Unable or Unwilling?

In my 200th post, I wanted to address an issue that continues to plague me.

I terminated, regretted, was terminated from a gut-wrenching relationship in 2005--when I say gut-wrenching I mean "shred your insides", "claw your eyeballs out", "cry till you can't breathe" gut-wrenching. I was told by all sources, trustworthy sources, that this too shall pass and I will survive. I was told I would learn lessons and move on. While all of this, I now see are true statements, none of them have really come to fruition in my life. I mean, I have survived--rather I am surviving. But I can't say I've learned a damn thing other than to be even less trusting than I used to be....and I really didn't NEED to learn that lesson. I have moved on in the sense that I date--yea, it happens: but I can't seem to open myself up again. Maybe I haven't met the right person or maybe I've shut my heart down--hyper protective mode is on!

All of this resurfaced last night at Tea. Lauren is currently living with a boyfriend who treats her and makes her feel very much like I was treated and felt in that past relationship. I found myself projecting so much onto her and into her--it was cathartic and I think it helped her. But it also made me realize that as much as I can be over it I am, but really still I'm not OVER it. I mean, I'm over him--yes. And I didn't think that day would dawn, but I still don't get what happened. I don't get why love wasn't enough. I loved him--his mind, his body, his soul...I loved him with my mind, my body, my soul and it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. My love wasn't enough. Who even knows anymore? But I still wrestle with this. No not everyday like I used to in those first few months. No, not even every other day, but at least once a week I'll realize that till I get "closure" it won't be OVER for me.

The dilly of a pickle I find myself in is that he won't let me get this closure. I know. He's a winner. No really, he IS a winner--but we have VERY different ways of dealing with this. He's an outta sight, outta mind kinda guy--which is especially painful since we spent 9 months of our 16-month relationship apart, but I digress. How do I move on without closure? Frankly I think he's pretty happy that I'm not moving on...because I know while he's over me, he's not exactly blissfully happy in a new relationship with a shiny, happy person. I guess I'm saying, I'm past hating him--but when will I get past hating myself for having loved him?

To tie this all back to Lauren...I said something she found salient last night. Something I tell myself, chant like a mantra, when I find myself slipping into missing him mode.
"It doesn't matter if he's unwilling or unable. Stop trying to figure out which one it is. Stop alternating between making excuses for both. Because at the end of the day, whether he is unable or unwilling it's the same thing--he's not enough. Whether it is that he is not willing to be enough or not able to be enough. HE IS NOT ENOUGH. That's all there is to it. You cannot love him enough for the both of you. You cannot be selfless enough to make up for his selfishness. It's not that he doesn't love you. He doesn't love you enough. He doesn't love you more than he loves himself. That would work out if you didn't love him more than you love yourself. It can't work. The harder you love him, the more unloved you will feel."

I'm not sure a lightbulb went on for her, but this affirmation always makes me feel better. At first it was the blanket I wiped my face in as I cried myself to sleep...now it's the empowerment I feel when I look in the mirror after putting on a fresh coat of make-up. I am living, I'm surviving and one day--one day soon--I'll be thriving again.

Squeezed in Fun

Of course I found a way to have a little wine and cheese at my apartment with Tommy, Gary, and Special K--got too trashed and regretted it immensely Saturday in class.

Went to dinner at MaryAnn's on the UWS with Taurean, Summer, and Rani (whom I never see because of her crazy med sked) on Saturday. Here's a picture, Summer snapped of us when we took a break from my margarita sipping to smile and wipe the goofy drink induced grins off our faces.

Enjoyed a late sunday dinner with Carrie and Jonathan (previously Kurt) at Rosa Mexicana off Union Square...scroll down to read more about that story.

Kurt is now Jonathan

Well, maybe it is not apparent to you my readers that I use monikers on this blog. It is a rare day when I use someone's "real" name to reference them.

At dinner with Carrie, Jonathan (formerly Kurt) objected to my chosen name. He demanded to know just where exactly I CAME up with Kurt. It wasn't a Danish name--he's Danish you see..like really, from Denmark. So I explained that his name didn't drip Dane to me, but I was more than happy to make an exception and change it. We spent some time in deliberation--Carrie hating names he came up with, him vetoing names she came up with (apparently names ending in i, ee, y were BANNED!)...again, so what's wrong with KurT? Finally, we settled on Jonathan...they found consensus on Oscar but I simply had to veto that choice.

Mind you, this conversation was over free flowing margaritas. Carrie and Jonathan, if nothing else, can compete with this drunken brown girl in the drinking department. I was accused of flirting shamlessly with the waiter to which I say...I'm not the one who quipped, "Sorry, we don't have any spicy desserts" as he gently opened the menu in front of me. I'm also not the one who wore an ornate yet manly ring on his wedding finger--so, what's a girl to say/do?

Class Crush

I was stuck in class all weekend at TC. Basic Practicum in Conflict Resolution and Mediation--which is fascinating stuff but presented in the most simplistic way. I enjoyed the exercises but I saw NO reason for it to stretch across 20 hours.
Fri. 4pm-8pm
Sat. 9am-5pm
Sun. 9am-5pm

You guessed it--that was my entire weekend.
During the course of my class I developed a crush on the male facilitator. He was completely my type--tall, slow-talking, brown boy with smarty glasses, fuzz on his face and a sense of style that could be awesome with some development. I gathered that he is 25, graduated from Duke, works as a consultant at present in lieu of lending a helping hand to the family business involving kitchen cabinet importing in the Phillipines. Oh, he grew up in Hong Kong, has a British passport and lives on the UWS. He joined MY group of lunch-goers on both Sat. and Sunday. From what I understood he was matching me flirt for flirt...but at the end of the weekend, I find out from one of the girls in a group he was facilitating--he has a GIRLFRIEND. I mean...DUH...why would he be single? sigh. Back to square one. Though, the silver lining may be that from what he disclosed to my classmate and now good friend--there is trouble in paradise. Shaan and his gf are in hot water and he's not sure he wants to make it work. We'll see where all that stands in two weeks when I'm back in the intense weekend class!

Staring

At what point does looking become staring?

I was on the subway last night and the most beautiful man was standing a few feet away. I couldn't help looking at him--continuously. He didn't notice. I vowed to myself that if he got off at 86th St. I would make my move. He did. I did not.

I gave myself an extension. If he rode the 6 train up one stop and got off at 96th St. I would definitely talk to him. He did. I did not.

As we climbed the steps up to the sidewalk, I pledged firmly--if he walks in the same direction as I do--there was no turning back--I WOULD DEFINITELY INITIATE CONVERSATION. The wily fellow walked across the street to the supermarket.

I stood stupefied for a minute and walked toward my apartment. As I got to the first corner, I couldn't do it. I turned back around and went into the super market. I stood in the aisle nearest the one he was examining produce in--hunting for an IN. What could I possibly say to this incredibly handsome man?

My opening line was going to be, "Is your name Josh or Luke, by any chance?" I find these to be historically HOT names...but once he replied I had NOTHING. So I didn't ask. He rounded the bend and walked by me and I froze like an icicle in a bat cave. YIKES--he even smelled good.

Defeated and forlorn, I dragged my feet out of the store and went home. On the short walk, I called Tommy to tell him my tale of woe. He comforted me with these words: "I've followed a girl onto a subway going the opposite direction from where I needed to go. You're not that much of a psycho....wait, why didn't you just ask for his help picking out produce?" Well, sheesh--where were you when I was standing there about to pee on myself due to the extremes of glee and trepidation my mind kept switching on me.

Besides, he's got to have noticed me between the two subway lines and my pursuit of him INTO the SUPERMARKET! If he'd had an iota of interest he could have said/done something...right?

I hate Jada

I LOVE WILL SMITH!
From Fresh Prince to Independance Day.
From Will2K to MIB...he's da bomb.

I'll NEVER get over...

Bollywood Babes

Hrithik Roshan, right

Zayed Khan

I'm have an equal appreciation for Bollywood hotness as I do for Hollywood hotness! They are two different actors--I know it may seem like they are the seem dude, but they are NOT.
There's a LOT this variety of brown can do for me...

Who's Hotter?

Clive Owen, right

My two favorite hotties--at the moment. Very different appeal, but oh so sexy.
While I'm sad I'll never have my pick of them, I'm glad I'll never find myself in the position to have to pick ONE--just one of these super sexy stars!

Patrick Dempsey, left

Google is run by Brown People!

The Google Blog leads me to believe that Google is run by brown people. Just scroll through the authors of entries, 96% Indian! I mean, we've all known that my peeps are the rabbits of the computer field--IT, programming, database managemement, engineering, um other functions! Apparently Russians are another computer crazy bunch--being the musical people group they are and math being the backbone of music as well as the binary functionality of computer tongues. I digress.

What's brown done for google lately?
A WHOLE LOT! As the google blog would lead one to believe...just about everything including imparting medical advice. The other field my Indian comrades seem to be overrunning with their academic advances.

Damn Indians...always on the path to make me look back with the accomplishments in fields of study and practice that are impressive and universally helpful.

Crazy Love

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her that’s where I belong
Yet I’m running to her like a river’s song

Chorus: She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She’s got a fine sense of humor when I’m feeling low down
And when I come to her when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

Chorus

Yes I need her in the daytime
Yes I need her in the night
Yes I want to throw my arms around her
Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight

And when I’m returning from so far away
She gives me some sweet lovin’ brighten up my day
Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole
Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul

Chorus

This is THE song on my iPod this week. It makes me SO happy!
I can't get enough of Van Morrison...

Tracey Time

Tracey trekked in to see me last night!
Correction: Tracey came in to see Luckey last night. Photos to come...

We exchanged a bevy of gifts--I inundated her with birthday goodies and she saddled Luckey with more chew toys and chomp-able yummies than his wee mind could wrap around. I dragged her to Holy Basil in E.Vil for dinner. It's one of my favorite crannies in the city--the facade belies the exotic interior. The steps lead up to a neglected apartment building, in fact they provide a speakeasy style doorway to a rich space luxuriously decorated (yet lacking ostentation) with mirrors to create the illusion of space and Buddhist tapestries artistically draped.

Trace used to shun all foods non-Italian and non-Chinese, but I've crafted her to appreciate Thai, albeit Pad Thai. We rounded our delectable meal of spring rolls, pad thai, kang phed, and thai sweet iced tea with fried banana surrounded by green tea ice cream for dessert. Mmm...good! The ultimate treat was the cab ride home--bothered as we couldn't be by the light drizzle on our full-bodied heads.

At dinner I enumerated all the blessings life has bestowed me, but I couldn't help lament the one missing element--the man. I don't want A man....because I've done that and I'm not looking for A man--but it would be nice to meet THE man. I don't want to take that long walk down the short aisle just yet, but it saddens me to think that I haven't even MET this guy who I'm to spend the rest of my days with. Every passing day is another that I'll have to fill him in on...it's all Pre-Him. sigh. I suppose it makes the getting to know you-ness all the more delightful, but I wish we'd be past that, already. I want to have my built-in movie buddy, drinking partner, shower duet, Luckey walker, dinner companion, dream share in the living room of my life. Where is the pro to my con--the flow to my ebb--the lime to my light?

It mystifies me that we humans can never be truly happy. Or maybe it's just me, who can never savor the moment to its fullest with no care of the past or the future. Why is it so hard to be in the Here and Now?

I stepped on his foot...

This morning, half-awake as I was, stumbling about my kitchen--Luckey nipping at my toes I accidentally stepped on his teeny, tiny puppy foot. He yelped and absconded from me. In the short time that I've known him, I've never seen him pull away from me--he was afraid and I had hurt him. The guilt that gripped me is unspeakable. I've never felt so bad about ANYTHING in my WHOLE life. Honestly, hyperbole aside...I am stewing in a pot of remorse. I didn't mean to--it was an honest accident, but his reaction combined with my realization that his itty bitty Luckey foot had been underfoot of my comparatively HUMUNGOUS human foot--so sad.

Minutes later he was back to loving me, but he didn't nip at me again. He was weary of the consequence of any more nipping. I suppose the positive side effect is that I may have cured his biting of my feet, but I don't think so...I'm guessing when I get back tonight he'll be back at it--completely forgetting this morning's incident, but I fear I don't have this luxury. I don't think I can forgive myself for this till I do something even more egregious that paralyses me with poor puppy owner fear.

I'm sorry, Luckey. I really didn't mean to. You're the best pup-pet EVER!

Just My Luckey

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

My Mom, My Hero

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

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

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

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

Lucky Me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a Boy!

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

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

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

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

Brady

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

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

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

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

Happy Tracey Day!

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

Happy Birthday, Tracey! L'Chaim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen to Nike and JUST DO IT!