sean: Hi. 

Bri: I'm just running to the bathroom, I'll come back and say hi in a second.

Sean: ...

Sitting in my room, it occurred to me that Sean had no way of knowing Sabrina was my sister and I started to get paranoid wondering if he'd think, who's this random girl? Where's Meredith? When Bri came back into my room I was like, "Tell him you're my sister!" 

Sabrina: Umm... Jessica said I should tell you I'm her sister.

Sean: Oh, OK.

Me (thinking): Uhhh! That sounds like a total lie!

When I got up I apologized for not letting him know Bri was in from New York for the weekend.

Sean: I actually thought she was you. I thought it was you wearing a wig.

Me: Why would I sleep in a wig?!

Sabrina (Shouting from my room): My hair does not look like a wig!

Sean: I'm not saying that. I just wondered why Jess had so much hair.

Talent Show.

While I have no actual talents of my own, when I meet someone new, I can tell with almost 100% accuracy whether or not they can juggle. 

Lesson: Don't Eat Spice Before Bed.

My sister sent me one of the best emails I've ever received this morning with the subject line, "The Impossible Dream." 

Here it is:

Morning!

 

Okay so I had like the MOST INVOLVED wonderful dream last night! It lasted from about midnight (I think) til 6:30 -- and I never sleep that long.

 

Of course I should have called you as soon as I woke up to remember all the details, but it was something along these lines:

 

You and a guy friend -- slightly shorter than you, but equally fabulous, had put together this amazing routine -- you are actually wearing a sequined leotard and he's wearing something sequiny too...your legs looked amazing in the leotard. You start out with trench coats on, fling them off revealing the show-stopping costumes, and then proceed to break into a comic dance/singing routine. You performed it at a contest a la Class Acts, and totally won.

 

So then a while later the whole family (can't remember which side, just a BUNCH of family) is on vacation at this rented house with a great pool and view, etc. I think we're there for a wedding. We're all having a grand time.

 

We go to the wedding and it's packed, but it's more like in a gymnasium with TONS AND TONS of chairs and we sit in a bunch together in the back rows, quite far from where the main event will take place. After the ceremony there are all these musical tributes to the couple, and apparently you are on the list to perform third. No one in the family knows what you're about to do.

 

The second act ends (which I remember really liking), and then you jump up out of your folding chair with your friend, your music comes on, the sequined numbers come out and the two of you start performing like your life depends on it. The crowd is screaming and I'm BEAMING that you are my sister and you're SO FUNNY and SO GOOD!

 

The whole family loves it, and then I woke up. I think it's stemming from all of your awesome blog posts lately and how truly you are the funniest person I know. I guess I'm just really proud of you!

 

See you tomorrow!

xo

Sabrina

I don't think I'm going to stop smiling for the rest of the day.

I Can't Quit You.

I'm extremely loyal to my sweatpants. I've been wearing the same pair forever and they stopped looking like pants about three years ago. Stretched, incredibly baggy, and ripped in some places, it basically looks like I've wrapped some sort of weird blanket around my legs. All of the elastic from the waist passed away long ago, so they hang somewhere around the middle of my thigh. I like to feel like I'm wearing something around my waist so I usually wear basketball shorts under them. This has become necessary. The fabric is so soft from wear that it's a cross between a baby duck and a baby human. I pet them every time I put them on. Fresh from the dryer is the moment they shine. They almost actually resemble pants when they've had a chance to heat up and regroup. But 10 minutes into a wear, it's back to the MC Hammer leg Snuggie that they are. 

I was wearing them this morning while vacuuming and they fell to the ground. I hate turning the vacuum on and off  (I'm really sound sensitive) so I just finished with my pants around my feet. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror, looked at the bundled ball of the world's most comforting cotton chillin' at my ankles, and realized I might have to give these guys up.  It broke my heart.

I recently bought a new pair and it was a very big deal for me. I've slowly been breaking them in, but I know where my loyalties lie.

SOS

I don't know if was because the salad I ate was too big, or that I was starting to get a little stomach virus, but the other night at work, I seriously felt like I was going to be sick. When I shared this with everyone, John adopted the picky-eater customer persona and asked with squinted eyes, exaggerated hand movements, and condescending tone, "Well, if you do, could you just make sure that the dressing is on the side?"

What Will You Be Doing About Beverages?

Asking, "What will you be doing about beverages?" before visiting each other has been a Martin Family favorite for years. It started after my sister Sabrina visited me at college and was unsatisfied with my beverage options of beer or water. Sitting in my living room on a Sunday morning, completely upset that I had no orange juice, she looked at me flatly and asked, "What will you be doing about beverages?" 

She was serious.

When I retold this story to the rest of my family, the line became an instant classic.  We've been saying it as a joke ever since.

Sabrina is still quite serious.

It's important to know that my older sister and I are different creatures. I love her to death, but we're different creatures.  

Bri carries a Tide ToGo stick in her bag. I've seen her give it to strangers. 

I found about a half pint of herbed cream cheese on my pants the other day and thought to myself, "How long has that been there?"

Brina is the type of person who keeps Neosporin in the box of Band-Aids.

I'll walk around all day with a paper-cut finger in my mouth.

Sabrina plans for guest arrivals with towels, toiletries, snacks, fresh sheets, extra pillows, multiple bedding choices (down alternative?), and options for activities.

She's coming to visit me on Friday and I've made a mental note to buy toilet paper.

To really hammer home the difference, this was a grocery list email she sent when we were going to Miami to stay with aka, Aka: 

Obviously, I'm the only one that is going to give you a real answer.  Here goes (and these are just suggestions -- not at ALL necessary in any way) AND I was just about to e-mail you guys to say WHO'S ExCITED??????? I AM!!

 

 

Breakfast foods:

 

Organic skim milk (girls, you can stop rolling your eyes at me now, cause I know you like this too)

A few cereals -- like kashi, puffins, etc.

Orange juice

coffee

bananas

blueberries

strawberries

cantaloupe

2% plain greek yogurt

honey

whole wheat bread

peanut butter

(Stuff for omelets if the girls want this, I don't really eat omlets)

organic eggs

red bell peppers

cheddar cheese
spinach

mushrooms

 

Lunch foods:

 

more whole wheat bread or rolls

light mayonnaise

sliced turkey breast

muenster cheese

tuna fish

lettuce

tomatoes

avocado (and onion & cilantro for guac!)

tortilla chips

salsa

roasted red peppers

some other kind of chips -- nessa will have an opinion on this -- sunchips, honey wheat pretzels, etc.

hummus

baby carrots

 

 

Dinner foods (jess, can you help here?):

 

Tilapia

Chicken breast

broccoli

stuff for stir fry?

sweet potatoes

whole wheat pasta

shrimp

salmon taco stuff? like sour cream, tortillas, and then veggies listed above would be good.

 

Okay that's all I guess...I'm really bad at dinner food stuff. I just drink water, but if the girls want other drinks (jess likes pellegrino, I think) they'll let you know.

We were going to be in Miami for two days. 

Anyway, Bri sent me a message this morning asking about beverages and it reminded me to get OJ before Friday. 

No one like you, sister.  

Has A Kick To It.

This was an exchange between two coworkers last night. Angelica from Brazil, and Sherri from Boston. Angelica speaks at least four different languages that I know of and her English is impeccable. She sometimes gets pop-culture references confused, like when I told her to be Snookie for Halloween and a week later she came up to me and said, "I'm going to be Sharko. Right, Jessica?" 

I had no idea what she was talking about for like an hour.

Sherri speaks fluent Boston native. Think of Lois from Family Guy times ten. This is one of my favorite Sherri quotes:

Sherri: My daughta assed me what a popiss is and I said, I don't know. I think it's a tahtul.

Translation: My daughter asked me what a porpoise is and I said, I don't know. I think it's a turtle. 

Anyway, last night before closing, Angelica asked if anyone had ever tried Mai Tai.

Angelica: I want to try Mai Tai. Greg, could you train me?

Me: Mai Tai? Or Muay Thai?

Angelica: Mai Tai.

Sherri: Oooh, I like Blue Hawaiis.

Angelica: That's a fighting style?

Sherri: What? I don't know. I thought we were talking about Chinese cocktails.

Sensibility of Humor.

Meredith very rarely (read: never) gives me a pity laugh. It's totally fine because I get a good chuckle out of awkward silences, and when she does actually laugh at something I say, I know she truly enjoyed it. 

What kills me though, is when she doesn't see the joke I'm trying to set up. I'll ask questions, leading her in the direction of a punch line, always assuming she sees what's coming, only to have my joke fall flat on its face when she's completely confused by what I'm talking about.

These conversations always end with her thinking I'm crazy and asking in a very serious tone, "What are you talking about?" I'll usually just sit with a smile until she plays along and releases an, "Oh, I get it. Funny. You're funny." like a hostage she's keeping in a bank or something. 

Anyway, the other night we were talking on the phone before bed and she mentioned that she might put on a movie to fall asleep.

Meredith: I might watch Sense and Sensibility. I love that movie.

Me: The one with Keira Knightly or the PBS version?

Meredith: You're thinking of Pride and Prejudice. 

Me: Am I? I don't think so.

Meredith (Completely confident in her correctness): No, you are.

Me: Noooo. I think I'm right.

Meredith (slightly annoyed): No, baby. You're thinking of Pride and Prejudice.  Sense and Sensibility is with Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson.

Me: Oh, right. The one where they put things in a glass of water to see what floats and what sinks?

[Silence and then finally]

Meredith: What?!!!

Me: Oh, no, never mind. That's Dense and Densibility. 

There was about a good ten-second pause before she threw out an, "Oh my gosh."

I laughed anyway.

Have You Had A Chance To Look Things Over?

One of the funniest people I work with (who shall remain nameless for this post) walked passed me tonight at the restaurant and said under her breath, "Table 28 has seen my vagina."

It's the best sentence I've heard all week. 

When the man she was talking about got up to take a phone call she said hello.

-Hi, Doctor. How are you?

-I'm well. Have you met my wife? Come over and meet her.

I was standing nearby for this interaction and smiling because I'm exactly 12 years old. 

Following the doctor back to his table, she smiled and said to me through her teeth, "Oh, great. Does she have a nice vagina?"

When I shared this exchange with Harvey, he was completely repulsed. 

Double Dare Me?

Harvey brings in donuts for the AM crew on the weekends. It's really nice. I guess I haven't had Dunkin Donuts in awhile though, because they seemed unbelievably light. Two bites into a chocolate glaze I thought to myself, I could eat an entire dozen of these, no problem. 

And then I said it aloud, kind of hoping someone would dare me to so I could. 

Nothing Is Better Than This.

Upset Autumn Tum.

That title doesn't really work. I had to say it out loud a few times. And then it started to remind me of The Litttle Drummer Boy for some reason. 

What? I don't know.

Anyway, throughout the month of October, I think I pretty successfully stuffed the entire Fall season into my belly.  I was obsessed with all things Pumpkin, really tried to meet an apple a day quota, and have been craving apple cider and donut holes pretty much non-stop for 31 days.

Here's a highlight list:

-Pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. 

-Pumpkin pancakes.

-Cinnamon in my coffee.

-Squash soup. 

-Post Road Pumpkin Ale

-Shipyard Pumpkinhead Ale. The Best! Yum Yum Yum. When I see this on tap anywhere I squeal like a little piggy. It's seriously so good. 

Incidentally, Mer has a pumpkin styling wax she uses for her hair and I have taken to calling her Pumpkinhead. Or sometimes YankeeCandlehead. I'm very good with terms of endearment. All day yesterday she was Boo. Obviously. For the holiday.

-JPLicks Pumpkin Custard. Can we have a serious frank discussion about how good this is? This ice cream (in a sugar cone with chocolate sprinkles) is SO freaking good it will make you calmly exit the JPLicks of your choice, approach the sweetest looking person you can find, ask them to stop walking for a minute, and then swiftly slap them across the face. 

I've had more than my fill of October. I'm stoked it's November because nothing about turkey pancakes appeals to me and my stomach could really use the downtime. 

The Most Wonderful Time of The Year.

If I don't get into Halloween (at all) it's only because I grew up with a skewed sense of when I should be scared. When we were kids, my uncle Greg used to come out to the dining room table at my grandma's house wearing a horribly scary wolf mask and roar until we all ran away. 

The was for Easter. 

Sometimes Thanksgiving.

And to be honest, he still does this. 

This is a picture from last Christmas. Seriously.

At least there will be clearance candy at CVS in a few days.

Here's a Halloween grab bag of posts.

Still deciding what to be?

I'm going as Confused.

How to meet your soulmate while dressed like an idiot.

Time To Go.

My girlfriend is insanely good with accents. It's part of the reason I like her so darn much. Many times I'll just ask her to say things with an accent and she'll happily oblige by talking like a Scottish person for the rest of the day. It works out quite well. 

Anyway, this morning couldn't have been more perfect in Harvard Square. People were wearing their very best fall outfits, we had coffee in hand, and the hardest decision we had to make was choosing between a pumpkin cupcake or pumpkin ice cream. It's a nice problem to have. As we are wont to do when there is so much to be happy about, we started talking in British accents. Meredith is spot on and sounds like a true Brit. (Mine always slips between British and Australian.) Popping into a little watch store to check out timepieces, Mer held onto her accent so perfectly and calmly approached the shopkeeper, inquiring with English grace, "Excuse me, have you got the time?"

Without even cracking a smile, the man kept his gaze on a battery he was changing. 

NOT cool. 

Not only was her accent unbelievably charming, but come on! It's a funny little joke!

 

I promptly grabbed her by the side and made for the door. I refuse to support businesses that don't like cheesy jokes and accents. 

Heading out into the amazing fall day I said with a half cockney/half Aussie lilt, "Watch us leave your store."

Wait For It.

I don't like and/or recognize the greedy part of me that comes out to play when I make a bag of popcorn. Always exceeding the recommended microwave time, I wait anxiously by the glowing window watching the bag inflate the way a day-trader monitors the fluctuating markets. 

Pop, Pop. Buy, Sell.

As the time between pops increases, I hold out pressing stop, convinced that I can get one more kernel to morph. 

Pop. 

YES!

....

....

Pop!

Yes!

...

...

...

....

Stop now?

Pop.

Yessss!

This butter-coated belief that I can somehow outsmart the good people at Orville Redenbacher almost always leads to a burnt bag. 

Unrelated note: The other day at work a customer told Tara he was allergic to microwaves.

That's Amore.

I was watching Millionaire Matchmaker (no comments) and after discovering a mutual appreciation for binge drinking and mozzarella, this was a direct quote from the 24-year old girl dating the 40-year old millionaire. 

"I thought that maybe with the age difference we wouldn't have that many things in common. But I like alcohol... and cheese."

Ah, yes. Nature's timeless aphrodisiac. Cheese. 

And what a story for the grandchildren:

 

"Well, Grandpa loved cheese, see? And I loved cheese. And he loved raspberry Stoli, and he bought me one outside a yankee game once. But it was all about the cheese kids. The love we shared for cheese and his millions and millions of dollars. Mmmm. Cheese." 

It ended up not working out.

In a semi-related note, statistically speaking, you might be surprised by how difficult it is for lactose-intolerant millionaires to meet people. 

It's A Stretch.

My little sister sent a text asking us to plan on attending her birthday party in December but gave few (read: zero) hints as to what was in store. When I finally got in touch with her she excitedly said that I had to promise to come. 

"I promise! I wouldn't miss it!"

"OK, you promised."

"Ness, stop! What is it?"

"Are you sitting down?!"

"Yeah..."

"OK. Well I've planned for.. are you ready? A private yoga class! The instructor is insane! It's going to be awesome!" 

Without even hesitating I flatly said, "I'm not going."

I realize it wasn't fair to flake immediately, but she had to know it was coming. I have the flexibility of a piece of chalk. I sweat when I eat soup. In a workout situation the perspiration is offensive. And to be honest, I've never particularly enjoyed being instructed through exercise. My mother used to bribe me to take swimming lessons by buying me Kudos bars. It helps explain why I'm a very strong swimmer and why I was an exceptionally fat child.   

Anyway, here's why I said no:

-Ness is in amazing shape and really into yoga. 

-I ran around the other day and proceeded to wake up in the middle of the night with a charlie horse in my butt. I remember shouting, "Is this even possible?!"

-She uses things like yoga walls.

(That's her doing the classic, Hang From The Wall And Grab Someone's Leg move. It's similar to that old school, extend your arms and make small circles stretch.)

-Without exaggeration, a strap on my bag got caught in a bench last week and I missed the bus trying to get it out. If I tried to use a yoga wall, this is the conversation people would have days later:

"She died?! How?"

"She got stuck on a yoga wall."

"Gosh, that's sad. Although, I once saw her trying to pull a bag out of a bench at a bus stop. Kind of makes sense." 

-I know part of the reason she's doing this is because she wants to laugh at my sad attempts to touch my toes. And sure enough, that's what she said. 

But I suppose if sweating like an idiot, wearing spandex, and pulling a butt muscle on a yoga wall is all she wants from me for her bday, it's the least I can do. 

Stand Still.

Lisa came up to me at work this morning and asked me if I knew I had a mannequin twin. 

(I live for questions like this.) 

Me: No! Like Elaine in that episode of Seinfeld?!

Lisa: We were shopping last night and my daughter climbed up with all the mannequins and asked me to take her picture. When I went through them I was like, hey! It's mannequin Jess!

I thought it was funny. 

But this is the better story:

After taking the pictures, Lisa asked her daughter to get down and started saying things like, "Ok, I'm not taking anymore pictures of you up there, let's go. Come on, get down from there, I mean it." as people passed by. 

With Jacqueline remaining perfectly still, people passed by and gave her looks as she tried to explain that her daughter was posing.  

Schooled.

Lesson: Boston natives treat the city like a sibling or close relative. If you have something nice to say, they want to hear all about it. They LOVE family compliments. But if you have a complaint, they look at you like, "You know who you're talking to, right? That's my brother."

I feel like New Yorkers are better with complaints. They share city complaints with a smile, like they're talking about a jerk friend that they still love to death. Even if a tourist complains about something in the city, there's a happy recognition of, "Yeah, he can be an asshole, but what are you gonna do? He's got a good heart."

Anyway, whenever I mention even the most minor complaint about Boston, (I try to never talk about public transportation with her) Meredith launches into little sister defense mode.  

This was an exchange we had the other day.

Meredith: I wish you didn't hate Boston so much.

Me: I don't hate Boston. I just think it's really full of itself. You know those cocky people that always find a way to talk about how great they are? It's probably just because their parents fed that to them their entire life and they truly started to believe it. "Oh, you're so great! Oh, you're amazing!" But it's like, geez, Boston. You must have had some incredibly supportive parents. 

Without missing a beat, and with some serious ever heard of it? tone, Mer snapped back with,

"Well, yes. The Founding Fathers, actually."

It was well played. 

Eating Disorder.

I had peanut butter and honey on my toast this morning and have since found both toppings on my neck, my shoulder, and my forearm.

What the hell?

No Peeking.

I get embarrassed when people see me folding my underwear at the laundromat. 

Ow.

I burned my arm on an oven door at work this morning and I'm afraid the gnarly scar I have will stick around forever. What kind of story will that make?

-Oooh, where did you get that scar? Were you in an accident like Padma Lakshmi?

-Mmm, no. I was grabbing a ladle to sample the lemonade I made* when an oven door opened up and seared me.

[Crickets]

*Would Lemonade I Made be a cool band name?

Missed My Shot.

The new agency website is up and as I mentioned before,  I was supposed to submit a photo.

Well, of course, I didn't, but now I'm kicking myself because my bio just has that weird fake person silhouette where my face should be. I suppose the fake person could be me, but something with eyes would be nice. 

Here are some choices:

Me by a duck.

Me wearing my favorite headband.

Me buying snacks in the middle of the night at a convenience store. 

This was during the height of a rather debilitating stretch of insomnia, and yes, I'm holding Slim Jim, a Hungry Man Dinner, and pie crust.

Me doing this:

or this:

or this:

(sisters will be omitted)

Or me falling asleep on the subway.

Or me wearing a meat hat.

Thoughts?

Don't Put Coins In It.

If the escape capsule being used to rescue the miners looks familiar it's because engineers stole the design straight from that vacuum tube thing they use at the bank. 

Love Your Lucky Life.

The TVs at work were on CNN yesterday as crews worked to drill out the trapped miners in Chile. It was amazing to walk past the counter and hear everyone talking about it. It appears that the story is the ultimate game of "What If?" 

Honestly though, what would be the first thing you'd do after being trapped in a mine for months?

I'd go swimming, I think. In the ocean. Or do snow angels on my bed. Or give ridiculously big hugs to all the amazing people in my life. Or just take huge deep breaths everywhere I went.  Or ask that "Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros be played upon my arrival to the surface and proceed to dance around like an idiot. 

I've been thinking about those guys so much and the latest story is that arguments have started over who will be the first to leave the mine. Apparently, no one wants to be at the top of the list. They all want everyone else to go ahead of them. 

Gosh. It fills me up. 

Go do something you couldn't do in a mine.

Go be happy for your lucky life. 

Also...

My mom looks like Zoila the maid from Bravo's Flipping Out.

Right?

Doesn't it weird you out when you go to use the microwave and the time on the clock seems like the actual time, but it's really just the minutes you have left from the last time you used the microwave? 

I'm not explaining this well.

But furthermore, doesn't it make you a little sad to know that the unused minutes from heating something up days earlier serve as a good enough time estimation for you because you literally have nothing else going on? 

And by you, of course, I mean you. (Cough.)

-What time is it?

-2:22?

-Really?

-I don't know.

One Big, Weird Family.

I had the most random bus ride home tonight, and that's saying a lot because I feel like I always have random bus trips. When I got on after work a man standing right next to the front door smiled and said, "Welcome to to family!"

I get comments from weirdos about 300 times a day, so I lightly smiled and moved to the back of the bus.

At the next stop, before more people got on he said to the rest of the bus, "Here comes more family!" And as each person boarded he would point and tell everyone, "This is our brother! This is my sister!"

When an old woman with an ice cream cone got on at Comm Ave he asked loudly, "Would anyone like some of her ice cream? It's OK, she's my sister. I'm feeling generous."

The woman held her ice cream a little tighter as she ate it and never once cracked a smile. By the fifth or sixth time he had offered to share her cone with the bus, I think she had had it. 

When new people were picked up he would happily tell them, "You're my brother." And then introduce them to the bus as such. "Excuse me, family? This is our brother."

Asking two college girls sitting next to each other if they were sisters they politely said no, just friends. He corrected them by saying, "No, you're sisters. And your sister is behind you too." Pointing to me, the girls turned around and I faked surprise, asking one of them in disbelief, "Sister?!" To which she replied, "Oh my gosh! Sister!"

I let my smile fade and said in a serious tone, "You should call mom."

We exchanged smiles, they turned around, and I spent the rest of my ride listening to the introduction of more siblings and wondering if I actually could get a bite of that cone.

Are You Ready Boots?

Oh boy, do I love fall! 

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

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

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

She's sort of wonderful.

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

Smart car!!!!!

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Thanks Mer!

Now Is Not Snack Time.

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

This triggered two thoughts:

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

and 

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

Deli Series: Andres The Sandwich Guy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Because it's true.

Andres: Why's it true?

Me: Andres, it's true.

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

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

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

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