Good Times with Jess

Good Morning!

2012-01-30T13:37:00.004-05:00

I am not too hungover to blog, but I'm out of time. I just woke up. Thank you Holiday Party.

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They forgot their pizza

2012-01-28T14:37:00.002-05:00

It was good night.

A guy runs up a fifty dollar tab. I provide service worthy of a twenty percent tip. He leaves me six dollars. I hang my head in defeat. I'll be fine without that other four dollars, but it hurts inside. Half-an-hour later he returns. He hands me five dollars,

"Sorry I realized I did my math wrong."

"Thank you!"

Last week a guest calls out to me with authority,

"Erica!"

I respond, but I don't correct him. Maybe it was just a slip?

Last night I introduce myself to another guest as Jessica, ten minutes later he's calling me Erica. I think to myself, 'that's so weird, the other night some guy was calling me Erica.' I proclaim,

"My name is Jessica."

The guy turns to his buddy,

"See I told you her name was Jessica." He tells me, "This guy insisted it was Erica."

Oh right, I knew "this guy" looked familiar. He was the one calling me Erica the other night.

I'm chatting with the barback about what a good night this is. He says,

"Do you know the one thing that'll make this night perfect?"

"What?"

"If that couple forgets their leftover pizza."

"I was thinking the same thing!"

Some don't care.

Tiger's definition of a good time

2012-01-27T13:02:00.000-05:00

January is National Mentoring Month, AKA I have an obligation to drink extra this month.

Several weeks ago, Big Sister sent out an invite for a cocktail party in honor of all big sisters at a fancy Boston hotel. I RSVP'd immediately. Two days before the party a confirmation email arrives: hosted appetizers and cash bar. Cash bar? What's the point of National Mentoring Month if I don't get a free drink? I tell Tiger the bad news. He replies,

"It wouldn't look good for a non-profit to have an open bar."

"Do you still want to go?"

"To a party where there are going to be a ton of big sisters? Of course!"

So...

2012-01-26T14:28:00.003-05:00

I'm too hungover to blog AND do laundry. Laundry won.

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Stealing from Goodwill and homeless people

2012-01-25T14:10:00.000-05:00

Have you ever wondered what Yelp has to say about Goodwill? Three and a half stars.

There's a Goodwill store several blocks from my house. I walk by it on my way home from work. There's always a pile of donations on the sidewalk. People who HAD to donate their stuff and the store was closed.

Forgive me if I've told you this story already, I can't remember and I don't feel like going through a year's worth of blogs to figure it out.

I usually walk by the pile. One day it looks enticing. It's 2AM. I start "shopping." I sift through piles of stuff. I find a fabulous coffee mug, a notepad, a puppy magnet. It's like I've hit the jackpot. A homeless/crazy man approaches. He tries to pick me up. Indignant, I recount the story to Tiger, he remarks,

"So you were going through stuff on the street in front of Goodwill at 2AM and you're upset a homeless guy was trying to pick you up?"

Yes!

Then yesterday I google Goodwill to figure out their hours and a ton of yelp reviews pop up. Who reviews Goodwill? Seventy-three people just for the store near me. There are a multitude of complaints: prices are too high, "it smells like old things," someone bought one shoe and is searching for it's mate, etc. A two-star complaint catches my eye:

"I came here to drop off a bunch of clothes. Because it was closed, I unloaded a few bags outside the front door, and as I was walking away, I was horrified to witness a swarm of kids devour my clothing ... I haven't felt like going back."

P.S. There really is a person on Yelp looking for a shoe. If you have it, she asks you to let her know and promises to "work something out."

Some couples have "our song," we have "our war"

2012-01-24T12:46:00.000-05:00

Tiger loves to talk about history and wars. I do not. I'm not sure what I prefer to talk about the least: history, war or sports. I did very well in AP History circa 1999 and have not been interested since.

Snuggled in bed the other day, Tiger gets out his huge world atlas so we can talk about my travels. I point out places I've been and tell him stories. He mentions,

"In 17.. blah blah blah, the so-and-so's came down from over here and conquered over there and that's why so-and-so's and so-and-so's live together."

I can't even quote him correctly because I zoned out immediately. How do I get this conversation back on track? Without thinking about it, I start playing with my nipples. Tiger exclaims,

"What are you doing? I mention pina coladas and you start playing with your nipples?"

We were talking about pina coladas?! I can't believe I missed it.

It's after 1AM. I'm chatting with a regular at my bar and trying to get him to leave. We walk together toward the door. He tells me,

"It's so nice to have time to read for pleasure."

"What are you reading?"

"A book about the Thirty Years War."

"You'll have to tell me how it ends."

I mention to Tiger,

"I was talking to a regular about the Thirty Years War."

Tiger can't contain his excitement,

"You want to talk about the Thirty Years War?"

"Absolutely not."

Tiger forwards me a link for a film,

"The best movie ever made about the Thirty Years War."

I don't even know what war this is, but my disinterest still seems to be overwhelming my slight curiosity. I forward the link to my regular. My regular tells me,

"I just bought that movie your boyfriend recommended."

Home alone, without any wars on my mind, I start googling different relationship questions I have. I stumble upon a comment thread and one user recommends a novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

I get it and I start devouring it. I'm really enjoying it until two-thirds of the way through this pops up,

"Human life occurs only once ... Their defiance led to the Thirty Years War."

Oh did I drop something?

2012-01-23T12:25:00.001-05:00

A compliment from a man is nice, but a compliment from a woman is better and a compliment about my ass from a black woman is best.

It's a busy Friday night and I ask a black couple if they want another round. The woman leans over the bar to get closer to me. She says,

"You are making me want to buy a pair of Levis."

Do you have that shirt in a venti?

2012-01-20T12:42:00.000-05:00

I love Starbucks. I do not like the names for their drink sizes. There's nothing wrong with small, medium, large and super-size. I feel silly calling my beverage tall, grande, venti or trenta.

I place my order at Starbucks,

"I'd like a small coffee please."

"You'd like a tall coffee?"

"Yes." You can't make me say that word.

Until one day I walk in and order,

"I'd like a tall, half-skinny, half one-percent, extra-hot split-quad shot (two shots decaf, two shots regular) latte with whip."

JUST KIDDING. But I did say,

"I'd like a tall coffee please." Gah! I've been converted.

A new coffee shop opens up down the street. It's NOT a Starbucks. I'm in line. I order,

"A small coffee please."

"Anything else?"

"No. Thank you!"

The woman behind me orders,

"I'd like a tall latte please."

"I don't know what size that is."

"A tall?"

"Is that a Starbucks size?"

Whatever you call these sizes, they're cute.

Everything I know about vodka thanks to Chelsea Handler

2012-01-19T12:51:00.000-05:00

I thought my days of writing book reports were over, but I spoke too soon.

My restaurant has decided that it's a good idea to educate everyone about alcohol. The bar is going to give a series of talks so everyone can learn what liquor is. I thought that was what the holiday party is for.

I'm expected to give a talk. How long can I talk about everyone's favorite cocktail, Jess' Juice Box? It turns out I need to pick a specific liquor and focus on that. I ask my bar manager,

"What's the easiest one?"

"Vodka."

"I'll take it."

I do some googling. Ah ha! I knew I'd read a book about this: Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea. I'll just read an excerpt from that.

A dirty-old man and more

2012-01-17T14:18:00.003-05:00

I have a regular who presses me for entertaining stories. I always tell him sex-related escapades. I assumed he preferred those. Yes, it may be because I prefer those. Last night he asks,

"You don't have any stories to tell me?"

"I don't have anything sex related."

"Tell me anything. I have other facets to my personality you know. I'm not just a dirty-old man."

Fashion, an intellectual pursuit

2012-01-16T14:15:00.000-05:00

Several months ago I realized I wanted a new winter coat. And not any winter coat, I had a very specific idea in my head: a winter-white wool dress coat with buttons and a belt. I started my search, T.J.Maxx, Macy's, Zappos.com. It was not to be found. There were polyester blends galore, but no 100% wool. I had no idea it would prove this difficult, but my heart was set. I ordered four possibilities.

They were okay, but I didn't want to pay $400 for okay. This was before I realized my mom was going to buy it for me for Hanukah. Then I find the perfect looking coat, 80% wool, for just over $100. I order it. It's beautiful and there's room for a sweater underneath. I head to the second-hand shop and buy a 100% wool sweater for $20. I sew this inside my new coat. Yup, I can sew. I know, it's a shocker. I don't cook, but I sew. I sew well.

Tiger loves my new coat. He remarks,

"This sweater is amazing, it looks like it belongs with the coat. You did a really good job."

"Yeah, I lucked out."

"It wasn't luck. Thomas Edison said that 'Good fortune is what happens when opportunity meets with planning.' He tried 989 versions of the light bulb before he got it to work. You tried four or five coats? Before you found the perfect one."

Wow. Shopping gets the scientific validation it's been waiting for.

Male priorities = Sports, then sex. Proven last night

2012-01-15T15:00:00.000-05:00

There was a really big sports game last night. I think it was football, which I sometimes call baseball, which I don't watch, which I don't talk about unless I'm talking about Tim Tebow, because who isn't?

Tiger has plans to watch the game with a guy friend, so I make plans with a couple girlfriends, one whose boyfriend is also watching the game, not to watch the game.

I'm meeting Tiger and his friend for dinner. On my way there I realize I forgot a back-up tampon. I have one in, but will it last all night? My pants are a very light color. I'd call them leggings, but there are a lot of haters out there right now who say leggings aren't pants. If I want to flirt with an almost camel toe, that's my business and you don't have to stare at my crotch. Also try stuffing "real" pants into over-the-knee boots.

I contemplate stopping at CVS for tampons. I'm not going to fit a box of twenty super-plus tampons in my tiny wallet/purse. I could ask Tiger to take them for me. I picture Tiger and his friend, at the bar, drinking beer, yelling at the TV with a bag of tampons on his arm. He doesn't deserve this. I text my girlfriend to bring me a tampon.

I get to the bar with the girls. We're chatting in peace. Or at least in peace from the people around us. Things are getting heated between my two girlfriends. I stare over their heads at the wall. It's not hard, I'm a foot taller. Are they really fighting? Their voices sound raised and tense. They can't really be fighting. It's a fun night out. We have drinks. Oh I think they're really fighting. Should I say something? Maybe we could talk about puppies, everyone loves puppies. No, that could turn into a fight about puppies versus kittens. Okay, I won't say anything. This wall is interesting. Oh look, a football game.

One friend leaves. Oh dear. Men start hitting on us from all sides. What is going on? Why did they leaves us alone until now? I glance around. Is it because? Yup, the football game is over.

Oh right, I was googling adorable baby animals surfing the internet

2012-01-13T13:12:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how much online shopping I get done when I'm supposed to be writing.

I'll be just about to write a blog post and I'll remember that I need roll-over off-white lace ankle socks and they're not going to buy themselves. Then I need new shoes to go with the socks and then do I have a hand-bag that goes with them? Oh pajamas are on sale! Those slippers are too cute. I almost forgot to google and compare face creams. I need to plan my birthday party, June is almost here. I'll just check Facebook for a minute. I can't believe so-and-so, from elementary school, who I haven't talked to since elementary school, has five kids. I better look through ALL of her photos. Oh look at that cat video. Adorable!

Now, what was I doing...

So you're saying it's tax deductible?

2012-01-12T12:27:00.000-05:00

Tiger's bike got stolen. I'm tempted to put a sad face here, but if I start using emoticons in my blog, all is lost.

He reported it to the police and got a ride in the back of a cop car. He asks me,

"Have you ever ridden in the back of a cop car?"

"No." That's the right answer right?

I tell my co-workers. One asks,

"How'd it happen?"

"He didn't lock it."

"Then it didn't get stolen, he donated it."

Another relationship milestone achieved

2012-01-11T12:50:00.000-05:00

I finally got Tiger drunk. Until the other night, the most he's ever had with me is two drinks and maybe a sip of mine. After one drink he declares,

"I'm drunk!"

"No. Maybe you're buzzed. You're not drunk."

This happens every week.

"I'm drunk!"

"No. You're not."

Then Sunday night we had a really good time and he had eight drinks. We stumble home. He declares,

"I'm seeing double and I think I'm going to puke."

"You're drunk!" And I want pizza.

Looking good has never been this hard

2012-01-09T13:19:00.001-05:00

This was a weekend of fashion disasters. The weather is weird. It's January, I have great, big stylish winter boots good for twenty-five degrees BELOW zero, but it's fifty degrees. I wear them anyway. I put on a little red cocktail dress. Maybe that'll make up for how hot and sweaty my feet are.

I feel silly. I love my boots but I shouldn't have worn them. This is the only outfit I have for the next day. Tiger edited a book and now there's a launch party. Unless there's a blizzard overnight, these boots are not good for the party. I whine that I couldn't fit another outfit in my overnight bag. Tiger takes my bag and carries it for me. I feel better already. I pester Tiger with,

"How do I look?"... "No really, how do you think I look?"... "I feel silly."... "You're just saying that."

I'm testing Tiger's last nerve. I promise to cease and desist. For a little while.

We get to the spa for a hot-tub soak. There are two girls and their moms in the waiting room. The girls appear to have autism. One sees me in my red dress/winter boots and shouts across the room to her mom,

"Mom, do you look good in red?"

No answer. Then she turns to her friend,

"Can you wear red?"

The next day I get up, it's forty degrees and sunny. I run home and change into shoes a tenth of the size of my boots. I model my new outfit for Tiger,

"Perfect."

We head to the party at a renovated theater. We're feet away from the entrance and Tiger catches his pants on a fire hydrant. RRRIP. There's a twelve inch flap of corduroy hanging down and I see a hairy leg. This is BAD. I examine the tear site,

"You're not bleeding!"

The other saving grace is that we're across the street from an Eddie Bauer outlet, the only place Tiger buys his clothes. New pants and no winter boots, we slip into the party. Open bar! Lots of food! Tiger introduces me to the author. He tells us to get comfortable, he's going to give a talk. I stake out a great place next to the turkey wraps. Tiger whispers to me,

"You're the prettiest one here."

I melt a little and then realize there's only one other woman here my age. The author begins,

"I was born on the night of the hurricane of '38."

The crowd murmurs in awe and appreciation.

My MOM doesn't even know about the hurricane of '38.

Tiger tells me,

"You should feel at home here."

With the senior citizens?

"Most of these people are Jews."

After the talk, We go upstairs to see a Vaudeville exhibit. The oppression of being in a museum-like setting hits me. I turn to Tiger,

"This was very tricky. Tempt me with food and alcohol and then throw in a museum."

"We've been up here for five minutes."

We head downstairs for more food and alcohol. Tiger introduces me to the author's wife. She says to Tiger in reference to me,

"It's nice you have such a good friend."

Tiger tells her,

"This is my girlfriend."

"OH. I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

Afterwards I read the acknowledgments page of the book. I exclaim,

"Tiger! It says such nice things about you!"

"I know. I wrote it."

I need to lick you to see if we click

2012-01-07T13:11:00.002-05:00

There were two first dates at the bar last night. There were probably more than that, but two were blog worthy.

The first is a middle-aged couple. Within minutes of meeting, the guy says to the woman,

"I think it's impossible to get to know someone over the phone, you have to kiss them."

"Yes!" She starts clapping. Moments later they're making out.

A guy in a suit comes in. I check his ID, twenty-four-years old. A woman in her forties joins him. Perhaps this is a business meeting. He tells her,

"You look thinner than your photos."

Nope. Not business. I assume she looked forty-five? They order tequila shots. They start licking salt off of each other's bodies.

It's dinner time at a neighborhood restaurant in Cambridge, MA. I've got a forty-something woman and a twenty-something guy doing body shots.

I told my therapist about you

2012-01-06T13:59:00.000-05:00

I like going to my therapist and I don't want to stop, but sometimes I feel like I don't have enough to talk about. I mention this to a coworker who's been seeing his therapist for eight years.

"Do you ever feel like you've run out of things to talk about?"

"Oh yeah."

"So then what do you do?"

"We talk about that."

If you won't drink it, I will

2012-01-05T12:28:00.001-05:00

It's 11pm. A guest browses the wine list. I ask,

"What would you like?"

"It's probably all shitty and you're going to make me pay for it."

"If you don't like it, I won't charge you for it."

"Who knows when these have been opened."

"I can guarantee they've been opened today."

"Today? They go bad in a few hours."

"I'll give you a little taste of something just to try."

I pour from a bottle that I know was only opened a couple of hours ago. He shoves it away,

"That's terrible."

I pour a sample of something else.

"That's bad too, but I guess I'll drink it."

He looks to me for sympathy. I pour his glass of wine and walk away.

I'm a green masturbator

2012-01-04T11:49:00.000-05:00

Months ago I was wandering around a sex shop, as I do and I saw something amazing: a rechargeable vibrator. I glance at the tiny lipstick-size thing, a hundred dollars! I walk out of the store, only looking back a few times.

Seven batteries later, I'm faced with buying more batteries for my bottom of the line pocket rocket or upgrading to that adorable pink thing with eight different speeds, including cha-cha cha-cha-cha.

I go for it. In every way. I plug it into the wall and wait. I want to play with it NOW. I take it to Tiger's. In the middle of things I reach for it and turn it on. I flip through all eight speeds, which one do I want? Tiger is hovering over me, he asks,

"Did you bring the manual?"

Afterwards I tuck it away in the pretty satin bag it came in and declare,

"You know I bought a high-end vibrator, when it comes with it's own satin bag."

"How much was it?"

"Ninety dollars, but I'll save so much money on batteries."

"Yes, you're being very green."

"That's right! I don't have a car and I'm using a rechargeable vibrator."

I owe my mom $5

2012-01-03T15:00:00.000-05:00

I deem my mom's birthday weekend in New Hampshire a success. There was a big party for her Saturday night. They even had fireworks. The band played "Happy Birthday" for Linda, who is not my mom, and I still feel bad about that. But all-you-can-eat-Lobster buffet, is still all-you-can-eat-Lobster buffet even if you have to share your birthday party with Linda and New Years.

There's snow in New Hampshire. Not enough to cover the grass, but almost enough to justify wearing my new winter boots which go up to my knees. It's slippery out and the boots are adorable. A woman working in the resort says,

"You look so... continental."

Which sounds like a nice way of saying,

"Wow you're wearing massive winter boots and it's forty degrees out."

When we arrive, instead of pulling the car up to the front entrance where the hotel porter is waiting to help with our luggage, my mom and I decide we don't have much stuff and we can go park. I have a suitcase with more clothing than I took for five months in Africa and my mom has a bag with enough Diet Coke and alcohol for us to throw a party. Laden with luggage we trundle up to the hotel. The porter rushes down the huge front staircase to greet us,

"Hi, welcome, may I help you?"

"No thank you, we're all set."

I don't know why I said this. We were not all set. We struggle up. Hot and out of breath we check-in. The lady at the front desk informs us that we're one floor up, but that if we want to use the elevator we need to ask the porter. We head for the stairs. I reach the top and turn to see my mom heave two suitcases up and almost collapse in laughter. I ask,

"What is it?"

"I just remember how you said the tip for the luggage guy is included."

Mmm. Chocolate covered strawberries meet champagne in my mouth.

Please stand by

2012-01-03T14:36:00.001-05:00

Today's blog is pending approval. Your patience is expected.

Happy New Year!

2012-01-02T13:57:00.001-05:00

I'll be with you tomorrow.

If he were my boyfriend, I'd have to buy his book...

2011-12-27T13:04:00.000-05:00

Older people like to say that they don't know how to turn on a computer, or tweet, or sext because they're too old, but I'm not buying it. I've seen lots of old people on you tube.

A regular comes in. He's very apologetic,

"I'm so sorry I couldn't come in Friday, I missed your Christmas outfit."

"That's okay, I have photos."

"Will you email them to me?"

"Sure, or I can just send them to your phone right now."

"You can send them to my phone?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you could do that."

"It's easy." So this is one man who hasn't been sexting pictures of his cock.

I get my phone and walk over to him to get his number. He hands me his phone. I hand it back to him. He tries to hand it back to me and explains,

"So you can put the photos on it."

"I need your phone number." Just because the two phones are next to each other, does not mean phone-photo osmosis is going to happen.

Another regular comes in for a date. Her date is a handsome old guy. If it weren't for Tiger... just kidding. Not really. Okay, well really. This guy has already had two hip replacements. He says to me,

"I hear you have a blog."

"Yes."

"Can you see how many people read it?"

"Yes."

"Really?!"

"Yes." This guy MUST know that the Internet is tracking our every move. Does he think it's a coincidence websites suggest hip replacement ads and calcium supplements nearby Boston?

He tells me,

"I was talking to a girl. I guess we're supposed to say woman nowadays. This young woman has a blog. She was explaining it to me. I'd never heard of blogs. I know a woman my age who writes letters, but she does not have a blog."

He goes to the bathroom. I rush back to my regular. She informs me that he is a genius in his field of research. And it is obviously not related to the Internet.

He returns,

We talk more about my blog, which turns to talk about sex. He says,

"Sex without drugs? It's not worth having."

This turns to talk about books, and what books by which regulars I've bought. I mention the previous regular, now owner of my naughty Santa photos, whose book I do not own. It turns out this guy knows him. He exclaims,

"He's a regular here?"

"Yes."

"And he's your boyfriend?"

"NO!"

I'm celebrating Christmas by staying in my zebra robe, lighting Hanukkah candles, drinking egg nog, reading a book on God and hand-washing my naughty Santa lingerie

2011-12-26T12:48:00.000-05:00

The question of the week last week,

"What are you doing for the holidays?"

My go to answer was,

"I'm taking my mom to a spa for New Year's weekend."

"But what about Christmas?"

"I'll be around."

"Where's your family?"

"In Worcester."

"Will you go there?"

"No." I'm looking forward to being all alone with my Hanukkah presents.

There's an awkward pause, I turn it around,

"What are YOU doing for the holidays?"

"Blah, blah, blah. What's your family doing?"

I'm wearing a naughty Santa outfit, BUT "My family is Jewish."

"Oh, so no Christmas?"

If there's no Santa I might as well have eight nights of presents

2011-12-23T13:18:00.000-05:00

I'm chatting with the other bartender. I ask him what he got his three-year-old for Christmas. He mentions that all the presents are out under the tree. I exclaim,

"All the presents are out?"

"Yes."

"Santa isn't bringing any presents?"

"No."

"No Santa?"

I'm horrified. I'm a Jew who wished I could've had Santa. I had the Toothfairy and Elijah on Passover who drank all our wine, really it was my parents, but no Santa.

I pepper the bartender with questions. He relents,

"We'll do Santa next year."

I feel sorry for you tomorrow

2011-12-22T12:03:00.002-05:00

This week I had the busiest Monday night I've ever had. And I'm including 10 cent taco nights in Worcester. Okay, 10 cent taco nights were probably busier. But this was a busy Monday.

At 5PM 60 students stream through the door. They are all the same kids I cut off Friday night. Are they still cut off?

They get little tickets that are good for two glasses of champagne, but these guys want booze. One guy orders a jack and ginger. I say,

"Eight dollars please."

He tries to hand me his drink ticket and five dollars. Is this a bribe?

Another guy already started a tab with me and his credit card is behind the bar. He falls on his way back to the bar. He orders a drink and starts to look through his wallet for his credit card. I tell him,

"You're cut off."

My manager pulls me aside and tells me,

"Say 'I don't feel comfortable serving you anymore.'"

What's with all the feelings? In Worcester three guys on steroids would've had him by the back of the neck before I could've felt anything.

I run the cut-off guy's credit card. He signs and asks,

"Can I have another beer please?"

"No, I don't feel... I cut you off remember?"

"Oh yeah, thank you."

Will lunch save our relationship?

2011-12-21T11:38:00.002-05:00

Tiger and I have been together another week now. So far so good. I broke the news to him that while I was planning our break up I made New Year's plans with my mom. He's not thrilled, but he points out,

"At least it's not with another guy."

Yes!

My therapist wants to know how we're going to handle our issues. We're eliminating brunch altogether. No more brunch ever again. Never mind that the only journalist I know says "brunch is for assholes." We're going to go out for lunch.

Can you make my screwdriver with rum and coke?

2011-12-19T12:29:00.000-05:00

I am surrounded by craft cocktail culture craziness so I probably shouldn't say this out loud. I'll blog it instead: I LOVE a delicious, creamy, chocolate martini, or espresso martini or just a whole bottle of Baileys. Keep the coriander infused corn whiskey for yourself.

When a guest orders a creamy dessert cocktail from the 1990's the other bartenders roll their eyes. I get so excited sometimes I make two. A guy orders a chocolate martini. I decorate the inside of the glass with chocolate syrup. It looks so good a five-year-old would drink it. I hand it to the guest. He looks at it with hesitation. Drink up buddy, it doesn't get better than that. He finishes it. I ask,

"Would you like another?"

"Yes, what did you put in this?"

"Vanilla vodka, creme de cacao and Godiva chocolate liqueur."

"Can you make it how I want it?"

"Of course, what would you like?"

"Kahlua and espresso."

"Oh you don't want a chocolate martini, you want an espresso martini?"

"Semantics."

Someone needs to be held accountable for my lost revenue

2011-12-16T12:55:00.000-05:00

If Jon Stewart can declare war on Christmas, I can declare war on my work apron. Nothing makes me feel more unattractive than covering my lady bits with a stiff piece of maroon polyester. I don't care how many convenient pockets it has.

An older woman remarks,

"It's a shame they make a pretty girl like you wear that awful apron."

That's what I'M talking about!

I'm still doing research...

2011-12-14T13:11:00.000-05:00

It's a good thing I don't update my relationship status on Facebook or else that's all I would have been doing this last week: in a relationship, now single, on a break, in a relationship. I'm sorry to everyone in the greater Boston area who I've inconvenienced.

A bar regular and my roommate gave me chocolates to make me feel better. They were delicious. Now I'm in the awkward position of telling them,

"Thanks for making me feel better about my break-up, but we're not broken-up anymore. I'd return the chocolates, but I already ate them."

Tiger arrives at dinner last night with roses and enough chocolates to reimburse everyone. I recount the people I had to update. I haven't seen my therapist yet. Last week, when I thought I was breaking up with Tiger, I start sobbing. She starts crying. I stop. She apologizes,

"Sorry, I've just never seen you cry."

Tiger reassures me,

"You don't have to worry about telling her, you're paying her."

That's right!

The regular who's been encouraging me to write a self-help book says,

"Well there goes my title for your book."

"What was it?"

"Fifty ways to end it."

We're not a Chinese restaurant

2011-12-13T11:47:00.000-05:00

An odd middle-aged man walks up to the bar. Maybe he's been over-served? I decide he's not drunk, just different. I hand him a corona.

"Thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Can I order takeout food?"

"Sure." I hand him the menu. He glances at it and says,

"I'll take a number thirteen."

What is he talking about? I look at the menu. Oooh. He thinks the prices are item numbers. I glance at the menu. There are lots of dishes for $13. I explain,

"Those numbers below the food are actually the prices. Would you tell me what you wanted please?"

He gives an exasperated sigh,

"Number thirteen."

"Yes, that's the price, $13. What's the dish you'd like?"

He points at the salmon burger and declares,

"See? Number thirteen."

"Okay."

"It's $13?"

"Yes."

"All the restaurants I go to have their menus numbered."

"I know what you're talking about."

"But this restaurant doesn't, that is weird."

I have nothing against bread

2011-12-12T13:00:00.000-05:00

It's 8PM on a Friday night at the bar. We're busy. There's one open seat left. A couple walks up. The woman exclaims to everyone around her,

"What does it take to get two fucking seats at the bar?"

It's 8PM on a Friday night, you're lucky you got one seat. She continues her rant,

"We've been to three other bars and we can't find a seat anywhere."

That's right, it's still Friday night.

Her meek date presents a gift to her. She takes it as if it's her due. She glances at the menu and gives him a lecture on what it means for her to be gluten intolerant.

I'm over people being allergic to gluten. I understand if you have Celiacs disease and you can't eat gluten, but that's one percent of the population, not half the women at my bar. She asks me,

"What is gluten free on this menu?"

I suggest a salad, sans croutons. She does not seem pleased,

"Will you check to make sure this salad is gluten free?"

I check. The kitchen informs me that the blue cheese is not gluten free. I report back to my guest,

"The salad is fine, but the blue cheese on the side has gluten."

"No it doesn't."

"I'm just telling you what the chef told me."

"Blue cheese does not have gluten."

"Okay, would you like that salad?"

"People think blue cheese has gluten, but it doesn't."

"I don't care either way." Eat whatever you want. I love bread.

Not the first time I've sabotaged someone's first date

2011-12-09T12:09:00.001-05:00

I picked up my first woman last night.

My bar is THE place for first dates. You can sit, chat and drink water for a very long time. Some people become regular first daters. My bar is their date spot.

A regular first dater comes in last night. She's so sweet. I chat a little, but I'm always wary of how well I should act like I know any first dater, lest their new date be turned off. While her date is in the bathroom she tells me,

"We should hang out sometime."

"I'd love to!"

Her date returns. I'm not sure what to do. I write my name, number and a smiley face on a piece of paper. I turn to the guy she's with,

"I'm sorry, but I need to give my number to your date."

What are you getting me for Christmas?

2011-12-08T12:09:00.001-05:00

I'm chatting to a guest about Christmas. I ask him,

"What are you getting me?"

"Oh I have something." With that he gets up and goes out to his car. He comes back and he hands me a jar of apple butter.

"Really? This is for me?"

"If you want it."

Free food? Of course I do. Now I plan on asking every guest what they're getting me for Christmas.

I clear an almost eaten pork dinner from in front of a couple of guests. The other bartender takes it from me, to help me clear. He says in a loud voice to me,

"Oh did you want this?"

"NO."

The guests are taken aback. They ask me,

"Is he asking if you want what's left of our dinner?"

Yes. "He's just joking. Ha, ha."

Awkward.

You could've fooled me

2011-12-06T15:36:00.001-05:00

A guest asks about the seasonal punch. I describe it to her. She seems torn. I offer,

"I can give you a little taste if you'd like."

"That sounds great."

She takes a sip and sputters,

"YUCK. That tastes like cough syrup." She shoves it away and looks at the drink menu again. She puts the menu down and starts to read her book. I ask,

"Did you decide what you'd like?"

"I'll take that." She gestures at the shoved-aside punch.

"You're welcome to try something else. You don't have to get the punch if you don't like it."

"It's not that bad, I'll take it."

I have never seen so many little girls playing foosball

2011-12-05T11:49:00.001-05:00

I don't know if you've been to 5th Ave in NYC recently, but they are NOT having a recession. There are TWO cops at every intersection to control the pedestrians.

Tiger and I head to NYC to visit a friend of his who has a very nice apartment on the upper east side with a beautiful view of downtown and the Chrysler building. I would have been very happy to spend the entire weekend in that apartment talking to Siri. Tiger's friend has the new iphone. I tell Siri,

"I love you."

"You are the wind beneath my wings."

Tiger said she was being facetious. I found her monotone genuine.

I have my heart set on going to FAO Schwarz. I haven't been since I worked there seven years ago and it's been just as long since I added to my doll collection.

Tiger suggests to his friend that they go do something while I'm in the toy store. His friend wants to come with me. He must have seen the remote control helicopter. We get to the back of the building. There is a line wrapped all the way around. People are waiting in line to get into the store. A woman is selling FAO Schwarz hot chocolate. Tiger's friend abandons me. I remain committed. I get into the store and I head straight for Barbie.

There it is: a Barbie-foosball table, made of dismembered Barbie dolls, for only $24,999.

Sex in Worcester I miss you

2011-12-02T12:23:00.001-05:00

Writing-wise I need all the help I can get. I'm motivated to write this blog, but it seems to stop there. I also write the occasional poem gift, because they're so thoughtful and affordable. My therapist recommends that I join a writers group to keep me motivated. There are so many to choose from. I sign up for them all. That was several months ago. I went to my first meeting last night.

There's wine, cheese and a handsome man leading the meeting. What have I been waiting for? We settle into our seats. He's here to tell us how to write a killer pitch letter. He begins,

"You can't just write to a magazine and ask the editor to make room for your sex in the city column, it doesn't work like that."

I have very limited publishing experience, but the few things I did get published, Sex in Worcester, worked just like that.

Well that's a little overstated.

What more can I ask for?

2011-12-01T13:44:00.001-05:00

My mom's birthday is coming up and I'm planning away. I think I've found the perfect spot. I google images of the place to see if it's everything I want. A site pops up: enGAYgedweddings.com, and enGAYgedweddings.com recommends the place I've picked out too. Them and Condé Nast.

Twenty-eight-years of Hanukkah, now Christmas is having a moment

2011-11-30T11:41:00.001-05:00

I'm a bad Jew. I've spent almost $80 on Christmas decorations and I'm still shopping. It's not my fault Christmas is so beautiful and real evergreen decorations smell so good. Why do pine cones have to be for Jesus? Can't they be for everyone?

I send photos of my decorations to my mom, she asks,

"Do you want a menorah?"

I hem and haw. I guess so. I'm not sure where it'll go. Every window already has a Christmas candle in it.

I need one.

I'm ready to walk away

2011-11-29T12:54:00.001-05:00

I'm at work and I'm busy. Not crazy insane busy, but busy. I have my eye on a couple of women at the end of the bar. Their menus are still open. I keep working. One of the women flags me down,

"We're ready to order."

"Okay, go ahead."

"I'll have blah, blah, blah and..." She looks to her friend to order. Her friend's eyes are racing over the menu. Her friend is not ready to order. I have three things in my head I need to do for other guests. I say,

"I'll give you a little more time." The first woman says,

"No we're ready."

I look to woman two, she's still absorbed in the menu. I say,

"Okay, go ahead." No response. She's still reading the menu. I try again,

"I have a few things to do, don't worry, I'll be right back." Woman one raises her voice,

"NO. We're READY."

Woman two continues to read the menu.

My guests could benefit from this app.

Maybe he works for Xerox...

2011-11-28T13:14:00.001-05:00

Several weeks ago Tiger started a new job at a company with a weird name. All the details are hazy. I do know that his company has an awesome coffee machine, a Keurig.

Then I went to a dinner party with some girlfriends. One friend mentions her work doing taste tests, I ask,

"Where do you work again?"

"Keurig."

That sounds so familiar. Why does that sound so familiar? I exclaim,

"I think that's where my boyfriend works!"

"Really? What's his name?"

"Tiger." I told her his real name.

"Tiger. I've been there for three years and I don't know anyone named Tiger."

"Huh." I swear that's where he told me he works. I ask her,

"Is it a medical manufacturing company?"

"No. Keurig makes single-cup coffee machines."

"Oooh. I got confused, I think my boyfriend's office HAS a Keurig."

I don't know. This was one of the first image results for Keurig.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T08:30:00.000-05:00

Come see me at the bar!

I'll be back for more next week...

2011-11-23T12:10:00.001-05:00

How many times am I going to let the laundry lady around the corner make me swear I'm never going to go there again?

Today I put my clothes in the wash. I head back half an hour later to move them to the dryer and the laundromat is locked. When will it reopen? There's no sign. No one is answering the phone. She is holding my wet underwear hostage and I want it back.

Can he do that?

2011-11-22T11:42:00.001-05:00

I'm on the shuttle bus rushing to go home and change for the BMA's. I'm in a frantic texting frenzy, oblivious to my surroundings. All of a sudden, a man reciting a phone number cuts through my texting haze. I look up. A man in a reflective vest, working for the T says,

"Did you get that?" He repeats his phone number.

I do my signature laugh: a giggle, snort, gag, intake air, start over. It's a cross between a braying donkey and a dying donkey.

The man says,

"Actually nevermind."

I stop laughing. Did he just take back his pick-up attempt?

Who doesn't buy into free food? I'll take whatever fame and recognition that guy is pretending he doesn't want

2011-11-21T12:10:00.001-05:00

So I was at the BMA's last night. Boston Music Awards, for those of you not in the know. That included me less than 24 hours ago.

Yesterday morning there's a message from a fellow bartender. Bartender J writes,

"The barback might be able to get us tickets for his show tonight."

Our barback moonlights as a rockstar.

I head out to meet Tiger for brunch and then billiards. I throw on the outfit that I've been planning all week: jeans, a blazer, a lacy lingerie top and heels. I almost go skirt, but decide I want to keep it looking casual and not trying too hard, although I've tried very hard.

Tiger is impressed with my professional look. Professional on the outside, party on the inside. He tells me that I need to speak like a business woman all day. I tell him,

"I need you to leave that folder on my desk by 3:30. Text me on my work phone if any issues come up."

Several minutes later I add,

"Oh and I'm going to be out of town next week."

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere! I'm talking business."

All day long I keep checking my work phone to see if the rockstar/barback got us tickets. At the last minute he messages me that he did. Bartender J and I are on our way. J says,

"I think he's up for some award or something."

"Award?"

"Yeah."

"These tickets are for that awards show?"

"I think so."

"Oh no."

"What?"

"I'm wearing jeans. I can't go to this wearing jeans."

"Why not?"

"He told his girlfriend she couldn't wear jeans."

I race home, change into a dress, race back, grab Bartender J and head to the swanky Liberty Hotel for the BMA's . As we're walking up, I see all the women in sexy little outfits. I turn to J,

"I'm so glad I went home and changed."

We walk up to the door at 9:07. The door people tell us,

"We stopped letting people in at 9:00."

I turn back to J,

"I'm not so glad I went home and changed."

They let us into the downstairs bar. We stay for a drink and then as we're about to leave, not only does Bartender J manage to get us tickets, but he gets us VIP passes, good for free food from 6-7pm. We race upstairs. We're here to see our barback/rockstar. He's on the fourth floor. As we head for the elevators J says,

"He warned me that the elevators are confusing."

We get in, press the four, get off. It's very quiet. It looks like a floor of hotel rooms. I don't see or hear any signs of a rock band. There's a telephone on a table nearby. J says,

"Maybe we should call someone."

"Who are you going to call?"

"I don't know."

He picks up the phone and next thing I know he's having a conversation with a mystery someone and has acquired directions to the fourth floor rockband area. As we race over there I ask,

"Who'd you call?"

"I don't know. I just picked up the phone and it started ringing."

We pile into the correct elevator with 15 other people. One woman says,

"Is this going down? I need to go down and I can't take the escalator."

The elevator operator tells her,

"No it's going up."

"I need to go down."

"All these people are going up."

But the elevator isn't moving and it starts to make an alarming noise. The operator says,

"It's too heavy, some people need to get off."

People get off. It still won't go up. Then the skinniest woman in the elevator gets off. Not helpful at all. It still doesn't move. Finally the lady who didn't want to go up anyways gets off and up we go. We race into the room where our rockstar/barback is playing just in time for the final 30 seconds of their last song of the night.

I give him a big hug,

"You were awesome!"

He did not win an award. On the T ride home I notice the couple next to me. The woman is holding a BMA award trophy. The guy is whining,

"I wanted to win, but I don't buy into this shit. You had to come all the way out here from Worcester just for this. I don't buy into this shit."

His girlfriend replies,

"Then why are you in the band?"

Welcome home roomie...

2011-11-18T12:09:00.001-05:00

There's no running water. There's no running water in my apartment until this afternoon. I have to poop now. Will Au Bon Pain let me in in my robe and slippers? I don't want to leave a poop for my roommate.

What's my shelf life?

2011-11-17T12:27:00.001-05:00

A regular and I are fleshing out the ideas for my self-help book. He tells me,

"You have to do this soon, kind of like having kids."

"Right. How long do I have?"

"Well if your picture is going to be on the cover, it all depends on how good your makeup is."

"Oh dear."

He continues on the relationship vein,

"I'm afraid my daughter is going to marry the first man she's in love with. I on the other hand married the last person I was in love with."

"I think that's how it usually works."

"Oh, you got me. I don't know how to say it, but I want to tell my daughter to sleep around."

I bet I can capture this look

She's still going to be cray cray

2011-11-16T11:27:00.001-05:00

A guest asks me,

"Is it bad to date too many women at once?"

"I don't think so, as long as you're being honest with them."

"It's hard to keep track of everyone."

"You need a spreadsheet."

"Is that what you do?"

If by spreadsheet you mean blog, then yes. He continues,

"I have a date tomorrow, I'm not sure where to take her. This is the only text she sent me..."

It's a photo of a dead bird. I ask,

"How'd you meet?"

"At a Halloween party. She and her doll were wearing identical outfits."

"I don't think it matters where you take her."

We might be on to something

2011-11-15T12:23:00.001-05:00

A regular is convinced that my literary calling is a relationship self-help book. He is convinced I will make a lot of money. I protest,

"But what sort of self-help book is it if the author is still struggling?"

"Ah, but you have identified all the problems."

If you were a 29-year-old blanket, you'd stay away from washing machines too

2011-11-14T12:06:00.001-05:00

I get out of Tiger's bed in the morning and put my blankety on the bedside table. I start to get dressed. Tiger remarks,

"In some lights, your blanket looks brown."

"It's not the light, it is brown."

"I thought it was pink."

"It is. It hasn't been washed in over two years."

So what about that 80-year-old man with the big ears?

2011-11-11T13:48:00.001-05:00

The other bartender points out a guest and says,

"She has the smallest mouth I've ever seen."

I nod in agreement. He pants,

"It is so hot."

"A small mouth is hot?"

"I'm just imagining..."

Oh. I see. He continues,

"I also think that a small mouth means a small you know what."

"Really?"

"Yeah, small ears too."

I have very small ears, but a big mouth.

Advertised as chocolate baby ear pops.
I don't even know where to start.

It probably has more to do with your spermies

2011-11-10T12:46:00.002-05:00

A middle-age man sits down at the bar. I serve him a drink and he tells me he's waiting for a friend. He's nice. I don't think about him again until his friend arrives. His friend is also nice, but is talking in a WEIRD voice. I pretend like everything's fine. His friend says,

"Why are you talking in that weird voice?"

Thank you. They continue to discuss it,

"It's my sexy voice."

"Your sexy voice?"

"My wife and I are trying to make a baby."

This scares me.

Bring your own wine key, duh

2011-11-09T12:40:00.000-05:00

A group of 21-year-old women order a bottle of wine. I place four glasses on the bar. With my wine key in hand, I present the bottle of wine. This is the moment most people nod their assent,

"Yes that is the bottle I want." And I open it for them, or they shake their head no,

"That is not the bottle I want. Take it away."

One of the women grabs it. For a split second I think perhaps she wants to examine the bottle, but nope, she's just holding it. She thinks I was handing her the bottle. We stand and stare at each other. She looks at the bottle. She does not have a corkscrew to open it. She looks at me. I offer,

"I can open that for you, if you want."

Don't forget my tube of cookie dough...

2011-11-08T13:30:00.001-05:00

I have weird eating habits. I cared for the first time the other night. My roommate and I don't see each other much. She's French and she's been here for two years. I go to the refrigerator and take out one of my five quart size tubs of cottage cheese. She says,

"I've been meaning to ask you, how do you eat that?"

I hang my head. I'm the worst representation of American culture ever. I mumble,

"With a spoon and tabasco."

"You don't put it on anything?"

"It's not normal. My eating habits are really weird."

I was also about to make a mayonnaise sandwich, but I refrain.

Now I know what I can get my Grandpa for Christmas

2011-11-07T13:02:00.000-05:00

My little sister and I are chatting on the bus. I look at her photos from Halloween, she was a vampire. I ask,

"Where are your vampire teeth?"

"I didn't want to wear them, they looked like grandpa teeth."

I don't know. My grandpa would be happy to have that many teeth. The conversation continues, I ask.

"What time did you get up this morning?"

"6:30. But last weekend I slept 'til 8."

"Whoa."

"That's my personal best."

After all that he got a sidecar, a drink that's never met vodka

2011-11-04T12:58:00.002-04:00

It used to be that one of the most annoying questions someone could ask a bartender was,

"What should I drink?"

Now it's fashionable. All you have to do is tell the bartender you like hibiscus and they scurry off to create an amazing cocktail with or without hibiscus. I don't do that. I wouldn't mind doing that, but my creative juices don't work like that. You tell me you like vodka, I think of a vodka soda. You tell me you like tequila, I think of a margarita. You tell me you like whiskey, I think of a shot.

I am most fortunate to work with other bartenders who love to create concoctions with mysterious ingredients. When guests ask,

"I like garlic, what should I drink?" I tell them,

"Oh, let me get so-and-so, he is very good at creating cocktails."

"Great, thank you."

Last night a guest tells me,

"I like vodka, what should I drink?"

"Let me get the other bartender-"

"-No, I want you to make my drink."

"Okay..."

"I like vodka, what should I drink?"

"Creating drinks is not my specialty, but if you tell me what you want, I'd love to make that."

"What is your specialty?"

"Talking to people."

"Talking to people?!"

I wave the other bartender over and declare,

"He wants a drink with vodka." The guest gestures at me and says,

"She says her specialty is talking to people."

"That sounds about right."

But I have it til Saturday...

2011-11-03T13:23:00.000-04:00

I just got my Somerville library card. There's a library two blocks from my house. Who knew? If my therapist hadn't moved her office I never would've found it. Oh I could've googled Somerville libraries you say? Sounds like a lot of work.

I browse the new fiction section. Seven books. I move onto the old fiction section. I see a romance novel labeled,

"Now a major motion picture."

After an enjoyable afternoon watching Jane Eyre, Tiger tells me,

"I'm happy to watch a chick flick if it's based on a book."

Score. I head to Hollywood Express Movie Rentals. I make a bee line for Bridesmaids. I pay for the rental and head for Tiger's apartment. I present it to him. He screeches,

"Bridesmaids!?"

It could've been based on a book.

For a small fee, I'll write you a poem too

2011-11-02T13:58:00.000-04:00

Sunday Tiger bought me flowers. Bouquet in hand we head to the store for candy and a DVD. We run into a server from work. She asks what we've been up to and I tell her,

"We went out for brunch and now we're gonna watch a movie."

"Oh where'd you go for brunch?"

"Bruegger's." That's a fast food bagel joint for anyone not in the know.

Afterwards Tiger implores,

"You have to tell her that normally I take you somewhere nice."

"It's ok."

"At least she saw I got you flowers. And you should tell her that even though we went to Bruegger's I still got you salmon on your bagel."

That night, I'm lying alone in my bed. Tiger started a new job and our hours are completely different. I miss him and I miss being in his bed. This is weird. Normally I'm in his bed, missing my bed. I decide to write him a poem about this.

I give him the poem and he stares at me. Incredulous, he asks,

"This bed?"

"Yeah."

"You miss being in this bed?"

YES. I'm still not walking in that bathroom barefoot.

I knew it. I should've worn blue hair AND chaps

2011-11-01T12:57:00.002-04:00

I wore my blue wig again for Halloween at work. Why mess with a good thing?

My fellow bartender walks in in chaps. They're real. It's hard to compete with him and the gorgeous server dressed as Hulk Hogan.

A guest I've never seen before remarks on my blue hair,

"It actually looks really good. I mean I don't know what you look like without it, but you look really good right now."

So what if your iphone friended you

2011-10-31T12:08:00.000-04:00

A month ago my three-year-old blackberry died for good. For several months I hadn't been able to make phone calls without it crashing, but who makes phone calls anymore? Then I stopped being able to surf the web. That was ok. I could catch up on Facebook later. Then one day I sent a text and it passed away. I held out a few more weeks and got a Droid Bionic.

It's awesome in every way. Then that new iphone came out. Why didn't I wait another month without phone calls, texting and Facebook? I could've gotten the new iphone. You can talk to her and she talks back. I know this because my barback just got one.

"Siri, I love you."

"I find it odd that you would say that to an inanimate object."

"Siri, fuck you."

"That's not nice."

"Siri, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Can we get back to work now?"

Yes lets get back to work. I'm jealous. I want a phone/friend. I can talk to my phone, but I get no response,

"Text Mom. I wish I got the new iphone period sad face. It's awesome exclamation point. Did you know that you can talk to it and it talks back question mark smiley face."

My phone is the dark silent type. In a fit of frustration I say,

"Fuck you."

My phone says nothing and Googles "fuck you."

Passive aggressive son of a bitch.

Does anyone know what that's a picture of?

Usually I never hit people

2011-10-28T13:09:00.001-04:00

OMG. I'm sorry to text you via my blog, but OMG. The crazy-cranky-lady, a.k.a. S19, from earlier this week returned last night.

She sits at a table. I give her the evil eye, but she doesn't see me. She complains to her server about the music. The server turns it down and returns to her table,

"How is everything? Is the music better?"

"Yes, thank you. Usually I never complain."

I'm going to turn into a Vampire

2011-10-27T13:24:00.000-04:00

All the crazies seem to be coming out the week before Halloween. It's 12:30am there are a few people lingering from a party that started hours ago. They have no excuse to be lingering. All they drank was a large orange juice no ice, half-grapefruit juice half soda, one-third grapefruit juice two-thirds ginger-ale.

A woman high on vitamin C saunters to the bathroom. I'm counting the minutes until I can close up shop. One guy is giving me puppy-dog googly eyes from a table ten feet away. I'm pretending I don't see him.

The woman comes back out of the bathroom and stops at the end of the bar. She says,

"I know the kitchen is closed but..."

My heart sinks. Any conversation that starts this way is trouble. She's going to ask for a favor. She, the woman who organized a party of 14 juice/soda drinkers, whose tab closed out at $146 after several hours. Four normal people can't stay at the restaurant as long as the 14 did and keep it under $150. She says,

"I know the kitchen is closed but could I have some garlic please?"

"Garlic?" What? Have vampires descended on us? I confirm her statement. "Sorry, the kitchen is closed."

"Could you go back there and get me some?"

"I don't know where it is and I'm not allowed to start going through the kitchen." No one's ever told me that, but it sounds about right. She gestures at the kitchen,

"There's no one back there that could give me garlic?"

"There's only the dishwasher left." Spanish speaking, so if you can get him to understand that you want garlic to go, more power to you. She huffs and puffs,

"Could I have some hot water to go?"

What? "Sure." I fill up a to-go soup container with hot water and hand it to her. Later I tell my bar manager,

"She looks like someone who owns a microwave AND a stove."

"It's the running water that she must not have."

The party leaves. The restaurant is empty. Sweet! Uh. Oh no. Here comes Mr. Googly Eyes. He plunks himself down at the bar. I warn him this is last call and wonder what his juice of choice will be. He scans the cocktail list and asks,

"Do you have any drinks on here?"

"Yes, the juice box."

"You're Jess of Jess' Juice Box?"

"I am."

"I'll take it. So how did you get to be a bartender?

I go clean imaginary things at the other end of the bar. His googly eyes follow me everywhere. He says,

"I need a tour guide for Cambridge."

"Oh."

"Can you help me?"

"No sorry."

"Can I get your number so we can text?"

"I have a boyfriend." And even if I didn't really have a boyfriend, I would have a boyfriend.

"Just to text."

"No thanks."

"You don't have to write your number down, you can tell it to me."

I'm not not writing it down because of transcribing issues. He continues,

"Could I have some water?"

I give him water, turn off the music and put up the lights.

"I guess you're closing and I should go?"

Yup.

"Tell me your number."

I walk away.

"Could I have some more water?"

Na-na na-boo-boo

2011-10-26T13:04:00.000-04:00

I do not love bar guests all the same. Some I do not love at all. I have one woman who is a problem EVERY SINGLE TIME.

She orders a salad and says,

"I don't like tomatoes."

"No problem, I'll tell the kitchen no tomatoes."

"But do you think I should get something else?"

"What would you like?"

"What can I get?"

I gesture at the full menu that is still in front of her. She explains,

"No, what can I get instead of the tomatoes?"

"Extra greens."

"But don't you think, since I'm not getting the tomatoes I should get something else or get money off the salad?"

"I'll go ask the kitchen."

I return,

"The price of the salad stays the same. I can give you extra greens instead of the tomatoes."

She shakes her head.

A few weeks later she returns, orders without a problem and sits quietly. I stay as far away as possible. She waves me over.

"Don't you think this music is offensive to women?"

Eighties rock? Not that I know of. I hear the current song ending and I reassure her,

"It's a mix, it'll change."

A couple songs later her chicken sandwich is almost ready, she waves me over. Nirvana is playing. She screeches,

"This music is offensive to women and I don't know how you can work here."

I don't know how you live in this world. She storms out without getting or paying for her food.

Two weeks later she's back. Here we go. She orders the chicken sandwich again. I'm tempted to offer her her's from two weeks ago. She asks,

"Can I get a vegetable instead of fries?"

A few days ago the Chef made it very clear to all the waitstaff that a vegetable substitution for fries is fine, but it's a two dollar up charge. I warn my cranky lady,

"Sure, but it's a two dollar up charge."

"Oh well that's not in my budget, I can't afford that." And she looks at me pleadingly.

If she thinks for one second I'm going to treat her to a side of spinach, she has a severe case of the crazies. I offer,

"Would you like fries?"

She settles for the sandwich and a side salad, no up charge. Things are going as smoothly as possible. She picks up her bill to pay. She points at it and says,

"What's this? Name S19?"

"Oh we number the bar seats one through nineteen, so we can keep track of everyone's tabs. You're sitting at seat nineteen."

"I don't like it. My name is not S19. It's disturbing."

"Okay."

"No other restaurants do this."

"Next door does."

"No they don't."

"Yes, they do. I used to work there."

She scans the bill again and finds the server name. She glares at me and snaps,

"Well then I'll just call you Bar Left."

No I don't

2011-10-25T16:51:00.003-04:00

Last night a regular leans across my bar and whispers,

“The World Series is on.”

I glance at the TV’s. Of course we don’t have it on and of course no one noticed. That’s why my bar and I are perfect for each other. I switch it and the barback says,

“That reminds me of my favorite Jess quote...”

I meant to blog about it before, I swear. A couple weeks ago I had that double date. We start at the bar. As we’re about to move to a table, Tiger is transfixed by football on the TV. He says,

“Can we just stay here and watch this for a minute?”

This is unusual. Tiger likes sports and he likes me, but he doesn’t like to do both of us at the same time. Sports AND a double date? Sounds overwhelming. We all become transfixed by the last minutes of the Patriots’ game as they march downfield and score the winning touchdown. It was good.

The next day at work I’m excited to strike up a sports conversation, because for once I can. I say to the barback,

“Did you see the Patriots game last night?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a great game huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, it was awesome and I don’t even watch baseball.”

I'm sorry

2011-10-24T13:21:00.001-04:00

I already issued an apology in real time and in real life to my downstairs neighbor. But it can't hurt to double down.

I'm sorry and it won't happen again.

Costume parade, pumpkin parade, same same

2011-10-24T13:21:00.000-04:00

The big sister association threw a Halloween party this past weekend. I was very excited to go. I got permission from my little sister's mom and went online to RSVP. It said,

"Waitlist only."

What? Waitlist only! I didn't realize it was limited space. If I'd known that I would've RSVPd yes with or without my little sister. There's going to be a costume parade.

We decide to carve jack o'lanterns instead. The day of the party that we're not going to arrives and I pick my little sister up. I apologize again to her mom for not RSVPing sooner. Her mom replies,

"It's not a big deal. You're more upset than she is."

It's true. There's going to be a costume parade.

We drive to Shaw's to pick out a big pumpkin. The place is packed. I finally find a parking spot and we walk in. I see pumpkins, but they're no bigger than my fist. There must be more. I just called yesterday,

"Hi Shaw's customer service, how can I help you?"

"Do you have big pumpkins for carving?"

"Yes. We have small, medium, large and extra-large pumpkins."

Today I see no medium, large or extra large pumpkins. I feel panicky as my jack o'lantern plans seem to be going the way of the costume parade. I ask a clerk,

"Do you have big pumpkins?"

"We're all out. Try down the street."

I have the zip-car for only another half-hour. I'm praying this place has pumpkins. They do. The sign says fifty-nine cents a pound. I scan the pumpkin selection. A tall skinny one would be nice. My little sister inspects them all. Nearby another young girl picks out pumpkins. Her parents follow her around with a wagon full. We head to the register right behind them. The clerk weighs all their pumpkins and says,

"That's 102 pounds of pumpkin!"

The parents confer. They say,

"We were gonna have a pumpkin carving birthday party, but maybe it's too expensive."

Too expensive? That can't be the problem. I'd pay another sixty dollars to get someone to clean up the mess that seven eight-year-olds are going to make splattering pumpkin everywhere.

My little sister's pumpkin weighs in at 28 pounds. We haul it to the car. I ask,

"Is the pumpkin buckled?"

"Oh, I forgot."

Hours later, after I've lugged Wilbie, the 28 pound pumpkin, on a tour of Somerville, I return them to my little sister's mom. As I climb several flights of stairs to their apartment, she exclaims,

"I hope you didn't have to pay by the pound."

I plunk Wilbie on the counter. The money is not the problem.

I did not make contact

2011-10-21T14:00:00.000-04:00

I told Tiger the truth. I told him his blog name. He said,

"I like it!"

"Oh good. So if my mom calls you Tiger that's why."

"That's a little weird."

"I know."

I slip on his sandals and shuffle into the bathroom. I come out. He is opening a box of used bike shoes he bought on Craigslist. I examine them and announce,

"They look like new."

"Yeah, the guy said they're a year old, but they look great."

I stick my nose in them and take a big whiff,

"They don't even smell like feet."

Tiger stares at me,

"You need to wear sandals in my bathroom, but you'll stick your face in and smell a pair of used shoes from Craigslist."

I've invested in a great poncho

2011-10-18T18:35:00.001-04:00

My friend emails me in response to my most recent blog post,

"I have way different sex than you. I NEVER need to wash my hair after."

And by get in my hair, I really mean...

2011-10-17T12:58:00.001-04:00

Tiger and I meet in Harvard Square for brunch. I have my overnight bag stuffed full. We have a double date in the evening, so I have Blankety, my leopard dress AND my winter snow boots. Don't ask.

It's a beautiful day. Several hours later we start to head back to Tiger's place. I mention,

"I don't know what's going to happen, but please don't get anything in my hair before dinner."

"What? Who knows if we're even going to do anything."

"I know, that's why I said 'I don't know what's going to happen.' I just don't want to have to wash my hair again."

"You need a hat or an umbrella."

"An umbrella won't hide it in the restaurant."

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Ooh, an umbrella for in the moment?" Not a bad idea.

I've never been on a double date before. The whole idea seems a little awkward, but whatever awkwardness there is, it's nothing two pitchers of sangria can't fix.

Conversation drifts into spicy foods and who can eat what. Tiger exclaims,

"You'll never guess what Jess puts Tabasco on."

The other couple answers in unison,

"Cottage cheese!"

"How'd you-"

I realize,

"They read my blog."

Tiger shakes his head.

The conversation moves onto the topic of the tiger blanket from Michigan. Everyone is hinting around to see if he know's he's called Tiger. He does not. He goes to the bathroom. When he returns to the table, the other guy says,

"Hi Tiger."

"Oh I like that nickname."

I call it my candy smuggler

2011-10-14T12:45:00.002-04:00

I head out to the movies with Tiger. I like to carry a small purse, but if I'm going to sleepover I need a bag big enough to hold Blankety. I forgo the overnight bag and settle on a tiny little purse. It's so small that I have to take my snowcaps out of their box and put them in a Ziploc baggie to get them to fit.

Afterwards Tiger notices my handbag dangling from my wrist. He says,

"I like your purse. Or is it a wallet?"

"It's a wristlet."

"I'm not calling it that."

Tiger, please pass the potatoes

2011-10-13T12:08:00.000-04:00

My mom has officially forgotten Tiger's real name. A text message rolls in last night about Thanksgiving.

"Be thinking about Thanksgiving, Tiger's invited of course."

His name isn't Tiger! And he does not know he is called Tiger. He does not read my blog. I know. It's hard to believe. But after interrogating him, I do believe it. I've been left to my own devices to decide where the line is about referring vaguely to things, like sex.

I gave him the blog name Tiger, not only because I love his $15 Target tiger blanket that I would never let within 100 feet of my house, but that he would reveal himself for really sneaking a peak at my blog every once in awhile. It is now clear that he doesn't and I'm very attached to the blanket and the name. Rarr. I cannot risk a Thanksgiving conversation that starts with my mom,

"So Tiger, how's your PhD coming?"

But we can talk about Brad Pitt anytime

2011-10-12T12:01:00.000-04:00

I saw Moneyball last night. I have never talked about baseball as much or been as interested in talking about baseball as I was last night. Brad Pitt had a lot to do with that and Jonah Hill helped.

As Tiger and I lounge on the couch, dissecting the movie, he remarks,

"I'm talking baseball with a woman in lingerie. How often does that happen?"

Probably just this once.

Or like the rapper or the comic book hero or the Court

2011-10-11T17:52:00.001-04:00

I fell in love in March. It was with a pair of Levi's jeans from the new Curve ID line. There's slight curve, demi curve, bold curve and available only online: supreme curve. I've worn the same pair everyday since then. They give me the perfect amount of a wedgie.

The other day at work I glance down. Oh no. I'm very close to having a serious wardrobe malfunction. My crotch is starting to rip open. I might NEED to wear my apron. I tell the other bartender on duty,

"I need to order new Levi's."

"The Curve ones?"

How does he know about these amazing girl jeans? I ask,

"How do you know about them?"

"I saw them in the store the other day. Are you the bold curve?"

"No, the supreme."

"Like the burrito?"

This man looks oddly similar to my fellow bartender... Who's a burrito now?

So does that make you....?

2011-10-10T12:16:00.000-04:00

I head out to meet a girlfriend for dinner. The bar is packed. I hover near a table where the people look like they're leaving. They start getting up to leave. I put my hand on the table. I'm not rushing them. Just staking out my territory. A woman lunges through the bar area from several feet away and exclaims,

"Are you guys leaving?"

They're getting up and taking all personal belongings with them. Of course they're leaving. They answer,

"Yes."

"Oh good. Perfect timing."

No. Not perfect timing. The table is already mine. I catch her eye. She knows I was here first. She says,

"Oh, were you waiting for this table?"

"Yes." But I don't want to be rude about it. Maybe she'd had her eye on it before I got here. I offer,

"Were you here before me?"

"You were here first. It's yours." It looks like she wants to spit in my face.

"Thank you." And I sit down at the table. I'll field her bitch gaze all night, as long as my five inch heels and I are sitting down.

A few sips of my drink later I notice another table opening up. Table-stealing lady is not paying attention. I give her arm a light tap,

"That table over there is opening up."

She marches off without a word. Her friend turns to me,

"Thank you."

"No problem." Good luck.

The creepiest old guy in the bar lurches over to my table. Where is my friend? He leans on my table,

"I'm a psychotherapist."

"Oh."

"I'm here for your own good."

"Oh?"

"Any guy who approaches you here is a narcissistic asshole."

From beach to bar

We can bang against the footboard and then both sideboards... and by bang, I mean "to hit or bump"

2011-10-07T12:48:00.000-04:00

A regular at my bar likes to be kept up to date on my man situation. He presses me for details,

"What's new?"

"Not much."

"Something must be new."

"Not really."

I saw this regular yesterday. He continues,

"Last I heard you were missing your boyfriend's birthday."

"Yes."

"So?"

"So?"

"How'd that go? Did you make it up to him?"

"We celebrated ahead of time."

"And did you do anything to make it up to him afterwards?"

Is he trying to make me feel guilty for not giving him a blow job? It's on my to-do list. The regular presses for more,

"No make-up tryst?"

"Yeah, we were together Tuesday."

"And?"

Wow, he's not going to give up. I decide to throw him a bone,

"He banged my head against his new headboard."

And I'm not sure what's more exciting, the banging or the new bed. I'm kidding. It's the new bed.

Nine speeds including low, high and cha-cha-cha

2011-10-05T13:42:00.000-04:00

A friend and I are wandering around Provincetown. It's a lot slower than in the summer but there's still one gay man pulling a leash tied around the neck of another gay man and a lot of tight leather pants.

A sex-toy shop catches my eye. I ask my friend if she wants to go in,

"No."

I want to have a look. I stand mesmerized by a display of vibrators that look like modern art. I turn one on. It starts humming in my hand. This is great. I start turning them all on and flipping through the speeds. There's a sign proclaiming it the vibrator to the stars. The sales clerk comes over to give me his spiel. He informs me,

"These vibrators are waterproof and rechargeable."

"Rechargeable?"

"Yes."

He goes on to list all the other amazing qualities, but he had me at rechargeable. I spend way too much money on batteries. Never mind the pressure I feel to come quickly to conserve battery life.

Other people live in basement apartments

2011-10-04T13:11:00.000-04:00

My mom tells me that she died laughing when she read the blog about me deserting Tiger to sleep with a blanket.

I google "Adults who need security blankets."

Wikipedia states,"Many adults enjoy the comfort that security blankets provide as essential to their mental and emotional well-being."

Thank you. That's what I'm talking about. I read more on other sites. This is from LiveScience.com,

"When Kaitlin Lipe was 6 months old, someone gave her a Puffalump. The stuffed pink cow is more than two decades old now, but Lipe, 24, a social media manager in New York, can't part with Puff. She gets comfort wrapping her arms around the childhood toy without all the meowing that comes from her real cat or the sassy comments she might get from her boyfriend."

See? It's all those sassy comments from Tiger. Blankety doesn't talk back. The article continues,

"These are objects that people feel a bond with, despite the fact that the relationship is, by definition, one-sided."

Right or else one has to deal with meowing and/or sassy comments.

I lay out all my evidence for Tiger,

"I googled it. I'm normal. Lots of adults have security objects."

"Yeah and if you're an axe murderer and you google axe murderers you'll find a lot, but that doesn't mean it's okay."

Blog boyfriend, real-life boyfriend... almost the same

2011-10-03T14:13:00.001-04:00

My mom asks,

"How did Tiger like the hot tub?"

She said "Tiger" and not Tiger's real-life name. I remind her,

"His name isn't Tiger."

"Oh, uh..." She pauses and remembers it a few seconds later, as I'm about to tell her. We continue to talk about the hot tub. My mom adds,

"Tiger-"

"His name isn't Tiger!"

"Well I read your blog all the time. And he's called Tiger."

This is bad.

Well if you wouldn't mind...

2011-10-01T11:17:00.001-04:00

I head home with a couple coworkers. It starts to drizzle. Then it starts to rain. I get out the tiny umbrella some guest left at the bar and try to share it. It starts to pour. The third coworker is on the phone with his girlfriend. Rain is dripping down his face. He says,

"No I didn't get a taxi... I'm walking... It's only drizzling."

I finish the last part of my walk home alone. It's still pouring. A drunk guy going in the opposite direction yells,

"Five dollars for your umbrella!"

"Ten and we have a deal."

No deal.

A couple blocks from home I walk by the usual hordes of drunk college kids getting out of the bars. I keep my head down and walk quickly. I always hope they'll understand that I've been dealing with drunk people all night and I just want them to leave me alone.

I sense someone walking beside me. He gets closer and swoops in. There is a strange man under my umbrella. I jerk away. He whines,

"Please share your umbrella."

He's small and whiny; I don't feel threatened, so I allow him to stay. He continues,

"Just let my head be under. My head is all that matters, that's where pneumonia gets in if you get wet."

I'm tempted to argue with this drunk guy that pneumonia does not slip in through the top of wet heads. I continue my brisk pace home. He asks,

"What's your name? Or should I just call you umbrella girl?"

"Umbrella girl is good."

He breaks into a rendition of Rihanna's "Umbrella" song. We get to an intersection. He tries to go right. I tell him,

"I'm going left."

"Ok, nice to meet you umbrella girl."

I walk away. He shouts after me,

"Umbrella girl! You're pretty! I wouldn't mind seeing you again."

I'll see him again

2011-09-30T12:04:00.002-04:00

I'm chatting on the phone with a girlfriend yesterday. She asks,

"Do you still sleep with that blankie?"

"Yes."

"What does Tiger think about it?"

"He's not a fan. I was at his place last night, but I couldn't sleep over because I didn't have my blankety."

"You left a man to go sleep with a blanket?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you should talk to your therapist about this."

No we still haven't done it with the viking hat

2011-09-29T13:07:00.001-04:00

Tiger has his own apartment. There's a lot to be said for that. I have my own room, but my bed makes so much noise that even when I'm alone, rolling over sounds suspect. So we stay at Tiger's place when we do you know what that I'm not supposed to write about, but am allowed to hint at vaguely.

Tiger has a basement apartment. It was nice and cool during the summer. Now all that it has going for it is that the bed is quieter and I can walk to the bathroom naked, or almost naked. I refuse to go barefoot on the cold wet tile floor. I ask to borrow his sandals so I don't have to put my sneakers on. Tiger mentions all the gross bathrooms I've seen in my travels. I mention that I did not go barefoot there either.

The other night I walk into his place and am greeted by the smell of new carpets. Tiger says,

"I'm thinking about putting a little throw rug in the bathroom. Will you go barefoot then?"

I saved the fries, fried mushrooms, pork shish kabab and chocolate peanut-butter dipped banana rolled in nuts for later

2011-09-28T11:44:00.001-04:00

I love food. And the only thing I love more than food is a lot of different foods all at once. I'm in heaven at the Big E, the New England Fair. I don't know what to eat first: baked potato, giant turkey leg, deep fried kool-aid, it all looks amazing. I start buying everything at once.

Tiger wants to sit down and have a beer. That's a great idea because I can go forage and bring back more food. Incredulous, he watches as I eat popcorn, drink beer, eat chocolate fudge, drink a creamsicle ice cream float, eat a baked potato, drink some milk and start over at the beginning again.

I covered the whole food pyramid. The potato has bacon bits AND chives so that's my meat and veggies.

I offer Tiger some of everything. He shakes his head no and says,

"I've never seen anyone get a glass of milk at a fair before."

I'm on some variation of this

Dating other people will have to wait until next week

2011-09-27T13:33:00.000-04:00

Tiger's birthday is coming up. I know it's been coming up for months, but I forgot about it. I didn't forget he has one, I just forgot what day it is. In the meantime, I schedule a weekend getaway with a girlfriend. Somewhere between Denmark and Norway I'm chatting about the upcoming weekend at the Cape. A friend asks,

"When's Tiger's birthday?"

"October ..."

"And when are you going to the Cape?"

"October... oh shit."

I double booked his birthday. I can't cancel on my girlfriend. I already did that once. And I wouldn't be all that concerned about missing Tiger's birthday if he hadn't made such a point not to miss mine. I start doing damage control from Scandinavia.

I plan surprises for a couple days before his birthday. I ask him,

"What are you going to do on your birthday?"

"I don't know. Nothing."

My mom offers to have him over for dinner. I relay the message. What's more fun than dinner with your girlfriend's family? Dinner with your girlfriend's family without your girlfriend.

I schedule a private hot tub. If you see him in the next two hours please don't say anything. It's a surprise. I ask a fellow bartender if he thinks this is a good idea. He says,

"I don't like hot tubs."

Uhoh. Is this a mistake? How do I find out without giving it away? He comes into the bar. I ask,

"Do you like baths?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Over the weekend Tiger and I are wandering around the Big E. I see a hot tub display. I point and shout,

"Look! Hot tubs!"

"Oh I love hot tubs, I wish we could go in."

Score.

As we chat over drinks, I want to tell Tiger about a couple guests from the bar. I begin,

"The other night I had a blind date-"

"-You had a blind date?!"

"What? No."

Does he really think I went out with someone else and I want to chat with him about it? Moral is, I'm way too busy with his birthday for blind dates.

There's something to be said for air-conditioned apple picking in the grocery store

2011-09-26T13:48:00.000-04:00

I pick up my little sister to go apple picking. We get there, buy a bag, use the porta-potty and walk 20 feet to the first tree. I'm a sweaty mess. It's 80 degrees and HUMID. I'm not sure why I thought this was a good idea. All I want to do is sit in air conditioning and eat already picked and processed apple pie.

My little sister runs ahead and climbs a tree. She's working hard and finding lots of good apples. I'm holding the bag and moving as little as possible. A five-year-old girl runs up. She stares at my little sister in the tree and turns to me with her hands on her hips,

"What does she think she's doing up there?"

"Picking apples."

"How is she going to get down?"

"She'll climb down."

"She's high up and she's only a kid."

The five-year-old marches off to relay all this information to her parents. How was this child born with the soul of a nagging hovering parent?

My little sister runs off to climb another tree. I stand underneath her. She asks,

"If I fall, will you catch me?"

"I'll do my best."

"What sort of answer is that?!"

Relax

2011-09-23T15:12:00.000-04:00

The college kids are back. The bar is busy. Two young guys are waiting to sit. A couple finishes their dinner, pays and gets up. I clear the spots and the guys sit down as I'm wiping the bar.

"Can we have menus?"

"Of course."

I continue to clean the bar for them. Two seconds later his friend pipes up,

"I need a menu."

I know. I'm wiping the bar. The next step is menus. I haven't left you stranded menu-less. I'm right here.
.

Monkeys do it, so it must be okay. You're right, I don't throw poop

2011-09-22T11:20:00.001-04:00

I like to pick pimples. Mine, other people's, it doesn't really matter. Tiger is not a fan. He doesn't even like it when I pick mine.

We're sitting in the park the other day, his head on my lap, me stroking his face, so romantic. Then I see it. There's a whitehead on the side of his nose. I try to stay calm. My fingers inch closer to the offending spot. I go for it. FAIL. Tiger turns his face away,

"NO."

"But there's a whitehead." I whine.

"It's okay. I'll get it later."

"Monkeys pick each other all the time."

Tiger stares at me. This argument does not help my case.

It's hard for me to look at this photo knowing I can't do anything.

Your pick of handlebars, braids or horns

2011-09-21T10:46:00.001-04:00

I'm back at the bar with my viking hat. I wear it to work with every intention of taking it off once we open. The managers tell me I should wear it. Who am I to argue with management?

Plastic Viking hats are NOT breathable. A couple hours later I'm a sweaty mess and my fake braids are getting frizzy. I take it off.

A guest I've never seen before pulls me aside. He gestures toward his date and says,

"We talked about it and we think you look better without the viking hat."

"Thank you." Well I guess I won't wear it for the rest of my life then.

I put it on for a regular. He says,

"My family is from Norway and that's not a real Viking hat."

"Okay."

"You know that's not a real Viking hat?"

"Yes. Does it offend you?"

It turns out my plastic Viking hat with removable horns and attachable hair isn't real. But there's still hope for the little trolls I bought. I think we're hitting it off.

Then you don't want to know where this one came from

2011-09-21T10:27:00.000-04:00

I aim to please. The other day the general manager asks me,

"Jess do you have a cork for this wine bottle?"

I rummage through the recycling bin, pull out an old cork and stuff it in the open bottle. I notice a cork on the counter next to my manager. I ask,

"What's wrong with that one?"

"It fell in the trash."
.

Oh look at the sweet unicorn hanging off that historical building. Is that? No. Yes. That unicorn has giant balls

2011-09-19T12:31:00.000-04:00

I'm back. I'm not sure what time it is, so I'm drinking coffee and eating butterfingers. I hear that's the best cure for jet lag, lots of caffeine and sugar.

I show up at Tiger's wearing my Viking hat and bearing gifts. I saved him a napkin and a bottle of water from the flight.

I know it doesn't sound great, but that napkin had good trivia on it,

"Ingolfur Arnarson was the first settler in Iceland, more than 1,100 years ago. His trip from Norway lasted four days and there were no napkins."

Get it? It was printed on a napkin. Icelandair is very clever. And that bottle of water came from a glacier, or so they say.

I'm going to miss all the funny Scandinavian words. I'm going to miss being a personer, parkering, passing fart kontrol, going to the toiletter and disposing of my tamponger.

PMS has come and gone and it took no prisoners. Vacation is good for something.

An Unesco World Heritage site. Yes, you can see the unicorn's junk

Light fixtures are everything

2011-09-16T04:43:00.001-04:00

Life is good. I'm in Bergen, Norway where it rains 250 days out of the year and it is sunny. Blue skies as far as I can see from my suite. That's right, my suite. My room has a chandelier.

The lady at the front desk checks me in and doesn't warn me. I go find my room and open the door. I see an entry way and a dining area. I don't even see the bed yet. I turn the corner. There's the bed and another seating area and a chandelier. I turn the corner again. There's the bathroom. The bathroom alone is bigger than the other hotel rooms I stayed in this trip. I don't touch or move anything and march back down to the front desk.

"Hi, sorry to bother you, I'd like to check the price of my room."

"Why?"

"It seems like it should be more expensive than what I expected to pay."

"Oh we're full. It's the only room we have left. You're still paying the price you reserved."

"Oh thank you."

"Is it okay?"

Is she kidding me? It's gorgeous. I wish I had friends, I'd have a party. Welcome to my suite. Help yourself to the mini-bar.

I head back to my room. First I sit at the table. Then I retire to the wingback chairs in the corner, then the marble tub, then the bed. I don't want to fall asleep. I keep staring at the ceiling. My room has a chandelier.

Not the actual chandelier.

It wasn't Rudolph, I swear. I hope. Santa should have GPS by now.

2011-09-14T01:19:00.000-04:00

I'm in Norway and I had pickled herring for breakfast today. The verdict? Not bad. Not something I'm going to crave like cottage cheese. Don't worry gallon container of cottage cheese in Somerville, I'm coming back for you.

I am a Jew who loves gefilte fish, so who am I to judge? Although 6:30am is not my ideal time to eat pickled fish.

I went to McDonald's the other day. The big macs cost $10. I want something cheaper, so I go to the bathroom for $1. Everyone working at this McDonald's is blonde and perky. It's like a cheerleading squad decided to volunteer here.

And last night I ate reindeer cakes. Please don't tell Santa.

.

How about a moose hat?

2011-09-12T04:28:00.000-04:00

Today will just have to be a shopping day. Either it rains a lot in Scandinavia or I'm very unlucky. And I still haven't gotten to the place my guidebook says sells umbrellas in vending machines.

Stockholm is goregeous. Clean, tall and blonde. Except for all the tourists. Out of five people at an ATM, chances are there's someone as tall as I am.

I booked a room at a hotel on a boat. This sounds great in theory, but it's so small that I can sit on the toilet and lie in my bed at the same time. Okay, so I'm sleeping in a bathroom, but the breakfast buffet is delicious. It also works well for lunch and dinner, depending how much I manage to stuff in my bag.

I'm on the lookout for the perfect Viking hat. Tiger promised to wear one if I got it. I'm waiting for one with really big horns. The tourist shops seem to be obsessed with moose. There're moose t-shirts, aprons, coasters, dishware, postcards, stuffed moose, ceramic moose, glass moose, your mom as a moose. I get it. Scandinavia has moose, but I don't want to buy people tacky souvenirs that look like I got them in Vermont. I want tacky souvenirs that look like I got them in Sweden.

I don't care if the foot-tall, bobblehead moose has Swedish flag underwear on. Unless it says Sweden, the general American is going to assume it's an American moose who likes blue and yellow underwear.

I finally find something that looks like a reindeer. Now this is a Swedish animal I can support. I turn to another customer,

"What animal do you think this is?"

"A moose."

My hotel is the boat on the right. Look how small it is.

Slut. Danish for "The End"

2011-09-10T16:20:00.000-04:00

I'm in Copenhagen and in need of a cheap option for lunch, I head to a hotdog cart on the street corner. It's only seven dollars a hotdog. The menu’s in Danish, but there are pictures. I pick one that looks a lot like what I expect a hotdog to look like.

The hotdog lady pulls out a circular bun, fills it with ketchup and mayo, shoves the meat in and hands it to me. It looks like a corndog with the top of the bun cut off. I’m eating a stick of meat oozing white goo. And so is everyone else.

Yes I have a picture, you’re just going to have to wait for it.

I head to Tivoli Gardens. After passing a Build-a-Bear Workshop, the Hard Rock Cafe and a Bodum coffee press that I bought for a third the price in the states, I make it to my destination, the toiletter. That’s Danish for toilet.

It’s painted like a wood shed. There’s a painted chicken sitting on every toilet, a wolf in the window and a squawking chicken soundtrack. It’s almost too distracting to do what I’ve come for. Just as I’m wiping, a loud “MOO” startles me off the toilet.

I need another stick of meat, without all that white goo to swallow.

Spunk, Danish for salty packs of licorice

2011-09-08T05:33:00.000-04:00

I made it. I'm in Denmark. I saw a rainbow, had coffee next to a doll with a carrot penis and had liverwurst for breakfast. I'm in heaven.

I forgot the cord to connect my ancient camera to my computer or else I'd post a photo of the rainbow. Okay, not the rainbow but definitely the carrot penis. You're going to have to wait for it.

The cost of everything is EKSORBITANT, that's Danish for exorbitant. My hot chocolate yesterday, $7. My ox burger, $30. But so delicious. It makes the $15 breakfast buffet look like a fabulous deal.

I arrive at my hostel in Copenhagen at 7am after not sleeping at all on the flight. They tell me I can't check in until 2pm. I crash on a sofa in the common room. I sleep until 2pm, only waking for a moment to overhear an employee explaining,

"This is our common room. We have a problem with homeless people."

I need to tell you something. I'm tall

2011-09-05T10:19:00.002-04:00

I leave tomorrow for the land of tall, blond, beautiful people. If anyone wants a viking, let me know.

I think I'm ready. I've gone shopping for all new clothes which I'm sure to abandon once I go shopping there. Remember Scandinavians are tall, so there must be clothes for tall people.

Lying/laying in bed with Tiger the other night, when I don't look my tallest, he asks,

"What height percentile are you in?"

"The 95th."

"Wow."

We've been dating/seeing each other/sleeping together for over four months. The enormity of my being just seems to have dawned on him. He asks,

"How tall are you again?"

"Six feet."

"Wow."

My feet are dangling off the end of the bed. A month ago he tried to tell me his bed is a queen. Not quite. He continues,

"If I'd known you were that tall I don't know if I'd have asked you out."

I wasn't keeping it a secret.

The next day I head to the ATM to change my pin. ATMs in Scandinavia don't do long pins. As we walk out Tiger remarks,

"You were taller than everybody at the ATM."

Yes, out of a sampling of five people, especially Asians, chances are good I'll be the tallest.

Please note, I'm wearing a white hat which makes me appear shorter.

I wish I had time to be laying

2011-09-02T11:59:00.001-04:00

I know. I'm sorry. I vowed to blog on a regular basis. But I don't know how I'm supposed to work fifty hours a week, see friends, see my little sister, sleep with somebody, text my mom, plan a trip to Scandinavia, leave in four days, shop for underwear, shower, sleep AND blog. You're right. The shower should go.

My mom is the best proofreader I have. I rely on her to text me about the most recent blog post's grammatical errors. Please don't take this the wrong way Mom. I like it. Thank you.

She responds to the post about Tiger and me in bed looking at my phone,

"Love blog ('lying' instead of 'laying,' unless of course you really were laying, but I doubt it if he was browsing on the phone)"

I have a real live one.

I need a new phone that can handle questionable material

2011-08-31T14:07:00.001-04:00

My smartphone is on it's last legs. It likes to text and email, but if you try to make it do anything smart like Facebook or talking on the phone it crashes and dies. Forget trying to load the New York Times.

Yesterday I'm in Victoria's Secret because I need more underwear. I'm never going to have 300 pairs if I sit around doing nothing. My mom calls as an expired coupon gives me $10 off. More free underwear! Best day ever.

My mom says,

"I can only talk for a few minutes and I'm sure you're busy too."

"Yes." I move next door to H&M to shop for outerwear.

After talking to my mom for five minutes my phone is dead. It's early afternoon. I have several people and one puppy to meet later. I need my phone. I wander around H&M looking for an outlet. I'm willing to leave my phone anywhere. It's almost worthless. The only outlet I see is in the dressing room. There are two young women guarding the outlet. I ask,

"May I please charge my phone?"

Simultaneously one shakes her head no and the other shakes her head yes. I hand it to the one who said yes,

"Great! Thank you very much!"

The one who said no asks,

"How long are you going to leave it here for?"

"I'm just shopping for a little bit."

"You can't leave it here for long."

"Ok."

I return with clothes to try on. Afterwards the yes woman returns my phone. I slip her five dollars. If you've ever wondered if H&M employees can accept tips, they can.

Later lying in bed with Tiger. He asks if he can use my phone to browse the Craigslist personals. We enjoy reading them to each other. It's nice confirmation that we're not as far gone as the guy who "wants to worship your anus."

He starts to read them. My phone crashes and dies. It can't handle phone calls, Facebook, New York Times or casual encounters.

Category 2 no 1, no it's a tropical storm, no it's sunny

2011-08-29T12:40:00.000-04:00

So Tropical Storm Irene.

Saturday my little sister and I head to the movies. We stop at CVS on the way for candy and vitamin water. The CVS is in the same shopping plaza as Shaws and there are no parking spots. People are waiting to get into the store. I find it hard to believe that people don't have enough food to make it until Monday.

Saturday night the bar is dead. The hurricane isn't supposed to hit until the next morning. What is going on? Not that long ago we were having a blizzard every other day and all anyone did was complain, they didn't stop drinking.

I put my hurricane plan into effect. I ask the bar manager if I can buy a bottle of wine. He says,

"When do you need it for?"

"For the hurricane."

"Everyone else is stocking up on food and you need a bottle of wine."

Yup, that sounds about right.

I take my bottle of wine and head for Tiger's basement apartment. At first I thought this was a brilliant idea, but when they started pumping water out of the basement at work I realize I may have made a mistake. Tiger texts me,

"I went to the store..."

Geez, him too?

"I got a bottle of wine, a box of wine, a bottle of vodka and stuff to make s'mores."

Okay that sounds reasonable.

I'm dying for s'mores, but what if there's no electricity? As I walk through the light mist that kept everyone away from my bar Saturday night I adjust my emergency hurricane plans. If the apartment floods I'll stay up on the bed and I can make s'mores over a candle. And if all else fails I'll drink.

There was no flood. Although I did need to wear sandals in the bathroom. Tiger doesn't like bathmats.

What about his butt and his feet? He's going to get wet.

My box, get it?

2011-08-26T14:40:00.001-04:00

A couple regulars in their sixties sit down at the bar. The woman browses the cocktail menu. She asks,

"Which is better Jess' Juice Box or Vikki's Fizz?"

"I'm a little biased, but you might like Vikki's Fizz better."

"I'll take your juice box."

Her husband turns to me and remarks,

"That's a great name for your drink."

"Thank you."

"That's a really good name.

"Thank you."

"I like it a lot."

OKAY.