Crazy Van - St Marks

Headstones by the Highway

I was driving along Rt. 23 in NJ towards the lakehouse where my mom now lives when I pulled over to capture this set of headstones beside the highway.
I'm not clear if they are for sale or serve as a memorial--no signs were visible. It was near a Fedex and UPS drop off box--no strip mall.

Pothole on E. 28th @ Park

Dogs of Summer

Vicious on Vespa

Traveling Pups

Whatever You Like (T.I)

I said you can have whatever you like
I said you can have whatever you like
Yeahhh

[Chorus]
Stacks on deck
Patron on ice
We can pop bottles all night
And baby you can have whatever you like
I said, You can have whatever you like
Yeahhh

Late night sex, so wet and so tight
I gas up the jet for you tonight
And baby you can go wherever you like
I said, You can go wherever you like
Yeahhh

[Verse 1]
Anytime you want to
Pick and telephone, you
Know it ain't nothing,
Drop a couple stacks on you
Want it you can get it, my dear
Five million dollar homes
Drop Bentley's, I swear - yeahh
I want your body, need your body
Long as you got me, you won't need nobody
You want it I got it, go get it I buy it
Tell them other broke niggas be quiet

[Chorus]
Stacks on deck
Patron on ice
We can pop bottles all night
And baby you can have whatever you like
I said, You can have whatever you like
Yeahhh

Late night sex so wet and so tight
I gas up the jet for you tonight
And baby you can go wherever you like
I said, You can go wherever you like
Yeahhh

[Verse 2]
Shawty you the hottest
Love the way you drop it
Brain so good, coulda sworn you went to college
100K deposits
Vacations in the tropics
Everybody know it ain't trickin' if you got it
And you ain't never ever gotta go in your wallet
Long as I got rubberband banks in my pocket
Five, six rides with rims and a body kit
You ain't gotta downgrade
You can get what I get
My chick can have she want
Can go to any store, buy any bag she want
I know you ain't never had a man like that
To buy you anything your heart desire's like that
I want your body, need your body
Long as you got me you won't need nobody
You want it, I got it
Go get it, I buy it
Tell them other broke niggas bequiet

[Chorus]
Stacks on deck
Patron on ice
We can pop bottles all night
And baby you can have whatever you like
I said, You can have whatever you like
Yeahhh

Late night sex so wet and so tight
I gas up the jet for you tonight
And baby you can go wherever you like
I said, You can go wherever you like
Yeahhh

I'm talkin' big boy rides
And big boy ice
Let me put this big boy in your life
The thing get so wet, and hit so right
Let me put this big boy in your life, that's right
I want your body, need your body
Long as you got me you won't need nobody
You want it, I got it
Go get it, I buy it
Tell them other broke niggas bequiet

[Chorus]
Stacks on deck
Patron on ice
We can pop bottles all night
And baby you can have whatever you like
I said, You can have whatever you like
Yeahhh

Late night sex, so wet and so tight
I gas up the jet for you tonight
And baby you can go wherever you like
I said, You can go wherever you like
Yeahhh

Miss Independent (NeYo)

Yeah yeah, yeah yeah
Yeah yeah, yeah yeah
Yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah

Ooh is something about
Just something about the way she move
I can't figure it out
It's something about her

Say, ooh is something about
Kinda woman that want you but don't need you
Hey, I can't figure it out
It's something about her

'Cause she walk like a boss
Talk like a boss
Manicure nails just set the pedicure off
She's fly effortlessly

And she move like a boss
Do what a boss
Do, she got me thinking about getting involved
That's the kinda girl I need (oh)

She got her own thing
That's why I love her
Miss independent
Won't you come and spend a little time

She got her own thing
That's why I love her
Miss independent
Ooh, the way you shine
Miss independent

Yeah yeah, yeah yeah
Yeah yeah, yeah yeah
Yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah (ohh)

Ooh there's something about
Kinda woman that can do for herself
I look at her and it makes me proud
There's something about her

Something, ooh, so sexy about
Kinda woman that don't even need my help
She said she got it, she got it (she said she got it, she got it)
No doubt, there's something about her (there's something about her)

'Cause she work like a boss
Play like a boss
Car and the crib she 'bout to pay 'em both off
And her bills are payed on time, yeah

She made for a boss
Only a boss
Anything less she telling them to get lost
That's the girl that's on my mind

She got her own thing
That's why I love her
Miss independent
Won't you come and spend a little time

She got her own thing
That's why I love her
Miss independent
Ooh, the way you shine
Miss independent

Her favorite thing to say, don't worry I got it
And everything she got best believe she bought it
She gon' steal my heart ain't no doubt about it, girl
You're everything I need, said you're everything I need

Yeah yeah, yeah yeah
Yeah yeah, yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah

She's got her own thing (ooohooohhoh)
That's why I love her (that's why I love her, oh ohh)
Miss independent (independent)
Won't you come and spend a little time (ohh)
She's got her own thing (she got, she got)
That's why I love her (that's why I love that girl)
Miss independent (ohh ohh)
Ooh, the way you shine
Miss independent

Miss independent

Saturday Night Fever

Since my triumphant return from the Hamptons, I haven't done much on the weekends due to my abject poverty and the need to settle into city life firmly.

Yesterday I drove out to NJ to get Judy's tires rotated, had lunch with my mom and her husband at Rt. 23 Buffet--don't even ask--, stopped for a timed 1-hour date in JC, and parked in front of Lolita on the LES for LitQuake with Z and the Levar Channel minion (and his photographer wife) he bosses. I missed the actual reading due to my pitstop in Newport but made up for it by imbibing enough $3 G&Ts to catch up to the slow-drinking crew.

We ambled over to Congee Village for dinner--the wait gave us a chance to drink a few Lychee Martinis and sit on lacquered, hand-shaped seats carved out of tree stumps. Over a steaming table of Soup dumplings, Singapore Mei Fun, Chicken in black bean sauce, Shrimp with Salt & Garlic, and Mushroom Tofu-ness we learned about the couple's Music Club (I was invited to join given my brilliant music category: songs with girls names). The way the club works is that each month a category is chosen (i.e. break-up, president names, cheese, etc.) and each member sends the curator (this couple) their song which is burned on a CD and distributed to all members of the club. Cool, right?

Then we walked up 1st Ave. to International Bar. The wife brought down their brown, 25lb, Boston Terrier--Jack--Z and I pet, cooed at, and generally fawned over him. Dogs in bars on Saturday nights: another reason I love the East Village. We called it an early night at 1am but the evening was terrific.

Met new people, checked out new food all the while eating good food and drinking cheap, yummy drinks. I really really needed it.

Sweet Schedule

An overdue update!

I have settled on the pseudo-celeb assistantship (PCA)on the UES in addition to the test prep center job (TPC) in Chelsea. In addition to my free labor at the social psych lab at Columbia's Public Health spot in Washington Heights, I've been accepted as a mentor with the REACH program on the UWS. My fingers are crossed for an amazing clinical research opportunity (CRO)* coding and interviewing at Bellevue--hoping to hear back this week. I'm training with the SAVI program at Mt. Sinai and hope to work on shift a week once I complete my 40 hours.

Due to this new schedule I'm hoping the ladies of Tea (LoT) will allow me to move our weekly meetings to the end of the week.

So my weekly schedule looks pretty much like this:
M 11-4 PCA 5-10 TPC
T 11-5 Lab 6-7:30 REACH
W 11-4 PCA 5-10 TPC
H 10-4 Lab 5-10 TPC
F 11-4 PCA 4:30-6 CRO* 7-10 Tea
6pm-8am SAVI
S 11-4 CRO* or Lab or TPC

Vegas is 1

Today is Vegas's 1st birthday.

To Vegas:

So much has happened in my life this past year--most of it hasn't been that great--but the addition of you has been the highlight. You barked, chewed, clawed, and whined your way into my heart.
Your crazy escape artist stunts constantly make me wonder if we should have waited to name you--we would have gone with Houdini. You give new meaning to the question, "What's in a name?"
Unlike Luckey, you never nipped at my toes but you can't bear to be left alone and bark non-stop in my absence. You also damage everything you can sink your puppy teeth into. That irksome behavior however doesn't compare to the fact that you will mark (aka pee) on anything that is newly added to pre-existing space: this includes laundry bags, grocery bags, trash bags, and travel bags.
You always throw up in th car. I don't know if it's just the way I drive of it you just suffer from motion sickness, but it truly hampers Luckey and my vagabond nature--so you get left behind for the greater good more often than not. But I always regret leaving you when I come home to the havoc you've wrecked.
Just when I am at my wit's end with you, you sense it, so you climb tamely into my lap and vigorously lick my face. It's the kind of apology even a hardass like me can't resist. Your eyes are always curious, your face forever upturned, if not for your devil antics you'd be an angel.

I've learned a lot about the kind of person I am through you. Unlike Luckey you try my patience and I've learned that I have it in me to wait it out and handle these annoyances with grace and poise. You've shown me a patient side of myself I would never have believed existed.
I miss you when you are gone. I notice your absence when I'm alone with Luckey. I think he revels in that time without you but I feel a void which your unpredictable behavior unfalteringly fulfills without fail.

You're the Ying to our Yang. In your difference from us, you complete this family that we've become. I love you.

Happy Birthday, Vaygee!
Love,
Mama

Job Shopping

Since I've job hopped my entire adult life, I am seriously job shopping this final go around. I intend to hold onto whatever job I get through the next academic year. That's right, I'm settling down--well my version of it, anyway.

Here is the part-time line-up as it currently stands:

1. Assistant to a legit TV B-lister (as per IMDB)in her UES home office primarily focused on her non-profit venture. Cleared the interview--my trial day is Thursday.

2. Corporate Short-Term Rental Manager at Furnished Quarters serving as a point person to corporate relocators. Interview Thursday.

3. SURF Progam Coordinator at Columbia University--managing the Science Undergrad Research Fellowship in the Biology department under Dr. Alice Heicklen. Interviewed on Friday, but I have a feeling I didn't make the cut.

4. Columbia Business School Executive Education Conference Planner. Phone interview in 15 minutes, followed by an official interview on Friday at Columbia. This job involves 3 weeks on-site in CT facilitating a conference and only runs through November 2008.

5. Real Estate Assistant at an UES boutique: showing properties, returning phone calls and e-mails as well as assisting brokers. Interview Friday.

6. SCORES (not the strip club) Poetry Teacher for an after-school program in Harlem for 3-5 graders. Interview Friday.

7. Manhattan Review Academic Program Coordinator: Liaising with international students and professors with Ivy PhDs in developing tailored classes for GMAT prep. No interview yet, but I'm hopeful!

Vicious Waterlilies

Crouching Street Cat

GWB from the Lab

Photo Taker-Outer

I just got home from a photo taking frolic in Central Park with A. He looks a lot like V and he laughs at everything I say--I haven't decided if that's endearing or annoying.

While we were walking and snapping pictures of everything from trees to ducks to lovers in Strawberry Fields, I fell silent and he sidled up to me and said, "What are you thinking?"

I almost burst into tears....it's been so long since anyone asked me what I was thinking--too long. This perfect stranger not only cared to know what I was thinking but in our brief time together sensed that my silence was a sign that something was amiss.

Thankfully I didn't weep but sighed and continued chirping about the green water and light in the trees...he let it go, but I'm still thinking about that.

Not once in my time with D'Souza did he EVER ask me what I was thinking...it doesn't really matter whether if it was because he didn't care of because he thought he knew...but not once...in over a year...not once.

An Academic Love Story

I'm at the lab and it's my first time here by myself. The "lab" is a two-bedroom, two-bathroom former medical/dental student dormitory. Some floors still function as dorm apartments.

It's VERY spacious for a dorm apartment but essentially that's what it is. The kitchen has been converted into a study with metallic filing cabinets and an arcane, academic desk and non-ergonomic chairs. The living room is now an airy conference room with mismatched conference chairs and wooden dining chairs drenched in the western sun with a view of the GW bridge. Within the long school table that serves at the conference table, I discovered a yellowed dissertation typed on a word processor dating back to 1989. The master bedroom is the professor's office: it is filled with psych manuals, journals, graduate textbooks, and assorted other literature. He has no photos in his office except a piece of paper celebrating the life and work of Dr. BD in a clear plastic frame--a lovely bushy browed, slim, academic seated in her office with her salt and pepper hair frizzing at the ends and a her hands clasped in her pencil-skirted lap atop legs crossed at the ankles.

The invitation reads: "You are invited to attend the celebration of 40 years of Sociomedical Research at Columbia University. Please join us on Wednesday, January 31, 2008 to honor our second Department Chair, Dr. BD who served from 1978-1982. Her husband and co-author will speak briefly."

Drs. D published much of their research jointly and it appears that he tirelessly carried on their work after her passing--I speculate it was sometime in 1982. He still wears a plain wedding band loosely on his left hand. A soft-spoken man who goes to the Columbia pool every afternoon from 12:30-1:30pm, it's hard to imagine him living a life outside this dorm-lab yet he led one. Undoubtedly one filled with love, a love perhaps even deeper than his love of learning and research. I don't think he ever remarried.

I doubt he has children or grandchildren but I'm not sure. In my version of his story, he has neither, just his research and us, his lowly assistants.

This story is real. This happens in real life. Real people fall so completely in love with each others shared interests, values, and life goals that their two lives really do converge into one full life.

Not that you need another to complete you (a la Jerry McGuire) but it is possible to achieve this romantic steeple albeit for a pair of academics. It happens.

Enemy of the Day: Con Ed

This morning I awoke not to the pitter patter of rain but the banging on my door. Alright, there was also the pitter patter of rain. I decided to ignore it in the hopes it would go away but then my fan went off and I realized my power was out.

The boarder had awakened thanks to my barking babies and the banging on the door continued.

Con Ed men in uniform stood before me, clipboard in hand, informing me that I did not have a valid account with them. Wiping the sleep out of my eye, fear gripped me, had I not paid my bill. As consciousness seeped in, I realized that I had set up my Con Ed bill to auto-pay and the company dutifully removed funds from my account on a monthly basis. Of course, the conservationist that I am, I had gone paperless so I had no bills to show for any of this and in the name of e-organization I always deleted my paid bills. Clearly the 16-digit account number was hardly at the tip of my tongue.

Thankfully, the Con Edders contacted the mothership who informed them that I did indeed have an account and dutifully paid my bills but for the wrong apartment.

Wait just one cotton-picking minute, so for the last 15 months I've been paying somone ELSE's electric BILL. WTF?

I'm not ordinarily a litigious person but let's back up a minute: instant replay!
Men come banging on my door at 11am on a weekday.
They turn off my electricity.
They accuse me of not having an account which gives them the right to deprive me of light, air, and sound.
Then upon realizing that I have an account in good standing, they inform me that this account did not pertain to MY abode but someone else's.
Are we in America? Can I sue them?

Doggie Handshake

Desi Chick Lit

The newly popular fiction genre--chick lit--has a sub-section filled with emerging south-asian authors. These women span the spectrum from ultra-conservative to crunchy hippies in their musings on life and love.

I had two such books thrust upon me by a former colleauge from my law firm recruitment days (just a year ago but feels like a lifetime). We had lunch at Chipotle on friday and afterwards I escorted her back to her office where she pilfered an academic desk calendar for me from supplies and handed me a stack of paperbacks. She sure reads a fair amount of chick-lit given the five books she unloaded on me. For a Peruvian immigrant who attended Columbia University, she has a penchant for south-asian fiction or perhaps she is just a voracious reader given her hour-long daily commute from Forrest Hills to Grand Central.

I sped read through the first entitled "Invisible Lives" belittling the rudimentary writing style and bemoaning the sari metaphor but devouring the plot. I'm looking forward to an evening of "Goddess for Hire" which I can only hope swings some style into the typically overdone topography. Like Bollywood films, south-asian authors tend to overflow with wordy interludes instead of creating snarky dialogue.

Part of my gripe lies in my inability to create such a convoluted yet formulaic tale of my own. It seems that despite my basic writing style, I could easily craft a piece that would match the level of fetishized easterness required to get such a novel published. Yet my ideas never make their way to paper and I sit here sans manuscript complaining about women who, if nothing else, had the dedication to write a whole damn story out of the ideas rattling in their heads.

New York State Psychiatric Institute at Columbia University

I secured a coveted research project at the New York State Psychiatric Institute at Columbua University that begins on Monday.

My volunteer position as a rater involves watching pre-recorded narratives of people who recently suffered from stressful life events in an effort to develop a more economical measure than the one that currently exists. Basically providing inter-rater reliability for the research being done.

My hope is to secure a stellar letter of recommendation for graduate school from this position which will more than make up for the fact that I will be spending 18hrs/wk in an unpaid work setting. What better practice for my future life as a doctoral student in clinical psychology?

Boarder

Upon my return from the Hamptons, I realized that despite the relative inexpense my rent imposes (as opposed to the greater Manhattan population) the figure remains oppressive to the officially unemployed.

So the lemonade I've made with these life's lemons involves a boarder. A person who lives in my living room on a paid, weekly basis.

His name is Rahul Karahi. He's very international but Pakistani by upbringing. As an internet starter-upper he is working on building capital for his website that caters to litigants seeking litigators in class action suits. Currently he is also working on another site that will enable indie film-makers to secure brand marketing and sponsorship from Fortune 500 retailers.

The diminutive nature of my abode combined with the reality that south-asians have a lower expectation of privacy has led to a fairly amenable living arrangement. He sleeps on the couch in my 17x6, fully furnished living room and I get help with the rent. Beats working but puts a damper on socializing...just as well since I need to focus full force on my Ph.D applications.

Not to mention, my lazy ass needs motivation to get out of bed and into the world. Having a constant home presence pushed me to actually get out of the apartment and into the many city activities I procrastinate on participating in.

Hindi Conversation Partner

I met Lila mid-day yesterday.

I had responded to her post on CL for a Hindi conversation partner. She married her radiology resident husband last year and moved from Chicago to Long Island via Manhattan and needed to polish up her Hindi before embarking on a journey to India this Christmas to meet his extended family on the outskirts of Aurangabad.

In my desire to keep a firm hold on my Hindi, I thought it would be great for us to work together towards polishing the language of our people. She's Gujurati so her struggles were that of a native Italian learning Spanish--a fight to realize that the similarities in grammar don't extend to vocubulary.

We were supposed to meet at Cafe Cluny but felt it too fancy and walked over to a quaint coffee shop on Jane St. where she had the coconut lime sorbet and I enojoyed a mango cardommon sorbet.

She was impeccably dressed in grey, lightweight pants, a black, lace camisole carefully hidden under a sharp black vest with deep, faux-croc, purple heels and chandelier earrings. Her make-up was smoky for day with the kohl lining smudged at the edges of her large, almond eyes. Her grey-green colored contacts glinted as she gesticulated gracefully telling me her life story. She had that generic Gujurati bone structure: slight in height, light in weight, and the propensity for thickness in the middle.

I felt dowdy beside her in my careless white tee atop a black skirt lined in sweatpant material with a cursory ruffle to dress it up. Even Anthropologie flip flops on gold-painted toes felt uber casual. My thick rimmed, I'm-a-grad-student glasses perched high on my nose, void of earrrings or jewlery I easily doubled her in size but halved her in style. I don't often find myself drawing these superficial comparisions but something in the humid air made me realize that where I sweat buckets she doesn't so much as perspire. Ah the curse of my south-indian heritage. My people didn't crunch numbers but worked in the fields and filled their bellies with the rice that grows in the paddies.

She was my age. She worked in finance. She was married. She wanted children. She lived in Long Island. She missed her mid-western family and elements of her single life. She was unlike me in almost every way but our tangible Indian hue and desire to communicate in the tongue of our ancestors.

Sweet SAVI

Today, I had my interview for the Sexual Assuault and Violence Intervention program at Mt. Sinai. I spent three hours filling out forms, watching the HIPAA video, and participating in a group interview which focused on role playing as well as posing uncomfortable personal questions. The 40 hours of training to follow over several full day weekends will prepare us for monthly 8-hour on-call shifts at 10 hospitals in Manhattan and Queens to serve as advocates for the survivors of intimate sexual violence and assault.

One of my former colleagues at Pfizer Animal Health recognized me and I surprised myself by not fully recognizing her. Even now, I know I knew her but my trusty name/face recognition are faulty in pinpointing past interactions. How can this be?

After the interview, I stepped into the pouring rain. The kind of rain that they create for Bollywood films where heroines in white saris run through the hills bemoaning the loss of their lovers to death, family dissent, and outright theivery. I walked slowly sans umbrella letting the pulse of the storm drip into my bones.

I felt my ornate flip flops sliding and clutched my large, white tote bag closer to my chest. I wondered if this was the Lord's way of bemoaning my loss of control over the good life he'd given me. I was borm with many blessings; I've squandered them. Perhaps it's not all irrevocable but time has been lost and in the accelerated pace of the frenetic desi life I'm behind. Oh so far behind schedule (pronounce it shed-duel for increased Indian effect)--

Vicious with the Elderly

Last night, I was at the Village Nursing Home with a group of like-minded New Yorkers who volunteer with NYCares. I give props to the organization and kudos to all the volunteers who devote precious man hours serving in soup kitchens, visiting the elderly, teaching children to do things, preparing ex-convicts for jobs, working with animals, and planting flowers.

I have been involved for a year or so now, but this September I've signed up for four unique events, the first of which was spending two hours on a Friday evening with the geriatric residents suffering from dementia who live on W. 12th on Hudson.

Once you get over the clinical surroundings and sterile smell mixed with bedpan refuse post Jell-O enjoyment, it hits you hard that these wheelchair bound people have few visitors. The lucky few who can form sentences are still fairly incoherent, the others just sit and stare off into space.

My visit was with Beatrice--a grey-haired fashionista toting a black and white purse featuring Heidi Klum--she had no idea who was on her bag. She wore clips in her wispy hair and bright green earrings. She approached me to help her re-affix one of these lovely green stones that had fallen off her right ear. I did so and for the rest of the evening she kept telling everyone who passed how much I had helped her. It made me wonder if anyone had been kind to her in recent days.

In addition to the elderly, the volunteers were a hodge-podge. I was particuarly moved by a young, unmarried Indian couple who'd moved to NJ 6 months ago from India. Their joint volunteerism touched me. It affected me more than being there with these people whose lives had wittled down to this.

It made me marvel at how far I had fallen in my romantic leanings when I had dreamed of a life with D'Souza--a man who scoffs at the notion of volunteerism and prefers to write a check or ten to any organization named after a Saint. But here, just before me were two FOBS in love, showing love for drooling old people in a smelly home in the West Village.

End of Summer

Labor day is the unofficial end of summer. School's back in session and even if you don't live life on an academic calendar there is an element of ending harkened by Fall.

As a child of the Fall (Oct. b'day and such), I've always looked fondly on the season post heat...dig the colors, enjoy the back-to-school frenzy, and above all look forward to a little bit of new routine establishment but this year I'm less than enthused.

My Hamptons entreprenuerial effort has ended. There were some events but I wouldn't term it eventful in the grand scheme of summer. I didn't make any money but I did get to spend a whole summer unemployed and living in the Hamptons--so can that really be measured in $?

Dapper Duckey

No Cure for Loneliness

Sometimes I cry and there are so many reasons why I don't know which of them is responsible for these set of tears. Other times I lay still and hold my breath--hold it till it hurts--hold it till it burns. Not every day, not even every other day, but the days that I don't smile I'm not sure if I ever will again.

Inside me there is an emptiness, a loneliness, one that is unfilled even in the happiest of times. One that cripples me on days I miss living. The sun shines and the mooon rises but I stay unmoved--unchanged by the course of time past. How many days and months I've lost this way, I've lost count. There was a time I knew. There was an odometer for my solitude but it broke along the way. It melted away with my spirit; my ability to fulfill any given day's true potential.

Over and Over Again

Fresh gashes on my Heart
Every day we're Apart
Why do you Vilify?
Each tear from my Eye.
Remember--

when life was measured in "Always!"

The hours of Humidity
Entangled in Ecstacy
Above loss and Apathy
Refrain, please, Remain
Some more on love's Train

Koala Vegas & Luckey Cushion

Vegas, The Koala Puppy, perched on a tree while I smile and shake my head--near E. 98th Street in Central Park. Photo courtesy of Zayan on my camera phone.


Luckey managed to sandwich himself in between all the cushions at my Mom's house to maximize his comfort while the rest of us watched TV.

New York Magazine Website--SWEET

Luckey and I have made it as big as we possibly can.

Checks us out on the New York Magazine website!

Guess Getty Images is a bit hit in the internet image community.

Moo Mobile

Saturday, August 2, 2008
Li, CLui, Tommy, Stu, and I hit up the Sunburnt Cow on Ave. C for brunch. The line was insane so the guy sent us over to Bondi Road on Rivington on the Moo Mobile.
I wish I had a photo of the inside of this Scooby Doo-esque mode of transport. Take my word for the plush, velvet, polka dotted blue/push-pin seats in the spacious van circa 1972.

3 Little Pigs

I saw these three little peeking into one of the random boutiques on Little West 12th Street on Thursday last week when Li Chen was in town. We went to Brass Monkey, Revel, The Little Inn, and Garden of Ono on a MePa bar crawl I set up.

I-Spy

Park-ing

Tonight, I went to the Conservatory Garden with Zayan and my dogs. It was his first time there. It was his first time meeting Vegas. It was his first time in my apartment. It was my first time in Central Park after nightfall.

I met him at Best Cellars at 6:15pm. We tasted some wine--purchased a bottle of blush and a bottle of pinot grigio--before moving up to Gourmet Garage. I picked up Salute and Pepper-crusted goat cheese as well as an assortment of olives (for him) with Genoa Salame and Proscuitto to go with a fresh baguette. A bar of Belgian milk chocolate for dessert while he watched the dogs.

We walked over to the garden where we unwrapped food and drink beneath the luxurious Italian wisteria of the middle garden. We started with the blush while the dogs ran and barked below us. We saw a raccoon emerge and climb up the ivy covered trellis. We talked about nothing and everything. We ate cheese, meat, and bread while extolling the European way of life.

The fountain shut itself off at 7:45pm when the park guard announced the place was closing down--after all sunset was at 8:05pm. Then we moseyed over to the field at E. 102nd St...laid out the blanket I'd brought along and popped open the white wine as we unwrapped what was left of the feast. We talked about getting older. We talked about the future. Loving New York and leaving New York. Believing in each other and believing in tomorrow. Missing yesterday and knowing it was today. We sat there till well after dark. Many owners with unleashed dogs went by--mine socialized with some of them. We sat. We lay. We were.

It was a good night...beneath the watchful eye of Mt. Sinai. It was very New York with an ex.

Houdini

D'Souza and I have long joked that Vegas is Houdini reincarnated as a fluffy whie pup. This has never been more true than yesterday.

Luckey and I went downtown to check out The Falls--whilst a nice guy from Getty Images photographed us going about our "Staycation".

D recently installed an AC in my apartment but instead of investing in actual unit siding from Home Depot we opted for a piece of flimsy folder and scotch tape to close the big gap left by the relative shortness of the AC to the width of the window.

I thought nothing of any of this as Luckey and I jauntily set off at noon yesterday. We had a fine time and even picked up some 5 for $1 dumplings from Chinatown as we returned Uptown. As I turned the bend on 102 Street, I heard high-pitched barking which sounded a lot like Vegas but I dimissed as just another pup on the premises. Lo and behold, as I ambled down the block the barking grew louder and I looked into my small courtyard to see my small dog sitting beside the black gate scratching the front door to my apartment and barking his little puppy head off.

Alarmed, I rushed down the few black steps leading to the gate unlocked it and plucked him up off the ground--shaken by the thought that he could easily have been stolen for parts if not the whole. YIKES! He could have been taken just to silence the irksome barks. How long had he been sitting out there?

I couldn't believe he jumped from my bed onto the window sill and clawed his way out through the folder then dropped 2.5 feet through the black bars on my window into the filthy courtyard. My neighborhood is not known for its cleanliness or respect for public/private property--people routinely throw stuff down into my diminutive outdoor space. Sigh.

Luckey would never have done any such thing had I left him home alone. Now I'm petrified to leave Vegas unattended--what if he embarks on anothe stunt like this but isn't so lucky. Crazy animal.

Bryant Park HBO Movie Festival

Every year I look forward to summer in New York primarily because Monday nights shift from tea to Bryant Park for the HBO Movie Festival.

This year I have not been to a single film--a sympton of my romance with Manhattan trickling down to nothing. I'm that suitor who has sidled past courtship into the comfortable but boring role of live-in lover...I take without giving, indulge without appreciating, and generally survive where I was once thriving.

What happened? How did we get here? My main Man has lot his luster...really, I'm the one that changed. Swear as I did I couldn't possibly get over this mega-metropolis I think that's just what happened this summer. The slow faling out of love has become a firmly out of love status.

What city can possibly measure up to NYC? Where do I go from here?

______________________________________________________________________


In an effort to reconcile I've e-mailed the tea girls--we will be catching The Candidate starring Robert Redford in Bryant Park next Monday (8/11)--I'll be raising my plastic cup full of white wine to the city while I get very sleepy.

Eleanor

I have wantted to live at 45 Wall in FiDi for many years--yet she eludes me. Please appreciate the "Gone in 60 Seconds" reference, people.

Boxed In

Seen on 3rd Ave. at 9th Street on Monday at 9pm...

At BJs Today

As if parking for pregnant people wasn't bad enough...now this!

Lion Love

This display of lion love made me wonder if my pups would recognize me a year after I released them into the wild. I'd drop 'em in Malta, of course, they wouldn't last an hour in Africa.

I'm totally in love with this video right now.
Do you think Ace and John are gay? Does Harrods sell lion cubs?
I know it was 1969 but a giant dept. store in London sellling a lion cub to a gay couple...really? Not to mention a lion cub living in London...double really?

Hampton Honey

The moniker bestowed on me by Zayan on the card attached to the silver wine bag that held my fave vodka when he came out to the house on June 27 has stuck in my head...

Shouldn't it be Hamptons Honey?

I'm not suggesting it's an apt title but I like it. A lot.

Don't worry this isn't a relapse in the making--trust me--
As we sat at Birdie's last week scarfing down fried chicken and eviscerating one another's love lives--me more so than him--I felt a twinge of sorrow at the loss of any romantic inclination towards Z. Now, I realize this is a good thing but for so long I had believed that he was the one for me and perhaps I would know the flame that burned eternal in my dealings with him. This is just not so. Despite the positive mental health factor, it's a romantic rumination that's been ruined.

Combine this reality with my tepid temperament towards D'Souza, I'm burning through exes. I, as someone who has always prided herself on maintaining good post-relationship dealings, suddenly find myself in the shoes of the masses--longing to cut off all ties to these people and generally pretend they never happened to me. Alright, so that's a bit extreme but it's not wholly inaccurate. My version of letting go has been to hold a long thick string tied to the ex's wrist and stand behind a pressurized NYC wall. I'm contemplating dropping the string and leaving the apartment.

Wow. Is that personal growth? Is that maturity? Or is it just "that I've been dating for 10 years and my hair hurts"?

D'Souza Delivers

D'Souza came out this weekend.
11:45am-5:45pm Saturday
Spent the day in the poool drinking beer and making runs to King Kullen for food.
The dogs got pushed in--damn D'souza--so he put them on some floats so they could dry off without getting disgusting from jumping around the sand.
He drove off in a huff after injuring his toe.

10:00am-9:34pm Sunday
I collected him from the Hampton Bays train station bright and early.
We drove to Babylon where his car had broken down so he could get AAA to tow it.
Spent an hour or so at the ocean beach drinking beer out of a cooler and watching white people tan.
Drove out to DuckWalk's winery in Water Mill for a tasting before they closed at 5:30pm then booked it home to grill some delicious chorizos for dinner.
Popped open some champagne and dove in the pool before warming up in the hottub--so we had to jump back in the pool to cool down.
Then I deposited him at the train station so he could head home to Jersey City.

Beach Bum (15 summers strong)

At the ocean beach yesterday, I spied this old school wooden Jeep--made Judy look young--sporting beach permits from 1994 to 2008...there is an owner who LOVES this particular beach in East Quogue.

Westin Ads on LIRR

Vulnerability--I suck at it--

This is my fault. I should never have pushed the Hamptons on you.

I foolishly spent all year waiting for this beautiful dream of spending weekends in Hampton Bays with you. Ever since we picked that house I've been waiting for the summer to start so we could really enjoy ourselves again.

When I realized I would only have one chance to make all my anticipation a reality I started daydreaming about spending a lazy afternoon on the beach drinking out of our cooler--jumping in the ocean then drying off long enough to build a sandcastle WITH YOU....taking a trip to the vineyard and sampling an assortment of Long Island wine WITH YOU....dancing under the stars at The Drift (a deck on the ocean) pulsing with mainstream music WITH YOU...swimming in the pool as the sun rises after stewing in the hottub with everyone who was in the house this weekend---young, relaxed, hopeful, fun--WITH YOU.

I just thought this would be my one chance to be on vacation WITH YOU. My one last good memory so I could always look back on our relationship as a happy time...a time that ended as wonderfully as it had begun.

I don't deserve that. Thank you for making sure I don't get that...thank you for not being sorry. Thank you for not making it up to me. Thank you for ensuring that I get just how much we are over because I'm don't deserve to have one lousy weekend with you at the beach...carefree, happy....feeling like that girl I used to be when we met. I'm not her. She's just a memory. She's the only memory I have any right to have. That's what I deserve...thank you for making sure I get what I deserve.

Dissing D'Souza

Last night, D'Souza dissapointed me more than any man has ever disappointed me.

The primary reason for this is that I let him. I gave him that power over me. A regret that I will carry with me. A lesson I would have learned earlier in life had I been trusting enough to showcase my vulnerability to a man--the way women are willing and able, nay expected to.

The secondary reason is that he had promised to come out to the Hamptons this weekend and he did not come. A promise he made through NO prompting of mine roughly 3weeks ago with the added assurance that he would take off on Friday so we could drive up on Thursday and truly enjoy a relaxing yet party heavy weekend of debauchery and general beach fun.

As things develop this was a gradual letdown which in so many ways isn't any better than a sudden drop. Thursday night he sang me a song of the quarter ending which signals long nights of work for him. I hadn't actually expected him to take Friday off but he then assured me that he would find a way to spend 24 consecutive hours in the Hamptons with me this weekend. So when he called me at 9:34pm last night to tell me he wasn't coming out this weekend I was crushed.

I was crushed the way a little girl whose parents share joint custody is crushed when her father doesn't show up...it doesn't really matter that he's often not shown up...this time she had believed it would be different. This time she put on a new dress and braided her hair with pink ribbons and scrubbed her face extra hard and sat on her mother's stoop holding the bear her father had given her last Christmas waiting...hoping...believing....needing him to show up. So, when he didn't come she cried. She cried with a force of a punctured artery squirting jets of fresh fluid with pressure unrelenting. She cried till her whole face was red. She cried till her sobs were soundless. She cried for herself and all the little girls who sat on stoops waiting...waiting for dads that never came. Believing in things they were too young to stop believing in....crying with a bitterness they should have been too inexperienced to convey accurately.

So getting back to the point--D'Souza didn't show up. Not only did he not show up he dared to issue the following brilliant statements to a distraught ME:
"Can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm tired and I need to get some sleep."
Again...this was at 9:34pm on Saturday night.
"We broke up. Would you be this upset if any other friend of yours cancelled on you at the last minute?"
Um. Yes. I would be. It's discourteous, selfish, inconsiderate, and unkind. I would not just be upset I would sling much more serious epithets in their direction and proceed to not speak to them for weeks on end.
"I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll come out next weekend. I've already taken Friday off."
His solution is to make me ANOTHER promise to come out when it is convenient for him (without consulting me if that would work for me! After all how much does that matter--it's ALL about HIM) despite having told me that THIS weekend was convenient for him. Plus I know for a fact that he'll have to drive his sister back up to Ithaca next weekend to renew her lease. Unlike him I listen. I pay attention. I remember dates and general timelines.
"I'm here on an H1B visa. I don't have the luxury of quitting my job and sitting on my ass like some people."
Well, you had the opportunity to file for a green card. So I'm sorry this excuse just doesn't hold water. Not to mention, do you really think couching an insult directed at me given the circumstances is a good idea?

Mannequin meets The Bodies

Drift Inn

Arty Party Recap

Stella, Jani and I tromped about 25th Street between 10th and 11th Avenues today from 5pm-7pm viewing a variety of art openings. These receptions feature free wine, beer, and occassionally vodka...today I sampled all three at the seven galleries I perused.

Jani favored Science as Muse at the SVA student group show.
Stella voted for Teri Garland's Southern Discomforts complete with Klansman and families bearing the emblematic "White Power" t-shirts.

I was ambivalent till we climbed into a padded freight elevator at 555 W. 25th Street in what appeared to be an upscale apartment building--clearly a multi-use property--custom fitted with elevator doors that close like an alligator's jaws. As if the ride wasn't awesome enough a series of dark/disturbing Asian child inspired imagery donned the white walls. The post below highlights my favorites--most frightening visages.

Above is a Beetle Juice reminiscent room with a large David Copperfield style crystal filled with water exerting centrifugal force in the middle amplifying the dizzying effect of the small space. Ack!

Asian Art a la The Grudge

Proud Pet Mommy

Vegas on a Grassy Knoll

Here is a photograph of Vegas taken by a professional pet photographer--Sarah Sleiding--on a grassy knoll just West of 5th Ave. in Central Park on 96th St.

Disposable Grill

This weekend I have a few kosher folks in the house who refused to cook on my gentile grill...here is their "disposable" grill.

Sweet Castle

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...

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

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!

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

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...

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"

Maiden Voyage: Judy & I

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.

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.

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.

Back...Worse for Wear....But Back

I bought a car today.
It's used. It's old.
1993 Jeep Cherokee

Flip Ultra

What I got D'Souza for Christmas!
The tiniest camcorder EVER.

The Juke

My new phone--thanks to D'Souza--gotta love early Christmas presents.

Viva Vegas!

Name: Vegas
Breed: Maltese
DOB: 9-21-07