Just My Luckey

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

My Mom, My Hero

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

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

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

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

Lucky Me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a Boy!

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

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

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

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

Brady

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

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

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

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

Happy Tracey Day!

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

Happy Birthday, Tracey! L'Chaim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen to Nike and JUST DO IT!

Back in the USA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOT Lost in Translation

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

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

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

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

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

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

Czech Signage

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



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



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



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


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


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

I was in Prague...REALLY!

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

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

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

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

Sex Machines Museum

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

Barbie Exhibition

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

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

Infant Jesus of Prague

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

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

Czech it Out!

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

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

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

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

Praha

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

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

ABCD

This ABCD would love to visit these ABCD!

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

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

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

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

If you could fly, where would you go?

To Prague and BEYOND!

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

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

Prague Castle




Charles Bridge






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

Citibank=Big Brother

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

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

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

eX cuse

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

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

Interesting!

Friend Cover

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

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

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

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

Godspeed--may you have friends who cover you.

Walking Away

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

Hoodie=Drew
Ghett hat=Tommy
Asian Chic=Li

Thanks for struttin' it for me, fellas. 

Ava

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

Boy Posse from JHU

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

Boobs

 

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

Still NOT dating.

 

On Saturday night, I dragged the crew to Second on Second for some kareoke--though I DO NOT kareoke. Here's another shot of Tommy and I, still NOT dating! 

WE ARE JUST FRIENDS!

 

People always assume Tommy and I are dating.
Here we are at B Bar on Friday night with the rest of my college boy posse

I melt when he...

brushes the hair off my face while I talk a mile a minute.

rests his hand gently in the small of my back as we wander aimlessly.

kisses my forehead before putting me in a cab.

cuts me off, randomly, by kissing me firmly.

holds the umbrella when it rains--because I'm short and it's just better this way.

banters with me, disagreeing just so we can argue.

apologizes swiftly and sincerely when he goes too far.

sends flowers to work without me ever giving him the address.

reads in bed and mocks my chick lit pick of the week.

thinks it's cute that I like blowing bubbles when I'm sad because it cheers me up and takes me to a happier time/place.

can make points--God knows, I can't.

understands finances--God knows, I don't.

compliments what I'm wearing, EVERY SINGLE TIME--because he digs my style.

drinks me under the table and laughs when I trash talk at the pong table.

chooses me as his partner--no matter what the game or how much I suck.

looks at me with those eyes that say "You're the prettiest girl on the subway" while everyone looks on and gags.

calls just to hear the sound of my voice.

Something about Him...

Earlier this week Taurean and I were discussing the construction worker costume a guy I used to hang out with donned for Halloween--because it was the simplest thing to do. According to Taurean, it makes sense that we got along. I'm not sure that was flattering--a backhanded compliment at best.

It got me thinking about my favorite mistake, so in typical sweetly vicious fashion I reached out and touched him--ok, I shot him an e-mail. We've been corresponding with a consistency that shows we've aged--there was a time the coy banter would have sickened a pre-teen, but we've mellowed out and withstood the test of time honored annoyances--life having gone on.

My favorite mistake just directed me to what may soon become my favorite book--Prague by Arthur Phillips. It came up in our discussion of my upcoming trip to Prague.

To put it as simply as he did:
"i read a book titled prague which was about budapest. you would like the book"

It's the tiniest of details that revives a woman's faith in a man.
In this case a book recommendation and the hint of possibility that he may have a vague notion of what I would like. That's all it took. The other reality is that he's still as arrogant as ever presuming to have an inkling into what I may like. There's a comfort in all of it.

I'm such a sucker. I hate admitting it, but it's true. One pseudo nice gesture balances out the egregious asinine moves he's made in the past, setting a tone for what I hope will become a "beautiful friendship"--if we manage to keep talking past this week.

I hope I NEVER learn

Being a good student and being studious go hand in hand.

Falling for someone is as smart as setting your hair on fire.

Not all Snapple Real Facts are real.
Today's fact: "If you put all the streets in New York City in a straight line, they would stretch to Japan."

I am too old to pout.

Inter-racial is NOT inter-faith.
When all is said and done if someone is attracted to you, they've obviously gotten over your race. Not to mention they know there is nothing you could physically do about it--if you want to get technical you could pull a Michael Jackson, but I mean...really!
That said, the problem with faith differences, if both people are staunch believers--or even mild believers--is that it's a choice we make and on some level you ask, "Don't you love me enough to change your mind?" or the milder "Don't you love me enough to tolerate my faith or at deem it equal to yours?"

"Tell it like it is" is an expression, not an invitation.

Boys will say stupid things and call it sarcasm, when girls do the same things they get called bitches.

I am not built for tube-tops.

Just because you're over someone doesn't mean you don't love them anymore. It just means you won't let them rule your heart any longer.

Cleaning and tidying are NOT the same thing. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Keeping tidy=Hiding dirty laundry.

Pipa

Karen had a rough day yesterday.

This gallery--which we will refer to as the "Poo" gallery, henceforth--offered her a job then promptly phoned her up to rescind the offer because she asked too many questions and they no longer deemed her the right fit.

Now, Karen as a Rules girl raised in a house where children were seen and not heard is anything BUT pushy, aggressive, or even remotely socially difficult. It amazes me that her accommodating, sweet nature was thus tarnished.

I also felt mildy responsible for the episode because it was on my solicited HR advice that she had taken a stand and make inquiries into her compensation and benefits.

So to cheer her up, I took her to Pipa in Union Square. This quaint restaurant bar boasts an impressive collection of antique chandeliers for sale. It surprised me that the tags hanging from the cieling tiaras were not the least bit tacky! The atmosphere was romantic--the lighting dim, the candle flickering, and the drinks yummy.

You're WHITE!

At 10:28pm last night, I get the following text from Scotty:
Yo ma I might like u if u come through. 81st street its my boy's bday. what's hood wit u?

Then at 10:41 he texts:
Youngen, i thought u & i were a we. whatever trick you're a mark ass busta anyway. 1!

Does anyone have any idea what any of that means?????

Well, when he called at 12:54am and I asked him what it meant, he just laughed at me.
Boys!

Well, we had bet on the Rose Bowl and I WON--well, my team, TEXAS won. So Scott has to cook me dinner. Thanks to Tommy who came through in the clutch with choosing the team.

Li's HERE!

I woke this morning to a Li Chen running around my apt. yay!



He got into NYC at 5:40am from San Fran with a long stop in Phoenix.

My favorite line this morning were Li's sleepy last words as I ducked out the front door: "I'll have dinner waiting for you when you get home. Have a good one!"

Oh--I will, sweet Li...the prospect of your delicious cooking is really making this a good day though a freakishly long feeling one!

Religious Roots

My grandparents are Syrian Orthodox--a branch of Christianity that is archaic with a checkered historical past with the requisite persecution of our people and such--aren't all the GOOD religions?

My mother and her fiancee met in the singles group at a Christ-centered Church .

That's a distance my mom travelled from the traditional Indian roots of Syriac to the ultra-modern (of course still be any American standard conservative) singing, Bible-based church.

I definitely DO NOT like the evangelical tendencies the churches my mom toted me to over the years all subscribed to--we church shopped. I just don't have the energy to bible-thump. More importantly, I like diversity. I'd loathe a land without Hindus, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, etc. to befriend, date, hate, berate, and generally interact with.

I like the idea of confession--if for no other reason than the voyeuristic intrigue I provide the priest--though in NYC I'm sure I'm probably among the more boring sinners.

I enjoy the ritual and production of mass.

I'm not Catholic--not by a stretch--but there is something soothing about being in a cathedral, if for no other reason than the meditative value.

Where does that leave me?

Mother India

It's not August 15th--Day of Indian Independence--but I'm feeling particularly patriotic today after listening to Penn Masala on the iPod singing Bharat Humko Jaan Se Pyaara Hai (India is more beloved than my life).

Indian National Anthem: Jana Gana Mana

Jana Gana Mana Adhinayaka Jaya He
Bharat Bhagya Vidhata
Punjab Sindh Gujarat Maratha
Dravida Utkala Banga
Vindhya Himachal Yamuna Ganga
Ucchala Jaladhi Taranga
Tubh Shubha Name Jage
Tubh Shubha Ashisha Mange
Gahe Tubh Jaya Gata
Jan Gan Mangaldayak Jay He
Bharat Bhagya Vidhata
Jaye He ! Jaye He ! Jaye He !
Jaye,Jaye,Jaye,Jaye He "

The Translation:

Thou are the ruler of the minds of all people,
dispenser of India's destiny.
The name rouses the hearts of Punjab, Sind, Gujurat and Maratha.
Of the Dravid and Orissa and Bengal.
It Echoes in the hills of Vindhyas and Himalayas,
mingles in the music of Yamuna and Ganga
and is chanted by the waves of the Indian Sea.
They pray for your blessing and sing thy praise.
The salvation of all peaople is thy hand,
thou dispenser of India's destiny.
Victory, Victory, Victory to thee

The Indian National anthem, composed originally in Bengali by Rabindranath Tagore, was adopted in its Hindi version by the Constituent Assembly as the National Anthem of India on 24 January 1950. It was first sung 27 December 1911 at the Calcutta session of the Indian National Congress. The complete song consists of five stanzas. The lyrics were rendered into English by Tagore himself.

See, don't ever tell me MY blog isn't EDUCATIONAL--at least culturally.

Scotty Potty

So discovering that Scotty rhymed with Potty made all the difference on my date last night, when I took to calling Scott--Scotty Potty--which he actually appreciated on some level, mostly because he loves the sound of my voice.

We went to Single Room Occupancy which exudes a modern speakeasy vibe. Very sexy. He rocked a '90s chic sweater vest with Omega Ferragamo cuff-links holding together his pink (I'm sorry--SALMON) button-down shirt. As if I wasn't impressed enough with his clean shaven, look-book preppy style, his immaculate studio made my breath catch a little.

His motif is VERY New England even if he was raised in Queens. Tan leather loveseat which I melted into not just because it was comfy but it matched my shade of brown almost exactly and a matching bed frame (yes, it was a LEATHER bed frame)--I never even KNEW they made such things. Anyway, his array of Atlases really did it for me--which Tommy couldn't help chuckling at when I narrated the tale to him later that evening (at 2am this morning actually!). Apparently he was convinced it was some sort of euphemism, "Because honestly WHO finds Atlas ownership hot?" I'll tell you who! BIG GEEKS, like ME.

I've never been in such a clean apartment. EVER.

Well, arguably my mom's house is that clean...but it's MY MOM...and she has a housekeeper. I mean there wasn't even dust. No clothes visible. Bed perfectly pressed into place. Spotless kitchen, not a dish to be found.

He taught me how to spin a tiny wooden dreidle. I must say I sucked at it. I can't spin a top apparently this inability translates to the dreidel kingdom. He had a mizzasuzza on his door. It makes me wonder why he's dating a brown girl. I mean if this shiksa is for practice, just tell me now...

Scott was sweet. So sweet. Not in a lame way, but just in a "I'm a man but I still have feelings without being totally gay" way. He took me up to the roof to see the view and show me the glass room--it was pretty swank. The best part was when he actually walked me downstairs and hailed my cab for me. See, that's the sort of thing that a girl remembers...that's the kind of thing she cherishes.

Well, alright truth be told the BESTEST part was that he didn't push the envelope. After going on my share of BAD dates, I can tell you that I can really appreciate a good one. And Scott is a good date! It was that perfect balance of knowing that he wanted more but he was gentleman enough not to try it or respectful enough of my lady-ness not to try it. Either way, date two went well.

Special K and I on NYE

That's a $10 folks and NO we did not make-out for that cash.
How cute is she, btw? God, I hate her...pretty pretty face!

I get Poetic when it Rains

Unlike Shirley Manson who's only happy when it rains, I find myself plucking poetry from the pitter patter.

Some thoughts running through my head on the subway:

The red of her dress draped like a wet curtain clung to her blocky body.

His eyes met mine flooding me with every base emotion, particularly envy, fury, and a bittersweet victory.

I could feel the desert within as he fidgeted with the gold band on his finger. His loneliness was palpable.

The trench coat dripped dry against my shoe. Another would have spoken up, maybe in a huff, but I quite liked the sensation.

Her thin almond eyelids lay closed in a sleep that resembled death but I her hearbeats reverberated through the subway car like Juliet in her tomb. Where was her Asian Romeo? (played by Ken Wantabe)

Dracula Detests ME

And rightfully so...
The downside to having a blog and putting it on your friendster page is that people find it. Then they read it. Then they get pissed.

So once Drac discovered my vicious writings, he called me enraged. I must applaud him on handling the situation with much more grace and dignity than I could muster. I wussed out and shifted the conversational gear from phone to AIM as quickly as a tongue sticks to a wet pole in Alaska.

He was extremely polite but obviously hurt. He expressed himself with much poise. He's truly a wondeful boy/man. I really did enjoy his company and it is unfortunate that we can't be friends...but I couldn't really expect him to forgive my egregious goings-on. Though I sense if enough time passes he'll be inclined to call me up and see me socially--I really am a delightful companion.

So, let that be a lesson to you--stand by what you say but don't expect people to LIKE it.

Oh...Scotty finally CALLED...though my interest is waning...we have a date looming on Wednesday--more to come then.

2005 in Review

January
Yay: Love of life returned from a year abroad.
Nay: Much drama because we never COULD communicate.

February
Yay: Rezif Pharmaceuticals incentive program--three stars!
Boo: Valentine's day SUCKED. Not just the weather either...

March
Yippee: Interviewed at Silverstein Katz for MUCH higher paying job.
Sucked: Things ended VERY badly with "the devil".

April
Hurrah: First semester at TC completed--go me for not flunking out.
Nay: Heart-broken and confused

May
Go: Awesome weather. Quit admin job--NEVER again!
Still heart-broken. Sad to leave Taurean at Rezif

June
Two weeks between jobs...sweet, sweet freedom
Silverstein Katz is not the cat's meow.

July
Annual trip to Napa to see Li Chen with Tommy
Not getting any at Dewey beach--at least none of the other girls did EITHER.

August
Trip to Georgia to see assistant DA gal pal extraordinaire--super fun.
Blew: stuck in ATL international ALL night long.

September
Started second semester at TC
Silverstein Katz--the succubus.

October
Quit Silverstein Katz...averted quarter-life crisis.
Unemployment induced poverty

November
Started at the German Bank
School starts to heat up with papers around the bend.

December
Puppy planning
Dating gets a bit out of hand...

In sum, it was year filled with the obviouos but unexpected in the life of this vicious sweetie.

Lived. Loved. Hiredx2. Quit. Heartache. Heartbreak. Revival. Renewal. Got over myself. Got down on myself. Rose above. Fell below. Met expectations. Learned to manage expectations. Survived. Thrived. A piece of me died. A piece of me was reborn. Got my way. Lost my way. Found my way. Was a good friend. Was a bad friend. Was a girlfriend. Am Single. Was unemployed. Am employed. Still a slacker. Still ambitious. Still no dreams. Still hopeful--but not doe-eyed or bushy-tailed.

2006!

Get your kicks in 2006~

I rang in this year with a quick peck on Special K's lips as we re-counted down at Kelli's since the original countdown wasn't to our liking on her snowy TV.

I don't make resolutions, so this year is no different. Though I'm beginning to feel like my life is in syndication and old highlights are re-run whilst shooting is currently on hiatus this season. My life becomes more redundant with every passing year.


Drunk dialed my i-banker mistake from 2002...he actually picked up and was more than pleasant.
Started the day with my favorite FOP. He reminds me a lot of AJ from 2003.
Spent the evening ambling about Williamsburg with a nice Inwood-er who has many qualities reminiscent of the boy in 2004.

Left Scotty a craftily concocted direct-dial to voicemail message...