What I Did for Wine

I have a job. I am making money that is mine to spend, which of course I will have to spend on bills for money I've spent that was not mine to spend. Regardless, Erika Wasser has a job - and for the first time it is not one I mumble under my breath when one asks "Well, what do you do"

If your wondering what those previous mumbled responses were, I have run the gamete from day school camp counselor in the Hampton's where Christie Brinkley's kids and the like made my life a living hell of ass wiping and around pick up time, ass kissing - all the way to receptionist at a five star gym where while working I also belonged - riddle me that? My logic: great! I love the gym, its a great place, and I always say I'm not there enough (to work out) so why not make sure I'm there, in khakis, for seven hours straight. Check please.

The true story is that the sports club and I "separated". It was summer, they wanted me there at 9am, and apparently Hangover doesn't go with Khaki (take THAT prepsters who say it goes with everything!) Embarrassed by the getup, mascara down to my ankles, hair straight of "How the West was Hung" - I stood there, swiping membership cards of people who thought they were better then me, solely for the 100 bucks of gym bills a month. Little did they know, that I too was a member and they had in fact met me before, as many claimed they did, as I was probably the one who in fact did flip them off during that yoga class where I learned that fuck was not a mantra - but that was before my "how can i help you" days.

One day in my usual uniform of red bull, Marlboro lights and cheap champagne stench, I looked up to swipe the card not of a pretentious member, but of the boy I lost my virginity to. Parker was a member, and I just swiped his membership card looking like a cast member of Planet of the Apes.
This was not me. And as such, I quit,.. and apparently in the nick of time as I was told that we had all had our fair share of seeing me in ill fitting khakis.

As an employee they were supposed to pick up my gym tab - which they did not - which in Wasser words meant that I could return to my elliptical where I sweat out the night before in true Wasser fashion - spandex - all black.

At my new job I am required to dress well, and in black - could life be better? I am now working as a hostess at a trendy, brand new ultra chic restaurant and lounge located in the South End. For those who know nothing about Boston, if Cher were a neighborhood - she would be the South End, but all things cool start with the gays, then the girls and then everyone else will follow. The gays we have down pat, were still waiting for some of those girls - however I love my job.

As I write this, there is a 50% chance that I should be saying I lov-ed my job... and all because I am an idiot. Like most things I love, I found a way to put stress on the situation, and my lack of brain power may leave me only with a lack of buying power.

Standing at the hostess stand, watching amazing looking food be created, and then enjoyed by someone other then me - that's a lot to handle. And as such, one Tuesday night I decided it was time to stop looking at the food, staring peoples tables down like a hawk (which actually works if you need them to leave), partake in the Banq experience and like all experiences worthwhile in my life, this one too required wine.

I shuffle in at 9pm for dinner with my girlfriends. 6 of us in total, 2 of which are 21, 4 of which, including myself, are close, but no cigar. We order, I'm excited to try all the things I've seen and smelt and just by second nature I order a drink.

Now this is where some of you might be saying, "wow, she really is a moron. does she not remember how many times she had to write her birthday down and that's before they had a copy of your passport and license"

And well, while I agree with you in retrospect, I have been drinking in restaurants since I was 16 years old, obviously never worked in one, and since I've been able to confidently think I deserved my Chardonnay, I've been able to confidently drink my Chardonnay.

This was until last night. My drink comes, shortly followed by my manager.

"Can I speak to you for a second"

I'm pretty sure all the food I just ate is now in the back of my throat. There goes $100.00 but if I was in fact fired and am not able to thank Michael the manger later - you did help me out, in my crazy head the calories from dinner were not absorbed.

"Sure" - oh shit. He had the tone your mother has when she comes back from parent-teacher conferences to find that you did a show and tell on her lover.
"Are you drinking wine?"

Okay I've been caught. In yes or no questions it is very hard not to seem like a snaky liar without answering either one.

"Yes"
"Are you 21?"

Again with the yes or no questions! He's good.

"No"
"You do realize that you put the entire restaurant in jeopardy, you jeopardized Mario's job, as well as your own"

Plaintiff: I really am just stupid sometimes (and yes I am aware if sometimes is often, sometimes becomes - "you are just stupid") And if its any consolation, I didn't even drink the wine.

Defendant: Right now I wouldn't mind watching you, Erika, drown in wine, or any liquid substance suitable for drowning and as such may just fire you.

Verdict: There is no wine in the world worth being told your a fuck up by an over bearing gay man who has mastered Jewish guilt by telling you how your sip of wine has burnt the place down with everyone inside of it turning to ash. However, if I am getting the boot out - can I have that full glass to go?

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".