Last night I went to my first ever Dirty Laundry Loads of Prose reading at the Avenue A Laundromat.
The lovely lady responsible for the series, Emily Rubin, was warm and welcoming. Being in the midst of young NYT city writers filled me with a glow reminiscent of the literati followers of yesteryear. I was overcome by an Anais Nin vibe and eager to bask in the glow of communal creativity.
One of the writers, Caroline Dworin recently graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism with a high school chum of mine. She read a rollicking bit about the proximity of life in New York creates a specific brand of privacy that is only breached by tourists and out-of-town guests. That we figure out a code of silence in the midst of all the noise as all transplants must to survive and humanize city life.
Another writer, Saki Knafo, of Israeli origin born and bred in Brooklyn wove a fundamentally Sweet loving tale of a Monday Night Basketball League on the UWS that has been going on for 33 years. Of course, this made me think of Tea and how someday if we were really lucky some cheeky 20something might decide to cover our story at Saint's Alp Teahouse. But more honestly, I thought him cute. Yes, readers. I fell for the writer's lanky build and awkward stance. His curly mop and forward stoop. Why must tall men try to compact themselves? He's 6'6" and not proud. As if looks alone weren't enough he had the gentle grace of a nascent dancer--slightly clumsy and uncertain of the steps but keen to perfect them. His self-deprecating humor and easy smile made me long for a simpler time. A time when I was more confident and he more available.
This is all moot, as his diminutive, beautiful Mocha girlfriend was standing beside a washer cheering him on in smiles. No contest, she's got me beat in cuteness/hotness/loveliness. And despite my sadness for another my type with the anti-me, I felt a fleeting moment of happiness for her--for them. I wanted it to work out. I wanted more than anything for their happiness to last.
March 27, 2009
March 26, 2009
Missed Connection
Last night after work I met Dr. Rani at Les Halles on Park for a drink. She'd been insistent that we meet sooner than later and I'd assumed she wanted to show me her ring and tell me she was engaged. I was wrong!
When she arrived, late as always, post cig smoke and rapid walking in high heels I noticed the lack of ring immediately. I waited for her to gather her wits and tell me what urgent need had brought us together.
Her boyfriend wants to have children. Their own biological children. She wants to adopt--eventually. Rani has always been one of my co-anti baby mamas and to hear her talk about going through with a C-section to give him one biological child should have made me cringe, but it did not. I always knew that the few that stood with me would falter. Except for Jo--I do not believe she will have a seismic shift into baby mama-dom--adoption, maaaaaaaaaaaaybe, but definitely no live births! So having her as a sure thing makes these inevitable blows a bit easier.
The surprising part of our reunion was that Rani wanted me to change her mind or push back or give her my blessing...I'm still wholly unclear on which of these it was but I did none. She slowly talked her way around the issue till it became clear to me that despite her claims of sabotaging pregnancy post marriage she had resigned herself to having a child because that would be a dealbreaker for this man. This man whom she loved and who had willingly given up his continent, Europe, to be with her on this continent. This man who climbed out of bed in the cold to turn off the TV (don't they have a remote?) or bring her a glass of water in bed. This man who she knew would carry the brunt of the responsibility of raising their child.
So, this is the part that confuses me...why even adopt a child if you don't want to raise it? She talked of organic daycare services that provide support for busy execs and doctor parents from age 3 months. She discussed the myriad of au pairs at your disposal if you have the money for such fineries. I was impressed with the research, but I'm still not convinced she's thought it through. In convincing herself she did manage to convince me that this was a compromise she felt comfortable making given all the compromises he had made and would continue to make. But I'm not confident that many of the beliefs she holds about the level of his involvement compared to hers will be met in 2013-4 when they have a child. Her assuredness in scheduling her C-section with a top-notch physician at 38 weeks and the specificity of clinical proceedings did not assuage my growing fear that things would not go according to the best laid plans. I didn't bite my tongue hard but I held back because I felt that deep within her caustic comments she wanted this too. She was just afraid to tell me.
While we aren't as close as we used to be, I think she still feared alienating me because of this change of heart. She was the most vociferous of us at one time. With her shiny medical pedigree and committment to women not giving birth. Her stance is one of equality which got burned by biology, and now that she's gone and fallen in love she's ready to have this baby to keep her man. I'm torn on whether I should applaud her maturity and practicality or cry for a fallen soldier.
As we walked out onto Park Avenue and she lit up, I stood beside her as I have dozens of times on a chilly evening as she puffed and I coughed, a cute half-Asian Credit Suisse banker approached her to buy a smoke. $1=1 cig. She had none. He had a strong buzz going so he kept talking to us. We humored him.
Before he could turn to me, she said, "Don't even bother asking her, she doesn't smoke."
He retorted, "I wasn't going to ask her, I was going to hit on her."
I smiled and said, "Cancer kills you know."
To which he told a tale of a recent trip to China and his faith in Eastern medicine at which point I interjected that Rani was a physician and the focus shifted from me to her. I did that. In that moment, I did it. Self-sabotage.
As he started talking to her, I felt no point in sticking around. I kissed Rani on both cheeks and stalked off.
He said, "She wasn't enjoying my story it seems."
Rani whispered, "Are you walking uptown? I'm headed that way."
She later texted me to say he'd asked her to have a drink and how weird that way. I felt myself shrug. Of course it wasn't weird, that's how flirting works.
As I stood on the 6 platform at 28th St. I regretted leaving. Why did I walk away? Here was someone engaging me...it's like a dream. Cute guy walking down Park, stops to talk to us, could have picked me up...after all Rani is taken. But, I balked. That's not like me. What happened here?
When she arrived, late as always, post cig smoke and rapid walking in high heels I noticed the lack of ring immediately. I waited for her to gather her wits and tell me what urgent need had brought us together.
Her boyfriend wants to have children. Their own biological children. She wants to adopt--eventually. Rani has always been one of my co-anti baby mamas and to hear her talk about going through with a C-section to give him one biological child should have made me cringe, but it did not. I always knew that the few that stood with me would falter. Except for Jo--I do not believe she will have a seismic shift into baby mama-dom--adoption, maaaaaaaaaaaaybe, but definitely no live births! So having her as a sure thing makes these inevitable blows a bit easier.
The surprising part of our reunion was that Rani wanted me to change her mind or push back or give her my blessing...I'm still wholly unclear on which of these it was but I did none. She slowly talked her way around the issue till it became clear to me that despite her claims of sabotaging pregnancy post marriage she had resigned herself to having a child because that would be a dealbreaker for this man. This man whom she loved and who had willingly given up his continent, Europe, to be with her on this continent. This man who climbed out of bed in the cold to turn off the TV (don't they have a remote?) or bring her a glass of water in bed. This man who she knew would carry the brunt of the responsibility of raising their child.
So, this is the part that confuses me...why even adopt a child if you don't want to raise it? She talked of organic daycare services that provide support for busy execs and doctor parents from age 3 months. She discussed the myriad of au pairs at your disposal if you have the money for such fineries. I was impressed with the research, but I'm still not convinced she's thought it through. In convincing herself she did manage to convince me that this was a compromise she felt comfortable making given all the compromises he had made and would continue to make. But I'm not confident that many of the beliefs she holds about the level of his involvement compared to hers will be met in 2013-4 when they have a child. Her assuredness in scheduling her C-section with a top-notch physician at 38 weeks and the specificity of clinical proceedings did not assuage my growing fear that things would not go according to the best laid plans. I didn't bite my tongue hard but I held back because I felt that deep within her caustic comments she wanted this too. She was just afraid to tell me.
While we aren't as close as we used to be, I think she still feared alienating me because of this change of heart. She was the most vociferous of us at one time. With her shiny medical pedigree and committment to women not giving birth. Her stance is one of equality which got burned by biology, and now that she's gone and fallen in love she's ready to have this baby to keep her man. I'm torn on whether I should applaud her maturity and practicality or cry for a fallen soldier.
As we walked out onto Park Avenue and she lit up, I stood beside her as I have dozens of times on a chilly evening as she puffed and I coughed, a cute half-Asian Credit Suisse banker approached her to buy a smoke. $1=1 cig. She had none. He had a strong buzz going so he kept talking to us. We humored him.
Before he could turn to me, she said, "Don't even bother asking her, she doesn't smoke."
He retorted, "I wasn't going to ask her, I was going to hit on her."
I smiled and said, "Cancer kills you know."
To which he told a tale of a recent trip to China and his faith in Eastern medicine at which point I interjected that Rani was a physician and the focus shifted from me to her. I did that. In that moment, I did it. Self-sabotage.
As he started talking to her, I felt no point in sticking around. I kissed Rani on both cheeks and stalked off.
He said, "She wasn't enjoying my story it seems."
Rani whispered, "Are you walking uptown? I'm headed that way."
She later texted me to say he'd asked her to have a drink and how weird that way. I felt myself shrug. Of course it wasn't weird, that's how flirting works.
As I stood on the 6 platform at 28th St. I regretted leaving. Why did I walk away? Here was someone engaging me...it's like a dream. Cute guy walking down Park, stops to talk to us, could have picked me up...after all Rani is taken. But, I balked. That's not like me. What happened here?
March 22, 2009
Self-Sales
Given the economy and my overwhelming desire to NOT wake up before 11am, I have decided to augment my part-time job with selling what I already have.
NO this is not going to be a post about me turning to a life of prostitution.
Though I did after MUCH deliberation rule out a green card marriage...I'm still not 100% clear on why exactly I can't go through with it, but I think it boils down to the unshake-able romantic underpinnings of what marriage means to me...despite the recent setbacks in that department.
So, I've decided to begin with purging items I own such as DVDs, CDs, books, and assorted peripheral furniture via iSold. The middle man for eBay. They have a center in Midtown, fairly close to Grand Central. So my many journeys there will commence tomorrow.
Additionally, I discovered that the Upper East Side plays host to a blood plasma center which according to my online research provides up to $35 for plateletes via apheresis--it appears that Hep B vaccinated blood is worth $60. The process takes the plasma out of your blood and returns the rest. Sounds gross, but I can live with it. The big con here is that you can't sell more than twice a week or it depletes your iron levels. But bigger still is that you cannot drink alcohol for 72 hours after donation. This means that I really can't donate more than once a week without defeating the purpose of this additional income. The whole process takes about 30 minutes.
Now I just need to find a place to consign my clothes--my non-designer garb--where is that likely to be in Manhattan? East Village, most likely, but how do I FIND the actual spot and what is the likelihood of me getting cash upfront...
I'm not clear how the iSold, consignment options can be trusted not to lie to me. Yes, they get the commission for making the actual sale for me...but how do I know they are not ripping me off for more? I would NEVER know.
NO this is not going to be a post about me turning to a life of prostitution.
Though I did after MUCH deliberation rule out a green card marriage...I'm still not 100% clear on why exactly I can't go through with it, but I think it boils down to the unshake-able romantic underpinnings of what marriage means to me...despite the recent setbacks in that department.
So, I've decided to begin with purging items I own such as DVDs, CDs, books, and assorted peripheral furniture via iSold. The middle man for eBay. They have a center in Midtown, fairly close to Grand Central. So my many journeys there will commence tomorrow.
Additionally, I discovered that the Upper East Side plays host to a blood plasma center which according to my online research provides up to $35 for plateletes via apheresis--it appears that Hep B vaccinated blood is worth $60. The process takes the plasma out of your blood and returns the rest. Sounds gross, but I can live with it. The big con here is that you can't sell more than twice a week or it depletes your iron levels. But bigger still is that you cannot drink alcohol for 72 hours after donation. This means that I really can't donate more than once a week without defeating the purpose of this additional income. The whole process takes about 30 minutes.
Now I just need to find a place to consign my clothes--my non-designer garb--where is that likely to be in Manhattan? East Village, most likely, but how do I FIND the actual spot and what is the likelihood of me getting cash upfront...
I'm not clear how the iSold, consignment options can be trusted not to lie to me. Yes, they get the commission for making the actual sale for me...but how do I know they are not ripping me off for more? I would NEVER know.
March 19, 2009
Selling Hair
I cut my hair back in October and meant to donate it to Locks for Love BUT laziness prevailed and I never ended up mailing it out.
So, I've had dead cells sitting my shelf awaiting direction. So pressed as I am for cash these days, I've decided to SELL it in lieu of donation. After all when have I professed an adoration of children. NEVER.
Hair Trader which I found on Ask Jeeves appears to be a reputable free site for such transactions. I do have 10+inches of thick, black, virgin hair to offer the highest bidder.
Hmm, that sounds really dirty now that I read it back!
The highest bid on there has been over $2K for hair but that hair was red and over 25inches long...can't compete.
So, I've had dead cells sitting my shelf awaiting direction. So pressed as I am for cash these days, I've decided to SELL it in lieu of donation. After all when have I professed an adoration of children. NEVER.
Hair Trader which I found on Ask Jeeves appears to be a reputable free site for such transactions. I do have 10+inches of thick, black, virgin hair to offer the highest bidder.
Hmm, that sounds really dirty now that I read it back!
The highest bid on there has been over $2K for hair but that hair was red and over 25inches long...can't compete.
March 18, 2009
Ready
The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The weather is warming up.
Last night, post tea, Jo and I were walking across town.
The marrieds had been catching us up on wedding things and while a rapt audience we were not, we were good friends. We're excited for them. A new chapter. A new life. Getting what they always wanted with the one they wanted. Achievements all around.
So Jo says to me, "I'm ready to date."
I wasn't entirely caught unawares but there was a small part of me that cringed. This meant I would stand alone, officially. Alone in the not dating, not interested in dating camp of one.
But, I said to her, "Then go out and date. Putting yourself out there is the first step and if you're ready to make it--look out!"
And I meant it. She's a formidable woman in a diminutive frame. Kinda like I'm a diminutive woman in a formidable frame. HA!
She's driven, compassionate, INTENSE, hard-working, educated, globally engaged, witty, and responsible among other things. Those are just those useless inside things that don't even attract guys but certainly keep them--or so I still need to believe. She's tall, thin, pale with piercing blue eyes and short brown hair. She always dresses biz casual and carries ridiculously large handbags.
I can think of very few guys whose type she wouldn't be....I say that because it's those guys whose type I AM--Lord knows there are but a hanful of them.
So, she too begins a new chapter. Steps out of fear, loneliness, and anger to start a new life. Look at her go. I'm glad she's stepping out, it's time. Her time.
Last night, post tea, Jo and I were walking across town.
The marrieds had been catching us up on wedding things and while a rapt audience we were not, we were good friends. We're excited for them. A new chapter. A new life. Getting what they always wanted with the one they wanted. Achievements all around.
So Jo says to me, "I'm ready to date."
I wasn't entirely caught unawares but there was a small part of me that cringed. This meant I would stand alone, officially. Alone in the not dating, not interested in dating camp of one.
But, I said to her, "Then go out and date. Putting yourself out there is the first step and if you're ready to make it--look out!"
And I meant it. She's a formidable woman in a diminutive frame. Kinda like I'm a diminutive woman in a formidable frame. HA!
She's driven, compassionate, INTENSE, hard-working, educated, globally engaged, witty, and responsible among other things. Those are just those useless inside things that don't even attract guys but certainly keep them--or so I still need to believe. She's tall, thin, pale with piercing blue eyes and short brown hair. She always dresses biz casual and carries ridiculously large handbags.
I can think of very few guys whose type she wouldn't be....I say that because it's those guys whose type I AM--Lord knows there are but a hanful of them.
So, she too begins a new chapter. Steps out of fear, loneliness, and anger to start a new life. Look at her go. I'm glad she's stepping out, it's time. Her time.
March 12, 2009
WAW
Last night, I went to the William Alanson White Institute of Psychoanalysis on the UWS to hear Dr. Philip Bromberg read from his latest paper on truth in the International Journal of Psychoanalysis.
It was a refreshing experience from an academic and psychoanalytic perspective. The array of grey/frizzy haired analysts filling the room warmed my heart's deepest recesses. I was strengthened by the number of practitioners in what is a dying field.
Plus the wine and cheese after the fact took me by complete surprise.
My future mentor--an energetic psychiatrist I met whilst in India is co-director of recruitment of the Institute--was opening bottles and all I could hear was the popping sound of cork releasing wine. I was called "effervescent" by an analyst who asked me more questions than I asked her.
An interesting truth of networking in mental health. In business, the key is to ask important people questions. People love to talk--mostly about themselves. In psychology, the listening profession, peoplle like to learn about you so they do the asking. It's a fascinating turnaround.
It was a refreshing experience from an academic and psychoanalytic perspective. The array of grey/frizzy haired analysts filling the room warmed my heart's deepest recesses. I was strengthened by the number of practitioners in what is a dying field.
Plus the wine and cheese after the fact took me by complete surprise.
My future mentor--an energetic psychiatrist I met whilst in India is co-director of recruitment of the Institute--was opening bottles and all I could hear was the popping sound of cork releasing wine. I was called "effervescent" by an analyst who asked me more questions than I asked her.
An interesting truth of networking in mental health. In business, the key is to ask important people questions. People love to talk--mostly about themselves. In psychology, the listening profession, peoplle like to learn about you so they do the asking. It's a fascinating turnaround.
Rockwood II
Z collected me after my Introduction to Modern Psychoanalysis class at the Center for Modern Psychoanalysis on W. 10th Street this evening. We hopped the F on W. 4th to Rockwood Music Hall for our weekly culture club outing (WCC).
Caleb Hawley was followed by Zach Hurd--both John Mayer meets Beck musicians--the band that went onstage post solo boy angst music was a bit too loud for our Jack on the rocks (me)/Jameson Neat (Z) so we went up to Birdie's on 1st Ave. for some fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cream of spinach. The minute we crossed Houston, Z suggested Birdie's and I believed in telepathy. The second half of Zach's smooth stylings had created a rumble in my belly best requited by the crunchy goodness of southern comfort food. I said nothing of this to him. I was genuinedly shocked and delighted when he suggested such a delicious follow-up to our evening of music.
Ah....he continues to swim in my brain freely and without warning.
Caleb Hawley was followed by Zach Hurd--both John Mayer meets Beck musicians--the band that went onstage post solo boy angst music was a bit too loud for our Jack on the rocks (me)/Jameson Neat (Z) so we went up to Birdie's on 1st Ave. for some fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cream of spinach. The minute we crossed Houston, Z suggested Birdie's and I believed in telepathy. The second half of Zach's smooth stylings had created a rumble in my belly best requited by the crunchy goodness of southern comfort food. I said nothing of this to him. I was genuinedly shocked and delighted when he suggested such a delicious follow-up to our evening of music.
Ah....he continues to swim in my brain freely and without warning.
Malaysian Grill
On Tuesday night, I met Jo and Will on the UWS at Malaysian Grill for some amazing Curry Mee with Shrimp at a cheap $6.95, followed by a fabulous amble down Riverside Park to the Soldiers & Sailors monument.
Will, the lone wanderer, Jo and I met on NYE in Central Park has become a monthly fixture in our lives. Last month, he introduced us to his favorite veggie Indian spot in Murray (Curry) Hill: Chennai Garden. He's an undergrad at Columbia who works at the Clinton Foundation. Whilst well over 21, his age has yet to be determined by us. He's biked across the country. He has no qualms about talking to total strangers, in fact he was qualms with NOT talkint to total strangers.
I'm excitedly looking forward to our April caper. We're hoping he follows through on Twister in Times Square as his official graduation party theme. How awesome would that be? I adore urban adventure.
Will, the lone wanderer, Jo and I met on NYE in Central Park has become a monthly fixture in our lives. Last month, he introduced us to his favorite veggie Indian spot in Murray (Curry) Hill: Chennai Garden. He's an undergrad at Columbia who works at the Clinton Foundation. Whilst well over 21, his age has yet to be determined by us. He's biked across the country. He has no qualms about talking to total strangers, in fact he was qualms with NOT talkint to total strangers.
I'm excitedly looking forward to our April caper. We're hoping he follows through on Twister in Times Square as his official graduation party theme. How awesome would that be? I adore urban adventure.
New Developments
I apologize for my long absence loyal readers.
Whilst I was away from providing you with updates on my life as you know it. 2009 quickly became the year of rejection.
I applied to and have been rejected from UNC Chapel Hill's Clinical Psychology Doctoral Program.
I applied to and have been rejected from Teach For America. I wanted to get placed in San Francisco so Li Chen, Special K and I could enjoy Western living.
Predictably, I quit both my unpaid research positions at Columbia and Mt. Sinai.
I am now in the process of applying to an unique MA program in International Disaster Psychology in Denver. Yeah, Denver. Imagine me in LL Bean with hiking boots on, HILARIOUS.
Whilst I was away from providing you with updates on my life as you know it. 2009 quickly became the year of rejection.
I applied to and have been rejected from UNC Chapel Hill's Clinical Psychology Doctoral Program.
I applied to and have been rejected from Teach For America. I wanted to get placed in San Francisco so Li Chen, Special K and I could enjoy Western living.
Predictably, I quit both my unpaid research positions at Columbia and Mt. Sinai.
I am now in the process of applying to an unique MA program in International Disaster Psychology in Denver. Yeah, Denver. Imagine me in LL Bean with hiking boots on, HILARIOUS.
Internet Restored
I am the queen of procrastination.
Never was this more clear than the last 6 weeks. Ever since I got back from India the internet in my apartment has been BROKEN. I finally called Time Warner yesterday whence I learned that they have a store on E. 23rd Street which I actually have walked by every day for almost 3 months and never noticed. So in addition to procrastination I am also OBLIVIOUS. Boo.
So I went down there today to get a new modem wbhich did indeed turn out to be the problem--which is now resolved. Yay Internet. Yay Access at Home....NAKED.
(Fine, I have underwear on!)
Never was this more clear than the last 6 weeks. Ever since I got back from India the internet in my apartment has been BROKEN. I finally called Time Warner yesterday whence I learned that they have a store on E. 23rd Street which I actually have walked by every day for almost 3 months and never noticed. So in addition to procrastination I am also OBLIVIOUS. Boo.
So I went down there today to get a new modem wbhich did indeed turn out to be the problem--which is now resolved. Yay Internet. Yay Access at Home....NAKED.
(Fine, I have underwear on!)
February 24, 2009
Planning Revised
Last Thursday was a busy day.
I had lunch with Taurean at Earl Biddy's on Murray Street, followed by watching Norman eat lunch at Flavors Cafe on Broadway and finally hauled ass to midtown to enjoy a snack in the DPW cafeteria with Ester who is preggers. Clearly I was a bit late to work but not late enough to get in any trouble.
Taurean was excited for his trip north with the new woman in his life. He recently came out of a broken engagement with a heart full of pain and a mind full of anguish but it's all seemingly in the past as he forges ahead. I am always impressed by the resilience people showcase when it comes to love. It makes me wonder if I am fundamentally broken in my inability to rebound with the speed and tenacity all around me.
Norman related to me tales of joy tinged in woe. He's been offered a terrific professorial post at USD but having a Jewish mother can only lead to so many guilt-free weeks, so the victory is bittersweet. The far distance he must traverse to make a new life is met with more sorrow than joy by the close-knit family he described as "a many headed beast that bites and hugs all at once." I couldn't get over how similar that was to Indian families, I guess that explains why so many Judeo-Indo weddings occur in the tri-state. My mother being no exception.
Additionally, he's participating in a triathalon which involves training. He's been joining his fiancee at the gym every morning. It's amazing the things we will do for love. Inherently, he wants to get back in shape and maintain a healthy lifestyle but it is her influence alone that could bring about such a seismic shift in him. Kudos to her and salutions to Norman!
Ester's bump is not much more than that but she was aglow despite her self-professed lack of glow. I'm so impressed with her. She supports her mother and grandmother who are in residence at the dawn of another generation joining their ranks. Her husband who she actually and actively calls "Hottie" is a strapping Italian who works in fashion and isn't even remotely metrosexual--very Euro though. I only had 25minutes to spare because I'd run so late on my earlier reunions but it was time well spent. As she munched on her olive oil drizzled lettuce and chomped on what looked to be rather firm bread, I fell a little bit in love with this future mother. She exudes a warm that is colored by tolerance and highlighted by openness. It's the very definition of maternal I ascribe to--despite my lack of baby having/wanting ways--and it made me grateful to have met such a woman in my generation. Her Peruvian-Italian baby has the best future ahead of him/her.
This Thursday I plan to meet with my pink haired librarian friend, Gemma, and reuniting with Norman for what I hope will become a weekly coffee date as long as my schedule remains thus.
I had lunch with Taurean at Earl Biddy's on Murray Street, followed by watching Norman eat lunch at Flavors Cafe on Broadway and finally hauled ass to midtown to enjoy a snack in the DPW cafeteria with Ester who is preggers. Clearly I was a bit late to work but not late enough to get in any trouble.
Taurean was excited for his trip north with the new woman in his life. He recently came out of a broken engagement with a heart full of pain and a mind full of anguish but it's all seemingly in the past as he forges ahead. I am always impressed by the resilience people showcase when it comes to love. It makes me wonder if I am fundamentally broken in my inability to rebound with the speed and tenacity all around me.
Norman related to me tales of joy tinged in woe. He's been offered a terrific professorial post at USD but having a Jewish mother can only lead to so many guilt-free weeks, so the victory is bittersweet. The far distance he must traverse to make a new life is met with more sorrow than joy by the close-knit family he described as "a many headed beast that bites and hugs all at once." I couldn't get over how similar that was to Indian families, I guess that explains why so many Judeo-Indo weddings occur in the tri-state. My mother being no exception.
Additionally, he's participating in a triathalon which involves training. He's been joining his fiancee at the gym every morning. It's amazing the things we will do for love. Inherently, he wants to get back in shape and maintain a healthy lifestyle but it is her influence alone that could bring about such a seismic shift in him. Kudos to her and salutions to Norman!
Ester's bump is not much more than that but she was aglow despite her self-professed lack of glow. I'm so impressed with her. She supports her mother and grandmother who are in residence at the dawn of another generation joining their ranks. Her husband who she actually and actively calls "Hottie" is a strapping Italian who works in fashion and isn't even remotely metrosexual--very Euro though. I only had 25minutes to spare because I'd run so late on my earlier reunions but it was time well spent. As she munched on her olive oil drizzled lettuce and chomped on what looked to be rather firm bread, I fell a little bit in love with this future mother. She exudes a warm that is colored by tolerance and highlighted by openness. It's the very definition of maternal I ascribe to--despite my lack of baby having/wanting ways--and it made me grateful to have met such a woman in my generation. Her Peruvian-Italian baby has the best future ahead of him/her.
This Thursday I plan to meet with my pink haired librarian friend, Gemma, and reuniting with Norman for what I hope will become a weekly coffee date as long as my schedule remains thus.
February 20, 2009
Jack
Last night, I was at Greenwich Treehouse post work with Jo, Tommy, Reba (T's sis), and Tessie (T's ex) because Devon (T's cousin) was bartending.
Tom made the mistake of blurting out my new obsession with shooting Jack Daniels. Now, I think that's an overstatement but as of Monday night I have switched allegiances from vodka to whiskey....or bourbon in this case. So, in the name of all that is holy (10 years of committed vodka-rific drinking)I am now onto man-cohol. I've always held that hard drinking old men sip in the whiskey/scotch/bourbon realm of booze. To say I have joined them is an understatement.
Digression aside, Devon decided to ensure I follow on the path to liver failure in top form. He poured me an array of aforementioned alcohol ranging from Wild Turkey (yikes) to Crown Royal (aigh) to Canadian Rye (he called it The Bullet). It was a veritable tasting tournament until the owner of the bar decided we all needed to play Wii.
Wii Bowling to be specific. As with real bowling, I sucked initially but after some targeted coaching I beat Tommy. Devon and Tessie, whom D coached, were far ahead of us but I felt I was legitimately the most improved. I could never beat Tom in REAL bowling, but Wii bowling is a different matter entirely.
Tom made the mistake of blurting out my new obsession with shooting Jack Daniels. Now, I think that's an overstatement but as of Monday night I have switched allegiances from vodka to whiskey....or bourbon in this case. So, in the name of all that is holy (10 years of committed vodka-rific drinking)I am now onto man-cohol. I've always held that hard drinking old men sip in the whiskey/scotch/bourbon realm of booze. To say I have joined them is an understatement.
Digression aside, Devon decided to ensure I follow on the path to liver failure in top form. He poured me an array of aforementioned alcohol ranging from Wild Turkey (yikes) to Crown Royal (aigh) to Canadian Rye (he called it The Bullet). It was a veritable tasting tournament until the owner of the bar decided we all needed to play Wii.
Wii Bowling to be specific. As with real bowling, I sucked initially but after some targeted coaching I beat Tommy. Devon and Tessie, whom D coached, were far ahead of us but I felt I was legitimately the most improved. I could never beat Tom in REAL bowling, but Wii bowling is a different matter entirely.
Dunst Bucks
Check out this Perez Hilton Post on Kirsten Dunst!
Tommy and I were at the bar while this happened. I can vouch for the fact that K.D is not friendly. I can also say that she ROCKS at Buck Hunter. The guy in the pic next to her befriended Tommy and I. He was out with his gf (who snapped the shot) and cousin (whose wife just gave birth to their first kid yesterday)--we're all facebook friends now. Well, except Kirsten, of course.
I don't want to climb aboard the wagon of people posting bitchy comments about her, BUT any chance to be vicious must be capitalized upon: She is a plain Jane who could easily puff up into a mid-western famer's daughter but due to a drug habit maintains her physique. Other than Virgin Suicides--which I loved more for Josh Hartnett & Sofia Coppola's direction--she hasn't made a decent movie, um, EVER. She blew in Spiderman. She tried in Interview with the Vampire...but apparently at 11 she was kissing Brad Pitt: so I will give her props for that. Boo Kirsten Dunst.
Tommy and I were at the bar while this happened. I can vouch for the fact that K.D is not friendly. I can also say that she ROCKS at Buck Hunter. The guy in the pic next to her befriended Tommy and I. He was out with his gf (who snapped the shot) and cousin (whose wife just gave birth to their first kid yesterday)--we're all facebook friends now. Well, except Kirsten, of course.
I don't want to climb aboard the wagon of people posting bitchy comments about her, BUT any chance to be vicious must be capitalized upon: She is a plain Jane who could easily puff up into a mid-western famer's daughter but due to a drug habit maintains her physique. Other than Virgin Suicides--which I loved more for Josh Hartnett & Sofia Coppola's direction--she hasn't made a decent movie, um, EVER. She blew in Spiderman. She tried in Interview with the Vampire...but apparently at 11 she was kissing Brad Pitt: so I will give her props for that. Boo Kirsten Dunst.
February 16, 2009
Z y Mi
February 15, 2009
February 12, 2009
Crossroads Redux
A few short months ago, I had posted a series of options I planned to actualize on for the Fall semester--despite no longer being a student--now that the Spring semester, despite the winter weather, is upon us I'm back in that boat.
Last year, didn't turn out according to plan. While this year just kicked off, it appears to be following suit.
So far, zero interviews for grad school...which can only mean 6 rejections await me in late March. Sigh.
This means the life plan needs re-evaluation, AGAIN...I can't spend another year waiting for renewal. Boo.
Given the zero income of my research jobs at Mt. Sinai and Columbia those are amidst the famed Vicious quit. Additionally, their purpose was to boost me in the esteem of graduate school admissions council members--a failed attempt!
The test prep job is staying steady but the incoming flow isn't keeping me afloat, so I need a second job that pays more. If I was being smart, I'd quit for a full-time job, but I love working here. Being overqualified suits me, not to mention my love for the co-workers--it's a rare joy. Plus my flexible hours are unbeatable.
In the search for second jobs, I'm considering a life of tutoring. That $120K college degree has GOT to be worth some cred on the SAT circuit. So an effort is being made to actualize on another part-time flex job dream.
_________________________________________________________________________________
In other news, Ditha (my desi actress roomie circa 2003) is moving to LA in August. In the name of redux I applied to Teach for America in LA. So I can spend my 30s rooming with my 20s roomie in the city of angels. At least that's one majorly changed life course.
Another option is to find a job in San Francisco and convince Special K to move in with Luckey and I. She's already eager to break out of her lease so it wouldn't take much convincing.
The final and likely most plausible is to start up my MA in Psychoanalysis in NYC whilst continuing the test prep job in addition to a teaching post to accrue a stable income.
Last year, didn't turn out according to plan. While this year just kicked off, it appears to be following suit.
So far, zero interviews for grad school...which can only mean 6 rejections await me in late March. Sigh.
This means the life plan needs re-evaluation, AGAIN...I can't spend another year waiting for renewal. Boo.
Given the zero income of my research jobs at Mt. Sinai and Columbia those are amidst the famed Vicious quit. Additionally, their purpose was to boost me in the esteem of graduate school admissions council members--a failed attempt!
The test prep job is staying steady but the incoming flow isn't keeping me afloat, so I need a second job that pays more. If I was being smart, I'd quit for a full-time job, but I love working here. Being overqualified suits me, not to mention my love for the co-workers--it's a rare joy. Plus my flexible hours are unbeatable.
In the search for second jobs, I'm considering a life of tutoring. That $120K college degree has GOT to be worth some cred on the SAT circuit. So an effort is being made to actualize on another part-time flex job dream.
_________________________________________________________________________________
In other news, Ditha (my desi actress roomie circa 2003) is moving to LA in August. In the name of redux I applied to Teach for America in LA. So I can spend my 30s rooming with my 20s roomie in the city of angels. At least that's one majorly changed life course.
Another option is to find a job in San Francisco and convince Special K to move in with Luckey and I. She's already eager to break out of her lease so it wouldn't take much convincing.
The final and likely most plausible is to start up my MA in Psychoanalysis in NYC whilst continuing the test prep job in addition to a teaching post to accrue a stable income.
February 1, 2009
Cricketeer Connects
Today, the cricketeer added me as a friend on Facebook. Figured I should post a pic so you could see for yourself that he is a fine specimen of Indian masculinity.
Tall, lean, cricket-playing, left-hand side driving, enormous sunglass wearing 21-year old hottie who picked ME in a club.
January 29, 2009
Let's talk about Sex
I called a Meru Taxi to pick me up at 8:30am for my day of training with the Bombay Psychiatric Society in Goregoan. Roughly a 30 minute drive from my grandparents flat in Bandra West. Shantram, my trusty driver, was a quiet man with a wiry moustache and receding hairline. On the return trip at 3:30pm, the 30 minute ride stretched to 45 minutes and somewhere past Bandra-Kurla complex my laborious Hindi grew more fluid as talk turned from chit-chat to the degredation of Indian youth, particularly in the types of unsavory activities they indulged in within the backseat--where I was at the time seated. Shudder.
Anyway, somewhere between chastisizing the state of Indian affairs brought on by the Western influence, Shantram informed me of my prolific moral standing as a young person, albeit of advanced age in the non-marital bracket. He said (in English), "Sex is not bad." Then continued in Hindi, "But it's the lack of good choices in partners and the absence of good judgement in taking that step that is leading to all these problems." He has 10 children in his village of which 6 survive today. He's 45 years old. He said that he continues to share a bed with his wife for his month-long vacation and he doesn't seen any reason for that to change in the years to come. Especially not that she is no longer of child bearing years, the joy of the undertaking is only sweetened by the lack of repercussions.
When I mentioned birth control, he didn't seem to believe me. He said, "Children just happen. It's not something you plan." I wasn't sure at all how to respond to that in a culturally sensitive way, so I took the entirely relativist approach of suggesting that perhaps that should NOT be the case.
The State Shuttle driver who collected me from EWR to drive me to my mom's lakehouse upon arrival back into these United States was a jolly, chatty fellow. I made the mistake of telling him I already had my PhD in Clinical Psychology and he immediately informed me of his affinity for the science. He insisted, "People interested in Psychology are crazy in some way or there is a crazy person in their famly who piqued their interest. So, which one are you?" I'm still not sure what the answer to that question is...but I am still thinking about it.
After some insight into his father's bipolar disorder, he switched to a conversation about intimacy and the importance of multiple partners for him to feel fulfilled. He spoke briefly about his divorce and his fears for his upcoming nuptials not being significantly different despite his current fianceee being clear on his BDSM needs and the absence of monogamy. I was glad he wasn't seeking my counsel but I was surprised at how easily he shared. Somehow, the very mention of psychotherapy and people just want to talk about sex.
Is life really that Freudian in its simplicity of eros and thanatos?
My recent rides on two continents certainly seem to say so.
Anyway, somewhere between chastisizing the state of Indian affairs brought on by the Western influence, Shantram informed me of my prolific moral standing as a young person, albeit of advanced age in the non-marital bracket. He said (in English), "Sex is not bad." Then continued in Hindi, "But it's the lack of good choices in partners and the absence of good judgement in taking that step that is leading to all these problems." He has 10 children in his village of which 6 survive today. He's 45 years old. He said that he continues to share a bed with his wife for his month-long vacation and he doesn't seen any reason for that to change in the years to come. Especially not that she is no longer of child bearing years, the joy of the undertaking is only sweetened by the lack of repercussions.
When I mentioned birth control, he didn't seem to believe me. He said, "Children just happen. It's not something you plan." I wasn't sure at all how to respond to that in a culturally sensitive way, so I took the entirely relativist approach of suggesting that perhaps that should NOT be the case.
The State Shuttle driver who collected me from EWR to drive me to my mom's lakehouse upon arrival back into these United States was a jolly, chatty fellow. I made the mistake of telling him I already had my PhD in Clinical Psychology and he immediately informed me of his affinity for the science. He insisted, "People interested in Psychology are crazy in some way or there is a crazy person in their famly who piqued their interest. So, which one are you?" I'm still not sure what the answer to that question is...but I am still thinking about it.
After some insight into his father's bipolar disorder, he switched to a conversation about intimacy and the importance of multiple partners for him to feel fulfilled. He spoke briefly about his divorce and his fears for his upcoming nuptials not being significantly different despite his current fianceee being clear on his BDSM needs and the absence of monogamy. I was glad he wasn't seeking my counsel but I was surprised at how easily he shared. Somehow, the very mention of psychotherapy and people just want to talk about sex.
Is life really that Freudian in its simplicity of eros and thanatos?
My recent rides on two continents certainly seem to say so.
January 18, 2009
Cinema con Cricketeer
I'm playing up the coy angle: family shame and all that. The last thing I want to do is undo my first fling by him figuring me to be loose, albeit in the Indian context. I suppose to some extent a club kiss has already sealed my fate in that regard but I'm trying to seek out the age old "alcohol is poison" bit and rebuild myself as an, albeit, foreign Indian.
It's hard to ignore that he does think my westernization signals a lower moral bar and there is a push to go farther faster. Not that he tried anything at coffee, but we're planning a trip to the cinema. One with old-fashioned boxes=privacy for couples. I'm mostly looking forward to the experience but there is a part of me that fears the implications of agreeing to such an endeavor.
It's hard to ignore that he does think my westernization signals a lower moral bar and there is a push to go farther faster. Not that he tried anything at coffee, but we're planning a trip to the cinema. One with old-fashioned boxes=privacy for couples. I'm mostly looking forward to the experience but there is a part of me that fears the implications of agreeing to such an endeavor.
Coffee with the Cricketeer
So I checked out his stats....no that is NOT code. I actually looked up his score stats on Cricket Info where I learned he was 21! He was born in 1987. JESUS---I'm a cradle robber!
I told my grandparents I was going to watch my cousin play football and gave the driver hush money to drop me off to meet the Cricketeer for coffee.
We got coffee at this local chain called Barista--it was full of youngsters with lust in their eyes and fear in their hearts. It's taboo to touch the opposite sex in India. Even married folks don't hold hands or kiss in public. So these kids, who live at home and have zero privacy never get to spend one-on-one private time, so they have to sneak it as best they can.
I had to play the innocent Indian. I'd like to think I delivered an Emmy worthy performance of coy smiles and lowered eyes. He ate it up. And as I left, he grabbed my wrist and pleaded for five more minutes, just five minutes. I looked at him appalled--public contact, NO!--shook free and gave him an over the chin grin as I ran to my awaiting driver.
He's called me thrice and texted me at least 5 times since then--it's been 2 hours!
His last text in Hindi loosely translated to this: "I just want to say, I'm falling for you...hard. Please meet me tomorrow!"
I told my grandparents I was going to watch my cousin play football and gave the driver hush money to drop me off to meet the Cricketeer for coffee.
We got coffee at this local chain called Barista--it was full of youngsters with lust in their eyes and fear in their hearts. It's taboo to touch the opposite sex in India. Even married folks don't hold hands or kiss in public. So these kids, who live at home and have zero privacy never get to spend one-on-one private time, so they have to sneak it as best they can.
I had to play the innocent Indian. I'd like to think I delivered an Emmy worthy performance of coy smiles and lowered eyes. He ate it up. And as I left, he grabbed my wrist and pleaded for five more minutes, just five minutes. I looked at him appalled--public contact, NO!--shook free and gave him an over the chin grin as I ran to my awaiting driver.
He's called me thrice and texted me at least 5 times since then--it's been 2 hours!
His last text in Hindi loosely translated to this: "I just want to say, I'm falling for you...hard. Please meet me tomorrow!"
Cricketeer Calling
Alright, so his name is Anand...yes, I know...another A-named Indian to my growing list.
We're going to get coffee this afternoon. He's called me roughly 6 times in the last 12 hours. I couldn't have choreographed a better fling. He lives in another state (Madhya Pradesh) and he's here just for the week to play cricket at this exclusive cricket club (M.I.G) my uncle belongs to--so I can get in to see his match next Sunday. He's already invited me as his special guest. That's pretty long-term for a guy I met at a club 12 hours ago. =D
We may even go to the caves together next Sat. Depends on his practice schedule, but either way I plan to get a pic with him in UNIFORM.
OMG! I feel like I'm 16 again.
We're going to get coffee this afternoon. He's called me roughly 6 times in the last 12 hours. I couldn't have choreographed a better fling. He lives in another state (Madhya Pradesh) and he's here just for the week to play cricket at this exclusive cricket club (M.I.G) my uncle belongs to--so I can get in to see his match next Sunday. He's already invited me as his special guest. That's pretty long-term for a guy I met at a club 12 hours ago. =D
We may even go to the caves together next Sat. Depends on his practice schedule, but either way I plan to get a pic with him in UNIFORM.
OMG! I feel like I'm 16 again.
The Cricketeer
So, I just got home from a night of clubbing in India...and legitimately THE hottest guy in the club hit on me. Despite my self-assured ways...that never happens to me.
I was with my oldest friend in the world at Hawaiin Shack--a chill four-storey "club" in Bandra (W)--with four of her guy friends and two of her girlfriends. We paid Rs. 1000/couple to get in which allotted each couple a booklet of drink tickets. After my third vodka club soda, I was ready to sway my hips to the best music I've heard in a club off late. Sean Paul blaring sealed the deal.
Earlier that evening, shortly after we walked in and staked seats besides the stairs on the second floor, I noticed the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome sitting at a table with a turbaned lad across from us. He was by far the best looking guy in the joint. He couldn't help tapping his feet and bobbing his head to the music--he even mouthed the words. Finally, he got up to dance and I couldn't tear my eyes off him. He was looking my way as well but didn't approach. Finally, I got up to dance with my bff and her buds when he sidled up to me and smiled, mouthing "hi". I smiled back and nodded.
Soon after they were offering free shots for ladies at the DJ booth in a very down-the-shore, booze-down-your-gullet style. I raced up for two quick swigs and brushed by him on the way back to my gaggle. The boys in the group formed a protective huddle around me and kept steering me away from him. He kept holding my hand when they got distracted from their bodyguarding ways. Finally, he asked me to "Meet by the loo?" I nodded as he stalked off.
He was awaiting me in the brightly-lit alcove between the restrooms, phone in hand. I have no idea what my Indian cell number is, so he grabbed my phone and dialed his number. Saving him into my phone and me into his....as he was handing me back the phone I tilted up my head to thank him and he kissed me. RIGHT THERE. His lips parted mine and I felt his tongue sliding into my mouth, it was so sudden I barely had a chance to react. I reflexively kissed back before realizing we were in a high traffic area and Indians were staring. I broke away quickly and ran back to my group.
His name is Andy and he's a cricketeer (Yes. he's Indian).
Cricketeer is Indian speak for football stud. We'll see if he actually calls me tomorrow....he's called me twice since we left the club but it's only been 30mins and the buzz has undoubtedly NOT worn off.
Here's hoping I have my first fling at 28...in India, no less.
I was with my oldest friend in the world at Hawaiin Shack--a chill four-storey "club" in Bandra (W)--with four of her guy friends and two of her girlfriends. We paid Rs. 1000/couple to get in which allotted each couple a booklet of drink tickets. After my third vodka club soda, I was ready to sway my hips to the best music I've heard in a club off late. Sean Paul blaring sealed the deal.
Earlier that evening, shortly after we walked in and staked seats besides the stairs on the second floor, I noticed the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome sitting at a table with a turbaned lad across from us. He was by far the best looking guy in the joint. He couldn't help tapping his feet and bobbing his head to the music--he even mouthed the words. Finally, he got up to dance and I couldn't tear my eyes off him. He was looking my way as well but didn't approach. Finally, I got up to dance with my bff and her buds when he sidled up to me and smiled, mouthing "hi". I smiled back and nodded.
Soon after they were offering free shots for ladies at the DJ booth in a very down-the-shore, booze-down-your-gullet style. I raced up for two quick swigs and brushed by him on the way back to my gaggle. The boys in the group formed a protective huddle around me and kept steering me away from him. He kept holding my hand when they got distracted from their bodyguarding ways. Finally, he asked me to "Meet by the loo?" I nodded as he stalked off.
He was awaiting me in the brightly-lit alcove between the restrooms, phone in hand. I have no idea what my Indian cell number is, so he grabbed my phone and dialed his number. Saving him into my phone and me into his....as he was handing me back the phone I tilted up my head to thank him and he kissed me. RIGHT THERE. His lips parted mine and I felt his tongue sliding into my mouth, it was so sudden I barely had a chance to react. I reflexively kissed back before realizing we were in a high traffic area and Indians were staring. I broke away quickly and ran back to my group.
His name is Andy and he's a cricketeer (Yes. he's Indian).
Cricketeer is Indian speak for football stud. We'll see if he actually calls me tomorrow....he's called me twice since we left the club but it's only been 30mins and the buzz has undoubtedly NOT worn off.
Here's hoping I have my first fling at 28...in India, no less.
January 4, 2009
E-mail to Lauren
Lau,
So, you told us we better have something quality to report back and through NO doing of our own, we actually DO!
After two more songs with the band that spanned the style from the second half of the 21st century, we left Rockwood Music Hall and headed to King's Cross (formerly M&R Bar below Marion's).
While we sipped our beer, the following bathroom related events transpired:
1) I had to avail myself of the loo, so I went over to the single room and pushed open the door to discover an inebriated man zipping up. Backing away apologetically, I shrunk in horror as he slurred, "I'm done, didn't flush though!" Clearly, no hand washing ensued either. YIKES. So you're disgusting and you don't have the decency to lock the door...wtf?
2) Soon after I sat back down, the SAME man and ANOTHER man went into the bathroom for about 5minutes, felt like 15 but realistically 5 minutes.
3) Jo and I were impressed by the brazen display, till another young gay couple unabashedly went into the same bathroom together. Kudos! Also, hopeful we were that we wouldn't have to pee whilst there.
4) Moments later, a girl from a gaggle of three approached the door and pushed it open. We assumed she may be joining them (or else they would have locked the door, right?) till she backed away horrified. Clearly, he wasn't holding the other guy's hair back. Sex was being had and girl from gaggle had witnessed it. Another example of people NOT locking this one door.
Lessons learned:
King's Cross Bathroom=Gay Sexcapade Central
One woman's bathroom is another man's sex room.
Always, lock bathroom doors...especially if having sex in said bathroom.
Boys don't wash their hands---EW!
Thanks for coming out! You left JUST in time....
Hope this is a good enough story to warrant a nod of approval from our married friend =D
So, you told us we better have something quality to report back and through NO doing of our own, we actually DO!
After two more songs with the band that spanned the style from the second half of the 21st century, we left Rockwood Music Hall and headed to King's Cross (formerly M&R Bar below Marion's).
While we sipped our beer, the following bathroom related events transpired:
1) I had to avail myself of the loo, so I went over to the single room and pushed open the door to discover an inebriated man zipping up. Backing away apologetically, I shrunk in horror as he slurred, "I'm done, didn't flush though!" Clearly, no hand washing ensued either. YIKES. So you're disgusting and you don't have the decency to lock the door...wtf?
2) Soon after I sat back down, the SAME man and ANOTHER man went into the bathroom for about 5minutes, felt like 15 but realistically 5 minutes.
3) Jo and I were impressed by the brazen display, till another young gay couple unabashedly went into the same bathroom together. Kudos! Also, hopeful we were that we wouldn't have to pee whilst there.
4) Moments later, a girl from a gaggle of three approached the door and pushed it open. We assumed she may be joining them (or else they would have locked the door, right?) till she backed away horrified. Clearly, he wasn't holding the other guy's hair back. Sex was being had and girl from gaggle had witnessed it. Another example of people NOT locking this one door.
Lessons learned:
King's Cross Bathroom=Gay Sexcapade Central
One woman's bathroom is another man's sex room.
Always, lock bathroom doors...especially if having sex in said bathroom.
Boys don't wash their hands---EW!
Thanks for coming out! You left JUST in time....
Hope this is a good enough story to warrant a nod of approval from our married friend =D
January 3, 2009
Saturday Night Fever: Sweet LES
8pm Dinner at Tiffinwallah
Tea girls and their future husbands
10pm Bowery Poetry Club
Shadz of Red
12am Rockwood Music Hall
AKI is the Glue Live
Tea girls and their future husbands
10pm Bowery Poetry Club
Shadz of Red
12am Rockwood Music Hall
AKI is the Glue Live
Off Limits
Three days into the New Year, I'm a poster child for Nancy Regan's Nike campaign:
No ex sex. No ice cream. No drunken displays of debauchery. No beer pong. No fun =(
That's not entirely true, it's not that it's been un-fun. Perhaps, I need to re-evaluate my definition of fun or perhaps I need to snap out of my den of disinterest to re-engage with this wanton world.
I've been walking around with my shoulders hunched in lounge wear, donning enormous glasses to avoid eye contact to ward off any potential suitors. It's not subconscious. It's very unlike me, but it's who I've become. These delineations: Me vs. Not Me, seem foolish given the reality that people who make these proclamations often protest too much. To say another way, what they term NOT THEM is often very much THEM.
Indeed, I am not me. Something to think about throughout 2009...
No ex sex. No ice cream. No drunken displays of debauchery. No beer pong. No fun =(
That's not entirely true, it's not that it's been un-fun. Perhaps, I need to re-evaluate my definition of fun or perhaps I need to snap out of my den of disinterest to re-engage with this wanton world.
I've been walking around with my shoulders hunched in lounge wear, donning enormous glasses to avoid eye contact to ward off any potential suitors. It's not subconscious. It's very unlike me, but it's who I've become. These delineations: Me vs. Not Me, seem foolish given the reality that people who make these proclamations often protest too much. To say another way, what they term NOT THEM is often very much THEM.
Indeed, I am not me. Something to think about throughout 2009...
Screaming Couple Fight
Last night, I was rudely awakened and lay awake to hear most of the fight between my building's super, who shares the basement with me--the only other apartment on this subterranean level--and his girlfriend.
Not sure if it was the actual volume of angry epithets or Luckey's annoyed barking that made me aware of these unpleasant goings-on. The actual fight lasted about forty minutes and I couldn't help eavesdropping at rapt attention given my SAVI training. I was ready to make a run for the precinct down the block if I sensed any escalation.
The unfortunate truth is that I felt sorrier for my sleepy super that he had to deal with his agitated woman friend than I did for her. From what I overheard she just went off after he called her a "bitch". Being that they are both black, I felt doubly surprised that such a description garnered such an extreme response from her. I think the added bonus of her being drunk and making an unexpected booty call didn't result in the desired result. He was relatively quieter, harder to overhear, but from what I understood he was doing a bang up job of calming her down.
I've been called a bitch exactly once before by someone I was sleeping with and while I didn't take it well, I didn't lash out by waking the neighbors. Honestly, keep your domestic disputes within your four walls. Geez.
Not sure if it was the actual volume of angry epithets or Luckey's annoyed barking that made me aware of these unpleasant goings-on. The actual fight lasted about forty minutes and I couldn't help eavesdropping at rapt attention given my SAVI training. I was ready to make a run for the precinct down the block if I sensed any escalation.
The unfortunate truth is that I felt sorrier for my sleepy super that he had to deal with his agitated woman friend than I did for her. From what I overheard she just went off after he called her a "bitch". Being that they are both black, I felt doubly surprised that such a description garnered such an extreme response from her. I think the added bonus of her being drunk and making an unexpected booty call didn't result in the desired result. He was relatively quieter, harder to overhear, but from what I understood he was doing a bang up job of calming her down.
I've been called a bitch exactly once before by someone I was sleeping with and while I didn't take it well, I didn't lash out by waking the neighbors. Honestly, keep your domestic disputes within your four walls. Geez.
January 2, 2009
12 बुक्स
I hope to read at least these books in 2009:
Dreamland
When We Were Orphans
The Ten-Year Nap
Mating
A Suitable Boy
Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard
Bombay, Meri Jaan
Dreams From My Father
Duma Key
Anathem
Scarpetta
Book of the Dead
Dreamland
When We Were Orphans
The Ten-Year Nap
Mating
A Suitable Boy
Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard
Bombay, Meri Jaan
Dreams From My Father
Duma Key
Anathem
Scarpetta
Book of the Dead
Rang in २००९--Central Park
Jo joined Luckey and me in Central Park at 10:40pm on New Year's eve with two bottles of wine and her high school pal--currently stationed in Germany--yay US Army.
We picked up a Norwegian couple, a lone German dude, and Mr. Talk to Me all on our quest for Belvedere Castle. We watched the fireworks, cheered on NYRoad Runners making the 4-mile loop their first of many Central Park runs in 2009, and saw numerous Time's Up bicyclists at the end of their ride up from Washington Square Park.
Since we ran out of wine and the Army man started whining, we took the listening man's advice and ambled over to Dive 75. No cover. No table service. Not too much of a dive. Managed to smuggle Luckey in without any problems--he dutifully hid in the recesses of my tote which I hung from one of the chairs at the bar--and drank the night away.
Made it home by 3:30am, even found a cab without so much as walking to the curb.
Hope the foreign friends, pseudo celeb guidance, non-VIP ease of entry, and spontaneous fun with puppy in tow all continue through the next 363 days!
We picked up a Norwegian couple, a lone German dude, and Mr. Talk to Me all on our quest for Belvedere Castle. We watched the fireworks, cheered on NYRoad Runners making the 4-mile loop their first of many Central Park runs in 2009, and saw numerous Time's Up bicyclists at the end of their ride up from Washington Square Park.
Since we ran out of wine and the Army man started whining, we took the listening man's advice and ambled over to Dive 75. No cover. No table service. Not too much of a dive. Managed to smuggle Luckey in without any problems--he dutifully hid in the recesses of my tote which I hung from one of the chairs at the bar--and drank the night away.
Made it home by 3:30am, even found a cab without so much as walking to the curb.
Hope the foreign friends, pseudo celeb guidance, non-VIP ease of entry, and spontaneous fun with puppy in tow all continue through the next 363 days!
December 31, 2008
२००९ लाइफ Plans
January-Trip to Bombay...sublet apartment.
February-Grad School Interviews...Philly/DC Trips
March-Boston Trip
April-Acceptance! School selected.
May-Lauren's Wedding
June-Clui's Canadian Wedding
July-Norman's Wedding
August-Move! Start Graduate School
September-Gary's Wedding in St. Louis...Halle's Wedding in NH...Vegas turns 2!
October-Turning 29! Luckey is 4!
November-Home for Thanksgiving.
December-Finals. Apply for summer internships/jobs.
February-Grad School Interviews...Philly/DC Trips
March-Boston Trip
April-Acceptance! School selected.
May-Lauren's Wedding
June-Clui's Canadian Wedding
July-Norman's Wedding
August-Move! Start Graduate School
September-Gary's Wedding in St. Louis...Halle's Wedding in NH...Vegas turns 2!
October-Turning 29! Luckey is 4!
November-Home for Thanksgiving.
December-Finals. Apply for summer internships/jobs.
In 2009, I will
Believe in the goodness of others.
Give up ice-cream.
Attend graduate school.
Invite love into my life.
Visit my grandparents in India.
Listen to my Mother more.
Save up for a Euro-trip in '10.
Spend more time reading.
Develop a new hobby: Quilting!
Devote a day to service every month.
Taste Nigerian cuisine.
Try harder!
Give up ice-cream.
Attend graduate school.
Invite love into my life.
Visit my grandparents in India.
Listen to my Mother more.
Save up for a Euro-trip in '10.
Spend more time reading.
Develop a new hobby: Quilting!
Devote a day to service every month.
Taste Nigerian cuisine.
Try harder!
December 30, 2008
December 28, 2008
च्रिस्त्मस Past
That title of this post reads, Christmas Past, btw. I recently added the Hindi translation feature so figured I'd give it a go.
Tracey was conspicuously absent from my annual holiday journey home. She's in Florida assisting the family of one of her students vacation. I've received many picture texts with text highlighting her fear and loathing of cartoons come to life.
It was a quiet Christmas. Luckey, Mom, her husband, and I went to see Marley & Me...we smuggled, Luckey into the theater--he's such a dream. Lots of gifts, nothing worth listing. Mom and I went shopping on the new Black Friday...bought more clothes.
Vegas spent his holiday with the D'Souzas. Unmarried, I might be, yet I share custody of my puppy. Only in America! At least there is no court battle--something to be thankful for this year. He's going to stay with him/them through my trip to India. When I get back neutering will ensue...it's long overdue.
Tracey was conspicuously absent from my annual holiday journey home. She's in Florida assisting the family of one of her students vacation. I've received many picture texts with text highlighting her fear and loathing of cartoons come to life.
It was a quiet Christmas. Luckey, Mom, her husband, and I went to see Marley & Me...we smuggled, Luckey into the theater--he's such a dream. Lots of gifts, nothing worth listing. Mom and I went shopping on the new Black Friday...bought more clothes.
Vegas spent his holiday with the D'Souzas. Unmarried, I might be, yet I share custody of my puppy. Only in America! At least there is no court battle--something to be thankful for this year. He's going to stay with him/them through my trip to India. When I get back neutering will ensue...it's long overdue.
December 23, 2008
Granting Requests
I'm a Grinch. At least this year, I am.
I was asked to take down a previous post.
A post that came from my heart--as a representation of my feelings about an event that took place in my life--but clearly another party was implicated because I am not an island. So my reaction to the event was viewed as exposing this other party's personal life which was deemed unacceptable.
Now, I have never granted such a request. I've previously been asked similar things by OTHER people, but in the name of all that is holy in the blogosphere, I have stuck to my guns.
Except in life, we make exceptions for the exceptional in said life. I am no exception, apparently.
Merry Christmas.
Happy Fucking New Year.
I was asked to take down a previous post.
A post that came from my heart--as a representation of my feelings about an event that took place in my life--but clearly another party was implicated because I am not an island. So my reaction to the event was viewed as exposing this other party's personal life which was deemed unacceptable.
Now, I have never granted such a request. I've previously been asked similar things by OTHER people, but in the name of all that is holy in the blogosphere, I have stuck to my guns.
Except in life, we make exceptions for the exceptional in said life. I am no exception, apparently.
Merry Christmas.
Happy Fucking New Year.
December 22, 2008
Committment: Fear of/for the Future
I'm not one to get bogged down in the details of the future.
Exhibit A: My life.
However the spree of engagements this year that are leading to weddings next year, might finally be getting to me. IN general, I'm a bit of a commitmentphobe--not in relationships per se--but in making decisions about my future.
Exhibit B: My career.
Hmm, what career?
Exactly!
So, the five ceremonies I've already committed to attending next year aside, I'm headed to India to visit my grandparents and extended family next month. India, the land where women over 25 are considered old maids. India, the country where the worth of a woman is measured by her reproductive abilities. India, where wives who outlive their husbands have been burned for their audacity of continued existence post His absence.
Exhibit C: Cultural competency in whose shadow I'm actually a non-conformist.
You wear twinsets and finally got the Jen An haircut...um, non-conformity?
Well, in the context of being Indian...being unwed and not wanting children is pretty OUT THERE. Kinda like Aliens.
The barrage of recent couples events and the spirit of family at the holidays is making me painfully aware that I am not on the path to creating my own nuclear unit. And while my womb isn't aching, my heart is certainly starting to feel the first gurgles of trepidation at another year alone.
Last year I was well on my way to becoming Mrs. D'Souza: a woman with a Goan Catholic man of finance who didn't have to make false promsies of becoming barefoot and pregnant but did brandish a rolling pin at her pie baking best. A woman with a new puppy and a home with a live Christmas tree. A woman who didn't sleep alone or wake up lonely. A woman whose life felt complete even if she was falling apart. A woman who believed she had just gotten everything she'd ever wanted in this life.
Sadly, I'm not that woman. Gladly, I've come to terms with it. But at least that sad woman had met her goals. I'm just setting new new ones as this woman. It's all a bit disorienting and heaped in disenchantment.
Exhibit A: My life.
However the spree of engagements this year that are leading to weddings next year, might finally be getting to me. IN general, I'm a bit of a commitmentphobe--not in relationships per se--but in making decisions about my future.
Exhibit B: My career.
Hmm, what career?
Exactly!
So, the five ceremonies I've already committed to attending next year aside, I'm headed to India to visit my grandparents and extended family next month. India, the land where women over 25 are considered old maids. India, the country where the worth of a woman is measured by her reproductive abilities. India, where wives who outlive their husbands have been burned for their audacity of continued existence post His absence.
Exhibit C: Cultural competency in whose shadow I'm actually a non-conformist.
You wear twinsets and finally got the Jen An haircut...um, non-conformity?
Well, in the context of being Indian...being unwed and not wanting children is pretty OUT THERE. Kinda like Aliens.
The barrage of recent couples events and the spirit of family at the holidays is making me painfully aware that I am not on the path to creating my own nuclear unit. And while my womb isn't aching, my heart is certainly starting to feel the first gurgles of trepidation at another year alone.
Last year I was well on my way to becoming Mrs. D'Souza: a woman with a Goan Catholic man of finance who didn't have to make false promsies of becoming barefoot and pregnant but did brandish a rolling pin at her pie baking best. A woman with a new puppy and a home with a live Christmas tree. A woman who didn't sleep alone or wake up lonely. A woman whose life felt complete even if she was falling apart. A woman who believed she had just gotten everything she'd ever wanted in this life.
Sadly, I'm not that woman. Gladly, I've come to terms with it. But at least that sad woman had met her goals. I'm just setting new new ones as this woman. It's all a bit disorienting and heaped in disenchantment.
December 21, 2008
Happy Birthday, V!
I was asked to take down this post by V.
So I have.
I'm not happy about it but it was phrased as a request, if not fulfilled, would be measured as a sleight against him.
I'm not taking this down.
Hope you're happy.
So I have.
I'm not happy about it but it was phrased as a request, if not fulfilled, would be measured as a sleight against him.
I'm not taking this down.
Hope you're happy.
Man-made Breakfast
Today, Taurean made me breakfast. It was the first time in my 28 years on this planet that a man cooked me breakfast.
Clearly, chefs and cooks at restaurants don't count for these purposes.
He added water to the organic eggs and cooked them in a high-priced skillet. He even applied organic jam to my seven-grain toast. The cheddar wasn't sharp and the spinach was perfectly cooked with garlic to boot. Truly, a delectable meal.
He even made me tea with honey to keep me awake after that enormous omelette and toast breakfast as I journeyed south of Harlem to work this afternoon.
Thanks, T. Travel safe!
Clearly, chefs and cooks at restaurants don't count for these purposes.
He added water to the organic eggs and cooked them in a high-priced skillet. He even applied organic jam to my seven-grain toast. The cheddar wasn't sharp and the spinach was perfectly cooked with garlic to boot. Truly, a delectable meal.
He even made me tea with honey to keep me awake after that enormous omelette and toast breakfast as I journeyed south of Harlem to work this afternoon.
Thanks, T. Travel safe!
Guac Off
Last night, I was in Park Slope at a couples party. There were three other single women at this party but no single men. A fact that made me feel like I didn't deserve any more Christmas wishes.
Can I just say 'tis NOT the season for me! I am not into meeting someone right now. A statement I haven't uttered since I hit puberty, but a true statement nevertheless.
Additionally, as the party crested Norman called the hostess to inform her of his engagement. Today I learned that the engagement involved three dozen rose petals spelling out "Will You Marry Me?" in a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria. Clearly, the lady in question said, "Yes!" But jokingly, Norman mentioned there was always the fear that she might just come back with, "What? I'm not worth orchids! What else you got?"
So, after last night's holiday spirit in Brooklyn, I'm heading to the UES this evening for a guac-off. That's right. We're having a contest to see who makes the best Guacamole--the attendees will serve as tasters to the test. If I could de-spice, I'd have a shot at the title...but I figure I might as well have one dish that meets my fire-eater levels to enjoy at the party.
Avocados peeled, tomatoes diced, onions chopped, cut up jalapenos, salt to taste and fresh limes squeezed....
GUAC-OFF
Can I just say 'tis NOT the season for me! I am not into meeting someone right now. A statement I haven't uttered since I hit puberty, but a true statement nevertheless.
Additionally, as the party crested Norman called the hostess to inform her of his engagement. Today I learned that the engagement involved three dozen rose petals spelling out "Will You Marry Me?" in a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria. Clearly, the lady in question said, "Yes!" But jokingly, Norman mentioned there was always the fear that she might just come back with, "What? I'm not worth orchids! What else you got?"
So, after last night's holiday spirit in Brooklyn, I'm heading to the UES this evening for a guac-off. That's right. We're having a contest to see who makes the best Guacamole--the attendees will serve as tasters to the test. If I could de-spice, I'd have a shot at the title...but I figure I might as well have one dish that meets my fire-eater levels to enjoy at the party.
Avocados peeled, tomatoes diced, onions chopped, cut up jalapenos, salt to taste and fresh limes squeezed....
GUAC-OFF
December 18, 2008
Keep on Tryin' (Poco)
I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout
All the times you told me
You’re so full of doubt
You just can’t let it be
But I know
If you keep comin’ back for more
Then I’ll keep on tryin’
Keep on tryin’
And I’ve been drinkin’ now
Just a little too much
And I don’t know how
I can get in touch with you
Now there’s only one thing
For me to do, that’s to
To get home to you
And I feel so satisfied when
I can see you smile
I want to confide in
All that is true, so I’ll
Keep on tryin’ I’m
Through with lyin’
Just like the sun above
I’ll come shinin' through
Oh yes I’ll
Keep on tryin’, I’m
Tired of cryin’
I got to find a way
To get on home to you
I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout
All the times you held me
I never heard you shout
The flow of energy was so fine
Now I think I’ll lay it on the line
And keep on tryin’
To get home to you
And I feel so satisfied when
I can see you smile
I want to confide in
All that is true, so I’ll
Keep on tryin’ I’m
Through with lyin’
Just like the sun above
I’ll come shinin' through
Yes I will
Oh yes I’ll
Keep on tryin’, I’m
Tired of cryin’
I got to find a way
To get on home to you.
Saw this on an old episode of Bones and it made me Limewire till I got it. The melody is just terrific....figures it's the Buffalo Springfield-feel of it.
All the times you told me
You’re so full of doubt
You just can’t let it be
But I know
If you keep comin’ back for more
Then I’ll keep on tryin’
Keep on tryin’
And I’ve been drinkin’ now
Just a little too much
And I don’t know how
I can get in touch with you
Now there’s only one thing
For me to do, that’s to
To get home to you
And I feel so satisfied when
I can see you smile
I want to confide in
All that is true, so I’ll
Keep on tryin’ I’m
Through with lyin’
Just like the sun above
I’ll come shinin' through
Oh yes I’ll
Keep on tryin’, I’m
Tired of cryin’
I got to find a way
To get on home to you
I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout
All the times you held me
I never heard you shout
The flow of energy was so fine
Now I think I’ll lay it on the line
And keep on tryin’
To get home to you
And I feel so satisfied when
I can see you smile
I want to confide in
All that is true, so I’ll
Keep on tryin’ I’m
Through with lyin’
Just like the sun above
I’ll come shinin' through
Yes I will
Oh yes I’ll
Keep on tryin’, I’m
Tired of cryin’
I got to find a way
To get on home to you.
Saw this on an old episode of Bones and it made me Limewire till I got it. The melody is just terrific....figures it's the Buffalo Springfield-feel of it.
December 17, 2008
M.I.A
British-bred Maya Arulparasm, Sri-Lankan, singer/songwriter/graphic artist has a past checkered by political strife. Her father established the Eelam--the Tamil student group that raised hell in Sri-Lanka.
I learned about them from Love Marriage by Sugi V.G...Jo's friend who once came to tea.
M.I.A's song Paper Planes has taken the radio by storm. She has a lot of influences in her music but it's rooted in fusion. She lives in Bed-Stuy with her baby daddy Ben from The Exit. Go New York!
I'm a bit taken with the trajectory of her career and general motion of her life.
I learned about them from Love Marriage by Sugi V.G...Jo's friend who once came to tea.
M.I.A's song Paper Planes has taken the radio by storm. She has a lot of influences in her music but it's rooted in fusion. She lives in Bed-Stuy with her baby daddy Ben from The Exit. Go New York!
I'm a bit taken with the trajectory of her career and general motion of her life.
Unswerving Love
If you haven't already, get yourself to the theater to watch Slumdog Millionaire.
If you haven't yet, fall in love...unswerving love.
Because healing from heartbreak means you're ready to get your heartbroken all over again. Do it.
If you haven't yet, fall in love...unswerving love.
Because healing from heartbreak means you're ready to get your heartbroken all over again. Do it.
December 10, 2008
Exit Strategy
Today, I was talking to Tracey--as I oft do, but have not as much off late, given her myriad of jobs and my lackluster attitude towards my phone--and we had an interesting discussion about exit strategies.
Her argument was that in relationships we should never lose sight of the exit stategy. People change. Things change. Best to be prepared.
My argument was that if you always have an out how sincere are you about a future with your partner. Clearly, not all relationships are meant to last, but I'm speaking more of the ones that have the potential to be significant. How can you be in it 100% if you always have one foot out the door?
Her argument was that in relationships we should never lose sight of the exit stategy. People change. Things change. Best to be prepared.
My argument was that if you always have an out how sincere are you about a future with your partner. Clearly, not all relationships are meant to last, but I'm speaking more of the ones that have the potential to be significant. How can you be in it 100% if you always have one foot out the door?
Moments
I was on the crosstown bus on 96th street after REACH (a mentoring program through the Goddard Riverside Community)this evening when I heard this heartwarming seasonal exchange:
Older black woman to much older white man: Sir, please have my seat!
Younger white man silently vacates his window seat.
Old white guy: Thank you, that's very kind.
Two blocks later, as the old white dude gets off, the black lady says: God bless you. Get home safe.
White fella responds: God bless you, too. Take care.
Who says New Yorkers aren't God-fearing friendly folk?
Another incident earlier today in Chelsea.
Man walking dog. I stop man to pet dog, after asking permission, of course.
Me...to the dog: Who's a good pup pup? Who loves to go outside? Who's a love bug?
Man...to me: A dog person, are you?
Me...(sheepish): Sorry.
Man: Never be sorry. Dog people are good people. Don't be weary of talking to dogs. Let those non-dog people think you're crazy. What do they know about a dog's love?
TV quotes of the day:
"OMG, I'm 30. Do you know what that is in gay years?"--Jack, Will & Grace
"You are the world's worst dog."--Owen Wilson, Marley & Me preview
"You should have punched him."--Miranda, Sex & The City
Older black woman to much older white man: Sir, please have my seat!
Younger white man silently vacates his window seat.
Old white guy: Thank you, that's very kind.
Two blocks later, as the old white dude gets off, the black lady says: God bless you. Get home safe.
White fella responds: God bless you, too. Take care.
Who says New Yorkers aren't God-fearing friendly folk?
Another incident earlier today in Chelsea.
Man walking dog. I stop man to pet dog, after asking permission, of course.
Me...to the dog: Who's a good pup pup? Who loves to go outside? Who's a love bug?
Man...to me: A dog person, are you?
Me...(sheepish): Sorry.
Man: Never be sorry. Dog people are good people. Don't be weary of talking to dogs. Let those non-dog people think you're crazy. What do they know about a dog's love?
TV quotes of the day:
"OMG, I'm 30. Do you know what that is in gay years?"--Jack, Will & Grace
"You are the world's worst dog."--Owen Wilson, Marley & Me preview
"You should have punched him."--Miranda, Sex & The City
November 30, 2008
Puppy Cam
Tomorrow, I am joining my mother's husband on the UWS for a taping of my dogs under his care. As a veterinary chiropractor he has been invited to perform his craft on television. Luckey and Vegas are fortunate patients who will be aired as part of his segment.
Yay! Hopefully I'll be able to link to the video once it's available.
Yay! Hopefully I'll be able to link to the video once it's available.
Family History--Back to Bombay!
I haven't talked much about my family in this medium. Part of the reason being that they have factored less in my life over the last 10 years than they did in the first 18 but another salient point is to protect their collective dignity--no, thankfully they don't read this little outlet for my neurosis. Clearly this preface reveals that I will now proceed to air decades of dirty laundry and rattle some closeted skeletons...because I can. My apologies to those masked by annonymity in advance.
MY GRANDPARENTS
My grandparents marriage was arranged to meet my grandfather's family's growing debt. His father was an alcoholic fisherman who lost the love of his life to what we suspect is cancer--no one really knew what it was back then. My great-grandfather married my grandfather's mother, a stern teacher, because he was expected to have a family and she bore him 9 children, 7 of whom survived puberty, my grandfather is the oldest. My grandmother's family consisted of a schoolteacher mother to whose iron will the agrarian father bent out of love or necessity no one knows. The union of my grandparents was far from romantic and while it wasn't as feudal as land exchanged it did aid my grandfather's family in marrying off their daughters. Dowry that goes around, comes around! In June 1948, the 16-year old farm girl married the 26-year old printing press worker.
The story goes that my grandmother was grossly mistreated by my grandfather's family for her dark complexion and the reality that the additional mouth to feed would lead to diminished income for the whole family. My grandmother moved to Bombay to join my grandfather in 1950 where she bore him three children, my mother being the classic middle child and sole daughter. My grandfather continued to support his family, a self-made man, he set his younger brothers up with printing presses of their own and raised his children by providing for them financially. My grandmother did all the actual rearing of said children. She channeled all her unfulfilled desires into them, launching one doctor after another and finally failing with the third who has become a wealthy man of commerce to her chagrin.
MY PARENTS
My father married my mother as a result of an arrangement my grandfather made with him. My mother's older brother was a dentist in America and agreed to sponsor my mother and her new beau to start a beautiful life in the New World. My father who wanted to escape the tyranny of his own parents and the obsessive Indian need for medical professionals felt this was his way out. He was a General Practitioner but wanted nothing more than to live an academic life surrounded by his books and waxing philosophically on existentialism. My mother, a pediatrician, knew nothing of any of this...all she knew was that her parents would collectively commit suicide if she were to not marry a man of their choosing. Yes, Bollywood's flair for melodrama comes from its palpability across Indian subcultures.
Since the immigration papers were taking longer than expected, my grandparents sent my parents to the Gulf in 1982. My father was not impressed with the restrictive life in that part of the world and returned shortly thereafter to his parents family abode in South India, my mother toiled on to make the requisite monies that would be needed for their eventual life in America. When I was about 7 years old, she returned to Bombay and set up a pediatric polyclinic all her own. She was successful but the stigma of being separated resulted in gender biased attacks. Married men constantly came onto her in crude ways feeling that as the mother of a child no longer locked in wedded bliss she was primed for mistress duties. Women fearing for their marriages reviled her for their husbands, albeit unwelcome, advances. Additionally, covert female competitiveness which was only exacerbated by her financial success and independence led to unending discomfort in the social realm. Despite my mother's strength and general "I care not for what soceity thinks of me" stance, it was tough. When her sponsorship papers for America came through in December 1989, she decided to give her marriage another chance and truly establish a new life for herself.
My parents attempted a reconciliation which failed and led to their eventual divorce in 1995. My father, disappointed by his unfulfilled ideation of streets paved with gold and unmitigated freedom from familial responsibility, returned to south India sometime in 1990 after less than a year living his dream. I was delivered to my mother by her mother in Jamaica, Queens in May 1992. Prior to that date my memories of my mother involved coiling and uncoiling rotary phone wires and packages with dolls with flaxen hair and blue eyes who talked and walked. I bore her no ill will but I knew that my home in Bombay was no longer my home and my grandparents were no longer my primary care givers. I don't remember it being difficult to assimilate, but looking back I know it was.
THE UNCLES
My oldest uncle, M, married the janitor's daughter at 19 and ran away from home. When he realized that love doesn't put food on the table and their first child was stillborn, he came home. My grandfather banished him to America because he was ashamed of his disrespectful display and in an effort to help him live an unfettered life in the new land. The tale he tells is one of hard work and loneliness which led him to four wives and twice as many children in and out of wedlock. He returned to India in 1997 with two young sons after their mother got him shot in his New Rochelle driveway. He had to give up maxilofacial surgery and now focuses on cosmetic procedures since he had a long recovery from ths shot to his vertebrae.
His departure to India may have saved his life but it also continued in a Western bent the East doesn't accept. He married a divorcee of my grandparents choosing, who he has since divorced to take up residence with a woman half his age with whom he has a daughter. He is also having an affair with the manager of his booming medical practice--a divorcee with two grown daughters. He recently made this woman wife number 5 upon what he claims was my grandfather's decree, but my grandmother was unaware of the situation.
My younger uncle migrated to the United States in 1987, thanks to M's sponsorship.
Seeing the dysfunction around him, he has cut all ties with the family. His Russian wife (blamed for his distance, obesity, and childless status) and he live in Long Valley and hope to retire to a mansion they are building in south India. His correspondence with my grandfather is strictly business. He remains a member of the family who surfaces rarely in matters of domestic politics.
THE PRESENT
Now, the reason all this history is relevant today is that I've volunteered to go to India for the month of January in an effort to get my grandmother into therapy or at the very least medicated for her condition. The actual condition remains a mystery.
On the day of the Mumbai attacks, she had a blowout fight with my grandfather--the straw that broke the camel's back: my grandfather's insistence that M. marry the mother of his most recent child in our parish in order for my grandfather to be buried there in the event of his death (it is unclear WHY my uncle needs to get married in the church my grandfather has been a member of for the past 55 years in order for him to be buried there) but my uncle went ahead with it without consulting or notifying my grandmother. She found out about the marriage through the church grapevine then my mother confirmed that my grandfather had insisted on this union under God. Her furiousness led to the removal of a substantial amount of gold from her person and a weeping departure from her home in a housecoat via rickshaw.
She disappeared for five hours on one of the worst possible days in the history of the city.
M. called my mother at 2am on Thanksgiving morning, whilst she and I chatted beside a fire in suburban New Jersey, to inform her of the situation. A transatlantic shouting match of the blame game ensued. Shortly, thereafter he called to quell her worst fear; my grandmother had been found standing on the rocks at Bandstand praying and crying. A suicide attempt thwarted; they've medicated her heavily since and my conversations with her have been stilted due to their side effect: disoriented affect, grogginess, and exhaustion.
ME
I am going back to India.
My grandparents raised me and I love them, I also owe them. My mother loves her mother, despite the hysteria, and she'd riddled with guilt. She was just in India for a few weeks and will be returning in February for a family wedding, but she doesn't have the luxury of taking off for months at a time. She has a medical practice to run. Additionally, her American husband isn't going to understand, let alone accompany her on a voyage to her motherland to care for her physically well/psychologically failing mother. Not that he can be expected to but he cetainly won't. I have neither a husband nor a career, I will go. My mother mired in the guilt of a filially pious upbringing can stop self-flagellating because her emissary will represent.
My career choice of mental health is both timely and soon-to-be-tested. I will return to my Bombay to ensure that my grandma gets the helps she needs--stigma be damned! Finessing my grandfather to allow this will be an epic journey in manipulation and wiles. It may take more than the month of January, but I intend to go back after any interviews I may garner as part of the clinical psychology doctoral application process and stay as long as is needed to begin the healing to hearth.
"Piety starts at home"
MY GRANDPARENTS
My grandparents marriage was arranged to meet my grandfather's family's growing debt. His father was an alcoholic fisherman who lost the love of his life to what we suspect is cancer--no one really knew what it was back then. My great-grandfather married my grandfather's mother, a stern teacher, because he was expected to have a family and she bore him 9 children, 7 of whom survived puberty, my grandfather is the oldest. My grandmother's family consisted of a schoolteacher mother to whose iron will the agrarian father bent out of love or necessity no one knows. The union of my grandparents was far from romantic and while it wasn't as feudal as land exchanged it did aid my grandfather's family in marrying off their daughters. Dowry that goes around, comes around! In June 1948, the 16-year old farm girl married the 26-year old printing press worker.
The story goes that my grandmother was grossly mistreated by my grandfather's family for her dark complexion and the reality that the additional mouth to feed would lead to diminished income for the whole family. My grandmother moved to Bombay to join my grandfather in 1950 where she bore him three children, my mother being the classic middle child and sole daughter. My grandfather continued to support his family, a self-made man, he set his younger brothers up with printing presses of their own and raised his children by providing for them financially. My grandmother did all the actual rearing of said children. She channeled all her unfulfilled desires into them, launching one doctor after another and finally failing with the third who has become a wealthy man of commerce to her chagrin.
MY PARENTS
My father married my mother as a result of an arrangement my grandfather made with him. My mother's older brother was a dentist in America and agreed to sponsor my mother and her new beau to start a beautiful life in the New World. My father who wanted to escape the tyranny of his own parents and the obsessive Indian need for medical professionals felt this was his way out. He was a General Practitioner but wanted nothing more than to live an academic life surrounded by his books and waxing philosophically on existentialism. My mother, a pediatrician, knew nothing of any of this...all she knew was that her parents would collectively commit suicide if she were to not marry a man of their choosing. Yes, Bollywood's flair for melodrama comes from its palpability across Indian subcultures.
Since the immigration papers were taking longer than expected, my grandparents sent my parents to the Gulf in 1982. My father was not impressed with the restrictive life in that part of the world and returned shortly thereafter to his parents family abode in South India, my mother toiled on to make the requisite monies that would be needed for their eventual life in America. When I was about 7 years old, she returned to Bombay and set up a pediatric polyclinic all her own. She was successful but the stigma of being separated resulted in gender biased attacks. Married men constantly came onto her in crude ways feeling that as the mother of a child no longer locked in wedded bliss she was primed for mistress duties. Women fearing for their marriages reviled her for their husbands, albeit unwelcome, advances. Additionally, covert female competitiveness which was only exacerbated by her financial success and independence led to unending discomfort in the social realm. Despite my mother's strength and general "I care not for what soceity thinks of me" stance, it was tough. When her sponsorship papers for America came through in December 1989, she decided to give her marriage another chance and truly establish a new life for herself.
My parents attempted a reconciliation which failed and led to their eventual divorce in 1995. My father, disappointed by his unfulfilled ideation of streets paved with gold and unmitigated freedom from familial responsibility, returned to south India sometime in 1990 after less than a year living his dream. I was delivered to my mother by her mother in Jamaica, Queens in May 1992. Prior to that date my memories of my mother involved coiling and uncoiling rotary phone wires and packages with dolls with flaxen hair and blue eyes who talked and walked. I bore her no ill will but I knew that my home in Bombay was no longer my home and my grandparents were no longer my primary care givers. I don't remember it being difficult to assimilate, but looking back I know it was.
THE UNCLES
My oldest uncle, M, married the janitor's daughter at 19 and ran away from home. When he realized that love doesn't put food on the table and their first child was stillborn, he came home. My grandfather banished him to America because he was ashamed of his disrespectful display and in an effort to help him live an unfettered life in the new land. The tale he tells is one of hard work and loneliness which led him to four wives and twice as many children in and out of wedlock. He returned to India in 1997 with two young sons after their mother got him shot in his New Rochelle driveway. He had to give up maxilofacial surgery and now focuses on cosmetic procedures since he had a long recovery from ths shot to his vertebrae.
His departure to India may have saved his life but it also continued in a Western bent the East doesn't accept. He married a divorcee of my grandparents choosing, who he has since divorced to take up residence with a woman half his age with whom he has a daughter. He is also having an affair with the manager of his booming medical practice--a divorcee with two grown daughters. He recently made this woman wife number 5 upon what he claims was my grandfather's decree, but my grandmother was unaware of the situation.
My younger uncle migrated to the United States in 1987, thanks to M's sponsorship.
Seeing the dysfunction around him, he has cut all ties with the family. His Russian wife (blamed for his distance, obesity, and childless status) and he live in Long Valley and hope to retire to a mansion they are building in south India. His correspondence with my grandfather is strictly business. He remains a member of the family who surfaces rarely in matters of domestic politics.
THE PRESENT
Now, the reason all this history is relevant today is that I've volunteered to go to India for the month of January in an effort to get my grandmother into therapy or at the very least medicated for her condition. The actual condition remains a mystery.
On the day of the Mumbai attacks, she had a blowout fight with my grandfather--the straw that broke the camel's back: my grandfather's insistence that M. marry the mother of his most recent child in our parish in order for my grandfather to be buried there in the event of his death (it is unclear WHY my uncle needs to get married in the church my grandfather has been a member of for the past 55 years in order for him to be buried there) but my uncle went ahead with it without consulting or notifying my grandmother. She found out about the marriage through the church grapevine then my mother confirmed that my grandfather had insisted on this union under God. Her furiousness led to the removal of a substantial amount of gold from her person and a weeping departure from her home in a housecoat via rickshaw.
She disappeared for five hours on one of the worst possible days in the history of the city.
M. called my mother at 2am on Thanksgiving morning, whilst she and I chatted beside a fire in suburban New Jersey, to inform her of the situation. A transatlantic shouting match of the blame game ensued. Shortly, thereafter he called to quell her worst fear; my grandmother had been found standing on the rocks at Bandstand praying and crying. A suicide attempt thwarted; they've medicated her heavily since and my conversations with her have been stilted due to their side effect: disoriented affect, grogginess, and exhaustion.
ME
I am going back to India.
My grandparents raised me and I love them, I also owe them. My mother loves her mother, despite the hysteria, and she'd riddled with guilt. She was just in India for a few weeks and will be returning in February for a family wedding, but she doesn't have the luxury of taking off for months at a time. She has a medical practice to run. Additionally, her American husband isn't going to understand, let alone accompany her on a voyage to her motherland to care for her physically well/psychologically failing mother. Not that he can be expected to but he cetainly won't. I have neither a husband nor a career, I will go. My mother mired in the guilt of a filially pious upbringing can stop self-flagellating because her emissary will represent.
My career choice of mental health is both timely and soon-to-be-tested. I will return to my Bombay to ensure that my grandma gets the helps she needs--stigma be damned! Finessing my grandfather to allow this will be an epic journey in manipulation and wiles. It may take more than the month of January, but I intend to go back after any interviews I may garner as part of the clinical psychology doctoral application process and stay as long as is needed to begin the healing to hearth.
"Piety starts at home"
November 23, 2008
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.
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.
November 22, 2008
Date Night!
I haven't been on a date for the better part of the year....well, that's not true. I was on a date just last month with that disaster from Jersey City. But I haven't had a standing Sat. night date in over a year. Yes, despite living with D'Souza the first quarter you will recall we never actually DID anything outside our apartment after the initial weeks of wooing early in 2007. Lesson learned, but point being, date night has had no meaning to me in many moons.
However, the last two weekends I spent saturday evening with Zayan. Two weeks ago attending Jo's "Depression" party in Williamsburg--back when we thought the economy couldn't get worse--then last weekend watching Slumdog Millionaire and getting wasted at Continental. Tonight, we are meeting in Chelsea around 6 to check out Medieval Pagoda Art then dining at Naima or Brite Bar before heading back East to Bowery to check out live music at Crash Mansion. That's an evening of New York proportions. His bff from high school and Jo will join us on this non-date just to ensure no set pattern emerges.
You are well versed in my belief that once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three...three, my darling, is a pattern. Too bad, three broken promises didn't alert me to this reality about the Douchebag but Hope was the salve I liberally applied in the aftermath of that debacle. Coitally induced cohabitation blurring any foresight. Hindsight, thankfully, remains 20/20!
However, the last two weekends I spent saturday evening with Zayan. Two weeks ago attending Jo's "Depression" party in Williamsburg--back when we thought the economy couldn't get worse--then last weekend watching Slumdog Millionaire and getting wasted at Continental. Tonight, we are meeting in Chelsea around 6 to check out Medieval Pagoda Art then dining at Naima or Brite Bar before heading back East to Bowery to check out live music at Crash Mansion. That's an evening of New York proportions. His bff from high school and Jo will join us on this non-date just to ensure no set pattern emerges.
You are well versed in my belief that once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three...three, my darling, is a pattern. Too bad, three broken promises didn't alert me to this reality about the Douchebag but Hope was the salve I liberally applied in the aftermath of that debacle. Coitally induced cohabitation blurring any foresight. Hindsight, thankfully, remains 20/20!
November 21, 2008
10 Things I Hate About Alphas
1. You break promises...over and over again.
2. Your lack of empathy.
3. Your single-mindednes, sole goal, ambition.
4. Your ability to shut off your feelings immediately and completely.
5. Your anger, built up from years of abuse, and your unwillingness to deal with it.
6. Your lack of respect for women: treating them as objects, transient to your taste.
7. Your controlling nature based on your belief that you know best.
8. Your quickness to commit and depart sans discussion because your will is law.
9. Your selfishness.
10.Your utter obliviousness to the hurt you cause and the heartbreak in your wake.
wish I'd never met you. I wish I never see you again.
I wish upon you the golden rule--someone to afflict on you the damage you have on me.
I hope you wake to a slow and awful emotional enlightenment.
2. Your lack of empathy.
3. Your single-mindednes, sole goal, ambition.
4. Your ability to shut off your feelings immediately and completely.
5. Your anger, built up from years of abuse, and your unwillingness to deal with it.
6. Your lack of respect for women: treating them as objects, transient to your taste.
7. Your controlling nature based on your belief that you know best.
8. Your quickness to commit and depart sans discussion because your will is law.
9. Your selfishness.
10.Your utter obliviousness to the hurt you cause and the heartbreak in your wake.
wish I'd never met you. I wish I never see you again.
I wish upon you the golden rule--someone to afflict on you the damage you have on me.
I hope you wake to a slow and awful emotional enlightenment.
November 13, 2008
Crusade Against ConEd
Last night, I came home at 10:52pm to discover that the electricity in my abode had been turned off. I had not been notified that this would happen. I have my bills set to auto-pay using a paperless online system. Clearly, my bills are paid and for tha matter paid ON TIME.
I call ConEd's emergency number to discover that they shut down their computerized system between 11pm-1am for daily updates. My phone starts beeping due to low battery. I walk to my car and charge my cell phone whilst draining my car battery.
At 1am I speak to the ConEd rep who first tells me they did not turn off my meter. I insist. He then informs me that I do not have an account with ConEdison at which point I ask to speak to a manager. This manager, Michael George, reduces me to tears of sheer frustration and electricity outage hopelessness. He, none too gently, explains that according to my building's management company my apartment (less than 500 sq. feet) is serviced by two meters. When I ask how it is possible that I have NO current flowing anywhere in my apartment when ONLY one meter is turned off, he dismisses me and continues to insist that it is not possible for one household to use as few kilowatts as I have for the last several months. He explicitly states that I have been using the wrong meter and a letter was sent to me on September 10, 2008 to that effect. When I inform him that the food in my refridgerator has spoiled and I have no light anywhere in my home...I hear him shrug--that's right, his reaction was the equivalent of a SHRUG--
Pray tell, how I am supposed to know which meter is affiliated with MY apartment. How am I to know which meter that is? How am I to be assured that I will be now paying for just my electric and not that of the ENTIRE basmement of my building.
Outrageous!
He then transfers me back to the peon I was originally dealing with to set up a time (8am-4:30pm today) for a ConEd person to come turn ON my meter. Before he releases me to his subordinate he explains that if I am not home to provide access, they will leave without turning on my meter and even if they gain access without me, unless someone is home they will not flip the circuit breaker by the meter which will actually allow me to HAVE electricity in my apartment. I sigh.
I go to the lab for my 9:30am staff meeting and call ConEd on my return bus ride to be told that someone came by at 10:30am, couldn't get access and left.
I try to reason with the woman who informs me in an irritating calm and unaccommodating tone that I am welcome to switch to solar panels or wind energy if I don't wish to continue my service with ConEdison.
Double sigh. Seriously? If I could afford a windmill or a solar panel I would not live in a hovel in SpaHa!
So, finally the guy shows up at 3:40pm, I let him in. He huffs and puffs that the meter is locked in a way that he is unable to unlock it. Finally, discovers it's not off at all and just flips the circuit breaker above the meter. So I went without ELECTRICITY for an entire night and most of a cloudy afternoon for NOTHING. Had I only known!
We are at the mercy of our vendors. I hate ConEd.
I call ConEd's emergency number to discover that they shut down their computerized system between 11pm-1am for daily updates. My phone starts beeping due to low battery. I walk to my car and charge my cell phone whilst draining my car battery.
At 1am I speak to the ConEd rep who first tells me they did not turn off my meter. I insist. He then informs me that I do not have an account with ConEdison at which point I ask to speak to a manager. This manager, Michael George, reduces me to tears of sheer frustration and electricity outage hopelessness. He, none too gently, explains that according to my building's management company my apartment (less than 500 sq. feet) is serviced by two meters. When I ask how it is possible that I have NO current flowing anywhere in my apartment when ONLY one meter is turned off, he dismisses me and continues to insist that it is not possible for one household to use as few kilowatts as I have for the last several months. He explicitly states that I have been using the wrong meter and a letter was sent to me on September 10, 2008 to that effect. When I inform him that the food in my refridgerator has spoiled and I have no light anywhere in my home...I hear him shrug--that's right, his reaction was the equivalent of a SHRUG--
Pray tell, how I am supposed to know which meter is affiliated with MY apartment. How am I to know which meter that is? How am I to be assured that I will be now paying for just my electric and not that of the ENTIRE basmement of my building.
Outrageous!
He then transfers me back to the peon I was originally dealing with to set up a time (8am-4:30pm today) for a ConEd person to come turn ON my meter. Before he releases me to his subordinate he explains that if I am not home to provide access, they will leave without turning on my meter and even if they gain access without me, unless someone is home they will not flip the circuit breaker by the meter which will actually allow me to HAVE electricity in my apartment. I sigh.
I go to the lab for my 9:30am staff meeting and call ConEd on my return bus ride to be told that someone came by at 10:30am, couldn't get access and left.
I try to reason with the woman who informs me in an irritating calm and unaccommodating tone that I am welcome to switch to solar panels or wind energy if I don't wish to continue my service with ConEdison.
Double sigh. Seriously? If I could afford a windmill or a solar panel I would not live in a hovel in SpaHa!
So, finally the guy shows up at 3:40pm, I let him in. He huffs and puffs that the meter is locked in a way that he is unable to unlock it. Finally, discovers it's not off at all and just flips the circuit breaker above the meter. So I went without ELECTRICITY for an entire night and most of a cloudy afternoon for NOTHING. Had I only known!
We are at the mercy of our vendors. I hate ConEd.
November 11, 2008
My Fave Love Poems
Love's Philosophy
--Percy Bysshe Shelley
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle -
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?
Sonnet XLIII
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
[somewhere i have never travelled]
-- ee cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands
--Percy Bysshe Shelley
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle -
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?
Sonnet XLIII
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
[somewhere i have never travelled]
-- ee cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands
November 10, 2008
Happiness
"When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us." -
-- Helen Keller
"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."
-- John Lennon
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go."
-- Oscar Wilde
"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for."
-- Joseph Addison
"Happiness in not a state to arrive at, but a manner of travelling." -
-- Margaret Lee Runbeck
-- Helen Keller
"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."
-- John Lennon
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go."
-- Oscar Wilde
"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for."
-- Joseph Addison
"Happiness in not a state to arrive at, but a manner of travelling." -
-- Margaret Lee Runbeck
Siddharth Anand
Do you believe, in what you see
do you believe in reality
do you believe in the sun that’s bright
do you believe in the stars in the night
Do you believe in the birds that fly
do you believe in clouds and the sky
do you believe in wind that flows
do you believe in moon that glows
do you believe in light
Do you believe the spoken word
do you believe the things you’ve heard
do you believe in the final answer
do you believe in the swirling dancer
Do you believe in sound and sight
do you believe in moments bright
do you believe in taste and touch
do you believe that much
Do you believe in the soul inside
do you believe in ecstasy and delight
do you believe in glory and god
do you believe in that thought
Do you believe in the sky above
do you believe in love
Do you believe in the heaven and the earth
do you believe in death and birth
do you believe in life
open your eyes with hope within
open the door, let light reach in
if you believe, then you'll win
do you believe in reality
do you believe in the sun that’s bright
do you believe in the stars in the night
Do you believe in the birds that fly
do you believe in clouds and the sky
do you believe in wind that flows
do you believe in moon that glows
do you believe in light
Do you believe the spoken word
do you believe the things you’ve heard
do you believe in the final answer
do you believe in the swirling dancer
Do you believe in sound and sight
do you believe in moments bright
do you believe in taste and touch
do you believe that much
Do you believe in the soul inside
do you believe in ecstasy and delight
do you believe in glory and god
do you believe in that thought
Do you believe in the sky above
do you believe in love
Do you believe in the heaven and the earth
do you believe in death and birth
do you believe in life
open your eyes with hope within
open the door, let light reach in
if you believe, then you'll win
Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
November 5, 2008
Drying Tears
The thumbprint on my Heart
Is Evidence of Blame
Ache that dulls with Time
Awakened once Again.
How hard can I Cry?
How long will I try
to fix a FOREVER
undone by one?
Sad songs resonate
filling the recesses
cracking the pretenses
Echoing past patterns.
Caring is my cross/burden
The abuser-survivor
Contradictions @ Broken
My solo intersection.
Is Evidence of Blame
Ache that dulls with Time
Awakened once Again.
How hard can I Cry?
How long will I try
to fix a FOREVER
undone by one?
Sad songs resonate
filling the recesses
cracking the pretenses
Echoing past patterns.
Caring is my cross/burden
The abuser-survivor
Contradictions @ Broken
My solo intersection.
He Won!
There was a big part of me that just didn't believe it would happen. That is could happen NOW....Barack Obama--Mr. President.
I could hear the celebration from my basement abode. The cheering wafted down from Harlem wrapping my block in a cocoon of hope.
At first McCain's speech seemed bordering on racist to my sensitized ears. I mean could he have used the work black more often? Bringing up BTWash to make his point that 100 years have seen blacks go from scrappy invites to ruling the house itself. Is there any REAL need to STATE the obvious. It's one of those backhanded compliments I hate. I'm stunned he didn't break out the Bell Curve and start reading passages explaining how blacks with their inferior intellect compensated for by their superior atheleticism ought to be darn proud of this great victory!
What's next...Caribou Barbie calling it the BLACK House?
ON the flip side, Obama didn't bring up race at all. He focused on his family (wonder what kind of pup will inhabit the Big House--wonder if it will be a white pup?), 106 year old Ann Nixon Cooper in ATL, and the slogan that has shaped American History and I can only hope it will continue to do so under his leadership: We Can. NONE of this I think I can business...We Can. Simple.
I clearly see the difference in agendas--it's not lost on me--the lizard wanting to seem gracious despite his loss but asserting with clarity the blackness of the new president and the victor focusing on a "we-opic" vision ensuring his constituents don't other him in his future efforts to determine the trajectory of our governmental process.
I could hear the celebration from my basement abode. The cheering wafted down from Harlem wrapping my block in a cocoon of hope.
At first McCain's speech seemed bordering on racist to my sensitized ears. I mean could he have used the work black more often? Bringing up BTWash to make his point that 100 years have seen blacks go from scrappy invites to ruling the house itself. Is there any REAL need to STATE the obvious. It's one of those backhanded compliments I hate. I'm stunned he didn't break out the Bell Curve and start reading passages explaining how blacks with their inferior intellect compensated for by their superior atheleticism ought to be darn proud of this great victory!
What's next...Caribou Barbie calling it the BLACK House?
ON the flip side, Obama didn't bring up race at all. He focused on his family (wonder what kind of pup will inhabit the Big House--wonder if it will be a white pup?), 106 year old Ann Nixon Cooper in ATL, and the slogan that has shaped American History and I can only hope it will continue to do so under his leadership: We Can. NONE of this I think I can business...We Can. Simple.
I clearly see the difference in agendas--it's not lost on me--the lizard wanting to seem gracious despite his loss but asserting with clarity the blackness of the new president and the victor focusing on a "we-opic" vision ensuring his constituents don't other him in his future efforts to determine the trajectory of our governmental process.
November 3, 2008
Labour of Love--Frente
Oh am i fooling you?
Do you fall for it all
Or do you just see right through?
Are you as cool as you believe?
Are you playing hard?
Are you waiting just to quietly clock my card?
Are you waiting for a moment to leave?
I don't know how i bent what you said
To what i believe you meant
I don't know anything at all
I'm standing in the push and shove
And i'm just within the rescue
Of the labour of your love
I can't do anything but fall
A-fall, a-fall-fall-fall
Why do i feel like i can never find you?
Why do i feel like i'm the only survivor?
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
One chance, one shot
That's all anybody ever got
Newborn still warm
Naked in the rush hour
Dancing in my gutter
And if you want to find me
Call me, i'll be far from
The cars and guitars and
Everybody
Why do i feel like i can never find you?
Why do i feel like i'm the only survivor?
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
And i never knew before
But i feel like a child in a cold, cold war
So strong, so tough
Sitting in suburbia, waiting for the wind up
And i don't want to dance
I just want to jump from the prison of circumstance
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
Why do i feel like i can never find you?
Why do i feel like i'm the only survivor?
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
I've loved this Aussie guitarist girly girl since 1997 when I first heard this song at Cornell. Love it. Love rediscovering it.
Do you fall for it all
Or do you just see right through?
Are you as cool as you believe?
Are you playing hard?
Are you waiting just to quietly clock my card?
Are you waiting for a moment to leave?
I don't know how i bent what you said
To what i believe you meant
I don't know anything at all
I'm standing in the push and shove
And i'm just within the rescue
Of the labour of your love
I can't do anything but fall
A-fall, a-fall-fall-fall
Why do i feel like i can never find you?
Why do i feel like i'm the only survivor?
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
One chance, one shot
That's all anybody ever got
Newborn still warm
Naked in the rush hour
Dancing in my gutter
And if you want to find me
Call me, i'll be far from
The cars and guitars and
Everybody
Why do i feel like i can never find you?
Why do i feel like i'm the only survivor?
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
And i never knew before
But i feel like a child in a cold, cold war
So strong, so tough
Sitting in suburbia, waiting for the wind up
And i don't want to dance
I just want to jump from the prison of circumstance
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
Why do i feel like i can never find you?
Why do i feel like i'm the only survivor?
Why am i thinking of -
You and me and the labour of love?
I've loved this Aussie guitarist girly girl since 1997 when I first heard this song at Cornell. Love it. Love rediscovering it.
November 1, 2008
28
I went to see the Banksy exhibit in the West Village on my birthday after dessert at Sweet Revenge which is where I went after family dinner at Pastsis.
October 29, 2008
Vote Now!
Unlike the average blogger pushing Obama and aching for change, I'm looking for some feedback on whether or not I'm over reacting to an incident that took place earlier this month.
October 16, 2008
10:45pm
Friendly phone call from an ex I hadn't spoken to in over 2 weeks.
HE mentions my upcoming birthday and tells me he has TWO presents for me which he doesn't want to give me until my ACTUAL birthday.
11:55pm
Drunk ex appears at my doorstep.
We take the dogs for a walk in the park.
We keep drinking.
HE asks if he can take my folks and I to Pastis. I say nothing.
HE mentions my birthday again.
October 17, 2008
8:45am
Ex goes to work.
I sleep in.
October 18, 2008
No calls/texts/e-mails from said Ex. None.
October 28, 2008
2:14pm
Text from Ex: Wanna grab some dinner/drinks?
5:55pm
Voicemail: Hey! It's me. Just calling to see how you're doing. Want to get some dinner or drinks (pause) tonight? Give me a call back. Thanks.
October 29, 2008
I'm livid.
Questions:
1.How wrong is it for him to BRING up my birthday less than 24 hours BEFORE my birthday (make a big deal of it) then NOT communicate with me until 10 days AFTER my birthday (making no mention whatsoever of said birthday)?
2. Should I even bother calling him back? I mean...what's the point. Clearly he doesn't think he did anything wrong, so what's the point of bringing up how hurt I am by his inconsiderate, selfish, rude behavior.
3. If we are supposed to be friends, how could he possibly treat me this way? Before you even pose the question would I react as extremely if a friend of mine did this as opposed to an ex, the answer is HELL yes. In fact, I'd be calling them up and screaming at them. But the reality is that he didn't forget, he TOLD me he wanted to do something and then completely DISREGARDED me on my special day. WTF?
Oh yeah, Vote for Obama. Go 4 Change!
October 16, 2008
10:45pm
Friendly phone call from an ex I hadn't spoken to in over 2 weeks.
HE mentions my upcoming birthday and tells me he has TWO presents for me which he doesn't want to give me until my ACTUAL birthday.
11:55pm
Drunk ex appears at my doorstep.
We take the dogs for a walk in the park.
We keep drinking.
HE asks if he can take my folks and I to Pastis. I say nothing.
HE mentions my birthday again.
October 17, 2008
8:45am
Ex goes to work.
I sleep in.
October 18, 2008
No calls/texts/e-mails from said Ex. None.
October 28, 2008
2:14pm
Text from Ex: Wanna grab some dinner/drinks?
5:55pm
Voicemail: Hey! It's me. Just calling to see how you're doing. Want to get some dinner or drinks (pause) tonight? Give me a call back. Thanks.
October 29, 2008
I'm livid.
Questions:
1.How wrong is it for him to BRING up my birthday less than 24 hours BEFORE my birthday (make a big deal of it) then NOT communicate with me until 10 days AFTER my birthday (making no mention whatsoever of said birthday)?
2. Should I even bother calling him back? I mean...what's the point. Clearly he doesn't think he did anything wrong, so what's the point of bringing up how hurt I am by his inconsiderate, selfish, rude behavior.
3. If we are supposed to be friends, how could he possibly treat me this way? Before you even pose the question would I react as extremely if a friend of mine did this as opposed to an ex, the answer is HELL yes. In fact, I'd be calling them up and screaming at them. But the reality is that he didn't forget, he TOLD me he wanted to do something and then completely DISREGARDED me on my special day. WTF?
Oh yeah, Vote for Obama. Go 4 Change!
October 19, 2008
I roared in my 20s!
Yesterday was my 28th birthday.
I woke up at 7am, crammed for the Psych GRE and was perplexed by the full 6 train steaming downtown. Took the test from 9-11:30am at the Silver Center at NYU. Fingers crossed for a good score in 6 weeks. I can never tell how these things go. A poor judge of self-performance. Hrumph.
Took the pups to Central Park for the annual Country Dog Fair--sponsored this year by Rachel Ray's Nutrish--where my Mom and her husband joined me for a few hours.
My mother was kind enough to bring me the flu shot which she administered herself. Happy Birthday to me.
We went to dinner at Pastis where my mom was drunk off one Gin Punch--anything in a martini glass will do her in. I had a few Dark and Stormies and felt nothing. The steak frites were fabulous.
After I sent the fam ferry-ward, I skipped my way to Sweet Revenge where Jo bought me a celebratory Crimson cupcake (their take on the red velvet cupcake with cinnamon to boot) and a glass of white. We then moseyed to the Banksy exhibit--creepy but cool--then slipped into One if by Land, Two if by Sea (OIBLTIBS). The motif reminded me of Candela--wonder if that restaurant still sits in Union Square? I'd forgotten that the only other time I'd been to OIBLTIBS was a romantic dinner with Z circa 2004.
We had one last drink at the Washington Square Hotel--where, in 2006, I first met Jo's former cohabitator who cheated on her in the wake of her father's death--we spent a moment being nostalgic both grateful to have moved past that stage.
I arrived at my abode at 1:30am to watch a DVR-ed episode of Law & Order: SVU before going to bed: officially 28 going on 29.
This is the first birthday I've ended sober in the past decade...am I growing up?
I woke up at 7am, crammed for the Psych GRE and was perplexed by the full 6 train steaming downtown. Took the test from 9-11:30am at the Silver Center at NYU. Fingers crossed for a good score in 6 weeks. I can never tell how these things go. A poor judge of self-performance. Hrumph.
Took the pups to Central Park for the annual Country Dog Fair--sponsored this year by Rachel Ray's Nutrish--where my Mom and her husband joined me for a few hours.
My mother was kind enough to bring me the flu shot which she administered herself. Happy Birthday to me.
We went to dinner at Pastis where my mom was drunk off one Gin Punch--anything in a martini glass will do her in. I had a few Dark and Stormies and felt nothing. The steak frites were fabulous.
After I sent the fam ferry-ward, I skipped my way to Sweet Revenge where Jo bought me a celebratory Crimson cupcake (their take on the red velvet cupcake with cinnamon to boot) and a glass of white. We then moseyed to the Banksy exhibit--creepy but cool--then slipped into One if by Land, Two if by Sea (OIBLTIBS). The motif reminded me of Candela--wonder if that restaurant still sits in Union Square? I'd forgotten that the only other time I'd been to OIBLTIBS was a romantic dinner with Z circa 2004.
We had one last drink at the Washington Square Hotel--where, in 2006, I first met Jo's former cohabitator who cheated on her in the wake of her father's death--we spent a moment being nostalgic both grateful to have moved past that stage.
I arrived at my abode at 1:30am to watch a DVR-ed episode of Law & Order: SVU before going to bed: officially 28 going on 29.
This is the first birthday I've ended sober in the past decade...am I growing up?
October 16, 2008
October 13, 2008
Bye Bye Boarder
It is with a heavy heart that I write this post.
My boarder just texted me:
Hey! I'm on the plane. C u soon then...I hope I have the couch next time I'm in NY. haha. Take care!
It was bittersweet.
This is the first time I've really lived alone despite the fact that D'Souza moved out in May. I was away in the Hamptons in a full house most of the summer. Then the boarder moved in on September 2 when I got back to the city.
Sniffle and wail.
Well, guess I better get cracking on that Psych GRE prep I've been procrastinating on.
My boarder just texted me:
Hey! I'm on the plane. C u soon then...I hope I have the couch next time I'm in NY. haha. Take care!
It was bittersweet.
This is the first time I've really lived alone despite the fact that D'Souza moved out in May. I was away in the Hamptons in a full house most of the summer. Then the boarder moved in on September 2 when I got back to the city.
Sniffle and wail.
Well, guess I better get cracking on that Psych GRE prep I've been procrastinating on.
October 9, 2008
Summer Spoons
A few nights ago Taurean collected me from Joan of Arc Middle School where I'd completed my REACH mentor training and we ambled up Central Park West and across Central Park North till we arrived at my abode in SpaHa where the boarder, his British bud, and my white pups greeted us.
Along the way Mr. Spoons, a loquacious man, eloquently and heart wrenchingly explained to me his emotional mistreatment of Summer, his fiancee, over the duration of their relationship. I listened. I interjected on occassion. Mostly, I just listened. Hearing him extol her virtues made me realize that such men were still among us.
Of course, there are two sides to every tale and Summer's version is tinged with self-loathing brought on by the beating her self-esteem has taken as a result of his seemingly conditional love for her. But during my walk there was only his side of the story and in that side there were no conditions...just love.
Their relationship has seen its share of ups and downs but their willingness to continually renew their commitment to each other has kept them together. I marvel at that.
In my early relationships, I fled in lieu of fighting and in my more recent entanglements I fought to the point of the other fleeing...perhaps the ying to my yang is out there, but at this point I fret for the apparent foolishness of that statement.
Along the way Mr. Spoons, a loquacious man, eloquently and heart wrenchingly explained to me his emotional mistreatment of Summer, his fiancee, over the duration of their relationship. I listened. I interjected on occassion. Mostly, I just listened. Hearing him extol her virtues made me realize that such men were still among us.
Of course, there are two sides to every tale and Summer's version is tinged with self-loathing brought on by the beating her self-esteem has taken as a result of his seemingly conditional love for her. But during my walk there was only his side of the story and in that side there were no conditions...just love.
Their relationship has seen its share of ups and downs but their willingness to continually renew their commitment to each other has kept them together. I marvel at that.
In my early relationships, I fled in lieu of fighting and in my more recent entanglements I fought to the point of the other fleeing...perhaps the ying to my yang is out there, but at this point I fret for the apparent foolishness of that statement.
Cycle 7
With another birthday looming I've decided to adopt the reality TV formula of defining my chronological life in NYC.
Cycle 1 - 2002 (Pilot)
Welcome to NY!
Drinking, dancing, Banker chasing, Happy Hour racing, Starting and Quitting Job I
Cycle 2 - 2003
Tea, Moved Uptown, Single Girl, Startup: Meetup, Traveling through India, Back to School: NYU
Cycle 3 - 2004
NYC Boyfriend, Cape Cod with Mom, Orlando with the Man, Cross Country Girls Roadtrip (DC-LA), Quit NYU, Corporate Grind II
Cycle 4 - 2005
Grad School Take 2: Columbia, Heartbreak 1, Bank Job I, Napa Valley, Single Again
Cycle 5 - 2006
Luckey, Bank II, Moved Downtown: Living with Boys, Unemployment, Quit Columbia, Eastern European Expedition
Cycle 6 - 2007
FOB Boyfriend, Non-profit stint, Cohabitation in SpaHa, Puppy II: Vegas, Contract Legal Job, Life's a Grind
Cycle 7 - 2008
Another Bank-esque Job, SF Visit, Judy the Jeep, Entrepreneurial Effort: Hamptons, Heartbreak II, Briefly Boarding, Volunteerism, Research: Performing and Participating, Career Chosen: Psychologist, Chick Lit Book Club, Part-time Jobs, Flying Solo
TO COME:
Cycle 8 - 2009 (Series Finale)
Visiting family in India
Down-sizing possessions--Driving Judy into the Sunset with Pups
Move AWAY from NYC--Last Tea
Starting Doctoral Study in Clinical Psychology: Full-time Student
Cycle 1 - 2002 (Pilot)
Welcome to NY!
Drinking, dancing, Banker chasing, Happy Hour racing, Starting and Quitting Job I
Cycle 2 - 2003
Tea, Moved Uptown, Single Girl, Startup: Meetup, Traveling through India, Back to School: NYU
Cycle 3 - 2004
NYC Boyfriend, Cape Cod with Mom, Orlando with the Man, Cross Country Girls Roadtrip (DC-LA), Quit NYU, Corporate Grind II
Cycle 4 - 2005
Grad School Take 2: Columbia, Heartbreak 1, Bank Job I, Napa Valley, Single Again
Cycle 5 - 2006
Luckey, Bank II, Moved Downtown: Living with Boys, Unemployment, Quit Columbia, Eastern European Expedition
Cycle 6 - 2007
FOB Boyfriend, Non-profit stint, Cohabitation in SpaHa, Puppy II: Vegas, Contract Legal Job, Life's a Grind
Cycle 7 - 2008
Another Bank-esque Job, SF Visit, Judy the Jeep, Entrepreneurial Effort: Hamptons, Heartbreak II, Briefly Boarding, Volunteerism, Research: Performing and Participating, Career Chosen: Psychologist, Chick Lit Book Club, Part-time Jobs, Flying Solo
TO COME:
Cycle 8 - 2009 (Series Finale)
Visiting family in India
Down-sizing possessions--Driving Judy into the Sunset with Pups
Move AWAY from NYC--Last Tea
Starting Doctoral Study in Clinical Psychology: Full-time Student
Boarder Boards
Last week my boarder informed me that he would be heading back to Karachi, Pakistan on Monday, October 13. I was happy to hear I'd have the place to myself again and sad to note that my weekly non-taxed supplemental income of $125 would soon be a thing of the past.
Before his departure the boarder's childhood friend, a physician from Britain, is staying with us for a week. They spent last weekend and the early part of this week on a road trip to DC via Philly.
Additionally, my Chi-town gal pal is coming to town tomorrow for an NYC weekend...talk about a full 480sq feet.
Good thing we're all adequately brown--everyone is aware of the cramped living and no one finds it odd enough to warrant complaint.
The above statement is only one of the many reasons I don't date white men. Try explaining to one of them why not a shudder to be found at the reality of such close quarters among friends. I call it hospitality without boundaries--kinda like doctors without borders.
Before his departure the boarder's childhood friend, a physician from Britain, is staying with us for a week. They spent last weekend and the early part of this week on a road trip to DC via Philly.
Additionally, my Chi-town gal pal is coming to town tomorrow for an NYC weekend...talk about a full 480sq feet.
Good thing we're all adequately brown--everyone is aware of the cramped living and no one finds it odd enough to warrant complaint.
The above statement is only one of the many reasons I don't date white men. Try explaining to one of them why not a shudder to be found at the reality of such close quarters among friends. I call it hospitality without boundaries--kinda like doctors without borders.
Testees
I've seen ads for a new TV show called Testees a few times now--more accurately I've skipped by them thanks to DVR--and realized that I could qualify to join the ranks of these people.
I'm currently participating in TWO paid research studies:
New York Presbyterian Hospital in Washington Heights
The study is focused on the effect of low-dose birth control on women between 21-30.
8 visits pay a total of $390 over 3 months
Rockefeller University on the Upper East Side
Smell research coinciding with ovulation to discern if a certain pheromone is more potent than others.
4 visits pay out at $220 over 4 months
Testee, indeed!
I'm currently participating in TWO paid research studies:
New York Presbyterian Hospital in Washington Heights
The study is focused on the effect of low-dose birth control on women between 21-30.
8 visits pay a total of $390 over 3 months
Rockefeller University on the Upper East Side
Smell research coinciding with ovulation to discern if a certain pheromone is more potent than others.
4 visits pay out at $220 over 4 months
Testee, indeed!
October 6, 2008
Dating Sucks
Saturday night, I went out with a Jersey-raised, Kanada (Indian), only kid who graduated from Cornell and chooses to live in Jersey City among the FOBS on the grounds that he enjoys having a car and thinks NYC rent is too ridiculous.
Yes. Despite the above statement I went out with him.
We met for a drink at The Other Room at 7:30pm as my original pick, Absolutely 4th had closed. I didn't think much of him making me pick the place but it should have been a sign that he knew nothing. Our first exchange was him extolling the virtues and importance of preparedness in life as opposed to my free-spirited stance on living life for the moment. He went up to get a drink not realizing the spot was cash only and promptly ran out of the joint to get cash without notifying me of any of these proceedings. Two points.
He told me he didn't drink wine and when I requested either a Reisling or Sauvingnon Blanc and he returned with the Reisling, I knew it was because he found that varietal easier to pronounce in my absence. Three points.
After a seemingly blah drink, he suggested dinner and asked again that I pick the place. In the name of politeness and to take the pressure off his city ignorance I proceeded to select a cheap Sri Lankan joint on 1st Ave. As we walked across town, he wouldn't admit to not enjoying the walk and complained as we walked past 6th Ave. "We're leaving the place with all the people. Where are we going?" Sigh. Two points.
Once we arrived at Sigiri at 10:04pm, we chit-chatted for a while and he revealed that he's only dated 2 women in his life and each of those had only lasted a few months. Five points.
He balked at my mom's divorce followed by her marriage to the white man and her utter lack of interest in the culinary arts. Five points.
He also explained that he really didn't enjoy drinking and would never go out on a Tuesday evening for a beer as it was a worknight. Nine points.
He also mentioned that his parents, strict vegetarians, actually prepare his meals which he picks up weekly. Nine points.
At that point I should have just excused myself and gone home....but there was the matter of the check--which we split. Ten points.
Post dinner, we walked down 8th St. then down 6th Ave. and across Houston and came to a stop in front of the carcass of Senor Swanky's because I refused to pick the THIRD place of the evening and he had no idea where we should go. I also didn't want to spend any more time with this provincial prude from poverty town.
Standing and making conversation got boring till he insulted me at which point, I actually smiled turned on my heel and walked east to the 6 without turning back. His grand total of 45 points on the suck-0-meter of bad dating isn't overwhelming. I've been on worse dates and I'm sure there are plenty of dates that are much worse than this one, but the fact remains it was a lousy date.
Dating sucks just as much as I recall.
Yes. Despite the above statement I went out with him.
We met for a drink at The Other Room at 7:30pm as my original pick, Absolutely 4th had closed. I didn't think much of him making me pick the place but it should have been a sign that he knew nothing. Our first exchange was him extolling the virtues and importance of preparedness in life as opposed to my free-spirited stance on living life for the moment. He went up to get a drink not realizing the spot was cash only and promptly ran out of the joint to get cash without notifying me of any of these proceedings. Two points.
He told me he didn't drink wine and when I requested either a Reisling or Sauvingnon Blanc and he returned with the Reisling, I knew it was because he found that varietal easier to pronounce in my absence. Three points.
After a seemingly blah drink, he suggested dinner and asked again that I pick the place. In the name of politeness and to take the pressure off his city ignorance I proceeded to select a cheap Sri Lankan joint on 1st Ave. As we walked across town, he wouldn't admit to not enjoying the walk and complained as we walked past 6th Ave. "We're leaving the place with all the people. Where are we going?" Sigh. Two points.
Once we arrived at Sigiri at 10:04pm, we chit-chatted for a while and he revealed that he's only dated 2 women in his life and each of those had only lasted a few months. Five points.
He balked at my mom's divorce followed by her marriage to the white man and her utter lack of interest in the culinary arts. Five points.
He also explained that he really didn't enjoy drinking and would never go out on a Tuesday evening for a beer as it was a worknight. Nine points.
He also mentioned that his parents, strict vegetarians, actually prepare his meals which he picks up weekly. Nine points.
At that point I should have just excused myself and gone home....but there was the matter of the check--which we split. Ten points.
Post dinner, we walked down 8th St. then down 6th Ave. and across Houston and came to a stop in front of the carcass of Senor Swanky's because I refused to pick the THIRD place of the evening and he had no idea where we should go. I also didn't want to spend any more time with this provincial prude from poverty town.
Standing and making conversation got boring till he insulted me at which point, I actually smiled turned on my heel and walked east to the 6 without turning back. His grand total of 45 points on the suck-0-meter of bad dating isn't overwhelming. I've been on worse dates and I'm sure there are plenty of dates that are much worse than this one, but the fact remains it was a lousy date.
Dating sucks just as much as I recall.
Foosball Plant
Crazy Cooper Union Kids....steam energy infused plant life in recycled foosball tables on St. Marks.
October 5, 2008
September 29, 2008
Headstones by the Highway
I was driving along Rt. 23 in NJ towards the lakehouse where my mom now lives when I pulled over to capture this set of headstones beside the highway.
I'm not clear if they are for sale or serve as a memorial--no signs were visible. It was near a Fedex and UPS drop off box--no strip mall.
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