Better Late Than Never.

In case you missed it, here are my remarks at the event in New York. Having to listen to myself speak is painful but I decided to post this anyway because it's sort of the culmination of everything this blog was about for the last five years-- getting my book out there. Thanks again to everyone who came to the launch in NYC and thank you to all of you who have read the book!

Note: The microphone system at the venue was a little weird and if I held the mic more than a centimeter away from my face, music turned on. That might help explain why the sound is horrible.

Note 2: We should all be so lucky as to have one person in the audience who is always willing to laugh the loudest.

Hope to see Boston people tonight! I'm thinking I won't do a reading but instead, an extended rant about babies in restaurants. "There's a baby on the floor. Whose baby is this?"

Friendly Reminder! Tomorrow Night.

I Heart Farmers and My Hometown.

I'm trying to plan a hometown event for the book and my mother suggested that I ask to use Esther's. It's probably one of the better ideas she has ever had.

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, Esther's is a dream. Trivia Note: Esther is my great-grandma. It used to be my family's farm market and ice cream shop until a dairy farmer friend of my father's took it over. It's pretty much the best thing about Brockport in the summer. Warm nights, good laughs, ridiculously delicious cones, and the calm of farm fields all around you. What's not to love?

I have to say, my dad has some of the nicest friends around. When he and my mom talked to Carolyn (the owner) about the possibility of having a Brockport event at the store, she didn't even hesitate. "You tell her to call me."

So because I like to think I've learned a thing or two from Sabrina, I had a list of questions written out and ideas to discuss with Carolyn when I called today. Here's how the conversation went:

C: Hello?

Me: Hi Carolyn! This is Jessica Martin, Steve's daughter.

C: Oh, hi Jessica! [Loud noises]

Me: Have I called you at a bad time?

C: Well, it's a nice day out. Ice cream and nice days, you know.

Me: Right, well I'll call you tomorrow. Is that OK?

C: No, it's fine. You want to do the book signing here, right? Anything you want to do. Whenever you want to do it.

Me: Wow, thank you! In terms of setting a time?

C: We open at noon and close at dusk.

Me: Right. Perfect. I'll be in touch.

C: OK, Bye!

I looked down to my paper and stared at the only note I had taken-- "Noon-Dusk."

This is my kind of event planning.

Stay tuned for more info!

Boston Leg of The Tour!

Hey, if you live in the Boston area will you please come to this?! OK, thanks.

Open-Eyed Sneeze NYC Launch!

The book launch in New York was a great success thanks to my sisters, my family, my girl, and the incredibly supportive people who braved the pouring rain to come to Tribeca to hear a first-time author read for a few minutes. It was pretty much the coolest thing to ever happen in my professional life-- particularly considering I don't actually have a professional life.

To all the people who were at the event, I know this seems sudden, but I'm madly in love with you. Thanks so much for the encouragement and for making it a really fun night!

With all that said, I nearly missed the entire thing.

My sister Sabrina is a master organizer and had the evening planned out to the minute. She arranged for a car service to pick us up in Queens at 4:30 (champagne toast at her apartment at 4:15) giving us more than enough time to beat traffic and set things up at the venue. With the downpour and city traffic, I sat sweating in the back of the car as Brina turned around every 10 minutes saying, "We're going to be late." Noticing that I was growing more and more panicked as our car barely crept, Nessa made fun of me relentlessly. Chewing her gum in a way she knew would annoy me, and using a voice that she assumed would do the same, she foofed her hair and said, "Gonna be late, Jess? Late to the launch? You might miss it. Might miss the big launch."

It was not helpful.

Anyway, we made it, people came, books sold, success!

Thanks again everyone!

The Boston Event is scheduled for Tuesday June 7th 5:00-7:00 PM. If you're in the area, save the date!

Refreshing.

Michael: You can't chew gum in here.

Me: It's not gum, it's a mint.

Michael: Oh, it smells good. What flavor is it?

Me: Um... Mint.

The Best Game Since Hat or Hair.

The rules for Hat or Hair can be found here but What Would You Buy Me? is just as easily explained.

Window shopping is always more fun when playing a quick round of, What Would You Buy Me?

You Don't Understand My Music.

I was on the T this morning and overheard a conversation between two strangers. The man who started the conversation was clearly drunk and the guy going along with the whole thing was incredibly patient. We'll call him Bill. Here's how it went:

Drunk guy: I'm a musician too, man.

Bill: Oh yeah? What do you play?

Drunk Guy: Awww, man! Rock & Roll, Jazz Fusion, R&B.

Bill: That's great.

Drunk Guy: [Closes his eyes and starts singing. Horribly. Slowly. Each word of his made up song is 35 beats and at least five different key changes. Everyone on the train turns to look at him.]

After a few minutes of singing a song called "Stay in my corner" (those were the only words) Bill smiled and said to the man, "You have a very nice voice."

Opening his eyes wide with annoyance, the drunk guy replied, "Man, I'm a drummer!"

I Always Route For The Underdog.

I had a waitress at Waffle House once who was wearing a button that said, "I'm #2."

I loved it so much I sort of adopted it as a mantra.

Anyway, my book is in the bookstore window and its location could not be any more perfect.

I love my life.

Show-Offs.

I've been seeing a lot of unicycle riders around town lately. What's that about?

It's obviously not a more convenient form of travel and honestly, it's just a little too showy for my taste. It's like screaming, "Hey! Look what I can do!" everywhere you go. People who can juggle don't walk down the street juggling. When I see people on unicycles I find myself rolling my eyes and then waiting for them to get to some sort of hill.

My friend said she saw a guy locking his unicycle to a bike rack. Really, unicycle guy? You think someone who also knows how to ride a unicycle is going to steal your wheel?

What would that getaway look like?

"Hey! Stop him! He stole my Uni!"

"What's that?

"My unicycle! Stop him!"

"You could probably just go walk over and ask him to give it back. He's not going very fast."

I'd like to see a chase scene between a unicycle, a pogo-stick, someone wearing moon shoes, and a guy on one of those little butt scooters that we used to use in gym class. And when the person wearing moon shoes gets away, this is how the scene ends:

Book For Sale!

Well, it's official! Open-Eyed Sneeze can now be found on bookstore (singular) shelf, and is available for sale on the interwebs. Here is the link to buy the book!

Boston people, save on shipping and head to the Harvard Book Store to pick up your copy! Or, write me and I can get you one. I know a guy.

After May 18th, I will also be selling copies of the book through this blog via completely secure PayPal.

Options abound!

I posted the news about the book being available last night on Facebook, and the response from friends from my hometown was awesome. That town deserves its own shout out, and that's coming soon, but I have to say, Brockport is good people. Even when people leave and start lives in other places, something stays with them from that town. And we all know what it is.

It's the extreme desire to have a Wegmans.

Anyway, when I called to tell my mom that Sarah Schram was the first person ever to purchase my book, she started laughing with excitement and then burst out crying. My sisters had similar freak out responses. I love that my whole family knows the people who are buying my book by name. Score one, little indie press.

So, it's a really fun time for my first book! Read it! Tell a friend! Stretch!

(That doesn't relate, it's just really important to stretch.)

Thanks, Gram.

For the purposes of this post, it's important to note that my grandma Lorraine is the cutest person ever and I love her like crazy. Whenever we talk on the phone she asks how Mer is doing and gets excited for her when she has exciting things happening. When I told her about Mer's fellowship she said, "Oooooooooh, that sounds nice!" She's sort of ridiculously amazing.

I never know how grandparents will respond to the whole girlfriend thing. When we had Easter dinner at my friend Jane's house last week, I introduced myself to Jane's grandma and casually said, "And this is my girlfriend, Meredith." I thought, well, if she's not down with the gays, maybe she'll think I just mean my friend, and then we can all enjoy ham. But this was her response:

"Oh, one of my best friends when I was young was a Transvestite and I wrote a book about her. You'll sit next to me for dinner."

Grandparents deserve more credit than they're given.

Anyway, a card arrived the other day and saying that I had trouble opening it is an extreme understatement. A recap:

The fact that she included Mer was pretty much the best thing ever. I love you, Gram!

Monday Blooper.

Without further ado... a blooper.

Lots of Pulp.

I was really proud of this joke.

You know what they call a marriage between two Quarter Pounders With Cheese in Paris?

A Royale With Cheese Wedding.

No One Tells Me Anything.

I forgot my phone charger in Chicago so I was without a cell for about a week. Normally this wouldn't mean anything. Nessa never picks up her phone so I wouldn't be missing much there, Sabrina emails constantly and would learn how to send smoke signals if she thought the news was important enough, and my mom and dad usually just want to know what I've been eating for dinner. So when I finally got my charger back and called everyone, I was a little concerned that every phone went straight to voicemail. Did they all lose their chargers too?

Nope. They didn't.

The day after I tried calling them I got an email from Brina with the subject line: Pics from the Spring Gala. The body of the email said only, "Enjoy!"

These are the pics she sent:

Right. Well, I guess it slipped everyone's mind to tell me that my entire family was going to NYC Opera's Gala. Nbd.

But then, THIS picture was in the New York Times!

Here's the article. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/23/nyregion/nocturnalist-hobnobbing-from-the-ground-floor-up.html

It's sort of a Where's Waldo? situation, but if you look under the white floating art piece, you'll see Sabrina's red dress and my mom standing across from her.

Man! I would have LOVED to be in the New York Times! Blerg.

Anyway, mom, you'll be interested to know that I had a delightful seared striped bass the other night. Thankyouverymuch.

Deb Has Changed Her Name To Moonbeam.

Another wonderful email from my mother, who has apparently turned into a hippy.

Jessica,

I am so over the top happy for you. As a parent, to know you feel true happiness gives me a sense of wonderful peacefulness. With you and your sisters pursuing your dreams, I can take a moment and bask in your light. Congrats!

Something about writing emails makes my mom wax poetic. I remember before we all went home for Thanksgiving this year she sent Nessa a lengthy piece about apples.

A Book In The Hand Is Worth 2 Video Posts.

I picked up my proof copy from the printer today and oh boy, was I excited. It was also about 100 million degrees out (I sweat in the winter so yes, 65 is basically 100 million) so I was pretty stoked about that as well.

I thought I would surprise Meredith when she got out of work by sitting outside the hospital reading my book, but she almost walked right past me and I had to scream, "Meredith! Over here!" and then she was like, "What are you doing here?" And I couldn't think of anything clever so I was just like, "Look." and handed it to her.

My life just plays out like a movie sometimes! Magical.

Anyway, I might have one thing changed but then it's a go with printing lots of copies. Maybe you'll read it! That'd be great!

Here are 2 video posts because I'm so happy. One of them is a Rap video. Whaaa? Please excuse my sweaty, dead rat appearance. I was waiting outside for Mer for awhile.

A Moml's Love.

I sent the book cover to my mom yesterday and this was her response:

I am over the top excited to see the fruits of your labor!!! I think I feel like Grandma did when she peered through the door of the birthing room. Your book is born!! I am incredibly humbled and awestruck. I can hardly wait to nurture it along its journey...Congrats, Love, your moml

My poor mom. The closest thing to a grandchild she'll see in awhile is a self-published paperback.

A few years ago around Christmastime, the fridge was covered with pictures of other people's children on holiday cards and my mom interrupted our meal by asking, "Now Jessie, do you think you'll adopt, or would your partner get pregnant?" I held my breath for a minute, deciding if it was worth it to point out that the question was launched from nowhere. Concluding that it wasn't, I answered with, "Mom, I don't even have my own apartment right now. Let's worry about imaginary babies later."

I love you, Mom. You can push a copy of my book on a park swing whenever you want.

Book Cover!

Well folks, here it is! A Geoffrey Gavett original and the cover to my first book. It's laid out like a book jacket here, but you can get the idea.

If I can say a few words about my friend Geoff -- and I can because I'm typing this -- I'd like to do that now.

I liked Geoff before I even knew him. Whenever my friend Lauren would share a story about her boyfriend, I could tell by the way she had to smile that he was an amazing kid. I should mention that Lauren is one of my favorite people ever, so anyone that could make her laugh without actually being present had my immediate seal of approval. Lauren talked about his childlike verve for life, his humor, his energy, his style, his mind, his love for good music and his willingness to be moved by it, and the fact that he would make her breakfast. By the time I finally met him, I was practically his biggest fan.

I had the pleasure of working with him and laughing my arse off on the daily as he used various and believable accents, made up voices for people-watching, invented characters, danced, made funny faces, and spoke at the speed of sound. It was like working with a cartoon character. But better! Because Geoff is also wicked smart and interesting. He loves art and speaks about it with a passion that is tangible. His love for the process of creation-- for making something, anything-- is obvious and it speaks to why his own creativity is seemingly limitless. He has an energy that wakes you up and demands that you try. I dare anyone to have a conversation with him and not feel inspired.

Through music, drawing, painting, graphics, photography, and talking about ideas, Geoff is always evolving. He's just a really cool kid to know and I'm thrilled to call him my bud. Thanks for lending your talents on this project, Geoff!

Below: Cover Artist tries to peer into the soul of the camera. Author says, "Cheese."

Below: The thought bubbles of Cover Artist and author collide and fornicate. It's disturbing.

It's Not Delivery.

Because no one delivers cookies.

I saw a commercial on hulu for this product:

This was my thought process after seeing the ad:

-Mmm, cookies.

-Wait, pizza and cookies? That doesn't make any sense.

-Well, maybe it does.

-No, actually that's pretty gross.

-What, you've never wanted something sweet after pizza?

-I don't remember ever saying, "Pizza! Can't wait to finish this and eat cookies!"

-Well, I've probably said that.

-But pizza and milk? No. It's like when parents order their kid a hot dog and milk.

-Ew, when I think about hot dogs and milk I start to throw up a little.

I actually paused my episode of Parks & Recreation to keep thinking about this product. I found that I wasn't hungry, just confused. Did the advertisers want me to somehow end up thinking about hot dogs? Hot dogs and bunt cake? Is that the next big thing? Semi-related: Have you ever seen a hot dog toaster?

And if pizza and cookies are such good pals, why am I just hearing about it now? If you said to two people, "You go together like pizza and cookies," they'd probably ask you what the hell you meant by that. Because while it sort of makes sense, it mostly doesn't. Or maybe it does.

Anyway, the whole thing sounds like a mall food court mistake.

With that said, I'm getting one.

Flashmob.

It's the homestretch to get the word out about Open-Eyed Sneeze and if anything can get people talking, it's a flashmob. I debated trying to get those Filipino prisoners to somehow mention that I was publishing a book, but logistically, I thought a flashmob made more sense.

Prison correspondence can be so slow.

This was my first attempt at organizing a flashmob, so clearly there's a learning curve. Making sure you mention the correct time for everyone to be there is something to remember. Also, sending the alert out to more than just your immediate family in New York is a good tip. Especially if the flashmob is held in Chicago.

Overall, things could have gone worse.

Note: The security officer at The Bean was following me for the entire time we filmed.

That's true.

Monday Contest and Blooper.

The book launch for Open-Eyed Sneeze is quickly approaching and today's contest concerns the signature drink that will be served at the event. I'd like to call it the Open-Eyed Sneeze, but any great drink name will work.

Create the winning signature cocktail, win an invite to the launch! It's that easy! And my parents will be at this party, so if you've never had the pleasure, it might be worth it to try to think of a fun beverage.

And now, a random clip.

Insert Appropriate Title.

I guess I don't have anything else to say about this.

Soup, There It Is.

Thank you to everyone for playing! The names have been collected and written down on wooden tokens and put in a sock. I am now choosing one wooden token and--just a second. Sorry, it's actually a lot harder to get a wooden token out of a sock than you might imagine.

There we go.

Ahem.

Ladies and gentleman, the randomly selected 2011 soup quote winner is (drumroll, high hat, improvised solo...) Gordon!

Unfortunately, Gordon lives in California. Hmm.

The second randomly selected wooden token name is (drumroll, slide whistle, didgeridoo...) Andrea!

Ok, she doesn't live in Boston either. There were restrictions, people.

Modern problems call for modern answers. Here's what I'll do. Winners, if at all interested, we can eat soup together via Skype.

Let me know.

Monday Contest and Blooper.

That's right! I've started something new on the blog and every Monday for the next few weeks, I'll be posting a contest and at least one blooper for your time-wasting convenience.

This week's contest: Soup With The Author!

Have you ever wanted to have a cup of soup with a self-published author? Now you can! Simply text "Soup" to Open-Eyed Sneeze-- wait, scratch that. I have no way of making that happen. Don't text anything. Simply post your favorite quote about soup to the blog or the facebook page and one randomly selected quote about soup wins! I'll buy your soup, we'll talk or not talk, it'll be a video post!

Is this the best contest you've ever seen? Why, yes. Yes it is. Winner will be posted tomorrow.

Note: Soup will be eaten in the Boston area.

(If I get even one response to this I'll consider it a success.)

And now, a blooper:

Brainstorming With The Peeps.

I didn't understand the assignment.

It's A Strategy Game.

How can you get people to follow something online without annoying them daily? I imagine it's the most common question in marketing. I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I haven't come up with anything.

Justin Bieber has 24 million followers on facebook. That's a lot. How are all those people not constantly annoyed? He's probably figured out what works because he started as baby and the internet existed when he was a baby, so he had an advantage there. Starting early helps, I guess. I notice a lot of people put ultrasound pictures of their babies on facebook. Technically, those kids have one up on The Bieb. Web presence before fingernails. How can you beat that?

The pop song you dance to in 2022 will be sung by a kid who says things in interviews like, "Yeah, I've always loved to reach out to my fans. I sent my first tweet from the womb. My first hit was under the name DJ embrYO, and it was basically just that swooshing heartbeat sound you hear in the doctor's office combined with a few 'Jah's!' We sold 36 million singles of that song on the day I was born."

I'm interested in what makes people follow something online. I don't even check the weather daily. I've been caught in the rain without an umbrella five different times this year so you might think I'd have more of an interest in forecasts, but you'd be wrong.

When I met up with Molly she said her most popular blog post was the review she wrote for the Miley Cyrus movie, The Last Song. Clearly, this was a google search thing. So, I'm thinking (Justin Bieber getting married) that if I (Justin Bieber dates biggest fan) insert certain phrases (Justin Bieber shaves head) people will stumble upon my blog (Justin Bieber Ticket Giveaway).

It's worth a shot.

Has Trouble Focusing.

Tried things out with the new camera and then spent over an hour screaming at it because I couldn't get it to focus.

All in all, this first attempt went as expected.

Stay tuned for video blogs, people!

#This Doesn't @Make Any RT Sense

I hate Twitter.

Hate is a strong word, and millions of people can't be wrong so maybe it's me, but every time I sit down to tweet I get upset. We're talking temper tantrum upset. On Sunday morning Meredith asked me, "Are you going to do a morning tweet?" and I just about lost it.

Mer: It's one little sentence!

Me: It's STUPID!!!!!!

Mer: Just write one funny little hello.

Me: How about I write, "Hi, dummies. I hate twitter."

Mer: You're being ridiculous.

I'm just finding out about this deep-seated disdain. I started a twitter page a few days ago after having one of the most inspiring discussions of my life with the incredible Molly Galler. Molly is synergy personified. She talked about PR being a strategy game and discussed said strategies with an energy that was tangible. I was sold. The girl knows her stuff and can create more buzz than a can of four loko, so when she says, "Tweet!" you tweet.

However, three seconds into setting up my account, I realized I had no clue what was going on, I really struggled to say something witty with limited characters, and I didn't want to play anymore.

It immediately reminded me of my childhood swim lessons.

As a fat kid who hated to be told to jump into water, I loathed swimming lessons. Every week was a battle between me and my mom as I cried, begged, and screamed about not wanting to swim. The outbursts out of the pool were bad, too.

So I think part of the reason I got upset about twitter on Sunday was that while Meredith was making points that I didn't want to hear--It might be fun! You have to start somewhere!

Just once a day!--I felt like little kid me shivering in a bathing suit trying to clearly state why I didn't want to participate.

All I came up with was, "I don't want to!"

I'll have to sit down at some point and learn about it. #Blerg.#

Going Viral.

In an effort to increase my web presence, I've decided to make a viral video. 

What do we know about viral videos?

1) Anything with cats works. 

2) Anything with kids coming from the dentist is sure to please.

3) The Chocolate Rain guy will be singing that song for the rest of his life. 

These are all good starting points but I need something cutting edge and controversial. I need body double face replacement.   

Right. So all I need is a good special effects person because I have the video.

I'm picturing my face subbed in for all these little children-- except the one girl who keeps smiling. She can stay.

And then at the end I want to turn into a swan.

If You're Not Doing Anything...

And you're not, because you're reading this-- will you take three seconds to "like" my author facebook page? 

What's in it for me, you ask?

Well, you selfish bastard, I'll tell you what's in it for you.

1) If anything ever happens with this first book you can say that you helped publish it. 

2) You might laugh. This isn't a promise. 

3) I'm planning some things for promotional purposes that could be pretty cool. 

4) You're still reading this meaning that you already could have liked the page and saved us both a few minutes. 

Thanks in advance! Up top!

Also, I take requests and suggestions are always welcome.

sssssssshhhhh!

Listening to other people eat fruit disgusts me. Apples and bananas are particularly gross. 

The woman sitting across from me at the library is eating both. 

She also has the sniffles. 

I want to unlace my hightop and throw it at her head. 

Misled.

My coworker Olivia has a very dry sense of humor that totally appeals to me. She's mastered the straight-face delivery of hilarious lines and usually says the funniest things under her breath when no one else is listening. So of course, when she volunteers a story by prefacing it with, "You'd appreciate this," I'm all ears. 

Speaking slowly and with classic non-expression she said, "Yesterday one of my customers sent her macaroni and cheese back after one bite saying it wasn't what she expected."

Go Team!

So things are moving along with the book. I've decided to self-publish and then promote the poop out of it using whatever outlets I can. "Promote the poop out of it" is an industry term. (Note to self: Buy the domain name promotethepoopoutofit.com)

Here's the recent progress:

-I purchased a camera and will soon be posting video blogs. Stay tuned for that awkward mess.

-I'm thrilled to announce that my incredibly talented friend Geoff Gavett has agreed to design the Open-Eyed Sneeze book cover! It's going to be amazing. 

-Boston's PR darling, Molly Galler, has generously offered her talents to help with my efforts to expand my base. Molly's middle name is actually Twitter.

Seriously.

-Sabrina Rae, event-planner extraordinaire, is planning the initial book launch in NYC. Details to follow. 

-Debra Martin, my mother extraordinaire, has offered to make eggplant parmesan for the launch. 

"Mom, it really won't be that kind of party."

"What, people don't like delicious food?"

I'm excited. Maybe it's because I'm a farm girl at heart, but it's fun to watch something grow.

It's Like Missing Christmas.

So apparently I missed National Pancake Day earlier this month. That's a freaking shame because I LOVE pancakes. But in honor of the national observance, I thought I'd share some pics from a night we went to IHOP back in the fall. Let's just say that I had an enjoyable time before IHOP, and therefore had no clue where we were when we sat down. The series of events as follows:

Thought #1: Where are we? 

Thought #2: Oooh, reading material. That's nice.

Thought #3: Hey everybody! They have pancakes here!

Thought #4: Is all-I-can eat pancakes a good idea? Hmm, I think yes.

Thought #5: And coffee! Weeeeeee!

[sip.]

Thought #6: I think I'm going to take this cup home with me.

Note: This experience is not unique. It's the trademark IHOP experience.

Lightbulb.

I interrupted Meredith's thesis time last night to bounce a couple of ideas off of her for the book. Always one to take advantage of opportunities to procrastinate, she jumped away from her computer, stole mine from me and opened the "Stickies" app to start making a list. I've never met anyone who enjoys lists more. Typing faster than I could talk, she rattled off more suggestions, asked me questions at a rapid-fire rate, and yelled out possible networking avenues to explore. Dropping names, venues, outlets, I could barely keep up with her enthusiasm and pace. Then suddenly, in one dramatic pause, she took a deep breath, pulled away from the computer, and spoke in a voice that was about three octaves lower than normal as she simply said, "Ask Martha."  

It's become a standing joke that our friend Martha knows everyone in the world but to see a literal A-ha! moment as it relates to MG was just about the funniest thing ever. 

Book Update: The Elusive Audience.

When I last posted about editor responses, the main concern was that no one knew me.  It was a good point. Here's the most recent feedback from different publishers: 

Hi, yes I sent it to a reader who liked it, but we’re cutting back titles right now, so best not to wait on us. I need to see how eBooks, Borders, and the downward spiral of the book industry goes....Sorry!
j

I seem to have lost a few a emails, so I'm not sure if I've already responded to this proposal. If so, sorry to repeat myself. It's impossible to not admire and laugh with Jessica Martin but I'm not convinced we could reach a large enough audience for her memoir. It's so damn hard out there -- both for job seekers and publishers! 

Thanks for letting me consider this one and I'll hope you'll send me another project very soon.

Best,
Amy

Sorry for the delay.  I did take a look and enjoyed the read.  She’s very funny, and her subject is certainly one that lots of people can relate to.  I got some other reads and we talked about it.  But in the end, although we all liked the material, we decided we didn’t love it enough to take a chance on a first-time memoirist like this who doesn’t have the kind of platform that could help us find an audience.  We would have to really believe that this would get great buzz and reviews on its own merits, and we just didn’t quite have that confidence or vision about this project.
 
Mark

Right. Well, after hearing such a similar message so many times, clearly something had to change. I've decided to go in a different direction with the book and I'll let you know what that is when I figure it out. The next few weeks are going to be crazy busy with brainstorms so all suggestions welcome!  Perhaps self-publishing is an option, perhaps a cross-country book tour/bike tour to read at random bookstores around America, perhaps a viral video involving my book and the patty-cake cats. I'm not sure. But I'm excited to be moving in a direction where people can start reading my book. I'm extremely fortunate to have some incredibly supportive people in my life, and I think once a copy of the book exists, an audience will follow. 

This message brought to you by Naïveté.

Naïveté: Helping me think positive since 1981.

Woops.

Going to a Brazilian barbershop in an effort to save some money on my haircut was probably not one of my better ideas.

Massage Received.

For Christmas Meredith gave me a gift certificate for an hour long full body massage. She's asked me every week since if I'd like her to call and schedule it. 

-This week?

-No, I'm going to save it until I really need it.

-This week?

-No, maybe next week.

-This week?

-No, I had Indian Buffet on Tuesday and I don't really want anyone pressing on me.

So when I saw that I had a rare Saturday off last weekend, she didn't even think to ask. 

"I booked our massages. You're going."

You know the way you feel when your bath is filling up? That's how I felt for a week. I was calmly ecstatic for 60-minutes of total relaxation. Clear head, loosened shoulders, inner tranquility, not a worry in the world for one whole hour.

Right. 

People, let's be honest. I'm a bit of a mess. When I begin to approach moments of inner tranquility, I start to panic that I left my iron plugged in. When I clear my head I focus on my heart beats and swear that I can hear a murmur. And when I relax any part of my body, I walk into things. Luckily, I would be laying down for the massage so there wasn't any danger there but I definitely pictured myself rolling off the table. 

Mer booked a couples massage, which you would think would be incredibly romantic, but I quickly ruined that by begging her to wake me up if I started to drift off and talk in my sleep. 

Before entering the spa, I kept asking, "You promise? You promise? You promise?"

Waiting in the lobby we noticed a "Getting to Know Your Masseuse" book. It was basically a general questionnaire that the different massage therapists filled out. 

Meredith read all about my massage therapist for me like she was reading my horoscope.

Mer: Her healing philosophy is to work from the inside out.

Me: That sounds incredibly painful.

Mer: And her favorite massage modality is chair massage.

Me: What?! Chair massage?! Doesn't the chair do all the work in a chair massage? 

We were called in and I felt the corners of my mouth turn up the way they do when I know I'm about to start laughing inappropriately. I don't know why, but I had the biggest urge to burst out laughing. Maybe it was because of the soft soothing tone of voice everyone was using, or the music, or the fact that I'm seven years old. 

They led us to our room and each of them started talking to us individually. When they left so we could change Mer asked, "What did yours say to you?"

For as bright as she is, my girlfriend is extremely gullible, so I said, "Well, we talked a little bit about her 'from the inside out' healing philosophy and I just asked that she not put her hands inside my mouth or my butt."

"You did NOT say that."

"Mm hmm. I did. And then she told me to take off my underwear and get under the blanket."

"You're supposed to leave your underwear on! She did not--"

And then it registered.

They knocked on the door and our hour-long massage began. It seriously was awesome. My massage therapist had a little bit of a sniffle though so I concentrated on that for about 7 minutes. When I told Meredith about it afterwards she said, "Yeah I saw her go across the room to blow her nose." The only thing is, I never actually felt a stop to my massage. So of course I started to think, "Then who the hell was massaging me while she was on the other side of the room?"

I felt totally relaxed and it was really nice to be pampered. I'm also happy to report that I didn't fall off the table. Thanks again, Mer!

Movie Trivia.

In the 2006 movie musical Dreamgirls, what does Jennifer Hudson's character refuse to do?

Mama Said.

One of the funniest people I know described her day as such:

So far today i've had peppermint patties for two meals, set off the fire alarm by taking a shower, and cut myself on both the shampoo and a spoon. it takes real talent to live like this.

And later added:
aaaaand i got poison ivy. in the driveway. in february.

i quit this day.

There'll be days like this.

I once went into my kitchen and only found grapes, russian dressing, and waffle pretzels. 

I made a salad out of it. 

It struck me that this was no way to live. 

A Perfect Moment.

Walking home tonight in the cold, holding Meredith close, I hummed the opening riff to "My Girl." Never one to miss a cue, Mer waited for her intro and started singing. I adore her voice and listening to the lyrics made me grin like an idiot. Slowing it down and adding her own soulful twist to the jam, the song has never sounded so good. (No disrespect to The Temptations.) While she sweetly sang my favorite part, I dog-eared the moment as the best of the day. Hands down. No contest. The most perfect moment of my day. 

Crossing the street on the "Talking 'bouts," I leaned in to tell her what I was thinking and she promptly tripped. Taking three fast exaggerated steps to try to run out of a fall, she steadied herself and looked up at me for a second before shrugging and saying with a laugh, "Your girl."

It blew the previous perfect moment of the day out of the water.

Happy Belated, Sister.

I'd say very little has changed since this picture was taken. You're still quite the lady and I still sit like this in dresses. 

Love you.

Thank You, Sean Kingston.

My Hulu episode of 30 Rock was interrupted by an ad starring Sean Kingston asking me to get five friends together to start a Do Something club. 

I feel inspired. 

Cough.

Explain This To Me.

I walked home from Mer's place this morning without my mittens and after about five minutes I was convinced one of my fingers might fall off from the cold. It was a genuine concern. To combat this, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

No good. The thumbs were still out and still freezing. Need my thumbs. How else would I make hang ten symbols or hit the space bar when I type?

Next I tried cupping my hands and blowing into them as fast as I could without stopping. I figured a constant supply of heat would balance out the ridiculously cold weather. This was a good thought but ruined after a few blocks when I started to get dizzy.

 

I then tried a combo platter of rubbing my hands together, blowing when I felt like I could, pockets, and tae-bo punching moves to keep the circulation going. I don't have to tell you what this looked like, but it's interesting to note that one man crossed to the other sidewalk to stay away from me. 

With no other options, I unzipped my jacket enough so I could hold my hands near my armpits, Mary Katherine Gallagher style. Pressing my arms close to my body to try to warm up my little fingers, I ran the rest of the way home. If you have the chance, try to run with your hands in your armpits. It's not easy. 

Anyway, when I got home I checked weather.com to see how cold it was outside and it said zero degrees. 

Then in a smaller font, feels like -20.  

Right.

Can we all come together on the "feels like" temperature thing? If it FEELS LIKE negative 20 degrees, then you know what? It's twenty below. That's like a store trying to sell a cashmere sweater that feels like polyester. If it's itchy and rough, that's what it is. You can't call it cashmere and say, "feels like polyester." Why are we still stuck on the two temperatures thing? No one ever remembers the actual temperature. On days like today all you ever hear is, "But it feels like..." Or, "Yeah but with the wind chill...." Or, "Hey, can I put my fingers in your armpit so they don't fall off?" 

Stuff like that.

I don't know if any of this makes sense. My head is defrosting. 

"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.