Martini Glasses Are Fucking Useless

Martini Glasses

I have a martini glass collection. It started as a joke in my early twenties, after I broke every single martini glass at the bar my family owned. I had an affinity for cosmopolitans (thanks in part to my Sex and the City addiction), and my body had an affinity for falling down and breaking shit. It was a match made in broken glass heaven.

After I broke all three martini glasses at our shot and a beer joint, I was no longer allowed to possess a martini glass in my hand at the bar. (Of course they replaced the ones I broke). At the time, my little brother was the bar manager. Every time he trained a new bartender, I’d sit on the patron side and test their mad skill. I’d teach them how to make a cosmopolitan. And then I’d giggle profusely, making them question my educational abilities. I’d grin at my brother, lift my glass and clink his imaginary glass in celebration. And then I’d take a big swig of that delicious vodka delight. And giggle some more.

He’d run over and tell the nervous bartender that I could drink cosmos all I want, but they weren’t allowed in martini glasses if they were being handed to me. I was banished from those ridiculous and easily breakable glasses.

So of course, my best friend Mark thought it would be funny to buy me a pair of martini glasses for Christmas.

They lived in my car for a few weeks before I finally, not-so-ironically broke one and took the other inside into my house. It sat on a lonely shelf in my bedroom for a few months. For
my birthday that year, I received one of those fancy pants Lolita martini glasses. I thought it was the greatest fucking thing ever. I was an idiot.

I decided that I would start a martini glass collection, and made it my business to find Lolita glasses on clearance to cheaply add to my collection.

Almost a decade later, I’m now the proud owner of a shelvy thingy full of useless. Fucking. Martini glasses.martini glass collection

You may remember we recently bought a house. I have a place to store and display those fancy fucking martini glasses. Except for the one I broke while I was unpacking them.

What you may not know is that I volunteered to host Christmas for 30-40 people this year. And that I’ve already hosted a couple of large gatherings. And you know what? No one drinks fucking martinis at house parties. They drink beer. And wine. And other shit.

Last week, after Thanksgiving with Brian’s family, I realized that if I’m hosting Christmas, I’m going to need cordial glasses for Bailey’s. And rocks glasses for Manhattans. And snifters for brandy or something.

So I called my mom, who was sleeping. Dad answered, so I asked him, “How many cordial glasses do you have?”

“Four?”

Oh God.

Okay.

When I cleared out the bar after we went out of business, I never thought to grab ALL the glassware. I took shot glasses and stupid shit…like a CASE of fucking martini glasses.  A case. A whole fucking case.

And now I’m a grown up who has to buy cordial glasses and rocks glasses, but has a fucking armory of martini and shot glasses.

So me and martini glasses? Not friends. Even though I have a collection of them hanging out in our dining room.

Do you have an unplanned collection of anything? What do you collect? Have you ever broken a martini glass? Do you think martini glasses are stupid & useless, too?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

In Which Uncle Murphy Paid a Visit to the Girl Who Won’t Stop Bragging About Vacation…Which Starts Tomorrow.

And by Uncle Murphy, I mean the writer of Murphy’s Law. The bastard.

So yesterday, I started the morning with my usual dash to the train and had a few missteps. And once I passed those missteps, thought I was home free. So I Facebooked that shit. Because. You know…that’s what I do.

Crazy Commuter Morning


Note to self: Don’t post this shit on Facebook until the next day.

So I made it to the train; piece of cake. Stuff in tow. I sometimes get on the train on the back car and walk all the way to the front car. I like to be one of the first people off the train to avoid the Union Station cattle call. It’s a good thing. Usually.

As I made my way toward the front of the train, I started to unwrap the layers of warmth surrounding my body that were causing me to sweat. The train gets toasty when it’s full of people.

I sat down in the little vestibule like usual (So I don’t have to sit next to loud, annoying smelly people) and typed up my ordeal. As I started to re-layer up, I realized that my sweet Bears hat was missing. Somewhere between Car 137(this is a made up number FYI) and Car 1, I had dropped my warm and cozy hat. With a one-mile walk and a -20 degree windchill to look forward to. Awesome.

It’s okay, Christine (I call myself this, when I’m angry at self.) You’ve got the scarf and the face mask and the hood. It’s all going to be okay.

Winter 1: Chrissy 0

So I went on with my morning routine. Buttoned my coat, snapped my face mask, wrapped up my  sweet 12-foot scarf, slipped my glasses into my pocket and was on my way.

Doctor Who Scarf

Twelve glorious feet of scarf. More on that next week.

As I crossed the street just outside of Union Station, I slipped on a patch of ice. LUCKILY, I am a master of correcting myself so as not to fall. I know. I know. You’ve seen how many sweet spills I’ve taken. From spraining my ankle on a mountain to tripping over invisible wires to walking into No Parking signs…You can’t exactly call me Grace.

So I didn’t fall. Which is good, because if I had, I would have either A. face-planted into Adams street or B. gone backwards into the metal bridge dealie. But I screamed the obnoxious scream that usually scares the crap out of Brian.

Good work, Christine. You really sealed it with that one. It’s okay though. Let’s go find some breakfast.

I walked the cold walk to Pret, where I picked up a tasty little breakfast thingy with bacon (because all that matters is the bacon. Obvi.)

After Pret, it was only 3 blocks to the office, so I was almost there. I checked the time; things looked good.

We’re ready for the day. It won’t be that bad. You’ve got bacon. You can get a hat on your lunch break. Work’s going to fly by. And vacation is in 2 days. You can do it.

I stepped into my office building and started deconstructing my walk-wear. Because I was pretty blind when I walked (the face mask fogs up my glasses), one of the first things I did was pull out my glasses from my sweatpants pocket.

Well.

Part of my glasses anyways.

As I reached in to grab my specks, the motherfuckers cracked. Something about them being frozen and crackable made that the perfect moment to die.

“MOTHERFUCK!”

I’d like to tell you that I just thought that in my head. I really would.

But no. It came out in all it’s obnoxious glory. And the lovely security lady came to check on me, because I was visibly on the verge of a breakdown. She wanted to help. But she couldn’t. There was nothing anyone could do.

Glasses broke in half because of cold

FML. That’s about the end of that.

So I thanked her. And probably apologized, because I do that when I’m upset. And got into the elevator. Alone.

And then…I cried the ugly cry.

It started with a few Claire Danes sniffles and snorts, but then it went full-out bawling. I could NOT win this morning if I tried.

I crawled into my office, trying to hide my eyes, hoping that they were masked by the cold look everyone seemed to be wearing. I found the only secluded place I knew of in the open office and I just let it all out.

Eventually, I had one of my co-workers come rescue me and she even brought my SWEET work slippers. There’s something about sequined camo that makes the world seem just a little bit brighter.

Sequin Camo Slippers

I’m Polish, OK. So stop judging my holiday Minnie Mouse socks and camo slippers.

I was blind for the first half of my day, but picked up a set of contacts (after getting an unnecessary eye exam in order to get the free trial) and ordered some adorably sassy new specks. And then I remembered that vacation was only HOURS away now.

So here we are. 27 hours away from my flight outta this Frozen Tundra and after a week of vacation joy, I’m coming home to a new pair of specks, the Superbowl (Go Peyton! My LOVE!), the Olympics, house-hunting and so much more joy.

See, things can turn around for the better!

Have you ever had one of those days? Where you just can’t seem to catch a break? Tell me about it. No seriously, tell me about it.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

I Know How to Pick ‘Em (Eye Doctors That Is)

I went to the eye doc this week in order to renew my contact prescription (you know, because my the script for my specs is like 7 years old, maybe older…like 9…and I have no desire to get new glasses…) And this is the conversation that transpired.

Doc: Something tells me that your glasses aren’t from the prescription we had last year.

Me: No…they may be a little older than that…But…I mean, it’s okay, because I NEVER wear my glasses (this is kind of a little white lie).

Doc: Well, you know…in the zombie apocalypse, no one’s going to be running out to find contact solution. Update. Your. Glasses.

Me: *Internal SQUEE!* OK, you’ve got me there…

Doc: I’ve been watching The Walking Dead…

Me: Don’t tell me; we haven’t watched this week’s episode yet.

Doc: After 3 years, the zombies don’t scare me anymore…it’s the people. That backpacker from a few weeks ago? Yeah. Horrible.

Me: Right?! When I have my zombie nightmares on Sunday/Monday nights depending on when we watch it…I don’t dream about the zombies…it’s the people that really get to me.

Doc: You know, I’m not very prepared for it either. No gun. Maybe a few kitchen knives.  Then there are the people who save up food and water and supplies getting themselves prepared for anything…except that they have no weapons. They don’t realize they’re stocking up for the fully stocked armory that is one of their neighbors.

Me: True story, Doc.

Doc: Great show, The Walking Dead. I’ll see you in a year. Get some new glasses, alright?

Me: Sure thing, Doc.

I must be doing something right. Best. Eye Doctor. Ever.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!