Like Riding a Bike?

This Friday night, the night before starting work, I had several nightmares about my first day back. In them all my customers were assholes, I didn’t know where anything was, I kept screwing up, and for some reason the grill was actually my Cape May house. Oh yeah, and Adam Sandler came into the restaurant. That was kinda cool.

But luckily, despite my terrifying dreams, everything went really well my first day. A lot of my friends were back, and the two new girls there I ended up really liking and hope to hang out with this summer. I didn’t even have much trouble getting back into the swing. Besides minor details, like not being able to find a container for me to fill with water for washing tables, which I probably would have done two summers ago as well, things pretty much fell into place. Plus, we had a busy day, which kept me occupied, but it wasn’t so crazy that I was going out of my mind. In fact the worse thing that happened all day was that I got asked on a date. Overall. I have to say it was a nice smooth transition back into work. I left feeling hopeful that it was going to be a great summer.

Today, however, was a different story. Today just might have been my worst day ever at the Harbor Grill. Breakfast went great, spending it busy but still able to have some time to joke around with the waitresses and my boys in the kitchen; but lunch? Lunch was a nightmare. Starting at about 12:30 the place was MOBBED with people The crowds came in all at once. It was nearly impossible to seat people and take names at the same time, forget about even bussing. Plus, we only had three waitresses on so it was extremely difficult to seat people. Soon I had a waitlist of about 30 people, and at one point I just started telling people it was like a 2 hour wait so they’d just go the hell away.

Even worse, all of the tables stayed FOREVER. I would see people finishing off their meals and even asking for checks, so I’d give people in line a modest amount of time to wait. But sure enough everyone lingered, ordering more rounds of drinks or just sitting around giving me further reason to slit my wrists. Then, to make matters worse, the people who did finally leave always seemed to be in the same section, forcing me to bombard the waitresses with like three or four tables at once.

This clearly pissed off the waitresses, which I can understand, but unfortunately I was in a predicament. I had people from both sides coming at me: the waitresses in the back and the many customers in the front. By the end of the day, one customer made me think he was going to call my boss and report me, my friend and fellow staff member Gigi wouldn’t look me in the eye and would only sneer at me, and I wanted to kill myself. Luckily around three Erin, the manager of the grill, came in and relieved some of the waitresses of their tables, and also cheered me up and kept me from worrying too much. What a great person to have on your side.

Leaving work, my friends Rick and Morgan yelled at me as I passed by them having cocktails on the porch of the Harbor. I practically fell into Rick’s lap in a heap of exhaustion, frustration, and anxiety. My hair was a mess, I had ketchup and coffee all over my white shirt, and I’m pretty sure my B.O was kickin’. They were like “who is this pathetic girl?” and immediately regretted calling my attention. Again, it was a looong day.

But thankfully its over now, and I can relax here back at the house until tomorrow morning when it all starts again. My friend George, a talented chef at the Harbor, is waiting tables tomorrow for some unknown reason. This could either be an awesome thing, seeing as George is hysterical and will provide some humor, or disastrous since he is NOT a waiter and is stressed out easily. Let’s just hope, not matter what happens, that tomorrow is NOTHING like today.

Rocking the Block

Well, we finally arrived in Block Island. Despite a shaky start, I made it to the ferry on time. Our friend Timmy met me and Sara there, and we made plans for the evening before heading back to the house to unpack our ungodly amount of groceries. We had made a Costco trip the day before coming and kind of got out of hand. I’m pretty sure we have every type of cheese ever made and enough snacks to last us throughout the summer. Sara’s cousin Erica, who is staying at the house until Saturday with her boyfriend and Sara’s grandmother, was astonished by the amount of goods we brought. She clearly underestimates us.

Pulling up to the house that evening, I was so excited to be back. It was a so nice out and, at 6:30, it was the most beautiful time of day at the house. The ocean, which you can see from Sara’s yard, was blue as ever and the breeze was just perfect. After unloading, Sara and I sat down to eat a little something and I was continually gazing out the window at the gorgeous view. Even though I lived here before for an entire summer, I never tire of that sight. It’s absolutely breathtaking, and I look forward to sitting outside every evening to enjoy it.

Anyways, that evening Sara and I were pretty exhausted from our long trip to the island, but we were looking forward to seeing people so we decided to meet up with Timmy at Club Soda. Despite the name, Club Soda is anything but clubby. It’s a small, relaxed little bar, as many of the bars on the island are, perfect for chilling out and listening to some live music. It was Open Mike Night that evening so we got to hear some good music, and we even ran into a few people we knew, although not as many as we had hoped. By 12 or so I could feel my head drooping towards the bar counter as if it was magnetized. Sara and I both agreed to head home and get some sleep before we took a nap in our barstools. Before leaving though, Timmy invited us to his house the next night for some wine and cheese before going to Martini Night. We were of course loving the idea and agreed to call him about it.

It was a good thing Sara and I decided to get some rest because the next morning we were awoken bright and early by loud chatter outside our room. Several people were over the house for bird banding, a practice that has taken place at Bluestone (the Lapham’s house) for years. Nets are placed around the property to catch various birds from the island. They are then collected to be weighed, documented, and banded with a silver bracelet, before being released again into the wild. The Lapham’s are big environmentalists and are known for banding by all the locals. Though Erica and Kim tried to get my to release some of the birds, I was way to chicken (no pun intended). I did, however, hold some of the bags after we got the birds from the nets to bring back to the house so maybe I’ll work my way up slowly but surely to actually holding a bird.

In the afternoon, after I took a nice two hour nap, Sara and I headed to town to figure out our working arrangements for the summer. Overall, our efforts were pretty much useless. At the Atlantic, where Sara wants to work, she was told yet again that she would have to wait several more days to get a definite answer, and no one was there when she went to The Nature Conservancy, her other job for the summer. Likewise, when I went to Harbor Grill, Erin, my boss, wasn’t in yet. I did however see my friends George and Gigi which was very exciting. I was glad to know they would both be back at Harbor since I had heard there were a lot of new employees. It was comforting to know that I would at least know someone.

That evening, after a delicious dinner made by Erica, Sara and I headed to Timmy’s. He was there with his friends Nick and Baggy, who had clearly gotten a good start on the wine already. I didn’t get carried away on either the wine or the cheese since a) I was designated driver for the night and b) I was still SO stuffed from dinner. But I had a glass or two of wine and we all chatted for awhile and had a nice time. Baggy is working for Christopher Walken, who has a house on the island, so he told us a few stories about that. Unfortunately, neither he nor anybody else working with him has ever actually met Walken since he is pretty reclusive. I do at least now know where he lives so maybe I’ll do a little stalking in my free time.

We were all having a lot of fun and it was a really chill night until I had to go and prove that I’m a complete jackass even when I’m sober. Sara and I went upstairs to snoop around Timmy’s house, because that’s the kind of girls we are, and sat down in his nook overlooking the living room for a little bit. She was telling me how this past Thanksgiving, in typical DOT fashion (Drunk Old Timmy), Timmy had fallen down the stairs and had to get several stitches. We laughed at his stupidity before heading downstairs to rejoin the group. Well guess what stupid little Jane did. Half way down the stairs, my wine glass is up in the air, my ass in on the ground, and I am sliding at full speed down the carpeted stairs like an Olympic bobsledder. I screamed. Sara screamed. Everyone came running. At least Timmy had done the same thing, with worse consequences might I add, so I felt a little better about my clumsiness though I was still extremely embarrassed and quite sore might I add.

After I rubbed my bruised ass for a little bit, we headed out to The Albion. Martini Night plans were nixed as soon as we found out our friend Rick and his band, 007, were playing the Albion that night. I’m glad they were because I ended up having the greatest time. Not only did I run in to a bunch of my friends, but Rick’s band f-ing killed it. They are absolutely amazing, and everyone was digging them. The best part about Block Island is that no one there gives a crap. Everyone was basking in their whiteness, hitting the dance floor and flailing their legs and clapping their hands over their heads. It was actually good white dancing, if there is such a thing. The band was taking requests too, under the condition that you bought them a shot, so they were playing the music everyone wanted to here, including a rendition of “Legalize it” which was changed to “Rick Lysic”, an awesome remix I must say.

I of course, however, had to be a smartass when I heard Rick say they would play “anything” as long as a round of shots were bought for the band. I requested my absolute favorite song and the one and only one I wanted to hear: Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. Surprisingly, they didn’t know it. I tried a few others and finally Rick had to make an announcement that “Thanks to Jane, they will no longer be taking requests”. Way to go, Me. I still bothered him to learn it though because, after all, he did say they’d play “anything” and I’m pretty sure Celine’s classic ballad is included in that criterion. I gave the band until August to learn it. I’ll try and keep you updated on their progress.

Unfortunately, tonight Sara and I will be taking it easy since I start work tomorrow. I finally got a hold of Erin and I’m all booked up for the weekend so I will hopefully have some cash in my hands very shortly. I even ran into my boss from Footprints, the clothing store I also worked at, while at the Albion. She said she’d love to have me back so I’ll be stopping in there Saturday to discuss shifts. It seems I’m all set up for summer, Thank God. I just hope everything is like riding a bike and I remember what I have to do. I had dreams all last night that I kept screwing up at working and getting awful customers. Except for Adam Sandler. For some reason, he was in my dream and came into the Harbor. Let’s hope it’s a premonition.

Well, this blog has babbled on for far too long. I’ll try to update a little more often in the future so they’re not as long and incoherent. Hopefully, I’ll have some good stories after the Memorial Day weekend. And hopefully, they won’t involve me falling on my ass.

Bon Voyage

I'll be heading off to Block Island in two hours! Hopefully, that is. As usual, something has gone wrong that may keep me from leaving on schedule and completely screw up my plans for getting on island. What else is new.

I had to bring in "Little Red", my beautiful Ford Escort, for inspection this week. I brought it in Monday but, of course, we were missing proper documentation and had to bring it in the next day. It was there bright and early but, when I went to pick it up at 5 o'clock, I was told she needed new tires.

I bit my nails as the mechanic explained what he needed to do. He asked me questions about what kind of tires I wanted which of course I couldn't answer because I know jackcrap about cars. "Just put on whatever will get it done fastest" I told him, and he assured me he'd have it ready by ten today at the latest. It was slightly later than I would like but still do-able.

I woke up this morning bright and early at 7 am, had a cup of coffee, and gathered some last minute belongings. As my Dad left for work, I asked him to swing by the gas station and check on the status of the car. As I feared, he called 15 minutes later to tell me it wouldn't be ready until noon. I was screwed. It takes six hours to get to Rhode Island which means I would miss my ferry, the last one available for the next four days. So I did what anyone would do and turned to Marie "Balls of Steel" Lachat to call and bitch at him, something she's very good at.

Luckily, bitching wasn't necessary, and she was able to get me the car by 11, making it possible, though difficult, to make it on time. She has to shell out a few extra dollars for more expensive tires, God bless her, but I at least now I have a shot of reaching my destination.

So I'll be waiting at the gas station at 10:30 staring down the mechanic in hopes that he'll get it done a little early. Then I'm off for a six hour drive. By Myself. For six hours. Alone. I'm betting by hour 4 I start talking to myself and by 5 I may attempt suicide. But if not, I'll be in Block Island by 7 tonight. Cross your fingers for me!

Happy Birthday Nana

Today marks the eighty fifth anniversary of my dear grandmother's birth. She's lived through the Great Depression, numerous wars, the first moon landing, and the millennium. She's birthed eleven children and survived quadruple bypass surgery. So to celebrate this milestone in such a miraculous woman's life we had an afternoon barbecue in her Roxborough home. I was starting to doubt our white trash cred, but luckily it was reaffirmed today with the "party zone" decorations, my Nana's sparkling "happy birthday" antennas, and the dancing-singing stuffed animals. Fortunately, my Nana's never been a fussy person.

Yet the day was a lot of fun, even though understated. I was happy to see my Nana having a good time since I knew she was fairly nervous about the event. You see, 15 years ago or so, my grandmother's sister, during her own eighty fifth birthday party, suddenly put her head down on the table and died right then and there. We were thankful she went peacefully but it sure as hell put a damper on the party. Pretty selfish of her if you ask me.

Nana had a good sense of humor about it all though. Not only did she wear the ridiculous birthday antennas, but while we were singing Happy Birthday she even messed with us a little by starting to lower her head to the table. You gotta love an eighty five year old woman who can fake her own death in front of her loved ones. And she even laughed it off when I called her senile and referred to her as "old lady" all day.

After the bday rituals, many of us headed out to the front porch as we often do at family events to bring up embarrassing stories and tease each other about our current happenings. We had plenty of material since old pictures were being passed around, and Freddie and I both showed up with black eyes while Trisha nursed an all too apparent hangover. Plus, we recently found out that my uncle Vincent had a fleeting fascination with German culture during his adolescence and wanted to make his confirmation name Wolfgang. You would think calling him Uncle Wolfy would get old, but believe me the hilarity of it does not die down in the least.

But dear Uncle Wolfy took the ribbing in stride and just promised he would get his revenge during the Dougherty Family Beer Olympics that our aunts and uncles challenged us to over Easter. Its tentatively planned for summer and, although it began fairly innocently, it has really been turned up a notch in the past few weeks. Even more so than the cousins, the aunts and uncles are ready for the challenge and insistent that they will destroy us in the competition. Things are getting heated: Rumors have started circulating, some trade negotiations have been discussed, people are at risk of being axed from their team- the Gauntlet will probably look tame in comparison.

But on a serious note, I'm so grateful to have my Nana in my life and that she is relatively healthy for her age. My Aunt Sharon's mother was there today as well, and at 87 she is already fully blind and wheel chair bound. She's a sweet woman and extremely happy despite her circumstances, but I'm glad I don't have to see my Nana in the same position. I just hope that she will remain this way for years to come. I'm sure my cousins would be happy to step up to the plate if necessary, but it just wouldn't be the same without her there to make fun of the length of my skirts or my new choice of jewelry. The woman's got talent when it comes to insults, and that is something I truly respect and admire. Some people say they hope to be in great shape in their old age or still be able to live on their own. I just hope I have the wonderful sense of humor my Nana has and the impressive ability to dryly ask her thirteen year old granddaughter if she's been "playing makeup" when she shows up for Christmas with poorly applied eyeliner on. Hypothetically, ofcourse.

So cheers to you, Mary Dougherty, you senile old quack! I look forward to you faking your own death for years to come!

Oh Freedom, You Taste So Good

Finals are done!!! I am officially a free woman for the next four months! There's no better feeling than know you are at the farthest point from being in school. The celebration begins tonight with the Boozecruise then there's the clambake tomorrow and the formal Friday. Time to shower, pick up a bottle, and charge my camera batteries for the mass amount of pictures I'll likely be taking. My summer has begun, and its gonna be GOOOOOD!

Sex Ed

***This post is dedicated to Emily, not because she's a pervert, but because she asked for a new post. And since she's moving back to Philly, I'm pretty much willing to do anything for her.***

My decision to major in psychology was not entirely because I didn't know what else to do. I have for most of my life been a very social person and therefore have been very interested in people and human behavior. My Intro to Psych course, a requirement for liberal arts majors, came naturally to me, and I enjoyed learning about conformity, schizophrenia, and classical conditioning. But what I didn't realize was that a major portion of human behavior is sexual. In three of the six courses I've taken this year alone there has been extensive talk about human sexuality. In highschool I mercilessly teased my "Life Issues" teacher for having majored in Sexual Education in college, but I'm starting to realize that my degree isn't far off from hers. At this point I could easily teach a sex ed course. In fact, I now know so much about sex that even Dr. Ruth has been calling me for pointers.

However, though I've found my self in the role I previously mocked, I still find something about taking an exam on fetishism extremely humorous. And, obviously, studying sexual behavior is far from glamorous. My roommates must think I'm a complete perve because I have flashcards reading "premature ejaculation" and "oral sex" scattered across our apartment. Sometimes I don't know if I'm studying for an exam or reading Playboy. This year I've heard professors say masturbation, testes, anal sex, spermacide, sexual masochism, cunnilingus, and multiple orgasms among others. But I think the moment I got closest to laughing out loud was during my Abnormal Psych class this year. While discussing vaginismus, a condition where the vagina contracts causing penetration to be quite painful, my professor couldn't remember the name of the device used in treating this condition. "What is it called, again?" he asked right before the lightbulb in his head went off. " Ah yes, a dildo!" Until then I had handled our discussions with complete maturity, diligently taking notes without the slightest smirk or cringe, but hearing my fifty-something year old professor shout out "dildo!" with such delight really almost caused me to lose my cool.

But other than that one moment, I handled myself well and am now quite knowledgeable about all facets of human sexuality, which should come in handy if I get the internship at Cosmo next year. But, if not, at the very least I can provide some interesting discussion about cropalism, a condition where one is aroused by the use of fecal matter during sex. I may not be able to summarize the causes of the French Revolution, discuss the philosophies of Sartre, or design a suspension bridge like some of my peers, but if, God forbid, you ever develop an STD, I'll be more than happy and extremely qualified to counsel you through the unfortunate time!

What a Failure

I knew I shouldn't have jumped on this David Blaine bandwagon. I made fun of him all week, ignored all the hype, then at the last minute I find myself a little intrigued, and what happens? He fails. Miserably.

First off, lets just get one thing straight: This guy is psychotic. During this whole two hour special they kept talking about how, if something goes wrong, Blaine could end up with permanent brain damage. Well call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure this guy is damaged as is. Not only does he talk like he's been "drowned alive", not showing any signs of a personality or soul in his speech, but no one who does the things he does could possibly be working properly up there. He traps himself in blocks of ice, stands on platforms the height of buildings, and he claims that pain is "just an obstacle that needs to be conquered". Well, no actually pain is a message to your brain that you're body is in trouble and something needs to be done to fix it. Common mistake, though.

Anyways, not surprisingly, they dragged this special on for two friggin hours before he even performs the stunt. I sat there like the susceptible moron I am biting my nails waiting to see what would happen. Finally, he goes under, but after 6 minutes he starts letting out air bubbles and they have to pull him out.

But I have to say, my favorite part was at the end when they announced that "I'm sure no one here nor anyone watching from home thinks David Blaine is a failure right now". Hmmm...did he hold his breath for 9 minutes like he said he would? No? Well, then I'm calling him what he is- a big magical failure.

Why My Life Sucks Right Now

The neighborhood I live in, although a part of a large metropolitan area, has a bit of a small town feel. Many of the people know each other and its not uncommon to run into an acquaintance almost every time you go out to Germantown Avenue, or "the avenue" as its referred to by Chestnut Hillers. The avenue is Chestnut Hill's main street, a cobble stoned stretch lined with small shops, restaurants, and bars. Twice a year a street fair is held there where local shops set up stands, bands play, and food and beer are sold. Today is one of those days, and I am missing it.

Instead I am here in the Bronx getting ready to start finals. All my friends are either home already or will be there in the next few days. In sum, I hate my life.

I can't wait until 10 days from now when I will be done with school and in complete freedom. But until then, my life sucks.

Cinco De Mayo

In honor of Cinco De Mayo, Cancun came to the Bronx yesterday, and the amount of debauchery that took place was unprecedented.

After being responsible and finishing my psych paper, I headed over to Fenwicks to meet up with Megan Sheehan. Meg started bartending at 9 am, still drunk from the night before, and was still drinking when I arrived at 4 o'clock. Needless to say, she was very, very drunk. Also needless to say, we told each other "I love you!" like 25 times. Here's a little description of meg's day in her own words:

meglet29: at one point i believe it was 930am, spyder and i switched clothes
meglet29: and i was completely hammered
meglet29: taking shots of jameson to the face for breakfast
meglet29: after that... i have no idea what happened to my life

Well, I can tell you a little, Meg. You danced on a table, kicked Boogie in the balls repeatedly, brought in the employees from RiverDeli, and eventually passed out in our friend Natasha's room.

But the worse part is, Meg wasn't even the worse one in the bar. When I got there, things were relatively calm: a few people were sitting at the table by the doors and a few were crowded around the bar. Everyone was drinking, but normal. Then a Tsunami of alcohol hit Fenwicks. The music took over and everyone went nuts. People were dancing all over the place, jumping on tables, picking up chairs, spraying beer- it was nuts. Ten minutes later, a huge game of flip cup was going, the seat of a chair had broken, and people were taking their pants off. It was Fenwicks Gone Wild.

Though I was pretty sober when this all began, after two Jaeger bombs later and a few rounds of flip cup I was pretty much caught up. Our friend "Natasha" came and joined us shortly after and, let me just say, you gotta love a girl who can dance on the table before even getting her first drink.

After a few hours, I had to go get my laundry and grab something to eat, but I eventually met up with Natasha and headed with her down to Tequila Bar, with beers stashed in our bags to slam in the bathrooms. Sleazy, I know, but we're REALLY poor! After the long walk (and an elaborate discussion about the intimate details of our sexual encounters), it was more than necessary to indulge in a round of margaritas. We had a great time and made a few friends, including an 8 year old boy who we danced with in the middle of all the diners, but after awhile decided to head over to the townhouses to crash the barbecue they were having.

Instead, however, we wound up running into Caroline and Ryan who dragged us with them to RiverCity Grill. This is probably when things started getting ugly and, unfortunately, I have pictures to remind myself. In case you haven't noticed the trend, we weren't really able to stay in one spot for too long, because of both intoxication and fear of being caught filling up our pint glasses with natty light.

Along with Dusty, we walked back to Fenwicks, and I made the big mistake of opening a tab. As my favorite comedian, Aaron Karo, has said before, opening tabs is an extremely risky decision. Once it happens, you immediately become the most generous person in the world. Luckily, the cops came and raided the bar, so I was kept from spending TOO TOO much money.

I wish I could describe more about what happened after, but this is where it gets hazy. I do know that we went to An Beal Bocht. I know I had Smithwicks. And I know, as I was told today, that we called my friend Chris, and Tasha told him that "her hips and her lips don't lie" while I just screamed in the background. Classy ladies we are.

So I guess the lesson of the story is Avoid my dear friend Natasha. She destroys lives. And that's why I love her!