My Morning so far...

During my morning jaunt to Starbucks, I complimentd a tiny, Latin woman on her calf-fit, leather boots. We got talking and she was regaling me with her recent Costa Rican vacation tale (see if I had made a homonym error here, it would have changed the ENTIRE vein of this rant) when the barista called me "M'am".

We hit the obvious topics: shopping (easy segue from a comment on her boots), monday blues, co-workers...yes, it was a LONG line.

But it got me thinking how easy it is to start up a conversation in the right context. You put yourself out there--you take a risk: the other person, may or may not respond--if it works, the exchange adds some value to your day.

Spotted outside the starbucks was a lovely, old, Honda scooter (we call them scooters in India...but wait, I think the correct term in the US is moped: it's Vespa-esque): white with a burnt orange racing stripe. Something to be said for retro.

The barista calling me "Ma'm" wiped the smile off my face, but the kindly construction worker hollerin' at me as I walked back to work, slapped it right back in place. "No, bless YOU, kind sir!"

Now, Kelli is offended by cat-callers. She's gone so far as to assualt a security guard in one of her more disgruntled states. I say bring it on...it's a real pick-me-up in the AM. I mean, those guys will holla at anyone--well almost anyone--but it puts a definitive spring in my step...as long as no more than calls come from those cats.

Keep in mind, Kelli also classified herself as "not a pet person" so I'm taking it all with a grain of salt...Akash or Asha (I've scrapped 'Rella and Naina) will be spared the coos of one Auntie Kelli!

100th Entry!

As November wraps up, I post my 100th entry.

I've learned a lot.
Grown a little.

Given up on someone old
Gained something new (German Bank Job)
Decided against something...ugh (Jaylin)
Decided on someone...yay (Puppy)

Planned (Prague Trip)
Purchased (Cell phone)
Prepared (Papers)

This is what I assume a sitcom star feels as (s)he films the 100th episode. The mania is real. The pain is ignored.

Thank you, gentle readers for starting, stopping,and sticking with me.

LG VX5200

Just popped into the verizon store to claim my free phone.
My old one is OLD: Jan. 3, 2003.

This one has COLORS. People, my old phone had COLOR:green--a pale, alien green.
This one has a camera with a FLASH. My old one had none of that.
This one has picture messaging. The old one had text messaging.
This one lets me download ringtones. The old one had standard, annoying tones.
This one has speaker phone. The other one had mute.

Talk about an upgrade.

Cell phone down...
Vespa to come!
Puppy to arrive!

Future boyfriend? Aw. C'mon, I've been really really good this year! Really.

My White Bra

There are as many types of bras as there are women.

Training bras for the little girls.
Sports bras for the athletic girls.
Lacy bras for princesses.
Demi bras for the teasing girls.
Push-up bras for, ahem, big girls who are little.
Underwire bras for big-boobed girls.
Racy bras for the stripper/porn star set.
Nursing bras for the mothers of girls.
T-shirt bras for well, tees.
Shaping bras for um, shape.
Strapless bras for girls in tube tops and strapless dresses.
Thick straps for comfort.
Thin straps for sexiness.

But the unsung hero in the bra kingdom is the plain, white, cotton bra. The every day bra. The bra that gets the job done, that no one notices.

Well, I'm here to say: I appreciate you, white bra of the cotton cloth. Thank you for a job well done, day in and day out. Keep at it...and keep 'em up!

Blogging Blessings

I got my first offer to get paid to blog today. wooohooo

If only my personal life would take off like my professional seems to...no complaints this is a great change of pace from a month ago.

Got the place to myself since Ditha's shooting in India.
Loving my new job into week 2.
One paper down for class this week...only one to go and it's on Bend it Like Beckham, so that's a lucky break.
I'm definitely getting a white maltese pup for christmas. She's the only thing on my list.

theory meets practice...

Theory:
The opposite of love is not hate; it is indifference.
(As I was reading for class tonight, Group Dynamics, this salient statement popped out at me. In my head, I heard it in an academically condescending, British accent)

Practice:
You better check yourself, before you wreck yourself.
(This I hear in Tracey's voice with just a hint of Russian, Communist undertones: each syllable caressed by her gentle mockery.)

Commerical Clarity

The Victoria Secret commerical this evening put it all in perspective...
"Give me everything I want and nothing I need."

That's exactly what I want to say to him with this addendum:
"You represent everything I want, but nothing I need. Fortunately in this time apart I've come to see that I can meet my needs, so come back and fulfill my wants!"

The truth is...I'm everything he needs but I'm not sure he wants it, just yet--if ever again.

Timing is everything--I hope I've waited it out long enough, but at eight months this baby is ready to pop!
Patience was NEVER my virtue.

Toy friend's back

and he's just the same as always...

My communication hiatus a la Jaylin ended today with an IM conversation, a paraphrased excerpt of which would read:
...
Jay--so let's not talk of that night. i truly am sorry. it would be an honor and a privilege to be there for you if you ever called upon me.
Me--Fine by me. Hardly either of our shining moments...though for the record, you came off as not a great friend.
Jay--that's not true, I'm a very good friend. Ask any of my friends, I'm the best. You were getting on my last nerve that night, it's not fair to judge me on that.
Me--I was having an existential crisis and you flipped out. That's pretty much the best time to gauge acceptability of friendship levels...but whateva
Jay--miss me?
Me--lol...I still have your drill, btw.
Jay--I know, I don't need it.
Me--Ok good. I thought you may want it to help Corey and Mike with their place in Hell's Kitchen.
Jay--nah. I never see them anymore. Corey doesn't even have sheets on her bed here, anymore. you wanna come over and watch tv?
Me--Maybe. Your enormous TV would make Patrick Dempsey even hotter--I love Grey's Anatomy--but I have a paper to write.
Jay--then just come over now. you can write the paper here, I have wireless. I'll give you your space.
Me--Nah. I better stay in and get this done.
...

So, I didn't go over. I didn't get the paper done either, but I did get started--so that's progress.

Going to wake up at an un-Godly AM and get it all done. Yes, I know it's already AM--but it's not un-Godly at present.

Procrastination

The hardest part of a project, 9 times out of 10, is getting started. This is especially true of writing papers/theses/dissertations/self-study projects.
Most un-structured or even deadlined sans timeline issues fall into this category of being prolonged by procrastination.

Just as I discovered deep within myself the intrinsic motivation required to be a model employee, I am left scouring my internal being for the corresponding academic component. Can't win 'em all, I suppose.

Now, if only this "beginnings being the hardest" truth only held true for relationship resuscitation! Guess we'll see...this may be a BIG week for me.

WishList

Here's what I want:

Red Vespa named Sal
Cute black helmet for said vespa
Teacup Maltese: need to decide between 'Rella and Naina as potential names
Adorable outfits for above maltese

New electric toothbrush
Black, knee-high, flat but stylish boots
Trouser socks and warm, wintery socks

20something professional gal haircut
Mani-Pedi (NEED it this week!)

Turduchen, anyone?

Am I the only one that had never heard of turduchen?

It's a chicken stuffed into a duck rammed into a turkey with stuffing to boot.

Apparently delicious and not too fowl!
Thanks for the 411, Li--my Cali contributor!

Thanksgiving 2005: Take Two

The thing with Indians is that we never want to stop celebrating. More importantly we don't want to be one upped by our friends and/or relatives in the hospitality department.

Tonight, my mom, her soon-to-be Jewish but born again boyfriend, and I went to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of one of the families that had spent thanksgiving at our home two days ago...sigh...yes, you read it right.

This time the brown kid coffee table turned card table comprised of three boys--the youngest a junior in high school--and two girls (me and a sophomore in college, incidentally the high schooler's sis and the hoster boy's cousin--the last boy was closest to my age and a friend of the hosting son). I was dealer to a game of Kent (aka Signal). The frenzy and acumen brought without stakes was impressive to say the least.

I was inundated with compliments by the old and the elderly for the adorable, flower, knit cap Tracey provided me last night during my brief visit with her. The uggs--though I object to their fashionata favor--kept me warm beyond belief...thanks, Trace--I know, next time I won't knock your style ideas before trying them. They are going to save me from frostbite in Prague in January.

We ate a delicious biriyani--hooray, no more turkey!--and an array of Indian delicacies followed by flan, chocolate cake, and Italian cookies. We keep it diverse at least in the dessert dept.

Just as we were departing my future stepfather found a way to embarrass me: he ambled in on Roop (the random Indian boy, who is incidentally the exact variety of Indian my grandparents would arrage for me--south-indian, christian--malayalee) networking me for the German bank connection. In paternal tradition, he drags my mom into the room under the guise that I was being proposed to by said Indian. The whole thing led to cackling adults and enormously awkward "kids" standing around. If any of our brown cheeks could strike color, we'd have been as pink as a family of Irish in Times Square on New Year's Eve.

From Thanksgivings Gone By

Sunday after Thanksgiving
Penn Station is packed with the teeeming return of home-goers
Under the NJtransit board he stood: white ipod headphones, black murse slung low across his back over a puffy, black ski jacket above straight-leg, beige, floppy cords--a look of casual concentration on his face, the five-o'clock shadow nearing six o'clock.

I was overcome by a desire to drop my overnight satchel and run to him--just as they did in the movies. But I didn't. Instead I stood perfectly still and watched as his eyes searched for me.

When our eyes met, a bemused expression curved his lips and my face opened into a smile. We walked slowly towards each other, battling the masses making their way back to the rat race.

The moment his arms enveloped me, I was home. The familiar D&G cologne--I still can't escape a flashback when it hits me now--the fuzz on his face, scratching my cheek, that kiss after mere days that felt like weeks...we would have many separations but no reunion would be as sweet or gratifying as this first one.

He held my hand, after some resistance from me took my bag, and as I held back skips we made our way to starbucks. Where he ordered his usual tall mocha with four domino packets of sugar and I requested a grande white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso. I always wanted more than he did.

When we parted at Times Square, I spied a neatly packed CD in my bag--he'd slipped it in to surprise me. I LOVE suprises, but I usually figure them out. Our song was on it...the song I made him play every night I slept over in those blissful beginning months, with the one candle lit in his tiny room...we were so naive. I was so happy.

Come away with me in the night
Come away with me and I will write--you a song
Come away with me on a bus
Come away where they can't tempt us--with their lies

And I want to walk with you--on a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come

Come away with me and we'll kiss on a mountain top
Come away with me and I'll never stop loving you...

I wanna wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof
While I lay safe there in your arms
So all ask is for you--to come away with me in the night

Come away with me.

IQ Tests

Verbal
Find the complete word that contains the middle letters: ZYWU
The word is hyphenated.

Math
If 11x9=83
then 7x7=?

Homecoming

The Office is a chain restaurat--by chain, I think there are three or four in Northern NJ--in Summit, where I went to high school.
Every thanksgiving, all or some part of the posse from the golden days meet up for chicken fingers and daquairis at this old haunt.

Poor planning this year resulted in only three of us appearing.

It was great to catch up with my long time-ex, longer standing still boyfriend turned Las Vegas Esquire. His family was warm and welcoming as ever--truth be told I think I spent more time looking at his little bro's prom, graudation, and college photos than I spent with Norman.

Jenn, who joins me with the rest of my NYC girl crew at tea made it out, but it was different being with her again in the nostalgic glow of The Office lights. Her visiting, live-in boyfriend she left at home. She's harder-working and more principled than the rest of us, but she's also more annihilistic--a combination I can not adequately articulate in this medium.

Tracey had to work--but I'll be heading over to her opulent apartment shortly to meet her African tree frogs.

Helen, my British, spent time in an Indian village, granola girl took a break from her disaster-relief day-job in DC but we didn't end up connecting...maybe tomorrow?

Jim, my first gay boyfriend--whom I've tried fruitlessly to replace ever since--has not returned home this year.

Xander whose post-bac goes into its fourth year is also MIA--perhaps at his mom's in Cape Cod this year?

Lacey in her champagne meets cocaine induced musicology state went to GA to see the southern relatives from UMich this year.

That's the clan as it stands--our motley bunch of Summit High School surivors sans school spirit.

Shopping Sucks

Something configured wrong on my double x helix--namely the shopping gene.
I care not to battle the crowds or get the good deals or try on shirt after dress after pant after jacket. Shoot me, shoot me, now.

I've said it and I mean it...shopping sucks!

Bubble Tea

Every Tuesday, it used to be Monday, my best girls and I meet for bubble tea in the East Village...it's our one weekly non-alcoholic night. This is the view that greets me as I walk up 3rd Ave. to Union Square after some tame chit-chat. I can't help but look up--I think it's time to move out of manhattan when you stop appreciating the vertical landscape!

X Factor

I hate to think something as trite as the holiday season is ushering in that "miss my ex" vibe--in lieu of which I will credit that new job mania--but this week I've missed him.

Missed the random texts, IMs, twenty-second phone calls, and super speedy work-to-work e-mails this week--it's been steadily building...it really is him that I miss. Not the relationship and not the drama--but the ease of that dynamic--at least we never had to work at finishing thoughts sans words.

Well, I hope it passes. Maybe it's just that this is his favorite holiday--the one he calls everyone that matters to say just that...you matter, I'm callig you! I know he won't call me, but I wish I warranted that call.

c'est la vie...

que sera, sera
whatever will be, will be

Just seen...

Geriatric Sherlock Holmes with requisite waddle and chin flap (shaped like a perfect human, three-leaf clover) wearing paper boy cap and pin-striped pants under long, black, trench coat.

The pretty blond sitting next to him couldn't help stare, incredulously. Her black fur Russian hat contrasted not-at-all with her black coat, black sweater, black skirt, black--patterned--hose, and black, pointy boots.
I sensed her trepidation...what if he died on the subway sitting next to her--his detective head gently lolling against her. At least that's what I deduced, dear Watson.

11/22

I love palindromes.

November in all it's palindromic calendar glory climbs to third on my fave month list--solely for being 11 of 12.

22, a great year in my life, similarly rings with palindrome fun.

~ELLE
(a pseudonym I am known for some reliance on, also a palindrome)

Vicious

In an effort to be clear and avoid misrepresentation, the definitions of vicious I attempt to live up to on this blog are as follows:

Vicious
1) intense, severe
2) prone to vice

Quote of the Day

"You cannot create experience,
you must undergo it."
-Albert Camus

I agree.

Waking up is hard to do!

Breaking up is tragic and legitimately hard--most will concede...but man, oh man, waking up is hard for me.

No matter how many jobs I hold and no matter how early in the job-having-enthusiasm I stand, I will never become a morning person. Such is the unfortunate circumstance of my birth.

Melodrama aside--I hate mornings. They are the devil.
I repeat. Mornings are the devil.

Insert commercial:
Thank you, baby Jesus, for Starbucks Java Chip Frappuccino and skim, White Chocolate Mocha with a extra shot of espresso. Makes the whole wake-up process, mildly tolerable--the $5 caffeine dependent reward system I've oh-so-creatively--albeit monetarily-draining devised.

Black Beauty Riding Hood

Cloaked as I was in the mid-calf, black coat with faux-fur on the cuffs and hood trimmings that my mom surprised me with this weekend, a somber mood overtook me.

I was reading voraciously "The Improvised Woman" which was in the book bounty Tracey bequeathed me for my birthday--thinking how much I admire Marcelle Clements feminist choice on a woman's desire for permanent single life--when a sense of sheer exhaustion washed over me. For the first time in my life I felt utterly jaded.

Here I was nodding furiously in assent to this woman's choice, the silent version of a black church full of militant women shouting "Amen, sister!", yet I was not living these words. Regularly subtracting from my choice to be single is the bitter realization that I'm too pro-active to WAIT for Mr. Right. My eyes are reflexively searching the subway, the street vendor stands, the bookstores, and coffee shops for him--I'm operating on auto pilot. It's jarring to come to this cognitive dissonance on the 2 train at rush hour; the teeming masses are sensory overload enough.

When I take an honest minute to examine my life...I count the blessings: the great, supportive, loving mom; more than a dozen friends, I'm just lucky enough to have without deserving; the perfect ex-boyfriend, who calls instinctively when I have a bad day; my health, this great new job, I haven't earned, etc..
Yet, it always comes back to the one thing I don't have that I want more than my next Big Gulp spiked with Puerto-Rican rum--that tingly loving feeling as my eyes close and my head tilts upwards, awaiting the sweet lips of the man I love more than myself as he breathes into me his longing...

Realizing you're just as hopeless as everyone else: Humbling!

Junior Training Manager vs. Junior Learning and Development Advisor

Day 1--German Bank

Other than confusion surrounding my actual title, today was the world's perfect first day. I arrived promptly at 8:30am--a true feat, for me!

A Training Coordinator (the role I actually interviewed for) began with me. She's fresh out of college and seems very sweet. What was sweeter still was getting to assign her work. I always knew I was meant to delegate.

The team had a lovely lunch set up for us. The environment is definitely much, much, much better than Silverstein Katz--if you recall, I hated every minute with those bastards. 10 hours just flew by!

Highlight of my day--listening to random conversations in German and thinking my linguistic abilities had temporarily forsaken me, only to realize it was in fact one of those languages I did not know. phew!

DeRailed

Caught DeRailed with my mom at Regal in Union Square...completely predictable.
It was sweet that my mom "ooh-ed" and "aah-ed" in all the mass media produced places. She has this "mom" tendency to comment out-loud at the most inappropriate times.

I totally see what it's like to vicariously enjoy something through a child's eyes--that must be at least part of why people have them. To enjoy what you once did but can't in that way with your own old eyes. My mom's a pediatrician--not retarded--just emotioally tuned in to the "little" people channel.
I must say it took every morsel of strength for the patient angel within to strangle to an arrogant silence my impatient devil side.

My mom's been great, especially since we stopped sharing a roof and I've stopped reporting more than I choose about my choices.

He's Back!

Truece? Let By gones be by gones and go back to hanging out?
FYI here is where you can buy Blood Brothers Karmacy Album
http://www.karmacy.com/

Jaylin

That's the e-mail that greeted me eaerlier today!

Now...it's not a truce because we were never in a fight. I was having a less than happy drunk day and he flipped a switch, slamming the door behind him...about a month ago and we haven't talked since.

What's a girl to do?

Good-bye Unemployment

Back to my Wall Street drone life I go, this time at a German Bank.
8:30am Monday morning with Starbucks in hand, silenced cell phone in bag, and a power suit snugly about my frame I will comport myself with the utmost professionalism.

I must disclose that I'm proud of myself. I have been offered a slightly higher-paying, better-titled position than the acceptable post I applied for with the firm.

Much like bid day after sorority rush, my euphoria at being selected thrives strong. Knowing full well that I would get picked since they pick the ones they like and I am most certainly likable in their construct--yet the joy of being chosen is not diminished. I love human nature for all the nuances within.

Conspiracy Theories

I never realized the many conspiracy theories surrounding 9/11. Yes, I am that naive. No, I did not come to this on my own.

During my job-long (9-hour) date yesterday, my suitor directed his laptop to site after site pertaining to how the attacks were a carefully crafted inside job. I'm sure you can google such results.

Of course, he also didn't "buy" the idea that the holocaust was real.

Clearly, he's a conspiracy junkie...tinged in anti-semitism. Classic scapegoating.
Why is it always the Jews?

I was sad to discover this dealbreaker...he was almost perfect.
Well, the "I love babies and can't wait to have my own" coupled with "I hate New York City and can't wait to move to Long Island or Westchester" did dredge up memories from my worst nightmares if unfortunately realized. Another paper perfect man, bites the dust.

Next...

Playing at Dessert

 


Bruno's decadent chocolate mousse cake drove me to create this little scene, much to my date--the allergist drummer's--amusement.

Nugget of the Day:
If you can photograph your handiwork, by all means play with your food! 

Rorshach Inkblot

 
What do you see when you look at this photo?


What it actually is:
A lamp hanging in the window of a new Egyptian-inpired restaurant bar between Senor Swanky's by Bleeker and Bruno's Bakery.

I fiddled a little with Picassa to sharpen the photo to give it a cartoon quality finish... 

Crazy

When you start falling for someone...
why do you feel like you need to unearth every possible fragment of their life before you? Why do you stop at nothing to discover their likes, dislikes, quirks, idiosyncracies, and every imaginable tendency?

Is it because you think it will help you get over them? Is it because you feel like you have to make up for lost time?

These are the questions drumming in my head tonight as I lay me down to rest.
I think I may actually like someone again...someone new and wonderful. Someone who likes me and may be able to keep liking me as they unravel me.

I don't know if my heart is ready for this again...but here I go back on the love merry-go-round. spin...spin...spin

It's all for a possibility. We go through an array of tests, temptations, and torments for a chance--just a chance at real love (whatever that means)!

Big Brother

When I got to college, Rahul became the big brother I never had (being an only child as I am). He made fun of me without bathroom breaks, nagged me about my study habits, insisted I eat my veggies, and dragged me to the first holiday dance when his suite-mate (the first brown boy I ever liked) scorned me for my enemy.

Ok, he sounds more like a mother from that description, but I saved face at the end, rght?

Rahul was an attractive, international student (from the motherland) aroud whom Hopkins women gathered. He was oblivious to this. They, in turn, were oblivious to the reality and extent to which he was studious--SO anal about his studies. Of course, at Hopkins that very well could have been a turn-on. The equivalet of a beer-chugging contest at a state school is a man's ability to isolate himself and study on D-level at the library at Hopkins.

During my time in APhi, I was approached more than once by sisters for a true Indian style introduction to Rah-Rah. This baffled me at the time, given the utterly anal-retentive qualities I attributed to him.

Well, Rahul and I haven't been close or spoken much since college. Partly because his engineering job moved him to California, partly because he's dating Song--a lovely girl with an unusually large face who insists on keeping "the peace" at the price of squelching my internal contrarian--not to mention that just as siblings we are adept at pushing one another's buttons.

He's my first friend I lost to a future spouse. It's so true that if you don't get along with a friend's spouse, the friendship inevitably suffers. sigh.

Rah sent me a friendster message last night after Shiv's mass e-mail about Neil landed in our inboxes. It's salient because his was the address on the e-mail list that jumped out at me and created a sense of lost longing. There's something comforting about a friedship where you know without a doubt that the person's intentions are pure even if their words drive you mildy mad most of the time.

It's nice to know we're still on the same page sometimes, bro!

Curry-N-Rice Girl

The crazy, silly song and dance routine is not limited to Bollywood. Ditha drew me into her room this afternoon between peals of laughter to show me this hysterical music video her college house-mate had sent her.

Curry-N-Rice Girl by MC Vikram and Ludakrishna, check it out on google video!

It's HILARIOUS!

Silver Heart

I graduated college with this guy who was awarded a silver heart.
Read all about Neil's Silver Heart

Thanks to Shiv I have the 411. Kelli mentioned a blog, if I can find it I'll post that too...props to service!

I put my foot down

 

After watching Oprah's jean special this afternoon featuring jean expert, Stacy London, I was compelled to don my size 10, boot-cut, stretch, slightly faded, stone-washed denim jeans--I'm a hair under 5'4" which means I should steer clear of boot-cut, dark denim is the norm for night, and fades are sternly frowned upon if they accentuate a problem area (like the thigh or butt)--it's apparently not flattering to the female figure. However, to minimize all this damage, I took Stacy's advice and incorporated a black, velvet, pointy-toed heel to elongate the leg as best I could to maximize my denim look.

That leaf got in my way and I stepped squarely on it with my triangulated toes--showed that leaf who's boss! 

Red is

 
Power
Communism
Sexy
Angry
Prosperity
Willful
Dangerous
Bright

The opposite of beige? 

Avant-Garde

 


Perhaps the exact opposite of this!

I caught Tracey in one of the mirrors of the many Vespas we encountered and frantically photographed whilst ambling through the village this evening. She was pulling away from a close-up, when I caught her close-up.

Don't you love when the "artist" tells you exactly what transpired, in lieu of having to ponder fruitlessly? 

Intra Racism

There are three kinds of relations within the spectrum of intra-race dealings.

There are the extremes and the middle ground...for our purposes, in that I live my life in extremes, let us discuss just the ends of the spectrum.

Since I am Indian, let me broadly generalize across my race:

There are the Indians that LOVE other Indians, in that they will look the other way on issues they find morally inflammatory if the defendant is Indian.

Then there are the Indians that LOATHE other Indians (usually this excludes their families, but in some cases it does not). They are morally opposed to few issues but will "crucify" the Indian defendant for the mildest of injuries to their sensibilities.

Now what inflames me in all this is the rules of dating as they apply in this context. I have NO patience for the Indians who WILL NOT date Indians based on the sole reason of being anti-Indian. Really, look at your little brown paw, what's with the self-hate?

I am all for interracial dating and marriage--no one is suggesting your soulmate's skin has to match yours--but to exclude yourself from dating your race is WRONG!
I am standing up against it, morally...

Incidentally, I don't believe in soulmates. I am all for souls and mates, even mating for life. As long as babies need not be birthed by me.

ROUND II

I made it to round two...after six interviewers in 2.5 hours.

The head honcho is Indian and her husband works at Silverstein Katz, the company I just left. Good feelings all around!

The Interview

I'm to meet with Dennis Delgado to accept the inevitable reality that it's back to banking for me. Now the name Dennis invites memories of Dennis the Menance and the Delgado referencess to The Thin Man--not the images you want your interviewer to conjure up for you to maximize your comfort level and prevent any/all performance anxiety.

Well, my master interviewee skills will be put to the ultimate test. (flexes!)

I'm less nervous about landing the job and already anxious aboutthe staying power I lack for the follow through of holding onto it. It's like being a really really hot guy who doesn't have trouble landing chicks, dream girls even, who doesn't suffer from impotence but tends to ejaculate prematurely. sucks!

I really CANNOT quit aother job before it hits the 2-year mark. My career committment is starting to get in the way of job satisfaction and any hope of security and happiness therein. argh.

Rediscovery!

Poignant.

The glee of discovering something novel and remarkable sparks within us hope...above all else. Hope that there is stuff out there we like so much and its surprising surfacing in our life affirms the good in the world.

Better than discovery is rediscovery: finding joy in something you found. You discovered it to be delightful and it still delights you.

That Penn Masala mp3 you loved, but forgot existed on your hard drive all these months/years later.

The carton of indo-chinese take out you realize isn't empty.

You still like your ex, even if the love is gone--it all started with a like.

$20 in your wallet after a drunken night out when you thought you spent your last nickel on post debaucherous pizza!

Your high school best friend--that you're different and so is she, but you're still best friends.

The feeling you got the first time you spied Summer Days by Georgia O'Keefe.

The truth that your mother misses you more than you think you miss her.

Crying when Marlen thinks Nemo's dead for the third time you watch Finding Nemo--yeah, those animated films bring out the waterworks.

Jane Austen

I am a woman.
I neither enjoy nor appropriately appreciate Jane Austen.

I will refrain from writing sentence after sentence critiquing the trite premise of each tale she weaves sans real imgination or the veiled feminism that peeks through, dissappointing with each turn of the page.

Charlotte Bronte...now, her, I like! Ok, I like Jane Eyre and that's about the extent of my knowledge on the topic of Charlotte. She had two sisters. They wrote books. One of them was Emily. She wrote Wuthering Heights--which I have not read.

That's my admission for the day...perhaps the week.

Modern Still

 


I'll never shoot fruit.
I can't paint.

As best I could capture it--here's the lovely lamp pair at Balthazaar I couldn't get enough of--much to Jaylin's amused chagrin.

I'm a novice, I'll get better...(I hope!) 

1985

 


Before America
Before Music
Before Friends

There was family.
There was India.
That's mini me! 

I *heart* Mommy!

 


People always say my mom and I look alike.

People always comment how quiet I am when they meet me in her presence--I stay in the shadows, you see...where I am most comfortable when it comes to my mom.
I let her do the talking. I authorize her to make the decisions--not that I don't disagree with her. She's a vehement Bush supporter for crying out loud--I pretty much started voting just to cancel out her "wrong" vote.

Our mother-daughter relationship evolved into a friendship--this started as early as age 4--it was never conventional. Being a two-person family, my mom has always included me on family decisions--asking for my opinion and honoring it. It's a lot like the Gilmore Girls sans the recent falling out.

So, here we are grayed out--two brown ladies who exist in our spheres in full living color--I just had to mute us for a bit, so you can see where I get my "good looks". 

Ninja Tommy

 

Ladies...here's Tommy for the taking!
I know you can't see his face, but look at those beautiful blue eyes...he's single, unbelievably--so comment and I'll put up more pics of sexytommy.

Thanks for everything pal for all the on-the-ledge talks, the yummy food, being my museum buddy even if you're not crazy for art, listening, advising, laughing, drinking, being perfectly Tom. See, I don't always take you for granted. 

Lights! Camera! Action!

 

Halloween 2005
Madhatter Special K, Fairy Karen, Nurse Me, Ditha the Kitty, and Sailor Moon Stella (visiting all the way from DC!)

This isn't exactly an action shot.
Yes, Tracey--I still hate candid shots--opting in my conventional way for warning enough to pose.

Finally, uploaded my crazy picture-taking endeavors since my mom's boyfriend bestowed upon me a shiny, silver digital camera for my birthday (can't believe it was almost a MONTH ago).

Thanks for helping me find my USB port, Tommy! (why does that sound like a euphemism?--It's not!)

Mike's been requesting "slutty" Halloween photos--I'm sorry to report that I'm pretty tame, practically a prude, for "an ex-sorority girl" (yay stereotypes!) Hooray for fighting them--that's the way to be a real-life super heroine! Glad we can do that the other 364 and 1/4 days a year that aren't halloween....live a new day to fight the same prejudice(s). 

WWI

94 years ago, in 1911, on this date it began: World War I

Of course at the time, it was jut called the World War. That's the bonus of being the first; you don't know if you warrant a sequel. If you do, history stamps upon you the seal of "Number One".

Hmm...wonder if the oldest born (on some unconscious level) senses in their parents a need to go for a repeat performance in spawning further. Is this some sort of insult or a compliment?

Makes me glad my parents' arranged marriage only lasted long enough to make me.

In 1998, at 17

I loved Z100 and made a mixed tape that went something like this:

Alanis Morrissette--Head over Feet
Dave Matthews Band--Crash
Jewel--Morning Song
Green Day--Good Riddance
Billie Myers--Kiss the Rain
Sarah McLachlan--Remember Me
Jennifer Paige--Crush
Vitamin C--Graduation Song
Chumbawumba--Tubthumping
LeAnn Rimes--How do I live?
Robyn--Show me Love
All Saints--Never Ever
Cypress Hill--Insane in the Membrane
Third Eye Blind--Semi-Charmed Life
Lisa Loeb--I do
Shania Twain--You're Still the one
Aerosmith--I don't wanna miss a thing
K-Ci and JoJo--All my Life
Elton John--Candle in the Wind
Barenaked Ladies--One Week

Yeah...no one in college would BELIEVE my musical tastes were quite this white-washed since I became a "ghetto fabulous is my gospel" listener shortly upon entering the Hopkins campus.

I blame Baltimore city and one Li Chen!
Thanks Li!

An homage to popular music--Go Team Mainstream!

Esoteric

Sitting at Mustang's with Kelli this afternoon, spooning warm chicken tortilla soup into my mouth we got to discussing why our friends come down so hard on us.

Kelli: Film noir is great, but after a long day of work my brain just wants to detox

Me: Word. I pick the summer blockbuster every time.

Kelli: I think they (our friends) expect more from us because we're capable of dissecting and appreciating the intellectual nuances in the foreign film.

Me: But we choose not to. Honestly, I get it but I can't be bothered with it. It's laziness on one hand and I like my entertainment mainstream and escapist. why do I have to apologize for it?

Kelli: It's really our choice they frown upon. I don't want to be esoteric, since when is this a crime?

Me: Wow. This diatribe merits credits on Dawson's Creek (or the latest teen-angst ridden WB show!)

Kelli: Amen to that. Pass the hot sauce.

Me: You can't handle the green sauce, white girl!

Subway Scenes

Riding the 6 train, I've been noticing more than I usually do--unharried as I am by job or real world worries.

Some items that amused me:

A trio of Seinfeld-esque characters with requisite late '80s/early '90s cut jeans with ice skaters slung over their shoulders making their way to Bryant Park. Very white people discussing the demerits of black people using the "n" word.

A grungy high school chap with two large hula hoops, hugging one of the subway poles for dear life as the train lurched sharply between Union Square and Astor Place--carefully twirling his joint between his thumb and index fingers.

A woman wearing pants so tight, every demarcation of her underwear was clearly visible--like car wreck inspired rubber-necking few could look away. I'm not sure which I'm advocating more: thongs or looser pants--both? Yes, in that moment I was the fashion police.

A good-lookng black man, stylishly suited and booted reading "Predator's Ball"--incidentally has nothing to do with basketball for you stereotypers in our midst, but a must-read for the finance crowd (according to Shiv).

The Story of Shiv

Unlike me, V remained consistent in his choice of college roomie--Shiv. Shiv and I had a bumpy start and continue to experience rough patches along the way, but we are friends.

In college, Shiv slacked almost as much as I did, except while I went out to party and do the sorority thing he caught up with work. He changed majors from Chem E. to Econ junior year and found his true calling, I have yet to find mine--but I kept having fun.

Shiv introduced me to music--like me--once he finds a song, he has a tedency to play it on repeat on his computer till he tires of it. To this day, Outkast "Sorry Miss Jackson" brings back memories of crawling out of bed at noon to Shiv knocking on V's door, arguing about take-out, dialing it in, watching mind-numbing TV till V got back from class--cleaning up and heading to dinner, anywhere but the caf. We built this sibling dynamic or so I thought...

Shiv moved up here to be a hotshot i-banker after graduation. His hours were laborious, his free time miniscule--I hardly saw him, but he called me frequently for ride and talks (as the company car drove him home between 11pm-1am, he called me to kill commute time and check in). I was surprised I registered enough on his post collegiate scale to warrant consistent attention, but I thought nothing of it.

Shiv is a bit of a gossip monger--a quality we love to hate about him--but thanks to him we always know what's up with who, since when...

Here is Shiv's story: About a year ago, his friends began teasing him with the notion that I harbored a secret crush on him-which he bought with no confirmation or conversation with me. Confused and afraid, he stopped talking to me. A few months went by and I started dating "the devil" seriously whence Shiv resumed contact.

At first I thought nothing of it, but when questioned he filled me in on the story. I was enraged. Knowing him well enough not to bruise his fragile ego I didn't "poooh pooh" the notion hard--at least not with the rib-aching laughter it deserved--just made clear I had never had such intentions.

I should point out that I never once went off on a tangent on how Shiv had a crush on me, when everyone I know including my mother frequently teased me with this. I knew and still know better than to malign our innocent dealings with any hint of sexual tension--the maturity would give way to fits of giggling.

Now, the reason all this resurfaces is that my annoyance at said going-on came into play earlier this week, when he IMed me from London--where he is temporarily posted--and this issue re-emerged. He apparently still holds true that I "liked" him and no amount of clear explanation on my part to the contrary permeates his thick skull. He tries to get me to "admit" it. Now, you tell me--wouldn't you be pissed?
He stops talking to me based on a crazy assumption, when it is denied let's it go but continues to believe it as meritorious--then wants me to admit to it, when I've gone over how it is NOT TRUE!

Why do I care so much you ask? This lady doth not protest enough...

Shiv and I have this sibling rivalry thing--and I HATE--HATE--HATE when he claims a moral victory over me. Inevitably, in issues where I am passionate I get emotional and get docked too many points for a clear win. This is personal and I will not lose, even to his mental construct.

Now that he has found the perfect woman--yay!--I think I can say this without hurting his feelings enough to send him traveling in a psychogenic fugue: If Shiv was the last man alive I would not date him because I am not attracted to him. It would feel like incest. Also because I could not maintain a straight face at the thouoght of us locked in a passionate embrace.

Shiv is my friend. I am glad that he's finally dating someone he really likes: he's a picky bloke. I'd love to meet this perfect woman and bask in the glow of their love. There is something electric about being in the company of true love. Real. Strong. Timeless love. I want all my friends to find that, ideally after I do, but I don't begrudge a few passing me on the track.

I hope we will always be friends. He brings out my competitive spirit which lies dormant till it is challenged and poked from just the right angle. I'm past being irked by this and embrace it for the value it adds in my type B existence.

Mail Call

My mom sent me a card in the mail as she is wont to do periodically.
This one is notable in that I was willing it to contain a check, which it did not. It pictured an adorable white girl snuggling with a kitty--my mom said it reminded her of a black and white photo of me at the same age with our neighbor's cat on my lap...except I bore a dot on my forehead and came out pretty gray in the photo. AWE!

The New York Division of Labor has denied my qualification for unemployment to my chagrin turning to trepidation. What in God's name am I gonna do now? Guess it's to temping next week if no leads surface on the job front. Fuck!

The newest issue of my "Bill me later" Time Out New York arrived. I must say I prefer New York Magazine. I realize they are competitors but they are utterly different in the fabric of their content--I don't see how they compete. I wonder how they pick the centerfold, average New Yorker to feature in New York mag...curious!

Ditha's cell phone bill.

Teachers College informing me I still owe them $1271.92 for this semester. AGAIN!?!

Citibank student loan informing me my $1272 citi-assist loan has been disbursed. Phew!

Cyber Restraining Order

One of the e-mails that greeted me this morning was "Moti sewer ki batchi" which in hindi translates to "Pearly child of the sewer" or the more likely "Fat Sewer Bitch". I promptly changed my spam settings to no longer receive e-mails from that address.

The back story goes like this;
Against my better judgement I went on A date with an Indian (yes, another one) young (23) banker (obviously an analyst). I didn't feel any chemistry and the fact that he was a smoker was a HUGE turn-off, so I said a polite goodnight--reject his attempts at kisses and fled home.

He's been IMing me on and off and last night I just didn't want to talk to him, so I didn't engage him and remained fairly unresponsive, till he got angry and started furiously IMing me with "Slut" (see you next tuesday--I hate that word. If that makes me a prude so be it--I'm not denying anyone else's freedom of press, but I'm not putting it on my blog!), etc. So I blocked his screen name. This enraged him further so he started IMing me with another screen name which I refused to block because 1) he wanted me to block it, he kept taunting me 2)it became apparent to me that this would just lead to more screen names being used against me. So I just quit talking to him--minimized his AIM window and continued on.

This has led to him texting me twice and e-mailing me from two different e-mail addresses, both of which I have blocked--but I'm not sure if he gets a block message, since I used my spam controls to do it. Ignorinng him isn't working as well as I'd hoped, but what's my recourse?

Do cyber restraining orders exist? Without his IP address (even with it), what can I really do to protect myself from the slings and arrows of this man?

Peace Restored

Ditha and I have been tip-toeing around one another since "Invasion of Privacy" over the weekend.

This evening I returned home to a card on my door: Ditha redeems herself. I felt my fury melting at the mere gesture. Who knew I was a big softie?

It must be noted that my natural instinct in conflict is to write a note/card/post-it. I find this most cathartic, if that is not possible I write about it in a diary, which this blog has become.

The crux of the note is an invitation to a sit-down conversation on what transpired and a heartfelt (or adequately convincingly heaartfelt) apology from Ditha. It made me realize that so much of my outrage was for her not accepting responsibility for what happened, not to say what happened was acceptable.

I must admit a part of me feels small and immature for not initiating this conversation already. How long could this have gone on? Left to my devices, perhaps till Ditha left for India. I can be damn obstinate. I'm not even sure what it was I was holding onto so tightly in not making contact. I guess it was my unconscious way of diffusing the dynamic we've built. Where I enable her to depend on me to do the mature thing? Let's call it what it is: co-dependcy. I need her to need me and she in turn needs me to baby her. It's a system we built together and I have to take responsibility for my part in it.

Bowling

Erre met Will and I on the corner of 120th and Broadway to hop the 1 train down to Monday night bowling. He evaluated my future husband as a 92 on the gay scale--do I need to tell you how heart breaking it is to have this suspicion confirmed.

Just moments before Will had been saying and I quote "I was thinking it would be fun to round up some of the people in our Group Dynamics class...I'd really like to get to know you better, the way you think..." (blush)

We kept exchanging knowing, playful looks through class as well. He even popped over too see how I was doing before class started because he hadn't seen me the day prior, since I skipped the last day of the Tavistock Conference. I love him. sigh.

Tommy beat Erre in six out of nine games, but Er held onto the last three victories as the ultimate indicator of his success. When we parted ways it was a bit of a race to see who would get home first to their AIM (aol instant messenger) to inform Li Chen in Cali Cali of their bowling bravado. Boys!

I'm presently giving Li the girl version with particular focus on my hopefully requited but forever unfulfilled love for Will.

Fall Sweeps

Fall Sweeps week has come and gone, but my life stays in flux.

I'm still waiting for that week after the time chages when that warm, fuzzy, pre-winter feeling sweeps over me like sitting wrapped in a throw, sipping hot cocoa, on an oversized couch. Still waiting...

For a pro-active someone, this standstill I find myself in is both debilitating and confusing. I'm not sure why my life is on pause, as if someone pushed the button and forgot to come back but the DVD player has not yet shutdown, my image frozen in this moment on the screen--bare. It's unnerving!

How did this happen to me? I don't remember letting it, but I guess somewhere along the line I did. Life doesn't happen, unless you let it.

VJ

Picture this: Me hosting my own 30-minute show on Saturday mornings on Namaste America. I've also pitched blogging for them to appease my future fans with more me.

Cool idea, right? More to come, as soon as I know more.

As for Chivas Life Editor Search--Tommy and I found thin, rejection letters in the mail a few days ago...I hope my quest to be a video presence is not met with the same fate. sigh.

Crush

I have a crush on Will in my Group Dynamics class.
We've spent a lot of time together as part of our required Tavistock Conference experience today. He mirrored my attractive comment and hugged me when we parted...swoon.

My gaydar is so off in this city with all the metrosexuals running around, I hope he's not gay. But if he is...I think the quest for my gay boyfriend is FINALLY over.

He is the Will to my Grace.

*Those of you that don't appreciate the pop culture references for the trite drivel they are...suck it up--it sparks identity/relatability!

Part+ Part + Part = Sum

The sum is greater than its parts.

Of course this is mathematically true, but in the context of our interpersonal relationships can one part not significantly detract from the sum to the extent that the sum is no longer worth it?

(Just shelve your wise ass, math savvy comments: if the largest part is negative then the sum is negative blah blah blah--I do want to interject that if all parts of it are negative then the sum is not in fact greater than its parts--so HA!)

Tauren and Summer invited me to dinner last night. I was tired but didn't want to renege on them per usual, so I happily went to Arriba Arriba. We had some wonderful and stimulating conversation about race and the conflicts of dating across it.

What brings me to the sum and parts issue is the comment Taurean made when the darker, arguably morbid, part of me surfaced at the end of the evening. He's made them before and they always make me angry because I feel invalidated. He's one of my best friend's and by not valuing this part of me it makes me question the basis of our friendship. He only wants to deal with happy, bouncy, bubbly me--which is me most of the time, but it's not all of me. More importantly I think in many ways it is the cover above the real me--thus feeling invalidated.

He chooses not to be around me when I'm "like this", but in that choice he is saying "This part of you. Don't like it. Won't deal with it. So be the you I like or bounce" I think men have a greater tendency to do this than women. This is not to say women don't or even that I haven't done this. But man's (male!) fundamental nature is to fix things and Taurean can't fix me, so that disengages him. That hurts. It makes me feel uncomfortable about expressing a part of myself around him--so how am I to be myself?

I also experience a degree of cognitive dissonance because as a actor, he should be able and willing to cope with this aspect of me. But he won't. If we are so close and he confirms regularly that we are, then why won't he?

More pressingly, I know he's not a fairweather friend, but he certainly is a "mood dependent" friend. In disagreeing with a part of me, he is going farther than plain contratian Taurean he is discounting the value and my ability to control this aspect of my being. I mean, what's next...don't be wear green?

These guys DO exist!

Are you high maintenance? - 29

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: pers-109104556@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-11-05, 4:13PM EST


What can I say, I love high maintenance women. I love how they act like little princesses and I love pampering them and buying them whatever it is they want. New handbags every week, the latest Jimmy Choo's... you want it, I'll provide it. I love how they need attention 24/7 and their whimsical nature. To me, they are women who aren't afraid to be women. Let me indulge you and we can both get what we're after.

this is in or around Manhattan

no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests




109104556


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Invasion of Privacy

Ditha loves to jump into bed with me and boyfriends of mine. There's a particular story she loves to tell on this topic. It transpired at one of our house parties when my then boyfriend and I snuck into my room (which is always off-limits/the coatroom at our parties) for a little "private" time, Ditha romped in and dove into bed with us. In the manner puppy or small child crawls into bed with you. This would not have been a problem if other drunken guests hadn't followed her cue. When she felt overcrowded she simply got off the pile and loped off. I was not afforded this luxury. It must be added that I was under the covers and not wearing any pants through the duration of this incident.

I didn't think it was funny at the time and I certainly did not think it was funny when she retold it to her now "boyfriend" (I use the term loosely). I don't have many boundaries with Ditha but being an only child I prize my space. It is my sanctuary and my private, personal sphere. I don't think this is unique to me, but different people have different boundaries. I certainly respect her space and her room with the level of respect I wish returned to me. I also think the story as she told it authorized him to act as he proceeded to.

This morning at 3:34am when her boyfriend and she got home from a night out(admittedly drunk, but I don't condone or justify behavior under the influence: take responsibility, irrespective of condition. If you are that inept drunk, don't drink!). He came barging into my room while I was asleep and climbed into bed next to me--trying to rouse and engage me in conversation. I had a 9am class this morning. Suffice to say I was not happy. Ditha was protesting some, I was asleep and when roused proceeded to feign sleep, though she climbed into bed with us, momentarily, before dragging him out of my room.

This morning as I was racing out the door to class, late as usual. Ditha's overnight guest proceeds to banter with me and laugh up the events of the evening. When he saw that I was not laughing or even engaging with him, he switched gears and pretended not to remember the evening prior, explaining that Ditha had notified him of his drunk doings. Neither party apologized to me. I confronted neither. I chose to leave and opted for Ditha's preferred mode of dealing with conflict: avoidance.

I know the pressing question is why I didn't lock my door. Well, the answer to that is simple. My door does not have a lock on it. Living in a one bedroom convertible the expectation is that privacy will not be required.

It should also be noted that I often sleep naked. This is my prerogative and a personal preference. Thankfully at the time I had a t-shirt on and blanket wrapped around me, but what if I hadn't? Am I not allowed to sleep naked if my door is sealed shut but unlocked because I have a roomie?

I am not motivated to discuss this with Ditha, but if I let this go...what next?

Overdraft

I am really regretting not taking the $500 upgrade to my current $1K in overdraft protection. Citibank's offer still stands but I'm no longer in the standing to make this transaction.

I hate money!

Rosie

My little (she's 21) cousin, Rosie spent yesterday evening with Tommy and I. We were participating in one of our "weed and wine" sessions. It was her first time joining us, though she is far more adept at the weed than we are. I like to think I'm one up on her on the wine.

I suspect she had a bit much of both. Her woozy behavior might have been the symptom that led to my suspicion. Nonetheless, I made the executive decision that she spend the night; since she was no condition not to comply, she obliged. She'd left before I awakened, but had the courtesy to leave me a sweet message apologizing for unknown shameful acts as well as heartfelt gratitude for my forceful invitation that she stay over.

Her behavior was nothing but kosher, in her altered state, but her politeness touched me. Her high-dials were plentiful, and I hope her friends found amusement in her insistence that she was "in fact, acting and not at all high!" Gosh knows Tom and I found it hilarious in our own states of being.

Ditha joined us late in the game but for the sober sister, showcased nothing but support and general coolness of being. Props! I think I would have been sour in that scenario but she was the picture of grace.

Letting Go

My mom had a hard time letting go when I graduated from high school and went off to college, but she came to terms with it. I am grateful for this. I am even more grateful that she did this in a way that did not impact me, negatively.

I've been struggling with the end of something meaningful in my life. It ended seven months ago (not that I'm counting!), but I haven't been able to let go. Holding on, unconsciously--maybe I mean subconsciously--unable to shed its importance in my life. Letting go to me, devalues what was--it doesn't have to--but it does. That's my personal struggle.

Ditha, who I complain to incessantly, purveyor of pearls finally had it with me. She said to me plain as Jane, "You need to let this go. For you. For once and for all." She's very positive and in my life that's very healthy. I'm skeptical of everyone and everything--motives, mentalities, agendas and conspiracy theories rule me--untrusting that I am. Ditha, not so much. This usually lends me not to heed her words. But this time around, I know she's right. I need to let go of this.

But how does one stop caring? How does one let go without forgetting? How does one forgive oneself for not letting go sooner? For not knowing better than to take hold?

How do I forgive without condoning actions that hurt me, badly--perhaps permanently? How do you move on when the other party will not engage with you in the process? I guess, therein lies the truth. This is about me and the more I make it not...the less likely I am of overcoming it.

I hope this truth has set me free. This truth I cannot handle. This truth that is raw and real and painful.

Homage to Bridget Jones & MC Ads

Employment: None

Boyfriends: None
Boys who are friends: 8
Boys I could call for a hook-up, who aren't friends: 3

Pounds lost: 0
Pounds gained: 0

Drinks imbibed: One Venti Java Chip frappucino (starbucks, of course)
Drinks planned for later: 4-5 mixed

Friends lost: 0
Friends gained: 2


Tribute to Mastercard (sponsor of my monetary status at present):
Where I thought I would be in my life at 25: Serious boyfriend in tow in line for an inside (non-windowed) office.
Where I am in my life: Single (with nothing real in sight), unemployed, and living with a roomie.
Having a great relationship with my mom, loving my roomie, having loving friends: Priceless

Sleep Talking

Tracey Lord (not the under-age porn star but the character from my high school years in the sitcom of my life) is explaining, nay apologizing, to me for sleep talking to me last night. She has no memory of our 10 minute conversation other than picking up her phone and the degree to which I was animated.

Apparently, being awakened by the phone ringing triggers an immedite white lie response of, "No, I absolutely was not sleeping!" in Tracey.

This got me thinking...don't we all have little lies we tell for no apparent reason. I don't mean the kind of lies to spare feelings, "No, mom the meatloaf is delicious" or "Yes, dear, you look lovely in that dress!". Perhaps the kind of lies I mean have more to do with saving face. Though, I'm not even sure if that captures the sum of experiences in this variety of lie. It harms no one and it serves no apparent purpose, but unconsciously we blurt it out and then stick to it--because, well...we've blurted it out, so in the sticking to the lie we save face.

I mean, I don't care if she was sleeping. I don't judge her. It was 3am on a tuesday, why wouldn't she be sleeping? But, at the time she involuntarily flexes her truth deflector muscles and insisted to me that sleeping, she was not. Now, the amazing thing with Trace is that she comes clean with me, today. We've been friends so long and she's clued me in on enough lying schemes that the tedium of keeping lies straight with me has been obliterated from our relationship by copious amounts of truth. I'm her vessel of truth--there was a time I helped her keep the lies straight, but now the drama wanes in our "old age" and there is no need for me to assume that role, so I don't since she doesn't need me to.

It's not about the sleeping. The latent issue with these lies is understanding why we tell them. They are obviously rooted in something from our unique, individual psychodynamic pasts. So, what do you lie about? Why?

Vicious Me

At Dewey Beach over 4th of July weekend this year in my "Sweet" tank, I'm anything but.

I was pretty vicious at those parties, armed with knowledge that my girl posse was available for immediate backup if my words led to a throwdown.

Incidentally this is also my JDate profile pic. No, I'm not Jewish...just jew-curious

Sweet Me

Look at me all sweet and innocent with the flames rising from my head after opening Christmas presents in 2002. Ah, happier days! I was sweet then.

Ada Vice

A friend of mine called upon me for a sketch check.

She innocently stumbled upon a pornographic short film starring her current casual encounter/filler, non-exclusive,label-free boyfriend on his cell phone with requisite sound effects while he was showing her some candid shots of her(completely clothed--shots you'd show mom).

Before assuaging her fears, I insisted on quoting Spiderman's uncle, "With great power comes great responsibility!"
More than the worry that my ab flab would jiggle in what could never be a flattering manner, the reason I have never let a boy takes (sans face requests denied) photos of my non-svelte physique is the lack of trust. I've had one "I trust you implicitly" relationship (yes, with V) but the idea of that trust extending into old age and drunken stupors in this age of digital communication always kept my sketch factor in check.

Back to my friend's problem...as an aspiring advice columnist I say this:

Dear Sketch Checker,
First questions first, did the girl look like she was having fun? Secondly, was he having fun?
Ok, seriously, how long ago was this video shot? Was it a spoof of some sort? Was he really starring or just shooting? We won't judge which is more disturbing! Was the heroine aware of her audience? Did she sign a waiver allowing previews to the general public?

Alright, in all seriousness now: do you care because you are jealous? If so, have an honest conversation: unearth facts, determine your status with this suitor and most importantly decide whether or not you are alright with him having this tete-a-tete on his phone. If you have moral issues with this, jump ship now--this guy isn't for you.
Do you care because this is "just plain sketchy"? If this the case re-evaluate how much what you have with this guy matters to you. If he was never going to be meeting "Mom and Dad", do you really care what he does when he's not with you? If you're this much of a prude, should you really be with this guy?

The public service announcement section of this column will follow: Be safe.
Always use protection if you are in a non-monogamous sexual realtionship.
Remember boys and girls, things other than intercourse count in the "exchange of bodily fluid/disease transmission" category.

Good luck!
Ada Vice

Remember: Judge only as harshly as you wish to be judged.

Language Barrier

What is the word one uses to describe a parent that loses a child?

When children lose their parents they are orphans.
When a wife loses her husband she's a widow.
When a husband loses his wife he's a widower.
When you lose a significant other you never married,they become an ex--an annex of the "you" from the past.

*This thought brought to you after I watched Season 1: Disc 3 of Six Feet Under.

And what of those who've lost siblings? Most importantly a twin, an identical one for that matter? There should be words for that...for all of those.

In Eskimo there are 33 words for snow, in English we have but one. In India, there are specific, different relationship names for every kind of person who marries into your family--different for men and women. In India one refers in English to male cousins as "cousin brothers" and female cousins as "cousin sisters". Thus illustrating value of relation and significance therein by gender and lack of familial distance.

What cultures have words for all of those kinds of loss?

November Rain

That was my first song with a boy...he picked it. I let him, nay, begged him to pick a song for us. He loved that one. It's an awful song to share with someone. Especially in light of the tragic video. I should just be grateful it wasn't Milli Vanilli.

Over the years the selections haven't improved much...

The exception to the rule was:
Jaime Sample, senior year of high school, picked Savage Garden "truly, madly, deeply"--he was the skinniest pimp well since Snoop...that's what having three hot older brothers who all swam through college will do for a boy. He had a way with words and sent me my first dozen red, boy roses for my seventeeth birthday....ah, to be 17 again.