Categories
Blather Diary life

Covid Hostage

Jesse, Jesse, come here dear.”

Mr. H is back and hasn’t visited in a month. Of course, he made his reservation half an hour beforehand, and expects his favorite table.

Before his arrival, the hostess comes to inform me that there is no way Mr. H can possibly have his favorite table. It’s been reserved for a party of five all night, and Mr. H is only a party of three. We’re packed and there’s nowhere else the larger party can sit.

Of course, I already know all of this. I’ve got the floorplan and reservation books pulled up on my phone, I saw Mr. H’s reservation appear in real time, and I’m already figuring out a game plan.

Tell Francisco he’s gotta drop the check on table 70,” I tell the hostess. “Put a “reserve” sign on 71. When 70 gets up, I’m gonna turn the tables sideways so they’re longer. Party of five sits there. Mr. H gets his table. We just need 70 to go.

I pull Lucas, the busser, aside. “As soon as the butts are out of seats on 70, I’ll meet you over there with a tray. I bus, you wash, we turn the tables sideways. Capiche?”

It’s “capiche.”

The plan works.

Jesse, Jesse, come here dear,” Mr. H. is seated and ready for “the routine.” I wipe my sweaty brow with my sleeve and march over for my line:

Well, hello, long time no see!” I sing.

Ugh, I know! I was in Florida all last week, and then Toronto for a conference before that! I’m actually only here a few days but I just HAD to show these two my favorite spot!” He introduces me to his guests and I coo a “welcome” as I shake each of their hands.

And Jesse…just…what is new about your hair. It looks amazing!”

There is nothing new about my hair. There’s never anything new about my hair unless the color has changed, and it hasn’t. But I’ve got an answer thought up already because he says this every time.

Ya know, I’ve been wearing the bangs pulled all the way back and I usually have them in front, swept to the side! I’m impressed you even noticed!”

Well you’re looking beautiful as always!

He winks. I curtsy in my mind.

Our dialogue complete, I send three flutes of Prosecco and then head on to fix the restroom door, which, I’m told, has been locked from the inside again with no one there.

At this time last year, this was my life.

I’ve been putting off writing a lot this week. I wanted to write something funny and quirky and weird, but I barely had the inspiration to write at all, let alone write something that wasn’t totally self involved and self-pitying.

So buckle up.

The week started off with a bit of a disappointment. A disappointment SO silly that is doesn’t even warrant explanation. But what it did was it opened my eyes to how much I truly am struggling right now.

I’m proud of myself for how I’m getting through. On good days, I’ve been challenging myself to cook things, and work out more, and keep up chores on a “real adult” schedule. I keep my eyes open for job opportunities that might fit the bill…I look up grad schools and programs that might interest me…I write. I make sure I get dressed each day and leave the apartment even if it’s just to pick up a coffee or a diet coke.

But anyway, I didn’t realize how much I was slipping until this minor disappointment occurred and I was faced with the reality of more status quo. More trying to wake up early, realizing there’s not much to wake up early for and then going back to sleep for two hours. More willing myself to put on a face and do my hair instead of hiding it in a scarf or tying it in a sloppy knot. More trips to department stores to keep me from binge watching another Hulu series, where I end up spending money I ought to be saving.

And I just got so, so sad. It’s pathetic right? And then the feeling of being pathetic just makes me angry with myself…like just FIX yourself, Jesse. You have it so much better than SO many people right now. You have a place to live, and food, and people who love you and will help you. You’ve had ZERO issues with unemployment, and you are getting by just fine.

But at the end of the day, I feel dread that another day is coming where I will likely accomplish nothing. And more and more lately, I don’t try to accomplish much. I don’t look for jobs as much because they don’t pay enough and I’m better off finishing unemployment benefits. Or the careers I’d be interested in require more education.

So I look into more education, but it’s costly, and I likely wouldn’t be able to afford it without a job. And then I’m back at jobs.

And then I think, okay, suppose you did figure out how to pay for a masters or a new certification…and then you hated it, and found that you’d just picked something to pick something…because really, you were already doing something that you kinda liked before…before you were ripped out of your former life by a pandemic.

And then I’m angry. Angry that my life got uprooted. Angry that it got uprooted and turned upside down for the SECOND TIME in my life, this time by a disease that I don’t even have but MIGHT get!

I’m pissed.

In the times of “Mr. H and his favorite table” I was working a full time job as an events coordinator, and ALSO covering two shifts a week as a maitre d’ at a stunning Upper East Side restaurant where I left each shift with at least sixty bucks in cash (in addition to my FULL hourly wage–not a tipped hourly wage).

And yeah, I did it because it felt great to have money for really the first time in my life. But I also did it because I liked being busy. I liked to work. I liked the buzz of NYC hospitality, and I loved the people I worked with because we were all working so f**king hard, together.

I feel like a hostage of this pandemic. So many things hold me back from taking steps forward, and when I think of going back to work, not only do I feel angry that it can’t be what it was in “Mr. H” days, but I feel scared.

Scared of getting Covid19 and spreading it to my loved ones…scared of it further destroying my kidneys.

Scared because do I even remember how to work? How to live on a schedule? How to be responsible for things?

And then I’m like “let’s be honest, Jess. What are the chances you’re NOT selling “Holiday Pine” scented candles at White Barn come Christmas time?

And then I cry.

This is the daily routine. And it usually ends with, “why don’t I just binge watch something to calm my nerves.”

Thus a cycle.

I miss Mr. H and his stupid table.

Categories
Blather life Silly

Sephora Called Me Old

Last week I went to the mall to just kinda like wander around and kill an hour or so of my life.

So I wandered in to Sephora because this summer when I was blonde I read an article on the internet that said blondes should try wearing brown mascara, and if an article on the internet says I should do something, I usually do it which is why I’ve joined QAnon (kidding. Obviously).

So anyway all summer I wore brown mascara but now that I’m a brunette again I felt it was the right time to return to black mascara, (I know, the story is really getting good).

Well, I was a little upset because online it said that Sephora carried Givenchy Phenomeneyes Mascara but I wandered around for at least fifteen minutes and didn’t find it anywhere. ALL of the employees working asked me at some point if I was “finding everything okay”, and it was very awkward because although it was quite obvious I was not “finding everything okay,” I wasn’t going to actually ask for help. Like, what if they laughed at my choice of mascara? Or tried to help me find a better mascara for me?

My womanhood would be challenged.

So I decided to just go with Anastasia brand mascara because that’s the brand the winner of Rupaul’s Drag Race gets.

Duh.

But all of this is just extraneous detail that is entirely beside the point.

So…sorry about that.

THE POINT IS, when I went to pay for my purchase, the cashier asked for my email address to look up my Sephora account. I was V excited to hear what my account would yield because I KNEW it had accumulated a LOT of points because once upon a time in days of yore, I was making bank in the city and would go to Sephora at least twice a week for some made up reason such as “this work event calls for a dark purple lip color” or “this weekend I’m going to see if I can look like a Snapchat filter“.

I knew I must have some serious points.

So imagine my surprise when the cashier’s Kat von D mouth opened wide in surprise, and instead of “congratulations, you have ten million points, your purchase is free and you now own all of Sephora” she said…

“Ah! It’s time to collect your birthday gift!”

My entire life flashed before my eyes.

My day of birth is March 25th.

I tried to mirror her excitement, and then winced….

Oh my god, I’ve been unemployed so long that I don’t even know what month or season it is…

Or…or I’ve gone into mental hibernation…a protective mode to shield me from the chaos of the world.

It must’ve been triggered by the “debate” the previous evening. My senses were on overload and I couldn’t cope. So much yelling, so much “old white man,” so much peanutbutter whiskey consumed…

My true consciousness went to sleep and my body and brain had continued on auto-pilot until the chaos was over and it sensed a safe place to wake me back up…

…like Sephora!

How much had I missed?

Was Donald still the president?

Was Amy Coney Barrett a Supreme Court Justice?

Can women and people of color still vote?

Can gays still marry?

Did I miss the last Christmas where women can sit at the same table as men?

Is it “Handmaid’s Tale” now? Is Britney okay? Did she get any freedom before we all had to don our “Maid” apparel?

WHEN WILL THE NEW BATMAN WITH ROBERT PATTINSON COME OUT AND WHY DO I CARE!?!?

All these thoughts…all at once…

The cashier was looking at me. It was now or never.

Do I tell her its not my birth month? Do I do the honest thing so they don’t run out of birthday gifts for people who actually have October birthdays?

“Y-yeah…ohh…er…yay! My birthday!”

Wow, Jesse.

Just….just wow. Some poor Libra isn’t gonna get their free body cream or free mascara because you are the worst.

Wait…this could not be my fault…she didn’t even ask me! She just…said it. She told me it was time to collect my birthday gift…and I’m not trying to argue in the Sephora store, that’s not part of my zen.

But now I was feeling rushed. Rushed to turn thirty. The pressure and doom I’d associated with that number sent a chill up my spine.

It’s the bags…the bags under my eyes.

She took one look at me and she was like….”this b—h just turned thirty, look at those lines. You can see the young person she was yesterday just being devoured by an old witch with osteoporosis and New Balance sneakers!”

She looked at me impatiently and said, with an evil smirk, “do you want the body cream or the mascara?”

And what I wanted to say was “B***H I JUST BOUGHT MASCARA WTF DO YOU THINK?” and then just RUN OUT OF THE STORE CRYING.

Breathe.

Breathe…

Deep, deep, “Harry-Styles-Calm-App” Breaths.

How could she be this cruel on my birthday!

IT’S NOT YOUR BIRTHDAY YOU PSYCHO!

“I’ll go with the body-cream.” And I’ll rub it all over my hot, young, wrinkle-free twenty-nine-year old body.

Smile. Nod. Thank you. No bag necessary, I’m saving the planet.

So I have this dishonest Sephora birthday gift now, and I can’t bear to open it because I wonder what it means.

What it means about who I’ve become and who I’m becoming.

I wonder if this means no Sephora Birthday Gift in March…

I wonder if it is possible to hibernate my consciousness until after November 3rd, or possibly even until 2024.

I wonder if Sephora is really a safe space or if they’re pushing me to grow up too fast.

And I wonder if maybe they accidentally pulled up my mom’s account who’s birthday is in October, and now my mom will be Sephora Birthday Gift-less…

The world may never know.

Save me from myself.

Categories
Blather life Silly

I’m Losing It Because: A Poem Kind Of

I’m losing it.

I. AM. LOSING. IT.

I am losing it because I flung my Apple watch against the backseat window of the car because it “keeps bossing me around.”

Because it doesn’t count the bike at the gym toward my exercise ring, and my RINGS are my PURPOSE.

I AM losing it because my last Google search was “is it acceptable to eat straight up steak seasoning”

Because the answer was “yes.” And so I did.

I am LOSING it because I’ve gone to Michael’s or Marshalls every weekend since September 1st to buy festive fall decor for an apartment I don’t technically live in or pay rent on.

While the apartment I AM paying rent on sits DECOR-LESS and FESTIVE-LESS four hours away.

I am losing it because I spend, like, 70% of my time sitting at stoplights trying to make eye contact with people.

One of them was “penny nips” from high school. She was called “penny nips” because the rumor was she had penny-sized nipple. Obv.

I am losing it because I’ve wandered aimlessly around Barnes and Noble multiple times in the last month without buying anything.

And have pooped in their bathroom on each occasion.

I am losing it because I almost bought a Tamagotchi at Urban Outfitters the other day.

Because I want something to rely on me.

I am losing it because I almost shouted “NICE MASKS, LADIES” at a woman and her daughter who came to the grocery store without masks even though its state mandated that we wear masks.

Although, I actually kind of wish I had followed through on that one.

I am losing it because I know the solution to “losing it” is to get a job.

But the available jobs pay less than what I receive through unemployment and pandemic assistance, and instead of saying “why don’t employers pay their employees enough“, people say “they are getting too much on unemployment.

This morning I spent 20 minutes in my car examining the differences between (You Drive Me) Crazy on Britney’s original album and (You Drive Me) Crazy on Britney’s greatest hits.

I am losing it.

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Categories
Blather cancer mindfulness

My Mom Thinks I’m a Difficult Person

The other day my mom told me that I remind her of “the red head on Difficult People.

And I was like…”sooo…the MAIN difficult person?”

And she was like, “not because I think you’re difficult, though!”

And I was all, “ew, eye roll emojiiiiiii”

And so you know what I told her today? I said, “Mom, you never showed me Hocus Pocus as a kid and that’s why I am the way I am.”

She laughed, but I did not.

Because can you imagine the utter humiliation I felt in college when my roommates skipped class to watch Hocus Pocus and drink pumpkin ale and I said “oh, is this Casper Meets Wendy?”

IS IT ANY WONDER I’M UNSUCCESSFUL AND UNEMPLOYED?

Well, I’ve had nothing but time during the pandemic to think about what has made me the way I am, and quarantining in the town where I grew up, I’ve been able to do some real investigating. If you live in the Syracuse area and have noticed a girl with a tiny topknot and sunglasses-even-though-it’s-overcast, driving a gray CRV slowly by your house, trying desperately to see over the steering wheel, it’s 100% me.

I’m driving by your house because

  • a) an old friend of mine used to live there and I used to go to her house and play, and I’m trying to get in touch with my inner child
  • b) I remember passing your house on the school bus and imagining whoever lived there was a sad old woman who’s husband drowned in the Erie Canal…(don’t ask, I was fascinated by the Erie Canal)
  • c) I stuck my head under the tiny waterfall of the creek that runs through your backyard (on a dare!)
  • or d) I lost my virginity in your house

I know, I know. This seems creepy and unsettling, but I promise it’s an important part of my healing process.

On some real sh–, though, I’ve found it quite therapeutic. Because ever since having cancer (yes, the cancer card! I know, you’re SHOCKED!) I’ve tried many times to remember what it felt like to not have that big black mark on my life. What it was like to be a real kid. And I think once I was well and it was time for me to go to college, I left Syracuse with the singular impression that I wouldn’t–couldn’t–ever spend more time than a summer’s vacation there ever again.

I guess I just figured it was because I had that typical, angsty, “I-HATE-MY-HOMETOWN-IT’S-SO-LAME-MAN” thing going on.

But in truth? I think it was because I was just afraid of being surrounded by history. Afraid of the memories of the “before” Jesse creeping up. The places she went, the things she did. Knowing how difficult it is sometimes to try and remember what it was like to be that girl…

Or, rather, maybe I DO remember what it was like to be that girl quite well…and what makes me sad is knowing how innocent she was, and how blindsided she would be by the darkness of the world…

Or honestly, it could’ve been the Hocus Pocus thing. IF YOU WEREN’T GONNA SHOW ME THAT MOVIE, MOM AND DAD, WHY DID YOU EVEN HAVE ME!?

Thus the road to self-discovery drones on…

Wow. I am difficult.

Categories
Blather Silly

Suburban Fall with an Unemployed Whiny Person

Just a small town girl livin’ in a lonely Syracuse, New Yooooork… she took her mom’s CRV goin’ to Marshaaaall’s Homegoooooooods

Oh, don’t mind me. My boyfriend just went back to work today to yell at kids to put on masks and not touch each other…and also to teach physics, I guess. And I’m still just a little candle in the wind…clinging to unemployment when the rains set in…

That’ll be my last song parody, that’s not what this is.

So anyway, my boyfriend went back to work as a teacher today, and I am still just chillin’, getting used to a new season in suburbia after 6 years of city life…

Man, suburbanites…THEY 👏🏻 LOVE 👏🏻FALL! They do NOT mess around with it. The Marshalls/Homegoods parking lot this past Saturday? SAVAGE.

And…it’s clearly contagious, seeing as I found myself in this parking lot, middle fingers flyin’ left and right trying to get a parking space to go look at ceramic pumpkins and talking skeletons.

Wanna know an actual quote from my mouth that I actually, actually, for real, for real said the other day?

I said…FROM MY OWN MOUTH…and I quote,

“I do love the pumpkin spice latte, but I MUCH prefer the pumpkin cream cold brew…it’s a few less calories and the foam is delicious.”

-MY ACTUAL FOR REAL VOCAL CORDS

So I’m a little…concerned.

I’m worried that with my boyfriend gone during the days, I am going to further morph into a fall-obsessed house-wife…which, ya know…there’s really nothing wrong with. I just always thought if I became a housewife it would be because I married one of the rich businessmen I used to take care of at the restaurant in New York City, and he would move me in to his penthouse and I would have maids and stuff and so while he worked I’d just go get pumpkin-Starbucks-anything and then go to the yoga studio and make myself throw up in the bathroom and then maybe actually do the yoga or maybe just go catch a matinee of Jersey Boys?

I never, ever thought I’d find myself at a place called “Witty Wicks” for the second time in one week buying a pumpkin scented candle and looking at pumpkin decorations.

(And, I’ll just point out, the visits to this gift shop are in ADDITION to the parking-lot-danger-filled Marshall’s Homegoods trip I took on Saturday.)

“Witty Wicks”, if you must know, has incredible candles.

HOWEVER.

The rest of the gifts are just…not my cup of tea because they basically all have quotes on them.

Quotes a-plenty, quotes galore.

Like, maybe you’re looking at a cute little pumpkin face and then your eyes scan downward and you realize it’s a little pumpkin-man-statue thing and he’s holding a sign that says “WELCOME TO OUR PUMPKIN PATCH.”

Sweet Jesus, the day I buy this kind of decoration is the day I just buy a sign that says LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE, have a kid, and sell Avon.

“FAMILY GATHERS HERE” on the front door.

“DANCE LIKE NO ONE’S WATCHING” over the fireplace.

“DREAM BIG” in the bathroom, so you don’t forget to keep dreamin’ while you take a piss.

I can’t guys. I just can NOT with quotes on decorations. It’s one thing to become a suburban fall enthusiast…it’s another to become a QUOTE person…then I’ll really know it’s the end of the line for me.

My soul is dead.

Might as well buy a crockpot while I’m at it.

Anyway, this is where I find myself, folks. My boyfriend went back to work and I’m over here drinkin’ pumpkin cream cold brew, alienating quote-lovers, and ordering big Snooki slippers.

Happy Halloween, I guess.

Categories
Blather Silly

5 Tips for Introducing Your Indifferent Girlfriend to Your Favorite Movie Franchise

Okay…so I’m on my second nerd now, folks (their word, not mine), and I think I’ve got some comprehensive tips on how to introduce your gal (or guy) to that Super-Hero/Space Themed/Action-y series you love, WITHOUT overwhelming them, making them feel like they’re watching a bunch of Hasbro toys blowing up, and then questioning whether they bit off more than they could chew in this relationship (giggity).

Done right, it IS possible for them to care just as much about the franchise, the universe, and the characters within them as you do. (Maybe not just as much, but they’ll care enough to watch them, anticipate new ones with you, and maybe also consider incorporating some quirky “insert franchise name here” art pieces into their own decorating, such as this adorable piece of bathroom art:

Click photo to view on Etsy

5) DO IT CHRONOLOGICALLY, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Here we go. You’ve gotten me to agree to sit down and give these movies a chance. You’ve told me they’re really amazing, beautiful commentaries on humanity and real life issues, and I have finally conceded that, yeah, I should probably see them since they are quite celebrated facets of pop culture and the zeitgeist, and I want to be hip to the jive.

And then you say…
“I’M JUST TRYING TO DECIDE IF I SHOULD SHOW THEM TO YOU IN THE ORDER THEY CAME OUT, OR IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER”

Dude. Please show them to me in chronological order. I KNOW THIS IS A HOT BUTTON ISSUE FOR DIE HARD FANS.

I get it. I understand they came out in a different order, and there might be some enigmatic, artistic reason to watch them in said order. BUT REMEMBER: I AM A NOOB (and not just a NOOB to the franchise—really, I’m a NOOB to these kinds of movies in general), and you are asking me to take on and accept an entirely new ‘universe’ with different rules and different species and languages and who knows what else!

I NEED something familiar, something reliable, to anchor me in this unfamiliar territory. If I can at least have a timeline…I have something I trust. So if your partner is like me, they’re gonna want you to show them the films in chronological order so they can attempt to keep things straight on this journey. If we finish ALL the movies, and I love them and would like to watch them again, we can always re-watch in whichever order you’d like!

4. WHO WE ARE “VS” ? IDENTIFY!!!!

Okay. I get that the “good” guys in one movie can become the “bad” guys in another or there can be a plot twist and at some point things change and up is down and left is right and good is bad…but let me get there myself. ESPECIALLY at the beginning….I NEED TO KNOW WHO WE ARE VERSUS.

I got half-way through Black Panther before I realized Michael B Jordan was technically the bad guy. (RIP CHADWICK BOSEMAN)

If you don’t want to identify them as “good guys” or “bad guys”, I at least need to know WHO WE ARE “VS” AT ALL TIMES.

3) CHECK IN WITH ME DURING PROLONGED ACTION/FIGHT SCENES

Because I’m zoning out…I promise. I think because there’s no dialogue going on that I’ve got a little bit of a break. And so my eyes kinda glaze over a bit and I start thinking about what I want for dinner and how I should try January Jones’s skin-care routine..and then all of a sudden I’ve missed a crucial space-ship crash, character death, kidnapping, or limb detachment.

CHECK IN WITH ME. MAKE SURE I SAW THE THING I WAS SUPPOSED TO SEE. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

2) PAUSE IT! WHENEVER! I! F—ING! WANT!

AND DON’T GET FRUSTRATED! I want to piece things together, and I want to make sure I’m piecing things together correctly. I want to make sure I’m understanding the rules of his super power. I want to make sure I know what planet we are on. I want to make sure I know which character is which when they’ve switched into their special outfits. I wanna know if they’re gonna bang. I want to know if that’s the guy from Game of Thrones. I want to know if Miley Cyrus’s ex-husband is in this movie. And maybe I want to know if you think Robert Downey, Jr. is nice in real life.

>>>>>(sidebar…Don’t get frustrated. Don’t be condescending. I’m not stupid…these movies just move with a pace that I’m not used to, and a lot of them run with the assumption that their viewer “just gets” certain things. But I’m new. NOT dumb.)<<<<<

If you want me to watch another one of these films, you will pause it whenever I ask, and you will do so PATIENTLY! How can I be interested in watching another one with you if I’m not making proper sense of the plot, the universe, and if I’m not also enjoying myself by learning that Queen Marjorie had a bit part in Captain America?

And finally…

Drumroll please…

….

….

1) YOU’RE NOT HAVING SEX TONIGHT.

You’re just not. That movie was EXHAUSTING.

FIN