Wait...you do WHAT for a living?

Thanksgiving gets increasingly more stressful for me every single year. If I’m not having nightmares about the stuffing running out before it gets passed to me, then I’m biting my nails over the fact that I’ll have to explain my career to my family sixteen times. And let’s not even get started on the fact that I’ve misplaced my expandable waistband jeans and turkey-print mumu. There’s no way I’m sitting down at that table wearing anything else. The last thing I can afford is a busted pair of pants with no buttons and a broken zipper.

I’m pretty sure my own parents can’t figure out exactly how blogging works or how I’m making money — so I have no idea how to even explain it to my grandmother. For years I thought she was computer literate, but it sadly turns out she was convinced that the Windows Paint program was actually the Internet. It certainly explains why she was adamant that my e-mails were never getting to her, but it will also make explaining blogging to her quite the challenge. Perhaps my best bet is to just replace her entire World Book 1965 collection with book covers that say “by Jenni” and tell her that I’ve been writing outdated encyclopedias since graduation.

Even worse than having to explain blogging to a 176-year-old (give or take a few decades) is having to beat around the bush when my younger relatives actually ask to see the blogs. While I’m writing for six different blogs, there is not one that’s appropriate for family members to see. If I’m not writing about one-night stands or pee pranks, then I’m giving advice to elderly men on how to date financially desperate women. And I’ve just ruled out showing this one because I know someone will tattle on me to my grandmother, which means a month from now when my siblings are opening up Chanukah envelopes with crisp 10 dollar bills, I’ll be opening a package marked hazardous that’s filled with my grandmother’s old dentures.

My anxiety ulcers aren’t just coming from having to explain my blogging career, but also from having to spend time with my extended family. When I was little, cramming 12 cousins into 2 beds seemed like a fun challenge. But now that everyone’s grown up (and gained weight) it’s more like every man for himself — if you don’t get a bed or a couch, make yourself cozy under the kitchen table. And beds are nothing compared to the fight over the remote. So help me god if anyone thinks they’re watching anything besides 30 Rock on Thursday night.

For a second I thought that maybe I was overdoing the stress and exaggerating the whole situation. But then my mom just called and gave me the annual lecture about not going out of my way to make my sister cry this year and I realized that I might be better off spending the holiday in my apt — TV remote and bed to myself.

While living with my grandparents has its perks (unlimited prune juice), it also has its downside (the only available beverage is prune juice). And even though I’m in the biggest city in the world, I’ve never felt more alone. There’s nothing more depressing than coming home from work and seeing people your age having crazy amounts of fun together, and knowing the only thing that awaits you is hearing the latest CNN updates from your grandfather.

So when my friend said she was having a graduation party in Boston, I jumped at the chance to go. Too bad I didn’t jump fast enough and all the tickets on the good bus were sold out. I wasn’t going to miss a weekend with my friends, though, so despite reading reviews of late, overbooked, and nonexistent buses, I booked a seat on the discount line. Not only did the bus show up on time but it was also double decker! Which was good, because the thought of arriving to Boston unemployed and in a single decker bus was just beyond embarrassing.

My friends picked me up at the bus and we went straight out to the bars. I don’t know how I went from being able to drink for ten hours straight just a month ago to not being able to stay awake past midnight now, but it wasn’t pretty. I feel like I’m aging in dog years; every month out of college is seven months of adulthood. By the end of the summer I won’t be able to go to happy hour without putting in my dentures first. Read More »

My family used to go down to Florida every December to visit my snow-bird grandparents. We would stay at a hotel near their retirement village and spend our days swimming in their (un-heated) swimming pool with all the other grandkids while the old folks sat in the shade playing Bridge.

And that is where I had my first encounter with Huaraches. They were the trendiest and most-worn sandal on the pool deck. All the grandparents were wearing ‘em.

How they became the biggest trend for Spring shoes for the under 75 crowd, I’ll never know. Fashion is always surprising me.

They look really comfortable, but cute? I think not.

But whether I like it or not, this shoe is leaving Boca and making its way into the closets of fashionistas nationwide.

So I have to know:

Huaraches: Love Em or Hate Em?

You know those mornings. The ones when you and your girlfriends gather from your various places of shacking over lots of water and ibuprofen to remind each other of the hilarity that went down the night before. Amid all of the laughter (and reviewing of pictures….to jog your memory), you suddenly realize just what happened: the worst thing ever. And it was horrible. And it may or may not have been one of these:

5. A lost wallet and/or clutch. This is particularly disturbing because it is usually the first thing that hits you in the morning, well before you’ve had any time to nurse the hangover you earned. It feels very similar to being on a deserted island that smells strongly of vodka and lime. You are cell-less, cutting off contact with the outside world. With credit card whereabouts unknown and no proof of identity, you are left defenseless against fraud. If you are underage, there is the heavy burden of finding a new fake i.d. The brand new lip gloss and powder from MAC that you inevitably JUST bought are gone forever. Worst of all, your dear, loyal, and perfectly fashionable clutch will never be wedged into your armpit for pictures or table dancing ever again. R.I.P. Limited edition Coach Python and Boucle clutch. You will be missed.

4. The guy you went home with. Okay, last night this guy was h-o-t! He was witty and charming and so attentive to your needs; not once did he let you have an empty glass! Whether you met him at the pre-party, the bar, or on the way home (never a good sign), this dude – who seemed like a great idea at the time – is now nothing more than a big (or worse, tiny) mistake. Often, this error in judgment will use trickery and promises of rides on his family’s yacht to get you home with him, but come morning all he can offer is a ride home…if you’re lucky. High-tail it out of there and head to the nearest health clinic to make sure all he has given you is a bad memory. Read More »

Days as a Freshman: 125

Mood: Rested. Finally.

“What are you planning on doing today?”

My mom flitted around me, putting silk napkins down at the empty place settings and touching the pine branch centerpiece. She was anxious. I can always tell when my mom is anxious because she hovers, does everything twice, and buzzes around a space without sitting down for hours.

Her parents were coming up, driving all day from Pennsylvania. They had been driving all day yesterday too. Their long journey meant that as soon as they got here, my grandparents would drive my mom insane. It wasn’t that they weren’t nice people. They were very nice; they just had a habit of making everyone feel like they should be praised for the sacrifices they made for their child. A lot.

“I’m not sure what I’m gonna do. Probably nothing.” I took a bite of cereal and watched my mom touch the tablecloth for the seventh time. It was only 9:30 in the morning, and she was already up and showered and in full hostess mode. I was still in my pajamas. I had been in my pajamas for the last day and a half. It was great.

“You should really get up and get out.” She frowned at an invisible stain on one of the napkins. “Being inside all this time isn’t good for you.”

“Mom. I just got home.”

“So? Vacation doesn’t mean you hibernate for weeks. Sometimes you can be quite lazy, Miss.” Read More »