And Mall Parking Lots On Holidays.

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

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

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

I'd watch it.  

You're Welcome.

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

The 1950's Called.

They want their game show answers back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dan: Not do his laundry!

[X]

Graceila: Wear something sexy!

[Ding]

Graceila: We're going to play!

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

Graceila's daughter: Stop cooking dinner!

Family: Good answer! Good answer!

[X]

Graceila's other daughter: Start nagging!

Host: When in doubt, start nagging!

[X]

-Throw something at him!

[Ding]

-Cry!

Host: Show me, Cry!

[X]

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

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

Dan: Spend his money!

Family: Good answer!!!!

[X]

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

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

Host: Survey says...

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

Host: And the other answer?

Entire Audience: FLIRT/GET IT ON! 

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

Every Christmas Song Should Be This Good.

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

-Long road trips 

-Short road trips

-Being drunk

-Being bored

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

Happy Holidays, From The MBTA.

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

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

Me: [Close eyes.]

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

Me: [Thinking] Am I Teddy?

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

Me: Oh, shit.

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

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

Guy: Credit cards! Pow Pow Pow!

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

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

Just Looking.

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

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

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

Salesperson: Can I help you find anything?

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

The Truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If You Were A Tree...

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

I was nine.

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

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

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

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

Right.

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

Good One.

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

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

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

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

Arrows will be involved.

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

Anyway, about that yearbook photo story. 

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

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

They. Were. HILARIOUS.

  

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

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

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

Matt was later arrested for gang-related activities. 

I like reminiscing. 

Can't Wait Three Minutes?

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

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

Clearly, I've never done this before.

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

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

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

Open-Eyed Sneeze is her first book. 

j mo.

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

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

Thank You.

Your Phone's Ringing.

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

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

-Where's the other shoe?

-It's in the back of the car.

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

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

A Picture Paints 1,000 Words.

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

Yet again, the difference bt sabrina and vanessa

Happy Thanksgiving.

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

-Food. Good.

-Football. Good.

-Naps. Effing awesome.

-Food again. Good.

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

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

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

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

Enjoy the holiday.

Just Me, Then?

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

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

Skip You, Back To Me.

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

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

That's Not A Real Sentence.

Warning: Shameless praise for family member follows.

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

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

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

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

-Cake

-Dance mix

-Streamers?

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

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

ACTUAL SENTENCE.

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

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

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

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

-Is there a problem, officer?

-License and registration, please.

-My valid German hunting license? 

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

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

How's Everything Going Out There?

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

-How are we doing in there?

-Everything OK?

-How's everything working out?

-Do you know how to put pants on?

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

That's honestly what she said to me. 

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

"Are people leaving?"

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