the amazing adventures of jen14221

pizza at 8am

So, I was at the airport on Saturday morning - I left my hotel practically before daybreak so I could catch a 7:30am flight back to the Buffy.  I got a cab at 6am, and was at the airport at 6:15am.  At which time I noted that my goddamn flight was delayed until 8:55am.

So I crabbed to the douchey nice ladies at the US Air Club about how I did not get a phone call, why did I not get a phone call, I am supposed to get a phone call, boo hoo hoo.  I was mad, alright.  I was also tired and cranky and I guess that's why I was so mad.  Usually flight delays do not phase me all that much.

BUT THEN!  ONE MINUTE LATER, at 6:21am I got a phone call from US Air.  About my delayed flight that was originally scheduled to leave in 69 minutes.  And that made the steam shoot right out my ears.  So I crabbed to her a little bit too.  Since MOST PEOPLE WOULD ALREADY AT LEAST BE ON THEIR WAY TO THE AIRPORT FOR A 7:30 FLIGHT.

And the person (yes, it was a live person that called me) said she was just doing her job and her job was to call people and let them know that their flight has been delayed.  And she had been up since 2:30 in the morning doing said job.

Oh, I felt bad for her. 

Not.

So, I had a little nap in the USAir Club and then went to get some breakfast because the yogurt and muffins served in the USAir Club are beat.

And my choice for breakfast was a slice of cheese pizza from Sbarro, that mall icon of bad pizza.  Note to reader: I like all pizza - well, at least most pizza, even Chuck E Cheese's pizza.

And my receipt looked like this:

 

Can you believe these people who are giving me exercise advice?  Did they see me coming - scowling, tired and chubby, jonseing for pizza at 8am and think I would appreciate this?

i miss boston sometimes, but only a little

It's shit like this that makes me realize I can never, ever move back to Boston. 

29....continued

So, February 1999.  New job, new boyfriend.  Same awesome friends.  That spring was super-fun. Lauren would regale us all with tales of her dating (mis)adventures.  She met the craziest people on that Matchmaker, old guys, young guys, guys with no teeth, some guy who needed to pass a drug test for his new job at BestBuy and needed Lauren to pee in a cup for him.  We would scream with laughter.  I admired her for going out and trying to meet the right guy, for putting herself out there, instead of sitting home watching TV and reading crappy Ann Rule true crime novels, like I did all through most of my 20's.  Later that spring, Lauren met Ian on Matchmaker and now they are married and have a zillion kids and live in Raleigh, NC. Where it is hot.

Emily was dating some dude from South Africa (I think), she had not yet met David, who just happened to be Sara's friend from Dayton College. They met when David moved to town in September 1999, and we all went out together.  I can picture the bar on Boylston Street but don't remember the name.  I think those kids from the Real World Boston worked there. 

Sara was dating the dude I didn't love, but things were going well for them.  Sara's sister Emily (different Emily) also moved to Boston in the fall of 1999, and she started going out with her.  I remember one of the first times I met Emily, she was so young, and cute, and had on these amazing flip flops with a big flower on them.  She was barely drinking age but had her big sissy with her in Boston, which was so lucky for her.  Emily got married last fall, that was the time I missed my flight to Boston because we got a surprise snowfall in Buffalo which knocked out electricity and caused trees to topple and closed down the airport.  WTF.

More later....

when I was 29

I used to have this group of friends who were so fun, smart, and interesting, it was never hard to have a good time when out with them.

I met Emily at work, sometime in 1996 or 1997.  I was working for HVMA company then, in OB/GYN, and Emily was working on a project studying the diets of pregnant women.  I was the office coordinator for all the pregnant ladies who needed prenatal care, so that's how I hooked up with Emily.  Em was quite a few years younger than me, she had just graduated from college but she was nice and we clicked.  She could belch like a champ and had a crazy cat.  Emily worked with Sara, who was researching the diets of nursing women, or some shit like that.

Sara is one of the most attractive people I have ever met.  Not just pretty, but smart too.  She had been engaged a year or so prior, got burned, and was dating a new guy I was not in love with, but she was happy and so I was happy for her.  She always seemed to be having a good time, was pretty and smart (as I said), had cute clothes and a good sense of humor.

Lauren was Sara's roommate.  Lauren was a party girl, always up for going out, meeting new people, etc.  She was one of the first people I knew who dated guys she met on Matchmaker.com.  I used to say that my social life was nothing before I met Lauren.

So, September 1998.  My best friend Lori moved to Michigan to get married and I moved into my own apartment.  I broke up with this guy I was seeing and started smoking again.  I went to the gym a lot.  I had finished my Master's Degree a full year earlier, but was still working in the same job in OB/GYN, scared shitless that this was all there was.  I was 29, living in Brighton, Mass, making $33,000/year, renting a $900/month apartment, paying $400/month in school loans, $200/month for my car, trying to save money but failing every single month.  I would charge things like toothpaste and frozen pizza because I never had any extra money.  I was afraid that I would:

1. Never own my own place
2. Never get a new job
3. Never have any money
4. Never get married
5. Never have children
6. Die alone, with just my cat to nibble on me for a few days until the stench of my dead rotting body made my drug-addict neighbors investigate.

Yeah, the things that made me have panic attacks in the shower in the fall of 1998 are different from the panic attack-causing things these days, but these were the big issues for me back then.

I started hanging out more with Emily, Sara and Lauren.  I drank a lot in the fall of 1998.  I was as thin as I had been in a decade.

In the Spring of 1999, I was newly dating Peter.  I had met Peter at a party for an Ernst & Young partner who was leaving the company (times were good in 1999, I suppose) at a bar in Copley Square on January 29th, 1999.  I did not work at E&Y, but my friend Lauren did, and she told me to show up and if anyone asked, I should tell them I was a consultant.  No one asked.  It was open-bar, and I eager to save a few bucks, also eager to drink my worries away, I got drinking.  Anyway, Peter worked for E&Y as well, and he was at the party, and that's that story about meeting Peter.

I got a new job in February 1999, same company but a step up the ladder and a raise to $38,000/year.  Five grand did not help that much, but hey, it was something. 

To be continued tomorrow

mr. butch

An icon from my life in Boston has died.  Mr. Butch was a nutty homeless dude, who spent a ton of time in Kenmore Square and Allston's Harvard Square.  I sometimes used to buy him coffee from the Store 24.

love/hate

So, I was just in Boston for a long weekend.  You may know that I used to live there.  Lived there for 18 years.  I went to college, then grad school and just stayed on.  I moved from Boston to Allston to Brookline to Cambridge to Brookline to Boston to Brookline to Brighton to Brookline and then to Southie from 1987 to 2004.  Lots of packing, moving and unpacking.  That's just what you do in Boston.  You pay a tremendous amount of money for first and last month's rent and sometimes a one-month security deposit.  In my younger, stupider years I would actually have to shell out a finder's fee to the realtor equal to one-month's rent.  Most realtors in Boston are evil.

Here is a short picture essay of another thing that I hate about Boston.  Words are not necessary. 

look for me on the mass pike

Guess who's going to Boston next week?

Yep.  I am.

big money

We went to a party last night and were wowed by the beautiful home our hosts have.  Gorgeous rooms, high ceilings, marble floors, sparkling kitchen, etc.  It was like a I-Went-To-Pottery-Barn-And-Bought-Everything dream come true.  Of course, I came home and googled the sale price, and it was extremely pricey for Buffalo (well, Williamsville).  And it's funny how my standards have changed.  Eighteen months ago I would have said no problem to something that cost more than $400K.  Now I'm thinking 'ouch'.  See how Boston real estate can screw you up?  Someone paid almost $399K for our condo last year - and it was a condo.  No parking or yard with neighbors above and below.  I mean, we bought a whole house for less than half our Boston selling price.

Here is the actual ad I made for our condo last year.  I posted it on Craigslist and sold it to the second person who called.  And saved almost $20,000 in realtor's fees.  Isn't the internet a wonderful thing?

allston

Today I want to tell you about one of my many jobs in college.  I was a barmaid at this bar called Father's First, on Harvard Street in Allston.  I was 20, but lied and said I was 21 so they would hire me.  Anyway, I got the job during the summer of 1989 (holyshitamIoldorwhat); it was the summer between sophomore and junior years in college.  Father's was this divey bar, kind of gross but all the BU and BC kids hung out there on Friday and Saturday nights.  In 1989, I was kind of a preppy girl and I wore headbands and big men's Ralph Lauren button-down shirts with my jean shorts and Tretorn sneakers, but I was cute and funny so people kind of liked me.  The other waitresses were really skanky and might have been older and made lots more tips than me but they totally showed their boobs in their nasty ugly polyester tank-tops.  Anyway, I lived on ParkVale, only one block from Father's and I worked there about four nights a week, 6pm - 3am.  We closed at 2am but I had to clean out ashtrays and shit after last call, and then everyoen was always sitting around drinking Rolling Rock and Knickerbocker Beer (which we sold for $1.25 a bottle.  It was bad).  I only lasted a few months.  Once school started I could not handle the last nights and having my hair smell like cigarettes and beer all the time.  I pledged a sorority and had another job,and had no time.  The last straw was when the mean manager (and he was a dick, oh yeah) told me I needed to work both nights, Friday and Saturday, on Head of the Charles weekend.  And I had friends coming in to visit.  So I quit.

I'm not sure why I thought of that, but now you have a story about me in 1989.

the good and the bad of southie

Good:  Taking a dip with friends on their deck.  Not everyone here has outdoor space and it's nice when you have an impressive deck like this one.

Bad:  The same old asshats who double-park in Perkins Square.  I think that car in the center of the picture has been there since we left last September.