FOP friendly

So, my grand plan to triple date failed. I kept it at a double.
Dracula bought me tea and carried my Indian groceries for a bit, before I raced off to have dinner with "clients". Who are these clients I have?

Drinks at Absolutely 4th with a delightful FOP (fresh off the plane) led to more drinks at The Other Rooom (which is fast becoming the place I go to make-out with near strangers in the dark!). Guilty confession: I thought the accent was CUTE. He went to Cornell--the Ithaca tinge really added to the Bombay brash.

He was a cutie and the best part about the real Indian boys is that they totally GET that you are NOT going to sleep with them--but they try INCESSANTLY to change your mind...and when you say NO NO NO, instead of getting mad they respect it till they try again. It's sweet really.

The best part of the evening was when Chad texted me, I explained that I was with a "client"--yeah, the friday before NYE weekend, that's believable. Thank God banking gets a bad rap. He totally bought it.

Actually the BEST part was sharing my headphones listening to Penn Masala and making out with FOPPY whilst waiting for the PATH--yes, I still live on the UES.

I'm sad Scotty didn't call...I was expecting a booty call wrapped in a drunk dial--oh well.

In Triplicate

So I've double-dated before but tonight, I aim to achieve the ultimate feat...dating in triplicate. This is not a Hugh Heffner-esque achievement of dating blonde triplets simultaneously, but the basic notion of going on three consecutive dates (with three different dudes) in one evening.

So, the problem is that I'm really doing this for two reasons:
1) So I can blog about it.
2) To keep myself distracted.

The truth is that just based on last night with Scotty--I like him. Well, I'm excited about him...and that's really scary and completely unnecessary--he should be the one swooning over ME! So, in order to keep all my neuroses in check this is the best course of action--accela-dating (dating in an accelerated fashion).

Not to metion, we're not even sure when he's going to ask me out again...notice I didn't say IF--I'm a good kisser, I know this and now so does he!--so when he asks me out again, I'm going to have to make sure I have the option of playing coy--not that I will, because as I've confessed...I LIKE HIM.

It's in His Kiss

So, I've been complaining about how it's been ages and ages since I went on a date that I could get excited about or think about long after it ended...last night, I went on such a date. It was gr8! (in that Frosted Flakes Tiger voice)

He has two first names.
He's snarky.
He's tall.
He thinks I have a cute voice--yes, even when I'm whining.

He's a GREAT Kisser......
You know how the first time you kiss someone it's never quite as good as it could be or should be or will be. I mean if it's horrific you get OUT, but if it's aigh, you usually do it again--at least once or twice to confirm there is no redemption. Well, last night the first kiss was gooood. Genuinely, no exemptions for first tries, all around good. Mmm, I do need to be kissed well and kissed often.

Anyway, the point is...dreams come alive in 2005 and this had been just what I was missing--a normal night out with a nice, young gentleman and GOOOOOOD kissin'.

Norman

My best guy friend from high school, Norman visited with me yesterday. He brought over a young chickadee he met at a Bat-Mitzvah two summers ago...they've managed to KIT all this time and were reunited over their mutual love of swing dancing. She's in school in Ohio and he currently resides in Sin City--soon to-be-NYC corporate lawyer man. See, a Stanford law degree is really worth the $120K.

Norman and I have had a longstanding friendship that was tinged with requisite teen angst in the beginning stages. Being my first close male friend, I developed the unnecessary trite crush on him which was less unrequited and more quelled by religious differences--you see, Norman's a Jew and I'm NOT. So, our brief affair was coated in strife and drama to the likes of Dawson's Creek on a bad day.

However ever since we separated to pursue collegiate lives--I had seriously considered Cornell,but thankfully applied early to Hopkins and we split--he's been the paragon of kind and thoughtful. We haven't had anything resembling an argument in the last 7 years--which is remarkable if you've ever met me.

Norman is effusive, kind, compassionate, idealistic, and overall Mr. Sunshine. It still surprises me that his cheery can match my dreary. But so we exist--ying to the yang! I don't frown on him dating younger women and he doesn't grimace at my tales of portfolio dating--always complementary. In not judging we remain true...

Sophia Loren

I just ran into Starbucks to buy a gift card for the cute boy that interviewed for Hooking UP--the ABC series I'd mentioned in a previous post--because I spilled my ENTIRE Venti Frap all over his office floor and a bit even got on the blue couch.

Well, my barista--middle-aged hippie type--pulled me aside to inform me that I reminded him of Sophia Loren...now, I look like a lot of brown people--no one famous, mind you--but there are a billion of us and so some semblance is highly probable--but I assure you as flattering as it is, I look NOTHING like Sophia Loren.
But the sweet man could not get over the brown in--my very color contacted--eyes. I think the tall, black boots with the A-line grey, professional skirt did not hurt matters. Either way, the compliment is not wasted on me...the bounce in my step will stay in place well into the evening hours.

Just rolled into work. Since I wanted to get as much beauty sleep as possible prior to my 1pm interview with ABC-man. He taped me answering a series of conversational questions. Apparently another brown girl is in the running but a looming trip to India in Jan. may pluck her out of my competitive path. The most interesting question he asked me is if I felt competitive with other women in the arena of dating. I had never thought of this before and my polish waned significantly as I answered....I'm still not sure what the answer is!?

Baby Jesus!

Merry Christmas. Happy Birthday, Jesus! Can I wish him many more? After all he is seated at the right hand of the Father--he has it made. Every day's his b'day.
Please hear in the background 50-cent rapping, In Da Club...

To celebrate the birth of Jesus, my family went to church twice...once last night and then again this morning. Lacking as I am in piety, I ducked out of this morning feigning illness--splitting headache and severe eye pain. Yeah, I'm going to hell. Who bails out on baby Jesus on his b'day? That's right, I do.

I'd have been pissed if he bailed on me, but I deserve it. I'm a believer. Don't get me wrong I swallow the whole Jesus came, lived among us heathens, and died for our sins bit. But I believe he did it so I could eat, drink, and make merry--still making my way to those pearly gates. My fantasy is consequence-free hedonism--it rocks!

Anyway, ID (Indian Dracula--conveniently also id as in Freud's version of following all your impulses with no ego or superego to keep you in check) called me to wish me. He's so attentive. I think date two is inevitable. Especially since he invited me out with his recently engaged friend--wow, committment. What is it about me and committmentphiles? I suppose opposites do attract. He's SO nice. I really love his phone voice--can you build an entire relationship on a soothing phone voice? He also has a great laugh...I just can't bear the sight of him--alright that's not fair, I can bear it--but it doesn't grill my cheese. Apparently I'm shallow now.

From Print to Video

This year I showed up in print....in the Post...not in a tabloid-y fashion, sadly. Tom's sister wrote an article on my apartment for the real estate section. There was a huge photo--which I had not expected--I mean, the photographer did come to the apt., so I gathered there would be a photo, but it was HUGE. My biggest concern was that it made my face appear HUGE. I have a bit of face-snobbery: I cannot bear big faces--Minnie Driver, case and point. My fear that my face was enormous was assuaged by the reality that the picture was enormous--proportions and such.

This feature was conveniently timed to be the week of my birthday--October 14th. Happy 25th--quarter-life crisis averted. Unfortunately it was a rainy rainy Friday, so I'm not sure many people stumbled out to get the Post. Goodness knows few self-respecting adults SUBSCRIBE to said news publication. That dream came alive in 2005!

So, my love for CL reaches an all-time high. I discovered "Hooking Up" a documentary dedicated to the perils and triumphs of online dating in NYC as told by single New Yorkers--not celebrity hosts. I am in the running to air on ABC under the direction of the lovely chap who filmed the "Hopkins 24/7" while I was at Hopkins (not being a med student then or ever, I came nowhere near BEING in that one!). I will be followed around by camera-men and taped as I date, eat, work, sleep, walk, talk, and generally live. So I'm meeting with Mr. ABC Man on Tuesday to see if I fit the bill. I'm figuring the diversity has got to curry favor, plus I'm no skinny twig--which a normal girl would see as a con, but it's a pro since that fits more of a documentary standard, right? Real people and such...

My sass landed me a photo op, my photo landed me the interview and if my ability to get jobs is a litmus test--the odds are in my favor. Not to jump the gun, but how HOT would that be--ME on TV? Will I get my kicks in 2006?

Now, I'm not Ditha. I have no dreams. Esp. not ones involving being on television or in films, but it would be VERY cool and fulfill every Real World fantasy to actually be taped going about my daily life. Not to mention the pizzazz of nonchalantly dropping my single-life documentary in not-so-much Sex but a whole-lot-of-the City kinda way.

Brown girls are usually banned from dating, let alone dating strangers they meet on the Net..the taboo and faux-pas surrounding these endeavors will limit me from publicizing my life as I expose it to the public--but the inevitable Uncle who sees this movie and speedily dials my grandparents in India while he Fedexes them a pirated DVD, will undoubtedly add malaise to my monotonous life.

Visions of Hotness

Last night I walked from my office on Wall St. all the way home to 94th St. That's roughly 6miles people! It was a seamless journey in my comfy Uggs (yes, Tracey--THANK YOU!).

Along the way I stopped to get bubble tea at our usual spot since the strike had cancelled our weekly fun. Trudging along listening to my tunes, I was surprised how many of my songs were about Walking (Walking Away by Craig David came on TWICE--what good is a shuffle feature?).

Anyway, as I ambled I spied many many HOT men. Of course, half of them were obviously gay, another 1/4 had girlfriends attached, but the ones that walked alone...hubba hubba hello. I was tempted to pull a Jo and strike up a conversation with one such man who walked with me from midtown to the UES mark (60th)...we kept lapping each other--but he had a condom hat on...and we know my resolution not to start up with a guy with head covering! BAD.

I met no one but the possibility as it loomed was pretty terrific. On some level that was enough. There were a few who were going the wrong way--I was walking uptown and these fellas were heading downtown--we locked eyes, smiles curled our lips, but the moment passed and we walked on--apart. That's the thing about this city--you never know when or where you'll run into a new who.

So, two hours later when I arrived home I realized that all I'd managed to consume that day was a Venti Mocha Frap and a Regular Cold, Coconut Tea with Milk and Tapioca (yes, that bubbles are little, black, gelatinous balls o' tapioca!)--incidentally those are my signature drinks at the beverage haunts I frequent. Was too tired to pick up the phone and dial up some dinner, so I flopped on my bed devoting innumerable hours to mindless TV.

The Relationship

There is no relationship like the one a caffeine addict, like me, has with her caffeine provider, my Starbucks barista. The formation of a new and hopefully lasting relationship is seminal in achieving free reign in the dept. of free coffee.

Since I am a regular, it doesn't take long for an establishment, particularly with low turnover, to recognize my consumer loyalty and reward me appropriately. Usually I have the best luck with young, black baristas but today I discovered my hidden demographic--middle-aged white men (hippie-esque, I might add).

Well, not only did the sweet barista kiss my hand, he proceeded to innundate me with compliments the like of which I was unprepared for in my very late for work, frazzled, packed-for-home-in-12-minutes--so most definitely forgot important elements of grooming and basic hygiene--can't believe the 4-train was-so-slow, but thank God it's running state. Suffice to say I was wearing NO make-up and my hair was carelessly head-banded (apparently, headbands are a great look for me!). He thanked me for coming in every morning. He also proceeded to enumerate just how much he appreciated my patience and that I brightened his day. Well, now that's service. That's the kind of thing that's not gonna help me kick this habit.

Resolutions be damned. Let them drink COFFEE--in my case, Mocha Frappuccinos, hopefully in a continued state of free from fee-ness!

Alone vs. Lonely

Being an only child, I've spent a fair share of my life alone, but only recently did I experience loneliness. True, heartfelt, gut-wrenching loneliness.

You'd think as an only child I would have mastered the art of being alone or found solace in books and TV--as most of us seem to do. I always preferred the phone then the internet as means of stimulation if I couldn't have people around. I've been good at filling my life with people. But this year I realized that I've emptied my life of a great deal of filler folk. Strangely, instead of being the better for it, I'm all the lonelier.

Of course, filler does not add to quality, if anything it subtracts from it, but the filler provides much padding in the quantity dept. and variety if nothing else added an element of interesting to my life. I'd unwittingly resolved to "cut out the crap" when I rang in 2005--the problems with my then bf mitigating this circumstance--but in doing so, perhaps I've cut too far.

It's not as if I don't have friends and loved ones...I do. But for some reason, this time of year it just doesn't seem enough. Maybe I'm just greedy. Maybe I should count my blessings. Maybe this will pass...but in the meantime I am stuck in now...with how I feel...with loneliness invisbly cloaking me, choking me as I move through my life.

Tinsel Tree

Ditha's absence has created a void in my Christmas spirit. I remedied this by ordering a tinsel tree off urban outfitters with requsite disco ball ornaments and fake snow. All of which arrived today and I assembled lickety-split.

The fake snow delighted me most--just a pinch of cocaine-esque powder in a pitcher of water--voila, SNOW or something remarkably like it. It was definitely fun making my own snow.

School's out but I still have two papers to write! sigh...so it goes.

I'm a Sweater-shirt!

There are as many kinds of women as they are outfits for those women.

I've determined that I am a sweater-shirt. Not to be confused with a Sweatshirt!!!! That's a white collar stitched into a black sweater with tails of white shirt peeking out the bottom--if you can picture it. My choice speaks to my age--I'm young but not naive, flirty but professional. The two materials and colors set a texture and tone that's complicated but not overly so. Plus this alternate analogy beats being likened to a smelly onion with lip service to the layers therein. Though I'm worried this makes me sound a bit Elle Wooods (yes, legally blonde references are not at all beneath me!).

To take this further, let me explain my tea girls.

Jo would be a classic black pantsuit. Always professional. No frills, no fuss...reliable but with panache. A woman in a man's world, no exceptions needed. Many pieces to put it together and you never see what's beneath the layer she shows you...private but in a public way.

Lauren's a pair of wrinkle-free chinos. Comfortable, honest, convenient, low-maintenance, and appropriate for any occassion.

Karen would be a dry-clean only twin-set. You can dress it up or down. Depending on the weather you can leave the sweater on or peel it off. Just because she multi-tasks doesn't mean she's easy, so you will be paying long after purchase for dry-cleaning.

Kelli is a sparkly, evening halter. She's trendy, she's fun, but she's also smart and comfortable. Hand wash only. Not right for day wear but your nights wouldn't be the same without her.

Beth is a classic tee. Soft, comforting, machine wash, and though it may not be work appropriate, you'll be so at ease you won't care that your boss is glowering at you.

There are many nuances to being a woman, a wardrobe analogy seemed only appropriate. I came up with this whilst riding the bus home across town yesterday. There were two jean-clad teenagers discussing the requisite angsty drivel and it hit me--they were dressed as they are--innerpropriate (what you see is all there was to them). Thanks girls for the inspiration.

Working from Home

The best thing about working from home is that you don't have to get out of bed. This means that 10am teleconference requires nothing more than phone to your non-pillowed ear.

Boy, would they have been shocked to know that I wasn't wearing much as I barked to-do lists and insisted on timely turnaround.

This strike created a built-in study hall that I have flitted away eating chinese takeout and watching soaps--bad me.

The Indian Dracula

My date last night looked remarkably as I imagine Dracula's visage, except that he is Indian. The requisite male patters baldness created a hyper widow's cul-de-sac on his forehead--at least it wasn't shiny. Though the gelled back hair could not be dismissed without recurring visions of sleazy older men at nightclubs.

Lesson 1: Never agree to a date with a man who has a hat on. Obstructed forehead view is NEVER grounds for assuming that hair grows unseen on covered heads.

He was kind. We went to Lucy's in Union Square which combines a Sushi Samba style bar/lounge area with a Candela Restaurant dining area: colorful tiles upfront giving way to a heavy, wooden, medieval castle feel in back. Most of the conversation centered on him asking me questions and me noshing on the delicious tapas. He ordered a pitcher of sangria--though I wanted a mojito--fit for four, which we comfortably consumed with dinner. He can keep up on that front, that's new and vaguely interesting. Though much of the conversation came back to family and his attempt at learning my values therein--it was like being quizzed for an Indian matrimonial channel.

Lesson 2: Older guys who bring up their neices in conversation on first dates, DEFINITELY WANT CHILDREN--most likely soon!

He paid for everything. Big plus in his column. It's not about the money as I like to frequently explain, but a man who wants to take care of you will showcase this--at least early on--by picking up the check. I made more than a cursory offer, but he looked (appropriately) downright perturbed by the notion. He was also very sweet about placing food on my plate and dividing everything equally. I'm a fan of being babied when it comes to food. It also speaks volumes when an Indian guy doesn't expect you to serve him.

Lesson 3: Attraction is either there or it isn't. And well if it isn't, you can't force it without gagging.

We moved to the lounge area after dinner and he put the moves on me. He wasn't a bad kisser that said there were NO sparks. He didn't have the Dracula fangs but I couldn't get over his forehead that close to my face. I knew he was having a good time--mostly because he told me so, but also because he kept calling me cute and reassuring me with physical gestures (hand on the arm, hair petting, etc.)

We shared a cab home and he insisted that I call him to let him know I arrived safely. I did not so he texted me. I found that splenda sweet...sadly, no butterflies=no second date. Such a shame.

Well, next up is the model...I'm worried about his brain cell count!

Study Hall

I never took a study hall in high school. In lieu of accepting my slacker-dom, I added to my AP plate a series of "challenging electives". I could have really benefitted from Nutrition and Home Ec, but NOOOO--I had to take Law, Economics, and other fancy additions to my crazed core curriculum. Study hall was out of the question.

I wish my schedule permitted a study hall now. Insert into my normal work day along with lunch--study hall--to actually DO my homework, especially this week with final papers looming around me. I suppose the weekends are life's study hall, but the sad reality is that I frivolously flit those in meaningless pursuits: rewatching old movies on TNT, ambling through Union Square, and drinking copious amounts of alcohol which only results in the loss of another day in recovery.

Harry Potter reference: I'm submerged deep underwater but I forgot to swallow gillyweed and I have to choose between my short group dynamics and long psychological aspects of organizations papers--both must get written, I haven't done most of the readings for either and the urgency with which they mount is ever increasing.

A shopping affair

I spent the day with my mom yesterday. She came in to pick up the presents I had purchased for her fiancee-to-be and herself; so they could spend the requisite week under our seven-foot fake fir.

She drives in from NJ to see me. Parks in a lot near me in lieu of driving around. She has trouble navigating city traffic--parking really is the best solution. We then ride the subway to dinner, shows, etc.

Yesterday, we started with a stop at the 92nd and 3rd location of Starbucks. My mother, as the opposite of me on all issues of importance, loathes starbucks. She finds the coffee deplorable--preferring, rather vehemently and vocally, the merits of Dunkin' Donuts. She bows to my preference when she visits me and I to hers when I visit her...that's our compromise. I get the better end of the deal, since she visits me far more often than I go home.

After a brief but crowded ride on the 4-train, most of which my mom insisted we should have just taken cab, we wandered about the festive, outdoor mart in Union Square. I spied some leather wallets with street signs and city streets stamped on them in photographic majesty. Must go back for those.
A woman in the holiday spirit handed us her bichon-pooodle mix, 10-week old pup (Finley) to pet and play with. Mom peppered her with questions and proceeded to profess pleadingly that I get that VERY puppy...as if the two girls toting him would readily hand acquiese his ownership to me. But our love for the mixed breed grows and I think we'll make the trek to Peach Grove, PA to get me one JUST like him--but maybe a girl.

Picked up an essential black, v-neck, ribbed cardigan and silky, polka dot halter from Forever 21 then some staple knee-high boots in black and brown from DSW.

Waited in an obscenely long line at Whole Foods for ONE lousy bottle of water--but thirst must be quenched.

Rosie joined us at JAPONICA for dinner--she was stoned. My mom didn't notice but Rosie was mildly paranoid, I could tell. It was a nice Family Brown moment.

Picked up a bubble tea to-go from the usual spot, then rode the bus home with mom. All is well that ends well!

Yell and get your way

Standing in line at Starbucks this morning I was, once again, faced with something I know is true but refuse to accept. Well, I suppose I accept it but it doesn't affect change in me.

I'm a patient waiter. To say it simply, I wait patiently. I've never been one to get "better service" with a louder voice or via complaining. This is a tried and true tactic, but for some reason I cannot actualize on it. I'm hardly shy, but something about those harried employees and the Christmas season--I couldn't yell at them. I suppose my subversive eye-rolling couldn't have helped but it still appeared kind compared with the woman hurtling explitives in front of her kid or the middle-aged, foreign banker struggling against his thick accent to hail thinly veiled threats at the barista. Suffice to say I waited 28 minutes for my frappuccino fix which I am currently fixating ON.

For someone who really likes getting her way and does more often than not, I can't seem to rev up the energy to yell at someone. Even if that someone "owes" me--be it better service or past due payments on outstanding personal loans. I guess, I'm not a yeller. Strange, I always thought it would kick in.

My mom's a yeller. I assumed everyone's mom yelled (for better service, etc.) but it dawned on me that it wasn't true when I met a college friend's mom--she was meek and soft-spoken. It kinda blew me away. How did this woman raise three kids? Well, she was no single parent, I can assure you. Maybe it's just the single parent mom's that yell to get their way, because they're tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed. Hey, it works for them. At least it alleviates enough stress that it puts them in a better mood for their kids.

I remember being stranded by Delta at the ATL airport this summer. Hungry, exhausted, and miserable, I finally called my mom. She promptly played the doctor card, contacted the authorities (she was in NJ, mind you) and had a food voucher and a plane ticket for the next flight to LGA in my hand within the half hour. I had been battling the lines, calling the Customer Serivce number and waiting patiently for 7 hours before I broke down and called her. She made the magic happen in 30 minutes. Sigh. I should have made a scene. I could have made a scene. But I didn't. I don't. I won't. Something about being the scene creator really makes my stomach turn. Now, for someone who is an attention whore and loves being the "life of the party" and "in the scene" it's a strange dichotomy. I should be a yeller, but I'm not.

I must accept my fate and reveal that I am as incompetent as Ditha on a crosswalk at rush hour when it comes to yelling to get my way.
You'd think I'd choose the "kill them with kindness" alternative to yelling. Sadly, I'm not terribly kind either--what's a girl to do to get her way these days? Sitting pretty has apparently lost the favor it curried back in the day.

I'm always missing my heyday being born in 1980 as opposed to 1950 makes it really difficult to continue pulling for my outlook, physique, and generally checked craziness.

Synchronicity

As I was walking out to my professor's apartment complex--I mean COMPLEX: 392 Central Park West is pretty spiffy, esp. for W. 100th Street--this afternoon, I spied a wrapper spelling out CRAZY on a faux license plate. At that exact moment, I popped in my headphones which were already blaring Aerosmith's song, "Crazy!"

Chad once claimed that "Synchronicity followed (him) around". Now, that means something to me, at the time I just thought it sounded cool.

The Art of Asking Questions

My transition role vendor meeting was a bit disorganized. I was supposed to meet with ONE new vendor but she appeared with her partner in tow. My VP was stuck on a conference call and the person I was transitioning with sits on a different floor--so I left her a message--then proceeded to meet and greet my VENDOR(s). One vendor, two people--to clarify.

So, the thing with vendor meetings is that you have to ask them questions. In order to ask these questions you much have some understanding of what they do and what you do in conjunction to what they do. I never seem to have either of these pieces. So I wish there was a class to teach me HOW TO ASK QUESTIONS or WHAT KINDS OF QUESTIONS TO ASK VENDORS or HOW TO SOUND SMART WITHOUT DOING A LOT OF WORK.

Sheesh, here I thought that was what I'd learned in college but even with my refined corporate speak, I'm in the dark on this.

I got by, but why get by when you can get high...wait, that's for after the meeting, after work, after happy hour...LOOOOOOONG DAY.

Tea-rific

At Tea last night, Kelli professed what Jo proclaims to be one of the most poignant statements, "I choose to be happy. Make the choice."

Beth is still struggling with outing her girlfriend to one of their fellows (gotta love medical drama--this stuff is better than Grey's Anatomy).
MP3: I Kissed a Girl

Jo kept her eye on the clock, so as not to stand up her dinner followed by ShopGirl date. The fling with her Chad-of-the moment having ended less momentously than it began.
The song: And the saints come marching in...

Kelli is in finals frenzy, but anxiety surrounding working through the strike (being a city employee) plagues her more than anything else.
The beat: Back that Ass Up

Karen who would ordinarily be embarrased to admit exactly what she was having lasered stated it with less reluctance than expected and skittered off. She's unwinding--rather we're shocked she's not wound as tight.
The tune: Ladies Night

Lauren was missing in action. We're worried that it's not work but her man troubles she is keeping from us. I've been absent when I haven't wanted to share. More pressingly when I haven't liked what I knew would be voiced.
Whispering: We'll be missing you (B.I.G dedication)

I was undergoing a familiar existential crisis having started my year-in-review loop a little early. Well, this way it can re-run before the new year when it officially goes into syndication.
Humming: It's a Long December...

As always, life was presented, dissected, and pushed aside. Mocking birthed laughter--good times even in bad moments. We're not selling the silver lining but everyone needs a little silver...sometimes, a little silver goes a long way!

The Man I Loved Never Existed

I never saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Don't worry it's in my Netflix queue) but I imagine it to have parallels to my brilliant screenplay idea. It also pulls from Little Manhattan...first love, a bit age-inappropriate.
If realized it will do for romantic dramadey what The Usual Suspects did for the fused genre of suspenseful dramadey.

The seed in my mind looks like this:
Set in a generic metropolis (NYC has been done to death, but I will use it in my example) boy and girl stumble upon one another through an unlikely avenue--perhaps via internet--this is our zeitgeist, after all! The tale is told from the female perspective.

He's a 2nd generation, prep school-bred sans trust fund, E.Village writer/filmaker/artist who never moved past the NYU hipster scene. His dreams are occupational. He's a few years older, but none the wiser.
She's the 1.5 generation, public school to Ivy-league, Jersey girl with the big city dreams on the Upper East Side; working in finance by day and event planning by night. Her dreams are vocational.

Both only children of divorced parents, both grew up in the tri-state area, both were raised in a faith (different ones) both speak in puns and pop culture references which produces prolific banter textured with physical assurances.
They're racially, politically, aesthetically (I've termed this "frame-worthy") compatible but they cannot communicate on an emotional level. They are perfect on paper but irreparably flawed for all practical purposes.

They meet and connect--instantly, seamlessly. She falls in love and has her heart broken for the first time at 24. Experiencing all the requisite angst, ucertainity, tears and fears that go with this vulnerability!

It's partially a story of her sexual awakening which is dampened by anxiety that her lover is inexperienced and repressed. Thus tormented by the cultural implications of mixing minority values in the context of a majority lifestyle, she soldiers on. Her masculine and feminine roles, divided along gender lines are constantly called into question--by her initiating sex and him frequently denying her.

She finds herself emotionally available, walls down, open to him--she constantly compares this experience to her sole experience of being loved and breaking a heart. She uses her college sweetheart as a barometer, her personal love gauge.
With the bar thus set impossibly high, nothing her current lover can do ever seems to compare. The less she feels loved, the harder she loves him with a tenacity, ferocity, and passion thus far unknown/unexplored within her.

They cannot work. They do not work. She quits on him a few times but always runs back, unwilling to give up. Finally, he is exhausted/bored by the back-and-forth and tired of the drama so he quits on her...quits on the relationship. It is not a happy ending, but life does go on. Bitter, tragic, painful...

The final scene cuts to two years later...Her career is in hyperdrive--she's climbed the corporate ladder and runs her own business on the side. She stumbles upon her first love locked in a passionate embrace with his gay lover in their favorite bar.

Nothing unravels, in fact everything becomes clear. The sight does not faze her. He was never the one for her. She was never his other half. There is no anger, no confrontation, no drama! The truth has set them free--to be themselves!

It won't win at Sundance or get an Oscar nod, but I think it will ring with a truth many of almost everyone can identify with. It aims to tackle multiple major crises.

Calling it Quits

It's that time of the month again...
NO, not that time--you single-tracked minds fiends.

It's the time of the month when I decide to quit caffeine.
I solemnly vow to give it up. Stop. Quit. End. Terminate. Just Say No!

I've learned this lession with alcohol...never say never. It seems, I still have hope with caffeine--I will kick this habit yet.

In truth, as far as vices go...one frappucino per weekday isn't going to break the bank or significantly increase my waist measurements; however, the principle behind the dependency is linked in a certain degree of self-control (or lack thereof).

Slur vs. Humor

I'm hard pressed to identify the true difference between a racial slur and race-related humor. Don't me wrong, I can tell when I hear it--if you asked me to define the difference, I'd have some trouble.

I suppose it all lies in the intent of the statement.
A black man going, "What's up ma nigga?" is acceptable.
A white boy in the 'hood with a du-rag saying the same thing, may or may not be accepted.
This example is less about humor than acceptability...but still, the point remains.

This cracked me up today, but I think parts of it offended me as well--so I'm trying to decide what category I'd put it in...slur or humor?
You Know You're Indian When...

Social Loafer

The fine distinction in my social loafing is that it occurs purely in an academic context. I'm a good employee--not great, mind you--and a great social planner. Though I'm notorious for planning group outings and bailing out at the last minute. that's not loafing as much as being unreliable.

The differentiation that must be made to this unrealiability is that I can be counted on in bad times. In other words, I'm dependable. Those times when everyone else is seemingly occupied, I'm there. No doubt. Every time. Bad/Lonely Times=My presence. I just don't see the relevance of being at every single positive social experience. My belief is that the fairweather friends will outnumber me and it is my social duty to blend into the woodwork so those who disappear in times of need can partake in the good company of my friends. Keep in mind, I bail not on one-on-one interactions, unless I have a great reason (such as work or sickness).

What can I say, it's my version of sharing. I'm a 100% attention, affection, me-me, you-you kinda gal...so I'll take you in the bad times and delegate the good to someone who won't have the decency to stick by you in the bad.

This is not to say I never attend momentous happy times, just that my likelihood of attendance is lower at these events--not 100%. Again, I always inform expectant parties of my invariable decline--yes, usually after the initial accept. I have every intention of going, it just wanes at the auspicious date approaches.

Besides, wouldn't you rather I not come than come and sulk the whole time? Yes, those are indeed the only choices.

Losing Dad

Asha's dad died two weeks ago. He had been in and out of the hospital and at the very end, he was very tired. Her thanksgiving was spent at his bedside. As an only child, responsibility fell to her. Her mom was, understandly, grief-stricken. This is the ultimate torment of being the only offspring. Sharing good times, you can always secure someone, no matter how short-term or satiation worthless but in the bad times you realize that only does mean alone.

We're close--not best friends close, but estranged cousins close--so I wanted to be there for her. Since she lives in DC and I'm up here, that's geographically challenging.

There are no words of comfort to give someone in this situation. Coming from my fatherless state there are even fewer I felt comfortable mouthing, so I listened--as best I could. I offered prayers. I gave voice to the truth that she is his legacy, that he loved her, that little in his life gave him more pride than her being and the successes she enjoyed. None of that changes the fact that he will not see her get her MBA, walk her down the aisle or know his grandchildre. Nothing I said meant anything to me or to her...but that I was there and I meant it,I hope, meant something.

How she will live with signing the DNR or picking out the suit he wore to the funeral, I will never know. How she put his glasses on his face that one last time or that their last conversation was about how much he needed to drink the hospital milk, she will never forget. She lives, now, with the reality of a mother who is inconsolable because the man she spent forty years that Asha bucked tradition (Hindus only let men carry the body to its final place) to carry to his pyre is gone.

I don't know how any of us go on. There is no way to prepare for the inevitability of having your loved ones taken from you. Relishing your time, good and bad, is all we have--how to make that true and real every single day is a separate matter entirely. It makes me grateful that I am not spending any more time with the people thata don't matter or don't care. There is so little love in this world while we all have so much of it to give...why?

Despite all of this Asha is strong. True to her name, she has asha (faith). She's taking finals, studying to distract herself, studying to dull the ache, studying so she can live again--regain some semblance of normalcy...a life worth living.

Her belief in God, though questioning remains. You're in my thoughts and I did light that candle at church for you--for him. "May peace be with you.."

Santa Santa Everywhere

Santa Squared to Infinity!!!
As I crawled onto the uptown 6 laden with V gifts, I spied two dozen Santas across the platform and one Hannukah Harry(who was doling out gifts unlike the inebriated Santas). This always looked like so much fun--maybe next year. This was the first time I actually caught them out. One of my Alpha girls raved about her experience last year--got me eager to give it whirl.

I'd be a Sexy Santa, but not a Slutty one--some of those dresses were a bit TOO short for my sensibilities, wonder where I can get those suits? Some of them were adorable in their hats and big boots. "Put Christmas cheer in your beer buzz!" they seemed to say with their slurred smiles. Wonder if they get rowdy...hmmm

"I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus" I can't even imagine a series of changes to THOSE lyrics.

I saw V today!

I took the train to Summit to see V this afternoon. He was waiting for me INSIDE the station--not in his car outside like most boys would be.

He wouldn't let me pay for dinner. He insisted I get a drink and dessert...I conceded after some protest--ordering a mudslide. I was stuffed on my appetizer and hearty soup. In typical fashion he berated me for not eatig enough. Trust me, my healthy physique does not build itself--I eat plenty. Gotta love V.

He pulled the car up so I didn't have to walk in the slushy snow.
I always forget just how considerate he is. We sat in starbucks after for a bit because he knows I love it--just looking at each other. It was nice.

He brought me Christmas presents his gf had wrapped. A margarita kit with glasses, pitcher et. al, a glorious, woooden memory box, a box of chocolate truffles, and dog mint treats for my pup. He's so supportive of the dog thing...he's the ONLY one--but he's a believer.

I forget how much I miss him. I forget how much he adds to my life by just being there--standing by, being...that's the kinda guy I need. Why I fight it I'll never know, but yet I pushed him away back when something real was there...ugh, stupid girl.

Oh No!

I was just re-reading some posts on my old blog (Desi Doll) when I came to the intestine-shredding realization that this blog sucks.

I've lost it. Whatever IT was. I feel like Mel Gibson at the end of What Women Want, when he can no longer hear the thoughts of women he interacts with. The very thoughts that had plagued him in his daily life..just as suddenly as the gift had given it had been taken away.

What am I to do? In the name of all that is pithy, witty, and cutesy COME BACK!

Woe is me.

Chindian Food

My all-time favorite cuisine is Indo-Chinese--affectionately termed Chindian food--which I gobbled up at dinner with Beth last night.

We had a long overdue "I'm out!" talk. We split a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and got all caught up on life, lifestyle changes, and parental disapproval.

I'm not a stickler for service and I rarely play the "cute girl" card to solicit the beck and call demeanor I was raised to expect from "the staff", but it just works out that way at Indian establishments. Having waited tables in collge, I am a stickler for generous tipping. That said, poor service is aptly punished as well.

Some good-natured ribbing between the waiter and I led the manager to amble over and present me with a 10% off coupon, crudely scribbled on a Cardommomm card. I think this may have had more to do with my imminent return than my playful whining. Beth expressed true surprise and some hesitance at this gesture, but I knew better. A sacchrine smile and a quick flick of the wrist to accept the offer was my recourse. I'm used to free meal invites for consorting with the employees--I must be losing my touch.

Then, as any good meal should end, we went to tea.

Sim Seema

I never thought I'd join a sorority. Even during Rush, the recruitment process, I was sure I was not going to join. Not me, said I...Not me!

But during orientation when all the sororities did their annual dorm storm, Seema stopped by my room. She introduced herself and explained that she as just stopping in to say hi to the frosh as part of an Alpha welcome. I was in love. She was the most beautiful Indian girl I had ever seen. Her skin was dark and rich. Her raven hair, straight, shiny and almost indigo in hue. Her smile radiant. She was in the super competitive IR program. Her ideas on everything from abortion to civil liberties was fascinating. I could listen to her articulate herself all day. She was quick to ask me my thoughts on issues outside the cafeteria and week 1 on campus. Apparently she was from a homogenously white high school in upstate NY--we understood one another perfectly. She explained how Team India had recruited her at JHU but she'd turned it down for the Alpha Life...as the only Indian girl in the chapter, they had elected her president. I was mesmerized.

She gave me the personalized last talk during Rush. I knew going into bid day that they would make me an offer and I would not refuse it. When time came for my pledge class to run for elections there was much strife--just as there is every year. I was far from the obvious choice...having little leadership experience and an academic record tarnished by a sememster "off-campus"--yeah, ac pro was me. Having a stellar school record was pivotal to winning the election. All semesters following the election I crawled my way onto the tail end of Dean's List, but I was never a good student--forever placing value on my interpersonal relationships. No regrets.

Seema had graduated by then, but she came in to see me just before nominations. She asked if I would run. Her voice still carried much say--with more than just me,I would guess--so with my confidence thus bolstered and V's encouragement, I ran. Suffice to say, I won. It remains one of the better decisions of my life. I learned much about myself and many of those skills have made the difference in my corporate life. It really does not surprise me that so many US Presidents and CEOs were in fraternities.

Carrie (my big) was stepping down and she went to bat for me. She supported me through the tough times that followed--guiding me, only offering solicited advice, and often taking steps back to let me step into the position. They were some rough patches, but Carrie and V were my pillars--without them, I shudder to think what I would have done. What followed in the wake of my electoral success was that my little and then her little succeeded me. A bit of a dynasty had been created.

All this comes back to me now because Seema has been in town interviewing. After college, she got her MA, moved in with her Greek boyfriend, did a two-year stint in Bangalore, been featured in half a dozen society pages in Bangalore, ended things with her almost fiancee to date the exact guy her parents WOULD have picked out for her--from their specific community, but didn't have to. She's going to break into banking and do the NYC thing. She's human to me now. The goddess status I ascribed to her in college has been replaced by an immense respect. In a way taking her off that pedestal has humanized her. I see that just like me, she lives it one day at a time, taking the good with the bad life deals. It gives me hope for myself.

When I needed a role model she was there for me. Now I need a friend, and here she is for me. Though, secretly, if I could still grow up and be anyone...it'd be you, Seemz.

Two Birds, One Stone

This season of giving has been stress-free. I'm getting puppy stuff from my mom and we've decided to pick out my love bug from the dozens of holiday pups who will be abandoned shortly after New Year's. I'm for adoption all the way!

Secret Santa at work inspired me to institute the concept at tea. This is a huge relief--not buying presents for half a dozen lovelies. I got the hardest person to shop for whom I happily, covertly traded for the easiest person--Lauren missed tea, so I relayed to her the message meant for me. heehee.

I've purchased the online SwingLine red stapler for my work swap!

Tracey will be the happy owner of a worthy gift. We usually swap PILES of goodies, but I am holding FIRM to just the piece de resistance this year...Ya hear that Trace...ONE GIFT!

My mother and her man-friend were covered in one fell swoop at Dell. My mom has my OLD/FIRST desktop from college, 1996, which is grossly outdated. I bought her a basic notebook which came with an easy $30 upgrade: color printer and digital camera port dock! Since she's buying her fiancee-to-be a digital camera, it seems only complementary that I provide the printer and cable. It also works nicely since her computer can serve as the means of viewing and choosing the photos they decide to print together. After all, his machissmo aside, she owns him.

Now, I just need to figure out what gifts to add to V's b'day pile to complete the package. I'm seeing him on Saturday...STOKED! I miss him SO much.
He gives the best gifts and he's competitive about it-this is my first chance to beat him!

Tea Therapy

Every Tuesday, it started off as Mondays, a group of us assemble at a teahouse in the East Village. The square tables and square backless stools don't bestow much by way of comfort but the tea and conversation more than make-up for that.

The Regulars:
I bring in the sassy, single, HR in banking, slacker grad student and minority faction!
Kelli provides the non-profit/IR gal insights. She works in city government while attending school full-time and living with her bf on the UES.
Lauren is our gung-ho market researcher who works with her live-in guy in BK.
Jo's the other single gal but she's a workaholic journalist turned Columbia student who lives by NYU. My only anti-baby ally in the group.
Karen is our Rules girl who is seeing a Parisian (who lives IN paris) fashion officer and our art/gallery insider. She conveniently lives around the corner from Jo.

Infrequent but welcome guests:
Stella: The engaged schoolteacher from Oregon with the crazed fashionista stories.
Vicki: The fiery, married Irish (but isn't), Queens resident, UT-bred redhead non-Mormon whose keen observations are a mismatch with her computer manager persona in her aetheist role with the Episcolal church that employs her.
Beth: Our token Jewish lesbian, medical student lives in the Bronx with her girlfriend.
Sarah: The midtown apartment-owning law student we all thought was Jewish, but isn't.
Kate: Lauren's engaged friend from MN who we're trying to add to the group.

This week Karen, Jo, Kelli, Beth, and I rehashed minutiae, caught up on life, and concluded as always that it was fabulous to be young, smart, attractive and living in New York even if we didn't have the money or the time to do half of what we wanted to do. It's all about having the option(s)!

Preposterous

Swingline Stapler

This Office Space hit is a bit hefty in price for a STAPLER.
With a purchase of the DVD you get $5 off, but really--what kind of stapler needs to come with a coupon?

The cache of one of these babies in your cube may be high, but is it really worth $32 plus shipping?

On the bright side, it's the perfect gift for Secret Santa at work...perfectly unisex and professional.

Meeting Musing

Just got out of a a three-hour meeting with some of the HR VPs at the German Bank.

Here are my salient thoughts from this endeavor:
I want that Snapple, Lemon Iced Tea. Damn it. He took the one and only bottle.
12oz. of water is just NOT enough...why bother bottling it?

Why does that lean, black man look so good in his suit?
Why do flecks of grey look so sexy on said man?
Why do I love love love skinny men? I know, their suits hang like on hangers--perfectly.

Most of these VPs look pretty young. How old do they think I am?
I'm just as smart as these, experienced, folks. My "communication is key" comment was hailed as the pivotal "change agent" for the new system to be successful.

A gold wedding band...haven't seen one of those in a bit. Guess that means he's really old. Platinum is the in-thing now.

A moment stolen from "In and Out" starring Kevin Klein and reformatted to fit my life "Is everybody married?"

Orientation

I got into work this morning at 7:18am.
Yes, gentle readers, that's 7:18AM. Can you believe it? ME...into work on a Monday at the crack of dawn.

We had our monthly bank-wide, new hire orientation from 8:30am-12pm. It ran without a hitch. The presentation, across business areas with different speakers, was seamless. An ice-breaker, networking game I had built with two colleagues was the hit of the show. It's nice to SEE the fruits of your labor.

Corporate Orientation is a stepped up, PC version of college orientation. There are the exuberant few who ask questions and sit in the front row, there are the apathetic bunch in the back row who don't make eye contact and look as bored as possible, and there are the cliques that seem to have already formed--how can that be, it's mostly DAY 1? Of course, there are also the arty, schleppy lookin' crew; the spruced, pinstriped set; the outdoorsy, fleece vest over polo bunch, and even a fashionista or two in sleek, pink/grey plaid gear.

Some frequently used phrases at major financial firms defined:
Circle Back : Don't have a clue, will get back to you.
Take it offline : These folks don't need to hear our problems, we'll TALK later.
Leverage relationships: They know you, use that power to get them to help us
I'll reach out: Don't call me, I'll call you.
Let's touchbase..: There will be much following up!
Going forward: We should have done it this way, oh well...next time we will
Best practice: Show off what's worked for us. It can work for you!
Let's do lunch.: Let's eat and do work, but not at our desks.
Can I get you anything?: I'm leaving my desk, but I will be back.

sk8ter boi

He's back and he's better than ever...
For some inane reason I'd written off the skater, but last night he really came through for me.

We hadn't spoken in two weeks, and I owed him a call--so in a slightly inebriated state with some encouragement from Rosie and Special K, I dialed those old digits in my new phone.

Chad was polite and charming as always...he came over. We hung out. The girls met him and I know when they come over later tonight they will sing his praises.
He's really smart and social--the kinda guy you can take places without having to baby-sit--and kind.

Personal disclosure: It wasn't my shining moment when I got a bit "ill"--three bottles of wine is toooo much for two girls! Rosie passed out on the couch. Chad doesn't drink--at all--part of the write-off, I suppose. But he was totally cool about it and uber-understanding. no faces, no grimaces, just "Are you sure you're ok?"

This morning, he was delighted by the snow, being a Santa Cruzer, this is big for him. We had Sunday brunch at The Barking Dog Cafe, UES staple, sharing a large, back booth with a family. He made faces at their kid--saying the boy reminded him of himself at that age. He held my hand under the table, fed me a strip of bacon off his plate, and suggested my chocolate milkshake was just aching give me a brain-freeze. It was nice.

We came back--he watched football and I blogged. It was comfortable.
He helped me find a USB 2.0 port add-on online. He started to fix my broken drawers, but decided it best to take on the project next time.
He just left.

He's easy-going....he doesn't need maintaining...he's faith realized. There are guys out there, I guess this affirms that--if nothing else. There's no "will he call me", "does he like me", "what does this mean"--no pressure.

"He's just a boy and I'm just a girl...haven't you heard, how we rock each others world!"

Ode to Public Transport

It was a seamless journey via mass transit to Continental Airlines Arena. I'm one of the few bus fans out there. It puzzles me why more people don't sing praises of the bus system. It's really convenient, safe, and relatively clean--also above ground, so you get AM/FM reception and if you're obnoxious, you can talk on your cell phone.

The last time I made this trek was in September with asshole, i-banker boy from days of yore to see the Jets play the Vikings. He handled the bus tickets and beer, while mom's fiancee was the gracious giver of goal-line seats (four rows up!). This time I was left to figure out the gate number and secure my own ticket via the numerous bus window choices.

For all my bus love, I can't say I can bear the Port Authority. YEESH.
They've spruced it up with an Au Bon Pain and Casa Java, but it's still leaves me feeling a little queasy.

This summer when Karen, Ditha, Special K, and I embarked on our Dewey Beach adventure over 4th of July weekend, we were horrified by the poorly managed lines and lax security. But I guess, they only care to secure what enters Manhattan, no one really cares about what leaves the island.



Subways can be crowded, smelly, and populated by panhandlers and homeless folk, but the conveniece of NEVER having to drink and drive is worth almost any small nuisance(s). Not to mention my adoration of the teeny, tiny, culturally outfitted mariachi band that provides great accompaniment on days I am unable to squeeze my oversized discman in my under-sized purse.

GO Devils!

I am a hockey fan, as of yesterday afternoon. I went to the Devils game with my mom and her soon-to-be fiancee.

The game was great. Played in three, 20-minute periods with short breaks in between: the pace is ideal for the non-sports fan, quick yet slow enough to keep up. Also the rink setup maximizes spectator pleasure--even in the nose bleed section the game (players) can be enjoyed sans binoculars.

Z100's John Bell was on-site with Hilary Duff-autographed jersey give-aways and general backgroud muzak to rev up energy whilst the mascot pranced amidst the fans.

My mom's constant cheers of "Go, baby, go baby, GO!" and "Shoot it!" took me by surprise; guess hockey love runs in the family. My favorite boo was "Ref, what game are YOU watching?" A question I took to spitting furiously at every anti-Devils call.

The Devils won in a shoot-out after the 5-minute overtime period. I was hoping it would go to a sudden death round, sadly no such luck. But the bonus of overtime was entertaining enough. Nothing stirs a crowd like an encore at concerts or overtime at sporting events--it's more bang for your buck--you feel like you're getting more than you deserve (at least more than you paid for!). Maybe it's just the unexpected surprise of it--makes you feel special.

The Puppy Couple

Last night at 8pm, when I left my office it wasn't twilight that greeted me or even the flourescent lights that illuminate Times Square--just grey light. Wall St. was cloaked in an eerie mist--nothing like the fog in San Fran--the silence was foreboding.

I was late for my first couple date with Carrie (my sorority big sis) and her live-in boyfriend. Carrie and I spent an awesome year as roomies in college and with the possible exception of Ditha, she was the best home-panion. We drank champagne, ordered pizza, and caught up--it was just like living together--we hadn't missed a beat. She recently moved to the Financial District from the Upper East Side with her boyfriend. I hardly saw her when she was just 20 blocks away, but I think I'm going to see a whole lot more of her, now that she is just two blocks from my office.

Carrie has two yorkshire terriers, one is seven months old and the other turns three in the spring. While we caught up, they ran around amusing one another and occassionally pressing their tiny bodies against mine for warmth and comfort. I fell in love. After chastising me for obsessive puppy love, "Enough puppy talk, what is new with YOU?" Carrie, seeing my rapt attention, offered to loan out one of her little guys for a weekend test-run. I think I may have squealed--more that she trusted me with her teeny, tiny bucket of love than the wonderous prospect of having him all to myself. If my pup isn't in my arms next weekend, you can be sure I'm taking her up on this offer.

Carrie and Kurt are a wonderful couple. They met at work and they work! They are even talking about adopting an Asian or Indian girl. I can't help but feel a tinge of pride from influence. Carrie was notorious for shrieking, "My ovaries are aching!" after a drunken night out to express her desire for a baby of her own. This turn-around and a potential INDIAN in the mix--SO exciting. She was clear to inform me of my significant role in the adoptee's life--from a cultural training perspective--I assured her, that Cultural Godmother was a role I welcomed, whole-heartedly, and I would take on the requisite attitude of seriousness and fun.

I was giddy--from the drinking and the puppy petting--so when I called Taurean and Summer, my second couple date that evening, their decline was welcomed. Besides, they have no puppy for me to play with.

All the negativity surrounding my prospective puppy ownership has dissipated afer my visit with my big. She's always guided me on the BIG steps in my life, so puppy love is just following in a long trail of her footsteps--she's a year older--so she was chapter president before me, she moved to NYC right after college, she lived on the UES, and now the puppies.
Lead the way, Carrie girl...I'm right behind ya.


*I'm not adopting any variety of baby, just for THE record. If my ovaries start aching, I'll have them removed. But if I ever have a baby pang I am a firm believer in ADOPTION!
**Of course, I'm also a firm believer in ABORTION--but these are two entirely different, though related, posts.

The Kiss Seen 'round the World

My favorite photo of all time was taken before my mother was born.

Famed Life Magazine photojournalist, Alfred Eisenstadt, captured an unsuspecting sailor as he passionately kissed a less suspecting nurse on August 14, 1945 in Times Square: VJ Day, The Kiss.

I always assumed that they were the love of one another's lives. That kiss is what made me ever want to kiss someone. It has shaped the intensity I feign when I kiss someone if I'm not feeling all that passionate in the moment. It's THE KISS.
Now, it turns out the nurse and the sailor were complete strangers, whose paths only crossed for as long as their lips were locked.
The E! True Hollywood story of the kiss.

I'm hurt. Crushed. I feel like someone just told me that Santa wasn't real--worse, that Santa's always been "Uncle So-and-So" in a rented costume.

USPS to capitalize on the wedding market, no doubt, has a stamp out. I've taken the bait, going to collect as many as possible to put on my mothers' wedding invitations. If I'm planning this wedding, I'm going to have a say in the details. In Mom's world, Maid of Honor means Wedding Planner.

MTV Desi

MTV Desi found it's way into my inbox. Turns out they are looking for VJs but their archaic method of picking them involves a 5-minute audition tape on VHS. That's right, NOT DVD!

That's not very Desi! We're always ahead of the curve on embracing new technology. Alright, in the Hind we can't afford the shiniest Mac or the newest widget but the 1.5million of us in the US are quick to spend our Desi dollars on the latest what-not.

I'm not protesting too much, since I'll be coaxing some innocent fellow to tape me for 5 full minutes so I get my chance at my dream:VJ-dom. I don't have a radio voice but I do have a video face...bring it!

Hypocrisy

I purchased a product yesterday that I have maligned for years. I went into the store, used my gift card (which should have been spent on gifts for others) and sacrificied my espoused principles for convenience and cute packaging.

This really got me thinking about the reasons we disavow items/people/places. Are we really just afraid of the unknown? In lieu of testing the waters we form snap judgements till we are forced to experiment. Or the contrary, self-awareness only lasts till peer pressure pushes us to explore our options. It's a big world and we are curious, indubitably we'll try a slice. Should we hold more firmly to our misgivings?

A simple product purchase is not going to see me shed tears--though the inevitable cajoling from those I've mocked, will irk me for weeks to come--but where is the fine line between principled and pleased?

To quote, my favorite transcendentalist, Ralph Waldo Emerson:
We do what we must, and call it by the best names.

He also said:
What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say.

That's just why he said what I think he was:
To be great, is to be misunderstood.

Isn't it Ironic?

"Meeting the man of your dreams,
and then meeting his beautiful" band--wedding band, that is!

I'm of those girls that grew up on angsty Alanis Morissette music. What's ironic is that she bagged Hottie McHot Hot Ryan Reynolds who cameos besides my future husband--he doesn't know it yet--Kal Penn in my favorite movie EVER--Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle yeah, I'm from the Jerz!

Well, so the story goes like this:
I finally met the gorgeous (you won't think so, but I totally do) Managing Director, one of the Ambassadors in a program we just launched at the German Bank to up our class attendance. I'd been lusting after him from the teeny-tiny photo in the brochure...but in reality he's taller, thinner, a teensy bit salty in his rich, curly mane of pepper, and the kicker: BRINDIAN! As I've mentioned, I have a weakness for British Indians--but the guilt. To lust for the linguistics of a people that colonized, occupied, and pillaged my people--for SHAME!

It's all a moot point though, since a hateful but tasteful, platinum band sat slippingly on his wedding finger. UGH!

What's been making my day...

This e-mail just greeted me, widening my smile:

If you rearrange the letters in your first and last name, you get...
"I am hot, Slim!"

Isn't that that so appropriate?
~Taurean

The reason it's appropriate is that I tend to date thin men--not lean, THIN. The thin man is my kinda man. I know, it looks silly since I'm un-thin. But my thin man is also tall to balance my shortness. Opposites attracting and such.

My day was cake, going swimmingly, before the above icing.
I awoke to a gift my departed cousins had left me: a Limited Edition, Mint KitKat and an equally sweet bracelet with a touching card. Rosie really is the most effusive person I have EVER met. Put a beam on my mug.

My cousins, Rosie and her big bro--visiting from MA--slept over last night. It is required for every 20something non-med school Indian--Desi--to host overnight a prospective medical resident going through his/her interview process. If for no other reason than to recognize why said Indian host(ess) did not embark on the requisite med track--thus shaming the family and lowering the likelihood of a productive matrimonial union in future! I'm still glad I fell off the track...

I also discovered, in the vortex that is my room, a soon-to-expire, corporate incentive card with $300 from my days at Rezif Pharmaceuticals, so that will conveniently cover my Christmas shopping....well some of it. yay!

A friend...

I wish I could climb. But sadly, I can't get close enough to the wall. Oh well, no complaints, my anatomy is something I've come to accept and adore. I'm sure glad Mike can get close enough though....mmmmmmmmmmm He's in the works as a potential New Year's date! Thank goodness for hot guy friends. Thank goodness for BIG favors!