Series of Voicemails

To know me is to know my friends.

While I don't often admit to being utterly shaped by my environment--a hapless homo sapien--it's not invalid. I'm framed by the people I place on pedestals of varying heights in the largest chamber of my brain--the one wholly dedicated to interpersonal relations.

Ditha (my former NYC roomie and Indian sorority gal pal who ran off to Tollywood and now resides in Dallas with her family working in the theater despite) left me this message earlier this week:
(indecipherable music blasting on a car radio) It's that time of year again. Christmas time. I know how much you LOVE Christmas music, so as soon as I heard Christmas songs on the radio I had to call you and remind you that it's THAT time of year again. Call me back. Oh, it's Ditha!
THIS is patently untrue. Ditha LOVES the season--crazy Hindu--and when we shared a residence she started with the Christmas tunes on chilly October nights. I mean you have to get past Halloween at the absolute earliest!

Tracey (my high school bff, Russian comrade extraordinaire who has trascended selfishness to realize her purpose on this Earth is to patiently teach developmentally challenged children in suburban New Jersey has finally given up her ornithological dreams yet clings to her ice skating and snowboarding frivolties) left me this message:
Woman, I love your well-crafted messages. Such a delight to listen to. Especially that xoxo sign off, so Gossip Girl. You will forever remain my Felicity. I'm glad we aren't going to that dang 10-year reunion. I would rather shred my insides than sit at the Elks Club with this girl I work with who is dating Dick Potter--you remember him, he wrote "penis breath" in your agenda in art class in 8th grade. Yeah, I work with the woman who thinks he's the cat's meow. Give me a call if you have time or anything to report.

She's not one for flattery or social politeness but I'm still a sucker for both.

Li Chen (my Cali Asian hip hop loving booze hound bridge builder--literally he's a civil engineer--who loves his SF life but misses those East Coast nights of bacchanalian post-collegiate revelry) said this to my machine: Chili, Where you at? I finally got the papers for my new job, so back to happy hour in the city...finally. I wish you were here and we could go for drinks right now. Sadly, I'll have to make do with LIGS *lame indian girl* and LAGS *lame asian girl*. Holla back.
There were a small group of Asians who referred to me as Chili in college--I don't think I ever resembled the diminutive TLC member who dated Usher in the last '90s. Li just switched jobs. He's thrilled to be closer to the city and HH, even if his choice of companions is lacking.

Helen (the granola Brit--youngest of four--spent a year under a thatched roof in South India after college and is currently completing her MBA at MIT in order to work in disaster relief in the developing world) had this to say: Ray, it's Maddog. I stopped seeing the security guard. Despite the ease of conversation based on his limited intellect and the thrill of being picked up in a club, I just don't have the time. Are you still not talking to V? Honestly, it's ridiculous. My schedule is crazy but try calling me before 10pm. I can't believe we aren't going to the 10-year high school reunion. I bet Norman is going. We should go. Think about it.

She came up with these nicknames for us. Her family is all about nicknames. She's also all about reunions, clearly.

Taurean Spoons (true IBM *intelligent, black man*-- music maker, booty shaker, lover of all things romantic and spirtual--an artist at heart yet wicked smart) called to say this:
Bud, you never pick up. I'm feeling particularly down call me when you get this. You're my core. I need to talk to someone who understands what I'm going through. Love ya, 'bread.
He's going through a tough break-up...of engagement ending proportions.

Chi (crazy Tupac lovin' Kansan who consults in Chicago after her b-school/health management dual graduate degrees in Ann Arbor is my constant consort on all that ails single Indian women over 28) harried yet steadfast in her messages: Slutbag, I couldn't remember when I was supposed to call or what your work schedule is for today so hit me back on my Jack. The green-eyed monster is not making my life any easier and I think the Frog is trying to get back in my good graces. I hope Citi crashes and his lilypad above the Lincoln Tunnel burns down. You better not be returning Satan's calls/texts/e-mails. Don't lie, I know you get them. You're probably out with the Devil despite my warnings. You'll see, it can't possibly end well, again. I'm here when you come crying. I told you so.
The green-eyed monster is her current love interest--a dashing Neurology resident she recently started dating in Chicago.
The Frog is her ex (neither will admit to having had relations for two years in bschool)--the brash banker with bravado but zero follow through who lives in NYC.
Satan is D'Souza...her title not mine. I think that's a helluva promotion from DoucheBag, but I let her have her names and I have mine. She's forever chastizing me for maintaining contact with the exes.

The Devil is Zayan. My name, not hers. Appropriate for the time, just faceitious now. He's aware of the nickname and alright with it. Being Muslim I think he's heard worse. I was indeed out with him last night enjoying some art, free booze, more art, potential music and carefree drinks at B Bar...Jo was in tow, it wasn't even a non-date.

Those are the people nearest and dearest to me...the ones who called and the ones they called about. Sigh.