Unable or Unwilling?

In my 200th post, I wanted to address an issue that continues to plague me.

I terminated, regretted, was terminated from a gut-wrenching relationship in 2005--when I say gut-wrenching I mean "shred your insides", "claw your eyeballs out", "cry till you can't breathe" gut-wrenching. I was told by all sources, trustworthy sources, that this too shall pass and I will survive. I was told I would learn lessons and move on. While all of this, I now see are true statements, none of them have really come to fruition in my life. I mean, I have survived--rather I am surviving. But I can't say I've learned a damn thing other than to be even less trusting than I used to be....and I really didn't NEED to learn that lesson. I have moved on in the sense that I date--yea, it happens: but I can't seem to open myself up again. Maybe I haven't met the right person or maybe I've shut my heart down--hyper protective mode is on!

All of this resurfaced last night at Tea. Lauren is currently living with a boyfriend who treats her and makes her feel very much like I was treated and felt in that past relationship. I found myself projecting so much onto her and into her--it was cathartic and I think it helped her. But it also made me realize that as much as I can be over it I am, but really still I'm not OVER it. I mean, I'm over him--yes. And I didn't think that day would dawn, but I still don't get what happened. I don't get why love wasn't enough. I loved him--his mind, his body, his soul...I loved him with my mind, my body, my soul and it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. My love wasn't enough. Who even knows anymore? But I still wrestle with this. No not everyday like I used to in those first few months. No, not even every other day, but at least once a week I'll realize that till I get "closure" it won't be OVER for me.

The dilly of a pickle I find myself in is that he won't let me get this closure. I know. He's a winner. No really, he IS a winner--but we have VERY different ways of dealing with this. He's an outta sight, outta mind kinda guy--which is especially painful since we spent 9 months of our 16-month relationship apart, but I digress. How do I move on without closure? Frankly I think he's pretty happy that I'm not moving on...because I know while he's over me, he's not exactly blissfully happy in a new relationship with a shiny, happy person. I guess I'm saying, I'm past hating him--but when will I get past hating myself for having loved him?

To tie this all back to Lauren...I said something she found salient last night. Something I tell myself, chant like a mantra, when I find myself slipping into missing him mode.
"It doesn't matter if he's unwilling or unable. Stop trying to figure out which one it is. Stop alternating between making excuses for both. Because at the end of the day, whether he is unable or unwilling it's the same thing--he's not enough. Whether it is that he is not willing to be enough or not able to be enough. HE IS NOT ENOUGH. That's all there is to it. You cannot love him enough for the both of you. You cannot be selfless enough to make up for his selfishness. It's not that he doesn't love you. He doesn't love you enough. He doesn't love you more than he loves himself. That would work out if you didn't love him more than you love yourself. It can't work. The harder you love him, the more unloved you will feel."

I'm not sure a lightbulb went on for her, but this affirmation always makes me feel better. At first it was the blanket I wiped my face in as I cried myself to sleep...now it's the empowerment I feel when I look in the mirror after putting on a fresh coat of make-up. I am living, I'm surviving and one day--one day soon--I'll be thriving again.

Squeezed in Fun

Of course I found a way to have a little wine and cheese at my apartment with Tommy, Gary, and Special K--got too trashed and regretted it immensely Saturday in class.

Went to dinner at MaryAnn's on the UWS with Taurean, Summer, and Rani (whom I never see because of her crazy med sked) on Saturday. Here's a picture, Summer snapped of us when we took a break from my margarita sipping to smile and wipe the goofy drink induced grins off our faces.

Enjoyed a late sunday dinner with Carrie and Jonathan (previously Kurt) at Rosa Mexicana off Union Square...scroll down to read more about that story.

Kurt is now Jonathan

Well, maybe it is not apparent to you my readers that I use monikers on this blog. It is a rare day when I use someone's "real" name to reference them.

At dinner with Carrie, Jonathan (formerly Kurt) objected to my chosen name. He demanded to know just where exactly I CAME up with Kurt. It wasn't a Danish name--he's Danish you see..like really, from Denmark. So I explained that his name didn't drip Dane to me, but I was more than happy to make an exception and change it. We spent some time in deliberation--Carrie hating names he came up with, him vetoing names she came up with (apparently names ending in i, ee, y were BANNED!)...again, so what's wrong with KurT? Finally, we settled on Jonathan...they found consensus on Oscar but I simply had to veto that choice.

Mind you, this conversation was over free flowing margaritas. Carrie and Jonathan, if nothing else, can compete with this drunken brown girl in the drinking department. I was accused of flirting shamlessly with the waiter to which I say...I'm not the one who quipped, "Sorry, we don't have any spicy desserts" as he gently opened the menu in front of me. I'm also not the one who wore an ornate yet manly ring on his wedding finger--so, what's a girl to say/do?

Class Crush

I was stuck in class all weekend at TC. Basic Practicum in Conflict Resolution and Mediation--which is fascinating stuff but presented in the most simplistic way. I enjoyed the exercises but I saw NO reason for it to stretch across 20 hours.
Fri. 4pm-8pm
Sat. 9am-5pm
Sun. 9am-5pm

You guessed it--that was my entire weekend.
During the course of my class I developed a crush on the male facilitator. He was completely my type--tall, slow-talking, brown boy with smarty glasses, fuzz on his face and a sense of style that could be awesome with some development. I gathered that he is 25, graduated from Duke, works as a consultant at present in lieu of lending a helping hand to the family business involving kitchen cabinet importing in the Phillipines. Oh, he grew up in Hong Kong, has a British passport and lives on the UWS. He joined MY group of lunch-goers on both Sat. and Sunday. From what I understood he was matching me flirt for flirt...but at the end of the weekend, I find out from one of the girls in a group he was facilitating--he has a GIRLFRIEND. I mean...DUH...why would he be single? sigh. Back to square one. Though, the silver lining may be that from what he disclosed to my classmate and now good friend--there is trouble in paradise. Shaan and his gf are in hot water and he's not sure he wants to make it work. We'll see where all that stands in two weeks when I'm back in the intense weekend class!

Staring

At what point does looking become staring?

I was on the subway last night and the most beautiful man was standing a few feet away. I couldn't help looking at him--continuously. He didn't notice. I vowed to myself that if he got off at 86th St. I would make my move. He did. I did not.

I gave myself an extension. If he rode the 6 train up one stop and got off at 96th St. I would definitely talk to him. He did. I did not.

As we climbed the steps up to the sidewalk, I pledged firmly--if he walks in the same direction as I do--there was no turning back--I WOULD DEFINITELY INITIATE CONVERSATION. The wily fellow walked across the street to the supermarket.

I stood stupefied for a minute and walked toward my apartment. As I got to the first corner, I couldn't do it. I turned back around and went into the super market. I stood in the aisle nearest the one he was examining produce in--hunting for an IN. What could I possibly say to this incredibly handsome man?

My opening line was going to be, "Is your name Josh or Luke, by any chance?" I find these to be historically HOT names...but once he replied I had NOTHING. So I didn't ask. He rounded the bend and walked by me and I froze like an icicle in a bat cave. YIKES--he even smelled good.

Defeated and forlorn, I dragged my feet out of the store and went home. On the short walk, I called Tommy to tell him my tale of woe. He comforted me with these words: "I've followed a girl onto a subway going the opposite direction from where I needed to go. You're not that much of a psycho....wait, why didn't you just ask for his help picking out produce?" Well, sheesh--where were you when I was standing there about to pee on myself due to the extremes of glee and trepidation my mind kept switching on me.

Besides, he's got to have noticed me between the two subway lines and my pursuit of him INTO the SUPERMARKET! If he'd had an iota of interest he could have said/done something...right?

I hate Jada

I LOVE WILL SMITH!
From Fresh Prince to Independance Day.
From Will2K to MIB...he's da bomb.

I'll NEVER get over...

Bollywood Babes

Hrithik Roshan, right

Zayed Khan

I'm have an equal appreciation for Bollywood hotness as I do for Hollywood hotness! They are two different actors--I know it may seem like they are the seem dude, but they are NOT.
There's a LOT this variety of brown can do for me...

Who's Hotter?

Clive Owen, right

My two favorite hotties--at the moment. Very different appeal, but oh so sexy.
While I'm sad I'll never have my pick of them, I'm glad I'll never find myself in the position to have to pick ONE--just one of these super sexy stars!

Patrick Dempsey, left

Google is run by Brown People!

The Google Blog leads me to believe that Google is run by brown people. Just scroll through the authors of entries, 96% Indian! I mean, we've all known that my peeps are the rabbits of the computer field--IT, programming, database managemement, engineering, um other functions! Apparently Russians are another computer crazy bunch--being the musical people group they are and math being the backbone of music as well as the binary functionality of computer tongues. I digress.

What's brown done for google lately?
A WHOLE LOT! As the google blog would lead one to believe...just about everything including imparting medical advice. The other field my Indian comrades seem to be overrunning with their academic advances.

Damn Indians...always on the path to make me look back with the accomplishments in fields of study and practice that are impressive and universally helpful.

Crazy Love

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her that’s where I belong
Yet I’m running to her like a river’s song

Chorus: She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She’s got a fine sense of humor when I’m feeling low down
And when I come to her when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

Chorus

Yes I need her in the daytime
Yes I need her in the night
Yes I want to throw my arms around her
Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight

And when I’m returning from so far away
She gives me some sweet lovin’ brighten up my day
Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole
Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul

Chorus

This is THE song on my iPod this week. It makes me SO happy!
I can't get enough of Van Morrison...

Tracey Time

Tracey trekked in to see me last night!
Correction: Tracey came in to see Luckey last night. Photos to come...

We exchanged a bevy of gifts--I inundated her with birthday goodies and she saddled Luckey with more chew toys and chomp-able yummies than his wee mind could wrap around. I dragged her to Holy Basil in E.Vil for dinner. It's one of my favorite crannies in the city--the facade belies the exotic interior. The steps lead up to a neglected apartment building, in fact they provide a speakeasy style doorway to a rich space luxuriously decorated (yet lacking ostentation) with mirrors to create the illusion of space and Buddhist tapestries artistically draped.

Trace used to shun all foods non-Italian and non-Chinese, but I've crafted her to appreciate Thai, albeit Pad Thai. We rounded our delectable meal of spring rolls, pad thai, kang phed, and thai sweet iced tea with fried banana surrounded by green tea ice cream for dessert. Mmm...good! The ultimate treat was the cab ride home--bothered as we couldn't be by the light drizzle on our full-bodied heads.

At dinner I enumerated all the blessings life has bestowed me, but I couldn't help lament the one missing element--the man. I don't want A man....because I've done that and I'm not looking for A man--but it would be nice to meet THE man. I don't want to take that long walk down the short aisle just yet, but it saddens me to think that I haven't even MET this guy who I'm to spend the rest of my days with. Every passing day is another that I'll have to fill him in on...it's all Pre-Him. sigh. I suppose it makes the getting to know you-ness all the more delightful, but I wish we'd be past that, already. I want to have my built-in movie buddy, drinking partner, shower duet, Luckey walker, dinner companion, dream share in the living room of my life. Where is the pro to my con--the flow to my ebb--the lime to my light?

It mystifies me that we humans can never be truly happy. Or maybe it's just me, who can never savor the moment to its fullest with no care of the past or the future. Why is it so hard to be in the Here and Now?

I stepped on his foot...

This morning, half-awake as I was, stumbling about my kitchen--Luckey nipping at my toes I accidentally stepped on his teeny, tiny puppy foot. He yelped and absconded from me. In the short time that I've known him, I've never seen him pull away from me--he was afraid and I had hurt him. The guilt that gripped me is unspeakable. I've never felt so bad about ANYTHING in my WHOLE life. Honestly, hyperbole aside...I am stewing in a pot of remorse. I didn't mean to--it was an honest accident, but his reaction combined with my realization that his itty bitty Luckey foot had been underfoot of my comparatively HUMUNGOUS human foot--so sad.

Minutes later he was back to loving me, but he didn't nip at me again. He was weary of the consequence of any more nipping. I suppose the positive side effect is that I may have cured his biting of my feet, but I don't think so...I'm guessing when I get back tonight he'll be back at it--completely forgetting this morning's incident, but I fear I don't have this luxury. I don't think I can forgive myself for this till I do something even more egregious that paralyses me with poor puppy owner fear.

I'm sorry, Luckey. I really didn't mean to. You're the best pup-pet EVER!

Just My Luckey

Top left, Luckey and I
Top right, Luckey on my arm
Center, My Mom and Luckey
Bottom left, Luckey
Bottom right, My cousins--Toby and Rosie hold Luckey

My Mom, My Hero

No, my mother is not my sandwich. Adding Luckey to my life has definitely given me a new found appreciation for all the love and attention my mom doused on me like warm maple syrup on a hot pancake (yeesh, did I just liken myself to a pancake!?!).

Yesterday, as my mom hugged and coddled Luckey to the point of making me nauseous, I felt no envy--but it did make me nostalgic for the days that my mother used to do that to me. By days, I mean YEARS. Up until the age of about 19, my mother would routinely come into my room at night and in the morning to ensure I was well tucked and lay a sloppy kiss on my cheek (invariably she missed, because I was ducking for cover and hit my ear!). To this day I squirm when anything liquid hits an ear--memories of sloppy kisses and cheek-turning unconsciously flood my mind. But the truth is, when I hit 20 (or was it 22?) I think she finally got the message and stopped. The ceasing and desisting in lieu of filling me with the anticipated euphoria saddened me a bit. I mean, was I too old to dote on?

Part of the realization that dawned is that I'm not all that different than my mom. Yes, she's a Republican and NO I am not. Yes, she's a baby-loving pediatrician, and I'm an anti-baby machine. Yes, she's a God-fearing, church-going, borderline evangelist and I just believe silently in my corner. She's someone with uncompromising integrity and strong values and I'm a proponent of doing what you gotta as long as you don't hurt yourself too badly in the process. No, we're not all that similar but I suppose we want similar things. We want to be loved. We want to be valued. We want to reign supreme. We want more--more than there is to be wanted....yes, I'm my mother's daughter and I'm finally getting a sense of just what that means.

As my mom showered Luckey with the love one only reserves for a gran-puppy, I realized that this person who gave me life was the most loving, affectionate, sweet woman in all the world. Now, don't be fooled--my mom and I argue routinely but over the years the heat behind the words have cooled to the temperature of tepid bathwater. I don't know if she's mellowed out or it's me--maybe it's both, but our arguments are few and far between and while I'll never be that daughter who kisses and hugs her mother, spilling saccharine epithets whilst doing so...I'm also no longer that child who refers to her only parent-worth-mentioning as "the tyrannical mothership!". If this isn't maturity, I don't know what is.

Lucky Me!

Luckey spent his first night at his forever home last night. He's just a bundle of energy--I exhaust just watching him bounce around. I can see that housebreaking is NOT going to be fun...but I'm enrolling him in obedience training pronto--only thing worse than a poorly behaved child is a misbehaved pup. Tsk!

I've already attained pet insurance, which costs a pretty penny but considering he still needs shots and neutering--it's well worth it at a whopping $35.95/month every month for as long as he lives--which we hope is a VERY long time.

Luckey's already ousted my mom and her soon-to-be-husband as the background on my phone. I couldn't bear to crate him, so I've put a gate across my kitchen doorway and that's his home when I'm NOT home. I put him in the crate at night to prevent any accidents--since dogs won't pee or poop where they sleep; something must be said for instinct.

I have to admit that it warms my heart when he follows me around and jumps on my leg so I must pay attention to him and his doting eyes suggest I should pick him up--I do more often than not.

At present Luckey has three chew toys--one of which he loves to hump more than others--yes, he humps! An adorable green bed, a fluffy white play pad, a red dual bowl for water and food, a red harness, a yellow leash, and a blue sweater (XS). I'm in the midst of securing an engraved collar from Tiffany's...I KNOW! I'm THAT girl. Don't hate!

I promise every entry will not be Lucky-related going forward, but this week may be dominated by Luckey blogs. I know, I owe you pics...they're coming!

It's a Boy!

I've been announcing his arrival for a LONG time now...Months actually, but he's finally here. I have a brand new puppy. His name is Luckey. He's a Maltese. He was born 10/10/05, a mere 8 days prior to my 25th birthday. He weighs about 3 lbs. and is expected to tap out in the next three months at a whopping 8lbs.

Originally meant to be a birthday gift from my mother, he was quickly transitioned to a Christmas present. My trip to Prague was impending and we put bringing him home, again. But after much ado, he is officially MINE. He may just be THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!!

As I type, my mom is calling him her "grand pup" having hopefully accepted that this is as close to grandkids as she is going to come. She's been cooing in his general direction ever since we got him. Truth be told, I think she's compensating for the reality that she had preferred the female Bichon--whom I had planned to name CiCi--but she was sold and I think I'm more suited to a boy pup-pet. Between Luke and Luckey I struggled finally settling on a name that was less human and more whimsical--yes, I realize it lacks the originality and flair of 'Rella, but I think it's an apt tribute to the fact that I HAVE A PUPPY!

Pictures to come, but I had to put up a qiuck post to notify one and all of this happy news in the land of sugar plums and candy canes.

Brady

Two nights ago I was riding the 6-train home from a debaucherous evening at Katwalk. It was Lauren's b'day extravaganza and I'd conveniently forgotten dinner. After our share of Mr. Big shots and Carrie Cosmos, I dragged my carcass and Karen to the subway. As I headed uptown she waved to me from the downtown platform...

On the train, I encountered a charming black man with his nose in what looked like a philosophical read. In my cocktail haze, I pointed to the letters on his page and muttered, "Does that say Prague?"
He looked up at me puzzled and slowly said, "It says Progressivo. It's Italian."
To which I responded, "Oh! I just spent the weekend in Prague. Guess it's still on my brain." Apologetic smile in check.

We got talking. His name is Brady. He's 6'5". Played basketball at Brown. Reads Italian, obviously. He hopped off at 86th and since I had to run to the bank, I did too--but when we parted ways underground he didn't ask for my number: his parting words to me were, "Guess, I'll be seeing you on the train, Mili!"

Ah Brady, I sure hope I'll see you again.

Happy Tracey Day!

Today is my best friend's birthday. Incidentally, she is also the OLDEST friend I have without any long breaks in contact/communication. Having said this, marvel at the feat which is maintaining a long-standing friendship with the likes of me. I am difficult to say the least, but then again--so is she!

Happy Birthday, Tracey! L'Chaim.

May your dreams come true.
May your wishes be realized for what they are and now what they should be.
May your amelioration seeking behavior find permanent modification.
May good health continue to shine upon you.
May every one of your days be coated with luster.
May someone you LIKE rake your heart with happiness.
May something that you LOVE be a part of every day.
May obligations diminish their burdening impact.
May memory serve you.
May brilliance dawn on you.
May this be the year of your great invention.
May the wonder with which you see the world remain unaltered.
May your flair...your elan flourish as it has.
May age not tarnish your beauty as you fear.
May despair not capture the essence of you.
May history's famed repetitions leave you unharmed.
May fear not keep you from succeeding.
May you embrace the totality of your being.
May reality be left unchecked, at least occassionally.
May relief be yours as often as you need it to be.
May your generosity be returned to you a thousand fold.
May the inherent selfishness and selflessness of your being find harmony.
May your virtues double.
May your faults halve.
May prosperity be yours.
May you understand the value you add to the lives you touch--like MINE.

For every year you've graced this Earth, I say a special prayer for you.
Tonight, I raise my glass to you--and ONLY you.

Testing..Testing...Is this thing on?

There's this girl that I'm not a fan of and she has a blog. It's not a competing blog, but it is a blog, nonetheless. She gets dozens of comments to EVETY SINGLE post. Granted, many of these comments are from the same people and these people are her friends and while I loathe her other people clearly see some redeeming qualities and are friends with her. While I'm not a competitive person, my absolute disdain for this girl had driven me to new heights and I am hungry to outdo her.

So, my little test here is devised to see if ANYONE does actually READ my blog! Yeah team, I am this far gone.

IF YOU ARE READING THIS.
Click on the comment icon and write ONE word (any word) and hit the post button. I am merely gauging whether or not I HAVE a readership. Give me a break, eh?

This one little gesture can be your good deed for the DAY, alright for the WEEK.

Listen to Nike and JUST DO IT!

Back in the USA

Tracey called me this morning to complain about how ugly and lacking historic significance everything is, post-Prague. She was incensed by the lack of architectural magnificence surrounding us. Nothing but glass and modernism...

This got me thinking about how many people across the globe dream of American glass buildings and modernism. How they ache to come here and land that opportunity--ripe as opportunities are believed to be here, fresh fruit dangling within reach.

My family was one of these immigrant experiences--we pushed our way over here and we made it. We're a success story with a beginning like so many others. In fact, our ending is not all the different from others in the echelon of social hierarchy we fall into.

I knew no struggle growing up, and my mother tells me shew knew none either. But compared to me she did struggle--she had to husband picked out for her by her family, she had to live with the stigma of being a divorced woman in India--albeit briefly, she had to fight for her right to pursue medicine (the competition is stiff in a way that the Western world cannot grasp competitive instinct).

So struggle as I see it, is a concept that exists on a continuum...and on a continuum everything is relative. So yes, compared to starving children in Ethiopia she had it good (in India, we are told to finish what's on our plates by reminding us that there are starving children in Africa. I've heard that in America they are told of starving children in India--makes sense). And yes, compared to the girl who couldn't afford to go to college, I had it good.

But no one talks about that 1% waaaaay at the top, who have it better than the rest of us. Why doesn't that upward comparision come up? Is it because that would just be too depressing? Is it because there's no point to that comparison? Like apples and oranges...putting a round peg in a square hole--though you could probably put an apple and an orange in the same hole--mixing my metaphors and confusing myself.

This post is not meant to be an ethnocentric rant or my philosophy of life existing on a sliding scale...the truth is simple and while often realized, seldom truly understood: The grass is ALWAYS greener on the OTHER side.

NOT Lost in Translation

In Prague I learned that being city savvy is not lost in translation. Milling about the Old Town Square, I was an obvious tourist. Not just judged by my garb but also given the inherent brown in my complexion. Prague is the whitest place I've ever been. With the exception of a handful of Chinese and Japanese tourists, I did not see a single person of color--and I'm not convinced Asians are a color, per se.

As our walking tour of the Jewish Quarter ended, I trudged ahead into the warmth of the building noted to be Kafka's birthplace. As I stepped into the doorway I felt someone brush beside me without passing. Sensible traveller that I am, I was carrying my passport, money and credit cards prominently displayed in my right jacket pocket. Thinking it was either Helga, Tracey, or Jo I turned to see a man standing a tad too close to me. Immediately I felt in my pocket, noticing the shift in weight and realized my wallet was missing.

I turned my steely gaze at the Czech pickpocket and very calmly instructed him to give me back my wallet. Jo had caught up to me and unsure as to what exactly was going on, reached over to push the guy in the arm and yell, "Did he steal your wallet?" I demaned again through gritted teeth that he "GIVE IT BACK!" Whether or not he understood my English is unclear, but what is clear is that he had stolen what was mine. He promptly GAVE it back. That's right readers, he GAVE it back to me--just like that. I asked and he obliged.

It must be noted that Jo could not weigh much more than 100lbs dripping wet, but the speed and willingness with which she stood up for me made me marvel. It was very American and very sweet...not everyone is that loyal! In fact, I'm not sure I'm that loyal. I don't think I would have lifted a finger in my own defense--other than to glare at the man, angrily and demand what was mine.

The back story is that he was sandwiched between the marine family man on our walking tour and me, so his exit was blocked for the speedy getaway he had not had the foresight to plan.

This Indian girl can take care of herself--and so she did...in Prague, no less.

Czech Signage

Cultural differences at their finest, folks!
The manner in which the Czech label their streets is such. Uniform boards like this can be found on every corner, nailed into the nearest wall. It gets a bit confusing along winding roads and arched alleyways that run aplenty through this charming city of a thousand steeples.



Happy New End!
This is an ad that greets you, no matter, where you go in Prague. It turns out it's an advertisement for a store called Kenvelo--apparel plus. We deduced that they were pitching a sale of up to 69% celebrating the end of the year 2005.



2006 is the Year of the Jew, according to the Czech at least. Apparently the Chinese ideology of attributing each year to a different animal in a twelve year cycle wasn't good enough for the Czech. They have decided to assign the Year 2006 to the Jewish. Perhaps in some small way, this is atonement for the atrocities against these people at the hands of the Nazis in Czechoslovakia. Perhaps, this is the Czech version of cultural sensitivity--calling attention and giving credence to the minority in their midst.



The national beer of the Czech Republic and appearing more often than Budweiser signs in our fine land is Pilsner Urquell. The Czech being of strong spirit serve their beer at a whopping 10-12% alcohol potency--compare that to our puny 3-4% and you get a sense of the lining of their livers.


On the topic of livers and alcohol tolerance--Absinth is legal and freely sold in Prague. I assume it's a contraction for Absolutely Sinful Thing! Of course, I had to try it after all the hype in Eurotrip. I am disappointed to report that though it smells like minty ethanol and tastes like fermented mouthwash, it had NO effect on me other than providing a slight buzz. I may very well not have had enough--but three shots should have done the trick. I can't say I'm eager to try it again sans hallucination potential.


The items banned on the premises of a Czech Posta (post office) include guns, knives, burglars--the items we deem necessary to prohibit in the US but also Ice Cream! Apparently they have a real sticky situation dripping in their post offices; I assume this is a summer fiasco, since the intolerable cold in the winter should prevent this situation.

I was in Prague...REALLY!

This is as close to action as I got in Prague. Not that it was my intention to hook-up with a random Prague-r, but there was no debauchery by way of clubbing or bar-hopping. It was a tame time.
Though on the last day as we were leaving the hotel, a Czech man yelled something at me in Czech. When I stopped and glances quizzically at him he repeated it slowly in English--"You're Beautiful!" Well, lest it go to my head--Jo quickly quipped, "Not!"

Jo captured me, huddled in winter wear, on the jaunt down from Prague Castle at this scenic overhang. Nothing candid about this shot. Unlike Tracey who takes pains to "pose candidly", I am a firm believer in posing for the camera. It's not so much that I'm photogenic, it's more that I don't want to take the chance of an unwelcome shot.

My face really is smaller than a .5L glass of Hooegarden. I managed to swill a whole Liter in addition to my one mixed drink at The Peach Pit, not to be confused with the addition to its side--The Peach Pit After Dark! Eastern Europeans sure are crazy for their 90210. Each character immortalized in photographic splendor on posters and coasters--yet not on the menu. Go figure.

New York really IS the greatest city in the world. In Prague they acknowledge this by having a LARGE department store named "The New Yorker"--in no way affiliated with the eponymous magazine we have in the States. I decided to stand on a pedestal and point in an ad for this store.

Sex Machines Museum

The porno from the 1920s made the admission price to this museum entirely worth it. Corpulent women with their emaciated, flaccid lovers epitomized ugly people having bad sex. The range from phallic shoes to sadomasochistic gear with requisite swing and cage as well as contraptions from chastity belts to canes enabling the male carrier to urinate standing up rounded out their fine collection. This definitely topped the Sex Museum in NYC--which I had visited during the foot-binding focused exhibit which was not the least bit sexy. This type of museum can never really accomplish the task of being sexually stimulating in that the onus is on presenting artifacts and labeling them with chronologic and systematic accuracy--wholly dismissing them as objects of pleasure, reducing them to sterile, tangible representations of ideas from eras bygone.

Barbie Exhibition

While Jo and Helga took the broken English tour of St. Vitus Cathedral and the Royal Palace at Prague Castle, Tracey and I ambled down Golden Lane, buying up goodies to bring home and stumbled upon the Toy Museum currently boasting a Barbie exhibition. We squealed with delight and rushed in to buy tickets. What we beheld was a display to melt any child's, in our case, grown woman's heart...Barbies everywhere. The outfits changing with the zeigeist. Black barbies with white features. Ken dolls galore from '60s swimwear to Star Wars costumes.

We were wholly unprepared for this vision of open-bellied pregnant Barbie--smiling her signature plastic smile, sandwiched between Dr. Ken and presumbably their twins. YEESH. Do children really want this? Should they be allowed to play with such a disturbing toy? Is it even a TOY? YEESH.

Infant Jesus of Prague

As a wee tyke, my mother dedicated me to the Infant Jesus of Prague. Growing up in Bombay, beside my grandparents bed there hung a certificate proclaiming this. As a child, I saw it everyday and for many years I wondered where this Pra-goo was--assuming it was a city in some distant part of the world. Well, when I was in Prague I had the privilege of visiting the Church of our Lady Victorious which is dedicated to the Bambino Jesus--thanks to the Italians who brough the Infant Jesus to Prague. In the museum attached to the narthex of this church there are ornate, christening gowns donated to the Infant from across the globe--China, Korea, Italy!

I went down on my knees and prayed to the baby Jesus. I prayed with a fervor I had lost when the glow of innocence escaped me paving the way to the jaded reality of who I've become. I closed my eyes, clasped my hands together, and I begged the little baby to bless my family. I asked for my mother to find happiness in this marriage. I asked for me to find peace within myself. I gave thanks for having friends who cared and who stood by me--despite the truth that I can be unbearable. I wished...with all my heart and what little soul I admit to having in me, I wished for the one dream I have to come true. And in that moment I believed it would. I knew He heard me and my faith was renewed. I didn't find Jesus in Prague, but he certainly reclaimed me.

Czech it Out!

When visiting a city, it's the street shots that capture the flavor of the place, much more so than than the photographs of famous buildings and architectural masterpieces. I snapped this shot as my tram pulled away from the stop closest to Hotel Olga where we ended up staying. Originally we were scheduled to be at Hotel Denisa but when we arrived our reservation was mysteriously missing. Thankfully, the courteous desk clerk rebooked us at a neighboring hotel and paid our cabfare to it. This was our ONLY experience of proper customer care in the Czech Republic. Everywhere else we encountered rude waitresses and shop clerks who rolled their eyes at our touristy demands.

The Jewish Quarter in Prague was burned to the ground and rebuilt to mask this reality--every attempt was made to age the buildings and give them the look and feel of the structures that preceded them. This is particularly true of the synagogues. The oldest Jewish Cemetery in Europe is in this quarter, burials dating back to 1487 with graves 10 bodies deep. The Jews weren't allowed to expand past their quarter limits, so they had to build up and bury down to fit their expanding population.

The Little Quarter resembles the rest of the cityscape with the added dimension of mostly art nouveau buildings. Most of Prague is a veritable pu-pu platter of baroque neighbored by gothic bordered by communist architectural designs--the centuries bleeding into each other creating a visual feast for the Western traveller. These elements of diametrically different styles would not intuitively create a beautiful sight, but the reality is such. The city drips with romance in its diverse buildings standing shoulder to shoulder bearing the responsibility of patriotism across the ages.

The Russians built the metro system in Prague. In doing so, they remained true to their staunch efficiency and block structure. No frills, no fuss. Though the bobbled surface of protruding circles in multi-colored layered stripes serve no utilitarian purpose. There are no turnstiles at the metro stops or the tram or bus stops for that matter. It is entirely up to the rider to buy a pass. The consequence of not buying a 12Kc ticket is that if a plainclothes inspector catches you without one, you are required to pay a 500Kc fee (roughly $15.25). During our five day public transit riding, we neither were nor saw anyone check for tickets.

Praha

The great thing about Europe, certainly isn't the food, but the cobblestone streets. That sense that every step you take is in the wake of great strides men from yore took on the very ground you tread along. Prague's cobble stones have a delightful circular pattern adding to their charm.

The steeple in the background is St. Vitus Catheral at Prague Castle. I snapped this photo, standing in front of St. Nicholas Cathedral. Cathedrals, cathedrals everywhere and not a pious man in prayer.

ABCD

This ABCD would love to visit these ABCD!

Amsterdam, Netherlands
Europe
After watching Eurotrip, my desire to eat magic brownies and amble about the Red Light District was heightened to new levels. I would take in the Anne Frank Museum and the Van Gogh goodness as well. Though most of all I'd like to ride a tandem bike and avoid hitting the trams whilst pausing to photograph a row of colorful houses.

Bogota, Colombia
America (South)
My mom's neighbors hail from this metropolis in South America. I've heard the party scene is pretty spectacular not to mention those Latin culture. I've never been to South America or even Central America for that matter, so this is a definite foray for me.

Calcutta, India
Asia
While I've traveled significantly in India, both the North and the South--this major center of trade and humanitarianism has eluded me. Mother Teresa memorials and British influenced architecture aside the poverty here rivals Bombay and must been seen to be believed. Born Into Brothels did nothing to assuage my guilt at not having paid homage to this historical city.

Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania
Africa
While I never had an interest in visiting the African continent, my fascination with Egypt aside--I dated a boy whose mother grew up here and went back in her later years to contribute significantly to the AIDS relief effort--albeit in an outreach/fundraising capacity. Made me wanna go...

If you could fly, where would you go?

To Prague and BEYOND!

I'm going to Prague.
I'm going to Prague.
I'm going to Prague...in just 36 hours!

I can't tell you how excited I am check out their famed nightlife, try that Absinth and chug some Pilsner. Oh yeah take in the Charles Bridge, Prague Castle, Old Town, Communist Museum, Jewish Cemetery in the Jewish Quarter(oldest in Europe), and be photographed in ALL these locations.

Prague Castle




Charles Bridge






Ah life...it's in the pictures. Well, in the memories but when you get old and wrinkly--it's the photos that will keep you smiling. It's not a matter of being shallow, just keepin' it real--real honest!

Citibank=Big Brother

Getting a call from from your debit/credit provider can only be likened to being stopped by the cops--even just to say hi.

Citibank calls me up--on my CELL phone, mind you--to inform me that I should give them a call back, since there is a fraud fear on my account. Of course, all was well. They were just WORRIED because I'd been spending up a storm and they wanted to make sure it was ME. Alright, MOM--SORRY! Jeez...I'm doing this so I can I don't have to report and explain my spending to ANYONE. But no, now I have the freakin' BANK to contend with on my spending issues.

C'mon Citibank don't go scaring me--monitoring my money means less of it for you to SUCK up from me in the manner a leech slurps blood for an innocent host body. That's not the way to MAKE money.

eX cuse

Hmm...is an excuse, merely a contraction of ex and accuse?

After all, exes have been excused. They've been accused of sucking...thus excusing them from being in your life.

Interesting!

Friend Cover

Whilst talking to Karen the other night, I realized that there is a power in weilding the "friend cover". Much like cloud cover, friend cover can serve as an excuse for not taking off.

To use it in a Karen context, she's dating a delightful boy who hasn't thus far (in 8 months) assigned a label to their "relationship". So Karen, finally laid out that her "friends" were curious about what their status was. Her talent is being passively aggressive.

This is NOT to be confused with the juvenile defense of sending a friend in to do your dirty work. This should never be likened to guilting your friend into ask the boy across the dance floor to ask you to dance.

An example of friend cover which is much more applicable in my life: you are invited to an event you have little to no interest in attending--quickly call up all your friends, determine what plans they have laid out for that night and politely decline because you, unfortunately, HAVE to attend your friend's housewarming, bachelorette party, wart freezing, stomach pumping, etc. My talent is more focused on being pro-active.

Godspeed--may you have friends who cover you.

Walking Away

 
Tracey really got me into "walking" shots. They're not exactly candid but they fuse action in a mundane context. The cityscape factor is a definite draw, more so though is that these are people I know and adore.

Hoodie=Drew
Ghett hat=Tommy
Asian Chic=Li

Thanks for struttin' it for me, fellas. 

Ava

 
Tonight at Ava Penthouse at the top of the Dream Hotel--perched above Times Square--Tommy, I, and Drew soaked up some toxic treats. Thanks to Li for snapping this photo. The top I'm wearing is backwards--the cleavage reveal is meant for a sexy back look--ooops! 

Boy Posse from JHU

 
Well, we're not in college anymore but I still live in a dorm-sized space. The guys watching football on Saturday, as I pour copious amounts of red wine into their guacamole stained glasses--I learned to make it from scratch--Thanks, Li. 

Boobs

 

I'm usually VERY conservatively dressed but Special K brings out the special in me...No, I did not get hit on, once that evening--except by the FOBBY waiter at Banjara during Ali's b'day dinnner. Sigh. What's a girl gotta do?