Yet Another Drum Beater

Amy and I met while working together at Tia's Bar and Grill, a job I took in college to meet men as it was 'the' Boston after work place during the summer. Little did I know however, Tia's uniform consisted of flat sneakers, white shorts and a blue crewneck Tia's sweatshirt. All of this information I would have known if I had not called, but actually gone to the place to apply and put in the effort of wanting the job, any job, over Junior year summer. Basically take a Cheesecake Factory waiter, put them in even less flattering shorts... and then let them bake out in the heat. Needless to say,  I did meet men, many men, who after I showed them to their table said "wow that guy has really big boobs."  

Within a week I changed the uniform, wore wedged heeled sneakers and white skirts you had to squint to see and got a date with the guy from the Spanx story. I was ultimately pulled aside and told I "beat too much to my own drum".. I said "Thank You" and on my proud walk back to the hostess stand was told more flatly, "No,... that means your fired".  

Amy since has moved on and up. My good friend is now a new blogger, as the world clearly needed yet another self-entitled schmuck like me. 

Amy Diaz just posted an article compiling her Fortune Cookie Fortunes, and then explained them as they resonated with her at the time of her eating chinese food.  Clearly, she is a very deep girl. Like horoscopes,  or the Democratic party, cookie fortunes too are loose idea's that can resonate within almost anyone, and as such, I took her fortunes and applied them to me in hopes of gaining personal insight and sharing her blog, 'Just A Thought', with you. 

Read A Novel - and Learn More About Life:  Amy was in the process of reading the Twilight Saga when she got this one. Clearly she learned that men who glitter and won't sleep with you, are gay. 

As a Cure for Worry, Work is Better Than Whiskey: Or,..  As A Cure For Worry, White Wine is Better Than Work. 

You Are A Source Of Wisdom and Strength To Many People:  They don't call it Wasser Wisdom for nothing! So a source of Wisdom,.. ahem, this blog is living proof. A source of strength however? Mom, how many times do I have to tell you! I am not a lesbian! 

A Man Who Trims Himself to Suit Everybody Will Soon Whittle Himself Away: MEN... disregard this please... keep trimming. Lonely is the man sporting himself a lawn. [and no that line did not come out of a cookie].

You Are Never Selfish With Your Advice or Your Help: [see fortune above]

Romance Awaits You: This one is true! I have 42 messages waiting on JDate between the age brackets of 21-23 and 45-70. Some are lounging on futons. One is a midget. 

It's One Of Those Low-Key Days That You'd Rather Spend Just Chilling: This isn't a fortune so much as it is statement of the present, however, as Amy says, how often are you eating Chinese food when you're not chilling?  

Enthusiasm Can Change The Current Situation: At first reading I thought it said 'Euthanasia Can Change The Current Situation' which while accurate... you have to wonder where this bitch is eating her Chinese food.  Upon proper reading though, I feel like this one is given out only when the food is horrific. You get the check, the cookie, this message and can say "This meal was truly terrible...  but you know what can change that? My attitude."

You Were Born with a "Sixth Sense" and a Superb Insight: I have been to Boca, so I can say I've seen dead people. As for insight,  check out my friend's ramblings at her blog "Just A Thought".http://amyjdiaz.blogspot.com/

On Wasser-White House Relations

At this point when someone mentions Obama, unless I‘m a few drinks in, I stay uncharacteristically quiet. I find that those who don’t support him usually have the wrong reasons why a la “that SOB with his stupid mosque”, and those that do support him? Put best by my friend Jamie to calm me after being cut off by some schmuck in a Pontiac Vibe touting ‘yes we can’; “if they’re stupid enough to buy American and vote for a socialist, they don’t need you to confirm they’re a moron” – and so, with the option of either way arguing with an idiot, I stay silent to be thought a fool, rather than to speak and remove all doubt. When it comes to Wasser-White House relations, I’m caught between a rock and a hard place of wanting to support the leader of the country, paired with the fact that I don’t believe he could lead a bedbug to a mattress; unless of course that bedbug wanted to contribute nothing to the journey in which case, I’m sure Obama could find some way to lend a helping hand and preferably a top tax bracket home who could assumedly afford the extermination spray. (And so, my elephant is out of the bag).

This past week however, my frustration went from a place that was shared with the populous, to a place that was felt by me alone. My grandma found out she needed an arterial stent, basically a small tube placed in clogged arteries to keep both her Carotid artery, and Long Island steak houses near her home, open and in working order. Peter Lugers: 1. Hedda Wasser, also a winner. This is until she went to her cardiologist and was told that her insurance that she had paid thousands of premium health care dollars into since the last ‘great depression’ will not cover so much as the Hospital’s jello or static soft-core porn because she is (un-admittedly) over 75 years of age.

While I usually try to block out statements of ignorance such as ‘Obama is trying to kill the old people’; it does seem as if geriatrics are finally about to remember what it feels like to be fucked. And so I turned to Facebook, where apparently there are people with far more time on their hands than I have. Who knew that ‘The White House’ a. has a Facebook page, b. has less fans than Kim Kardashian (about 800,000 to Kim’s 3 mil) and c. would be the cheapest form of entertainment available now that The World Weekly News is out of print. As such, I’m sharing the highlights of today's posting:

The White House: Photo of the Day: Carved pumpkins depicting President Barack Obama, Abraham Lincoln, and the White House sit on a stone wall next door to where the President was attending a dinner reception in Providence, Rhode Island, Oct. 25, 2010.

Sami B: How much of taxpayer's money did you waste for that?

Lisa B: @Sami.... don't be stupid. John Reckner carved them. Idiot.

Sami B: I'm pretty sure the money for this could have bought someone a tooth filling. Just lookin' out for  you ungrateful rednecks!

Jim W: @sami. it said nothing about who made them. how do you know an artist didn't hear Obama coming in and then carve this beauty. Great Photo

Timothy S: The pumpkins... which WERE THE POINT OF THIS POST are stunning. Y'all need to take your bickering somewhere else.

Mary M: (with the burning question on my mind): Why is Obama always putting himself beside Pres. Lincoln?

Mike A: How can anyone like this lier that has no idea what the hell he is doing and has the nerve to blame someone that had nothing to do with the economic down turn and loss of jobs AS SOON AS THE DEMACRATS TOOK MAJORITY OF CONGRESS IN JAN 2007 IS WHEN GOVERNMENT TOOK A LONG DOWNHILL SLIDE AND YOU HAVE BARRY HUSSEIN COMPLAINING ABOUT BUSH,GET YOUR FACTS RIGHT JAGOFF

Nanda: Very cool, 'cept Obama looks pissed off. Perhaps he's thinking about how he keeps getting cock blocked on the hill.

James H: good lord, after reading the comments some of yall are pathetic, whining about tax payer money on a pumpkin, n being robbed by a president, and what does this have to do with the pumpkin lol..., so ur basing ur pissed offness on assumption, which is kinda like goin to take a dump, and assuming theres toilet paper..... that bein said, it looks bad ass, and its a tribute not just to obama for those whining about him, but to abe as well and what he wanted for us over 100 yrs ago...i couldnt do that well of a carving, could you? so why whine and stress it, its not gonna make yall happy when your on your death bed reflecting back on your life. so why are u waisting your time gettin upset over a pumpkin

And last but not least, the only one with any sense;

Andrew G: some of you people need to learn how to spell


IN CASE YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT HEDDA: Don’t be. My grandmother is lucky that she has a doctor in the family (were jews) and has saved well; but what if this wasn’t the case. As this out-patient procedure would cost tens of thousands, there are many that would be simply priced out, or would spend their livelihood in securing their health resulting in an end-of-life not worth living. While I often joke that my grandma will be killed by a black man, I always envisioned her demise resulting from a black man, her granddaughter (me), and a sex tape… there goes ‘Hope’.

Halloween: A True Horror Story

Halloween was a disaster. An absolute fucking debacle. There are holidays where you fully expect to regret being single... Christmas, New Years, Valentines Day... Halloween? Not so much.

The night started in my bedroom. Cindy McCain or sexy sailor? Once my Michelle Obama bailed on me to be a Hooters girl (go figure), it looked as if I would be sailing the high seas. Then I put said "sexy" costume on. At risk of my ego, lets just leave it at not so sexy. 

On Halloween, there is a very thin line between looking cheap and looking easy. Easy? Mission Accomplished. Cheap? Better get back to the drawing board... so I did. What I came up with completely rivals my Halloweens of lore. Sky high heels, a shiny gold barely there dress, fur stole, sunglasses, and a giant and noticeable coke smear down my right nostril (compliments of Maybelline). Best part is, my costume came with a punch line. "What are you supposed to be?" ... Oh me? I didn't dress up this year. 

Geared up and ready to go, my first stop was with my two

 very in love friends Maria and Matt. Little did I know however, Maria and Matt were with their very in love friends Ben and Sarah. There I am crashing a double date, in a packed restaurant, to have a literal 5th wheel pulled to a corner of a table for 4. Did I mention dressed like a coke-addict home-wrecker? The latter actually played to my advantage as the awkwardness of this situation was immediately made better by all the attention I was getting from fans. It was Beacon Hill so I'm pretty sure there was a toss up between people who laughed, people who were offended, and people who thought I was just in desperate need of a mirror.

The waiter, "Rehab Reject", comes to the table. Thinking himself to be funny, "Can I get you anything, maybe some coke?"... ha. No, I'll just take a vodka soda,... and an extra straw. P.S. keep them coming, you have no idea how much one needs to drink when they're the misplaced chair in the corner at a restaurant of Bunnies and Hef's, Wilma and Fred's... you get the point. Speaking of the point, I always thought of Halloween as an excuse to freeze your ass off in October because you're wearing little more than a thong and go home with some guy in a mullet wig. Upon explaining this to my coupled counterparts, they somehow take this as a reason to furiously try to set me up with the waiter.Okay, I'm sorry. Just stop it! I'm single not a leper, and this is supposed to be the only holiday where my no strings attached, fly by the seat of my pants attitude pays off. Why is it that all smug couples feel the need to then push you into a pairing? The Waiter... really? Rehab Reject? Are you fucking kidding me. It is after this event, I switched from vodka soda to shots... all of a sudden, Rehab Reject wasn't looking so bad.

After a toast of "To Ben and Sarah, my second family, Maria, the woman who makes every day worthwhile (did I mention I am sandwiched between Romeo and Juliet) and then to me... uh... good friends!" dinner is over. We head over to Max and Dylan's which can simply be described as a place where if you're with the people you want to be, is just fine. Not that I don't love my friends, but it's Halloween! I want to flirt with strangers, maybe get frisked, be taken advantage of and so on. The only one taking advantage of me here is the bartender via $8 drinks. With a costume this good, it's all about exposure and I was getting close to none of it. The whole truth is that not only did I want to be frisked, I wanted to be frisked by a very specific someone who I had planned on meeting at a party later in the night. So now, I'm looking hot, surrounded by couples who could give a rats ass, and the literal ass who's supposed to care seems to have fallen off the face of the planet.

I texted at 6pm, again at 11:30 - and as I've been on dates I wasn't invited to all night, I'll be damned before I walk into yet another place I'm not welcome. I need some sort of "hey, im here, come!" confirmation before I schlep across the city and reapply my coke smear. This being said, I am up to my eyeballs of people in love perfectly content with being nowhere as long as they're together. If another one of the other third wheels in the place comes over to say "well at least we have each other", all said person will have is a black eye. And god damn it! I'm not wearing underwear - text me back!

I would just show up at the party by none of my girlfriends wanted to go and I can't walk in alone - that surpasses even my level of crazy stalking. So instead, I do only what drunk frustrated me knows how to do: leave choice words on a voicemail. His fault for not picking up. Probably my fault for the fact that he'll never pick up again.

Embattled and defeated, I wave my white flag. I have had enough. I exit stage left and stumble down to the corner of Tremont St. to get a cab. Thinking the worst was behind me.. I was wrong - dead wrong. Usually hailing cabs in skimpy clothing is the best therapy money can buy - not tonight. I got shout outs ranging from "where you going?" to "stand there long enough people will start asking how much". Yea buddy, thats right. I'm telling all the open cabs to go past me so I can stand here listening to your 2 cent suggestion? I think not. My favorite of all the car calls however? "You're a man".

In one night, I've gone from single girl to desperate girl to now, not even a girl at all. Things just keep on getting better. Finally, my white and shining crown victoria sweeps me off my feet. No, seriously, he came so close I thought I was getting hit, which in retrospect, would have been a plus to my night as nothing else was hitting on me. I get in the cab, give him the address, only to find out that my cabbie had a few more questions than just "where to?".

"So you're going home?".. uh huh

"Why so early?"

Are you kidding me? You don't think I know it's 12:30. I don't see the crowds of cats, bumblebees and police officers? How about we back up to life before your game of 20 questions: you keep driving. I'll keep sulking. Hoping that something is happening somewhere, I send a mass text. My harvard friend replies but that means I'd have to endure an extra 20 minute ride with Inspector Clouseau the cab driver - forget it. We turn onto Harvard Ave. when my dominican driver comes up with yet another great idea:

"Lets pull over and get a drink. Im alone - You're Alone".

If there was ever a moment when you wish his car really did hit you: this was it. "Im alone... you're alone" - oh hell no. Any self esteem I had prior to walking out of the house looking like a coked up slut only to walk back in as party of one has now been completely decimated by cab #263. Scrambling to pick up the pieces of my broken self all over the backseat , "actually sir, this corners just perfect! Friend just texted, party right around the corner! (Lie #1) and... I'm not alone, I just broke up with my boyfriend! (Lie #2)... keep the change!" Luckily, I did see my building from where I 007-ed out of the taxi, so my "big stand" only equaled out to walking 2 blocks, but blisters of the foot are far easier and cheaper to fix than the blister this cab driver was developing on my ego.

Home at last and not a second later does Jamie storm in cursing the day all Halloween revelers were born. "What the hell are they screaming about out there! Its Halloween, they're not protesting Castro for christ sake! If I had the right speakers, I'm in the mind to go out there like Evita!" 

I guess I have met my match after all. We sat drinks in hand, telling of our Halloween horrors, singing Andrew Lloyd Webber until the sounds of schmucks in Santa suits couldn't be heard over "dont cry for me Argentina"

30 First Dates: The Sequel.

Everyday I wake up and I think that I've seen rock bottom - that I've climbed that mountain top - and then, another 24 hours goes by and I find someway to out-stupify myself from the day before. This is how an innocent new years resolution of 30 days 'til boyfriend has become 30 days to almost no friends, and most certainty no male additions. Yup, this is part 2, the deuce, the sequel. If you have no idea what I am talking about, read to post below this one but for the slackers; heres Wasser-World for dummies:

Last time in the Wide World of Wasser: "As I have been resoluting away the same ten pounds since 1997, I figured it might be time for a different, more achievable goal, to ensure that 2009 would be my best year yet. So rather than a size six, okay eight, I set my sights on something that even fat, ugly people have: a boyfriend." Single going into 2009 - resolved to change said singledom - the last posting was 30 days into my trek, and NOW at 53 days into 2009: I have officially traded resolve for vodka and not just any vodka - were talking the cheap kind - because it has taken approximately six sessions and $750.oo for me to be able to say I am self-sabotaging. Ironically enough, this is the exact conclusion drawn up by my friend Sam over coffee,... for free.

Yet however expensive the last 53 days were, I can't say they weren't eye opening; because after almost 2 months of trying to change my "relationship status" I learned the cold hard truth about the status quo:

My Personality Is The Best Contraception.

How do I draw this conclusion prey tell? I didn't. The guy behind the counter of my local liquor store did. Bitching and moaning about yet another failure to launch on my cell phone, my caring cashier was doing something other than ringing me up; he was eavesdropping. As soon as I hung up to replace my cell phone holding hand with a big bag of booze, he winks only to inform me. "well it sure isn't your looks!"... oh great? So it's me. In the coming weeks I have found out he is right.

While it is a known fact that love can make people do crazy things, as someone who has never been in love, I can only guarantee you that crushes can also take credit for ultimate acts of stupidity. Case in point; simply the person I had a crush on in the first place. When you have to preface your dating desires with, "He's really smart,.. and funny, I swear" only for people to see a photo and go, "him?... really? hmm.... okay,.." - there is probably a big giant red flag as to why you should move on, and fast. But like a retard at a MENSAH meeting, there were just a lot of very obvious things that I didn't get - for one this was doomed to be a disaster. We work in the same company which means that my already un-sly mating ritual gets thrown for yet another loop as every time we we're within 50 feet of each other it became the "how do I flirt with this person without anyone else knowing this is going on,... including him.. just incase it is not returned making my already awkward behavior that much more awkward."

I don't know why I thought that making advances on someone while trying to make them think I'm not making advances on them was ever thought to be a good strategy... but I have grown up during the Bush Years; even with no chance of victory: literally by George, I will stay the course. As such, when we happen to be in the same bar, and I am alone no less, it became impossible for me to simply just say hello. Instead, I ordered yet another Vodka Soda or three (mistake number one) and just sat there, exercising nothing but my liver, waiting for him to get his happy ass up and give me the one thing I wanted; not a lot, but just a little bit of attention. This did not happen, and so me and my bright idea machine got to work (mistake number two).

Now this is where most interject, "why not just leave?", and well - I couldn't. I was knee deep in both booze and text messages to myself - simply so my own phone would light up and ring, attempting to create the illusion of my having a life. And as much as I hope we all haven't been there, let me assure you: once you go that far,... how much worse can it really get? Even to my surprise, it can get a lot worse. Sort of like mixing alcohol with Nyquil; heres another thing you should never mix alcohol with,... insecurity.

Interpreting our original quick "hello" and missed eye glances as "he is just being shy",... I will now take it upon myself to make an opening for him. Luckily, based on his seating loaction, there was also an easy opening for me. His table was right in front of the ladies restroom. Another misguieded intention but at the time, I could brush by him giving him the chance to perk up and if all else fails, I had a destination to stumble to. So off I went, with not so much as a syllable uttered in my direction and into the ladies room I go. Not even comprehending this outcome when I was making my failsale plan, I had also never thought of the fact that I now have to come out of the bathroom that is now unconvienantly located right next to his table. Making matters worse, my strut was definately looking more like a swivel and as such, again, my genius went straight to the drawing board.

Hey, he did a pretty good job of leaving me alone when I was parading around the facade of being busy while I was at the bar. Ill just put my phone to my ear, continue to be ignored, cut and literally run. I look in the mirror, and hey, even blurry I look pretty hot: I am Erika Wasser... this is horse-shit - I am finally ready to go. The bathroom door flies open creating enough wind to blow my hair back, which is sometimes all thats needed for another kind of wind: a second wind of confidence. My swivel is returning to strut, my phone is to my ear. As I approach the table I do my best Kate Moss stare ahead when WHAM!

"Hey Erika, I didn't want to bother you before or when you were on your way to the bathroom..."

Thrown off guard that maybe my cockamamie plans actually ended up working, what in gods green earth do I do NOW with the phone that is attached to my ear, with no one on the other line? The IPhones screen is large enough where I can't just pull it away revealing a dark blank screen. If I don't at least attempt to talk into the phone, it will also be revealed as a prop piece. Being "quick on my feet", I decide I will give him the hold on let me get off the phone face, turn around to conceal said blank screen, and end my make believe conversation in hopes of starting a real one. Just as I commit to my plan, my grandma in Long Island committed to having my use my phone plans minutes. So there I am, standing over a table of himself and his two friends while my phone is ringing, while still being held - no clutched - to the side of my face. Once my Eric Clapton "If I could change the world" ringtone made its full chorus, struck in awe, I just look up, look down, and look for the exit. I can go now.

Okay I can admit strike one when it happens, but Im an alcoholic not a quitter, and so the following week I was back up at bat. Things got off a bit slow, but recurring the last time I let the worst of me get the better of me, I decide to try a new route: cool, calm, and collected. Who knew that when not scheming, everything goes according to scheme. Drinks come, lashes are batted, there was one small snafu of him getting the impression I was a vegetarian after finding out he was a vegan,... but I didn't lie: I do think the way animals are treated is inhumane,... I just left out the part where I don't think that a personal ban of Tuna Tar Tar is going to change that. So I did what any self respecting girl would - popped an altoid, and made sure there was no leftover hamburger in my teeth. 2am comes, I am going to be sick. Luckily, he was right there with me,... so he had 2 and I had 6... I mean please, if all I ate were nuts and grains I wouldn't have much of a tolerance either.

So off we went to the only place in Boston that drunk people can sober up in this great city: The International House of Pancakes, street name: IHOP, and this is where Erika the now non-meat eating idiot strikes again.... not only is there nothing for an aspiring vegan to choose from on the vast late night menu, as there is even "milk" in the name of buttermilk pancakes but his order of nothing was only followed by my order of chicken fingers. I am a chicken eating vegetarian... which as a side note, is actually pretty accurate. I only eat raw fish, and don't really like red meat, but that is neither here nor there because strike two in this grand experiment looked a lot like this: Me, with a vat of fried chicken in front of me, at 2 in the morning, right after I rallied animal rights while he sipped his water, watching me eat they same little birds I would truly like to see better fed. But unfortunately, the buck did not stop there. I am pretty sure, even post fried chicken, he may have tried to kiss me. Now for most people this is black and white, but I was wearing a hat, didn't see it coming, didn't want to hit people in the face with said hat... and still don't know if was never actually simply originally intended for cheekdom. Based on the events however that happened to complete strike three, I am pretty sure the [Wasser] world will never know.

Here is what we do know in the world however, I am in no way shape or form sly, smooth or discreet and apparently my torturous game of how to conceal a crush, to some, wasn't so concealed. After the last debacle of the kiss that never came, or maybe was never even coming, I thought okay - at least now we are getting somewhere. I guess we sort of had a meal... even if it was one sided and ruined my entire Saturday, but I am working on not being so picky. So a couple of weeks pass, and here we go again, to put the final nail in the coffin that is to become the future of my crotch. The aforementioned 'some' to whom my crush was a laughing matter more than a surprise, also works with us. Now when you put three people in a room, two of whom know a secret and the third of whom the secret is about, and supply them with Grey Goose and a restaurant that serves until three.... Strike Three was simply inevitable.
The sun starts to make its way around the world, and our fun night of laughing and sillyness is about to come to a close, so now what? This is when I really wish that my co-worker obliged to the Wasser Family motto: either stop drinking, or stop talking. He is not in the Wasser Clan however, and instead, made it his job to make sure that I can never continue the Wasser Clan. In what seemed to happen as fast as crackhead could steal a little kids bike he slams his hands on the table and screams out "ERIKA JUST WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU"... repeatedly. Know what I would like to do repeatedly right about now? Let's just say it requires said loud mouthed co-worker and a frying pan, and if that doesn't work, a man who goes by 'uncle joey' or charlie... you get the drift and just like that I was catapulted from cool, calm and collected right back into scheming... and this is where it all goes awry.

I could have just stayed silent, remembered our family credo and had another drink. I could have laughed it off, laughing off with it all suspicion of truth to that statement. I could have just left well enough alone, and used this as the easy way to get the word out so I could stop acting a fool! I could have done anything,... anything would have been better than what I chose to do. Embarrassed and humiliated that I had been outed, and even feeling like there was a bit rejection thrown into the mix, I wanted to destroy any inkling that my co-workers statement came straight from the horses mouth. How do I decide to go about damage control prey tell? By overreacting and driving two points home: 1. I absolutely wanted nothing more than to have sex with him and 2. I am a lunatic.

I decided the best laid plan would be to wait until after the event had already happened, when everyone probably had already forgotten, no harm no foul until it is only he and I. I then stare him down, straight in the eye, and say the following:

"I do not want to have sex with you"
Something tells me that this ones going to backfire, not too many ways to read between those lines,... and then I had to drive him home. Making matters worse: we get in the car to have Celine Dion's cover of "Alone" blare through the speakers. As I am still getting over the fact that we sat there as "Til' now, I've always been fine on my own,..." serenaded us, I haul ass to liquor store to tell my new friend and cheaper therapist,  the local liquor store cashier.  Through his grimace and "sheesh" he recommended the one thing stomach butterflies, and nervous anxiety just wouldn't let me do: "why don't you just be yourself?" Sir,... that is exactly the problem - I've got 99 problems and apparently being a bitch is one.

So now after pushing my New Years Resolution all the way to Washington's Birthday, I am pretty much just where I started. A little worse,... but also a little better. The good news? I've been inspired to create my own t-shirt line. Rather an an up and down arrow declaring "The Man" "The Legend" - my shirt also features an up and down arrow but only one word: "Vacant".