Dear Sweet,
That was the best email ever. Thanks so much for sending such warm
thoughts my way. I hope you know that it means the world to me.
You are a gem and I'm really fortunate to have you as my cousin.
You've made me feel at home in the city and have brought lots of
happiness to my time here.
Hope all is well. Give Luckey some love from me.
xoxo
Rosie
My grand-daddy calls me a gem. The first time V came over to pick me up from my mom's house over one of our first spring breaks from college--my grandparents were visiting from India--my grandpops gave V a raised eyebrow and made him promise to bring me back by nightfall* because I was his "gem". The ribbing that ensued continues today--V will call me a "gem" whimsically and hold back chortles reminding me of that fateful day. But really if this reminds him that I deservea BIG gem--I'll live with the consistent mockery.
*Indian parents and grandparents are firm believers of being home by nightfall. In India this isn't till 9pm at the earliest so it's not nearly as limiting as it becomes in seasonal countries. There was a period in high school when I was not allowed out past 4pm which invariably was before most after-school events ended--specifically away tennis games. All Indian kids play tennis or they are expected to play tennis. It's our sport of choice. Damn those British!
February 28, 2006
Didn't see THAT coming...
She asked him if she was pretty.
He said no.
She asked him if he wanted to be with her forever.
He said no.
She asked him if he would cry if she walked away.
He again said no.
She had heard too much. She needed to leave.
As she walked away, he grabbed her arm and told her to stay.
He said, "You're not pretty, you're beautiful.
I don't want to be with you forever, I need to be with you forever.
I wouldn't cry if you walked away, I would die."
Yeah...I was nodding my assent till the part where he grabbed her asked her to stay--there's an ending I didn't see coming!
He said no.
She asked him if he wanted to be with her forever.
He said no.
She asked him if he would cry if she walked away.
He again said no.
She had heard too much. She needed to leave.
As she walked away, he grabbed her arm and told her to stay.
He said, "You're not pretty, you're beautiful.
I don't want to be with you forever, I need to be with you forever.
I wouldn't cry if you walked away, I would die."
Yeah...I was nodding my assent till the part where he grabbed her asked her to stay--there's an ending I didn't see coming!
The Dove
Last night, after work, during my subway ride to The Dove--where the tea girls were meeting me for some happy hour fun--I got chatted up by a broken Shakespearean actor turned stunt man who works IT to pay his bills. My Bridget Jones-y Brit colleague looked on in awe. Nothing to be awed by sista, it's always the mistas I'm not interested in that start the chat bit with me.
He was actually very cute in a 6'3" Robinhood sans tights kinda way, but SO not my type. Yes, I have a type. That type is V! I hope you're reading this, Mr. V!
Anyway, so we didn't exchange names but it's remarkable the amount of information that can be conveyed in 3-4 stops. He even switched trains in an effort to maximize chat time--since I had to take the local to get to Bleecker and he was headed to Grand Central. At one point he actually said, "Aargh!" To which my retort was, "Where's your eye patch, pirate!?"
He mentioned that in his next life he wanted to come back pretty, wealthy, and dumb. To which I said, "Pretty is not all it's cracked up to be!" The requisite, "Well, since you're the expert, I'll take your word for it!" from him almost worked, but then again--I love V--flattery won't always get you where you need to go, at least with me.
Again, it's when I have one contact in and a leaking eye that a charming, chatty Carl will turn on me. sigh.
Stella was gorgeously adorned to match the motif of The Dove--white, lacey/frilly Georgian blouse with fitted jeans and pointy, black shoes--Jo's older man popped in to whisk her off to dinner. He seemed genuine. I was going to type nice, but my loathing of the word "nice" held me back since I actually think I could like him very much as a boyfriend of a friend. He's a LEAP in the right direction from the last guy she invested in emotionally--I see high returns.
Lauren is backtracking on her move-out with "the boyfriend everyone currently hates". Kelli is over-worked and less underpaid than usual but happy that school is not sucking her soul like marrow from a lamb's leg. Karen is stressed to the Nth degree with her thesis--two years in the writing she has not been doing--with the due date sneaking up on her. Her Frenchman will be in town for 3 weeks adding stress to this fact and the reality that this will be the longest time they have spent together in the same city since they started dating almost a year ago. Egads!
I had nothing new to report as the single girl not-so-extraordinaire. When did I get so lame. Well, I've always been tame, but lame...yeesh, so much for getting my kicks in 2006!
He was actually very cute in a 6'3" Robinhood sans tights kinda way, but SO not my type. Yes, I have a type. That type is V! I hope you're reading this, Mr. V!
Anyway, so we didn't exchange names but it's remarkable the amount of information that can be conveyed in 3-4 stops. He even switched trains in an effort to maximize chat time--since I had to take the local to get to Bleecker and he was headed to Grand Central. At one point he actually said, "Aargh!" To which my retort was, "Where's your eye patch, pirate!?"
He mentioned that in his next life he wanted to come back pretty, wealthy, and dumb. To which I said, "Pretty is not all it's cracked up to be!" The requisite, "Well, since you're the expert, I'll take your word for it!" from him almost worked, but then again--I love V--flattery won't always get you where you need to go, at least with me.
Again, it's when I have one contact in and a leaking eye that a charming, chatty Carl will turn on me. sigh.
Stella was gorgeously adorned to match the motif of The Dove--white, lacey/frilly Georgian blouse with fitted jeans and pointy, black shoes--Jo's older man popped in to whisk her off to dinner. He seemed genuine. I was going to type nice, but my loathing of the word "nice" held me back since I actually think I could like him very much as a boyfriend of a friend. He's a LEAP in the right direction from the last guy she invested in emotionally--I see high returns.
Lauren is backtracking on her move-out with "the boyfriend everyone currently hates". Kelli is over-worked and less underpaid than usual but happy that school is not sucking her soul like marrow from a lamb's leg. Karen is stressed to the Nth degree with her thesis--two years in the writing she has not been doing--with the due date sneaking up on her. Her Frenchman will be in town for 3 weeks adding stress to this fact and the reality that this will be the longest time they have spent together in the same city since they started dating almost a year ago. Egads!
I had nothing new to report as the single girl not-so-extraordinaire. When did I get so lame. Well, I've always been tame, but lame...yeesh, so much for getting my kicks in 2006!
February 27, 2006
Bursts of Energy
I'm sesaonl. I'm not fruit, but the sheer vigor with which I find my life pulled year by year varies yet stays constant in its seasonality.
It goes something like this:
Resolutions in the Winter and agonizing over my hibernating ways--one pre-planned trip always adds luster to life.
Spring sees wardrobe changes and self-improvement by way of creative classes (not school but learning).
Summer harkens wild nights and elevated levels of bacchannalia. Impromptu trips and weekends away. I'm not so much a beach comber but I love the sun--tan as I mustn't.
Fall is by far my favorite season with my birthday to highlight my love of life. Always seem to find love this time of year and it symbolizes new beginnings. The looming reality that the year is almost over also finds me at the gym--every year, back I go only to quit in Feb.
Last year I took fun classes in cooking and Italian at The New School.
As this spring looms large, I find myself signing up for Knitting--at Knit New York in Union Square--and Mixed Media workshops at the Lower East Side Art Alliance. Pottery--beginner wheel, Ghost generation that I am--on Chambers Street, a skip and a jump away from the office. Puppy obedience training at Petco on 86th Street with Luckey has already begun.
Along with my preocupation with Anais Nin which has led to my purchase of every book she's ever written, inlcuding her biography which she was too dead to write--thanks Dierdre Bair! When I will cram in some self-instructional harmonica is left to be seen. Not to forget my second weekend class at TC...that's two weekends in April I'm not looking forward to giving up in the pursuit of higher education. Why can't I just be satisfied with my fun learning?
It goes something like this:
Resolutions in the Winter and agonizing over my hibernating ways--one pre-planned trip always adds luster to life.
Spring sees wardrobe changes and self-improvement by way of creative classes (not school but learning).
Summer harkens wild nights and elevated levels of bacchannalia. Impromptu trips and weekends away. I'm not so much a beach comber but I love the sun--tan as I mustn't.
Fall is by far my favorite season with my birthday to highlight my love of life. Always seem to find love this time of year and it symbolizes new beginnings. The looming reality that the year is almost over also finds me at the gym--every year, back I go only to quit in Feb.
Last year I took fun classes in cooking and Italian at The New School.
As this spring looms large, I find myself signing up for Knitting--at Knit New York in Union Square--and Mixed Media workshops at the Lower East Side Art Alliance. Pottery--beginner wheel, Ghost generation that I am--on Chambers Street, a skip and a jump away from the office. Puppy obedience training at Petco on 86th Street with Luckey has already begun.
Along with my preocupation with Anais Nin which has led to my purchase of every book she's ever written, inlcuding her biography which she was too dead to write--thanks Dierdre Bair! When I will cram in some self-instructional harmonica is left to be seen. Not to forget my second weekend class at TC...that's two weekends in April I'm not looking forward to giving up in the pursuit of higher education. Why can't I just be satisfied with my fun learning?
Slumber-free Party
In light of the recent break-up of her pre-engagement, Stella threw herself a pajama soiree at her apartment across-the-street from a fire department in Park Slope. I arrived wine in tow--inappropriate since Stella, though not a recovering alcoholic, does attend AA meetings--ready to cheer up the fallen school teacher.
There was no picking up to do--in true bad girl form, she was prancing around wildy in her matching pink camisole and jamies to girly tunes with an entourage of Cranium playing fiends. We escalated from board games to a game of truth or dare, which was far less interesting in the single sex company--the adorable gay couple aside--since the youngest of us is a decade past 15.
Geoff and Jeff immediately captured my heart with their artsy hair and perfect skin. One was scruffy, the other smooth. One was chatty, the other shy. One was sour, the other sweet--it was duality at its finest. I wished and wished they could be my gay boyfriends, but in Stella's hour of need I was above petty stealth and it wasn't a recruiting event, it was a cheer-up session.
In lieu of sleeping over I joined Karen and Jo for the commute back to Manhattan a little after 2am. I felt so old sitting in that subway car on the F-train...the orange seeping into my skin and burning off layers of youth.
A 36-year old version of my mom's fiancee hit on me, handing me his card and confirming that middle age approaching white men sure fetishize 20something Indian women. He prodded me into conversation against my headphone wearing will but politeness prevailed and the boyfriend excuse was resurrected. The clincher was, "Boyfriend, just a boyfriend. Until you're married there's always hope."
Mental note: V has a girlfriend, not a wife. So hope I won't but pray I will...
There was no picking up to do--in true bad girl form, she was prancing around wildy in her matching pink camisole and jamies to girly tunes with an entourage of Cranium playing fiends. We escalated from board games to a game of truth or dare, which was far less interesting in the single sex company--the adorable gay couple aside--since the youngest of us is a decade past 15.
Geoff and Jeff immediately captured my heart with their artsy hair and perfect skin. One was scruffy, the other smooth. One was chatty, the other shy. One was sour, the other sweet--it was duality at its finest. I wished and wished they could be my gay boyfriends, but in Stella's hour of need I was above petty stealth and it wasn't a recruiting event, it was a cheer-up session.
In lieu of sleeping over I joined Karen and Jo for the commute back to Manhattan a little after 2am. I felt so old sitting in that subway car on the F-train...the orange seeping into my skin and burning off layers of youth.
A 36-year old version of my mom's fiancee hit on me, handing me his card and confirming that middle age approaching white men sure fetishize 20something Indian women. He prodded me into conversation against my headphone wearing will but politeness prevailed and the boyfriend excuse was resurrected. The clincher was, "Boyfriend, just a boyfriend. Until you're married there's always hope."
Mental note: V has a girlfriend, not a wife. So hope I won't but pray I will...
Where Men will Hit on Me
In an effort to sow a musical seed, I found myself at the Guitar Center on W. 14th Street. For years I've wanted to do more than appreciate music. In my search to create I've stumbled upon the harmonica!
That's right, I will become a brown girl who plays the harp. Dominated as the instrument is by men--middle-aged ones, for that matter--I've decided to conquer the minute mouthpiece. While purchasing the music maker, I was hit on not once but thrice by boys who are in bands--or are adequately interested in bands.
The first was, Rubes, the assistant store manager who informed me that Ja Rule had recently thrown into his last order the very same harmonica I was buying--Hohner Twenty, 10-hole diatonic in D! His tongue ring clicked as he impressed me with his celebrity accounts and hipster spectacles. Finally, he handed me his card and suggested I give him a call if I had trouble with my instruments. When he asked me why I was picking up the harmonica I retorted, "Well, you just put your lips together and blow right? How hard can that be?" I think that may have sealed the deal.
A sweet Asian boy with punk hair and a sprinkling of facial hair approached me with the most unlikely of inquiries, "Do you work here?" To which Rubes snorted and walked off as I shook my head in dissent. His frown turned itself upside down as he asked what I was purchasing. I told him my tale of harmonica love and he informed me that he was in for a new amp. Apparently this bassist got more than he bargained for when I explained that he didn't look amped. He shook his head and offered to buy me caffeine--not coffee, but he offered me CAFFEINE--if I wasn't completely enthralled with V, I would very well have taken up his offer. Incidentally his name was Kevin Wong and he has an identical twin Kelvin...oooh two Wongs would be just RIGHT!
The last suitor was a suited, black man who bought nothing but claimed to be a lapsed drummer. When I asked if it was his passion, he raised an eyebrow which he was stunned I raised right back at him. He said it had been but between college and work and now the grind of life, drumming had lost its way. I left him with the words, "If you have a passion to perform, you should march to the beat of your own drum." He asked for my number as I smiled and skipped out of the store, harp in hand, song in heart.
Harmonious I was, as the truth was confirmed: I was definitely the kind of girl who men only approach when I don ratty Sunday jeans and a cut-up t-shirt as I ask a million questions and try my hardest to find my way in a music store--completely out of my element, ready to make a fool of myself but at no one's expense but my own.
Right before it fades to black in the sitcom of my life: I find myself--chin up, eyes alight--walking towards Union Square shopping bags in hand with a distinct spring in my sock-free, flat-shoed step right before left and left after right, down the pavement I trudge--life tick-tocking.
That's right, I will become a brown girl who plays the harp. Dominated as the instrument is by men--middle-aged ones, for that matter--I've decided to conquer the minute mouthpiece. While purchasing the music maker, I was hit on not once but thrice by boys who are in bands--or are adequately interested in bands.
The first was, Rubes, the assistant store manager who informed me that Ja Rule had recently thrown into his last order the very same harmonica I was buying--Hohner Twenty, 10-hole diatonic in D! His tongue ring clicked as he impressed me with his celebrity accounts and hipster spectacles. Finally, he handed me his card and suggested I give him a call if I had trouble with my instruments. When he asked me why I was picking up the harmonica I retorted, "Well, you just put your lips together and blow right? How hard can that be?" I think that may have sealed the deal.
A sweet Asian boy with punk hair and a sprinkling of facial hair approached me with the most unlikely of inquiries, "Do you work here?" To which Rubes snorted and walked off as I shook my head in dissent. His frown turned itself upside down as he asked what I was purchasing. I told him my tale of harmonica love and he informed me that he was in for a new amp. Apparently this bassist got more than he bargained for when I explained that he didn't look amped. He shook his head and offered to buy me caffeine--not coffee, but he offered me CAFFEINE--if I wasn't completely enthralled with V, I would very well have taken up his offer. Incidentally his name was Kevin Wong and he has an identical twin Kelvin...oooh two Wongs would be just RIGHT!
The last suitor was a suited, black man who bought nothing but claimed to be a lapsed drummer. When I asked if it was his passion, he raised an eyebrow which he was stunned I raised right back at him. He said it had been but between college and work and now the grind of life, drumming had lost its way. I left him with the words, "If you have a passion to perform, you should march to the beat of your own drum." He asked for my number as I smiled and skipped out of the store, harp in hand, song in heart.
Harmonious I was, as the truth was confirmed: I was definitely the kind of girl who men only approach when I don ratty Sunday jeans and a cut-up t-shirt as I ask a million questions and try my hardest to find my way in a music store--completely out of my element, ready to make a fool of myself but at no one's expense but my own.
Right before it fades to black in the sitcom of my life: I find myself--chin up, eyes alight--walking towards Union Square shopping bags in hand with a distinct spring in my sock-free, flat-shoed step right before left and left after right, down the pavement I trudge--life tick-tocking.
February 22, 2006
The Girl Who Cried Love
I've never been one to do the right thing...especially by V. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone that knows us knows that.
For the first time today--I did. I, consciously, chose to sacrifice my happiness for his. Yes, yes it should be noted that for many years he sacrificed his for mine--but I'll always argue that that was his choice and one must examine just to what degree that was a sacrifice, perhaps inconvenience is a better word. I, finally, did right by him.
V just called me at work--as he does while he drives to class, sometimes--to inform me that he had taken my advice to heart. He is going to make more of an effort with his girlfriend. In fact, he even sent flowers to her office in an effort to surprise her. This from the man who spent Valentine's Day playing basketball with his league and will be missing her b'day week(end) for a bachelor party in Vegas.
He explained to me that he wants to change. To improve the man that he is. Now, readers, I--the equal opportunity whiner--exclaim at the possibility of there being a BETTER V. As the tears pricked my eyes, I blinked them back--it's never professional to cry at work, particularly regarding a personal matter--it's one thing to cry in an effort to leverage someone's weakness, but wholly another if it doesn't apply to the task at hand. I choked back the lump in my throat and I congratulated him. This is what I wished for him: happiness. If she's the way for him to get that...I'm certainly NOT going to stand in his way. Lord knows, I wanted more than anything to shout it out: NOT HER--ME--PICK ME! MY ADVICE PERTAINED TO ME--it could not have had LESS to do with her. Yet good-natured as he is, that's how he saw it.
But the time for that has come and gone. It had died cruel and unusual deaths and been reincarnated twice...I can't tell him the truth. I can't have him look at me with those tired eyes or hear the weariness in his response. I'm the girl that cried love...and now that I finally see the truth for what it is--it's too late. Too little, too late!
I didn't even balk at his suggestion that his present and his past should forge a friendship--why he thinks she and I could bear to share him, I'm not sure--knowing us as he does....but if that's what he wants, well my love is strong enough. There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for V and if it takes me proving to him that I love him more than msyelf, well the time is now. In lieu of the selfish thing (the thing I am), I'm going to do right by him.
I will swallow every snide comment and spew only platitudes; doing everything in my power to make him smile a little brighter, feel a little lighter and make his world a wee bit better--even if it means that world with her.
For the first time today--I did. I, consciously, chose to sacrifice my happiness for his. Yes, yes it should be noted that for many years he sacrificed his for mine--but I'll always argue that that was his choice and one must examine just to what degree that was a sacrifice, perhaps inconvenience is a better word. I, finally, did right by him.
V just called me at work--as he does while he drives to class, sometimes--to inform me that he had taken my advice to heart. He is going to make more of an effort with his girlfriend. In fact, he even sent flowers to her office in an effort to surprise her. This from the man who spent Valentine's Day playing basketball with his league and will be missing her b'day week(end) for a bachelor party in Vegas.
He explained to me that he wants to change. To improve the man that he is. Now, readers, I--the equal opportunity whiner--exclaim at the possibility of there being a BETTER V. As the tears pricked my eyes, I blinked them back--it's never professional to cry at work, particularly regarding a personal matter--it's one thing to cry in an effort to leverage someone's weakness, but wholly another if it doesn't apply to the task at hand. I choked back the lump in my throat and I congratulated him. This is what I wished for him: happiness. If she's the way for him to get that...I'm certainly NOT going to stand in his way. Lord knows, I wanted more than anything to shout it out: NOT HER--ME--PICK ME! MY ADVICE PERTAINED TO ME--it could not have had LESS to do with her. Yet good-natured as he is, that's how he saw it.
But the time for that has come and gone. It had died cruel and unusual deaths and been reincarnated twice...I can't tell him the truth. I can't have him look at me with those tired eyes or hear the weariness in his response. I'm the girl that cried love...and now that I finally see the truth for what it is--it's too late. Too little, too late!
I didn't even balk at his suggestion that his present and his past should forge a friendship--why he thinks she and I could bear to share him, I'm not sure--knowing us as he does....but if that's what he wants, well my love is strong enough. There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for V and if it takes me proving to him that I love him more than msyelf, well the time is now. In lieu of the selfish thing (the thing I am), I'm going to do right by him.
I will swallow every snide comment and spew only platitudes; doing everything in my power to make him smile a little brighter, feel a little lighter and make his world a wee bit better--even if it means that world with her.
Is Wall St. this way?
Just returned to my desk after a working lunch at Zeytuna with my colleague.
On the way back, an older dork stops us to enquire, "Is Wall st. this way?" pointing towards it. My colleague acknowledged him, affirming his directional sense. But instead of moving on he asked me pointedly, "Did you go to school in the city?" In an effort not to seem rude in front of my colleague, I respond, "No, I did not."
He continues asking me questions about myself. I answer curtly, and he then proceeds to answer the question himself--as this forced conversation escalates, my colleague points to the nearest store and asks, "Will you pop into Duane Reade with me? Baby wants something sour."
Seizing his opportunity, the accountant who works in the area so OBVIOUSLY is aware of exactly where Wall Street is proceeds to ask the direct question, "Would you like to have lunch sometime?" That's my cue. I smile and shrug, "That's so sweet, but my boyfriend would not be happy." My pregnant colleague holds back a chuckle and we skip into Duane Reade where she bursts into controlled laughter as I say, "Now you've seen the portrait of the men I attract! Is it any wonder that I am single"
Of all the glorious, suited Wall Street guys I get hit on by the old (not gold) accountant, the most boring of professions. WHY?
Upon our return, she stops colleagues in the elevator, in the lobby, and finally on our floor to regale them with this tale of my woe. Polite laughter ensues all around, but the other singletons know--this is the way of our world.
On the way back, an older dork stops us to enquire, "Is Wall st. this way?" pointing towards it. My colleague acknowledged him, affirming his directional sense. But instead of moving on he asked me pointedly, "Did you go to school in the city?" In an effort not to seem rude in front of my colleague, I respond, "No, I did not."
He continues asking me questions about myself. I answer curtly, and he then proceeds to answer the question himself--as this forced conversation escalates, my colleague points to the nearest store and asks, "Will you pop into Duane Reade with me? Baby wants something sour."
Seizing his opportunity, the accountant who works in the area so OBVIOUSLY is aware of exactly where Wall Street is proceeds to ask the direct question, "Would you like to have lunch sometime?" That's my cue. I smile and shrug, "That's so sweet, but my boyfriend would not be happy." My pregnant colleague holds back a chuckle and we skip into Duane Reade where she bursts into controlled laughter as I say, "Now you've seen the portrait of the men I attract! Is it any wonder that I am single"
Of all the glorious, suited Wall Street guys I get hit on by the old (not gold) accountant, the most boring of professions. WHY?
Upon our return, she stops colleagues in the elevator, in the lobby, and finally on our floor to regale them with this tale of my woe. Polite laughter ensues all around, but the other singletons know--this is the way of our world.
Bad Girls
Tracey, against her better judgement (in an effort to give a gift that I would like despite her sheer loathing of it), provided me with a Bad Girls Calendar for Christmas/New Year.
It has been sitting on my desk and become my heart's work delight.
Today is not just Washington's birthday but has been assigned a Hump Day Project--a la bad girl!
The directions for today's project are as follows:
Get your Baddies together, join hands, and proclaim your Bad Girl vows aloud
Just because you may eventually get married doesn't mean you can't be a bad girl forever.
Here is the pronouncement--say it with me--
"I promise to take you, Bad Girls, as my awfully baddest friends. To have and to hold, in badness and in health. I vow not to lose my bad and turn into a boring married person who stays home every night polishing my husband's shoes and the kitchen floor. I promise to uphold the Bad Girl code, spreading good times and the Bad Girl gospel wherever I go. I vow to maintain my Girl's Night In and Girl's Night Out duties, to go out dancing at least once a month, to continue to show off my bootylicious booty, and to always refer to myself as "I" rather than "we". I vow to maintain my bad, from this day forward, till death do us party."
You've been pronounced: Forever Bad.
(Voice-over Xhibit from Pimp my Ride plucking up your colllar and saying it to you)
That was remarkably like those middle/high school typing tests. I'm proud to report, I didn't make too many mistakes...Alright, I made a few that I went ahead and fixed because Lord knows Tracey will be phoning me up to lament my homonym and apostrophe erros now coupled with spelling mistakes--cripes and jinkies!
It has been sitting on my desk and become my heart's work delight.
Today is not just Washington's birthday but has been assigned a Hump Day Project--a la bad girl!
The directions for today's project are as follows:
Get your Baddies together, join hands, and proclaim your Bad Girl vows aloud
Just because you may eventually get married doesn't mean you can't be a bad girl forever.
Here is the pronouncement--say it with me--
"I promise to take you, Bad Girls, as my awfully baddest friends. To have and to hold, in badness and in health. I vow not to lose my bad and turn into a boring married person who stays home every night polishing my husband's shoes and the kitchen floor. I promise to uphold the Bad Girl code, spreading good times and the Bad Girl gospel wherever I go. I vow to maintain my Girl's Night In and Girl's Night Out duties, to go out dancing at least once a month, to continue to show off my bootylicious booty, and to always refer to myself as "I" rather than "we". I vow to maintain my bad, from this day forward, till death do us party."
You've been pronounced: Forever Bad.
(Voice-over Xhibit from Pimp my Ride plucking up your colllar and saying it to you)
That was remarkably like those middle/high school typing tests. I'm proud to report, I didn't make too many mistakes...Alright, I made a few that I went ahead and fixed because Lord knows Tracey will be phoning me up to lament my homonym and apostrophe erros now coupled with spelling mistakes--cripes and jinkies!
February 21, 2006
Commentary on Love
I have a few specific things to say about love...having recently fallen completely OUT of it with a man and then fallen right back in it with a dog.
Of romantic love I say this:
It is the timeless plague. An emotional epidemic of proportions as large as you are capable of feeling.
Like an addiction it consumes, till there is nothing left of you to consume; if you are to survive you must quit it before it quits you.
I have loved and I have lost. And I promise you, I am none the wiser for either.
The battle of love can only be won by two players, both of whom must mirror the other's devotion--if this cannot be achieved they must be comfortable with one or (both in turn) compensating for the other's lack therein.
The best experience I have had in loving someone is realizing it after the fact--it saved me the agony at the time and leaves me with a feeling of softness and sweetness after the fact.
Falling out of love was more fulfilling than falling in love with him--perhaps because he was the devil and to quit him was Godly.
Of pet love I say this:
Just when you think, one more incident and you are done--the incident seems minor and you have only just begun.
No human being can fill you with the promise and pride that a pet brings to your feet--unconditional love and devotion, albeit in the form of a toy in his teeth.
As his puppy eyes look up at me in awe and genuine wonder, I wonder if he is mirroring my emotion for him or if I am mirroring his for me.
The reality that he will never be angry with me, no matter how cruel I feel I have been--at once it induces guilt and joy, emotions known for their twin capacity only in sadists.
I never knew there was love that could not hurt. This love is that of a pet.
These aren't famous--they are me--if I paraphrased someone famous it was wholly unintentional. I apologize, nonetheless!
Of romantic love I say this:
It is the timeless plague. An emotional epidemic of proportions as large as you are capable of feeling.
Like an addiction it consumes, till there is nothing left of you to consume; if you are to survive you must quit it before it quits you.
I have loved and I have lost. And I promise you, I am none the wiser for either.
The battle of love can only be won by two players, both of whom must mirror the other's devotion--if this cannot be achieved they must be comfortable with one or (both in turn) compensating for the other's lack therein.
The best experience I have had in loving someone is realizing it after the fact--it saved me the agony at the time and leaves me with a feeling of softness and sweetness after the fact.
Falling out of love was more fulfilling than falling in love with him--perhaps because he was the devil and to quit him was Godly.
Of pet love I say this:
Just when you think, one more incident and you are done--the incident seems minor and you have only just begun.
No human being can fill you with the promise and pride that a pet brings to your feet--unconditional love and devotion, albeit in the form of a toy in his teeth.
As his puppy eyes look up at me in awe and genuine wonder, I wonder if he is mirroring my emotion for him or if I am mirroring his for me.
The reality that he will never be angry with me, no matter how cruel I feel I have been--at once it induces guilt and joy, emotions known for their twin capacity only in sadists.
I never knew there was love that could not hurt. This love is that of a pet.
These aren't famous--they are me--if I paraphrased someone famous it was wholly unintentional. I apologize, nonetheless!
Anais Nin
If she were alive she would be celebrating her 103rd birthday, today!
After years of listening to Jewel, curiosity finally got the best of me and I hopped into Borders on Broadway on my lunch hour last Friday and purchased the sliver of a book entitled "The Sensitive Man and Other Essays" by Anais Nin.
I have devoured that particular collection of vignettes and placed an order for her entire collection of diaries...including the four volumes of the EARLY years which are seldom included in the collective acclaim her diaries receieved during her life. That is rare for an autobiographical work--diaries specifically for that matter. Those usually get their due posthumously. Arthur Ashe being my favorite example.
Though I'm not a stunning beauty who modelled at age 16, I find myself relating to Anais Nin. She boarded an oceanliner with her mother from Paris to New York at age 9, leaving her father beheind. She travelled extensively and wrote eloquently. She was eager to convey the texture and feel of a place. She studied psychology, was analyzed by Otto Rank (little known to lay people but a cult figure in the psych community) and pushes the psychic agenda of Carl Jung. She remains for women and their rights whilst remaining a Freudian in her psychodynamic predispositions. She never claimed to be a feminist but she shaped the "difference feminism" movement with her work.
It is not inspite but partly because of the heinous truths revealed about her in the recent biography by Diedre Bair that I love Anais more. It makes her real, it strips away the perfection she portrays in her journals--nay, it enhances the independent woman she drew up when women needed her to be. Her husband tolerated her affairs. He financed her travels and he loved/supported the woman she was. Even her incestuous affair with her father plays into the understanding of her deep-seated attachment to psychology, particularly the intrapsychic and unconscious.
I wish I could have met her. Today I devote as a tribute to Anais Nin. The woman in all of us.
After years of listening to Jewel, curiosity finally got the best of me and I hopped into Borders on Broadway on my lunch hour last Friday and purchased the sliver of a book entitled "The Sensitive Man and Other Essays" by Anais Nin.
I have devoured that particular collection of vignettes and placed an order for her entire collection of diaries...including the four volumes of the EARLY years which are seldom included in the collective acclaim her diaries receieved during her life. That is rare for an autobiographical work--diaries specifically for that matter. Those usually get their due posthumously. Arthur Ashe being my favorite example.
Though I'm not a stunning beauty who modelled at age 16, I find myself relating to Anais Nin. She boarded an oceanliner with her mother from Paris to New York at age 9, leaving her father beheind. She travelled extensively and wrote eloquently. She was eager to convey the texture and feel of a place. She studied psychology, was analyzed by Otto Rank (little known to lay people but a cult figure in the psych community) and pushes the psychic agenda of Carl Jung. She remains for women and their rights whilst remaining a Freudian in her psychodynamic predispositions. She never claimed to be a feminist but she shaped the "difference feminism" movement with her work.
It is not inspite but partly because of the heinous truths revealed about her in the recent biography by Diedre Bair that I love Anais more. It makes her real, it strips away the perfection she portrays in her journals--nay, it enhances the independent woman she drew up when women needed her to be. Her husband tolerated her affairs. He financed her travels and he loved/supported the woman she was. Even her incestuous affair with her father plays into the understanding of her deep-seated attachment to psychology, particularly the intrapsychic and unconscious.
I wish I could have met her. Today I devote as a tribute to Anais Nin. The woman in all of us.
February 17, 2006
Rock Candy
So they say that New York is the city that never sleeps yet last night my colleagues and I had a hard time finding an open club. The argument holds, we may just not have known where to go...but one of the girls runs an event planning gig on the side with her boyfriend--she refers to him as her "partner", which throws everyone off on her sexual orientation...but he's very much a HE.
The original plan was to head over to China Club from our office drink thing at Bull Run. However it was closed. Not closed for a private party but CLOSED on a thursday on a mild February evening. Weird. So then we decided to head to Crobar. When we arrived, they were--you guessed it--CLOSED. However they had a good excuse, a private party. Instead of being further dissappointed, we headed East. So much for our young men going WEST.
We ended up at Rock Candy which exuded a Bronx meets far out Queens vibe in the heart of the Flatiron. Odd. The music was pumpin' till they broke out the '80s at which point I decided my tired ass needed to head home. The point of this voyage was to showcase for my German colleague (yes, the same one who had never had sushi and will be experiencing Indian food for the first time on Monday) what the nightlife in New York is really like. Apparently, the Party Gods were against us.
However we lost one in our ranks to a pant-splitting episode as we climbed into our second cab for the evening. Poor dear. She gave up and took yet another cab to Penn Station for her long ride to Mineola via the LIRR!
The original plan was to head over to China Club from our office drink thing at Bull Run. However it was closed. Not closed for a private party but CLOSED on a thursday on a mild February evening. Weird. So then we decided to head to Crobar. When we arrived, they were--you guessed it--CLOSED. However they had a good excuse, a private party. Instead of being further dissappointed, we headed East. So much for our young men going WEST.
We ended up at Rock Candy which exuded a Bronx meets far out Queens vibe in the heart of the Flatiron. Odd. The music was pumpin' till they broke out the '80s at which point I decided my tired ass needed to head home. The point of this voyage was to showcase for my German colleague (yes, the same one who had never had sushi and will be experiencing Indian food for the first time on Monday) what the nightlife in New York is really like. Apparently, the Party Gods were against us.
However we lost one in our ranks to a pant-splitting episode as we climbed into our second cab for the evening. Poor dear. She gave up and took yet another cab to Penn Station for her long ride to Mineola via the LIRR!
Rewind Kelli
I just saw Kelli circa november 1999. It was eerie. This girl on my train even had the exact shade of blonde hair Kelli sported at the time--she's a redhead now, Kelli not that blond from the train. It was, I repeat, eerie.
I couldn't help staring at her agape. Luckily in true Kelli style, she was obvlious to my gawking. She was even reading THE ECONOMIST! Finally, she reached into her bag and pulled out a very red tube and daintily applied it to her mouth which was already, in my opinion, adequately red.
It got me thinking...are there past and future iterations of me going about their life in this city?
Cue New York, New York the Ja Rule version, of course.
I couldn't help staring at her agape. Luckily in true Kelli style, she was obvlious to my gawking. She was even reading THE ECONOMIST! Finally, she reached into her bag and pulled out a very red tube and daintily applied it to her mouth which was already, in my opinion, adequately red.
It got me thinking...are there past and future iterations of me going about their life in this city?
Cue New York, New York the Ja Rule version, of course.
February 16, 2006
Networking hits Home
A fresh grad I onboarded at Silverstein Katz last summer is applying for the position of being one of the coordinators on my team at the German Bank(while they don't report to me, I get to assign them work--we work "together"!). She's only been with Silverstein since July...God awful place!
Though with her qualifications and work experience even as a youngster she should be aiming hiring than coordinating logistics from upcoming classes--it's only a wee step above admin labor. But then again, I was running that job at Silverstein a mere 4 months ago. We're all paddling in the same pool.
Got me thinking of what a small world banking in New York really is, albeit a large industry in terms of bodies in buildings...
Not to mention the power of networking! Gosh, it's really the key to success--well upward mobility being success!
Though with her qualifications and work experience even as a youngster she should be aiming hiring than coordinating logistics from upcoming classes--it's only a wee step above admin labor. But then again, I was running that job at Silverstein a mere 4 months ago. We're all paddling in the same pool.
Got me thinking of what a small world banking in New York really is, albeit a large industry in terms of bodies in buildings...
Not to mention the power of networking! Gosh, it's really the key to success--well upward mobility being success!
I'm mad at V
He doesn't know it.
He didn't do anything egregious enough to lead to this.
That said, he has inflamed the delicate sensibilities which hang in a precarious balance when it comes to him.
I know it's not fair but I set a higher standard for him. He hits it everytime, that's why when he doesn't, it is glaringly obvious--it's scathing.
Part of my anger stems from the reality that I'm finally catching on that I don't know him anymore. Time and space have taken their toll and the man I think he is and the man that he is are less and less the same.
I just wish I didn't love him so damm much....but I do, and so I'm mad. Mad at me. Mad him. Mad at the situation.
He didn't do anything egregious enough to lead to this.
That said, he has inflamed the delicate sensibilities which hang in a precarious balance when it comes to him.
I know it's not fair but I set a higher standard for him. He hits it everytime, that's why when he doesn't, it is glaringly obvious--it's scathing.
Part of my anger stems from the reality that I'm finally catching on that I don't know him anymore. Time and space have taken their toll and the man I think he is and the man that he is are less and less the same.
I just wish I didn't love him so damm much....but I do, and so I'm mad. Mad at me. Mad him. Mad at the situation.
Dinner with a Colleague
Last night I took a colleague of mine to dinner at Sushi Samba 7. Being German, she had never had sushi before. GASP. She enjoyed the maki rolls more than the sashimi, but I was impressed with her willingness to experience sushi. As she put it, "If I was not adventurous I would not come here from Deutschland". Well, point taken.
I found out over the course of dinner that she had NEVER had Indian food either. NEVER. EVER. In the quarter century that her life has been lived, she has not experienced the gastronomic delight that is curry.
Suffice to say I am escorting her to Curry Row on Monday to provide her the pleasure of my company and expertise with the menu prior to her departure to her homeland.
She's been here 5 months and she's never had sushi or curry...I mean, what has she been eating?
I found out over the course of dinner that she had NEVER had Indian food either. NEVER. EVER. In the quarter century that her life has been lived, she has not experienced the gastronomic delight that is curry.
Suffice to say I am escorting her to Curry Row on Monday to provide her the pleasure of my company and expertise with the menu prior to her departure to her homeland.
She's been here 5 months and she's never had sushi or curry...I mean, what has she been eating?
February 15, 2006
Single Awareness Day
Yesterday, I wasn't SAD at all. I was aware of my single status more than usual, but in the most positive way.
The day began with a flurry of texts to my single friends to wish them: "Happy Single Awareness Day!" Some of them texted back, others called.
My mother sent me a lovely floral assortment with a note that read:
"To my dearest daughter,
You will be my Valentine forever.
Love, Mama"
Incidentally she orderd it right after she received her bouquet in a BIG envelope--nifty 1-800-Flowers packaging!
I met Gary, Special K, Rani, Karen, and Tommy for dinner at Otto in the Village. We drank bottles of wine, shared a cheese plate and desserts. Pasta and pizza around the table. Karen departed shortly thereafter given her non-single status. The rest of us ventured on to Decibel. I appreciate the nooks and crannies of NYC. The hidden gems and underground hideaways. This cavernous space reminds me of a den in Tokyo--though I've never been to the city, it is very much what I envision slices of it to be like. As we departed, lychee martinis and boxes of tomakagen in our satiated bellies, Rani texted me "Had an awesome time. ur friends are great." That compliment superseded the times people have acknowledged my stellar taste in boyfriends. Something about one friend liking another while you play catalyst in lieu of buffer is high praise--especially on Single Awareness Day.
Special K and I trudged into our building and I was greeted with a large box by the doorman. Norman had sent me a dozen red roses with a note that read: "To the best friend anyone could hope for (and that I have!). Didn't want to break your streak. Love :) Norman" There was an adorable brown teddy bear with requisite red bow wrapped in cellophane, which I promptly ripped from what would have been his suffocating face were he a live bear. Norman once gave me a bright green teddy bear in high school. This bear reminded me of that bear, but showed me how his taste had evolved--maturing from the eclectic to the sophisticated. He's always been a great friend. In that moment I appreciated that fact with an intensity and depth I had lost since high school. It was the perfect end to a perfect day!
I was aware that I had friends. Good friends at that.
Aware that I had a mother who loves me, more than life itself.
Aware that I live in the greatest city in the world--for me.
Aware that I had a great job which I truly enjoy--a true feat for me.
Thankful that this year I'm single and aware of truly how miserable I was last year when I was with someone--heck someone I loved.
I didn't spend a minute harping on the possibility of more. I think I spend so much of my life looking forward and looking back, yesterday was one of the few times I didn't look past the moment.
I hope to do that more this year. That's my fervent wish for me...
The day began with a flurry of texts to my single friends to wish them: "Happy Single Awareness Day!" Some of them texted back, others called.
My mother sent me a lovely floral assortment with a note that read:
"To my dearest daughter,
You will be my Valentine forever.
Love, Mama"
Incidentally she orderd it right after she received her bouquet in a BIG envelope--nifty 1-800-Flowers packaging!
I met Gary, Special K, Rani, Karen, and Tommy for dinner at Otto in the Village. We drank bottles of wine, shared a cheese plate and desserts. Pasta and pizza around the table. Karen departed shortly thereafter given her non-single status. The rest of us ventured on to Decibel. I appreciate the nooks and crannies of NYC. The hidden gems and underground hideaways. This cavernous space reminds me of a den in Tokyo--though I've never been to the city, it is very much what I envision slices of it to be like. As we departed, lychee martinis and boxes of tomakagen in our satiated bellies, Rani texted me "Had an awesome time. ur friends are great." That compliment superseded the times people have acknowledged my stellar taste in boyfriends. Something about one friend liking another while you play catalyst in lieu of buffer is high praise--especially on Single Awareness Day.
Special K and I trudged into our building and I was greeted with a large box by the doorman. Norman had sent me a dozen red roses with a note that read: "To the best friend anyone could hope for (and that I have!). Didn't want to break your streak. Love :) Norman" There was an adorable brown teddy bear with requisite red bow wrapped in cellophane, which I promptly ripped from what would have been his suffocating face were he a live bear. Norman once gave me a bright green teddy bear in high school. This bear reminded me of that bear, but showed me how his taste had evolved--maturing from the eclectic to the sophisticated. He's always been a great friend. In that moment I appreciated that fact with an intensity and depth I had lost since high school. It was the perfect end to a perfect day!I was aware that I had friends. Good friends at that.
Aware that I had a mother who loves me, more than life itself.
Aware that I live in the greatest city in the world--for me.
Aware that I had a great job which I truly enjoy--a true feat for me.
Thankful that this year I'm single and aware of truly how miserable I was last year when I was with someone--heck someone I loved.
I didn't spend a minute harping on the possibility of more. I think I spend so much of my life looking forward and looking back, yesterday was one of the few times I didn't look past the moment.
I hope to do that more this year. That's my fervent wish for me...
February 14, 2006
Mi Meme
Four bizarre jobs I have held and the length of time I lasted and how I left:
1. Paint Girl: Color Me Mine in Summit, NJ 3 months
In high school, I took this job for pizza money. I was in charge of securing paint and brushes for kids, soccer moms and the like who used paint therapy to unwind or host parties. Stopped going one day after school.
2. Life Coach: Telecommuted 3 weeks & 2 weeks
Provided phone and e-mail reminders to a client in LA and another in Princeton, NJ. Mostly they paid me to be their nagging wife. One was gay and the other had serious issues: he insisted on referring to me as Goddess. Both job paid in movie tickets through Fandango.
3. Social Planner: Diamond Dealer in NYC 8 months
One of my many CL etcetera jobs. I planned out activities this diamond dealer never ever ended up doing. He was one of those sleazy middle-eastern bachelors. Once he had me just sit in his office and watch him work. He paid me in cash advances--booze money.
4. Art Auction Bidder: NYC Gallery 2 hours
Tommy and I attended an art exhibit and bid on a few pieces each. There is a limit on how many pieces one person can buy--particularly by the same artist, so the appreciaters who paid us circumvented the system by having us buy the pieces for them with their money. We got to rub elbows with the high brow clientele at the gallery and chug cheap wine--yeah, we're classy!
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
2. Frequency
3. The Mummy Returns and The Mummy
4. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Four places I've liked :
1. San Francisco
2. Prague
3. Rome
4. Jaipur
Four TV shows I like:
1. Greys Anatomy
2. Gilmore Girls
3. Sex and the City
4. Beauty & The Geek
Four Family Vacations I've been on:
1. Punta Cana, Dominican Republic
2. Two-week tour of Italy
3. Disneyworld
4. Nantucket
Four of my favorite fast food dishes:
1. Chicken/Shrimp Vindaloo
2. Kung Pao Chicken
3. Bubble Tea
4. Nachos with Beef and LOTS of Jalapenos
Four sites I visit daily:
1. Dooce
2. CL
3. Google
4. New York Mag Rag
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. In my bed
2. In someone else's bed
3. In a hotel room by a beach on a bed
4. In Bombay
Two bloggers I am tagging:
1. Katie
2. Roma
1. Paint Girl: Color Me Mine in Summit, NJ 3 months
In high school, I took this job for pizza money. I was in charge of securing paint and brushes for kids, soccer moms and the like who used paint therapy to unwind or host parties. Stopped going one day after school.
2. Life Coach: Telecommuted 3 weeks & 2 weeks
Provided phone and e-mail reminders to a client in LA and another in Princeton, NJ. Mostly they paid me to be their nagging wife. One was gay and the other had serious issues: he insisted on referring to me as Goddess. Both job paid in movie tickets through Fandango.
3. Social Planner: Diamond Dealer in NYC 8 months
One of my many CL etcetera jobs. I planned out activities this diamond dealer never ever ended up doing. He was one of those sleazy middle-eastern bachelors. Once he had me just sit in his office and watch him work. He paid me in cash advances--booze money.
4. Art Auction Bidder: NYC Gallery 2 hours
Tommy and I attended an art exhibit and bid on a few pieces each. There is a limit on how many pieces one person can buy--particularly by the same artist, so the appreciaters who paid us circumvented the system by having us buy the pieces for them with their money. We got to rub elbows with the high brow clientele at the gallery and chug cheap wine--yeah, we're classy!
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
2. Frequency
3. The Mummy Returns and The Mummy
4. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Four places I've liked :
1. San Francisco
2. Prague
3. Rome
4. Jaipur
Four TV shows I like:
1. Greys Anatomy
2. Gilmore Girls
3. Sex and the City
4. Beauty & The Geek
Four Family Vacations I've been on:
1. Punta Cana, Dominican Republic
2. Two-week tour of Italy
3. Disneyworld
4. Nantucket
Four of my favorite fast food dishes:
1. Chicken/Shrimp Vindaloo
2. Kung Pao Chicken
3. Bubble Tea
4. Nachos with Beef and LOTS of Jalapenos
Four sites I visit daily:
1. Dooce
2. CL
3. Google
4. New York Mag Rag
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. In my bed
2. In someone else's bed
3. In a hotel room by a beach on a bed
4. In Bombay
Two bloggers I am tagging:
1. Katie
2. Roma
February 13, 2006
Hey Mama
When this plays at my mom's wedding, I'm going to ask her to dance with me. Yes, I know I'm a girl. But an only child like an single parent has to play both sexes.
Kanye West RULES!
CHORUS:
(Hey Mama), I wanna scream so loud for you, cuz I'm so proud of you
Let me tell you what I'm about to do, (Hey Mama)
I know I act a fool but, I promise you I'm goin' back to school
I appreciate what you allowed for me
I just want you to be proud of me (Hey Mama)
I wanna tell the whole world about a friend of mine
This little light of mine and I'm gonna let it shine
I'm gonna take y'all back to them better times
I'm gonna talk about my mama if y'all don't mind
I was three years old, when you and I moved to the Chi
Late December, harsh winter gave me a cold
You fixed me up something that was good for my soul
Famous homemade chicken soup, can I have another bowl?
You work late nights just to keep on the lights
Mommy got me training wheels so I could keep on my bike
And you would give anything in this world
Michael Jackson leather and a glove, but didn't give me a curl
And you never put no man over me
And I love you for that mommy can't you see?
Seven years old, caught you with tears in your eyes
Cuz a nigga cheatin, tellin' you lies, then I started to cry
As we knelt on the kitchen floor
I said mommy I'm gonna love you till you don't hurt no more
And when I'm older, you ain't gotta work no more
And I'm gonna get you that mansion that we couldn't afford
See you're unbreakable, unmistakable
Highly capable, lady that's makin' loot
A livin' legend too, just look at what heaven do
Send us an angel, and I thank you (Hey Mama)
CHORUS
Forrest Gump mama said, "Life is like a box of chocolates!"
My mama told me go to school, "Get your doctorate!"
Somethin' to fall back on, you could profit with
But still supported me when I did the opposite.
Now I feel like it's things I gotta get
Things I gotta do, just to prove to you
You was getting through, can the choir please
Give me a verse--You, Are So Beautiful To Me?
Can't you see, you're like a book of poetry
Maya Angelou, Nicky Giovanni, turn one page and there's my mommy
Come on mommy just dance wit me, let the whole world see your dancing feet
Now when I say Hey, y'all say Mama, now everybody answer me (Hey Mama)
CHORUS
I guess it also depends tho', if my ends low
Second they get up you gonna get that Benzo
Tint the windows, ride around the city and let ya friends know (Hey Mama)
Tell your job you gotta fake 'em out
Since you brought me in this world, let me take you out
To a restaurant, upper echelon
Im gonna get you a Jag, whatever else you want
Just tell me what kind of S-Type Donda West like?
Tell me the perfect color so I make it just right
It don't gotta be Mother's Day, or your birthday
For me to just call and say (Hey Mama)
CHORUS
Kanye West RULES!
CHORUS:
(Hey Mama), I wanna scream so loud for you, cuz I'm so proud of you
Let me tell you what I'm about to do, (Hey Mama)
I know I act a fool but, I promise you I'm goin' back to school
I appreciate what you allowed for me
I just want you to be proud of me (Hey Mama)
I wanna tell the whole world about a friend of mine
This little light of mine and I'm gonna let it shine
I'm gonna take y'all back to them better times
I'm gonna talk about my mama if y'all don't mind
I was three years old, when you and I moved to the Chi
Late December, harsh winter gave me a cold
You fixed me up something that was good for my soul
Famous homemade chicken soup, can I have another bowl?
You work late nights just to keep on the lights
Mommy got me training wheels so I could keep on my bike
And you would give anything in this world
Michael Jackson leather and a glove, but didn't give me a curl
And you never put no man over me
And I love you for that mommy can't you see?
Seven years old, caught you with tears in your eyes
Cuz a nigga cheatin, tellin' you lies, then I started to cry
As we knelt on the kitchen floor
I said mommy I'm gonna love you till you don't hurt no more
And when I'm older, you ain't gotta work no more
And I'm gonna get you that mansion that we couldn't afford
See you're unbreakable, unmistakable
Highly capable, lady that's makin' loot
A livin' legend too, just look at what heaven do
Send us an angel, and I thank you (Hey Mama)
CHORUS
Forrest Gump mama said, "Life is like a box of chocolates!"
My mama told me go to school, "Get your doctorate!"
Somethin' to fall back on, you could profit with
But still supported me when I did the opposite.
Now I feel like it's things I gotta get
Things I gotta do, just to prove to you
You was getting through, can the choir please
Give me a verse--You, Are So Beautiful To Me?
Can't you see, you're like a book of poetry
Maya Angelou, Nicky Giovanni, turn one page and there's my mommy
Come on mommy just dance wit me, let the whole world see your dancing feet
Now when I say Hey, y'all say Mama, now everybody answer me (Hey Mama)
CHORUS
I guess it also depends tho', if my ends low
Second they get up you gonna get that Benzo
Tint the windows, ride around the city and let ya friends know (Hey Mama)
Tell your job you gotta fake 'em out
Since you brought me in this world, let me take you out
To a restaurant, upper echelon
Im gonna get you a Jag, whatever else you want
Just tell me what kind of S-Type Donda West like?
Tell me the perfect color so I make it just right
It don't gotta be Mother's Day, or your birthday
For me to just call and say (Hey Mama)
CHORUS
Eventful Saturday
Saturday turned out to be far more eventful than I had imagined it could be.
Marc and my mom appeared on my doorstep at 4:15pm as scheduled, eager to pet Luckey. Having been rudely awakened from a nap, we were both a bit cranky. They are always late, by that I mean significantly late--so I was stunned at their timely arrival.
Marc slipped me a note as my mom made her way to the loo..it read, "Mili--Get ready to start snapping pictures as soon as I come out of the bathroom." Immediately I knew he was planning to propose to her then and there. My mother has been planning her wedding for months sans proposal. Marc finally popped the question--on a yellow t-shirt in black lettering that read "SUSHEELA, WILL YOU MARRY ME?" I obliged by snapping up a storm on the digital camera she gave him for Christmas as Luckey pranced about in glee. She was floored--suffice to say, she said YES.
Just as the storm from the engagement merriment was settling, Ditha arrived bags in tow from her 3-month hiatus. She had been in India shooting a film in Tollywood. (Bollywood is the Hindi version of Hollywood with requisite song and dance routines. Tollywood is the South-Indian version of the North-Indian phenomena, to liken it to Hollywood is a stretch that defies physics!). She was far more excited about the proposal than I was. I felt a little bad, but not bad enough to feign enthusiasm I didn't feel. I'm just not that excitable. It's my curse.
Ditha also cooed and cuddled Luckey. To my relief, he was the perfect pet--showcasing a maturity and propriety to put a grown dog to shame. Now if only he'd learn to pee on the wee wee pad. It would have been a tragedy if Ditha had been allergic or otherwise objected to my Luckey little lump of joy. Then I would have had to rid myself of her as a roomie and strike out on my OWN. sniff!
We all went to dinner at Penang on the Upper East Side and took in the C.S. Lewis adaption of The Screwtape Letters. Following which drinks were had and plans were made for future outings of a similar nature.
I missed Beth's b'day bash which ended with a jaunt to Henrietta's on Hudson--famed lesbian bar--which I was devastated to miss. But blood is thicker than water--how that fits here, I'm entirely unsure but I know it does. That expression has always eluded me. Why are friends water? I get that they're not blood, but I don't think of them as WATER. Oh well, who is this idiot to change the tide of time honored idioms.
Marc and my mom appeared on my doorstep at 4:15pm as scheduled, eager to pet Luckey. Having been rudely awakened from a nap, we were both a bit cranky. They are always late, by that I mean significantly late--so I was stunned at their timely arrival.
Marc slipped me a note as my mom made her way to the loo..it read, "Mili--Get ready to start snapping pictures as soon as I come out of the bathroom." Immediately I knew he was planning to propose to her then and there. My mother has been planning her wedding for months sans proposal. Marc finally popped the question--on a yellow t-shirt in black lettering that read "SUSHEELA, WILL YOU MARRY ME?" I obliged by snapping up a storm on the digital camera she gave him for Christmas as Luckey pranced about in glee. She was floored--suffice to say, she said YES.
Just as the storm from the engagement merriment was settling, Ditha arrived bags in tow from her 3-month hiatus. She had been in India shooting a film in Tollywood. (Bollywood is the Hindi version of Hollywood with requisite song and dance routines. Tollywood is the South-Indian version of the North-Indian phenomena, to liken it to Hollywood is a stretch that defies physics!). She was far more excited about the proposal than I was. I felt a little bad, but not bad enough to feign enthusiasm I didn't feel. I'm just not that excitable. It's my curse.
Ditha also cooed and cuddled Luckey. To my relief, he was the perfect pet--showcasing a maturity and propriety to put a grown dog to shame. Now if only he'd learn to pee on the wee wee pad. It would have been a tragedy if Ditha had been allergic or otherwise objected to my Luckey little lump of joy. Then I would have had to rid myself of her as a roomie and strike out on my OWN. sniff!
We all went to dinner at Penang on the Upper East Side and took in the C.S. Lewis adaption of The Screwtape Letters. Following which drinks were had and plans were made for future outings of a similar nature.
I missed Beth's b'day bash which ended with a jaunt to Henrietta's on Hudson--famed lesbian bar--which I was devastated to miss. But blood is thicker than water--how that fits here, I'm entirely unsure but I know it does. That expression has always eluded me. Why are friends water? I get that they're not blood, but I don't think of them as WATER. Oh well, who is this idiot to change the tide of time honored idioms.
Sunday Brunch and Beyond
Yesterday, I was the proud attendee of a small brunch party. By small, I mean there were three of us in attendance. We trudged from the upper ends of the East and West to convene at Sushi Samba 7 in the West Village. The usually hopping joint was quiet--due to the mass snowfall--we secured a table with ease. Tommy, Erre, and I feasted on pika pika cocktails (sparkling sake with guava juice) and six entrees over two courses. I adore multiple courses. There's an elegance and production to it, which delights me--drama queen that I am.
After this mature meal, we had a snowball fight. Whence the boys proceeded to gang up against the wee girl that is me--pelting my diminutive stature with direct hits to the hooded head. BOO! I triumphed with a game of bag tag--where I managed to unwittingly hit Erre in the left nut with an "iceberg" (realizing my deficiency in packing the balls tight enough, I took to picking up preformed, deformed blocks of icy snow). I also hit Tommy in the rib--but that was completely intentional, inflamed as I was by his inherent competitive need to beat on the runt of the lot--ME.
Erre left us to visit a friend at NYU. Tommy and I ambled toward Union Square. Along the way, we witnessed the most prolific operator of crutches. This teeny Asian girl lithely manuevered ice patches, slushy corners, and mounds of snow as she deftly crutched her way from block to block. Whilst Tommy looked on incredulously I proceeded to applaud her bravado. Having once been on crutches myself in the wintery months of 2001, I recognized that this was NO small feat. I had V to drag my carcass from class to class and save my hide on many a trip down Gilman Hall steps at JHU.
Tommy even stopped to push a taxi which was helplessly burning rubber on a snow dune at E. 11th St. There was a gentleman with mismatched plastic bags firmly tied around his boots furiously shouting directions to the FOBBY driver as a bespectacled bystander pushed the cab's rear. Tommy joined in and was soon joined by a man bold enough to skip the jacket on a blustery day. Finally, a Volvo came by and gently nudged the cab over the hump proving a mighty obstacle. The front bumper kissing the cab's ass and pushing it ecstactically forward. New Yorkers are NICE! The orignal pushing passerby stopped aiding the cab to pull out his digital camera and snap a live one. "A fellow blogger!" I thought to myself and smiled.
At Union Square, Tommy left me to Rosie to whose chagrin Forever 21 was closed. We marched backwards to satisfy my hankerin' for bubble tea. Following that pit stop I squired her to Urban Outfitters where she managed to buy 6 shirts for $58 and I made off with $21 plaid, wool gaucho pants which I'm sporting at the office today. How glad am I that I have these pants! They saved me from the inevitable sidewalk slush that accumulates after a foot of snow starts to melt. I really need some GOLOSHES! ugh. I say that everytime it rains or snows, but do nothing about it.
After this mature meal, we had a snowball fight. Whence the boys proceeded to gang up against the wee girl that is me--pelting my diminutive stature with direct hits to the hooded head. BOO! I triumphed with a game of bag tag--where I managed to unwittingly hit Erre in the left nut with an "iceberg" (realizing my deficiency in packing the balls tight enough, I took to picking up preformed, deformed blocks of icy snow). I also hit Tommy in the rib--but that was completely intentional, inflamed as I was by his inherent competitive need to beat on the runt of the lot--ME.
Erre left us to visit a friend at NYU. Tommy and I ambled toward Union Square. Along the way, we witnessed the most prolific operator of crutches. This teeny Asian girl lithely manuevered ice patches, slushy corners, and mounds of snow as she deftly crutched her way from block to block. Whilst Tommy looked on incredulously I proceeded to applaud her bravado. Having once been on crutches myself in the wintery months of 2001, I recognized that this was NO small feat. I had V to drag my carcass from class to class and save my hide on many a trip down Gilman Hall steps at JHU.
Tommy even stopped to push a taxi which was helplessly burning rubber on a snow dune at E. 11th St. There was a gentleman with mismatched plastic bags firmly tied around his boots furiously shouting directions to the FOBBY driver as a bespectacled bystander pushed the cab's rear. Tommy joined in and was soon joined by a man bold enough to skip the jacket on a blustery day. Finally, a Volvo came by and gently nudged the cab over the hump proving a mighty obstacle. The front bumper kissing the cab's ass and pushing it ecstactically forward. New Yorkers are NICE! The orignal pushing passerby stopped aiding the cab to pull out his digital camera and snap a live one. "A fellow blogger!" I thought to myself and smiled.
At Union Square, Tommy left me to Rosie to whose chagrin Forever 21 was closed. We marched backwards to satisfy my hankerin' for bubble tea. Following that pit stop I squired her to Urban Outfitters where she managed to buy 6 shirts for $58 and I made off with $21 plaid, wool gaucho pants which I'm sporting at the office today. How glad am I that I have these pants! They saved me from the inevitable sidewalk slush that accumulates after a foot of snow starts to melt. I really need some GOLOSHES! ugh. I say that everytime it rains or snows, but do nothing about it.
February 8, 2006
Just Chew Gum
Tracey has always held that you can chew your way out of a bad habit if you have enough gum. She is a FIRM believer in the Gum Principle which has absolutely NO relation to the Pleasure Principle.
"Just chew gum!" remains her perrenial advice to me as I whine about my caffeine problems. She insists you can cure whatever ails you in the addiction department if you chew enough gum. Or was it if you chew gum often enough? Wait, isn't that the same thing?
Well, Trace I am here to say that the day has dawned when I heartily agree.
Jo's BOYFRIEND (Jo never calls ANYONE her bf, so this is BIG--HUGE even!) owns a gum company and this company sells caffeinated gum.
So really, I'm not kicking caffeine as much as the hefty price I pay for it as well as the vat of caloric luxuries I cannot afford. Two pieces of this chiclet sized gum is equal to ONE cup of coffee--the question arises of how many cups are in a Venti Mocha Frappuccino, but I suppose it will go unanswered at this time.
"Just chew gum!" remains her perrenial advice to me as I whine about my caffeine problems. She insists you can cure whatever ails you in the addiction department if you chew enough gum. Or was it if you chew gum often enough? Wait, isn't that the same thing?
Well, Trace I am here to say that the day has dawned when I heartily agree.
Jo's BOYFRIEND (Jo never calls ANYONE her bf, so this is BIG--HUGE even!) owns a gum company and this company sells caffeinated gum.
So really, I'm not kicking caffeine as much as the hefty price I pay for it as well as the vat of caloric luxuries I cannot afford. Two pieces of this chiclet sized gum is equal to ONE cup of coffee--the question arises of how many cups are in a Venti Mocha Frappuccino, but I suppose it will go unanswered at this time.
Every Morning
There's a halo hanging from the corner of my girlfriend's four post bed...
Must get Sugar Ray song out of my head!
Truthfully, I spend my commute (parts of it that I am awake enough to form coherent thoughts) thinking up clever/cute/crafty blogging items. It's the ultimate in laundry list making. Sadly by the time I get to my desk, 96% of my INCREDIBLE ideas have vanished. Not a one has ever resurfaced or maybe my deja vu instinct is just so low that I haven't noticed a re-run on these thoughts.
Sharing is caring. Or as Ms. Subways claims, "Politeness is contagious. Let it start wtih you!"
Hmm...I'm cuter than the current Ms. Subways--maybe that's something worth running for...do they even do that anymore?
Must get Sugar Ray song out of my head!
Truthfully, I spend my commute (parts of it that I am awake enough to form coherent thoughts) thinking up clever/cute/crafty blogging items. It's the ultimate in laundry list making. Sadly by the time I get to my desk, 96% of my INCREDIBLE ideas have vanished. Not a one has ever resurfaced or maybe my deja vu instinct is just so low that I haven't noticed a re-run on these thoughts.
Sharing is caring. Or as Ms. Subways claims, "Politeness is contagious. Let it start wtih you!"
Hmm...I'm cuter than the current Ms. Subways--maybe that's something worth running for...do they even do that anymore?
Not on Men
Gloves
Scarves (unless gifted by a gf)
Squeaky voices--I know this can't be helped, but it's still damn annoying
Jewelery (especially gems--not even in rings)
LONG HAIR (leave ponytails to the ponies)
Popping bubble gum
Public Preening (combing those locks, fussing with clothes)
Nail biting--alright, this is just irksome on ANYONE
NOT drinking--yes, I'm a lush so you must be too!
Being a picky eater, specifically ordering salad as a meal--I'd like to meet the woman who disagrees with this statement.
Criticizing what someone else is wearing--um, have you SEEN your outfit? more importantly, why are you peeling your eyes off me?
Preferring ANY movie to one with violent explosions and general fun
NOT liking ANY sports--do these guys even exist?
All this being said, all bets are off if the man is gay--because then I'm not trying to find him attractive--sadly, 9 times out of 10 he just IS attractive.
Also most anal tendencies when exhibited by men lose their neurotic cuteness--I hold that women and their neuroses, on some level, attract men to them. It's a self selection of sorts. Can I handle her brand of crazy? Ladies, let's not lie--we're all a lil' bit nuts, admittedly in our own special way(s).
Scarves (unless gifted by a gf)
Squeaky voices--I know this can't be helped, but it's still damn annoying
Jewelery (especially gems--not even in rings)
LONG HAIR (leave ponytails to the ponies)
Popping bubble gum
Public Preening (combing those locks, fussing with clothes)
Nail biting--alright, this is just irksome on ANYONE
NOT drinking--yes, I'm a lush so you must be too!
Being a picky eater, specifically ordering salad as a meal--I'd like to meet the woman who disagrees with this statement.
Criticizing what someone else is wearing--um, have you SEEN your outfit? more importantly, why are you peeling your eyes off me?
Preferring ANY movie to one with violent explosions and general fun
NOT liking ANY sports--do these guys even exist?
All this being said, all bets are off if the man is gay--because then I'm not trying to find him attractive--sadly, 9 times out of 10 he just IS attractive.
Also most anal tendencies when exhibited by men lose their neurotic cuteness--I hold that women and their neuroses, on some level, attract men to them. It's a self selection of sorts. Can I handle her brand of crazy? Ladies, let's not lie--we're all a lil' bit nuts, admittedly in our own special way(s).
February 7, 2006
Penetration and Stickiness
In my afternoon staff meeting, the one man in my business group discussed the figures for 2005 in these exact words:
"You can see the penetration clearly on the right. Don't be fooled by the sticky numbers, they are a necessary evil to high penetration. We are doing extremely well for this time of year!"
None of the 9 women flinched, but I had to fight EVERY impulse to chuckle. Mind you, I wasn't going to burst out laughing as if someone had whispered "Penis" in the middle of math class in 8th grade, but a hearty cackle was in order.
Fast forward to 20 minutes ago:
One of the coordinators in our group just got engaged, a discussion about her wedding plans led to the inevitable talk of dresses. My boss pipe in with the following remark, "As if anyone these days should even be wearing white. Tradition, indeed."
I'm not entirely certain what part of that audacious statement was inflammatory, but it was definitely met with a stone cold silence that brought death to the chatter of women entrenched in wedding dialogue.
"You can see the penetration clearly on the right. Don't be fooled by the sticky numbers, they are a necessary evil to high penetration. We are doing extremely well for this time of year!"
None of the 9 women flinched, but I had to fight EVERY impulse to chuckle. Mind you, I wasn't going to burst out laughing as if someone had whispered "Penis" in the middle of math class in 8th grade, but a hearty cackle was in order.
Fast forward to 20 minutes ago:
One of the coordinators in our group just got engaged, a discussion about her wedding plans led to the inevitable talk of dresses. My boss pipe in with the following remark, "As if anyone these days should even be wearing white. Tradition, indeed."
I'm not entirely certain what part of that audacious statement was inflammatory, but it was definitely met with a stone cold silence that brought death to the chatter of women entrenched in wedding dialogue.
February 6, 2006
My --isms
There are things that I'm wont to say that consistently amuse my listeners.
Spin it to win it.
Fake it to make it.
Love it or leave it.
Livin' the dream (ok, that's the banker anthem)
You're a BIG envelope! (that's ONLY funny to me)
makes me wanna SHRED my insides (I stole that from Tracey who stole it from TV)
I need that about as much as a fish needs an umbrella/bicycle (Thanks, Tracey for watching so much TV)
Indian, puh-lease! (a derivative of "Nigga, please!")
What's brown done for you lately? (Thanks to UPS)
Ask not what brown can do for you, but what you can do for brown. (JFK's speechwriter is my inspiration)
Betta you than me..betta you than me (ok, that one's not original--but it's a classic!)
What's your trauma?
Better dead than pregnant. (coined today)
Spin it to win it.
Fake it to make it.
Love it or leave it.
Livin' the dream (ok, that's the banker anthem)
You're a BIG envelope! (that's ONLY funny to me)
makes me wanna SHRED my insides (I stole that from Tracey who stole it from TV)
I need that about as much as a fish needs an umbrella/bicycle (Thanks, Tracey for watching so much TV)
Indian, puh-lease! (a derivative of "Nigga, please!")
What's brown done for you lately? (Thanks to UPS)
Ask not what brown can do for you, but what you can do for brown. (JFK's speechwriter is my inspiration)
Betta you than me..betta you than me (ok, that one's not original--but it's a classic!)
What's your trauma?
Better dead than pregnant. (coined today)
Saturday Brunch
Seven tea girls met on a rainy saturday at 31 Great Jones Way for brunch at Five Points.
I strode in at 1:02pm sans umbrella in a funky, striped shirt with belt loops sans belt and my sexy jeans.
Kelli, Jo, and Lauren were already seated at the bar--timely as they are.
Kelli in a monochromatic sweater which sat well with her vibrant, red curls; Jo in her "oh-so New York" winter-white (was it cream?), knee-length, wool coat and Lauren bespectacled in a creamy zippered jacket that revives our hope that within every woman resides an inner fashionista.
Karen trudged in, much earlier than anticipated, meek but pristinely dressed--even in the rain her look doesn't mess.
Amy arrived with an oversize umbrella, sporting a copper, late 20s bob (uber cute!) donned in thick, grey tights and an adorable pleated skirt.
Once we were seated, Beth hustled in--with the longest commute from BX, she was excused--her winter-white, zippered sweater got more than one nod. The prospective doctor in our midst is admittedly fashion rewound.
The meal was uneventful but comoforting since we sat at a round table behind a zen fountain in the light of an atrium. There was an oh-so New York moment mixed in with the all-American vibe a group of young women eating voraciously and talking incessantly exudes.
Our departures--just as our arrivals--showed our unique personalities. We stood for a while, unable to pull away from the life force that is our collective heartbeat when we unite. Kelli rushed off, late for an engagement she had completely forgotten about--her live-in boyfriend called up a bit concerned and confused about her absense. Jo headed home to finish up a literary piece she had sold earlier in the week. Karen ambled home to begin the process that was packing for Paris. Lauren made her way back to Brooklyn to help her boyfriend plan their superbowl party. Amy covered Beth and I under her grand umbrella as we wandered to Tea on my whim. She then hopped a cab to catch the latest fashion photography exhibit.
In our differences are mirror our true selves.
I strode in at 1:02pm sans umbrella in a funky, striped shirt with belt loops sans belt and my sexy jeans.
Kelli, Jo, and Lauren were already seated at the bar--timely as they are.
Kelli in a monochromatic sweater which sat well with her vibrant, red curls; Jo in her "oh-so New York" winter-white (was it cream?), knee-length, wool coat and Lauren bespectacled in a creamy zippered jacket that revives our hope that within every woman resides an inner fashionista.
Karen trudged in, much earlier than anticipated, meek but pristinely dressed--even in the rain her look doesn't mess.
Amy arrived with an oversize umbrella, sporting a copper, late 20s bob (uber cute!) donned in thick, grey tights and an adorable pleated skirt.
Once we were seated, Beth hustled in--with the longest commute from BX, she was excused--her winter-white, zippered sweater got more than one nod. The prospective doctor in our midst is admittedly fashion rewound.
The meal was uneventful but comoforting since we sat at a round table behind a zen fountain in the light of an atrium. There was an oh-so New York moment mixed in with the all-American vibe a group of young women eating voraciously and talking incessantly exudes.
Our departures--just as our arrivals--showed our unique personalities. We stood for a while, unable to pull away from the life force that is our collective heartbeat when we unite. Kelli rushed off, late for an engagement she had completely forgotten about--her live-in boyfriend called up a bit concerned and confused about her absense. Jo headed home to finish up a literary piece she had sold earlier in the week. Karen ambled home to begin the process that was packing for Paris. Lauren made her way back to Brooklyn to help her boyfriend plan their superbowl party. Amy covered Beth and I under her grand umbrella as we wandered to Tea on my whim. She then hopped a cab to catch the latest fashion photography exhibit.
In our differences are mirror our true selves.
Tech Support
As Karen packed for her upcoming trip to Paris, she found herself at a crossroads. Steeped as she tends to be in indecision, she found herself floundering on what to pack. Forecasted at Paris is for a rainy weekend Karen is not a woman to sacrifice fashion for function, especially not when she visits her Parisian (read: fashion-forward) boyfriend.
In her hour of need, she IMed me for advice. As flattering as this was (Karen of impeccable taste and conservative style), I am self-proclaimedly inept at aiding others in clothes selection--but I am decisive, so there was a method to her madness. Given that 100-odd blocks between us and the lateness of the hour, we found ourselves in a bind.
That's when technological advances came to our rescue. Karen snapped photos of herself in her slew of newly purchased skirts and sent them to me via picture messaging on her phone. Having recently upgraded to this quality of communication, I anxiously awaited and responded to her various texts. Picture quality not being optimal, we then planned a mass viewing of said choices at Tea today--this is partially to ensure I am not solely blamed for the advice imparted. But I think, my initial reaction of "OH! Cute" and "I like the grey better than the bubble black skirt" put her mind at ease and definitely got her through the process usually riddled with nerves in a reduced nervousness fashion.
Au Revoir, Karen! I'm here for you, lady.
In her hour of need, she IMed me for advice. As flattering as this was (Karen of impeccable taste and conservative style), I am self-proclaimedly inept at aiding others in clothes selection--but I am decisive, so there was a method to her madness. Given that 100-odd blocks between us and the lateness of the hour, we found ourselves in a bind.
That's when technological advances came to our rescue. Karen snapped photos of herself in her slew of newly purchased skirts and sent them to me via picture messaging on her phone. Having recently upgraded to this quality of communication, I anxiously awaited and responded to her various texts. Picture quality not being optimal, we then planned a mass viewing of said choices at Tea today--this is partially to ensure I am not solely blamed for the advice imparted. But I think, my initial reaction of "OH! Cute" and "I like the grey better than the bubble black skirt" put her mind at ease and definitely got her through the process usually riddled with nerves in a reduced nervousness fashion.
Au Revoir, Karen! I'm here for you, lady.
The Ultimate Compliment
I was riding the bus across town to my eye doctor last week, when I was paid a high compliment I haven't come upon since college. It was around the time school's let out that I found myself commuting from the UES to Columbia Presbyterian. A young boy, couldn't have been over 15, climbed aboard at the stop following mine. He looked about sheepishly, before taking the empty seat next to me.
From the moment he sat down, I noticed an uneasiness about him. To myself I wished he wouildn't fall ill and spontaneously vomit all over me. Donned as I was in my sweetest of schoolteacher outfits--forced to wear my glasses as I was for this merry jaunt. I pushed up my glasses and turned up the sound on my iPod. Ignore him as I did, I could not overlook the squirming. He kept tugging at his jeans as if there truly were ants residing in his pants. I couldn't help look at him with concern which bolstered his discomfort. Finally, he reached INTO his jeans and adjusted, what I could only imagine to be an unwelcome erection. I couldn't BELIEVE it.
At first, I told myself I was crazy. This couldn't be....it certainly couldn't be ME. I mean, I'm cute but this boy was TINY--a toy of a boy. I would liken him to Luckey and myself to Lassie! Not that skinny white boys aren't my type, but he was just an infant. But upon purveying my competition--balding men and a couple whose combined girth filled three-quarters of the last ROW of seats at the bus's rear, I was forced to concede--it had to be me. He had no magazines which was was perusing within a textbook, he just sat beside me and squirmed. A look of relief washed over his face as we reached Broadway and disembarked. I was tempted to say something but the speed with which he shuffled away from me, stopped that gesture in its tracks.
Hmm...it was more sweet than sour, but overall the incident left a smile on my face and put a spring in my step. Still got the under 15 crowd, that was something. I've always had a firm hold on the over 51 market.
From the moment he sat down, I noticed an uneasiness about him. To myself I wished he wouildn't fall ill and spontaneously vomit all over me. Donned as I was in my sweetest of schoolteacher outfits--forced to wear my glasses as I was for this merry jaunt. I pushed up my glasses and turned up the sound on my iPod. Ignore him as I did, I could not overlook the squirming. He kept tugging at his jeans as if there truly were ants residing in his pants. I couldn't help look at him with concern which bolstered his discomfort. Finally, he reached INTO his jeans and adjusted, what I could only imagine to be an unwelcome erection. I couldn't BELIEVE it.
At first, I told myself I was crazy. This couldn't be....it certainly couldn't be ME. I mean, I'm cute but this boy was TINY--a toy of a boy. I would liken him to Luckey and myself to Lassie! Not that skinny white boys aren't my type, but he was just an infant. But upon purveying my competition--balding men and a couple whose combined girth filled three-quarters of the last ROW of seats at the bus's rear, I was forced to concede--it had to be me. He had no magazines which was was perusing within a textbook, he just sat beside me and squirmed. A look of relief washed over his face as we reached Broadway and disembarked. I was tempted to say something but the speed with which he shuffled away from me, stopped that gesture in its tracks.
Hmm...it was more sweet than sour, but overall the incident left a smile on my face and put a spring in my step. Still got the under 15 crowd, that was something. I've always had a firm hold on the over 51 market.
Dog Days
I spent the weekend with Luckey. Yes, the entire weekend I spent cuddled up with the cutest little animal known to mankind. He's my little fluff-bucket. I think I may be confusing him on the name front by alternating between Fluff-bucket, Luckitron, and Luckey.
Much like my mother elongates my name when she's angry, I've taken to screaming "Luck-eeeeee" when enraged--namely when he nips at my toes as if they were digits solely in existence for him chomping pleasure. They most definitely ARE not!
We took our first nap together yesterday. I gently placed him on my bed, turned off the lights and proceeded to play "sleeping beauty". He bounced around a bit, then settled at my feet--a mildly disturbing place near the bed's edge before wafting off to doggie dreamland. Unwittingly I fell asleep, the idea had been to lull him into a safe sleepy place, then go about my business without him whining or following between my ankles (ripe for the kickin'). I was out-witted. But when I woke from my slumber, he sensed it and rose as well--slowly, sweetly--making his way from the great distance of my toes to my cheek...whence he proceeded to lick my nose and bite at my hair. Tsk tsk. Bad Dog!
It was also our first day of actually WATCHING tv together. Just as any beast of mine should, Luckey loves television. We sat through a marathon of Beauty & the Geek, enthralled by the geekiness and disturbed by the stupidity of the beauties. Luckey, more so than I, slipped into a sopoforic state lay prostrate beside me on the futon--limbs extended, chin to the mattress. Good dog!
I learned the hard way that breaking a dog's routine is bad news for everyone. In my interest to watch TV and Luckey's stubborness surrounding food (he won't eat if I'm not watching him and nodding my approval for every morsel he consumes), I moved his bowl from the kitchen to the vicinity of the tv--thought I was doing us both a favor. Nay. He proceeded to prance about his food, eating a 1/3 of his usual 1/4 cup and shunning my overtures to persuade him in consuming his sustenance. Dumb Dog!
Finally, I caved and smothered a healthy amount of "enervite" in his bowl--dog vitamin, described to me as "candy for the dog"--which he happily licked OFF his food without giving it so much as a nibble. Smart Dog! Dumb Owner! Foiled again.
Much like my mother elongates my name when she's angry, I've taken to screaming "Luck-eeeeee" when enraged--namely when he nips at my toes as if they were digits solely in existence for him chomping pleasure. They most definitely ARE not!
We took our first nap together yesterday. I gently placed him on my bed, turned off the lights and proceeded to play "sleeping beauty". He bounced around a bit, then settled at my feet--a mildly disturbing place near the bed's edge before wafting off to doggie dreamland. Unwittingly I fell asleep, the idea had been to lull him into a safe sleepy place, then go about my business without him whining or following between my ankles (ripe for the kickin'). I was out-witted. But when I woke from my slumber, he sensed it and rose as well--slowly, sweetly--making his way from the great distance of my toes to my cheek...whence he proceeded to lick my nose and bite at my hair. Tsk tsk. Bad Dog!
It was also our first day of actually WATCHING tv together. Just as any beast of mine should, Luckey loves television. We sat through a marathon of Beauty & the Geek, enthralled by the geekiness and disturbed by the stupidity of the beauties. Luckey, more so than I, slipped into a sopoforic state lay prostrate beside me on the futon--limbs extended, chin to the mattress. Good dog!
I learned the hard way that breaking a dog's routine is bad news for everyone. In my interest to watch TV and Luckey's stubborness surrounding food (he won't eat if I'm not watching him and nodding my approval for every morsel he consumes), I moved his bowl from the kitchen to the vicinity of the tv--thought I was doing us both a favor. Nay. He proceeded to prance about his food, eating a 1/3 of his usual 1/4 cup and shunning my overtures to persuade him in consuming his sustenance. Dumb Dog!
Finally, I caved and smothered a healthy amount of "enervite" in his bowl--dog vitamin, described to me as "candy for the dog"--which he happily licked OFF his food without giving it so much as a nibble. Smart Dog! Dumb Owner! Foiled again.
February 3, 2006
My Pet's Vet Visit
Last night, I took Luckey to the vet for the first time. He'd been to a vet before but this was his first visit with me. I forgot his paperwork at home in my effort to ready him and get to the vet's on time, so I left him with the vet secretary to race home and retrieve necessary medical information to ensure he got the best medical care possible. Already a bad pet owner, I arrived in a huff consumed with guilt at having trusted this strange woman to look out for my boy.
The vet assured me that Luckey was in perfect health. He exclaimed at the pup's sunny disposition and poised playfulness. I fed him beef liver treats as the vet plunged a rabies vaccine into his teeny tuckus--the yelp Luckey let out caused my brow to furrow--but what melted my heart was that his little legs made their way towards me and he nestled in the crook of my arm as soon as the doctor released him. I was his comfort. I was the giver of good treats. I would fix it, in his opinion. It was a gesture no human can replicate, but it was one that caused my heart to swell and my arms to reach out in an effort to protect and console.
Whilst at the vet's, I beheld an exceptional phenomenon. A tall, athletic, unwed man (as I could tell from his naked ring finger) in his late 20s/early 30s was discussing with the vet, Dr. Miller, the merits of taking 13-mile runs with his dog. The vet advised against this given the condition of this particular animal's abdominal lining. Moments later, a massive black beast loped into the vet's waiting room, freshly preened and full of energy. The jock who owned him dropped on all fours and proceeded to coo at his beloved animal in a fashion that can only be likened to a grandmother pinching the cheeks of her 12-year old grandson--embarrassing yet endearing. I was amazed how this grown man turned to complete mush when it came to his massive dog. He treated him with the affection and attention I have never see a man display in public.
As I pressed Luckey's racing heart close to mine, I realized how ridiculous I must seem to this man whose dog could make a light snack of my toy. The thing was the man had nothing but warm regard for me and mine. The comraderie of fellow pet ownership raised me in his esteeem--the caliber of pet seemed secondary.
As he left he turned to me and said, "Enjoy him while he's young, they grow up so fast. He's an adorable dog."
I smiled, stunned. "You're a beautiful man" I wanted to respond, but the etiquette of the moment dictated otherwise.
I merely nodded and said, "Your dog is magnificient. Hope he feels better!"
He bobbed his head and ambled out with his precious pet in tow.
Another handsome man I'll never see again...but whose momentary presence floods me with hope. Hope that there is more out there than I credit the world with holding for me!
The vet assured me that Luckey was in perfect health. He exclaimed at the pup's sunny disposition and poised playfulness. I fed him beef liver treats as the vet plunged a rabies vaccine into his teeny tuckus--the yelp Luckey let out caused my brow to furrow--but what melted my heart was that his little legs made their way towards me and he nestled in the crook of my arm as soon as the doctor released him. I was his comfort. I was the giver of good treats. I would fix it, in his opinion. It was a gesture no human can replicate, but it was one that caused my heart to swell and my arms to reach out in an effort to protect and console.
Whilst at the vet's, I beheld an exceptional phenomenon. A tall, athletic, unwed man (as I could tell from his naked ring finger) in his late 20s/early 30s was discussing with the vet, Dr. Miller, the merits of taking 13-mile runs with his dog. The vet advised against this given the condition of this particular animal's abdominal lining. Moments later, a massive black beast loped into the vet's waiting room, freshly preened and full of energy. The jock who owned him dropped on all fours and proceeded to coo at his beloved animal in a fashion that can only be likened to a grandmother pinching the cheeks of her 12-year old grandson--embarrassing yet endearing. I was amazed how this grown man turned to complete mush when it came to his massive dog. He treated him with the affection and attention I have never see a man display in public.
As I pressed Luckey's racing heart close to mine, I realized how ridiculous I must seem to this man whose dog could make a light snack of my toy. The thing was the man had nothing but warm regard for me and mine. The comraderie of fellow pet ownership raised me in his esteeem--the caliber of pet seemed secondary.
As he left he turned to me and said, "Enjoy him while he's young, they grow up so fast. He's an adorable dog."
I smiled, stunned. "You're a beautiful man" I wanted to respond, but the etiquette of the moment dictated otherwise.
I merely nodded and said, "Your dog is magnificient. Hope he feels better!"
He bobbed his head and ambled out with his precious pet in tow.
Another handsome man I'll never see again...but whose momentary presence floods me with hope. Hope that there is more out there than I credit the world with holding for me!
Kissing Creatively
There's something special about the first time you kiss someone. In my case, there's something VERY sweet about the first time someone kisses me. I never forget it. That's right folks--I remember every first kiss. Pending there was a second and a third and a fourth. I don't mean spin-the-bottle kisses or drunken frat party rendezvous. I'm talking, boy I dated for a week/month/year kisses.
So, last night after a delicious dinner at LaGuardia Grill with free flowing wine (the unlimited wine comes to your table as long as you order an entree)--my date and I snuck into one of those cubbies designed as a wind/snow/sleet/rain/sheer cold escape for the winter months--a phenomenon very popular in New York City--I'm not sure I've even seen this anywhere else. As we stood there he pulled from his leather jacket a fatty and proceeded to set it aflame. I smiled and obliged a puff on the puff-puff-pass routine.
When I explained to him that I'd never truly felt the effects of this activity, he balked. In an effort to ensure he was doing his part to assist me in maximizing effect he pulled me close and said, "Inhale what I exhale" Now that's romance! So, I proceeded to breathe in deeply as he breathed out gently. He shook his head--apparently I was doing it wrong. I was meant to breathe in with my mouth open, just as he expelled smoke with his lips that created the prettiest little "o"
Crafty boy with a crafty ploy--as soon as I did this--our lips touched and breathing became kissing and kissing and kissing. It was endearing in a way that I'd always envisioned endearing to be in high school--but it never was back then. Yes, I was that scary straight edge girl...but in my path to hedonism I've learned that dreams can come true--visions can be reality--if you live a little, give a little, and expect a lot.
Without expectations we're no different than animals...eating, breathing, peeing, pooping, sleeping...
So, last night after a delicious dinner at LaGuardia Grill with free flowing wine (the unlimited wine comes to your table as long as you order an entree)--my date and I snuck into one of those cubbies designed as a wind/snow/sleet/rain/sheer cold escape for the winter months--a phenomenon very popular in New York City--I'm not sure I've even seen this anywhere else. As we stood there he pulled from his leather jacket a fatty and proceeded to set it aflame. I smiled and obliged a puff on the puff-puff-pass routine.
When I explained to him that I'd never truly felt the effects of this activity, he balked. In an effort to ensure he was doing his part to assist me in maximizing effect he pulled me close and said, "Inhale what I exhale" Now that's romance! So, I proceeded to breathe in deeply as he breathed out gently. He shook his head--apparently I was doing it wrong. I was meant to breathe in with my mouth open, just as he expelled smoke with his lips that created the prettiest little "o"
Crafty boy with a crafty ploy--as soon as I did this--our lips touched and breathing became kissing and kissing and kissing. It was endearing in a way that I'd always envisioned endearing to be in high school--but it never was back then. Yes, I was that scary straight edge girl...but in my path to hedonism I've learned that dreams can come true--visions can be reality--if you live a little, give a little, and expect a lot.
Without expectations we're no different than animals...eating, breathing, peeing, pooping, sleeping...
February 1, 2006
Successful Slacking
As I've let you in on in the past, I'm a slacker. Hard work just ain't my cup o' joe. Well, not much other than frappuccinos rank on my joe scale, but that's not the point. The point is that I coast because I can.
Hard work is for people who haven't tried slacking or slacked unsucceessfully. I grew up in India--I used to work hard. I didn't know any better. But in America, the land of opportunity and second, third, even fourth chances I've come to see that the system is here to be worked. Pending you are smart enough to work it. No, I haven't been stealing water again (Tracey and Tommy!)--there was this incident where I didn't feel like waiting in line, so I just drank the bottle in the store, deposited the container in a recycling receptacle and respectably waltzed out of Whole Foods.
I'm referring to a work-related incident that transpired yesterday. In the weekly staff meeting I presented a proposal to the German Bank regarding their marketing campaign. I work on a team of dedicated professionals who provide training programs for employees across all divisions around the globe for bankers at our Bank. Having said this my proposal was neither innovative nor crafty. Since I am currently responsible for formatting and revising the bi-weekly e-mail, I decided this was best done by posting the information on the web and simply e-mailing out the address. On the plus side, since I am relatively illiterate in the computer tech domain I would have to outsource this to one of our preferred vendors. YAY!
Read: Someone else will do my work but I will still get credit for thinking up this great idea by which they will do my work.
So, I pitched this to my boss and co-workers as a potential best practice we could share with our divisional colleagues, globally. What boss doesn't want to set the standard and share a best practice? No boss...and certainly NOT my boss. I got the seal of approval and a pat on the back. That's right folks, it pays to shirk responsibility--shirk it by delegating it. As long as the work gets done, there is no reason for guilt or negative consequence. Yeah, management. Love it and live it.
Hard work is for people who haven't tried slacking or slacked unsucceessfully. I grew up in India--I used to work hard. I didn't know any better. But in America, the land of opportunity and second, third, even fourth chances I've come to see that the system is here to be worked. Pending you are smart enough to work it. No, I haven't been stealing water again (Tracey and Tommy!)--there was this incident where I didn't feel like waiting in line, so I just drank the bottle in the store, deposited the container in a recycling receptacle and respectably waltzed out of Whole Foods.
I'm referring to a work-related incident that transpired yesterday. In the weekly staff meeting I presented a proposal to the German Bank regarding their marketing campaign. I work on a team of dedicated professionals who provide training programs for employees across all divisions around the globe for bankers at our Bank. Having said this my proposal was neither innovative nor crafty. Since I am currently responsible for formatting and revising the bi-weekly e-mail, I decided this was best done by posting the information on the web and simply e-mailing out the address. On the plus side, since I am relatively illiterate in the computer tech domain I would have to outsource this to one of our preferred vendors. YAY!
Read: Someone else will do my work but I will still get credit for thinking up this great idea by which they will do my work.
So, I pitched this to my boss and co-workers as a potential best practice we could share with our divisional colleagues, globally. What boss doesn't want to set the standard and share a best practice? No boss...and certainly NOT my boss. I got the seal of approval and a pat on the back. That's right folks, it pays to shirk responsibility--shirk it by delegating it. As long as the work gets done, there is no reason for guilt or negative consequence. Yeah, management. Love it and live it.
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