You know you’re a good texter if you can do it on wheels going backwards dancing to the YMCA

When is the last time you went roller skating? Me? Twenty years ago. I was ten.

There has yet to be something that my little sister wants to do that I haven’t done. So when she told me she wanted to go roller skating I said,

“Sure!” I’ll worry about my tailbone later.

So yesterday we went roller skating. It was the most diverse crowd I’ve seen in awhile. Maybe it was this way twenty years ago, but I wasn’t a ten-year old interested in demographics.

There was a three-year-old girl on roller blades who kept lapping me. There were a million tweens, but just as many adults who did not seem to be attached to any children. I held onto my little sister’s hand or maybe she held mine, either way I kept bumping into her and I couldn’t seem to stop her from falling down. She said,

“You haven’t fallen yet.”

Famous last words I’m sure.

There was a middle aged couple in full pads and helmets. There were way too many people rollerskating and talking on the phone. That was NOT happening twenty years ago. If you have a death wish, try roller skating and texting. I saw a lot of bodies and phones fly through the air.

The most unexpected demographic were the older men. There were seven or so men in their forties to sixties who were there to Skate. I capitalized ‘skate’ because they were Serious. They only talked to each other about skating and they were doing all sorts of tricks and dance moves. All while wearing dad jeans.

There was also a strong police presence. They were not on roller skates.

I’m tall for my age. I’m not as old as I look,
but probably still too old for matching rollerblade outfits with my doll.



What happens? Don’t tell me!

I’m really bad about needing to know what happens, be it in a movie, book, your life. Yes I flip to the ends of books to see if my favorite character dies. I don’t want to, /slash/ I need to know.

I want to go see the movie Silver Linings Playbook. A coworker has already seen it. This is the best/worst case scenario. I can pepper him with a million questions and then yell at him if he reveals too much of the plot. I ask him,

“Is it a sad ending?”

“Yes. Kinda.”


“It’s about weird people.”

“Oh that’s good I’m a little weird. Or maybe I’m not?”

“You’re weird.”

Swingers party Groupons. That’s MY great idea

I went skiing again!

We get to the hotel Friday night with time for a drink. I’m chatting with the people I met on the last trip. A guy from our bus, who I haven’t met yet, joins us. Within moments of sitting down he says,

“So I went to a swingers party the other night.”

Did we find out this guy’s name yet? We all chorus,

“What? Really?”

“Yeah it was at the Marriott.”

“How’d you find it?”

“On Meetup-“

“-Meetup has swingers groups?”

“No, I met a woman on Meetup who took me. It’s cheaper that way. Forty dollars for a couple, but a hundred dollars for a single guy.”

Did he even try looking for a Groupon? He continues,

“And I went on a singles cruise with couples massages.”

“So a couples massage with another single person?”

“Yes, that’s actually who took me to the swingers party.”

“Was the party a success?”

“Yes. Twice.”

The next day in the hot tub, we run into him again. He says,

“I’m not as crazy as I sounded yesterday.”

Who was the professional farter for the creation of the high quality sounds?

A group of kids come to the bar to drink. One tells me he’s a server at a sister restaurant. He says,

“I don’t know if it matters.”

Now that you’ve said it, it matters. You better be on your best behavior.

They proceed to get out their smart phones and initiate an app that makes fart noises.

I googled fart apps. There seem to be several highly rated ones if you’re interested. A general description is below:

“Xtreme Fartz is a fun fart noise app because fart noises never get old!

-Set a timed fart to go off when you choose.
-Shake your phone to make it fart.
-Play your favorite farts as much as you want.

The high quality sounds are all professionally recorded and tuned.”

So there you have it. Phone fart noises filled my bar for fifteen minutes. The server tries to apologize to me,

“I’ll buy you a drink at the holiday party.”

“It’s an open bar.”


More fart noises. Finally they decide to leave. As they go, the server calls back to me,

“See you Sunday!”

A few seats down a regular says,

“I can’t believe how immature they were. Why on earth are you seeing them Sunday?”

Hi! Good to see you! Unless I’ve never seen you before

I’m learning the hard way that some regulars do not want to be recognized.

A regular comes to the bar with a date. I say hi and ask her,

“Would you like a chardonnay?”

She looks startled.

“I would like… a chardonnay.”

When I return she asks me,

“Did you used to work next door? Is that where I know you from?”

“I’ve worked here for almost three years. I think you know me from here. I saw you last week.”

She gives me a death stare. OOOPS.

The guy she’s with says,

“So this is your regular spot?”

Another regular comes in with a first date. I’m not going to screw this up again. I go over and pretend I’ve never seen him before in my life,

“Hi, how are you? Can I get you something to drink?”

He looks at me like I’m crazy,

“Jess! I’ll take my regular martini.”

Not for long

For the last six months we’ve had too many bartenders. I didn’t know that was possible, but it is. And even with a surplus of bartenders we still can’t get the lights to work. There’s a how-many-bartenders-does-it-take-to-change-a-light-bulb joke in there somewhere.

Finally a bartender is leaving and in the best possible way. He’s going to a sister restaurant five blocks down the street. I head in to have a drink with everybody for his last day. People are crying,

“Why is he leaving? I’m going to miss him. I can’t believe he’s leaving.”

I add,

“I can’t wait to have his shifts.”

“Jess! I’m right here.”

I can vouch for him

A husband and wife are at the bar. There are two groups of women on either side of them overhearing their conversation. The wife orders a salad and a pizza and tells me,

“We’re sharing, but you don’t need to split it on two different plates.” The husband pipes up,

“Yeah, we’re like one person with two heads and four arms, except one of us does all the talking.”

The surrounding women break out in a chorus of “booos.”

“Boo, tsk, sigh.” Heads shake all around.

The husband rises up,

“Me! It’s me! I talk a lot.”

The wife reassures the other women,

“It’s true.”

That sounds about right

I’m at work, in a great mood and I’m bouncing around. The other bartender remarks,

“You keep doing a dance move.”


“Do you hear the song that’s playing right now?”


“It’s the song that’s playing in your head.”

“What’s the song about?”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

Fart bags keep you warm

When I was fourteen my parents bought me a onesie ski suit. They got it big so I wouldn’t grow out of it. It went out of fashion thirteen years ago, but it still fits. I also still love it. This past weekend I skied in my onesie and our trip leader, a guy in his fifties, did too. As I face my second day of being the only person since 1998 to wear a onesie, I remark to my new found friends,

“Our trip leader is wearing a onesie.”

“Yes, but he is of a different generation.”

I guess pointing out the three-year-old I saw in a onesie isn’t going to help either.

Another friend pipes up,

“You know what they call those things?”


“I shouldn’t say, it’s not nice.”

“Tell me.”

“Fart bags.”

What does a daily diddler look like?

Going skiing was such a good idea that I’m going again in less than two weeks.

After a full day of skiing, drinking and winning at billiards, I’m still not sure how that was possible, I collapse on the couch in the condo. The conversation moves on from our condo mate not having any pants on, to the infamous book “Fifty Shades of Grey.”

One guy declares,

“There are so many women diddling themselves over that book.”

I perk up,


“Yeah, and I can tell which ones.”


“I can look at a woman and I just know.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugs. Someone else pipes up,

“Just a hunch?”

“I don’t know, but sometimes I see a woman and I know she diddles herself every day.”

Why is this a greeting card?

Hungry moms are not to be trusted

I head home to Worcester for my Mom’s birthday. I think about getting a cake, but why get a cake when what my mom really wants is Indian food and oatmeal raisin cookies from Au Bon Pain. I decide I will stick a candle in a cookie.

I get home early afternoon. My mom says,

“I’m starving. I need a snack.”

It occurs to me that I don’t need to save the cookies until later, I could light them up now. I tell my mom,

“I’m going to wrap presents, I’ll be right back.”

“No, you just got here.”

We sit and chat for a little bit. Then I try again,

“I’m going to wrap presents, then I’ll be back.”

“Stay here.”

We chat some more and my mom says,

“I really need a little something to eat.”

“Mom, I will be right back, I’m going to wrap presents.” With that I grab a plate out of the cupboard and head upstairs. My mom calls after me,

“What do you need a plate for?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I return with wrapped presents and the cookie with a candle in it. I start to sing Happy Birthday. I’m one line into the song with three more to go. My mom leans for the cookie. She’s about to blow out the candle and start eating it. It is time for a split second decision. It’s her birthday, should I let her do whatever she wants? No way. I exclaim,

“Mom! What are you doing? I’m still singing! And then you have to make a wish.”

“Oh. I just wanted to eat the cookie.”

He’d look great in handcuffs

A well-tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men. And a guy in a dress shirt and vest is a close second. That is the guy-bartender uniform at my work. 

Late night, my co-worker decides to strip down to his undershirt. I’m still chatting with one last regular. I glance over at everything that has fallen out of the vest and remark to the regular,
“That vest does wonders for him.”
“As does any kind of restraining device.”

I dreamt I got it on with a dentist… Is that permissible?

My regulars are prepping me for the dating world. One has created a list of professions I should date and professions I should not. It’s serious; he wrote it down for me.

Dateable options:

  • Biotech
  • Hedge funds: computer, trading
  • Lawyers, major firms only, corporate, IT, or tax law
  • Top level NGO management
Non-dateable options:
  • No Doctors
  • No Government
  • No Artists
  • No Real Estate
  • No Small Business
  • And absolutely no Therapists
There seem to be a few other professions left floating in the gray area. 

What are moms going for on the open market these days?

A regular talks about his dating experience,

“The women I’ve met on are very sweet, but they don’t have any interest in talking about business, law, or the Thirty Years War.”

“I don’t have any interest in talking about the Thirty Years War.”

“The other problem is that they’re old.”


“-I know, I know. I’m old. But I don’t feel that old and then I look at them and they look old.”

“I see.”

“The problem is when women… Women go through… When women become… When women…”

“Hit menopause?”

“Yes! That’s it. Menopause. Most of them don’t look so good afterwards.”


“But your mom, she looks good!”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’d find out the cost of her stock and trade.”

Control top tights out of control

Saturday my mom took me to the Nutcracker. She got us great seats and we both dressed up.

In the middle of the snow storm, before the show, my mom arrives at my apartment with a dress and no tights. I tell her,

“I’ll be right back.”

I don’t have a tights collection to rival my underwear collection, but I have a few spare pairs. I find one still new in the box. I give them to my mom. She says,

“I don’t think these will fit.”

“They’re your size.”

“We’ll see.”

She gets them on her feet and despairs. I don’t think she’s trying hard enough. I remind her,

“They’re control top, they’re supposed to be tight.”

“Well I have to get them over my knees first.”

Once they’re over her knees I can tell she’s about to give up. I tell her,

“Stand up, I’ll help you.”

I pull on the tights, almost lifting her off the ground. I realize that even if I get her in, what’s going to happen in an hour when she needs to go to the bathroom? We give up as my mom moons the next door neighbors.

This photo is from the 34th annual Mooning of Amtrak event. It’s a real thing.

Happy New Year!

I would’ve blogged more and sooner, but I haven’t been able to get out of my bathroom. That’s right, I’m ending 2012 very sick. That steak tartare my mom and I had the other night was a bad idea. The good news is 2013 can only go up from here.

Plus I really like my bathroom, so if I have to ring in the New Year near a toilet, it might as well be a nice one.

Not the first marriage to implode at my bar

A guy shouts his order at me before he has time to sit down,

“I want a vodka martini.”

“Do you have a vodka preference?”

“The cheapest.”

He shoves the dinner menu back at me and declares,

“I’m not having any food.”

“Ok.” RELAX. I’m not going to force you to eat.

He slurps down his martini and orders another one. A woman joins him. He snarls,

“My lovely wife needs a drink.”

The hatred between the two is palpable. She orders a drink and starts to look at the dinner menu. He raises his voice,

“I’m not eating here.”

Why are you even drinking here? They sit in miserable silence with their arms crossed. He announces,

“If you give me the separation papers, I’ll sign them right now.”

Jewish Christmas take two

Christmas = my mom, me and thousands of other people at the movies. They were not all Jews. I’m not sure when Asian food and the movies became a Christmas tradition for everyone.

There are two movies my mom wants to see. I tell her,

“We can just go from one movie to the next.”

“We can always buy another ticket.”

“The ticketing is downstairs and the movies are upstairs, we don’t need to buy another ticket.”

“Ok, we’ll see.”

We see a movie at 1PM and then one at 3:30. As we’re leaving the second one my mom says,

“If I didn’t have to work tomorrow we could see another one. We could watch movies here all day.”

“And imagine if we had started at 11AM.”

“I want to do that sometime.”

Are stuffed Torahs acceptable dog toys?

I’ll have to be naughty without the hat

I’m a Jew having a Christmas crisis.

Last year after the holidays, I threw all my festive wear in the wash. A week ago I pulled out my Santa hat and realized that it’s half the size it used to be and it’s only suitable for a small child or a lap-dog. There are crazier things than Santa hats on dogs going on around here I assure you.

So I did what I always do in times of necessity, I turned to Amazon. But now the Santa hat I ordered to wear to work is not here. The tracking information says,

“Location: USA. Status: Missent.”

Someone, location USA, has a Naughty/Nice reversible Santa hat and it’s mine.