Gas.

Indian weddings, man. Should have booked my own hotel room.

Antoinette

Before we found our sweet apartment in Quincy, we saw a real gem in JP. “You shovel?” asks Antoinette, the over-sassed, lunatic landlady. She continues to challenge my boyfriend. “I want somebody out here in the winter.” Here’s her other query: “You guys smoke?” “No,” we reply truthfully — thinking that’s what she wants to hear from prospective tenants. “Oh, well sometimes my brother is here and he smokes. So I don’t want any complaints about the smoke,” she says, all while waving a magenta acrylic nail at us. I wait a beat. “So does your brother smoke cigarettes or crack?” I ask. Yep. That shut her up. And just like, we walked out the door and she was out of our lives forever.

Drowning.

Got a lesson in scuba diving on the Red line last week. The drunk ones always find me. Guess I look empathetic. He told me I was running out of time. That it was necessary I slap on a wet suit and get the hell out there. And that if I had to puke, to quickly remove the mask under water and puke, puke, puke. When I told him my stop was next, he realized he missed his own stop and belched all the way out.

Leprosy

The skin around my mouth and nose is flaking off at a rapid rate. I thought I would "treat" myself to a facial this week, but now I resemble a sad paper mache project.

Note: If you are hoping your next facial comes with an ego boost, I'm sorry, it doesn't. Unless of course, you were born without pores. Or you are a porcelain doll.

Anywho, the facialist told me my face was dirty, I should watch for sun spots, and, "For heavens sakes, start using an eye cream." Needless to say, I have never felt so unattractive and "aged" in my life.

She also kept touting a cleanser that is apparently a favorite of Jennifer Lopez's. Upon hearing this, I scoffed beneath the 5 lbs. of cream and said, "Oh right, because J.Lo and I bring home the same paycheck." This comment only made the facialist scrub harder, of course.

Alas, aside from the leprosy, my face is squeaky clean and aging slower (or so I'd like to believe) because I purchased the lavender shit she scared me into buying.

I'll end with this:

Dear Facialist,

If you are in fact reading this, please make your clients feel pretty when they come in for an appointment. (A compliment on my eyebrows wasn't enough). By doing so, they will want to come back and purchase more lotions and potions and (gasp) eye cream.

Fondly,
Psoriasis

ATM Face-off

I got the impression that a woman wanted to race me to ATM the other day. Now, just to be clear, it was the just 2 of us approaching an ATM building with 2 machines, so I’m not sure what the deal was. Needless to say, I reached the ATM door first and heard her sigh behind me. Again, there were 2 machines and NO ONE IN LINE. Anyway, we both made our transactions, with hers being more aggressive than mine. What I mean to say is that she entered her pin really fast and hard as if to beat me! Then, while we both waited a few seconds for our money to dispense, she turned to me and sized me up. I kid you not, this woman looked me up and down, heaving like a bull. A pretty aggressive daytime stance if I say so myself. I’m happy I was wearing sunglasses because I think I kind of recognized this brash broad. She then grabbed her cash and stormed out, the ATM door swinging behind her. Drugs? Gambling? Frazzled soccer mom? Really had to pee? Who knows. All I can say is, take the money and run, woman. Take the money and run.

Ain't no ___________ high enough

The guy high on (drugs, life, you choose) sitting across from me on the Orange line (where else?) was singing about Jesus during my morning commute. And the more the train emptied out, the louder his vocals became. Unfortunately, I couldn't make out any lyrics other than, “I CAN MOVE A MOUNTAIN.” (Note: He was referring to himself at this point and not Jesus. I know this because he was patting himself vigorously on the chest). I tried my best to suppress a giggle but of course, failed. Failed because A) I was nervous, and B) he was getting off at my stop and was ready to move that mountain.

Saucy lips

As if lip locking with a British rose seller didn't raise enough street corner skepticism, I seemed to have glossed over the incident with the non-Italian busboy at NYC’s Little Italy’s, De Gennaro. (By the way, is it still open, Erin Leigh Schmoyer? And did I get the name right? De Gennaro? San Gennaro? In any case, thanks for introducing me to all the fun.)

Said place has/had great food and apparently, phenomenal wine. It must be true because the bus-boy-turned-tour-guide, led me by the hand to the kitchen where I was entranced by vats of pasta and could try the meat-ah-balls! But naturally, next thing you know, I'm making out with him. Did it happen in the kitchen or by the dessert case? It all gets fuzzy...

Pull it together, Caroline. Have a cannoli instead. What was my deal?

Answer: College and Chianti.