Sunday

To The Class of 2009

I was asked to write a commencement speech, which I didn't end up reading, however wanted to share my thoughts and congratulations. Had I read it,... this is what I would have said:

A funny thing happened exactly 100 days before this one. While everyone else was out enjoyable forgetting the night that marked our 100 days countdown to graduation, I, was having a panic attack. With every text message I received asking me where I was and whether or not I would be partaking in the first of our 'senior moment' celebrations, my sweaty palms, shortened breath and heightened heartbeat said it all: No, I would not be partaking. For me, it was too soon to be having senior moments, and as such, my fidgety fingers could only text back one thing.

To "100 Days! Woohoo!"

I responded with the one legitimate concern that I had: "Does That Include Weekends?"

Much to my dismay, it most certainly did. For the first time, graduation confronted me in countable reach and this overly flattering Fire Engine red cap and gown presented itself as nothing but an eviction notice, forcing me out of the place it has taken every bit of four years to finally call home. Not capable of celebrating, and too anxious to sleep - I did the next natural thing that occurred to me: I sulked. I sulked and I sat, alone in my apartment, on a Thursday night - that 100 days to graduation, and I thought about my life: past, present, and as much as I dreaded its lurking in the distance, my future.

Freshman year we all arrived, and for most of us, this served as a catalyst to our independence. Seniors looked cool, mature, accomplished. While I can't say much has changed for me in terms of cool, I now look at the freshman and swear I never looked that young. I can also assure you that our class did a far better job than the current at walking at a reasonable pace and not blocking the sidewalks like Oklahoma tourist in time square. But in truth, that is probably just not true. Not so long ago, these streets were new to us. It probably took some longer than others to realize that COM is the building with the radio tower on top, and if all else failed, there is also a fountain in the yard. But those kids, huddled around the campus maps, literally and figuratively in all the wrong places - that was us. Looking at the seniors then, they were about to be going somewhere I thought. Little did I know however, we were about to be going somewhere too.

Surely, we were all about to embark into higher education, at one of the best communication schools in the country, exposed to a faculty whose wisdom we will take with us into our future professions - but any college graduate can say most of that. At risk of stealing the bookstores tacky mug motto "Be You" spelt out B-E-Y-O-U, in my experience, this school could not have been more aptly named. While there is a nation of college graduates bonded by the fact that they have a degree, we are slightly better than that, because we are bonded here, to this experience, in a place that promotes not only a professional journey, but a personal one - and that has made all the difference.

It is at BU that I walked into a PR class. It was at BU that I began to grow into my own and walked straight out of a PR class. It was while broadening my horizons inside the classroom that the world outside of COM's walls came into focused view. It has been my experiences here, from Kenmore Square to Gardener Street, at the top of my game to the bottom of a bottle, in Mugar, at Mantra - that has shaped the graduate that stands before you, and all my fellow graduates who sit before me. BU let us find ourselves, and for whatever that's worth, we have all found something here that some people will never find and quite frankly, that is what separates us, sitting here today, from all the other kids sitting in the same places as we are right now. We have been taught how to think, and that is why that Thursday, that 100 days until graduation, what I didn't recognize was that there was no need to panic.

The same way we arrived here and were handed the tools to find the Ritz Clafflin, four years later, we have all been given the tools to be competent, confident, and assume our places in the world. What we have greater than a declared major, is a skill set that allows us to be smarter than the fear of the unknown, and once you can realize that, there is no more fear. There is one less excuse not do something. Good new is? We have that skill. The skill that tells us when want to sulk alone, that there are so many better reasons not to. Of course sometimes sulking will get the better of you, happens to the best of us but I know now that I chose to sulk, now I choose not to - and it is not sulking or not sulking that matters here, it is understanding that it is a choice. Because of our education in both Communication and in life, we are all capable of understanding fear as a choice, and once that concept can be grasped, it is just as easy to be afraid, as it is not to be. The better news in this situation? As graduates of the School of Communication, and BU on the whole, we are ready and able to not only act without fear, but with confidence that we can rest on our laurels of where we came from - and that place is here.

Today is the first of many milestones in our truly adult life. It is the point in our timelines where once again we can choose. We can choose to be evicted by life, everytime it is simply our time to progress - or we can remember the power of our roots here, and shop for penthouses. The ability to see beyond the butterflies in our stomach, to go and celebrate life even on nights when you think your life might be ending - it is that trait which bonds us, and will keep us bonded as we succeed together, just as we are succeeding here together, today. I am confident we can rest assured that we will all find our way - just as we did here, and walk with a little bit of swagger in our step knowing not necessarily what we are going to be doing, but knowing what we've done.

To the class of 2009, I hope you achieve whatever it is you have set out to do here. As we all move on together, I hope we take our next steps with both a sense of humor, and a sense of purpose, and never forget that we have the confidence and the competence to do so. Congratulations.

Thursday

Kim Jong-Il Wasser

My mother always says, "you don't get bored..  you get boring." As I find myself every Wednesday night in a class from 6-9pm painstakingly bored, I have started to accept that it may just be me.

In this  "world negotiations and affairs" class, our final project is to simulate the 6 party talks. For all those including myself who have no idea what the 6-party talks are... they are negotiations between North and South Korea, Russia, China, Japan, the US, and the UN, mainly revolving around North Korea's Nuclear Program.  And while your thinking, if thats not boring I don't know what is, my professor gave us all an opportunity to stop being bored and transversely, so boring. 

We were each assigned roles, and my professor clearly seeing my star power, or the fact that I hadn't yet purchased a textbook, made me
Kim Jong-Il

For those who don't know 'little Kim', as he stands 5 foot 3 inches, he is the actual
axis of the axis of evil, dictator of North Korea, and almost every question was going to be fielded eventually to him, or well.. me. What my professor didn't realize is that I am not one to take starring roles lightly. Do you honestly think that you can make me Kim Jong-Il and have me not take full advantage? He might of thought himself tricky by testing my knowledge, however I hail from Crafty City: Population: Me.

My plan prey tell? I would make up for all I lacked in knowledge with creativity. Rather then write my paper that has been outstanding for a good two weeks (
what! the email I sent didn't go through... again!?), I found myself rummaging thrift shops and costume stores searching for the perfect outfit that would just scream communist dictator. Although I should take a serious look into my time management, what I found? Gold.

As most Wednesday nights, I am supposed to be reading the subtitles of Korean movies, however find myself doing anything but, I've become excellent at the "Easy Kentucky Crosswords Online", and have become a overwhelmingly more efficient facebook creep - move over, "I Know What You Did Last Summer", I can now walk into a lecture hall, look around the room and script, "I Know What All of You In the Back Row did Last Night" This being said, the fact that I hadn't read all semester meant only one thing: I have to give this all I've got, which certainty isn't information so I will refer to another one of my mothers fond sayings; "You don't have to be the smartest person in the room - as long as you look the best"....
and I did. So good in fact, I felt the need to share.

Enter Kim Jong-Il [Wasser] to the podium please:


Oh no... this is no joke. What was a joke however was the proceedings that took place AFTER I rented a zip car, found out that someone actually owned a full on, khaki jumpsuit, followed by my bringing a woman's wig to my hair guy who laughed, and then started cutting.

"Delegates" from all countries arrived in full ego and preposterous seriousness. Condi-sleez-a Rice actually snarled at me, South Korea wouldn't share their cookies and representatives from China,.. don't even get me started. The only team that had anyone normal who realized that we were in fact, not in the UN, but next to a starbucks in the School of Management study lounge was Russia. When Russia is the only straight thinking nation... what in the hell is going on. 

Simulation 1: While being Kim Jong-Il means that everyone greets you with hostility, I took matters into my own hands by replying with outlandish statements such as, "Do you know who I am? Talk to me that way again, you'll be getting your thank you note via missile" and when the US tried to say it sent good will through the NY Philharmonic's visit to North Korea as a negotiating tactic, I informed them, "I've heard the NY Philharmonic... it wasn't such a gift."

Lets just say the UN wasn't pleased.  

Simulation 2: A COUP HITS NORTH KOREA and Kim Jong-Il is out. You have got to be kidding me. Do you know how long it took me to find an authentic jacket, wig, glasses, platforms and jumpsuit!? In a moment of panic, I think... What Would Kim Jong-Il do? I know! Strike a deal with Putin to have Russia back my new regime and get me back into power and out of exile. Apparently, we were not allowed to do that. Strike 2? I think Kim Jong-Il would whine, and he would definitely not go down without a fight. Furthermore, now who I am going to say I am... some idiot who happens to have a striking resemblance to the prior dear leader? Assuring all nations of the world that my people will not be happy if I am not there to extend their work hours, spend their wages on the military, and create international unrest - somehow this was not persuasive enough and Kim Jong-Il was now deceased.

If James Lipton could see me now, this is what he would call an actors delima. I have been written out of the script, but there I am - still standing, in full costume. Taking the high road, I decide to stay in character. If I were little Kim, I'd be pissed. I wouldn't be taking this lying down! I put that snake general in power, and by george, I will take him out, and all before 9pm. Channeling the anger of Kim Jong-Il and of course none of my own for the fact that my entire day has gone to waste and my wig is starting to get itchy, I did what any manical dictator would do. Negotiations went from marginally intelligent to this: 

To the Nations present:
Are you willing to do anything to help us keep south korean special forces off our shores? 
signed from the grave,
kim jong-il

Lil' Kim:
What are you willing to give us for that? Land perhaps? A hand in the government?
Putin

Vlad - 
No land, no hand... just the urn of Kim Jong-il and good will in the future of dealing with this new bullshit regime.

Wednesday

Thank You!

When I started this blog, I fully expected only those forced to read it and through crooked smiles tell me how fabulous it was. On the contrary, people I know, people I don't, and those I haven't seen for years have read, laughed, enjoyed and let me know. I want to thank all for clicking here, and for the really great messages. I'd thought I'd share a few of my favorites:

"In true stalker fashion I came across your blog and I have to say that it is fucking hilarious. Erika, I have never laughed with such abandon. You are hysterical and every entry is bloody brilliant. I know it´s been years but I really could´t help myself and had to tell you." - Sofia A.

"I do enjoy your writing a lot, amazing vocab - wonderful use of bold. and by the way, if you don't go to hell, heaven has gotten way to lenient" - Andrew Rackoff

"THE BLOG! I am nowhere to be found. What the hell is that shit! Take down the picture of that French Canadian fossil (man in photo above) and put up a picture of me ASAP!" - Jamie Ascernese.

Keep Reading, Keep Writing In, I'll Keep Posting. Thanks again and much love - Erika

Third Try Truly a Charm: Red Ball for Aids.

Date Occurred: April 1. 2008

Last night was no ordinary night of binge drinking. Last night I drank for AIDS. Leah, my roommate, is in a sorority; a sorority I too once belonged to until I realized that my $250 a semester would be better spent on gum that someone made me lick off the bottom of their shoe; however you give me a charity and an open bar wrist bracelet - come hell or high water, I'll be there. (I'm very philanthropic that way)

To be honest, I was very much on the fence about going to this soiree. You don't disaffiliate from a sorority with the best of friends - however I wasn't going to stay in an organization that fined me for my absences when I didn't show, and for my behavior when I did. Secondly, every event I did attend seemed to go from congenial to calamity within a matter of one drink. 

If you've ever seen Long Island boys try to mack it to Long Island girls.. you have just been to any and every event Boston University Greek life has ever had. For those who can't envision this hodge-podge, the boys aspire to emulate 
"Growing Up Gotti" and the girls are all too cool to pretend they'll hit it until about three drinks in. I mean, com'on - let them save face before having to level with the fact that their personality, or lack there of, still doesn't compensate for the sense of self-entitlement that comes from the amount they paid for that nose**. Welcome to the jungle.
(**Note: There are many exceptions to this stereotype, as I am friends with many of them, but overall, all long island love aside this is pretty spot on)

Freshman year philanthropy event: 2006. One of the Greek frat's got the sorority involved in a breast cancer benefit. Living in the same apartment building as the fraternities president, I helped to plan the event. We had everything that one needs to make a great party: music, a great venue, edible food,... and booze to an under 21 crowd. All went off without a hitch aside from a slight debacle including a "greater then thou" frat boy, a raffle and a mic. Declaring himself emcee, rather then congratulate winners on their prize, he would verbally and sexually harass them, give shout outs to the brothers they were sleeping with if he found them attractive and then would play the "oh, you almost grabbed it but not quick enough" game while handing them their prize, which for each winner was a different variation of dollar store du jour.

My name was called, I hid behind the bar - there was just no way. Seeming like such an event could easily ruin an evening, this became one of the highlights in retrospect - go figure.

Sophomore year philanthropy event: 2007... lets just say the only highlight was leaving. Deciding to stick with breast cancer, we also decided to ditch the other Greek organizations that helped to pack the place and make the event more then a glorified chapter - but that's just one girls opinion. Regardless, if you say you're having a benefit, I'll bring friends - and I did. As most of my friends weren't in the sorority I had 5 of them come, at $50 a ticket, and as one of the only people to bring more then the mandatory me, myself and I, cut me some slack. 
Okay, I was late - but the check didn't bounce.

Long story short, the benefit was held in the equivalent of a classroom building, and between the florescent lighting, acapella groups and the fact that the bar was in a closet, closely guarded by two men with guns - after the second rendition of "com'on Eileen" it was time for me to go. I turn to Jamie: "If I have to stay here any longer, I will
volunteer a breast". Although the bar was under lock down, I clearly was drunk enough not to be very discreet. Did I mention I also have a problem controlling the volume of my voice? I think you can figure the rest of this one out, in this case I've been verbal enough.

Back to present time, this year
they (I say they now, because I am no longer apart of "we") decided the breasts were safe, on to pediatric AIDS. (Which FYI I truly think is an excellent cause, as is breast cancer) Lets hope third times a charm. It was being held at a respectable place, there was a new philanthropy chair and lets be honest, my roommate had to sell 3 tickets so there I was. Sure, throw me into the social lions den, and make me pay for it, but I usually owe her something and as such will attend. 

Someone up top was looking out for me and all my fears dissipated when I found out there was a pre-game, also known as, were going to get so sloshed prior to arrival, every one of your past relationships could be in the same room and you still won't give a damn. This is probably the only thing I miss. Only in Greek life can a benefit for pediatric aids be synonymous with 3 handles of vodka, 4 bottles of wine and a lot of pot to get into the groove of giving. I was going to be just fine.

I arrive at the "red ball", look around and realize one thing: a benefit for AIDS in sorority speak is a reason to rent out a place to condone underage drinking and look as promiscuous as physically possible, which in my thinking only
perpetuates the whole epidemic so give me back my $15.

Leah is now convinced she can dress me up - but she can't take me anywhere.

I proceed to head to the bar, claw past the newly initiated freshman, claim superiority and chardonnay. At this point I am happily drunk and solely because I am not 18, feel full of wisdom that, of course, I feel the need to share. I wish when I was a freshman there was a Wasser Welcome Wagon to slap me out of my hideous bangs and tell me that nothing good happens in a frat house basement -
everLuckily, I did know that lesson. Upon going to college my dad assured me that "I didn't have to go" and instead could hang with him. I had already packed so I was going. Once that was decided, it went from, "don't go" to "just don't go and get a reputation". As the Wasser Welcome Wagon is funded by the Pappa Wasser Work Week, I made mental note.

The one perk of joining a sorority, denouncing said sorority and then showing up to their events is that you are a hot commodity. I was the Jennifer Aniston at Angelina's 22nd orphans first birthday party. Its a big deal she's there, but they can't kick her out so instead lets all re-pose for W magazine and play family? And thats exactly what I did. All of a sudden I had grand-littles, and little's, and littles big sisters cousins. I met little's of bigs I never knew. Everyone was excited to see me, some not so much but so is life?... No, Not Erika Wasser's life.

I'm about two bottles in, when you see me, you better shut up, smile and keep your stink eye to yourself. If not, I will stand there until you do, which is exactly what I did until I became too large an embarrassment to my roommate and retired my negotiating tactics; headed to the diner next door where I proceeded to try and out sass our waiter who may I add was a very large, very sassy (although he will deny that comment), bouncer-esque black man. Best decision? I think not, but that's never stopped me before, right?

Between the waiter and my back and forth, my friend and I did manage to plan the most fruitful part of the whole evening: the framework for operation: Leah freedom; our plan to get my roommate a little something something. As she's started locking her bedroom door, we chanted this plan to her through the plywood when we returned to Casa Wassa to a muffled yet clear enough, "fuck you".  Clearly no good deed goes unpunished. 

If any are interested email but more details on that to come. Here's to hoping it goes better then operation: Iraqi freedom, which is where we get our name. I have hope, even though we're planning without the use of think tanks, elected officials and the like - which may ironically be the cause for our success. 

P.S. Shout out to planner of said "Red Ball"...  job very well done. (I give credit where it is due)

Tuesday

Allow me to Introduce Myself...

Although they say you can only learn from your own mistakes - hopefully someone else out there will be able to learn from mine  -  making all of my slightly skewed decision making not go down in vain.  Things that happen to me, they don't happen to other people. Maybe they're more organized, maybe they drink less, maybe I just attract the crazies, but low and behold - my friends and I have come to call my life the "Wide World of Wasser" and for good reason, as if you read on, you too will find out. 

While I find myself often asking, "is this really my life?", there is a silver lining in knowing that I always have something to write about. 

Hopefully you enjoy reading as much as I've enjoyed living. 

l.w.w.,
Erika


Thursday

The Bitch Is Back

There are many definitions of the word friend. Throw in the prefix good in front of friend, and the definitions become even more descriptive. My good friend Josh likes to say, a friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same. But is love a requirement of friendship and furthermore, when the two intermingle, where does the line between good-friend and boy-friend get drawn?

Is it after you spend countless meals together? Is it after you share countless secrets together? In today’s “evolved” day and age, is it even after you have spent countless nights together?

While the lines of love and friendship are ever changing, mine seem to be constantly blurred. To be honest, the way I feel about the situation of a “fuck-buddy”, one could say, is no where near as bad as explaining it.

“So, are you single?”
“Well, I am not really sure… sort of, well we.. I mean -”

The above mentioned conversation only returns one of two looks, both making you realize how stupid you are. The first, is the “oh, we’ve all been there” you get from girls you would never want to be anywhere with, and the second is a “and you’re signing up for the special Olympics when?” you get from interested men and anyone over 35.

It is the latter that makes me seriously question our generational judgment. If all of a decade ago are you single was a yes or no question - what in gay hell happened to us? Know how I could answer the question of coupledom? 12 ways until Sunday - that’s how, and you know what else? It is bullshit. An ongoing cycle of complete and utter horse-crap. And while usually I make my complaints with god 100% me - after evaluating many of my girlfriends spastic relationships (if we can even call them that) I am calling out the big guns and complaining for us all.

If you want to know why I haven’t had a posting in quite sometime, it is because sometimes even the best of us find ourselves knee deep in said horse-crap, i.e. yours truly, and for someone who believes in the words “fool me once…”, let me tell you, second time around? Literally and figuratively, I still got screwed so who cares whose to blame? Shame is still on me because it was I who let ones actions speak softer than ones words. Shame is on me because I was sorta-single, while a certain someone else was sorta-seeing every other single in the city.

The worst part? I was woo-ed by hot dogs and Heineken. And while Papaya King’s hot dogs are no joking matter, would a meal that one doesn’t engulf standing up kill you? I mean, would it really hurt? In truth, would it hurt any less had we sat down to white glove service?

Okay yes, the lack of hot dog’s may have made my jeans feel a bit better, but as for matters of the heart, regardless of my grandmother’s opinion on how to get a Jewish guy, our hearts are not connected to our stomachs.

What is connected to our stomachs however are the meals with good friends, not boy friends, who will hear you vent only until the next round of Mojito’s. Good friends who only bring one head to the table. So as I consider the readers of this blog good friends of mine, I felt the need to share the reason behind the absence of my story telling and like good friends would, you’ve let me vent just until the next string of debauchery takes place.

And like most things, I have come full circle. Are you single has once again become a yes or no question, and if you’ve been reading, there is no surprise to how I’ll answer that one. Translation? The Bitch is Back.

Saturday

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".