I just saw “American Hustle.” Loved it. And it turns out it was filmed in my hometown,Worcester, MA. Yeah Worcester. I read this quote from the director David O. Russell,

“You go to Worcester and what else looks like the 70’s like that? It’s hard to find actual streets that look like the 70’s. To me, it’s a gold mine.”

You’re welcome.

Captain and I are enrolled in dance lessons. We’re going to the Boston Pops Swing Orchestra New Year’s Eve and we’re going to tear it up. Or try not to run anyone over. Or just dance a little better than when we were in junior high.

I wasn’t sure how our first lesson would go. The teacher lady was full of praise for us. Which may or may not have been warranted but it ensured that we signed up for more lessons.

I like to think I’m a good follower, but it turns out I’m not perfect. The teacher yells at me,

“Stop trying to lead.”

 She pushes Captain aside,

“Give her to me.”

She starts dancing me around the room. She declares,

“It’s like breaking a horse.”

So broken or not our lesson ends. As we walk down the street, Captain turns to me somewhat concerned,

“We need to practice.”

If you insist.

Sorry! Jew here who should’ve been blogging, but it was my first Christmas. It was complete with a 7am wake-up by a fart gun. Yes. A fart-gun. If you’re a four-year-old boy, that is THE gift this year. And the adults love it too. My boyfriend’s dad remarks,

“Gives everyone a little cover.”

(Speaking of my boyfriend. He needs a code name because I’m tired of writing two words. It’s going to be Captain. There’s more to that nickname but we’d be back to the two-word problem.)

Returning now to Christmas:

Santa came and Santa brought a lot of toys that make a lot of noise. So many toys that the adults were taking batteries out of the TV remotes to put into the toys. You know things have gotten tough when you can no longer change what cartoon you’re watching.

Captain, his parents and I were sitting in the new playroom/guest-room at his brother’s house, waiting for the baby to be asleep and for it to be safe to return to my glass of wine and green cookies.

We look around the new room where Captain and I will be sleeping. There are windows everywhere. Captain’s dad remarks,

“There are no curtains.”

I reassure him,

“We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“OH. I wasn’t even thinking that. I was thinking the sun is going to wake you up.”

The actual fart gun is banana scented.

A group of boys, just old enough to drink, were at the bar last night.

They shoot expensive scotch and shout over each other declaring the physical attributes of the women they know,

“Her boobs are a ten.”

“Her ass is great.”

“Her boobs are a ten. She’s not a ten.”

“She’s a 7.5 at best.”

“I don’t think it’s going to hold up.”

“She’s not gonna look good when she’s thirty.”

“Yeah by the time she’s thirty, forget it.”

There’s a chorus of agreement.

Hey! I’m thirty-one and I’m not decrepit.

One of the boys throws a piece of paper over the bar in my general direction. They try to order another round. I ask them,

“Are you going to behave yourselves?”

At work we have a ‘pour everyone a glass of water policy.’ Most people are happy or indifferent about it. Only once in awhile will someone get confrontational,

“What’s that?”

“Water.”

“I don’t want that.”

Ok. Relax.

I pour water out of unmarked bottles. People get curious. Last night a guy remarks,

“The water is nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it from that bottle?”

“It’s tap water that we put through a filter.”

“It’s really good. Do you like water?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I like water too.”

A regular in his sixties comes into the bar. He exclaims,

“I know where you’re from!”

“What?”

This guy found out where I was from three years ago. I have no idea what he’s talking about. He continues,

“You’re from Sex and the City!”

“Sex and the City?”

“I watched several seasons for the first time. That’s where you’re from.”

“I’m like one of the characters?”

“You’re a mash up of all of them.”

Ten years ago everyone was taking those quizzes: “Which SATC character are you?” They’re still floating around on the interweb. I took one to clear up any confusion. I complete the quiz and click done. A box pops up:

“You answered five out of ten questions wrong.”

Massachusetts just sent me a letter. It was along the lines of:

We know we told you your health care was going to end December 25th. Merry Christmas. But due to our inability to deal with everyone applying for health care. Even though we knew this was going to happen. We’re extending your health care until March 31.

“If you already re-applied online, we do not have information about which programs and plans you qualify for. We appreciate your patience.”

“We hope this longer open enrollment period will give you a better opportunity to explore the new plan choices.” Even though we just told you we have no idea what plans you qualify for.

Also please provide proof of your incarceration.

Sincerely,
Massachusetts

The letter really is signed sincerely.

A regular signs his check and hands me a bag of Peanut M&Ms. I jump and squeal,

“Oh my favorite! Thank you!”

“Nooo. Your favorite? Really?”

“Well I have a lot of favorites.”

Whatever type of chocolate you hand me is going to be my favorite.

I need health care. I’ve had it thanks to Massachusetts for awhile now, but the new system is going into effect and I’ve been set adrift. If for any reason you end up on the health care site and you don’t need to be there. Run away. Fast. It reminds me of one of those programs online that lets you design your own quiz.

Lest there be any confusion, the federal health care site directs me to the Massachusetts site and that’s where I’ve been for the last few weeks.

I try to login. I forget my password because it’s not my name. I try to login again. I’m already part way through the application process, but the site won’t let me return to where I left off. It makes me start from scratch every time, just in case my name, birthday and disease history have changed since the day before.

I answer many yes or no questions.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No.”

“Do you plan to stay in Massachusetts?”

“Yes.”

“Are you incarcerated?”

“No.”

I click next. This pops up:

“You may be required to submit proof that Jessica Burday is incarcerated.”

WHAT? I hit the back button. Another box pops up,

“You are being logged out due to inactivity.”

GAH! I am actively checking off boxes like ‘NO I’m not incarcerated.’

I log back in. I fill in my name, birthday, address. It’s easy to remember by the thirteenth time.

I examine the incarceration question. Yes it asks ‘Are you incarcerated?’ and I make a point to click NO.

Again the box pops up:

“You may be required to submit proof that Jessica Burday is incarcerated.”

Again I slam my computer shut. I don’t have time for this. I’m not in jail. I have to go to work.

After a three week struggle my application is submitted and I should have an answer in a few weeks. As long as they’re not waiting for proof of my incarceration.

RCN has been emailing me, calling me and sending me letters for the last month. I need a new modem. As of December 27th my modem will no longer work. They tell me they’ll install a new one for free. Ok, fine, come on over.

The guy shows up. He looks at my modem and declares,

“That’s your modem huh?”

“Yeah, I bought it four years ago.”

“It’s a modem router combo?”

“Yeah.”

“All I brought today is a modem.”

“Oh.”

“You need a wireless router.”

“Ok.”

“RCN will rent you a router for $5 a month. Or you can get one from Best Buy. They’re about $30.”

“I’ll buy one.”

He moves to disconnect my modem. I jump,

“Wait! I don’t want to do that.”

“You have to.”

“But if you install the new modem now, I won’t have wireless right?”

“Right.”

“So I don’t want to do that now. I will get a router first.”

He disconnects my current modem’s power cord. I raise my voice,

“Stop. I don’t want the new modem.”

“You have to.”

“I don’t have to.”

This is my house and my modem and if I don’t want a new modem I don’t have to have one. I don’t have to have internet. My blood is up. The guy says,

“I’m calling RCN.”

Fine.

He calls.

“Ok, you don’t have to have it.”

I have a security blanket. One side has pink and white checks, the other side has pink rosebuds and there are ruffles all around. She is thirty-one years old. That is very old in security blanket years.

I have some anxiety about her survival, but so far so good. I take special care and I don’t wash her more than once a year. I get the same deep peaceful feeling when I hold my blanket as when I hold my boyfriend’s arm. He isn’t even pink or ruffly. Problem is he’s much less portable.

Last night I dreamt I was at a strange house and there was a young kid walking around with a new blanket very similar to mine. I rush over. His mom has one too. I exclaim,

“Where did you get that?”

“Derrell’s Home Store.”

The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was google Derrell’s Home Store.

Yup. That’s a carrot. Have you ever seen a carrot that big? I haven’t. And that wasn’t the only one. I walk into the fridge at work and there’s a whole tub of carrots on steroids. I grab one. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. All I know is that I have to have it.

I walk around the bar waving my giant carrot at people. I send the photo to my mom. She asks,

“Is that your carrot?”

It is now.

It looks amazing from every angle.

Passwords are hard to remember. That’s why it’s so enticing to use my name. I can remember that.

I go to sign up for health care. The website asks me to create a password. I put in one of my usuals. I know, I know, I shouldn’t have “usuals,” but if I’m already bad enough to use my name, how many options do I have? It tells me,

“There are too many letters from your name in your password.”

That’s because all the letters in my name are in my password.

I try again. Still too many. I finally made something else up and one week later I can’t remember it to save my life and in this case my life may very well be on the line. I am signing up for health care.

I take a break from that and head to Sephora.com to order some makeup. The last time I ordered from this site was almost a year ago. I try to sign in. Wrong password. I try again. That password is wrong too. I give up and click on “forgot password.” The site responds,

“What is the answer to your security question?”

I look carefully. It’s not telling me my security question.

It’s bad enough when the security question asks who was my first boyfriend. I don’t remember who I put. That guy from high school? Or college? Or maybe kindergarten?

This makeup site expects me to remember the answer to my security question and the question.

I should try signing up for health care again.

Over the holiday my bar filled up with children. Yelling, running, screaming, drinking children. That’s right, drinking.

Several women come up to the bar and order drinks while they’re waiting for their table. The men and children join them. An eight-year-old boy asks one of the women holding a champagne cocktail,

“Can I have some?”

The woman turns to another woman and asks,

“Is it okay?”

“Sure.”

As the little boy grasps the cocktail someone else interjects,

“We’re in public.”

The owner of the cocktail declares,

“It’s okay, it’s an Irish pub.”

No. I’m sorry. This bar is not an embassy and is not technically part of Ireland where it may or may not be acceptable for small children to drink in public.

Although when I was 8, my dad let me drink his beer and I turned out fine. Right?

Happy Thanksgivukkah! And happy birthday to my bar manager!

I head to his favorite chocolate store before work. I’ve been eyeing their colorful tins. I want to get one full of chocolate. I walk in. The guy behind the counter greets me,

“What can I get for you?”

“I’d love to get one of those tins with chocolate.”

He turns toward the woman in charge. She tells me,

“Sorry, the tins aren’t for sale. Only when you buy taffy, then it comes in a tin.”

“Well I’d like to buy chocolate.”

“I’m sorry, but they’re only for sale with the taffy.”

I think about this for a minute. I see a sign that says $16 for a tin of taffy. I’m trying to spend a lot of money and this lady is making my brain hurt. I try again,

“So the tin is for sale with the taffy for $16. I would love to buy the tin without the taffy and I would like to buy a lot of chocolate.”

“I’m sorry, the tins are not for sale. But I can give you a tin.”

Great.

My friend has stood up in defense of mullets. She just gave one to her adorable little one-year old. That girl can pull off a mullet. I also rocked a mullet until I was two. If you’re a toddler, go for it.

I have good news and bad news. Good news: my boyfriend is home. Bad news: he is starting to grow a mullet.

He tells me,

“I’m treating this whole move to North Carolina as a joke.”

Yes. That’s what clip on mullets are for.

It’s not a full mullet yet. It’s just a little long and wispy. I tell him,

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I wouldn’t know it’s a mullet unless you told me.”

He sighs,

“I know. The hairdressers didn’t believe me. But give me another month.”

“Are you really committed to this?”

There’s a long pause.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“The problem with mullets is that it could look bad.”

A regular pays his bill with his credit card and hands me twenty dollars. He says,

“Keep ten and give me ten back, or keep more if you want.”

“Really?”

“Just bring me ten back.”

I give him two fives and ask,

“So what are we doing here?”

“Oh you drive a hard bargain, keep another five.”

My great great aunt’s cookbook is amazing. It could entertain me all day. I follow my roommate around the apartment reading excerpts out loud. I think she’s trying to study, but I’m not.

I read her the recipe for squirrel pot pie. She’s not fazed. Turtle soup. She nods her head. Muskrat fricassee, raccoon, woodchuck pie, roast beaver, bear, antelope. She seems to think it’s all very reasonable. I read her one last recipe particularly good for this time of year: possum and sweet potatoes.

She exclaims,

“Oh no! Gross!”

“So squirrel and raccoon are fine, but you’re going to draw the line at possum?”

“Yes.”

Note: Squash is equally good with baked possum if you don’t have sweet potatoes.

“Adequate cupboards will be one of your first considerations in planning your kitchen. … Doors should be easy to open and a joy to clean.”

“A child who is never hungry for breakfast will find his appetite stimulated by getting up half an hour earlier than usual and taking some brisk exercise.”

“Dishwashing made easier: Dishwashing can be made practically painless even during those long years between the honeymoon when the man of the house helps with the supper dishes and likes it, and the time when the children are big enough to do them alone without casualties.”

Note to self, have children immediately so I can stop washing dishes sooner. And I should’ve broken more dishes when I was younger.

And before you go thinking that this cookbook is worthless, there are some serious instructions in here:

“Raccoon Pie: skin the raccoon, remove all scent glands and surplus fat. Cut into pieces.”

“Turtle Soup: Skinning a turtle is simpler than killing and plucking a chicken.”

“Squirrel Pot Pie: this is an excellent way to cook old squirrels which are too tough for frying.”