July 4, 2008
My First Sand Castle
Last weekend Jo photographed Zayan assisting me to build my first sand castle--a little late in life--but better late than never. That's just too many cliches even for me...
July 3, 2008
Gay Burst
Riding the LIRR from Jamaica to Hampton Bays this morning/afternoon I witnessed my first official gay burst!
There was a pair of screaming children sitting directly behind me--kicking my seat and generally causing a ruckus. Their mother did not just skip chastizing them she in fact encouraged their unruly behavior by applauding their verbal abilities. Their colored nanny who was sitting across the aisle from mother and children was moritified but clearly enjoying her "ride off".
In front of me sat a charming gay man--proudly carrying a rainbow bag and wearing some very gay shades--who hit his breaking point at Patchogue and WENT off at the mom. He started by merely lifting himself from his seat and walking over to inform the mother that she needed to keep her kids quiet. To which the definition of WASP mother responded "No entiendo ingles, mi amor!" This inflamed the flamer as we had ALL heard her cooing to her offspring in the American English we speak so freely.
He hotly retorted, "Either you can shut them up or I will."
To which she stood up outraged and spit out, "Excuse, what did you just say?"
He smirked, "Wait. I thought you didn't speak English!"
She merely stared at him fish-mouthed as he continued to dig into her.
"I'm not the only one that's had this ride ruined by those screaming children. If you can't control your kids maybe you should consider driving out next time or perhaps not sugaring them up before exposing the rest of us to them."
She kept yelling at him...till he finally got off the train and threw one last insult, "I'm glad I said something even if I was almost at my stop. You're a bitch!"
I wanted to shout a mighty, "Amen!" but I didn't. COWARD, I know!
The rest of the passengers turned on him as soon he left throwing the mother conciliatory glances and open apologies like:
"What's his problem!"
"Children will be children"
"He was getting off, why did he make such a big deal."
OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There was a pair of screaming children sitting directly behind me--kicking my seat and generally causing a ruckus. Their mother did not just skip chastizing them she in fact encouraged their unruly behavior by applauding their verbal abilities. Their colored nanny who was sitting across the aisle from mother and children was moritified but clearly enjoying her "ride off".
In front of me sat a charming gay man--proudly carrying a rainbow bag and wearing some very gay shades--who hit his breaking point at Patchogue and WENT off at the mom. He started by merely lifting himself from his seat and walking over to inform the mother that she needed to keep her kids quiet. To which the definition of WASP mother responded "No entiendo ingles, mi amor!" This inflamed the flamer as we had ALL heard her cooing to her offspring in the American English we speak so freely.
He hotly retorted, "Either you can shut them up or I will."
To which she stood up outraged and spit out, "Excuse, what did you just say?"
He smirked, "Wait. I thought you didn't speak English!"
She merely stared at him fish-mouthed as he continued to dig into her.
"I'm not the only one that's had this ride ruined by those screaming children. If you can't control your kids maybe you should consider driving out next time or perhaps not sugaring them up before exposing the rest of us to them."
She kept yelling at him...till he finally got off the train and threw one last insult, "I'm glad I said something even if I was almost at my stop. You're a bitch!"
I wanted to shout a mighty, "Amen!" but I didn't. COWARD, I know!
The rest of the passengers turned on him as soon he left throwing the mother conciliatory glances and open apologies like:
"What's his problem!"
"Children will be children"
"He was getting off, why did he make such a big deal."
OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Parkside Apple
Today, I made my way to the Apple store across from the southeast corner of Central Park to give my iPod a much needed perk.
Ever since I got my Juke last Thanksgiving I haven't used my Nano at all. Last week when I tried plugging in a variety of headphones into the little MP3 player no sounds were to be heard. Boo.
Upon Zayan's recommendation, I took the adorable music maker to the mothership in the hopes of reviving its ability to make noise. The kind gentleman whose apple branded nametag proclaimed him "Peter" simply pulled out some white headphones from his pants pocket, plugged them into my system, and voila! MUSIC! Peter let me keep the 'phones for free. Imagine!
Beth Hart's LA Song came pouring out...
That was the song I listened to on repeat during my exile semester from college (Fall 1999) when I got the boot (ac pro) from good old Johnny Hop. Sad times. Times spent in my 1992 grey Mazda Protege driving on Rt. 10 at absurd hours--blasting Z100 and crying intermittently. Not a high point. But a point nonetheless...a point from which I redeemed myself.
I once again feel like I'm at such a point in my life. The collapse of a live-in situation, the absence of a real job, and live in a basement studio in East Harlem...nowhere to go but up. So it's time to pull up those bootstraps and get to climbing out of the deep hole I've dug my heels into.
That's how I'm making '08 Great...by preparing to Get Mine in '09!
Ever since I got my Juke last Thanksgiving I haven't used my Nano at all. Last week when I tried plugging in a variety of headphones into the little MP3 player no sounds were to be heard. Boo.
Upon Zayan's recommendation, I took the adorable music maker to the mothership in the hopes of reviving its ability to make noise. The kind gentleman whose apple branded nametag proclaimed him "Peter" simply pulled out some white headphones from his pants pocket, plugged them into my system, and voila! MUSIC! Peter let me keep the 'phones for free. Imagine!
Beth Hart's LA Song came pouring out...
That was the song I listened to on repeat during my exile semester from college (Fall 1999) when I got the boot (ac pro) from good old Johnny Hop. Sad times. Times spent in my 1992 grey Mazda Protege driving on Rt. 10 at absurd hours--blasting Z100 and crying intermittently. Not a high point. But a point nonetheless...a point from which I redeemed myself.
I once again feel like I'm at such a point in my life. The collapse of a live-in situation, the absence of a real job, and live in a basement studio in East Harlem...nowhere to go but up. So it's time to pull up those bootstraps and get to climbing out of the deep hole I've dug my heels into.
That's how I'm making '08 Great...by preparing to Get Mine in '09!
Inertia
That's probably a good way of describing my life these past six years...
I've long held that 2008 would be a significant year in my life.
Of course, my reasoning had been that I'd have met the man with whom I would spend the rest of my life, achieved a modicum of professional success, and purchased my own sliver of NYC real estate. None of those things have come to pass as yet but if I can escape the big sleep that would be the achievement of this lifetime.
I've long held that 2008 would be a significant year in my life.
Of course, my reasoning had been that I'd have met the man with whom I would spend the rest of my life, achieved a modicum of professional success, and purchased my own sliver of NYC real estate. None of those things have come to pass as yet but if I can escape the big sleep that would be the achievement of this lifetime.
July 1, 2008
2008: Third Quarter Resolutions
1. Stop sleeping with the ex.
2. Study and ace the GRE.
3. Select a new job.
4. Stay the course on the Hamptons House.
5. Stick to walking the dogs daily.
6. Sip in lieu of chugging
7. Swim as often as possible while the summer and Hamptons oblige.
8. Steer clear of dating this season.
9. Spend more time with my family.
10. Seek out new experiences: people, events, performances, etc.
2. Study and ace the GRE.
3. Select a new job.
4. Stay the course on the Hamptons House.
5. Stick to walking the dogs daily.
6. Sip in lieu of chugging
7. Swim as often as possible while the summer and Hamptons oblige.
8. Steer clear of dating this season.
9. Spend more time with my family.
10. Seek out new experiences: people, events, performances, etc.
Seen on the Street
Walking across 99th Street between Lexington and Park Avenune about 2 hours ago, the dogs and I spotted this tiny sparrow sitting on the street. She (ok, it might be a he--I have no idea) did not budge when Vegas sidled up to her and sniffed at her diminutive head. Luckey showed no interest in her but took a generous lap into her tiny water cup. She let me get pretty close to snap this shot on my camera phone.
June 30, 2008
Stolen
While I could have inserted this post as a paragraph in the previous post, I felt it deserved it's own listing.
While Zayan and I were cleaning on Friday between 4:30-6:30pm we left the doors of the secluded house sitting on 2 acres on a private road in Shinnecock Hills wide open to allow the place to air out. To my devastation, the cheap 42" flat screen TV in the living room was stolen.
This involved a trip to Wal-Mart later that day to purchase a 32" black Vizio to replace the gaping hole above the white stand with black wheels that housed the previous TV.
That's right, readers, my Hamptons TV was STOLEN while I was in the house. I was robbed ROBBED!
While Zayan and I were cleaning on Friday between 4:30-6:30pm we left the doors of the secluded house sitting on 2 acres on a private road in Shinnecock Hills wide open to allow the place to air out. To my devastation, the cheap 42" flat screen TV in the living room was stolen.
This involved a trip to Wal-Mart later that day to purchase a 32" black Vizio to replace the gaping hole above the white stand with black wheels that housed the previous TV.
That's right, readers, my Hamptons TV was STOLEN while I was in the house. I was robbed ROBBED!
Trashed
I spent Friday afternoon driving from New Jersey to the Hamptons sans dogs.
Judy was a delight--not failing me on AC, gas, or threatening to break down. I have a profound fear of flat tires--specifically of getting a flat tire and having to call AAA only to realize I don't have a spare and being stranded on a bridge or in a tunnel the entire time. Thankfully, none of that happened.
However when I arrived at the house, which I had unsuspectingly rented out for a prom party to a group of ridiculous kids from North Babylon High School, was completely trashed. I had been duped by a young lady who claimed to be over 21 (supplying me with a photocopy of her licensce and signing a liability release form) seeking a rental for herself and some cousins from upstate to have a family reunion.
As Murphy's Law would have it, my faithful cleaning lady had cancelled on me due to her son suffering from illness and her motherly duties taking precedence. Sucked for me more than that kid...I assure you.
The entire indoors reeked of cigarrettes and stale alcohol. The floors were sticky especially in the kitchen and dining room. The lawn was littered with beer bottles, condom wrappers, and styrofoam remnants of what held Perdue Chicken Breasts. Hot dog buns falling from the chandelier in the foyer as well as a few strategically thrown buns atop the 12-foot high closet top.
Neither Zayan nor I could figure out a way of getting those down until Jo arrived on Saturday afternoon and suggested we mount the step stool we'd been using atop the hall dresser and use the long reach feather duster to push the bread onto the ground.
Z cleaned the outside while I worked on the inside including mopping--something I have never done before--and the liberal use of Lysol wipes. We were done in roughly two hours except for one room which had four, fist-sized holes in the wall. Thankfully, Sam came out on Saturday--he's Z's fashion photographer/set designer friend from Williamsburg. He escorted me to Wal-Mart where we purchased spackle, netting, a putty knife, and paintbrushes (only $25) and showed me how to fix such household problems without availing myself of the expensive services of a Hamptons handyman.
Thankfully, I had already collected a $1000 security deposit which the kids had already e-mailed to say I should keep for the damage.
Judy was a delight--not failing me on AC, gas, or threatening to break down. I have a profound fear of flat tires--specifically of getting a flat tire and having to call AAA only to realize I don't have a spare and being stranded on a bridge or in a tunnel the entire time. Thankfully, none of that happened.
However when I arrived at the house, which I had unsuspectingly rented out for a prom party to a group of ridiculous kids from North Babylon High School, was completely trashed. I had been duped by a young lady who claimed to be over 21 (supplying me with a photocopy of her licensce and signing a liability release form) seeking a rental for herself and some cousins from upstate to have a family reunion.
As Murphy's Law would have it, my faithful cleaning lady had cancelled on me due to her son suffering from illness and her motherly duties taking precedence. Sucked for me more than that kid...I assure you.
The entire indoors reeked of cigarrettes and stale alcohol. The floors were sticky especially in the kitchen and dining room. The lawn was littered with beer bottles, condom wrappers, and styrofoam remnants of what held Perdue Chicken Breasts. Hot dog buns falling from the chandelier in the foyer as well as a few strategically thrown buns atop the 12-foot high closet top.
Neither Zayan nor I could figure out a way of getting those down until Jo arrived on Saturday afternoon and suggested we mount the step stool we'd been using atop the hall dresser and use the long reach feather duster to push the bread onto the ground.
Z cleaned the outside while I worked on the inside including mopping--something I have never done before--and the liberal use of Lysol wipes. We were done in roughly two hours except for one room which had four, fist-sized holes in the wall. Thankfully, Sam came out on Saturday--he's Z's fashion photographer/set designer friend from Williamsburg. He escorted me to Wal-Mart where we purchased spackle, netting, a putty knife, and paintbrushes (only $25) and showed me how to fix such household problems without availing myself of the expensive services of a Hamptons handyman.
Thankfully, I had already collected a $1000 security deposit which the kids had already e-mailed to say I should keep for the damage.
June 26, 2008
Boycluding when Boyded
Jo sent this e-mail out today:
New word! Boyclusion!
Are we going to the movie tonight?
Sure -- are we boycluding?
Don't see why not.
To which Stella responded thus:
A conflicting definition of boyclusion could be: ending a relationship with a boy, a boyclusion
I was the one to find a workable solution with:
Boyded--works as boy dead and/or the current boy has been voided.
This way boyclusion, boycluding, boyclude, and all forms therein will remain intact in their operationsl definition of addition of a boy to a girl gathering....
Yeah--you can call me Miss. Webster!
New word! Boyclusion!
Are we going to the movie tonight?
Sure -- are we boycluding?
Don't see why not.
To which Stella responded thus:
A conflicting definition of boyclusion could be: ending a relationship with a boy, a boyclusion
I was the one to find a workable solution with:
Boyded--works as boy dead and/or the current boy has been voided.
This way boyclusion, boycluding, boyclude, and all forms therein will remain intact in their operationsl definition of addition of a boy to a girl gathering....
Yeah--you can call me Miss. Webster!
Over
Zayan and I hit up the gallery reception/opening scene a few Thursdays ago in Chelsea. As I perused the overpriced art, sipping the cheap white wine they freely pour, I came upon this piece by Robert Wagner. I stood transfixed until he arrived and snapped me out of my art-induced reverie!
Something about the cartoon underlay and the super-imposed, shadowed, emboassed, bold, upper case letters resonated with my state of mind and being. I have never wanted to buy art so badly--clearly I couldn't afford the small plaque--but I wasn't above whipping out my phone and snapping this shot. It's currently the wallpaper on my phone.
Something about the cartoon underlay and the super-imposed, shadowed, emboassed, bold, upper case letters resonated with my state of mind and being. I have never wanted to buy art so badly--clearly I couldn't afford the small plaque--but I wasn't above whipping out my phone and snapping this shot. It's currently the wallpaper on my phone.
Puppies in the Hamptons
Luckey and Vegas joined me in the Hamptons the first weekend in June. Here they are sitting side by side in their crate on a seat across from my seat aboard the LIRR headed to Hampton Bays. They have the life!
Don't knock the picture quality--it was taken on my Samsun Juke on a moving train!
June 23, 2008
Life Plan: Revised
After much introspection--6 years, more accurately the last 6 months--I've figured out what I want to do for the rest of my life.
That's right...I'm ready to commit...to myself. That's definitely the first step on the path to committing to someone else. I digress.
I've decided to apply to graduate school for Clinical Psychology (concentrating in personality disorders). That's correct, I'm voluntarily signing up for 5 more years of school (aka abject poverty).
My slow arrival to this point is mired in distractions like law school and business school--both of which have MUCH higher ROIs--thankfully, I didn't spend the money despite the time wasted.
Upon graduation, I wish to start my own practice (yay therapy), publish pop psychology articles that will hopefully eventually be consolidated into a compilation while I adjunct at an university focused on the Boulder model (scientist-practitioner)and not the Ivy-induced researcher as scientist methodology.
Of course, I had to wait till my awesome GRE scores EXPIRED to come to this conclusion but such is my life. Yeah! So now I have to take the GRE...again.
That's right...I'm ready to commit...to myself. That's definitely the first step on the path to committing to someone else. I digress.
I've decided to apply to graduate school for Clinical Psychology (concentrating in personality disorders). That's correct, I'm voluntarily signing up for 5 more years of school (aka abject poverty).
My slow arrival to this point is mired in distractions like law school and business school--both of which have MUCH higher ROIs--thankfully, I didn't spend the money despite the time wasted.
Upon graduation, I wish to start my own practice (yay therapy), publish pop psychology articles that will hopefully eventually be consolidated into a compilation while I adjunct at an university focused on the Boulder model (scientist-practitioner)and not the Ivy-induced researcher as scientist methodology.
Of course, I had to wait till my awesome GRE scores EXPIRED to come to this conclusion but such is my life. Yeah! So now I have to take the GRE...again.
June 20, 2008
Jumper
You havent seen my place but it's a basement with a modest outdoor area--there is a post circa May '07 with a photo of the outdoor area--the outside is guarded by a black grate door which a small child could fit his/her hand through. This door locks automatically when you close it. The outdoor area is about 7-8 below street level and approximately 3ftx14ft.
I locked myself out of the black door but without my keys obviously hadn't locked the main apt. door which requires a manual mechanism of inserting the key in the lock to secure it.
I went to FDNY which is about half a block away but couldn't find the door to ask the fireman to loan me a ladder or better yet a fireman--figured it was a bit much to just start screaming "FIRE!".
Then I went to NYPD which is caddy corner to FDNY but there was a long line and it appears the crossing guards had just come off duty. So after much contemplation and disregarding a few dozen passing males as possible jumpers...I jumped!
I was going to offer one of the stronger looking guys $10 to just pop down and open the door for me but it seemed like a bad idea to let my neighbors know I was so rob-able.
I'm wearing a short skirt which was part of the reason I even hesitated making the jump-not too short but above the knee. By the way flip-flops, as you might suspect, are not great for landing
I hit my head on the wall. I was worried I was gonna conk out--thankfully I have enough hair to not show any head bruising--I'm fine. I also landed on my shoulder which I had not considered as a possibility. I feel like that is going to leave a bruise.
I was mostly worried about my knees pre-jump but that was not an issue at all. I didn't even think I might hit my head or my shoulder in my effort to rescue myself.
I mean it's really not that high once you climb over the hip-high black fence at street level. When I sat on the ledge and dangled my feet I wanted to lower myself using my arms so I'd only drop about 3 feet instead of 7 feet below me. That plan was thwarted by my absolute lack of upper body strength. Damn boobs!
I must have looked like I was casing the joint since I loitered for a good 30 minutes trying to decide if I should even do it. The thought of paying a locksmith a minimum of $150 and the failed attempts at alternative rescues finalized the jump.
See, I don't need a man to rescue me. Don't get me wrong, it would have been VERY nice to have one on hand for just such an instance but I just rescued myself--in a short skirt, no less.
I locked myself out of the black door but without my keys obviously hadn't locked the main apt. door which requires a manual mechanism of inserting the key in the lock to secure it.
I went to FDNY which is about half a block away but couldn't find the door to ask the fireman to loan me a ladder or better yet a fireman--figured it was a bit much to just start screaming "FIRE!".
Then I went to NYPD which is caddy corner to FDNY but there was a long line and it appears the crossing guards had just come off duty. So after much contemplation and disregarding a few dozen passing males as possible jumpers...I jumped!
I was going to offer one of the stronger looking guys $10 to just pop down and open the door for me but it seemed like a bad idea to let my neighbors know I was so rob-able.
I'm wearing a short skirt which was part of the reason I even hesitated making the jump-not too short but above the knee. By the way flip-flops, as you might suspect, are not great for landing
I hit my head on the wall. I was worried I was gonna conk out--thankfully I have enough hair to not show any head bruising--I'm fine. I also landed on my shoulder which I had not considered as a possibility. I feel like that is going to leave a bruise.
I was mostly worried about my knees pre-jump but that was not an issue at all. I didn't even think I might hit my head or my shoulder in my effort to rescue myself.
I mean it's really not that high once you climb over the hip-high black fence at street level. When I sat on the ledge and dangled my feet I wanted to lower myself using my arms so I'd only drop about 3 feet instead of 7 feet below me. That plan was thwarted by my absolute lack of upper body strength. Damn boobs!
I must have looked like I was casing the joint since I loitered for a good 30 minutes trying to decide if I should even do it. The thought of paying a locksmith a minimum of $150 and the failed attempts at alternative rescues finalized the jump.
See, I don't need a man to rescue me. Don't get me wrong, it would have been VERY nice to have one on hand for just such an instance but I just rescued myself--in a short skirt, no less.
June 10, 2008
Quitter
The thing about self-awareness is that it keeps you from beating yourself up for the things you do that others might chide you for doing.
Despite my love of the corporate monkey lifestyle and THE outfits, I am NOT a corporate monkey. I keep pushing this round peg into that square hole and it is past the point of insanity.
Bye Bye Moolbreg! Hello Hamptons!
Despite my love of the corporate monkey lifestyle and THE outfits, I am NOT a corporate monkey. I keep pushing this round peg into that square hole and it is past the point of insanity.
Bye Bye Moolbreg! Hello Hamptons!
June 5, 2008
Salman @ 7
Salman Rushdie will be readng at Barnes and Noble in Union Square today at 7pm.
Zayan and I are going on our weekly culture club jaunt to see this famed author. While there will be no Ex Sex, it's really nice to spend time with someone you know in every context without the awkwardness of having to explore many of those concepts.
Will write a review post with a SATC synopsis as well as Rushdie's ruminations.
Zayan and I are going on our weekly culture club jaunt to see this famed author. While there will be no Ex Sex, it's really nice to spend time with someone you know in every context without the awkwardness of having to explore many of those concepts.
Will write a review post with a SATC synopsis as well as Rushdie's ruminations.
June 4, 2008
Joe D
One of the boys in my house this summer, Joe D, met me for a drink this evening at Mantra. We chatted like old friends and I trash talked like a freshman playing beer pong but the more we talked the greater the references to D'Souza.
Joe used to work with D'Souza not too long ago. He described him as "exceptionally hard working, fiercely competitive, and incredibly ambitious". While I can't disagree with any of these observations, especially in the work context, it got me thinking about the other sides to this man I had lived with. He's also fiercely loyal and protective of those he deems "family" and a bit of a booze bag. But other than those two additions I really don't have much to go on.
Oh yeah. He's a complete tom cat in the sack. Hmm....I do miss that man.
Joe used to work with D'Souza not too long ago. He described him as "exceptionally hard working, fiercely competitive, and incredibly ambitious". While I can't disagree with any of these observations, especially in the work context, it got me thinking about the other sides to this man I had lived with. He's also fiercely loyal and protective of those he deems "family" and a bit of a booze bag. But other than those two additions I really don't have much to go on.
Oh yeah. He's a complete tom cat in the sack. Hmm....I do miss that man.
Non-Dating
Zayan and I broke up a little over 3 years ago. Despite that reality, he's as close to a soul-mate as I think I may get in this lifetime. Not because our love was eternal but because we have that much in common. I have never felt so completely at conversational comfort with anyone in my life. We have the same pop culture references and that is only the beginning of our shared interests. While he is much more politically savvy and interested than I am, he's also infinitely better read. The only child-ness of us created for a great deal of "ME" time. Thus the issue in the relationship department which is wholly alleviated in the friendship department.
We've been non-dating but engaging in behavior that from the outside would appear to be dating for the last 4-6 months. We go to dinner, independent films, book readings and more book readings. We're, in fact, going to Barnes and Noble in Union Square tomorrow to hear his idol--Salman Rushdie--read from his latest book. He wrote his senior thesis on Midnight's Children which I stopped 100 pages shy of finishing--just couldn't get myself to plough through--but so close to the end. Incidentally, Top Chef host Padmalakshmi used to be married to said writer not too long ago. I digress.
It's unnerving for the intensity of the spark you once shared with someone--someone you spent angst encased years believing to be the one--to evaporate into oblivion. It's weirder still being friends with an ex with no desire or potential for ex sex.
Ex Sex is the best...yet here I am, not wanting or having any of it. What the hell is up with me?
We've been non-dating but engaging in behavior that from the outside would appear to be dating for the last 4-6 months. We go to dinner, independent films, book readings and more book readings. We're, in fact, going to Barnes and Noble in Union Square tomorrow to hear his idol--Salman Rushdie--read from his latest book. He wrote his senior thesis on Midnight's Children which I stopped 100 pages shy of finishing--just couldn't get myself to plough through--but so close to the end. Incidentally, Top Chef host Padmalakshmi used to be married to said writer not too long ago. I digress.
It's unnerving for the intensity of the spark you once shared with someone--someone you spent angst encased years believing to be the one--to evaporate into oblivion. It's weirder still being friends with an ex with no desire or potential for ex sex.
Ex Sex is the best...yet here I am, not wanting or having any of it. What the hell is up with me?
Sleeping with Strangers
I've always wanted to sleep with a stranger. In a city like New York this is not a difficult task. You could have one good eye, weigh 2000lbs, sport some crutches but still manage to go home with a complete stranger. In the six years I've been here, I have always meant to take this final step into complete left leaning liberality yet find myself undone.
My 6-year New York-a-versary is on July 14--not too far at all. So I feel like the time is now, yet tonight I just couldn't get myself to do it.
He had bright blue eyes under raven lashes and un-manscaped brows. He was tall--that perfect tall that in my flops he could rest his chin gently atop that soft spot on my head. He was interesting--we spent a ridiculous amount of time discussing religion and politics without actually offending one another. He kept buying me drinks. It wasn't sketchy--despite being in Midtown past happy hour. His suit was perfectly pressed and the tie was loosened without signalling looseness. They even played fucking Bon Jovi at the moment he chose to disclose he grew up in suburban NJ...and I still couldn't do it. It's not that he asked me to go home with him as much as all the leaning and general gazing signalled the cues I wasn't following.
I'm just not sure what happened. I've always wanted to try it...this was my chance...but I choked. I'm not sure what happened or why it happened...but I just finally came to terms with the fact that I will never be the girl who goes home with a perfect stranger, no matter how drunk I am. Not me. I'm just not Sweet or Vicious enough. I'm kinda bummed out to the max.
Damn Opal. Damn Ketel One and Club Sodas. Damn Bon Jon!
My 6-year New York-a-versary is on July 14--not too far at all. So I feel like the time is now, yet tonight I just couldn't get myself to do it.
He had bright blue eyes under raven lashes and un-manscaped brows. He was tall--that perfect tall that in my flops he could rest his chin gently atop that soft spot on my head. He was interesting--we spent a ridiculous amount of time discussing religion and politics without actually offending one another. He kept buying me drinks. It wasn't sketchy--despite being in Midtown past happy hour. His suit was perfectly pressed and the tie was loosened without signalling looseness. They even played fucking Bon Jovi at the moment he chose to disclose he grew up in suburban NJ...and I still couldn't do it. It's not that he asked me to go home with him as much as all the leaning and general gazing signalled the cues I wasn't following.
I'm just not sure what happened. I've always wanted to try it...this was my chance...but I choked. I'm not sure what happened or why it happened...but I just finally came to terms with the fact that I will never be the girl who goes home with a perfect stranger, no matter how drunk I am. Not me. I'm just not Sweet or Vicious enough. I'm kinda bummed out to the max.
Damn Opal. Damn Ketel One and Club Sodas. Damn Bon Jon!
June 2, 2008
SATC: 7:45pm TODAY
I'm meeting the Tea girls at Cafe Deville at 6pm today to sip some cosmos before walking over to Village East to view Sex and the City: The Movie.
I'm vibrating in my seat...so excited.
More to come post-movie.
XOXO,
Sweet yet Vicious
I'm vibrating in my seat...so excited.
More to come post-movie.
XOXO,
Sweet yet Vicious
June 1, 2008
Deleting D'Souza
The post break-up cell phone deletion is a requisite on the road to getting past the X...I'd put off this important milestone since we share a dog and some of his crap is still in my apartment...but this weekend of solitutde in the Hamptons has led to much needed introspection. The deed is done.
Now, I never deleted V and Zayan made it back into the phone a year or so post-break up so I'm not the typical delete and be done with it gal; maybe it's not a permanent removal but for now the number has been extracted with the viciousness of a tooth past its prime. On to distractions...
Now, I never deleted V and Zayan made it back into the phone a year or so post-break up so I'm not the typical delete and be done with it gal; maybe it's not a permanent removal but for now the number has been extracted with the viciousness of a tooth past its prime. On to distractions...
May 30, 2008
HamptonsLand
I'm sitting on a plush black couch facing a sleek 42" flat screen TV in an enormous 8-bedroom house in Hampton Bays, NY. One puppy at my feet and the other with his chin on my lap, annoyed by the frantic pulse of my typing.
This is summer in New York City for Sweet!
The radio is blasting "the road to heaven is paved with good intentions...yeaaaah"--I have no idea what this song is about or who sings it...gone are the days of my radio connectivity and tight hold on mainstream pop. Just as well.
"We've only got 4 minutes to save the world. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock"
This is summer in New York City for Sweet!
The radio is blasting "the road to heaven is paved with good intentions...yeaaaah"--I have no idea what this song is about or who sings it...gone are the days of my radio connectivity and tight hold on mainstream pop. Just as well.
"We've only got 4 minutes to save the world. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock"
May 16, 2008
Suddenly Single
D'Souza moved out last weekend. After spending the last week in denial, I've crossed over to acceptance.
Sweet is Single due to the Viciousness within.
Sweet is Single due to the Viciousness within.
TV--Finally Flat
I know I am WAY behind on this people but I finally ran out and purchased a flat screen tv with 3000:1 contrast ratio. It's 19" but my room is so small it's the perect fit despite my desire for the 32" of my dreams.
Go SamSung!
Employed: 3 months
I've made it three months at my new job. That's a whole quarter.
I'm an IT Campus Recruiter at Moolbgreb. Good times.
It was very busy when I started but has slowed to a crawl the last month. I'm hoping to talk my way into a 3-day work week so I can focus my energies on the entrepreneurial effort out East.
I'm an IT Campus Recruiter at Moolbgreb. Good times.
It was very busy when I started but has slowed to a crawl the last month. I'm hoping to talk my way into a 3-day work week so I can focus my energies on the entrepreneurial effort out East.
Hamptons Summer Share House
I've rented a house in the Hamptons this summer and I'm selling shares.
Check it out: Hamptons House Blog
I'm going to upload new photos and take some video with the Flip next weekend--the first weekend of the summer. I have the house from Memorial Day to Labor Day.
Hopefully some events worth blogging about will ensue.
So yeah, I'm an entrepreneur now.
Check it out: Hamptons House Blog
I'm going to upload new photos and take some video with the Flip next weekend--the first weekend of the summer. I have the house from Memorial Day to Labor Day.
Hopefully some events worth blogging about will ensue.
So yeah, I'm an entrepreneur now.
December 12, 2007
November 26, 2007
November 19, 2007
Kindle
I'm dazzled by launch of Amazon's Kindle. The new e-reader which is the book equivalent of an iPod. Sony has a model out but it's bulky and hasn't gotten the same hype--besides it's not fueled by GOOGLE!
Once the price drops from $399, I fully plan to avail myself of this "service".
I find it appalling that anything termed a "service" requires the purchase of a product TO service. I mean the cable box is FREE and installed for free--the service of getting cable COSTS money--see, that's how it should be! Just as phones are free when you sign up for a new contract. I realize you pay for the jazzy phones, but that's your problem and not mine--I go for the free phone. Except for that sad time when my phone suffered water damage and I had not phone insurance. I since subscribe to the monthly $5 required to be insured.
However TiVo, DVR in general, set a poor precedent by charging for the box and then for the service itself. I would blame laptops for starting the trend since you need a laptop before you avail yourself of connecting to the internet but one could use a laptop as a word processor and a mere vessel for the storage of digital media--thus un-availing oneself for WiFi connectivity or even something as arcane as dial-up. So see, I blame TiVo.
No, I don't whine that I pay an electric bill to keep all my appliances running and I realize full well that said appliances would be useless sans electric power...but that somehow doesn't FEEL like a rip-off. Alright, so my point is arbitrary and I'm just bitter that I once again crave technological advance in the name of luxury and leisure in my post-industrialist existence.
Once the price drops from $399, I fully plan to avail myself of this "service".
I find it appalling that anything termed a "service" requires the purchase of a product TO service. I mean the cable box is FREE and installed for free--the service of getting cable COSTS money--see, that's how it should be! Just as phones are free when you sign up for a new contract. I realize you pay for the jazzy phones, but that's your problem and not mine--I go for the free phone. Except for that sad time when my phone suffered water damage and I had not phone insurance. I since subscribe to the monthly $5 required to be insured.
However TiVo, DVR in general, set a poor precedent by charging for the box and then for the service itself. I would blame laptops for starting the trend since you need a laptop before you avail yourself of connecting to the internet but one could use a laptop as a word processor and a mere vessel for the storage of digital media--thus un-availing oneself for WiFi connectivity or even something as arcane as dial-up. So see, I blame TiVo.
No, I don't whine that I pay an electric bill to keep all my appliances running and I realize full well that said appliances would be useless sans electric power...but that somehow doesn't FEEL like a rip-off. Alright, so my point is arbitrary and I'm just bitter that I once again crave technological advance in the name of luxury and leisure in my post-industrialist existence.
Jerry aka Vegas
Jerry aka Vegas is the dog of D'Souza and my dreams. We spotted him on the Furbaby Rescue site and have been smitten ever since--much to Luckey's chagrin.
Clearly, he is a doppleganger of ours truly (Luckey!) but Jerry is only 1 while Luckey is 2. Jerry will be renamed Vegas. Not because we already have a dog named Luckey but because D'Souza's mother's maiden name was Vegas and it would be an AWESOME name to have.
So, yeah. We're hoping for a new fella to add to our brood. I suppose one dog isn't a brood, but if this rate keeps up we may very well end up with a brood.
Clearly, he is a doppleganger of ours truly (Luckey!) but Jerry is only 1 while Luckey is 2. Jerry will be renamed Vegas. Not because we already have a dog named Luckey but because D'Souza's mother's maiden name was Vegas and it would be an AWESOME name to have.
So, yeah. We're hoping for a new fella to add to our brood. I suppose one dog isn't a brood, but if this rate keeps up we may very well end up with a brood.
November 8, 2007
So it begins...
I will not claim that Starbucks is the front runner in proclaiming the dawn of another holiday season; however, today is the first day they have handed out red paper cups with the words, "Pass the cheer!" in neat cursive scribed on their sides. Even their cup sleeves have that logo. Baristas in red t-shirts proclaiming the same abound.
I can only imagine the mayhem to follow. Holiday decorations used to pop up right after Thanksgiving but people get antsy after Halloween. Thanksgiving cornucopias no longer carry the weight they once did--besides all the fun in cornucopia is saying "cornucopia"--so folks need a transition between Halloween and Holiday cheer. A transition Thanksgiving is no longer providing...someone needs to create an innovative campaign re-envisioning the Big Mama of family times--Thanksgiving needs a facelift to bring the kids and a tummy tuck to keep them coming back.
I can only imagine the mayhem to follow. Holiday decorations used to pop up right after Thanksgiving but people get antsy after Halloween. Thanksgiving cornucopias no longer carry the weight they once did--besides all the fun in cornucopia is saying "cornucopia"--so folks need a transition between Halloween and Holiday cheer. A transition Thanksgiving is no longer providing...someone needs to create an innovative campaign re-envisioning the Big Mama of family times--Thanksgiving needs a facelift to bring the kids and a tummy tuck to keep them coming back.
October 29, 2007
The Darjeeling Limited
Yesterday, D'Souza and I stumbled into the theater across from Bloomingdale's on Third Avenue to view The Darjeeling Limited. A film we were drawn to given the inevitable Indian landscape sure to inform the cinematography and my misguided belief that it starred Brad Pitt.
To our delight, it was a wanton romp via train through the Indian countryside in a manner that can best be expressed as the union of The Aquatic Life of Steven Zissou and The Royal Tennenbaums--not just because these films share many cast members but also because they possess a certain cinematic quality that I have no better method of describing (seeing as how I failed at my dream of being a premier film critic given my sheer laziness in noting details or getting past the enjoyment of the film to critique its merit cinematically!). I digress.
The movie began with a short film set at the Hotel Chevalier in Paris starring Natalie Portman and Jason Schwartzmann and a song that went on to haunt the actual movie: Strangers by The Kinks~ I've downloaded it and listened to it a 100x already!
This film reminded me of my month-long journey via trains through Eastern Europe and a childhood in India spent avoiding any sort of train journey given the teeming masses and malodorous conditions. It made me miss the color and hospitality of a country I long to belong in--a country which will never truly be home again--
Indians are quick to welcome tourists as long as they don't overstay that welcome.
Indians aren't so kind with their own prodigal sons and daughters--NRI's (non-resident Indians)--we are not shown the respect or courtesty extended to visitors with our shared history and intimate knowledge of native culture and place--seems unfair, I know! That's India--an unfair Mother who you spurn but yearn to return to, you hope that she will be glad to see you; that she will welcome you home. All she will do is chide you for your delay and distrust the motives at play, yet you return be it out of obligation or fear or hope--if your upbringing was truly Indian, always return to your Mother be it triumphant and glorious or downtrodden and burned--you always go home.
October 24, 2007
Monday Night Madness
This posting has been delayed due to the incredulity and hangover generated by the amount of fun I had on Monday night...
Every Monday, I go to tea with the girls at Saint's Alp Teahouse. We talk about the past week, the week to come, and possible events we might want to attend as a group in the weeks to follow.
Jo informs us on current events, Karen updates us on the latest fashion trends, Lauren supports all discussions with nuggets of market research statistics she's unearthed (one hazard of her job that we love!), Halle presents usually irrelevant anecdotal "evidence/advice" and I make light of it while occassionally interjecting social observations when advice is solicited.
Don't get me wrong, this is all VERY fun. But we've been doing it for five years; while our dynamic has grown comfortable over time it leaves a bit to be desired in the novelty dept. Plus a bunch of late 20's professional female domestic partners sipping tea on a weekly basis can only be SO much fun.
This week after tea, I joined Tommy and our Canadian college pal, who had his girlfriend in tow, for beer pong at Wickey Willy's in NYU-land (on Bleecker St.). I had relatively low expectations for such an evening and planned on only staying the obligatory hour to see my visitors and put in some long overdue face time with Tommy. The night had other plans for me.
What I misguidedly assumed to be Halloween decorations were simply pirate-themed bar accoutrements. After my first $1 draft I began to see the charm of it all.
Tommy's love-of-the-moment, Tessie, made my night. She insisted we form a team, girl power induced camraderie, which I was forced to name. Inspired by the girl pirate's disproportionate rear in the poster above the bar, I suggested Pirate's Booty and we were off to the races.
Tessie, a 22-year-old, blonde, aspiring actress who lives with her parents in Staten Island, worked the room. She charmed every duo in sight into buying us beer. I could afford the hefty $1/beer price tag but it was amazing to see her in action and I could hardly refuse no-strings-attached-beer buying. In an effort to boost team spirit and through no actual suggestion of mine Tactylius (the band whose members were handing out flyers for their upcoming show bought me shots which I happily included Tess on)--apparently they want me to be one of their promoters given my energy and enthusiasm for their unheard album--so I proceeded to hand out their flyers with greater zest than a street vendor hawking perishables.
The particular team of most interest to Tess, I nicknamed "Hat Boys!"--one was wearing a baseball cap with no identifying logo and the other donned a knit, ski cap (he had an Orlando Bloom thing going on)--they kept attempting to get us to lower ourselves to their level of lewd humor and general jackassery. We refused. Finally, what I can assume to be only out of sheer frustation, Baby Bloom threw his orange ping pong ball at my beer as I sat sedately at the bar a few feet away from the tournament table. Of course, in his inebriated state he missed and hit my head instead. Much to Tessie's chagrin and my surprise, he bounded over to apologize but instead of uttering words that might redeem his doing he grabbed my face between his malodorous cigarrette fingers and proceeded to press his lips against mine.
I pulled away and pushed him hard hoping to knock him into the closest table but he was steadier on his feet than I gave him credit for being. He smiled smugly and proceeded to walk away. This kind of brazen behavior would have been excused sans explanation was I still a single woman, but that I am no longer. So I sought to seek revenge for his un-welcome advances--revenge which left unattained.
Another team who befriended us: "Buble Blows"--which sweet Tess assumed was a misspelling of "Bubble Blows" when in fact it pertained to the memebers' disdain for Canadian singer, Michael Buble--comprised of an adorable stylist and her best friend/brotherly figure. They proceeded to verbally berate the offender of my honor. Buble Boy offered to give Baby Bloom a swirly much to the shrieks of delight and horror of the bystanding girls! While I appreciated his act of chivalry, I assured him that no heads needed to be inserted into toilets on my behalf--at least not yet.
Incidentally, Buble Boy fancied me. When I departed from the main room to play pong in the practice room with my Canadian compatriots he quickly joined us and shyly made plays to attract my attention while generally gawking. I quickly explained the existence of D'Souza and released him to the few drunken girls that lined the bar. I suppose a wiser woman would have suspected given his outrage at Bloom Junior's behavior but I am not one to jump the gun, especialy in the boy likes THIS girl dept.
The 20something, New York equivalent of Cheers, Wickey Willy's gets my seal of approval and undoubted return customership. I had so much fun and met more new people than I have all year. With the exception of the unwanted overture which added event to the evening it was unendingly fun and wantonly freeing. For $1 I enjoyed more laughs and beer than ever before--college included.
I know Sweet reader, things like this should be expected at a college haunt, but I attended Nerd Central and was wholly unprepared for this average undertaking.
Every Monday, I go to tea with the girls at Saint's Alp Teahouse. We talk about the past week, the week to come, and possible events we might want to attend as a group in the weeks to follow.
Jo informs us on current events, Karen updates us on the latest fashion trends, Lauren supports all discussions with nuggets of market research statistics she's unearthed (one hazard of her job that we love!), Halle presents usually irrelevant anecdotal "evidence/advice" and I make light of it while occassionally interjecting social observations when advice is solicited.
Don't get me wrong, this is all VERY fun. But we've been doing it for five years; while our dynamic has grown comfortable over time it leaves a bit to be desired in the novelty dept. Plus a bunch of late 20's professional female domestic partners sipping tea on a weekly basis can only be SO much fun.
This week after tea, I joined Tommy and our Canadian college pal, who had his girlfriend in tow, for beer pong at Wickey Willy's in NYU-land (on Bleecker St.). I had relatively low expectations for such an evening and planned on only staying the obligatory hour to see my visitors and put in some long overdue face time with Tommy. The night had other plans for me.
What I misguidedly assumed to be Halloween decorations were simply pirate-themed bar accoutrements. After my first $1 draft I began to see the charm of it all.
Tommy's love-of-the-moment, Tessie, made my night. She insisted we form a team, girl power induced camraderie, which I was forced to name. Inspired by the girl pirate's disproportionate rear in the poster above the bar, I suggested Pirate's Booty and we were off to the races.
Tessie, a 22-year-old, blonde, aspiring actress who lives with her parents in Staten Island, worked the room. She charmed every duo in sight into buying us beer. I could afford the hefty $1/beer price tag but it was amazing to see her in action and I could hardly refuse no-strings-attached-beer buying. In an effort to boost team spirit and through no actual suggestion of mine Tactylius (the band whose members were handing out flyers for their upcoming show bought me shots which I happily included Tess on)--apparently they want me to be one of their promoters given my energy and enthusiasm for their unheard album--so I proceeded to hand out their flyers with greater zest than a street vendor hawking perishables.
The particular team of most interest to Tess, I nicknamed "Hat Boys!"--one was wearing a baseball cap with no identifying logo and the other donned a knit, ski cap (he had an Orlando Bloom thing going on)--they kept attempting to get us to lower ourselves to their level of lewd humor and general jackassery. We refused. Finally, what I can assume to be only out of sheer frustation, Baby Bloom threw his orange ping pong ball at my beer as I sat sedately at the bar a few feet away from the tournament table. Of course, in his inebriated state he missed and hit my head instead. Much to Tessie's chagrin and my surprise, he bounded over to apologize but instead of uttering words that might redeem his doing he grabbed my face between his malodorous cigarrette fingers and proceeded to press his lips against mine.
I pulled away and pushed him hard hoping to knock him into the closest table but he was steadier on his feet than I gave him credit for being. He smiled smugly and proceeded to walk away. This kind of brazen behavior would have been excused sans explanation was I still a single woman, but that I am no longer. So I sought to seek revenge for his un-welcome advances--revenge which left unattained.
Another team who befriended us: "Buble Blows"--which sweet Tess assumed was a misspelling of "Bubble Blows" when in fact it pertained to the memebers' disdain for Canadian singer, Michael Buble--comprised of an adorable stylist and her best friend/brotherly figure. They proceeded to verbally berate the offender of my honor. Buble Boy offered to give Baby Bloom a swirly much to the shrieks of delight and horror of the bystanding girls! While I appreciated his act of chivalry, I assured him that no heads needed to be inserted into toilets on my behalf--at least not yet.
Incidentally, Buble Boy fancied me. When I departed from the main room to play pong in the practice room with my Canadian compatriots he quickly joined us and shyly made plays to attract my attention while generally gawking. I quickly explained the existence of D'Souza and released him to the few drunken girls that lined the bar. I suppose a wiser woman would have suspected given his outrage at Bloom Junior's behavior but I am not one to jump the gun, especialy in the boy likes THIS girl dept.
The 20something, New York equivalent of Cheers, Wickey Willy's gets my seal of approval and undoubted return customership. I had so much fun and met more new people than I have all year. With the exception of the unwanted overture which added event to the evening it was unendingly fun and wantonly freeing. For $1 I enjoyed more laughs and beer than ever before--college included.
I know Sweet reader, things like this should be expected at a college haunt, but I attended Nerd Central and was wholly unprepared for this average undertaking.
October 22, 2007
Sick Dog
Luckey contracted a skin infection that I kept hoping would heal itself. Finally, my mom and D'Souza dragged coaxed me into taking him to the vet who prescribed a wound cleanser and a steroid which cleared up the condition over the next few weeks.
BAD PET OWNER!
October 18, 2007
Happy Birthday to ME!
Happy Birthday!
I'm so glad you came to our department.
Your cheeriness, indignation, grace, aplomb, and ability to discuss politics, theory and current events have utterly endeared you to me.
Many happy returns of the day~
The above was in my inbox this morning when I got to work. I love colleague love. The department also sent me a dozen tangerine roses--they had NO IDEA those were my absolute favorites!
D'Souza's pink vase filled with the most exquisite long-stemmed white roses with bright pink tips just arrived. With a delightful card that read: "Here's wishing you the happiest of birthdays. P.S. I searched for hours but couldn't find any tangerine roses. Hope these will suffice."
They will MORE than suffice. They're absolutely gorgeous!
I'm so glad you came to our department.
Your cheeriness, indignation, grace, aplomb, and ability to discuss politics, theory and current events have utterly endeared you to me.
Many happy returns of the day~
The above was in my inbox this morning when I got to work. I love colleague love. The department also sent me a dozen tangerine roses--they had NO IDEA those were my absolute favorites!
D'Souza's pink vase filled with the most exquisite long-stemmed white roses with bright pink tips just arrived. With a delightful card that read: "Here's wishing you the happiest of birthdays. P.S. I searched for hours but couldn't find any tangerine roses. Hope these will suffice."
They will MORE than suffice. They're absolutely gorgeous!
October 16, 2007
Heard in the Hallway
"What's your favorite word?"
"Hmm...I don't know."
"Well, think about it. What is it?"
"Ok."
"Your favorite word is, 'Ok?' Really?"
"What's wrong with it? It works in pretty much any situation! Wait. What's your favorite word?"
"No."
"No? As in no you don't want to tell me or no is your favorite word?"
"The latter."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Your favorite word is No, but you question OK as a favorite. What's up with that?"
"I don't know."
"Fine."
"Hmm...I don't know."
"Well, think about it. What is it?"
"Ok."
"Your favorite word is, 'Ok?' Really?"
"What's wrong with it? It works in pretty much any situation! Wait. What's your favorite word?"
"No."
"No? As in no you don't want to tell me or no is your favorite word?"
"The latter."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Your favorite word is No, but you question OK as a favorite. What's up with that?"
"I don't know."
"Fine."
SuperCuts
After work yesterday, I made my way to SuperCuts on 32nd St. on 3rd Ave. where I proceeded to have the majority of my hair chopped off.
I'm not sure what brought on the sudden urge to purge dead cells, but I can't help but attribute it to the looming b'day.
After the motherly Hispanic woman blew my hair dry--which took a whole lot longer than cutting it--she charged me a whopping $32.48 (thanks to a $2 coupon you can get from SuperCuts online) for services rendered and I skipped out of there into the crisp night air.
It would have been cheaper to wait till Oct. 24--the next available date--for a trip to the Aveda Institute at 233 Spring St. where a trainee cut is just $18. They also take the time to straight iron individual strands for no extra charge--all in the name of learning/honing their hair craft!
I'm not sure what brought on the sudden urge to purge dead cells, but I can't help but attribute it to the looming b'day.
After the motherly Hispanic woman blew my hair dry--which took a whole lot longer than cutting it--she charged me a whopping $32.48 (thanks to a $2 coupon you can get from SuperCuts online) for services rendered and I skipped out of there into the crisp night air.
It would have been cheaper to wait till Oct. 24--the next available date--for a trip to the Aveda Institute at 233 Spring St. where a trainee cut is just $18. They also take the time to straight iron individual strands for no extra charge--all in the name of learning/honing their hair craft!
October 10, 2007
Preview: The Year in Review (2007)
There is still 1/4 of 2007 left, but with my birthday approaching I'm feeling retrospective...
A preview of this year's "Year in Review!" follows:
Started working again.
Got a boyfriend.
Ended the life-with-roomies phase in life.
Finally, decided to go to business school.
Started paying off debt with a definitive plan of attack to ending the cycle of poverty. Good credit TAKE me back!
I guess we can term this year the Year of Responsibility.
In an effort to keep up this facade of maturity; I will NOT term it The Year that Fun Died!
Bitterness and jocular undertones aside, this year is truly the Year of D'Souza because the underlying reason for each life change was precipitated by his not-so-gentle nudging. I awakened into a world of consequences for the carefree life of Apathy I had been leading since college.
That's right, I'm admitting it. My so called life was nothing but a collage of passive reactions (in situations that called for action). I needed rescuing....and he has been my knight in shining armor. Rescuing me from debt, providing me with health insurance, and driving me to seek out opportunities for a higher form of self-sufficiency. Rebutting the survival argument with a real push for thriv-al!
Depite my disdain for Jane Austen, I find myself feeling a little Elizabeth Bennett in as Elizabethan shrew who has been tamed by Mr. Darcy.
Empowerment has overpowered me although I feel utterly enslaved to the reparations I must make before experiencing the fruit of true freedom. Thus I describe 2007--The year I came to my senses!
A preview of this year's "Year in Review!" follows:
Started working again.
Got a boyfriend.
Ended the life-with-roomies phase in life.
Finally, decided to go to business school.
Started paying off debt with a definitive plan of attack to ending the cycle of poverty. Good credit TAKE me back!
I guess we can term this year the Year of Responsibility.
In an effort to keep up this facade of maturity; I will NOT term it The Year that Fun Died!
Bitterness and jocular undertones aside, this year is truly the Year of D'Souza because the underlying reason for each life change was precipitated by his not-so-gentle nudging. I awakened into a world of consequences for the carefree life of Apathy I had been leading since college.
That's right, I'm admitting it. My so called life was nothing but a collage of passive reactions (in situations that called for action). I needed rescuing....and he has been my knight in shining armor. Rescuing me from debt, providing me with health insurance, and driving me to seek out opportunities for a higher form of self-sufficiency. Rebutting the survival argument with a real push for thriv-al!
Depite my disdain for Jane Austen, I find myself feeling a little Elizabeth Bennett in as Elizabethan shrew who has been tamed by Mr. Darcy.
Empowerment has overpowered me although I feel utterly enslaved to the reparations I must make before experiencing the fruit of true freedom. Thus I describe 2007--The year I came to my senses!
October 9, 2007
Organatrix
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack!
Jo--the journalist--termed me an organatrix a few years ago (a play on organized and dominatrix!)--clever girl! I've recently quit living up to the title, so a concerted effort will be made moving forward to resurrect my former self.
Mondays--Tea
Tuesdays--Seasonal/Cultural Event
Wednesdays--Reading at BN or another venue
Thursdays--Gallery opening (Karen will assist by providing her art expertise and perusing the latest issue of The Gallery Guide--bonus: free boooze!)
Fridays--Open for new and interesting activities!
This week Crash Mansion for live music!
Saturdays--Volunteering with New York Cares
Sundays--Museum Events
This week the Museum of the City of New York is presenting Dudes! I'm Stoked!--a take on adventure sports (bonus: HOT 97 will be there, yay for giveaways).
Jo--the journalist--termed me an organatrix a few years ago (a play on organized and dominatrix!)--clever girl! I've recently quit living up to the title, so a concerted effort will be made moving forward to resurrect my former self.
Mondays--Tea
Tuesdays--Seasonal/Cultural Event
Wednesdays--Reading at BN or another venue
Thursdays--Gallery opening (Karen will assist by providing her art expertise and perusing the latest issue of The Gallery Guide--bonus: free boooze!)
Fridays--Open for new and interesting activities!
This week Crash Mansion for live music!
Saturdays--Volunteering with New York Cares
Sundays--Museum Events
This week the Museum of the City of New York is presenting Dudes! I'm Stoked!--a take on adventure sports (bonus: HOT 97 will be there, yay for giveaways).
October 8, 2007
Vacation Plans
It's been ages since I went on vacation. AGES! In fact, it will be a YEAR in November. One WHOLE year!
In light of this sad reality, D'Souza and I are planning not one but TWO trips.
The first is to Toronto post-Christmas. I've never seen the Falls. Plus Tracey raved about Canada with such fervor after her trip this summer, I'm giving it a go. The CN Tower *his* and Casa Loma *mine* are the highlights of this upcoming sojourn.
Clearly a winter trip to the southern Arctic (as Canada is!) cannot compare to a summer jaunt but I'm also the woman who keeps visiting Prague in the dead of winter. I'll be wearing my Uggs and slapping on some thermal under garb so as not to freeze!
To go is better than not to go. You can put that on my tombstone.
The second trip is to Mardi Gras. I am well aware of the fact that New Orleans at the height of bacchanalia is not the romantic trip most envision with their cohabitating partner, but I've ALWAYS wanted to visit the French Quarter at American Carneval. My excitement is only contained by how far away that trip still is. Incidentally, we intend to celebrate our 1-year anniversary (Feb. 12) and Valentine's Day jointly--a bit ahead of schedule.
In light of this sad reality, D'Souza and I are planning not one but TWO trips.
The first is to Toronto post-Christmas. I've never seen the Falls. Plus Tracey raved about Canada with such fervor after her trip this summer, I'm giving it a go. The CN Tower *his* and Casa Loma *mine* are the highlights of this upcoming sojourn.
Clearly a winter trip to the southern Arctic (as Canada is!) cannot compare to a summer jaunt but I'm also the woman who keeps visiting Prague in the dead of winter. I'll be wearing my Uggs and slapping on some thermal under garb so as not to freeze!
To go is better than not to go. You can put that on my tombstone.
The second trip is to Mardi Gras. I am well aware of the fact that New Orleans at the height of bacchanalia is not the romantic trip most envision with their cohabitating partner, but I've ALWAYS wanted to visit the French Quarter at American Carneval. My excitement is only contained by how far away that trip still is. Incidentally, we intend to celebrate our 1-year anniversary (Feb. 12) and Valentine's Day jointly--a bit ahead of schedule.
Three things inadmissible in a FIGHT
D'Souza has a tedency to use these three modes of defense against me when we fight (which is a healthy amount--approximately once every two weeks!):
1. "I know that's how you really feel because you said so on your blog..."
In a voice that channels the pain of a child who discovered Santa isn't real!
2. "I did it for your own good because I know more than you about a decision that impacts solely you..."
With the authority of a elementary school teacher dealing with a truculent student.
3. "You're being irrational. If you were to look at this situation logically..."
Like every man trying to argue with a woman who is torn between the urge to sob and beat her fists into his chest.
Now, I admit number 3 could easily be argued in his favor. After all, rationality has been the main bone of contention between sparring men and women since Eden itself. However, I want to point out that the fact remains that logic is moot when a woman feels scorned. Rationality is secondary to the strength she must muster to keep her emotions in check.
I will not extol the weakenesses inherent in 1 and 2! I think they speak for themselves in being a poor course of action when Sweet is in a Vicious mood.
1. "I know that's how you really feel because you said so on your blog..."
In a voice that channels the pain of a child who discovered Santa isn't real!
2. "I did it for your own good because I know more than you about a decision that impacts solely you..."
With the authority of a elementary school teacher dealing with a truculent student.
3. "You're being irrational. If you were to look at this situation logically..."
Like every man trying to argue with a woman who is torn between the urge to sob and beat her fists into his chest.
Now, I admit number 3 could easily be argued in his favor. After all, rationality has been the main bone of contention between sparring men and women since Eden itself. However, I want to point out that the fact remains that logic is moot when a woman feels scorned. Rationality is secondary to the strength she must muster to keep her emotions in check.
I will not extol the weakenesses inherent in 1 and 2! I think they speak for themselves in being a poor course of action when Sweet is in a Vicious mood.
October 3, 2007
Confessions of a Former CL Junkie
A friend of mine, who shares my serial CL nature, forwarded me the exchange you see in the two posts below.
I love CL. Especially CL New York. Deeper still CL Manhattan Personals. Anything goes and everyone goes with it.
These are classic examples of what people get away with asking in the wide world of the web. Even the oddest requests are heard and often met--albeit on the asker's terms, but that's New York!
I hope she gets hers and he gets his...Knowing what you want is fleeting.... soon you won't want it anymore--that usually coincides with when you get what you thought it wast that you wanted.
I love CL. Especially CL New York. Deeper still CL Manhattan Personals. Anything goes and everyone goes with it.
These are classic examples of what people get away with asking in the wide world of the web. Even the oddest requests are heard and often met--albeit on the asker's terms, but that's New York!
I hope she gets hers and he gets his...Knowing what you want is fleeting.... soon you won't want it anymore--that usually coincides with when you get what you thought it wast that you wanted.
The Question
Okay, I'm tired of beating around the bush.
I'm a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy. I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all.
Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250K. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. $250,000 won't getme to Central Park West. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?
Here are my questions specifically: Where do you single rich men hang out?
Give me specifics- bars,restaurants, gyms-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my feelings-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?
Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper eastside so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there?
Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investmentbanker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?
How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY!
Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way.
Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.
I'm a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy. I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all.
Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250K. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. $250,000 won't getme to Central Park West. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?
Here are my questions specifically: Where do you single rich men hang out?
Give me specifics- bars,restaurants, gyms-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my feelings-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?
Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper eastside so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there?
Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investmentbanker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?
How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY!
Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way.
Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.
The Answer
Dear Pers-:
I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament.
Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it. Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple acrappy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity...in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful! So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset.
Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you! So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold...hence the rub...marriage. It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease.
In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.
Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So,I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard tobelieve that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.
By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation.With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way. Classic "pump and dump." I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.
Rob Campbell
J.P.Morgan
Diversified Industrials Investment Banking
277 Park Avenue 16/F
New York, NY 10172
I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament.
Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it. Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple acrappy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity...in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful! So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset.
Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you! So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold...hence the rub...marriage. It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease.
In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.
Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So,I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard tobelieve that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.
By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation.With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way. Classic "pump and dump." I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.
Rob Campbell
J.P.Morgan
Diversified Industrials Investment Banking
277 Park Avenue 16/F
New York, NY 10172
Happy Birthday, D'Souza!
Happy Birthday, Jaan!
I will proceed to enumerate 27 things I love most about C--
1. He is a good man.
2. He will always stop for Starbucks and Falooda--though he consumes neither.
3. He has the most unbelievable shoulders.
4. He frequently picks me up and twirls me in public.
5. He's not afraid to express his feelings in private.
6. He's a man's man. Go Sports!
7. He eats meat--no meal is complete without MEAT!
8. He's not chatty, but he won't avoid a heated conversation.
9. When I stand, barefoot, his chin rests perfectly on my head.
10. He is humble.
11. He is intelligent.
12. He would give a stranger the shirt off his back.
13. He does not impose his worldview on others--aka ME.
14. He is open to change.
15. He's spontaneous.
16. He drives like a racecar driver.
17. He is fiscally savvy. His Excel sheets never cease to amaze me!
18. His voice is SUPER sexy.
19. His smile lights up my world.
20. He is playful.
21. He doesn't care for babies but he loves puppies.
22. He always DOES what needs to be DONE!
23. He pushes me to be a better person--despite my whining.
24. He is ambitious, focused, and driven.
25. He's not afraid to make tough decisions.
26. He is steadfast. His persistence isn't annoying.
27. He is unselfish. He puts family first!
I will proceed to enumerate 27 things I love most about C--
1. He is a good man.
2. He will always stop for Starbucks and Falooda--though he consumes neither.
3. He has the most unbelievable shoulders.
4. He frequently picks me up and twirls me in public.
5. He's not afraid to express his feelings in private.
6. He's a man's man. Go Sports!
7. He eats meat--no meal is complete without MEAT!
8. He's not chatty, but he won't avoid a heated conversation.
9. When I stand, barefoot, his chin rests perfectly on my head.
10. He is humble.
11. He is intelligent.
12. He would give a stranger the shirt off his back.
13. He does not impose his worldview on others--aka ME.
14. He is open to change.
15. He's spontaneous.
16. He drives like a racecar driver.
17. He is fiscally savvy. His Excel sheets never cease to amaze me!
18. His voice is SUPER sexy.
19. His smile lights up my world.
20. He is playful.
21. He doesn't care for babies but he loves puppies.
22. He always DOES what needs to be DONE!
23. He pushes me to be a better person--despite my whining.
24. He is ambitious, focused, and driven.
25. He's not afraid to make tough decisions.
26. He is steadfast. His persistence isn't annoying.
27. He is unselfish. He puts family first!
October 2, 2007
Seen on the Subway
I saw two separate acts of kindness on the subway recently:
1. A middle-aged Asian man gently reached over to the diminutive Indian girl beside him and adjusted the strap of her tank top which had slid off her shoulder. It wasn't sexual or creepy in any way. It was a fatherly gesture--something I have never seen between strangers. She wasn't the least bit offended. She merely smiled and nodded, then went back to listening to her music.
2. A blind, female, African-American panhandler was soliciting subway patrons for food, cash, or clothing. The red-headed man beside me prior to disembarking at 77th street took off his hoodie and handed it to her. He gently clasped her arm and pressed the shirt off his back into her hand. Without saying another word he exited with his companions into the balmy evening.
For all the instances of subway rage and impolite subway behavior, these two incidents have renewed my faith in my fellow New York dwellers. It was touching to see humanity that close up!
1. A middle-aged Asian man gently reached over to the diminutive Indian girl beside him and adjusted the strap of her tank top which had slid off her shoulder. It wasn't sexual or creepy in any way. It was a fatherly gesture--something I have never seen between strangers. She wasn't the least bit offended. She merely smiled and nodded, then went back to listening to her music.
2. A blind, female, African-American panhandler was soliciting subway patrons for food, cash, or clothing. The red-headed man beside me prior to disembarking at 77th street took off his hoodie and handed it to her. He gently clasped her arm and pressed the shirt off his back into her hand. Without saying another word he exited with his companions into the balmy evening.
For all the instances of subway rage and impolite subway behavior, these two incidents have renewed my faith in my fellow New York dwellers. It was touching to see humanity that close up!
Sunrise to Sunset
I did not grumble when D'Souza roused me at 6am on Sunday for our voyage North.
We departed promptly at 6:17am from Lakeside Trail...the sun rose on the way. I think that might be the first sunrise I've seen in the '00s.
Later that day, we departed from University Ave. after a HORRIBLE Indian buffet at Diamonds--the only Indian joint in downtown Ithaca--(outrageous consideration the number of Indians roaming around the Cornell campus that they don't have decent desi food!). We saw the sunset as we crossed the GW Bridge at 6:42pm.
I don't think I've ever seen the sunrise and set on the same day--especially not whilst riding beside someone special through a scenic slice of the American landscape.
We departed promptly at 6:17am from Lakeside Trail...the sun rose on the way. I think that might be the first sunrise I've seen in the '00s.
Later that day, we departed from University Ave. after a HORRIBLE Indian buffet at Diamonds--the only Indian joint in downtown Ithaca--(outrageous consideration the number of Indians roaming around the Cornell campus that they don't have decent desi food!). We saw the sunset as we crossed the GW Bridge at 6:42pm.
I don't think I've ever seen the sunrise and set on the same day--especially not whilst riding beside someone special through a scenic slice of the American landscape.
You Gotta have Faith Faith Faith
Though I love the George Michael song...this entry is in no way related to that late '80s classic.
On the ride back from Ithaca on Sunday, D'Souza turned down the radio to reveal to me a crisis of faith. He's a devout Catholic. A devotion I deeply respect. So when he confessed to me that he didn't understand how some people could be given such a sad lot in life when predestination was the premise of Catholicism, I was relieved and alarmed. Relieved that he questioned authority and alarmed that he questioned his faith. He clarified a common misconception about free will which I struggled with.
He explained that predestination does not predicate decision-making. Said another way, just because God know what we will do in the future he has no influence our decision. Free will dictates that we are the sole bearers of that responsibility.
If given the choice between sleeping in and mass I don't see much of a choice--I sleep in. D'Souza, on the other hand, pulled in front of a church to say a quiet prayer--on our way back from Ithaca--since no mass times were possible during our journey.
On the ride back from Ithaca on Sunday, D'Souza turned down the radio to reveal to me a crisis of faith. He's a devout Catholic. A devotion I deeply respect. So when he confessed to me that he didn't understand how some people could be given such a sad lot in life when predestination was the premise of Catholicism, I was relieved and alarmed. Relieved that he questioned authority and alarmed that he questioned his faith. He clarified a common misconception about free will which I struggled with.
He explained that predestination does not predicate decision-making. Said another way, just because God know what we will do in the future he has no influence our decision. Free will dictates that we are the sole bearers of that responsibility.
If given the choice between sleeping in and mass I don't see much of a choice--I sleep in. D'Souza, on the other hand, pulled in front of a church to say a quiet prayer--on our way back from Ithaca--since no mass times were possible during our journey.
September 8, 2007
Dance Manhattan
My mom presented D'Souza and I with 4 classes at Dance Manhattan for our upcoming birthdays. His is Oct. 3 and mine is Oct. 18. We turn 27.
Luckey's is on Oct. 10 and he will be 2 (in puppy years--for a dog his size--that's 10 in people years).
We missed our first class yesterday because I had to haul ass to Jersey to be in the fashion show fundraiser. My mom was in it too. Good times abounded. Alright, not really, but it was for a good cause.
Luckey's is on Oct. 10 and he will be 2 (in puppy years--for a dog his size--that's 10 in people years).
We missed our first class yesterday because I had to haul ass to Jersey to be in the fashion show fundraiser. My mom was in it too. Good times abounded. Alright, not really, but it was for a good cause.
Bowery Poetry Club
All fans and eager Sweet sighters are welcome to watch me read at the Bowery Poetry Club on September 29, 2007--sometime between 12pm-2pm--hope some of you will come out to show your support.
For the haters, I think the venue is pro-booing so you should come out as well. My poetry is much more fun to mock while I'm reading it in front of a live audience.
For the haters, I think the venue is pro-booing so you should come out as well. My poetry is much more fun to mock while I'm reading it in front of a live audience.
Plan B
I have recently put Plan B into effect in my life.
Is this Plan B a
a) form of emergency contraception?
b) decision to attend business school?
c) clear understanding that I must give up on Plan A and follow the alternative plan for my life?
d) all of the above.
e) none of the above.
Is this Plan B a
a) form of emergency contraception?
b) decision to attend business school?
c) clear understanding that I must give up on Plan A and follow the alternative plan for my life?
d) all of the above.
e) none of the above.
The Budget
D'Souza is fastidious about maintaining his finances in an ornately organized Excel spreadsheet. I was honored when I got my own tab on said spreadsheet a few months ago...
Recently we sat down and created a budget together--a budget he later threw out the window given my penchant for whining about the limitations it imposed on my lifestyle--
In creating this budget I was reminded of his frequent assurances that he was a BIG spender. However big spenders do not budget to the second decimal point. I was amazed at his versatility in squandering wealth distributed to him and saving money hard-earned by him. I suppose this is second nature to most people but I am a product of opposite world. I always had a hard time spending someone else's money and absolutely revel in extinguishing my self-created resources. While there is no guilt in my penniless proclivity there are plenty of consequences.
That said, some props must be given in my ability to save and sensibly utilize resources provided by others. It must speak to my inherent character in some meager way. Well, I certainly hope it does.
The point of this budget entry being this: I've always balanced my checkbook in my head and that's exactly why I have over-draft protection.
Recently we sat down and created a budget together--a budget he later threw out the window given my penchant for whining about the limitations it imposed on my lifestyle--
In creating this budget I was reminded of his frequent assurances that he was a BIG spender. However big spenders do not budget to the second decimal point. I was amazed at his versatility in squandering wealth distributed to him and saving money hard-earned by him. I suppose this is second nature to most people but I am a product of opposite world. I always had a hard time spending someone else's money and absolutely revel in extinguishing my self-created resources. While there is no guilt in my penniless proclivity there are plenty of consequences.
That said, some props must be given in my ability to save and sensibly utilize resources provided by others. It must speak to my inherent character in some meager way. Well, I certainly hope it does.
The point of this budget entry being this: I've always balanced my checkbook in my head and that's exactly why I have over-draft protection.
Roadtrip USA
Last night at 12am when we got home from the Sri-Lankan fashion show fundraiser at an Indian restaurant in Parsipanny, New Jersey, I was wide awake and ready to plan our cross-country Christmas roadtrip. Sadly, D'Souza was sleepy.
That's a theme in my life now.
I'm a night owl. I have professed this since the beginning. Anyone who knows me will attest to my nocturnal ways. When I met him, he led me to believe he was a night person as well. Of course, he was also clear about being a morning person. A reality I avoided till we started sharing a small space. He claims that back then he only needed 3-4 hours of sleep a night to be fully-functioning member of society. I wouldn't have bought into this claim except that in the early phases of dating he did just that. Recall the Denver date--when he flew in from Denver on a thursday to take me to dinner and flew back the next morning for a meeting in Denver.
I digress.
So, since he travels Monday-Thursday and our only time together is Friday-Sunday I find myself in a predicament. My weekends are now spent going to bed earlier than weeknights and waking up at the same time. Though he lets me sleep in on the weekends but by 9am...I'm wide awake having gone to bed SO early the night before.
Need I remind you reader, I used to go out till the wee hours of the morning and have no desire to change that lifestyle. I don't see why that has to be a life reserved for the single. In fact it is not. I have plenty of couple friends who go on dates into the wee hours of the morning. It is their right and priviege as those that pay the premium to live under the bright lights of the big city.
I can see an argument for this being the lifestyle of the young...but at almost 27, are the arguments against my age already apt?
That's a theme in my life now.
I'm a night owl. I have professed this since the beginning. Anyone who knows me will attest to my nocturnal ways. When I met him, he led me to believe he was a night person as well. Of course, he was also clear about being a morning person. A reality I avoided till we started sharing a small space. He claims that back then he only needed 3-4 hours of sleep a night to be fully-functioning member of society. I wouldn't have bought into this claim except that in the early phases of dating he did just that. Recall the Denver date--when he flew in from Denver on a thursday to take me to dinner and flew back the next morning for a meeting in Denver.
I digress.
So, since he travels Monday-Thursday and our only time together is Friday-Sunday I find myself in a predicament. My weekends are now spent going to bed earlier than weeknights and waking up at the same time. Though he lets me sleep in on the weekends but by 9am...I'm wide awake having gone to bed SO early the night before.
Need I remind you reader, I used to go out till the wee hours of the morning and have no desire to change that lifestyle. I don't see why that has to be a life reserved for the single. In fact it is not. I have plenty of couple friends who go on dates into the wee hours of the morning. It is their right and priviege as those that pay the premium to live under the bright lights of the big city.
I can see an argument for this being the lifestyle of the young...but at almost 27, are the arguments against my age already apt?
August 27, 2007
August 23, 2007
Thank You, Commerce Bank!
There is a Commerce Bank on the corner of 43rd St. on 3rd Ave.
I have been to this location three times this week, heavily laden with coins my mother has been collecting for years.
In quarters alone my total was $167.42. Over the following two days I racked up another $120 bringing the lump sum figure to a whopping $280!
How remarkable to carry sacks of change to the Penny Arcade and depart with feather weight bills. I am grateful for the surcharge-free Commerce Bank.
Hereforeto, I reject my prior confession of love for the CoinStar machine which charges an egregious 8cents to the $1. Boo!
I have been to this location three times this week, heavily laden with coins my mother has been collecting for years.
In quarters alone my total was $167.42. Over the following two days I racked up another $120 bringing the lump sum figure to a whopping $280!
How remarkable to carry sacks of change to the Penny Arcade and depart with feather weight bills. I am grateful for the surcharge-free Commerce Bank.
Hereforeto, I reject my prior confession of love for the CoinStar machine which charges an egregious 8cents to the $1. Boo!
August 20, 2007
The Lakehouse
Don't get excited gentle reader, this will not be a review of the eponymous Keanu Reeves--Sandra Bullock film...it will instead highlight the weekend I spent with D'Souza at my mother and her husband's lake residence in New Jersey.
Now, the thing about D'Souza is that he loves the lake. Maybe it's the Indian Navy ex-cadet within or the fisherman roots imbued in Goans, but the fact remains: the man is a water baby. He loves boats and he loves bodies of water. In fact, he is adept in commandeering vessels on bodies of water. Water falling from the sky won't keep him on dry land. He will attach the battery to the motor and row his way to open water. Removing credence from the saying, "No man is an island unto himself!" After all, when he is in that boat that's exactly what he is.
I digress.
On Saturday, my mother had a little party for her friends. About 20 folks her age showed up and I was enlisted to cook for this event. Mind you, I've spent the majority of my years living solo using my oven for storage; however, since meeting D'Souza and establishing a system of domesticity I've been cooking. Well, perhaps preparing meals is a better description of what I really do.
The menu for the party was as follows:
Okra Kathi Rolls
Chicken Satay with Peanut sauce
Paneer Tikka
Cucumber Sandwiches
Mom's handiwork:
Samosas (Fresh out of the oven, defrosted just as I recall growing up.)
Tandoori Chicken (Her single most successful dish!)
Chocolate Brownies (Made from scratch--she used to solicit Betty Crocker!)
Lamb kebabs and Chole were contributed by Indian aunties who know to cook and practice the seemingly lost culinary art.
The event was an interesting mix of casually dressed, middle-aged white folks with crude senses of humor who cracked dirty jokes and drink lite beer (my mom's husband's friends) and sedate, carefully-dressed, Indian doctors who discussed global politics in hushed tones and listened attentively to the former folks extol their jokes whilst sipping wine (my mom's friends). No riots broke out. In fact, the entire 5pm-1am event passed without so much as an argument.
The lead singer of the Rascals was in attedance with his wife--also a musician--which made for great stories of tours from yesteryear.
In typical fashion, my mom did an excellent job of attending HER event. My old roomie used to pull this scheme: invite a bunch of people over to our place, offer them a great many treats in advance, and then spend the duration of the party as a guest at said event munching on food and drink while mingling at will having not helped in the preparation or serving of above. It's one of my biggest pet peeves.
My notion of hosting involves elaborate preparation of dishes and drinks ahead of time, presenting them in an artistic manner during the event, and constant surveillance of guest plates and glasses to ensure that they are filled. Not to say I don't mingle but whilst meeting and greeting I perform the dual role of observing and serving.
My mom did clean up after the party--I craftily fell asleep before midnight--with much help from D'Souza (though he didn't mention it, I KNOW he was hugely helpful per usual).
Now, the thing about D'Souza is that he loves the lake. Maybe it's the Indian Navy ex-cadet within or the fisherman roots imbued in Goans, but the fact remains: the man is a water baby. He loves boats and he loves bodies of water. In fact, he is adept in commandeering vessels on bodies of water. Water falling from the sky won't keep him on dry land. He will attach the battery to the motor and row his way to open water. Removing credence from the saying, "No man is an island unto himself!" After all, when he is in that boat that's exactly what he is.
I digress.
On Saturday, my mother had a little party for her friends. About 20 folks her age showed up and I was enlisted to cook for this event. Mind you, I've spent the majority of my years living solo using my oven for storage; however, since meeting D'Souza and establishing a system of domesticity I've been cooking. Well, perhaps preparing meals is a better description of what I really do.
The menu for the party was as follows:
Okra Kathi Rolls
Chicken Satay with Peanut sauce
Paneer Tikka
Cucumber Sandwiches
Mom's handiwork:
Samosas (Fresh out of the oven, defrosted just as I recall growing up.)
Tandoori Chicken (Her single most successful dish!)
Chocolate Brownies (Made from scratch--she used to solicit Betty Crocker!)
Lamb kebabs and Chole were contributed by Indian aunties who know to cook and practice the seemingly lost culinary art.
The event was an interesting mix of casually dressed, middle-aged white folks with crude senses of humor who cracked dirty jokes and drink lite beer (my mom's husband's friends) and sedate, carefully-dressed, Indian doctors who discussed global politics in hushed tones and listened attentively to the former folks extol their jokes whilst sipping wine (my mom's friends). No riots broke out. In fact, the entire 5pm-1am event passed without so much as an argument.
The lead singer of the Rascals was in attedance with his wife--also a musician--which made for great stories of tours from yesteryear.
In typical fashion, my mom did an excellent job of attending HER event. My old roomie used to pull this scheme: invite a bunch of people over to our place, offer them a great many treats in advance, and then spend the duration of the party as a guest at said event munching on food and drink while mingling at will having not helped in the preparation or serving of above. It's one of my biggest pet peeves.
My notion of hosting involves elaborate preparation of dishes and drinks ahead of time, presenting them in an artistic manner during the event, and constant surveillance of guest plates and glasses to ensure that they are filled. Not to say I don't mingle but whilst meeting and greeting I perform the dual role of observing and serving.
My mom did clean up after the party--I craftily fell asleep before midnight--with much help from D'Souza (though he didn't mention it, I KNOW he was hugely helpful per usual).
August 14, 2007
August 5, 2007
D'souza's repsonse to Lars
Lars,
For what its worth I am sorry I even contemplated such an inhumane act. I underestimated your communication skills and technological prowess as is evident by your ability to send email and construct sentences.
It's a wonder what 79 cents at PETCO can get you. I always thought I was hearing the words ''r-i-c-e p-a-d-d-i-e-s" since we got you but assumed it was Sweet's stomach craving rice. This email has made it all clear.
To make it up to you, I'll throw you a party over the weekend. You can have all the rice you want. If you need variety in your rice or anything else like having a memorial service for Sukino, feel free to drop me an email.
As for your arch nemisis Shinto, rest assured that once I get him this weekend, I'll make sure Luckey & he have some quality time together.
Peace,
D'Souza
For what its worth I am sorry I even contemplated such an inhumane act. I underestimated your communication skills and technological prowess as is evident by your ability to send email and construct sentences.
It's a wonder what 79 cents at PETCO can get you. I always thought I was hearing the words ''r-i-c-e p-a-d-d-i-e-s" since we got you but assumed it was Sweet's stomach craving rice. This email has made it all clear.
To make it up to you, I'll throw you a party over the weekend. You can have all the rice you want. If you need variety in your rice or anything else like having a memorial service for Sukino, feel free to drop me an email.
As for your arch nemisis Shinto, rest assured that once I get him this weekend, I'll make sure Luckey & he have some quality time together.
Peace,
D'Souza
D'Souzas
D'souzas little sister is starting her MBA at Cornell. We dropped her off and set her up for school....here's the cutest family shot! Isn't she adorable
August 1, 2007
BABY kicked off Plane--YAY!
PLANE BABIES BOO
I found the above article highly distressing.
I am all for babies and their caregivers having their own section on planes and being asked to deplane for causing a ruckus. After all, who hasn't been stuck near a howling baby on a long flight and hated every moment of it--who can sleep through THAT. EEK! Unless it's YOUR CRYING BABY (even then I think you only put up with it because you can't abandon it without a nanny/grandparent/other parent taking it on for the journey) it is beyond me who would want to be sitting next to IT vs. an ADULT--who would never cry at an ear-splitting volume. If so, they would and SHOULD be asked to leave as well.
YIKES!
I found the above article highly distressing.
I am all for babies and their caregivers having their own section on planes and being asked to deplane for causing a ruckus. After all, who hasn't been stuck near a howling baby on a long flight and hated every moment of it--who can sleep through THAT. EEK! Unless it's YOUR CRYING BABY (even then I think you only put up with it because you can't abandon it without a nanny/grandparent/other parent taking it on for the journey) it is beyond me who would want to be sitting next to IT vs. an ADULT--who would never cry at an ear-splitting volume. If so, they would and SHOULD be asked to leave as well.
YIKES!
July 25, 2007
I wonder if you will get this...
I just logged into friendster for the first time in what seems like, well, the first time. I saw an absolutely stunning picture of you and I just wanted to let you know that you kick serious ass.
I feel compelled to comment mainly b/c your message to me pointed me to Desi Doll, the reading of which made me smile with memories of what it was like to spend time with beautiful and brilliant women. I hope that your brilliance is still shining away.
Take care of yourself. You are missed more places than you know.
--Krum
Washington, DC
Thank you for this e-mail...it totally made my day!
I feel compelled to comment mainly b/c your message to me pointed me to Desi Doll, the reading of which made me smile with memories of what it was like to spend time with beautiful and brilliant women. I hope that your brilliance is still shining away.
Take care of yourself. You are missed more places than you know.
--Krum
Washington, DC
Thank you for this e-mail...it totally made my day!
July 24, 2007
From Lars, With Love
D'Souza,
I could not bring myself to watch this video beyond the first couple of seconds. I realized that one of the fish involved was my cousin, Sukino. Sukino and I shared rice paddies near each other growing up. We actually share a number of ancestors and became very close as we lived in such close proximity to one anoother - but we never got too close for obvious reasons.
Sukino looks a little feeble here and I understand from Sweetness personified that you are interested in testing out the theory about my species: Fighting Fish. Really, we just get territorial, and if you poke a fish enough it will eventually do a lot of things. Poor Sukino!
Anyway, I pass this video I found on YouTube along in hopes that you spare my life. I imagine that my relative Sukino is a good indication of how well I fight...I mean, I got caught didn't I? I swam from that net but came face to face with my arch nemisis Shinto. I figured the net and life in your home would be better than any plans Shinto had in store for me.
Please, don't make me defend my territory!
Let me float in this vase with the bamboo on this black ledge above the rice cooker perched precariously on the red shelf below me in your tiny kitchen; reminiscing about Sukino and I, back in the day, in the rice paddies.
Your fish,
Lars
I could not bring myself to watch this video beyond the first couple of seconds. I realized that one of the fish involved was my cousin, Sukino. Sukino and I shared rice paddies near each other growing up. We actually share a number of ancestors and became very close as we lived in such close proximity to one anoother - but we never got too close for obvious reasons.
Sukino looks a little feeble here and I understand from Sweetness personified that you are interested in testing out the theory about my species: Fighting Fish. Really, we just get territorial, and if you poke a fish enough it will eventually do a lot of things. Poor Sukino!
Anyway, I pass this video I found on YouTube along in hopes that you spare my life. I imagine that my relative Sukino is a good indication of how well I fight...I mean, I got caught didn't I? I swam from that net but came face to face with my arch nemisis Shinto. I figured the net and life in your home would be better than any plans Shinto had in store for me.
Please, don't make me defend my territory!
Let me float in this vase with the bamboo on this black ledge above the rice cooker perched precariously on the red shelf below me in your tiny kitchen; reminiscing about Sukino and I, back in the day, in the rice paddies.
Your fish,
Lars
July 23, 2007
NYC has Me
I thought you were sleepless.
No, that’s Seattle.
I don’t sleep.
I thought you had Sunshine.
No, that’s Florida
I have the Sunshine Theater.
I thought you had…
Oh, never mind.
What do you have?
I have bodegas around the corner
Posters of the sole 9/11 mourner
I have the crossroads of the world
Black and white sailors as nurses swirl
Year-round rooftop gardens flowering
All around me buildings towering
Natives and transplants cowering
All around me love is souring
“Empire State” they all hail--
Thieves rotting in jail
Kids on parental bail
My elderly aren’t frail
Ships arrive and set sail
I’ve withstood every gale
To Christ’s cross some nail
Sirens of all manner wail
My people seldom trail
Irrespective of life’s ail
I brew the perfect ale--
All other cities pale!
I have color
I have class
I have flavor
I have sass
I have you.
No, that’s Seattle.
I don’t sleep.
I thought you had Sunshine.
No, that’s Florida
I have the Sunshine Theater.
I thought you had…
Oh, never mind.
What do you have?
I have bodegas around the corner
Posters of the sole 9/11 mourner
I have the crossroads of the world
Black and white sailors as nurses swirl
Year-round rooftop gardens flowering
All around me buildings towering
Natives and transplants cowering
All around me love is souring
“Empire State” they all hail--
Thieves rotting in jail
Kids on parental bail
My elderly aren’t frail
Ships arrive and set sail
I’ve withstood every gale
To Christ’s cross some nail
Sirens of all manner wail
My people seldom trail
Irrespective of life’s ail
I brew the perfect ale--
All other cities pale!
I have color
I have class
I have flavor
I have sass
I have you.
July 20, 2007
Elegy for Someone I Never Met
From Ashes to Ashes
From Dust to Dust
Another father laid to rest.
Another teen fails breathalizer test.
This time it's not just NEWS.
This time it's real.
This time it's Her Father.
Hoping this is the only time.
Eulogy escapes
Empty embraces
Exhausted faces
Family paces.
From Dust to Dust
Another father laid to rest.
Another teen fails breathalizer test.
This time it's not just NEWS.
This time it's real.
This time it's Her Father.
Hoping this is the only time.
Eulogy escapes
Empty embraces
Exhausted faces
Family paces.
July 19, 2007
Sexy Six
“The next and last stop on this train will be Brooklyn Bridge,” the garbled voice of the subway sputtered.
I smiled mischievously at him.
We’d been fighting, recently. What would have been usual for most couples was unusual for us. The stress of him being promoted to Senior Manager was co-mingling with our newly established co-habitation to create a tension we were ill-equipped to alleviate.
As the doors opened and the last spray of passengers disembarked, I pushed him firmly into the two-person purple seat on the refurbished 6-train. Grabbing his thick black hair, I yanked his head back and thrust my face firmly into his unleashing a provocative kiss.
He didn’t fight me. He didn’t protest. He wasn’t alarmed by the closing doors.
Just as the train pulled out of the Downtown station to loop around to the Uptown side, I hiked up my flowing orange skirt and straddled him; my knees felt cold against the hard seat. Before he could utter dissent, I reached down and unzipped his trousers, my tongue drawing X’s on his—distracting him—as I pulled him inside me. I bucked as the train rocked.
Our bodies were locked as the 6 train skidded around the first precarious, dimly-lit bend pulling past the carcass of a former station; around the horseshoe towards the lights of a breathing station.
My body tightened as I realized the brevity of the ride. He responded to my stiffness, wrapping his arms around my waist, soothing my tension with his fingers—playing his song into me. His encouragement to get me focused on us—to stay in the present moment—failed. I lost my nerve.
I jumped off him suddenly, straightening my skirt, instinctively raking my fingers through the mass of curls on my head. He looked up at me quizzically. Sitting in the seat with his hair tousled and his pants undone he looked as vulnerable as I’d ever seen him. His velvety brown eyes melted mine as he stood up and zipped back up. I couldn’t tell if he felt rebuffed or relieved.
“Are you mad?” I asked, tentatively, as the doors opened.“Mad at you? No, why?”
“I dunno. I just thought you might be mad. Forget it.” I muttered, embarrassed.
“Why would I be mad? I have the coolest girlfriend in the whole world. How many people actually do it on the 6 train?” His smile was as wide as his pride.
“Did we really do it though? Does that count?”
“Oh, it counts if we make it count. I say it counts! What do you say?”
I knew he wasn’t just talking about the train.
I smiled back, relieved, “We are going to make it count!”
I smiled mischievously at him.
We’d been fighting, recently. What would have been usual for most couples was unusual for us. The stress of him being promoted to Senior Manager was co-mingling with our newly established co-habitation to create a tension we were ill-equipped to alleviate.
As the doors opened and the last spray of passengers disembarked, I pushed him firmly into the two-person purple seat on the refurbished 6-train. Grabbing his thick black hair, I yanked his head back and thrust my face firmly into his unleashing a provocative kiss.
He didn’t fight me. He didn’t protest. He wasn’t alarmed by the closing doors.
Just as the train pulled out of the Downtown station to loop around to the Uptown side, I hiked up my flowing orange skirt and straddled him; my knees felt cold against the hard seat. Before he could utter dissent, I reached down and unzipped his trousers, my tongue drawing X’s on his—distracting him—as I pulled him inside me. I bucked as the train rocked.
Our bodies were locked as the 6 train skidded around the first precarious, dimly-lit bend pulling past the carcass of a former station; around the horseshoe towards the lights of a breathing station.
My body tightened as I realized the brevity of the ride. He responded to my stiffness, wrapping his arms around my waist, soothing my tension with his fingers—playing his song into me. His encouragement to get me focused on us—to stay in the present moment—failed. I lost my nerve.
I jumped off him suddenly, straightening my skirt, instinctively raking my fingers through the mass of curls on my head. He looked up at me quizzically. Sitting in the seat with his hair tousled and his pants undone he looked as vulnerable as I’d ever seen him. His velvety brown eyes melted mine as he stood up and zipped back up. I couldn’t tell if he felt rebuffed or relieved.
“Are you mad?” I asked, tentatively, as the doors opened.“Mad at you? No, why?”
“I dunno. I just thought you might be mad. Forget it.” I muttered, embarrassed.
“Why would I be mad? I have the coolest girlfriend in the whole world. How many people actually do it on the 6 train?” His smile was as wide as his pride.
“Did we really do it though? Does that count?”
“Oh, it counts if we make it count. I say it counts! What do you say?”
I knew he wasn’t just talking about the train.
I smiled back, relieved, “We are going to make it count!”
July 18, 2007
Opal 2 for 1 Tuesdays
I used to go to Opal all the time when I lived on E. 54th St. but my loyalty dwindled when I moved to the UES then FiDi. Now it's squarely between FiDi and SpaHa, so my allegiance has resurfaced in light of their 2-4-1 deal on Tuesdays.
Yesterday, I was sitting outside with my friend--she's preggers--and she complained incessantly about maternity clothes being too revealing and cleavage boasting. I couldn't really sympathize on either count but her general negativity made me seem like the paragon of Sweet optimism--odd, that was!
Incidentally, she's due next month, she continues to imbibe intoxicants in increments irrespective of her indiposed status. I'm not sure I condone it but I certainly don't condemn her choice.
Yesterday, I was sitting outside with my friend--she's preggers--and she complained incessantly about maternity clothes being too revealing and cleavage boasting. I couldn't really sympathize on either count but her general negativity made me seem like the paragon of Sweet optimism--odd, that was!
Incidentally, she's due next month, she continues to imbibe intoxicants in increments irrespective of her indiposed status. I'm not sure I condone it but I certainly don't condemn her choice.
Turkish Kitchen
I'm going to dinner at Turkish Kitchen today with an Afghani colleague.
I LOVE that Donner Kebab...mmm, been craving it all day! I can practically smell it...half an hour to go.
I LOVE that Donner Kebab...mmm, been craving it all day! I can practically smell it...half an hour to go.
Gloom and Doom
This weather just puts a damper on my sass. I feel no pizzazz and the energy levels are dipping dangerously low.
Will not go on a gloomy tangent...no doom will befall me.
Will not go on a gloomy tangent...no doom will befall me.
July 16, 2007
Coinstar
I put 302 dimes, 43 quarters, and 2 dollar coins into this nifty machine at the Duane Reade on Broad St. After charging me 8.9cents/dollar, it gave me $39.08. Hazzah!
Tomorrow I return with my ziplock bag full of nickels and pennies. I'd be happy with half that loot...fingers crossed.
Betta: Lars
We went to Petco on Sunday and purchased a red Betta fish and black Betta gravel.
Our original plan had been to buy two goldfish but given their brief lifespans sans filtrated tank, we opted for the longevity of a Betta in a bowl.
I have a vase with three stalks of bamboo purchased from Ikea. The Betta--I named him Lars--now swims in the vase on a black, upside L-shelf D'Souza bought from Linens N' Things.
D'Souza has his heart set on a larger fish tank but I thought it best to start with Lars. He seems to enjoy his new digs, swimming rapidly up and around inside the conditioned water amidst bamboo above glistening gravel. Photos to follow.
Our original plan had been to buy two goldfish but given their brief lifespans sans filtrated tank, we opted for the longevity of a Betta in a bowl.
I have a vase with three stalks of bamboo purchased from Ikea. The Betta--I named him Lars--now swims in the vase on a black, upside L-shelf D'Souza bought from Linens N' Things.
D'Souza has his heart set on a larger fish tank but I thought it best to start with Lars. He seems to enjoy his new digs, swimming rapidly up and around inside the conditioned water amidst bamboo above glistening gravel. Photos to follow.
Waging Weekend War
D'Souza and I spent the weekend fighting.
Nothing major...per se. His share of asinine statements and justifications of them follow.
The way he kicked off the weekend:
D'Souza: "I mean I'm sure you thought you wouldn't be here 5 years ago. I'm sure you thought you'd make a lot more of yourself by this age."
Clearly not the topic of conversation one wishes to have at work on a Friday afternoon.
His Justification: "I thought I'd be a lot farther along at this age. I meant it the same way for you as I did for me. I think of myself as a failure."
Not sure how this makes it alright for me. It's interesting that he is quick to note how non-judgemental he is...hard to see that from this statement.
Highlight from Saturday morning:
D'souza: "I hope he dies."
In reference to my grandfather who is my heart's delight and is actually sick at present. Incidentally, he is not my granddaddy's biggest fan.
His Justification: "Well, I just said it like you say it about your stepdad. I meant it as a joke."
Of course, this did not assuage my tears. If anything happens to my Acha....sniffle.
There are others...oodles of them. These just stuck in my mind.
Nothing major...per se. His share of asinine statements and justifications of them follow.
The way he kicked off the weekend:
D'Souza: "I mean I'm sure you thought you wouldn't be here 5 years ago. I'm sure you thought you'd make a lot more of yourself by this age."
Clearly not the topic of conversation one wishes to have at work on a Friday afternoon.
His Justification: "I thought I'd be a lot farther along at this age. I meant it the same way for you as I did for me. I think of myself as a failure."
Not sure how this makes it alright for me. It's interesting that he is quick to note how non-judgemental he is...hard to see that from this statement.
Highlight from Saturday morning:
D'souza: "I hope he dies."
In reference to my grandfather who is my heart's delight and is actually sick at present. Incidentally, he is not my granddaddy's biggest fan.
His Justification: "Well, I just said it like you say it about your stepdad. I meant it as a joke."
Of course, this did not assuage my tears. If anything happens to my Acha....sniffle.
There are others...oodles of them. These just stuck in my mind.
ACLU's Morning Greeter
Of course, I sent this right along to the Tea Girls...
I am with Jo's query below:
"So, does this mean that “ACLU Jews” are the anti-christ (in other words, Jewish people who work at the ACLU), or does it mean that the ACLU AND Jews are the anti-christ? Or is it telling the ACLU that Jews are the anti-christ — ACLU, Jews are the anti-christ. That last meaning would only work if this man were missing a comma. I’m guessing there’s a good chance he’s missing a lot of things..."
July 13, 2007
Sticks and Stones Won't Break my Bones
But words will always hurt me.
I'm sensitive and I'd like to stay that way. circa 1996 Jewel's first album.
D'Souza and I had a fight today. Never good to fight at work. Even worse to sit in tears at your desk--hard to sell your monitor made you cry.
Boo. Friday the 13th sucks.
I'm sensitive and I'd like to stay that way. circa 1996 Jewel's first album.
D'Souza and I had a fight today. Never good to fight at work. Even worse to sit in tears at your desk--hard to sell your monitor made you cry.
Boo. Friday the 13th sucks.
July 9, 2007
She's Come Undone
After Memoirs of a Geisha I became a believer in Oprah's Book Club. Secret Life of Bees gave credence to my choice and She's Come Undone has sealed the deal. Like I always say, "First time is just chance, second is coincidence, but three times...that's a pattern!"
The book isn't a page turner but I couldn't help but turn all the pages this weekend as D'Souza complained about how much work he had to do and procrastinated. He put up shiny, new ceiling lamps we had purchased this Saturday from Home Depot and installed an Ikea mirror in the shower. No, you sickos, he wants to shave his tough beard in the shower so he needs it to ensure minimun chin cutting.
Dolores Price the unlikely heroine is given voice by Wally Lamb. Just as I had balked at Arthur Golden's penning of that geisha's story this book had me checking the jacket cover just to validate--a MAN wrote this?!
Incidentally, I kept imagining Dante Davis--Dolores' husband--to be a spitting image of a boy in my writing class I recently learned was engaged. Not sure why...something about vulnerability and being a writer. Something about being rail thin and tall; teaching English to high school students--all meshed together seemed complete--Dante D=Brian G.
I won't give it all away but I will say that fight as we might we are prone to model the mistakes of our parents--therapy and food can only create awareness or avoid facing it--it won't shake behavior off its trajectory. The other big message in the book was "Take a risk. Engage outwardly." Not lessons I needed to learn, but in the spirit of relating to the novel and identifying with the protaganist I took it all to heart. I'm not an emotional eater but I found myself drowning in it as I read...mirroring Dolores Price.
Reading about depression slapped a bout of it into me: I couldn't get out of bed until nearly 1pm today. I remembered how I had battled the urge to stay in bed for the majority of my junior year of high school. How I'd fought against it my freshman year of college--the year I spent mostly hungover. How living in a windowless room last year had sent me spiralling back to sleeping through stress to avoid my problems and the people who questioned this choice. Renewal through slumber I defined it, but it really was escapism. Avoiding the harsh truth of living...nay, surviving...coping via not dealing.
I have a window now. I have D'Souza. I have my health. I have Luckey. I have a job--of sorts--I'm taking this great writing class...what more is there? My life is good. Grand even, as Norman liked to say. What possible right did I have to be depressed?
Sitting at home all weekend spooning Haagen Dazs chocolate chip cookie dough into my mouth waiting for the morsels I spoonfed D'souza to melt on his tongue before I could put more in him before it found its way into me.
I'm not Dolores Price. I'm not Dolores Price. I'm not Dolores Price.
The book isn't a page turner but I couldn't help but turn all the pages this weekend as D'Souza complained about how much work he had to do and procrastinated. He put up shiny, new ceiling lamps we had purchased this Saturday from Home Depot and installed an Ikea mirror in the shower. No, you sickos, he wants to shave his tough beard in the shower so he needs it to ensure minimun chin cutting.
Dolores Price the unlikely heroine is given voice by Wally Lamb. Just as I had balked at Arthur Golden's penning of that geisha's story this book had me checking the jacket cover just to validate--a MAN wrote this?!
Incidentally, I kept imagining Dante Davis--Dolores' husband--to be a spitting image of a boy in my writing class I recently learned was engaged. Not sure why...something about vulnerability and being a writer. Something about being rail thin and tall; teaching English to high school students--all meshed together seemed complete--Dante D=Brian G.
I won't give it all away but I will say that fight as we might we are prone to model the mistakes of our parents--therapy and food can only create awareness or avoid facing it--it won't shake behavior off its trajectory. The other big message in the book was "Take a risk. Engage outwardly." Not lessons I needed to learn, but in the spirit of relating to the novel and identifying with the protaganist I took it all to heart. I'm not an emotional eater but I found myself drowning in it as I read...mirroring Dolores Price.
Reading about depression slapped a bout of it into me: I couldn't get out of bed until nearly 1pm today. I remembered how I had battled the urge to stay in bed for the majority of my junior year of high school. How I'd fought against it my freshman year of college--the year I spent mostly hungover. How living in a windowless room last year had sent me spiralling back to sleeping through stress to avoid my problems and the people who questioned this choice. Renewal through slumber I defined it, but it really was escapism. Avoiding the harsh truth of living...nay, surviving...coping via not dealing.
I have a window now. I have D'Souza. I have my health. I have Luckey. I have a job--of sorts--I'm taking this great writing class...what more is there? My life is good. Grand even, as Norman liked to say. What possible right did I have to be depressed?
Sitting at home all weekend spooning Haagen Dazs chocolate chip cookie dough into my mouth waiting for the morsels I spoonfed D'souza to melt on his tongue before I could put more in him before it found its way into me.
I'm not Dolores Price. I'm not Dolores Price. I'm not Dolores Price.
July 6, 2007
Lunch Date
As I hurry down the steps of 125 Broad St. I instinctively reach for my cell phone from the recesses of my purse to check the time. He hates when I'm late. I'm not! Just as I heave a sigh of relief, my phone starts vibrating--I turned off the ringer at work, seems the most courteous approach--it's him.
My eyes scan the street ahead to see his signature strut in a navy suit with white pinstripes; reminds me of a page break in Word. His tattered brown, leather shoulder bag hangs awkwardly at his side, try as it does, it can't match his stride. He balances his weight like an athelete bouncing from side to side--it doesn't sound it--but it's the picture of masculine grace. Even in a full suit, you can see his shapely physique. The wide shoulders narrowing at the waist where the white shirt pinches into his black belt with an over-sized silver buckle. Perched on the bridge of his thick nose, his sunglasses below his geled spiky hair, give his face the sleek contour of an aerodynamic insect. His lips are pursed in a look reminiscent of Ben Stiller's in Zoolander: Magnum. As I drink in this picture, I realize I haven't been breathing since the moment I spied him. I exhale.
I check an impulse to run towards him, my curling hair flying in the breeze. I take measured steps toward him ensuring my heels aren't clicking too loudly on the concrete. He sees me and hangs up. His face lights up in a wide smile; his teeth are lightening in the dark sky of his face. I feel my face flush as my lips part reflexively mirroring his mannerism. My pulse quickens in time with my pace. We meet in the middle of the block...my pink polo and black, drawstring skirt in sharp contrast to his business attire. We kiss--softly, slowly, sensually.
Living with D'Souza doesn't keep me from sneaking out to lunch with him on leisurely summer Fridays.
My eyes scan the street ahead to see his signature strut in a navy suit with white pinstripes; reminds me of a page break in Word. His tattered brown, leather shoulder bag hangs awkwardly at his side, try as it does, it can't match his stride. He balances his weight like an athelete bouncing from side to side--it doesn't sound it--but it's the picture of masculine grace. Even in a full suit, you can see his shapely physique. The wide shoulders narrowing at the waist where the white shirt pinches into his black belt with an over-sized silver buckle. Perched on the bridge of his thick nose, his sunglasses below his geled spiky hair, give his face the sleek contour of an aerodynamic insect. His lips are pursed in a look reminiscent of Ben Stiller's in Zoolander: Magnum. As I drink in this picture, I realize I haven't been breathing since the moment I spied him. I exhale.
I check an impulse to run towards him, my curling hair flying in the breeze. I take measured steps toward him ensuring my heels aren't clicking too loudly on the concrete. He sees me and hangs up. His face lights up in a wide smile; his teeth are lightening in the dark sky of his face. I feel my face flush as my lips part reflexively mirroring his mannerism. My pulse quickens in time with my pace. We meet in the middle of the block...my pink polo and black, drawstring skirt in sharp contrast to his business attire. We kiss--softly, slowly, sensually.
Living with D'Souza doesn't keep me from sneaking out to lunch with him on leisurely summer Fridays.
July 2, 2007
Couch Doctor
Once the ordeal of packing is done, the wait for the movers kicks in...once they finally arrive and load up the truck you realize the dust that has accumulated under everything you owned must now be cleaned up so the person who will occupy the space that was yours will have a fresh start...meaning you clean for a stranger but lived in dusty squalor. Ironic?
After the truck has been unloaded into your new home, you understand that it isn't nearly as big as you imagined it to be in the drunken moments of euphoria that enveloped you when you jumped up and down hugging the broker for taking 15% of your annual rent. Next you note that while packing was a fucker--at some point you stopped being tidy and just started throwing shit willy nilly into boxes and taping them shut--unpacking is going to be a motherfucker. So you distract yourself by compiling long lists of things you need from Wal-Mart, Ikea, Target, and Home Depot...giving little thought to the fact that everything on the list costs MONEY.
Finally, you start breaking down boxes by unburdening their contents onto rickety white shelves in an organzied fashion; fervently hoping your glassware doesn't meet a shattering fall while you sleep on a mattress on the ground a few feet away.
Amidst these glaring realities the movers discovered that the couch doesn't in fact fit through the narrow doorway of your new abode. Thankfully, the smidgen of outdoor space includes an arch above the doorway--the perfect enclosure to stand the beloved couch sideways--as it awaits the couch doctor.
Yes, there is such a thing. What he does is disassemble, move in, then reassemble the couch seamlessly for a small fee of $275 plus tax. Yes, you could buy a cheap couch for that price but the Ethan Allen couch mother gave me--the only remnants from her single parent house ownership period that I claimed--easily costs 15-20 times the couch doctor charges for a house visit. So atop the $420 I forked over to the movers with tip, I'm out another $300.
Damn, moving is expensive.
After the truck has been unloaded into your new home, you understand that it isn't nearly as big as you imagined it to be in the drunken moments of euphoria that enveloped you when you jumped up and down hugging the broker for taking 15% of your annual rent. Next you note that while packing was a fucker--at some point you stopped being tidy and just started throwing shit willy nilly into boxes and taping them shut--unpacking is going to be a motherfucker. So you distract yourself by compiling long lists of things you need from Wal-Mart, Ikea, Target, and Home Depot...giving little thought to the fact that everything on the list costs MONEY.
Finally, you start breaking down boxes by unburdening their contents onto rickety white shelves in an organzied fashion; fervently hoping your glassware doesn't meet a shattering fall while you sleep on a mattress on the ground a few feet away.
Amidst these glaring realities the movers discovered that the couch doesn't in fact fit through the narrow doorway of your new abode. Thankfully, the smidgen of outdoor space includes an arch above the doorway--the perfect enclosure to stand the beloved couch sideways--as it awaits the couch doctor.
Yes, there is such a thing. What he does is disassemble, move in, then reassemble the couch seamlessly for a small fee of $275 plus tax. Yes, you could buy a cheap couch for that price but the Ethan Allen couch mother gave me--the only remnants from her single parent house ownership period that I claimed--easily costs 15-20 times the couch doctor charges for a house visit. So atop the $420 I forked over to the movers with tip, I'm out another $300.
Damn, moving is expensive.
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