Jason, Jess, Jack, Jill, and Jessica
Part I: Jason
Barmaid Blog reader Heather from Canada sent me this e-mail in reference to the sex dreams I've been having about Jason Giambi:
I was reading Cosmopolitan magazine (September 2006) edition and it has a feature on what your dreams mean. One scenario is:
"If you dream of a guy with a baseball bat, it means there's a man in your life to whom you're attracted but you don't want to admit you're into him." - page 176
I know this'll likely drive you crazy cause now you'll just think about who the guy could be . . . sorry :p
Thanks, Heather! The truth is that when I dream about Jason, he's not actually carrying a baseball bat. Or wearing a Yankees uniform. Or anything, really. Well, you get the idea. But it's still an amusing idea, and I'm glad you shared it with me. The only problem with Cosmo's theory is, when there are men in my life to whom I'm attracted, I have no difficulty admitting it. :-)
Part II: Jess
I found out last night that Bruno Kirby, one of my favorite character actors of all time, died yesterday at the age of 57. Apparently he'd been diagnosed with leukemia only very recently, and went much faster than anybody expected.
Bruno was the second-best thing about every film he was ever in - Jess in "When Harry Met Sally," Ed in "City Slickers," Lieutenant Steve in "Good Morning, Vietnam," a young Clemenza in "The Godfather Part II," even Harry in the bizarre but racy "The Harrad Experiment" (pick that one up if you can find it; my mother let me watch it with her when I was a kid and had started asking a lot of questions about sex). He had just started to become the second-best thing about the new season of "Entourage," too.
"You made a woman meow?!"
Maybe this Sunday I'll convince the girls we should throw a few of his movies in during brunch. The Yankees are playing at night, anyway.
Part III: Jack, Jill, Jessica
Tuesday night, I'm working the 8-to-close at the Bar with Jessica. Jack is sitting at the bar watching the Yankees game with a couple of guys from his law firm, and still managing only to smoke a couple of cigarettes over the course of the game, even though it's no longer 100+ degrees outside.
Vince brings some glasses behind the bar for cleaning, and casually says, apropos of nothing, "So, Debra, that friend of yours doesn't look like most other punk fangirls I know." He and my roommate Jill met the other night. He's right - Jill's one of the few New York girls I know who doesn't wear much black at all, much less torn black punk rock band t-shirts, and she doesn't have any piercings or tattoos, at least not that I know of. She's really a "girl next door" type if there is such a thing in Manhattan. But she is a punk rock fan, and has been as long as I've known her.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It's just a thing." He starts to wander off to the back room, but stops and turns around when he hears the sound of a bottle breaking - the second bottle Jessica's dropped tonight. She talks to herself angrily for a minute, and when there's a slow moment I walk over.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine... I'm just distracted."
"What's going on?"
"Oh, it's just that Evan's gone all week. His new firm flew him out to San Francisco to look for apartments for the two of us."
"That's pretty exciting, though!"
"Yeah, of course it is. But he and I haven't spent a week apart in a long, long time and it's driving me crazy. I practically don't know what to do with myself when I get home at night. Plus, there's already so much change going on in my life - I'm leaving my job and my friends, I'm getting married and moving to a new city, and I don't even get any say in what apartment I'm going to live in!"
I squeeze her hand. "Honey, Evan's a smart cookie, and he knows you pretty well. I'm sure whatever he chooses will be a great place for the two of you, and you'll love it the minute you see it."
Jessica sighs. "I know, I know. And I trust him completely. I've just... always had a lot more control over my life than I do right now. I'm not used to not knowing."
"That's how most of the rest of us live our lives every day, Jess." She smiles, and we get back to work.
"Hey, Debra?" Jack's colleagues have left for the evening, but he's still here nursing a half-imbibed Stella.
"What's up, Jack, you need another beer?"
"No, actually, I have something for you." He reaches into his suit jacket and hands me an envelope.
"What's this?"
"It's a thank you. You did something really nice for me a couple of weeks ago, and I didn't even know about it until somebody told me you wrote about it in your blog." In the space of about five seconds, my mind races with all the things I wrote about Jack knowing he might someday read them, but betting he probably wouldn't: nobody's idea of Russell Crowe, vulnerable and self-effacing but unfunny - those don't sound to me like I was "really nice." Did I at least mention I think he's a really good guy? For the next five seconds, I wonder who told him, until he says, "Well, go ahead, open it."
I do, and it's a pair of tickets to Wednesday night's game at Yankee Stadium, against the Orioles. I look at the seats' location, and my chin drops. If I'm remembering right, they're good - really, really good. "Jack, I can't accept these!"
"Why not? Consider it part of your tip. Besides, I can't use them, I have to work tomorrow night."
I look back at the tickets, then start running for the back room to check the schedule before I remember myself, run back, and say, "Thank you, Jack, this is so nice of you. I really don't know what to say."
Jack shrugs, and says, "You're welcome. And I think you already said it."
I check the schedule in the back room for Wednesday night: Jessica on until 6, Amy 4-to-close, Jocelyn 6-to-close. I come out with a big grin, go over to Jessica, and show her the tickets. "Baby, I just decided what you're doing tomorrow night instead of going home and pining for Evan."
After the hugs and the high-fives, I walk back over to Jack, who's done with his beer and is getting up to go home. I motion with my finger for him to lean toward me. I jump up, lean over the bar, and say, "Jack, you're a real sweetheart, and you truly know how to make a woman happy." Then I kiss him on the cheek and slide back down until my feet are once again on the floor, and watch him blush.
Barmaid Blog reader Heather from Canada sent me this e-mail in reference to the sex dreams I've been having about Jason Giambi:
I was reading Cosmopolitan magazine (September 2006) edition and it has a feature on what your dreams mean. One scenario is:
"If you dream of a guy with a baseball bat, it means there's a man in your life to whom you're attracted but you don't want to admit you're into him." - page 176
I know this'll likely drive you crazy cause now you'll just think about who the guy could be . . . sorry :p
Thanks, Heather! The truth is that when I dream about Jason, he's not actually carrying a baseball bat. Or wearing a Yankees uniform. Or anything, really. Well, you get the idea. But it's still an amusing idea, and I'm glad you shared it with me. The only problem with Cosmo's theory is, when there are men in my life to whom I'm attracted, I have no difficulty admitting it. :-)
Part II: Jess
I found out last night that Bruno Kirby, one of my favorite character actors of all time, died yesterday at the age of 57. Apparently he'd been diagnosed with leukemia only very recently, and went much faster than anybody expected.
Bruno was the second-best thing about every film he was ever in - Jess in "When Harry Met Sally," Ed in "City Slickers," Lieutenant Steve in "Good Morning, Vietnam," a young Clemenza in "The Godfather Part II," even Harry in the bizarre but racy "The Harrad Experiment" (pick that one up if you can find it; my mother let me watch it with her when I was a kid and had started asking a lot of questions about sex). He had just started to become the second-best thing about the new season of "Entourage," too.
"You made a woman meow?!"
Maybe this Sunday I'll convince the girls we should throw a few of his movies in during brunch. The Yankees are playing at night, anyway.
Part III: Jack, Jill, Jessica
Tuesday night, I'm working the 8-to-close at the Bar with Jessica. Jack is sitting at the bar watching the Yankees game with a couple of guys from his law firm, and still managing only to smoke a couple of cigarettes over the course of the game, even though it's no longer 100+ degrees outside.
Vince brings some glasses behind the bar for cleaning, and casually says, apropos of nothing, "So, Debra, that friend of yours doesn't look like most other punk fangirls I know." He and my roommate Jill met the other night. He's right - Jill's one of the few New York girls I know who doesn't wear much black at all, much less torn black punk rock band t-shirts, and she doesn't have any piercings or tattoos, at least not that I know of. She's really a "girl next door" type if there is such a thing in Manhattan. But she is a punk rock fan, and has been as long as I've known her.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It's just a thing." He starts to wander off to the back room, but stops and turns around when he hears the sound of a bottle breaking - the second bottle Jessica's dropped tonight. She talks to herself angrily for a minute, and when there's a slow moment I walk over.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine... I'm just distracted."
"What's going on?"
"Oh, it's just that Evan's gone all week. His new firm flew him out to San Francisco to look for apartments for the two of us."
"That's pretty exciting, though!"
"Yeah, of course it is. But he and I haven't spent a week apart in a long, long time and it's driving me crazy. I practically don't know what to do with myself when I get home at night. Plus, there's already so much change going on in my life - I'm leaving my job and my friends, I'm getting married and moving to a new city, and I don't even get any say in what apartment I'm going to live in!"
I squeeze her hand. "Honey, Evan's a smart cookie, and he knows you pretty well. I'm sure whatever he chooses will be a great place for the two of you, and you'll love it the minute you see it."
Jessica sighs. "I know, I know. And I trust him completely. I've just... always had a lot more control over my life than I do right now. I'm not used to not knowing."
"That's how most of the rest of us live our lives every day, Jess." She smiles, and we get back to work.
"Hey, Debra?" Jack's colleagues have left for the evening, but he's still here nursing a half-imbibed Stella.
"What's up, Jack, you need another beer?"
"No, actually, I have something for you." He reaches into his suit jacket and hands me an envelope.
"What's this?"
"It's a thank you. You did something really nice for me a couple of weeks ago, and I didn't even know about it until somebody told me you wrote about it in your blog." In the space of about five seconds, my mind races with all the things I wrote about Jack knowing he might someday read them, but betting he probably wouldn't: nobody's idea of Russell Crowe, vulnerable and self-effacing but unfunny - those don't sound to me like I was "really nice." Did I at least mention I think he's a really good guy? For the next five seconds, I wonder who told him, until he says, "Well, go ahead, open it."
I do, and it's a pair of tickets to Wednesday night's game at Yankee Stadium, against the Orioles. I look at the seats' location, and my chin drops. If I'm remembering right, they're good - really, really good. "Jack, I can't accept these!"
"Why not? Consider it part of your tip. Besides, I can't use them, I have to work tomorrow night."
I look back at the tickets, then start running for the back room to check the schedule before I remember myself, run back, and say, "Thank you, Jack, this is so nice of you. I really don't know what to say."
Jack shrugs, and says, "You're welcome. And I think you already said it."
I check the schedule in the back room for Wednesday night: Jessica on until 6, Amy 4-to-close, Jocelyn 6-to-close. I come out with a big grin, go over to Jessica, and show her the tickets. "Baby, I just decided what you're doing tomorrow night instead of going home and pining for Evan."
After the hugs and the high-fives, I walk back over to Jack, who's done with his beer and is getting up to go home. I motion with my finger for him to lean toward me. I jump up, lean over the bar, and say, "Jack, you're a real sweetheart, and you truly know how to make a woman happy." Then I kiss him on the cheek and slide back down until my feet are once again on the floor, and watch him blush.