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.