things that make you feel old ...

Thanksgiving was nice. My two cousins came to visit. I remember when they both were born. And now they are 16 and 18. Oh man I'm old. We don't do turkey on turkey day. Instead we ate steaks and Indian food. Yum! We had to be somewhat American though, so we topped it off with some pumpkin pie. Later that night, I spoke to a friend of mine (also Indian). Same story: Indian food for Thanksgiving, rounded out by some apple pie. Let's hear it for partial assimilation!

Not much else to write, so here are some pictures. Stolen from both my brother and cousin's blogs. I am old. And therefore lazy.

These are my cousins when the were young. So cute!

My brother and cousins over Thanksgiving. They are all grown up. Thus I am old.
The lizzadies.
All of us!

*~*~

Speaking of families, I want to send a special prayer out to a friend - a friend from many years ago and a friend again today, who is going through a difficult time. SJ, my thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.

you smell kinda funny

I used to wear Michael Kors perfume about a year ago. It's a unique scent - once you've been introduced to it you can recognize it quite quickly. Sephora.com describes it as follows:

Michael Kors is tuberose reinvented. Creamy florals explode into exotic spices, tamed by Moroccan incense. A fragrant creation with a wealth of personality that will capture the heart of every woman.

However, once I ran out of my perfume I switched to another fragrance that I wore regularly (Lalique, for you olfactory aficionados). Last week, a friend forwarded along a 20% discount on any online Sephora purchase. It happened to be expiring that day so I decided to purchase some Michael Kors perfume and get back on the tuberose bandwagon.

This morning, I was sporting some new perfume. When my mom smelled me (hah) she said:

"Oh, you're wearing your Michael Moore perfume!"

Yes, apparently I smell like fat white man.

9 months and 26 years later ...

I am finally 26. My birthday was this past Saturday. It was one of those weekends where 76,534 people were having birthday parties the same weekend. Everyone kept making the the joke "Well, 9 months ago was Valentine's Day ... Ha Ha Ha."

My response? "Please, don't ever, ever say that again."

Although, after someone said that to me, I told them the following story, which I will share with you now. I apologize in advance, Mom. But it's pretty damn funny.

My junior year of college, my father came to Boston with one of his colleagues for a work conference (gotta get those CME credits!). My dad asked if I wanted to invite my roommates out for dinner. And, as anyone who ever went to college knows, you jump on an opportunity like that like it's going out of style.

The scene:
4 girls. 3 white + me (not white, in case you were wondering). 2 Desi Uncles.

What happened:

The conversation was a little awkward, as is expected. Finally, at some point, my roommates started talking about where they are from, etc. Roommate #1 was from Michigan (born and raised), but spent quite some time in Chicago while growing up. Roommate #2 was from Chicago. Roommate #3 was from Philadelphia, but her father moved to Chicago some years ago.

We came to the conclusion that all my roommates were tethered to the Midwest, particularly Chicago. We seemed to have reached the end of the conversation, and the silence was creeping up once again. All of a sudden, my Dad looks up and says, I swear on my life:

"Well, Sophia was conceived in Chicago."

The aftermath:

My jaw dropped and I think whatever food I may have had in there fell onto my plate. My roommates looked horrified and had no idea how to respond. My father looked completely nonplussed. After another 30 seconds of silence, we all burst into laughter and couldn't stop for almost the entire night.

*~*~

Here's to 26. May it be better than 25. And 25 was pretty good, I gotta admit. Happy Birthday to all the November babies, my brother included. His birthday is tomorrow.

if i were 50 years older

One of the most frustrating aspects of my job is that I work, for all intents and purposes, alone. I sit in front of a computer all day and speak to noone. It's very lonely and depressing. And, above all else, I hate eating lunch alone.

This afternoon, I went to the cafeteria. I bought a slice of pizza. In various locations in the cafeteria, they have a bench with stools instead of tables. Basically, if you are eating alone, you can sit on the bench. Each bench has about 4 or 5 stools, so you may end up sitting next to someone.

I sat on one of these benches, and an elderly gentleman sat to my right. I ate my pizza in silence, and after finishing the slice, gazed off into the distance and thought of nothing, as I am wont to do.

The old man leaned over and said "Pizza, it's sure hard to resist, isn't it?"

I laughed and told him indeed it is. He proceeded to tell me that he gave up pizza when he gave up alcohol, 30 years ago. He said "I'm 81." I congratulated him.

He asked if I was Indian and I nodded. "Where in India?" he continued. "Bombay."

"You're very beautiful. I had an Indian doctor once. She was half Irish half Indian. Dr. Brenda. Very beautiful. Like you. I also had a dentist once. She was very beautiful."

He continued, "I wish I were 50 years younger, so I could ask you out." And I responded, "Actually, I wish I were 50 years older" and smiled.

He said "Thank you for letting me flirt with you dear. You made my day. God bless you."

There was no element of exaggeration when I told him that it was he who made my day.

more fun with "what do you do for fun?"

The trend has not stopped. Every interviwer to date has asked me this question. Some humorous snippets:

1) An affable yet absent-minded physician who reminded exactly of Dr. Hibbert from the Simpsons. My answer du jour was "I go dancing." He asked what type of dancing. I mentioned Indian, since cultural references are vague enough that they are usually left as-is. I then said, "And I often go out dancing with my friends."

To which he responded, completely seriously, "Ah, so you like to go boogie-dancing."

What's a girl to do? I said, "Yes, yes I do."



2) I walked into an interview at another school. The interviewer was an awkward, middle-aged gentleman complete with bowtie and stilted conversation style. His conversation starter was the million dollar question. Once again, I answered "I go dancing." And then ....

Silence. For a good ten seconds. I shifted in my seat and tried to look at ease. He literally had nothing to say in response. In retrospect, I suppose it was quite funny. Not so much at the time.

3) My most recent interviewer was a lovely African-American woman. She also asked the fun question, and I once again said that I like to dance. She asked what type of dancing and I said "Indian", assuming, as in Case #1, that it would be left at that.

Ooops. This woman had taken Classical Indian dancing lessons at some point in her life and was set on discussing the intricacies of the eye movements in certain forms. I must say I did a pretty good job of BSing, but still. It was close.

*~*~

My parents are CRAZY. LOCO. NUTSO. What have you.

I am at home. A few minutes ago I heard some serious racket downstairs. My parents were chasing each other around the house like 5 year olds. I mean like full on running through the house. He was trying to tickle her and she was trying to hit him, and it evolved into a high-stakes game of tag. Along with shouting and laughing. Highly unnatural for my nearly sexagenarian parents. One of whom has had knee surgery.

Suddenly I hear a huge thud and a high pitched shriek "Oh NO! Oh NO!!" I ran downstairs and saw my dad sprawled out on the hardwood living room floor. In his button down and sweater vest and trouser socks. My mom is huddled in the corner crying, realizing that she has been an integral part of this disaster. I kneel down and ask my dad if he's OK. He can't stop laughing. He's fine, but bruised his knees.

I felt like scolding them both and giving them a time out.

and we're back

The last few weeks have been quite hectic. Lots of med school interviews, which means lots of traveling and skipping work (two things I enjoy immensely). So much to tell, so little will to organize my thoughts clearly. Here's a data dump of totally asinine information, should you be so inclined to read it:

My appetite is on the fritz again. For the past few weeks, I didn't eat much. The unhealthy consequence was that I lost some weight. I know it's something I shouldn't complain about, but as I've mentioned, losing weight puts me dangerously close to the gross anorexic cocaine sniffing waifish category. I'm particularly upset about this weight loss for the following reason: The weight came off my butt. That's right. Normally my weight fluctuations are evenly distributed across my body. But this time, a few pounds fell right off my keister. And now my butt's all bony and sadly not badonkadonk. Prior to going on my interviews, I tried on some business suits I had in my closet. My mom saw me in them, and said: "Where did your butt go? You used to have some shape, and now it's just flat. You have no butt."

My mom chastized me for my flat bum. Can my life get any sadder?

General commentary: I think it's great that J Lo et. al (hah, that sounds like a paper, citation, right? Social perceptions toward derriere magnitude. J. Lo et. al. Journal of Hindquarter Sociology, 2005.) I digress. I think it's great that shapely bootys are valued. It's a throw back to the days of Sir Mix-A-Lot. He likes big butts, and he cannot lie. Those other brothers just can't deny.

The other funny thing I noticed was that my dad pluralizes the word "butt." When I showed him the business suit and pointed out that it was loose in the back, he said "Yes, it's too loose in the butts." I don't why, but I find this incredibly funny. I am laughing right now thinking about it.

I interviewed at a school in the Midwest and ended up spending a weekend with a very good friend of mine who lives there. We went to Blockbuster one night to rent a video. If you want to check out some serious Midwest fashion, Blockbuster on a Saturday night is the place to be! We saw one woman wearing a very odd outfit - a brown skirt, a white ruffle top, and elbow length pink suede gloves. My friend was extremely disturbed by her. I thought it was because of the outfit, but he corrected me. "Soph," he said, "didn't you notice that she was wearing rings on the OUTSIDE of her gloves??" Unfortunately I missed that sight, but let me assure you that my friend was traumatized.

So here I am, back in Boston for two days before I'm off to more interviews. Last night I flipped on the telly to relax. I'm not a West Wing person, but I was enthralled with the fake debate last night on TV. For anyone who saw it as well (um, maybe just the ladies), I hope you can collaborate my new desire to have Jimmy Smit's love child.

The good news is that my appetite is slowly but surely coming back. As, I hope will my back, know what I'm sayin? Aha, do you now see the double entendre in the title of this post? Clever, huh? Come on, throw me a bone here. Jimmy, I'm doing it for you baby!