Back to the regular who’s in love.
He recounts his date from the weekend,
“She told me I’m an obese alcoholic.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and I’m not sure it’s true.”
“No?”
“I am an alcoholic. But obese?”
The good news is she doesn’t seem to mind
Reply
Author Archives: Good Times with Jess
Maybe I’m working too much?
You know we’re having hiring problems at work when I start dreaming about it.
We’re short a bartender. A guy, smaller than me with dark hair, did a trial shift a few weeks ago. It went well and he was supposed to train last night. It didn’t happen.
He was in my dream last night. Or rather another new guy was in my dream. I knew it wasn’t the right new guy, but no one else seemed to realize. The one in my dream was tall, blond and Australian.
The wrong new guy asks me,
“Where can I change? I’m not wearing any underwear.”
I rush over to my General Manager. I tell her,
“This isn’t the right new guy and he’s not wearing any underwear.”
“I thought he looked different.”
You can sit for free at Starbucks
Friday night was a tough night at the bar.
I understand, if on a slow Monday night, when there are lots of open seats at the bar, you want to nurse one beer for two hours and tip me $1. Ok I might hope for $2, but it’s not the end of the world. On a busy Friday night, it is.
This past weekend I had several couples occupying bar space and not spending any money. People are lining up behind the bar. Seats are in demand. I have a mental list of who’s next if anyone who’s not drinking decides they’re done sitting.
Finally two seats open up. A man rushes into one of the seats. I tell him,
“I’m sorry, I have a couple that’s been waiting for a seat.”
“I’ve been here since eight o’clock.”
“I’m sorry, that couple was here before you. I will let you know when there’s a seat for you.”
“No way. I’ve been here since eight o’clock.”
He keeps saying eight o’clock like he’s been here forever, but I have no idea what time it is. I check. It’s 8:15pm. He has been waiting fifteen minutes. People have been waiting over a half-hour. I look at him. He’s not getting up. He tells me,
“Bars are first come first serve. There are no waiting lists for bars.”
Saturday night I head out for a very nice dinner date. The restaurant is super busy. There’s an hour-and-a-half wait for a table. We head to the bar. The bartender takes our drink order and asks,
“Would you like me to put you on the waiting list for the bar?”
Priorities: Passport renewals then Viagra refills
The regular who’s having mild success with a match.com woman, comes in again last night. He sighs,
“She wants to go biking Saturday.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“But that’s all she wants to do. She said she has to go straight home afterwards.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I want to make love!”
“What number date is this?”
“Oh we’ve already made love.”
“How was it?”
“I’m old. I was supposed to refill my Viagra, but I haven’t gotten around to it. I need to renew my passport first.”
“So maybe just going for a bike ride is better.”
He complains,
“She has me reading the Iliad.”
“It’s getting you laid.”
“You’re right, it’s a small price to pay and I’m willing to pay it.”
 |
| I don’t know. Google doesn’t have a lot of funny Iliad photos to choose from. |
How do you keep score again?
I’m off to play tennis with a real person…
Similar seduction technique as a blow-up doll
First of all, to the guy across from me on the T, who scratched his crotch for half-an-hour, you should get that checked out.
Next, the other night at the bar, a regular who recently had some luck on Match.com, comes in. I ask him,
“Are you still in love?”
“Yes, but I have some concerns.”
“Oh?”
“She said she’s only a third in love with me.”
“That’s better than nothing.”
“She has another ‘object of interest,’ those are her words not mine. She says the relationship is in it’s hospice phase.”
“That’s vivid.”
“She doesn’t like to talk. I don’t know what to do.”
“Why?”
“Listening to women is one of my main seduction techniques.”
Anybody need a roommate?
If all goes well I’m done screening prospective roommates. But I got a last couple good ones for you.
One guy tells me,
“I always put the toilet seat down and I make my bed.”
This guy is already better than the toilet using cat.
One guy would like me to hold the place for him. He’ll be ready to move September 1st.
And last but not least, a guy writes a very long missive. Don’t worry, it’s worth it,
“I like watching movies with a plot (Inception, Dark Knight, Troy, Fighter, Sunshine, Memento, Moon, ..etc)
I also like superhero movies. I am not really a fan of funny or scary movies but I will watch them with other people.
I also like funny TV shows (Family guy, Tosh, Always Sunny, Modern Family). I want to catch up with (Lost, Fringe, Walking Dead, Mad Men, Game of Thrones, The Wire…)
I hate pawn stars and storage pickers but don’t mind other people watching them.
I like 3rd person video games (Arkham City, Uncharted) and sports games.
I like watching stand up too Louis CK, Tosh, Aziz Ansari, Russell Peters, Katt Williams
I usually don’t game or watch that much TV.
I dont have problems with drugs, pets, or gays.“
Two tickets to crazy town
The other night, a regular gets on the express train to crazy town. He pulls out a twenty dollar bill and puts it on the bar. Moments later he motions me over, he points at it and asks,
“Where did this come from?”
“It’s yours, you took it out of your wallet.”
“No I didn’t.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“It’s not real.”
“What?”
“It’s not real. This money isn’t real. It’s just paper. I can rip it.”
He threatens to rip it and considering all money can be ripped, I’m not sure what he’s going to prove.
He puts the twenty dollar bill down again. He looks scared and confused. I want to help, I offer,
“I can take it for you.”
“I don’t know where it came from. It’s not real.”
“Ok, don’t worry, it’s ok. I will take it.”
He sighs with relief and pays with his credit card.
I’m about to put the twenty dollar bill with my tips, on second thought I open my cash drawer and swap it for a different bill. Can’t hurt.
I never practiced my Torah chanting either and I’m a successfully Bat Mitzvah’d Jew
I thought I won my first game of tennis against my imaginary friend, but according to my new bar manager I need to get more than one serve in the box.
Last week my coach told me to do one thing: practice my toss. I arrive at my lesson yesterday. She asks,
“Are you ready to serve?”
I hang my head. Years of piano lessons come rushing to my mind. I’d go once a week; I loved going, but I had little desire to practice in between. I tell my tennis coach,
“I didn’t practice.”
She shakes her head. She’s right. I could’ve devoted ten minutes of skort shopping time to practice time. Maybe next week. But probably not.
I can still play any one-handed Disney song on the piano. So the moral is that if I take enough tennis lessons, I’ll be able to play as well as any five-year-old without ever practicing.
My tennis skort is perfect for riding a broom
I was playing frisbee in Boston Common the other day. I regret I do not have a photo, but there were two people: a very normal looking young man and woman, dressed in work-out clothes, walking through the park, having a normal conversation, while each carrying stick between their legs.
My only theory is that they were warming up for a Harry Potter inspired game of Quidditch. BUT the sticks weren’t brooms. And if it’s not a broom then you can’t fly around, so they weren’t playing Quidditch.
I know this is not Craigslist missed connections. But who are you and why do you have a large stick between your legs? It looks like fun.
Potty-trained roommates, what more do I want?
So my search for a roommate begins again. Ah Craigslist, I did not miss you. But the responses I’ve been getting are worth something:
“Is there a fireplace?”
“I’d be sharing with my boyfriend, is that okay?”
“I am currently a high school senior and my parents will be paying the rent.”
“You don’t say if you prefer female roommates, but I have a car that I’m happy to share.”
“I stumbled upon your ad on Craigslist looking for a roommate.”
Stumbled? Did you intend to browse casual encounters and weird, you ended up in housing?
“I’m a recently single professional and I’d love to meet you.”
“Is a cat okay? I trained her to use the toilet.”
What movie are we in?
Lockdown. Technically Somerville is not on lockdown, but I have a feeling that anyone with guns and explosives is not concerned about crossing the Cambridge/Somerville town line. So I will stay inside.
I don’t need a tennis partner
I lost my first game of tennis. To an imaginary person.
My coach is teaching me to serve. She tells me,
“You’re hitting about 20% into the box, you’ll never get to 100% but 70% would be nice.”
I think she’s being generous with the 20%. She tells me,
“We’re going to pretend like this is a real game. You don’t want to give your opponent a point for just standing there so get your serve in the box.”
My first two serves go flying. My coach declares,
“Love – 15. Keep going.”
I try again.
“Love – 30.”
I serve two more.
“Love- 40. Ok, last chance, get this one in.”
My balls go flying.
“And that’s game. You lost.”
 |
| My imaginary friend is definitely wearing this. |
Is it too soon to need a vacation?
It’s hard being home from vacation. I’ve been waving my arm around for hours and there’s still no cocktail in front of me.
Yesterday I head to work an hour early. In my absence the new chef created a salad special with 23 ingredients and the bar has been remodeled. I spend the shift training a new bartender and trying to find the forks. Where did the forks go? Where’s the bread? Where’s the computer? Who is this person following me around? What’s in the salad again?
Sometimes at night I dream about work. It’s usually like my bar, but different. I’m super busy and struggling to keep up. It’s like the grown-up version of the showing-up-for-school-naked dream.
Last night was like that dream, but I made money and I wasn’t naked.
Sad face
I knew there was a very good reason I don’t run marathons.
Both hands needed for hot tubbing
I’m back! It turns out it is very hard to blog from a hot tub. I needed both hands to hold my cocktail.
I did a five day ski camp. I am now at the level I thought I was when I arrived. I’m good. Not great. But good. I’m happy with good. I only ended up on my back with my legs in the air once. We’re talking about skiing people.
I stayed at a very nice hotel. How nice? There’s room service for doggies. You get to ski all day and they don’t have to get out of bed; they can charge all the gizzard pudding they want to the room.
The room service for human beings is exorbitant: $32 for a basic breakfast. It makes the doggie french toast for $9, plus $5.50 delivery charge, plus automatic 15% gratuity look like the way to go.
Meanwhile at the pool all the underage kiddies are running the cocktail server ragged with milkshake deliveries. A woman flags down the server,
“Can you make an adult milkshake?”
“Sure.”
I wave a wet arm in the air, I want one too.
Two young drunk guys with a bucket of beer, plop into the tub. They start throwing beers around to everyone. At $9 a poolside beer I’m happy to snap up a freebie. The guy with the bucket of beer tells me,
“Come sit over here.”
“No thanks.”
“Come sit over here.”
“No thanks.”
“Why not?”
“I’m happy here.”
“Do you want another beer?”
“Yes please.”
I get another beer. He tries again,
“Are you going to sit over here?”
“Nope.”
“Fine.”
With that he moves to another seat further away. I sip my beer. He showed me.
 |
| You’re right, I have free hand. |
Last ski trip this year, I swear
I have a 7AM flight tomorrow to Whistler! That’s near Vancouver. That’s in Canada on the other side of the country. Yup that’s where they had the Olympics one year and there was no snow. But there’s snow there now and I’m going skiing. Maybe in my bikini.
I may or may not blog depending how easy it is to do from the hot tub. I will be back in a week, just in time for summer.
Wrist, tell me what you think you’re doing
I had my second tennis lesson yesterday. One more and I’m going pro. I have all the pre-requisites: the racquet, the sexy skort and an aggressive tennis coach who appreciates tennis fashion.
Here’s my skort so we’re all on the same page:
My coach shows up and declares,
“Oh very nice. At least you look the part now.”
Yes. I still can’t play but that skort will fool some people.
Last week we worked on my forehand. This week we start with my backhand. Then we switch. I hit one backhand, then one forehand. It’s like my last tennis lesson never happened, my forehand is a mess.
My coach yells,
“Move your feet! Get to the ball! Swing! Slowly! Keep your wrist straight!”
I swing. The ball flies away.
“You didn’t keep your wrist straight. Back to center!”
The ball comes toward me again. My coach calls out,
“Move! Not too close! Keep your eye on the ball! Arm back! Follow through!
I swing. The ball soars several courts away. My coach offers feedback,
“That wrist was not straight, did you feel it? What is your wrist doing?”
That is a very good question. What is my wrist doing? What is any part of my body doing right now? It is hard to say.
"Oh yup there’s your uterus, and what do you like to do for fun?"
Coffee in hand, I arrive at Planned Parenthood for a routine exam. The security guy stops me in my tracks,
“No beverages allowed.”
Whoa! Who knew? It’s the airport. Am I allowed 3oz of my coffee?
The guard takes my purse, directs me to the metal detector and asks,
“Do you have any metal in your pockets?”
“No.”
As he sifts through my wallet, glasses and old tissues, I walk through the metal detector and set off the alarm. He looks at me. I look at him. He hands me my purse and sends me inside sans coffee but with whatever set off the alarm still undetected.
I get in the stirrups. I’d prefer if this whole part were done in silence. The doctors always want to chat, but that doesn’t make me any more comfortable. It weirds me out that we’re talking about my hobbies like we’re having a cup of coffee (which isn’t allowed), but actually you’re inside me poking at my uterus.
As she’s a hand deep she asks,
“Where do you work? … Oh I love that bar, the cheese fondue is delicious.”
“Yes it is.”
So next time I see her,
‘Oh hello, you’ve seen my cervix, what can I get you to drink?’
Haircut/self-esteem boost
Why, I did get a haircut, thank you for noticing! Okay, so I got an inch cut off and nobody can tell. But when I’m springing for a $90 haircut, people need to know.
And what do I get for $90? As soon as I walk in the woman at the desk takes my bag and coat, compliments my hair and makes me a coffee. Another woman compliments my eyelashes. Another woman compliments my hair. A couple women start a discussion about my hair. The first woman brings me a water, refills my coffee and compliments my hair. I’d pay $10 just to be fussed over like this for fifteen minutes.
The actual haircut takes a long time, 2 hours. First she cuts it, then she washes it, then she styles it, then she dries it, then she cuts it again, then she styles it. All the while people “ooo” and “ah” over my hair. I know they must do this all day every day, but I don’t let that stop me from feeling special.
And what about the guy who comes in after me with barely any hair on his head? He obviously wants to feel pretty too.
 |
| I can’t tell if he’s wearing this ironically or not. |
