My memory is certainly starting to slacken with age. Which bodes so incredibly well for my next few years in MEDICAL SCHOOL.
But yes. Memory. I was just surfing the web and wanted to check out the blog. And I couldn't remember if I had "The" in the website or not. I typed in:
http://thesophiachronicles.blogspot.com
And ... Bizarro Blog.
Note to self, and ... readers ... the correct address is http://sophiachronicles.blogspot.com. Though by reading this I can safely say that YOU have the correct address. Congrats! You know me better than I know myself.
Do you think the title and format of the other blog are a little eerie, given my old format and my as-yet-current title?
*~*~
Just finished an exam and now am tidying up before I take off for winter break. I love downtime.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
dissection
Hello All.
Per some friendly prodding, I am back to pontificate and procrastinate.
I apologize for not writing in a while. Who would have thought med school was so time consuming? Actually, it's not even the time consuming element that has prevented me from writing too much. Med school just isn't terribly amusing. Interesting? Yes. Challenging? Definitely. Intermittent spurts of uproarious laughter? Not so much.
So far school is great. Anatomy was a bit of a challenge - we have a new curriculum which tried to have us learn all of anatomy in 7 weeks. Suffice to say, that didn't go over too well. I also became very frustrated at the archaic naming of muscles in the body. Why do people make things so much more difficult than they need to be? In a particularly prolonged rant to some classmates, I decided to break with tradition and started naming my own muscles. Here is a dictionary:
Bicips brachii = Armus bendus
Anal spinchter = Poopus stoppus
Latissimus dorsi = Backus flexus
Gastrocnemius = High heelius sexius
You get the idea.
*~*~
A few weeks ago I went to the Harvard Yale football game. Talk about sad. While I had a great time seeing friends and tailgating, I have to admit that the alumni representation left something to be desired. Here is a picture of the Class of 2000 / 2001 joint tailgate:
Per some friendly prodding, I am back to pontificate and procrastinate.
I apologize for not writing in a while. Who would have thought med school was so time consuming? Actually, it's not even the time consuming element that has prevented me from writing too much. Med school just isn't terribly amusing. Interesting? Yes. Challenging? Definitely. Intermittent spurts of uproarious laughter? Not so much.
So far school is great. Anatomy was a bit of a challenge - we have a new curriculum which tried to have us learn all of anatomy in 7 weeks. Suffice to say, that didn't go over too well. I also became very frustrated at the archaic naming of muscles in the body. Why do people make things so much more difficult than they need to be? In a particularly prolonged rant to some classmates, I decided to break with tradition and started naming my own muscles. Here is a dictionary:
Bicips brachii = Armus bendus
Anal spinchter = Poopus stoppus
Latissimus dorsi = Backus flexus
Gastrocnemius = High heelius sexius
You get the idea.
*~*~
A few weeks ago I went to the Harvard Yale football game. Talk about sad. While I had a great time seeing friends and tailgating, I have to admit that the alumni representation left something to be desired. Here is a picture of the Class of 2000 / 2001 joint tailgate:
I am amused as to how they took extra-special effort to designate this the "official" tailgate. Some things are better left inconspicuous.
*~*~
I had gone apple picking a while ago. Apparently some people need help with the concept:
Also, someone snapped this infamous photo of me ... and appropriately labeled it "The Greatest Auntie Shot of All Time."
So there you go.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
if you can't beat 'em, join 'em
I am officially in medical school. Which basically means I study all the time, and I make new friends by complaining about how much work we have to do. Note that this simultaneously alienates me from my former friends. Quite the dynamic equilibrium. (I know what you are thinking ... oh no she did-nt! To which I respond 'oh ... I certainly did'!)
But all is well in the land of intellectual self-aggrandizing and social ineptitude. I hit the expected hurdles: homesickness, self-doubt and la piece de resistance ... loneliness. I am having a difficult time making good friends at school. But I think this is par for the course - making friends is a long-lived process and it takes several iterations to find the good ones. I am on my way though ... slowly but surely I found my way to the back row of the lecture hall. Every morning I roll in a few minutes late to lecture, and plop down next to similarly minded classmates and engage in a lively game of "What the hell is the professor talking about?" Followed by my next favorite game of "Let's make fun of everyone but us, since we clearly are the coolest kids in school."
I had an idea to have a class-wide dodgeball game (but dropped it once I found out they already have one in the spring). I wanted to call whatever team I formed "Picked Last." Because clearly, if you are at my school, you were picked last whenever they played dodgeball. Except for the six foot tall girl in my class who apparantly was a rock star Ivy League basketball player. And who has been assigned to my anatomy group (which starts in a little over a week. The frequency of blogging, I am sure, which increase right around then because that's where the good stories will come from). But yes, she is in my anatomy group. I am sure it will make for quite the comedic scene. Has anyone seen the movie Twins? I envision our anatomy table to resemble that somewhat. Except multicultural. Sort of like Benneton-meets-Twins.
I digress. So yes, overall nothing extraordinary. Just life. And the lovely feeling of doing something (however painful it may be) that is taking me to a place I really want to be. Not once during this whole process have I doubted my desire to become a physician. And that is pretty gosh-darn nice.
OK, back to the back row. We were learning the details of the cell cycle late last week. In the cycle, a cell alternates between a phase when it copies its DNA (called "S" phase for synthesis) and the phase when it divides ("M" for mitosis). For several reasons, it is important the M phase follows S phase. Our professor spent quite some time explaining this, and often reiterated:
"S&M are very important. M must follow S. In certain situations, S&M alternate rapidly."
And in there in the large theater, a lone, high pitched giggle emerged from the back row of miscreants.
But all is well in the land of intellectual self-aggrandizing and social ineptitude. I hit the expected hurdles: homesickness, self-doubt and la piece de resistance ... loneliness. I am having a difficult time making good friends at school. But I think this is par for the course - making friends is a long-lived process and it takes several iterations to find the good ones. I am on my way though ... slowly but surely I found my way to the back row of the lecture hall. Every morning I roll in a few minutes late to lecture, and plop down next to similarly minded classmates and engage in a lively game of "What the hell is the professor talking about?" Followed by my next favorite game of "Let's make fun of everyone but us, since we clearly are the coolest kids in school."
I had an idea to have a class-wide dodgeball game (but dropped it once I found out they already have one in the spring). I wanted to call whatever team I formed "Picked Last." Because clearly, if you are at my school, you were picked last whenever they played dodgeball. Except for the six foot tall girl in my class who apparantly was a rock star Ivy League basketball player. And who has been assigned to my anatomy group (which starts in a little over a week. The frequency of blogging, I am sure, which increase right around then because that's where the good stories will come from). But yes, she is in my anatomy group. I am sure it will make for quite the comedic scene. Has anyone seen the movie Twins? I envision our anatomy table to resemble that somewhat. Except multicultural. Sort of like Benneton-meets-Twins.
I digress. So yes, overall nothing extraordinary. Just life. And the lovely feeling of doing something (however painful it may be) that is taking me to a place I really want to be. Not once during this whole process have I doubted my desire to become a physician. And that is pretty gosh-darn nice.
OK, back to the back row. We were learning the details of the cell cycle late last week. In the cycle, a cell alternates between a phase when it copies its DNA (called "S" phase for synthesis) and the phase when it divides ("M" for mitosis). For several reasons, it is important the M phase follows S phase. Our professor spent quite some time explaining this, and often reiterated:
"S&M are very important. M must follow S. In certain situations, S&M alternate rapidly."
And in there in the large theater, a lone, high pitched giggle emerged from the back row of miscreants.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
new adventures
Today was my 4th day of medical school. I feel like this is some kind of bizarre dream and one day I am going to wake up in a cubicle with drool coming out of my mouth.
I went on the hiking trip. I am proud to say I made it through ... barely. This trip was without a doubt the *most* physically challenging thing I have ever, ever done in my life. We hiked part of the Appalachian Trail and climbed over 4,500 feet in the course of 3 days. We each carried heavy backpacks and traveled a total over nearly 15 miles. And I was in one of the EASIER groups.
As soon as we got off the bus, we began our hike. Within the first hour, we had climbed nearly 500 feet. My pack was very heavy for me; I couldn't breathe and my legs felt like they were going to fall off. I honestly thought I would have to stop them and ask them to let me turn around. I was able to push through, but was definitely the weakest link in my group. Originally I was self-conscious, but everyone was really supportive and nobody made me feel bad about it.
My group got along swimmingly. I think the key was that everyone had a good sense of humor. This was quite a relief, as I was really worried about getting along with my classmates, many of whom are considerably younger than I am. We played intense games of poker using M&Ms and raisins as currency. I didn't shower for four days. We had to pee and poop in the woods by digging holes in the forest and hoping noone walked by you. We drank brown lake water (some of which even had tadpoles floating around in it).
The amazing part was that I didn't get sick stomachwise. I think I was so preoccupied with the stress of hiking on the rest of my body, that my stomach was a very low priority for my hypochondriasis. It just made me realize how much of physical pain is due to your mental status.
While the experience didn't transform me into a groovy woovy Mother Earth type, it most certainly changed some of my neuroses. For example, my Brita has been sitting in my kitchen unused, because tap water now feels like an incredible luxury - when earlier I would have most likely grimaced while drinking what I was convinced was "chlorine smelling water."
Once we made it to the top of the mountain though, I felt like I had conquered the world:
*~*~
Tuesday we received our white coats. I guess it's kind of a big deal. I was really excited in the morning. But after hours of relatively boring speeches by various deans and faculty, I was ready for a nap. During our ceremony, we had to each say something about how we ended up in medical school and then go and get our coats in what was supposed to be a momentous and emotional moment.
By the time it got to me, I had to pee so badly that I blurted out some nonsense and then abruptly sat down. After an awkward silence, my neighbor leaned over to me and said "Uh, you need to go get your coat now." Duh.
Also, since I was one of the last people to get a coat, I received a men's size 38. I look incredibly silly. As if I didn't feel awkward enough being in school, let's go ahead and make me look like I'm playing cross-dress up from Daddy's closet. My mom and brother were in town for the day though, which was terrific. Also, I have to say. Harvard Med's campus is just stunning.
It's been a good week. More to come. But so far, I'm quite the happy camper. Literally!
I went on the hiking trip. I am proud to say I made it through ... barely. This trip was without a doubt the *most* physically challenging thing I have ever, ever done in my life. We hiked part of the Appalachian Trail and climbed over 4,500 feet in the course of 3 days. We each carried heavy backpacks and traveled a total over nearly 15 miles. And I was in one of the EASIER groups.
As soon as we got off the bus, we began our hike. Within the first hour, we had climbed nearly 500 feet. My pack was very heavy for me; I couldn't breathe and my legs felt like they were going to fall off. I honestly thought I would have to stop them and ask them to let me turn around. I was able to push through, but was definitely the weakest link in my group. Originally I was self-conscious, but everyone was really supportive and nobody made me feel bad about it.
My group got along swimmingly. I think the key was that everyone had a good sense of humor. This was quite a relief, as I was really worried about getting along with my classmates, many of whom are considerably younger than I am. We played intense games of poker using M&Ms and raisins as currency. I didn't shower for four days. We had to pee and poop in the woods by digging holes in the forest and hoping noone walked by you. We drank brown lake water (some of which even had tadpoles floating around in it).
The amazing part was that I didn't get sick stomachwise. I think I was so preoccupied with the stress of hiking on the rest of my body, that my stomach was a very low priority for my hypochondriasis. It just made me realize how much of physical pain is due to your mental status.
While the experience didn't transform me into a groovy woovy Mother Earth type, it most certainly changed some of my neuroses. For example, my Brita has been sitting in my kitchen unused, because tap water now feels like an incredible luxury - when earlier I would have most likely grimaced while drinking what I was convinced was "chlorine smelling water."
Once we made it to the top of the mountain though, I felt like I had conquered the world:
*~*~
Tuesday we received our white coats. I guess it's kind of a big deal. I was really excited in the morning. But after hours of relatively boring speeches by various deans and faculty, I was ready for a nap. During our ceremony, we had to each say something about how we ended up in medical school and then go and get our coats in what was supposed to be a momentous and emotional moment.
By the time it got to me, I had to pee so badly that I blurted out some nonsense and then abruptly sat down. After an awkward silence, my neighbor leaned over to me and said "Uh, you need to go get your coat now." Duh.
Also, since I was one of the last people to get a coat, I received a men's size 38. I look incredibly silly. As if I didn't feel awkward enough being in school, let's go ahead and make me look like I'm playing cross-dress up from Daddy's closet. My mom and brother were in town for the day though, which was terrific. Also, I have to say. Harvard Med's campus is just stunning.
It's been a good week. More to come. But so far, I'm quite the happy camper. Literally!
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
T minus 7 days
Hello hello!
It's the beginning of the end. Of summer, that is. Tomorrow I am half-moving to Boston. And by half-moving, I mean I am going up for two days, dropping off some clothing and an air mattress in my new apartment, and then rushing back to NY a la Speedy Gonzalez.
School begins August 21st. Let me just say: OH. MY. GOD.
I am simultaneously completely ready and totally unprepared to begin school. Does that make any sense? I'm very excited and I know that it's going to be a good time. But the transition is bittersweet; it's been nice being home and spending some good time with family and friends. Luckily, I'm not moving to a place that is completely unfamiliar. Unfortunately for you readers though, that means a never ending stream of posts to come about the lovely, lovely Fung Wah bus!
Don't ask me why (because I seriously can't come up with a good reason), but I signed up to go on an orientation hiking trip. It starts one week from today. Hiking. In the mountains. For four days. Granola - save the earth - Koombaya (sp?) - hiking. With backpacks. And no showers. No deodorant. No shaving of legs. ME. I am going hiking. WTF? I think my thought process went something like this: "Hmm, this is so unlike me. Let me sign up for a hiking trip which will inevitably become a comedy of errors, because I'm running out of material to blog about."
Yeah. Yesterday I went to a sporting goods store to buy some stuff for this trip. Which included a bottle of "Potable Aqua." They are iodine water purification tablets. It kills bacteria from lake water. Apparently we're going to be filling up our Nalgene bottles with lake water and dropping iodine tablets in them and then DRINKING said water.
Note to self: Also pack an economy sized tub of Pepto Bismol. And a Hershey's bar or two. I don't care if the chocolate attracts the bears.
*~*~
My family went on a vacation to Vancouver recently. I had no idea that Vancouver is as beautiful as it is. We then took a luxury train ride from Vancouver to Calgary, which passed through the Rocky Mountains. Quite fun. In a 1930's imperialist sort of way.
It's the beginning of the end. Of summer, that is. Tomorrow I am half-moving to Boston. And by half-moving, I mean I am going up for two days, dropping off some clothing and an air mattress in my new apartment, and then rushing back to NY a la Speedy Gonzalez.
School begins August 21st. Let me just say: OH. MY. GOD.
I am simultaneously completely ready and totally unprepared to begin school. Does that make any sense? I'm very excited and I know that it's going to be a good time. But the transition is bittersweet; it's been nice being home and spending some good time with family and friends. Luckily, I'm not moving to a place that is completely unfamiliar. Unfortunately for you readers though, that means a never ending stream of posts to come about the lovely, lovely Fung Wah bus!
Don't ask me why (because I seriously can't come up with a good reason), but I signed up to go on an orientation hiking trip. It starts one week from today. Hiking. In the mountains. For four days. Granola - save the earth - Koombaya (sp?) - hiking. With backpacks. And no showers. No deodorant. No shaving of legs. ME. I am going hiking. WTF? I think my thought process went something like this: "Hmm, this is so unlike me. Let me sign up for a hiking trip which will inevitably become a comedy of errors, because I'm running out of material to blog about."
Yeah. Yesterday I went to a sporting goods store to buy some stuff for this trip. Which included a bottle of "Potable Aqua." They are iodine water purification tablets. It kills bacteria from lake water. Apparently we're going to be filling up our Nalgene bottles with lake water and dropping iodine tablets in them and then DRINKING said water.
Note to self: Also pack an economy sized tub of Pepto Bismol. And a Hershey's bar or two. I don't care if the chocolate attracts the bears.
*~*~
My family went on a vacation to Vancouver recently. I had no idea that Vancouver is as beautiful as it is. We then took a luxury train ride from Vancouver to Calgary, which passed through the Rocky Mountains. Quite fun. In a 1930's imperialist sort of way.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
if you build it, the desis will come
Just one week prior to the Atlantic City shutdown on July 5th, I had paid a visit to the dilapidated boardwalk city for the first time in years. The reason? Family friends in town. Family friends, mind you, who don't drink or gamble. Just like my parents. So Atlantic City was obviously the perfect choice for an outing.
Did we go and walk along the beach on a quiet and lovely Tuesday evening in June? No. Did we check out the fancy-schmancy new Borgata Casino? Of course not. Where else would 5 desis go on a random night in the middle of New Jersey?
This was one of two desi families I saw just strolling through the casino.
*~*~
It's the Dummies guy! I LOVE the Dummies guy! Winning for dummies? Come on! What a marketing scheme! I lost $50 in ten minutes.
Did we go and walk along the beach on a quiet and lovely Tuesday evening in June? No. Did we check out the fancy-schmancy new Borgata Casino? Of course not. Where else would 5 desis go on a random night in the middle of New Jersey?
Desis feel an odd sense of entitlement when it comes to the Trump Taj Mahal. We ignore the fact that it's an overtly exoticized version of the "East" - complete with Arabian Night's Theme. Come all ye social-security dependent, jumpsuit wearing, chain smoking 80-year olds to the mystical land of slot machines and an overpriced but mediocre buffet. A buffet which, may I add, was called:
Perhaps the "Mughals' Meal" would have been a tad more appropriate? Or am I just stooping to their level?
Whatever the case was, we were at the Trump Taj Mahal. And we weren't alone. The casino was rather deserted (perhaps a harbinger of the upcoming NJ bankruptcy ... or just an indicator that the place sucks) -- but there were a handful of other people there. Mostly little old ladies piddling away their pensions. But there were also other desis. Think I'm kidding? Think again:
This was one of two desi families I saw just strolling through the casino.*~*~
I wasn't completely honest when I said my parents don't gamble. My mom is a sucker for slot machines. I have been known to lose the odd dollar here and there myself. I know they are completely ridiculous. But I like the sound the machines make when you win. Perhaps you will understand why I was completely powerless against the following:
It's the Dummies guy! I LOVE the Dummies guy! Winning for dummies? Come on! What a marketing scheme! I lost $50 in ten minutes.
Monday, June 26, 2006
the price is ... munchies
For some reason, I have had multiple conversations about The Price is Right with various people over the past few days. So, given my channel surfing at 11:00 AM this morning, it didn't surprise me that I felt inclined to watch Bob Barker.
After the initial hoopla and "come on down" display, four rather disparate contestants found themselves ready to attempt to assign a price to a foozball table in order to continue on in the land of showcase showdowns.
The first contestant, a bouncy little mom from Nebraska, bid $1200.
The second, a rather large African-American man from Texas, bid $900.
The third was a Filipino guy in his twenties named Alvin. He didn't realize it was his turn. He seemed ... out of it. Bob Barker said "Hell0 - contestant, I can't see your name. Can you turn and face me? Ah yes, Alvin ... What's your bid?"
Alvin was totally lost. "Huh?" he responded.
Bob asked again "What's your bid for this foozball table Alvin?"
Alvin looked up, grinned widely and said "420."
"Four twenty or Fourteen-twenty?" asked Bob.
The Nebraskan mom tapped Alvin on the shoulder to indicate that Bob was talking to him. Alvin looked back up and said "Four-twenty man!"
The Price is Right. It never ceases to amuse.
PS: Thoughts on the new layout? I thought I would experiment ...
After the initial hoopla and "come on down" display, four rather disparate contestants found themselves ready to attempt to assign a price to a foozball table in order to continue on in the land of showcase showdowns.
The first contestant, a bouncy little mom from Nebraska, bid $1200.
The second, a rather large African-American man from Texas, bid $900.
The third was a Filipino guy in his twenties named Alvin. He didn't realize it was his turn. He seemed ... out of it. Bob Barker said "Hell0 - contestant, I can't see your name. Can you turn and face me? Ah yes, Alvin ... What's your bid?"
Alvin was totally lost. "Huh?" he responded.
Bob asked again "What's your bid for this foozball table Alvin?"
Alvin looked up, grinned widely and said "420."
"Four twenty or Fourteen-twenty?" asked Bob.
The Nebraskan mom tapped Alvin on the shoulder to indicate that Bob was talking to him. Alvin looked back up and said "Four-twenty man!"
The Price is Right. It never ceases to amuse.
PS: Thoughts on the new layout? I thought I would experiment ...
Saturday, June 24, 2006
potent potables
I have a strong affection for overstock.com - much as I do for Costco and kittens. I am lying about the kittens.
A recent e-mail from Overstock touted some items that were placed on clearance (Clearance from a clearance warehouse - does the fun never end??). Anyway, I couldn't make this up if I tried. For $105.35 (67% off the list price of $319.90), you too can own:
'The Ex' 5-piece SS Knife Set with Unique Cathartic Holder (bulk pack of 2)
STORE YOUR KNIVES IN AN ANONYMOUS EFFIGY DEDICATED TO WHOMEVER YOU PLEASE!
Makes a perfect gift and a guaranteed conversation piece. Take out your frustrations as you store your knives! Got an Ex? Get 'The Ex'!
A recent e-mail from Overstock touted some items that were placed on clearance (Clearance from a clearance warehouse - does the fun never end??). Anyway, I couldn't make this up if I tried. For $105.35 (67% off the list price of $319.90), you too can own:
'The Ex' 5-piece SS Knife Set with Unique Cathartic Holder (bulk pack of 2)
STORE YOUR KNIVES IN AN ANONYMOUS EFFIGY DEDICATED TO WHOMEVER YOU PLEASE!
Makes a perfect gift and a guaranteed conversation piece. Take out your frustrations as you store your knives! Got an Ex? Get 'The Ex'!
There are almost no words for how sick and amusing this piece is. My question is, who is the buyer at Overstock.com who thought that this would actually be a solid sales item?
*~*~
Subzi Mandi. Subzi means vegetables, and Mandi means 'bazaar.' Or 'bajaar', if you're sticklers for the more representative pronounciation.
Anyway, Subzi Mandi is the name of an Indian grocery store. The other day, I noticed a plastic bag from Subzi Mandi in my kitchen - my mother was using it to collect some papers for recycling. I had never noticed before, but was highly amused by the slogan for the store which was emblazoned on the bag:
LADIES' FIRST CHOICE
I love that there are no qualms about political correctness in the world of Indian grocery store marketing. Ladies cook, while men sit around the house with their belts loosened eating paan. Let's not beat around the bush. Ladies Luv Subzi Mandi.
Um, that's all I've got. That, and the fact that we had six relatives from India descend upon our house like a tornado this past week. They left to go to Niagara Falls. What is it with visitors from India and Niagara Falls? Just like GERMANS LOVE DAVID HASSELHOFF, I have decided that INDIANS LOVE NIAGARA FALLS. It's quite disturbing.
Friday, June 09, 2006
catatonic
There is no good explanation for why I haven't written in a while, considering that my most pressing daily responsibilities include checking e-mail and perusing bedding options at overstock.com. The more I look at them, the more these 400,000 thread count egyptian cotton sheets seem like a necessity.
I guess sometimes I write to avoid other responsibilities. Given that I really have no responsibilities, I have no need to avoid them. Hence the writer's block. Que sera.
So what's happened in the last month? I went to South Africa. That was fun. In light of the backlog of vacation updates, I won't get to telling you about that trip for, let's say, a month. Oh, and the two-year birthday of my blog passed. Two years of pretending my life is more interesting than it is, who'dve thunk it. And finally, one of my most favorite readers got married. Congratulations SJ! I saw some pictures through the flog universe - you looked radiant. I hope you had a wonderful honeymoon and are reveling in married life.
Here, finally, are some pictures from Australia. No hard-core Discovery Channel type stuff. More pictures of funny signs I saw all around. There is comic relief everywhere.
Beginning of the Great Ocean Road - a cliff drive south of Melbourne. My guess is the sign is to remind brazen Americans that they are not the center of the universe.
A storefront sign in St. Kilda, Melbourne. As you may be beginning to notice, I really liked Melbourne. The neighborhoods had distinctively artistic and bohemian vibes.
A stationery store in St. Kilda. Heh.
A sign along our hike in the Olga Mountains, The Outback. Because I am in seventh grade and couldn't hold in my laughter.
I really like this picture. I took it of my own shadow during a hike in the Olgas. The only thing missing are the white ipod headphones.
In front of Ayer's Rock (Ularu), The Outback, Sunset. It's literally a giant red rock in the middle of nowhere, which is why it's a tourist destination. But the colors and scenery were magnificent.
~*~*~
My fifth year college reunion started today. I'm torn whether to go ... I think I may decide last minute and go for some festivities tomorrow. It's one of those things where I'm not terribly excited, but I don't want to regret not having gone.
I got a pedicure yesterday. Forget June 21st. Yesterday marked the first official day of summer.
I guess sometimes I write to avoid other responsibilities. Given that I really have no responsibilities, I have no need to avoid them. Hence the writer's block. Que sera.
So what's happened in the last month? I went to South Africa. That was fun. In light of the backlog of vacation updates, I won't get to telling you about that trip for, let's say, a month. Oh, and the two-year birthday of my blog passed. Two years of pretending my life is more interesting than it is, who'dve thunk it. And finally, one of my most favorite readers got married. Congratulations SJ! I saw some pictures through the flog universe - you looked radiant. I hope you had a wonderful honeymoon and are reveling in married life.
Here, finally, are some pictures from Australia. No hard-core Discovery Channel type stuff. More pictures of funny signs I saw all around. There is comic relief everywhere.
Beginning of the Great Ocean Road - a cliff drive south of Melbourne. My guess is the sign is to remind brazen Americans that they are not the center of the universe.
A storefront sign in St. Kilda, Melbourne. As you may be beginning to notice, I really liked Melbourne. The neighborhoods had distinctively artistic and bohemian vibes.
A stationery store in St. Kilda. Heh.
A sign along our hike in the Olga Mountains, The Outback. Because I am in seventh grade and couldn't hold in my laughter.
I really like this picture. I took it of my own shadow during a hike in the Olgas. The only thing missing are the white ipod headphones.
In front of Ayer's Rock (Ularu), The Outback, Sunset. It's literally a giant red rock in the middle of nowhere, which is why it's a tourist destination. But the colors and scenery were magnificent.
~*~*~
My fifth year college reunion started today. I'm torn whether to go ... I think I may decide last minute and go for some festivities tomorrow. It's one of those things where I'm not terribly excited, but I don't want to regret not having gone.
I got a pedicure yesterday. Forget June 21st. Yesterday marked the first official day of summer.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
just call me susan
This coming weekend there is a "second look" at the medical school. I was originally planning on going, but then I realized that since I've already decided to attend this school for sure, it doesn't make much sense for me to go this weekend. Plus, I think it best to delay accepting the fact that all of my classmates would have been born in 1985. Hmph.
Anyway, I e-mailed the woman at the admissions office to tell her I wouldn't be able to attend. Her response?
Hi, Renee.
Thanks for letting us know. We also have summer tour options available if
you are interested. Yours, [Admissions Officer]
Um, Renee? Where did that come from? And why would I need a summer tour? Did this woman even READ my e-mail? Nice to know these are the people who will be coordinating my education for the next five years.
Anyway, I e-mailed the woman at the admissions office to tell her I wouldn't be able to attend. Her response?
Hi, Renee.
Thanks for letting us know. We also have summer tour options available if
you are interested. Yours, [Admissions Officer]
Um, Renee? Where did that come from? And why would I need a summer tour? Did this woman even READ my e-mail? Nice to know these are the people who will be coordinating my education for the next five years.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
easily amused
I traveled to Australia with one of my very best friends. We are quite similar, in that we are both petite Indian girls with a penchant for dorkery. However, we do have our differences. Mainly, she is quite health conscious while I literally start to get the shakes if I don't get my fix of high fructose corn syrup in a two hour period.
But I must admit some of her good habits rubbed off on me. We ate healthy breakfasts and had fruit and yogurt every day. We supplemented our diet regimen with fresh juices and smoothies. During one of these juice breaks, I discovered love in (literally) the least unlikely form:
Carrot.Orange.Ginger.
That's right. Fresh juice made from carrots, orange and ginger. Sound gross? Well it WASN'T. So enamored was I that upon my return I became fixated on purchasing a juicer. And not just any juicer. At some point in my television watching stupor, I stumbled upon the infomercial for ... THE JACK LALANNE POWER JUICER.
Who knows why the salesmanship of an 80+ year old ex-fitness icon worked so well on me. But that it did. So much so that I surfed E-bay, powerjuicer.com (seriously), and multiple retailers before making a wonderful discovery: Costco now stocks the Power Juicer.
Reminscent of my 10-year old self desperately in need of the latest NKOTB casette tape, I whined and whined until my parents took me to Costco and bought me a power juicer. Yes, I have officially digressed into childhood. I think the look of glee I had rivaled that of any child in Toys-R-Us.
Oh, and one other thing. It's not just Jack selling the juicer on the informercial. He brings out his wife to help him.
People, did you know that Jack LaLanne's wife's name is ... ELAINE? Her name is Elaine LaLanne. I swear. It's so sad that it's funny. Or so funny that it's sad. I can't decide. All I know is that had I been her and met Jack say in 1851 or whenever they met ... I immediately would've recognized the irony that my name was Elaine and that his last name was LaLanne. At that point I would've broken it off, or at least rallied for women's rights and kept my own last name. But who am I to judge? Maybe her maiden name was Blaine. Or Dwayne. Or Wayne. And her parents were just really mean.
Anyway, we also stocked up on enough fruit to start our own stand. I came home and spent hours with my new toy. And even though Good Housekeeping gave it two vacuums up or whatever their seal of approval is ... I feel the need to give my own praise. The thing is awesome. The orange juice I made was surprisingly good. I then got out some carrots and ginger and made my pre-destined concoction, which was also quite yummy.
And then I doubled over in pain and had to run to the restroom. Two large glasses of freshly squeezed juice ingested over the course of 10 minutes on an empty stomach ... not so good.
Anyway, I kept experimenting. Strawberry-kiwi ... pretty good, though I put in too much kiwi.
I haven't used it today. My current guess is that I just had 3 glasses of juice, each worth one easy payment of $33.33.
But I must admit some of her good habits rubbed off on me. We ate healthy breakfasts and had fruit and yogurt every day. We supplemented our diet regimen with fresh juices and smoothies. During one of these juice breaks, I discovered love in (literally) the least unlikely form:
Carrot.Orange.Ginger.
That's right. Fresh juice made from carrots, orange and ginger. Sound gross? Well it WASN'T. So enamored was I that upon my return I became fixated on purchasing a juicer. And not just any juicer. At some point in my television watching stupor, I stumbled upon the infomercial for ... THE JACK LALANNE POWER JUICER.
Who knows why the salesmanship of an 80+ year old ex-fitness icon worked so well on me. But that it did. So much so that I surfed E-bay, powerjuicer.com (seriously), and multiple retailers before making a wonderful discovery: Costco now stocks the Power Juicer.
Reminscent of my 10-year old self desperately in need of the latest NKOTB casette tape, I whined and whined until my parents took me to Costco and bought me a power juicer. Yes, I have officially digressed into childhood. I think the look of glee I had rivaled that of any child in Toys-R-Us.
Oh, and one other thing. It's not just Jack selling the juicer on the informercial. He brings out his wife to help him.
People, did you know that Jack LaLanne's wife's name is ... ELAINE? Her name is Elaine LaLanne. I swear. It's so sad that it's funny. Or so funny that it's sad. I can't decide. All I know is that had I been her and met Jack say in 1851 or whenever they met ... I immediately would've recognized the irony that my name was Elaine and that his last name was LaLanne. At that point I would've broken it off, or at least rallied for women's rights and kept my own last name. But who am I to judge? Maybe her maiden name was Blaine. Or Dwayne. Or Wayne. And her parents were just really mean.
Anyway, we also stocked up on enough fruit to start our own stand. I came home and spent hours with my new toy. And even though Good Housekeeping gave it two vacuums up or whatever their seal of approval is ... I feel the need to give my own praise. The thing is awesome. The orange juice I made was surprisingly good. I then got out some carrots and ginger and made my pre-destined concoction, which was also quite yummy.
And then I doubled over in pain and had to run to the restroom. Two large glasses of freshly squeezed juice ingested over the course of 10 minutes on an empty stomach ... not so good.
Anyway, I kept experimenting. Strawberry-kiwi ... pretty good, though I put in too much kiwi.
I haven't used it today. My current guess is that I just had 3 glasses of juice, each worth one easy payment of $33.33.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
kleptomania
My life has been extraordinarily uneventful. Which has been very nice and relaxing. The obvious consequence is that I have virtually nothing to write about. Que sera.
Last week I decided to go to Boston for a few days. I stupidly did not check the weather forecast - apparently Boston decided to do a "Let's pretend it's winter again!" weekend. All I had was my denim jacket. And sandals. I could hardly get out a sentence since I was shivering so much.
Last Friday I had some time to kill before meeting some friends. I had no desire to walk around outside, so I went into a shoe store. I needed to buy a pair of flip flops for an upcoming trip, and began browsing. However, this store sold really expensive fancy schmany European shoes - High end Reef flip-flops for $50, and something called Rainbow flip flops for $70.
Now, I know sometimes you have to pay for quality. But being a desi, paying more than $1 for a pair of Bata chappals seems sacriligeous. Anyway, I probably sat around and tried on five or six pairs of flip flops. I didn't have to ask for the size as the shoes were all hanging on freestanding racks.
While at the store, I spoke to my mom on the phone for a few minutes. All in all, I must have been there for a good half an hour. I headed toward the door to leave, but still felt cold. So I lingered by the entrance and looked at some other shoes.
And that's when I realized that four rather large and intimidating men (I think the store owners and employees are all Turkish) - were looking at me very intently. At first I was a bit nervous, and then it hit me:
They thought I was a shoplifter. I had a big shoulder bag with me, I had been browsing and trying on expensive sandals that were easy to swipe, and a spent a good amount of time on the phone. I checked the door: no security walls. They had to monitor shoplifters the old school way - by staring them down and then chasing them down the street.
I knew I had to get out of there. I wondered what would happen - would they stop me and ask to check my bag? Would they follow me? Who knew. And for some reason, I was feeling a little cheeky. So right before I left the store, I turned around and looked the 4 thugs right in the eye and then strutted out of there.
And that was the most exciting thing that happened to me in the last two weeks. Hmm ... I should rent a video or something.
Last week I decided to go to Boston for a few days. I stupidly did not check the weather forecast - apparently Boston decided to do a "Let's pretend it's winter again!" weekend. All I had was my denim jacket. And sandals. I could hardly get out a sentence since I was shivering so much.
Last Friday I had some time to kill before meeting some friends. I had no desire to walk around outside, so I went into a shoe store. I needed to buy a pair of flip flops for an upcoming trip, and began browsing. However, this store sold really expensive fancy schmany European shoes - High end Reef flip-flops for $50, and something called Rainbow flip flops for $70.
Now, I know sometimes you have to pay for quality. But being a desi, paying more than $1 for a pair of Bata chappals seems sacriligeous. Anyway, I probably sat around and tried on five or six pairs of flip flops. I didn't have to ask for the size as the shoes were all hanging on freestanding racks.
While at the store, I spoke to my mom on the phone for a few minutes. All in all, I must have been there for a good half an hour. I headed toward the door to leave, but still felt cold. So I lingered by the entrance and looked at some other shoes.
And that's when I realized that four rather large and intimidating men (I think the store owners and employees are all Turkish) - were looking at me very intently. At first I was a bit nervous, and then it hit me:
They thought I was a shoplifter. I had a big shoulder bag with me, I had been browsing and trying on expensive sandals that were easy to swipe, and a spent a good amount of time on the phone. I checked the door: no security walls. They had to monitor shoplifters the old school way - by staring them down and then chasing them down the street.
I knew I had to get out of there. I wondered what would happen - would they stop me and ask to check my bag? Would they follow me? Who knew. And for some reason, I was feeling a little cheeky. So right before I left the store, I turned around and looked the 4 thugs right in the eye and then strutted out of there.
And that was the most exciting thing that happened to me in the last two weeks. Hmm ... I should rent a video or something.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
the kiddie table
I have wowed myself with my own laziness. Since returning from vacation, where I happened to be much busier and more physically active than normal, I have been a big old couch potato. Furthermore, I was having insomnia / sleeping issues toward the end of my trip. My flight back to NY was a red-eye, and I couldn't sleep for a minute. Thus, when I got back home I turned nocturnal.
I had all these grand plans ... like doing laundry and you know, getting out of the house for a few minutes. But I just zoned out. I allowed myself three days of such behavior - and yesterday was the third. No more vegatative indolence. Today I shall do something! Does blogging count as something?
As mentioned earlier, Australia was fantastic. We did and saw so much that I was actually overwhelmed with the idea of summarizing it in a single piece of writing. I also took 445 photos. Deciding which ones are best to display has proven to be daunting. Also, I've been pre-occupied. Ellen was on. But it's on my to-do list. One of these days I will write a vacation recount.
Being home has quite the range of benefits and disadvantages. Benefits = acting like a carefree six year old. Disadvantages = being treated like a six year old.
My parents subscribe to the "out of sight, out of mind" mode of parenting. That is to say, when I'm around, they suddenly worry about my every move and dictate my schedule. Mind you that I am 26 and spent 3 weeks traveling all over the place, over which time they spoke to me maybe twice. But when I'm home, it's a whole different ballgame.
Yesterday, my mom called and left me the following message (I was napping. Since I was so tired from, uh, sleeping). Anyway, she said:
"Hi Sophia. This is Mom. Listen, Dad says we have to go to dinner at [said restaurant] tonight. So, I hope you don't have other plans."
It turned out to be a business dinner - my dad and a group of his colleagues. And their kids.
(Cue ominous music...)
And this is when I realized that my life is borderline pathetic. I was placed at the far end of the table with the kids. And when I say kids, I mean kids. The oldest was an 18 year old girl. The other kids were 3 boys; one 10 year old and two 8 year olds.
My friends and I have discussed this before. Particularly at Indian functions, if you are unmarried - no matter what age, you will be placed at the kids table. For goodness sake, I'm going to be a doctor and this was a meeting of doctors, but since I am sans-life-partner, my companionship for the evening was mutually painful. (Ewww! You're a girl!!).
The kids were actually very sweet and I established my "coolness" with them by ordering them whatever they wanted: Lobster for the 10 year old, who freaked out when they brought in a full lobster, head and all. Extra ice cream for the two 8 year olds, who lamented that the waiter brought them vanilla instead of chocolate. I fixed this potential World War III by asking for chocolate sauce.
One of the 8 year olds pulled a bit on my heartstrings though. I'll call him Bobby. Not that because that's his name, but because I am always amused that Indians nickname their kids Bobby, Billy, Bunty or Freddy. It's like, hey, my kids name is Rajeshlal but I'll call him Bob.
I liked Bobby, most probably because he was a big geek and reminded me of my own geeky self at that age. He even attends third grade at an elementary school that is part of the school district I myself attended. For the few Herricks readers out there, you might appreciate this:
Sophia: So, what elementary school do you go to?
Bobby: Uh, Denton Avenue.
Sophia: Oh, I went to Center Street!
Bobby: Center Streek sucks.
Nice to know that things have not changed in TWENTY years.
Anyway, Bobby was one of these kids who ends every phrase with an inflection - so that it sounds like every thing he says is a question. His head was full of random information that he was incredibly eager to share. It went something like this:
"So? You know? Sand dust? How it forms? Sand dust in the particles? Uhuh? It mixes with air particles in the atmosphere? And they mix? And dust forms? When you rub the sand? And then? You breathe it in? And it goes in your nose? And your nose sends a message to your sneeze center in your brain? And then your sneezing muscles contract? And you sneeze? Did you know? A sneeze goes at 100 mph?"
So cute. But a bit taxing. And don't doubt that every 15 seconds I thought "Holy crap, I am 26 years old. I be needing a husband."
My mom was seated next to me (the fault line between the Adult and Kiddie sides of the table). She noticed my amusement, and then shared the funniest story with me. A few months ago they had been at some dinner party, and the same group of kids were there. Apparently Bobby and the other kids were talking and sharing their curiousity about the world. Bobby started to say: "Hey, do you guys know what intercourse is? I've read it but nobody tells me. What's intercourse?"
Man, I wish I could've been there. Because I have a hunch that I would've been the only person at the kiddie table who knew that answer.
I had all these grand plans ... like doing laundry and you know, getting out of the house for a few minutes. But I just zoned out. I allowed myself three days of such behavior - and yesterday was the third. No more vegatative indolence. Today I shall do something! Does blogging count as something?
As mentioned earlier, Australia was fantastic. We did and saw so much that I was actually overwhelmed with the idea of summarizing it in a single piece of writing. I also took 445 photos. Deciding which ones are best to display has proven to be daunting. Also, I've been pre-occupied. Ellen was on. But it's on my to-do list. One of these days I will write a vacation recount.
Being home has quite the range of benefits and disadvantages. Benefits = acting like a carefree six year old. Disadvantages = being treated like a six year old.
My parents subscribe to the "out of sight, out of mind" mode of parenting. That is to say, when I'm around, they suddenly worry about my every move and dictate my schedule. Mind you that I am 26 and spent 3 weeks traveling all over the place, over which time they spoke to me maybe twice. But when I'm home, it's a whole different ballgame.
Yesterday, my mom called and left me the following message (I was napping. Since I was so tired from, uh, sleeping). Anyway, she said:
"Hi Sophia. This is Mom. Listen, Dad says we have to go to dinner at [said restaurant] tonight. So, I hope you don't have other plans."
It turned out to be a business dinner - my dad and a group of his colleagues. And their kids.
(Cue ominous music...)
And this is when I realized that my life is borderline pathetic. I was placed at the far end of the table with the kids. And when I say kids, I mean kids. The oldest was an 18 year old girl. The other kids were 3 boys; one 10 year old and two 8 year olds.
My friends and I have discussed this before. Particularly at Indian functions, if you are unmarried - no matter what age, you will be placed at the kids table. For goodness sake, I'm going to be a doctor and this was a meeting of doctors, but since I am sans-life-partner, my companionship for the evening was mutually painful. (Ewww! You're a girl!!).
The kids were actually very sweet and I established my "coolness" with them by ordering them whatever they wanted: Lobster for the 10 year old, who freaked out when they brought in a full lobster, head and all. Extra ice cream for the two 8 year olds, who lamented that the waiter brought them vanilla instead of chocolate. I fixed this potential World War III by asking for chocolate sauce.
One of the 8 year olds pulled a bit on my heartstrings though. I'll call him Bobby. Not that because that's his name, but because I am always amused that Indians nickname their kids Bobby, Billy, Bunty or Freddy. It's like, hey, my kids name is Rajeshlal but I'll call him Bob.
I liked Bobby, most probably because he was a big geek and reminded me of my own geeky self at that age. He even attends third grade at an elementary school that is part of the school district I myself attended. For the few Herricks readers out there, you might appreciate this:
Sophia: So, what elementary school do you go to?
Bobby: Uh, Denton Avenue.
Sophia: Oh, I went to Center Street!
Bobby: Center Streek sucks.
Nice to know that things have not changed in TWENTY years.
Anyway, Bobby was one of these kids who ends every phrase with an inflection - so that it sounds like every thing he says is a question. His head was full of random information that he was incredibly eager to share. It went something like this:
"So? You know? Sand dust? How it forms? Sand dust in the particles? Uhuh? It mixes with air particles in the atmosphere? And they mix? And dust forms? When you rub the sand? And then? You breathe it in? And it goes in your nose? And your nose sends a message to your sneeze center in your brain? And then your sneezing muscles contract? And you sneeze? Did you know? A sneeze goes at 100 mph?"
So cute. But a bit taxing. And don't doubt that every 15 seconds I thought "Holy crap, I am 26 years old. I be needing a husband."
My mom was seated next to me (the fault line between the Adult and Kiddie sides of the table). She noticed my amusement, and then shared the funniest story with me. A few months ago they had been at some dinner party, and the same group of kids were there. Apparently Bobby and the other kids were talking and sharing their curiousity about the world. Bobby started to say: "Hey, do you guys know what intercourse is? I've read it but nobody tells me. What's intercourse?"
Man, I wish I could've been there. Because I have a hunch that I would've been the only person at the kiddie table who knew that answer.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
there's always something
G'day Mates!
Am posting from lovely Sydney, Australia -- now officially my favorite place in the world. And not just because they have lots of KFCs here, which, as luck would have it, they do.
Tonight is our last night here. I'm really sad. This has been one incredible adventure - I will of course post details once I am settled back at home.
But I do always want to brighten your days whenever possible, so I thought I would share the following e-mail I received from my Dad this morning. I had written him earlier this week to let him know that I had been accepted for the joint degree program I applied for. I am going to do an MBA along with my MD ... basically so that I can remain in school forever.
His response has had me chuckling all day:
Hi Baby,
You never cease to amaze us with your achievements. We are extremely proud of you. Now we dont have to worry about anything (not really you know, till you get finally hooked to some nice guy!!!) Love you and can't wait to see you back home.
Dad and Mom.
How cute is that?? I know I say this incessantly ... but I really do have the most amazing parents in the world.
Am posting from lovely Sydney, Australia -- now officially my favorite place in the world. And not just because they have lots of KFCs here, which, as luck would have it, they do.
Tonight is our last night here. I'm really sad. This has been one incredible adventure - I will of course post details once I am settled back at home.
But I do always want to brighten your days whenever possible, so I thought I would share the following e-mail I received from my Dad this morning. I had written him earlier this week to let him know that I had been accepted for the joint degree program I applied for. I am going to do an MBA along with my MD ... basically so that I can remain in school forever.
His response has had me chuckling all day:
Hi Baby,
You never cease to amaze us with your achievements. We are extremely proud of you. Now we dont have to worry about anything (not really you know, till you get finally hooked to some nice guy!!!) Love you and can't wait to see you back home.
Dad and Mom.
How cute is that?? I know I say this incessantly ... but I really do have the most amazing parents in the world.
Friday, March 17, 2006
that song is weird.
Going to leave for my trip to Australia shortly. I am flying out from San Francisco with one of my best girlfriends. I came to San Fran last night via Song, Delta's low-cost airline.
Now, if you've ever flown Song, you'll understand. And if you haven't, I'll do my best to paint you a picture. Song is basically an airline on acid. They are trying to be a hippy-trippy low cost carrier, and somehow the end product is a creepy carnival like experience.
First, the colors. Bright blue and green are the main colors, accented with purple and orange. The colors are everywhere. When I was dropped off at the terminal at JFK, you pull into an area where the passenger drop off area is not bland concrete, like normal - but huge mushroom shaped overpasses painted -- you guessed it -- blue and green. When my brother pulled the car into the area, I commented "This looks like Disneyworld on crack."
Then the plane itself - the seats are colored blue, but the top could be green and the side panels orange and/or purple. It's very disconcerting. It makes you feel like a kindergardener. But not in a good way. But whatever it is, they have satellite TV and cheap fares.
Then the safety announcement started. And that's when I fully creeped out. The pre-recorded announcement sounds like a weird transcendental yoga/relaxation/Deepak Chopra mantra. Complete with soft chimes and wind noises in the background. It went something like this:
"Take a deep breath in and be aware of the oneness of the earth ... blah blah blah... and now...please look at our lovely safety demonstration by our Song brethren Sister Sharon in the aisle..." (ok, it's slightly exaggerated but you get the idea).
The flight crew also seemed to have toked up before the flight, because they were all really absent minded and excessively friendly. When the beverage service passed by, the flight crew referred to most people as "dude" or "sweetie". Call me old-fashioned, but I kind of prefer "Miss" or "Sir."
They are low-cost though, so you had to pay for any food. Which I normally wouldn't do, but did this time because it was a long flight and all. The sandwich was $8, a bit steep, but surprisingly good. I paid with a $20. The woman didn't have change at the time and said she'd come back later. Well, later came and I didn't have my money yo. As another flight attendant strolled by, I got her attention and asked her to remind the other one about my change.
Shortly thereafter, the original woman came up to me and gave me the $12. She seemed a little angry; she forked over the money then rolled her eyes at me and said "I didn't forget you know." I looked at her and replied "Now, take a deep breath and let's join hands ..." Just kidding.
Finally, I used the restroom near the end of the flight. Standard bathroom lavatory. But the handsoap? I kid you not: lemongrass and wasabi hand soap.
Seriously? Why would I want my hands to smell like an appetizer at a Vietnamese restaurant? Damn hippies.
OK, will try to post from the down under if possible. Thanks for the good wishes from the last post - you guys are the best!
Now, if you've ever flown Song, you'll understand. And if you haven't, I'll do my best to paint you a picture. Song is basically an airline on acid. They are trying to be a hippy-trippy low cost carrier, and somehow the end product is a creepy carnival like experience.
First, the colors. Bright blue and green are the main colors, accented with purple and orange. The colors are everywhere. When I was dropped off at the terminal at JFK, you pull into an area where the passenger drop off area is not bland concrete, like normal - but huge mushroom shaped overpasses painted -- you guessed it -- blue and green. When my brother pulled the car into the area, I commented "This looks like Disneyworld on crack."
Then the plane itself - the seats are colored blue, but the top could be green and the side panels orange and/or purple. It's very disconcerting. It makes you feel like a kindergardener. But not in a good way. But whatever it is, they have satellite TV and cheap fares.
Then the safety announcement started. And that's when I fully creeped out. The pre-recorded announcement sounds like a weird transcendental yoga/relaxation/Deepak Chopra mantra. Complete with soft chimes and wind noises in the background. It went something like this:
"Take a deep breath in and be aware of the oneness of the earth ... blah blah blah... and now...please look at our lovely safety demonstration by our Song brethren Sister Sharon in the aisle..." (ok, it's slightly exaggerated but you get the idea).
The flight crew also seemed to have toked up before the flight, because they were all really absent minded and excessively friendly. When the beverage service passed by, the flight crew referred to most people as "dude" or "sweetie". Call me old-fashioned, but I kind of prefer "Miss" or "Sir."
They are low-cost though, so you had to pay for any food. Which I normally wouldn't do, but did this time because it was a long flight and all. The sandwich was $8, a bit steep, but surprisingly good. I paid with a $20. The woman didn't have change at the time and said she'd come back later. Well, later came and I didn't have my money yo. As another flight attendant strolled by, I got her attention and asked her to remind the other one about my change.
Shortly thereafter, the original woman came up to me and gave me the $12. She seemed a little angry; she forked over the money then rolled her eyes at me and said "I didn't forget you know." I looked at her and replied "Now, take a deep breath and let's join hands ..." Just kidding.
Finally, I used the restroom near the end of the flight. Standard bathroom lavatory. But the handsoap? I kid you not: lemongrass and wasabi hand soap.
Seriously? Why would I want my hands to smell like an appetizer at a Vietnamese restaurant? Damn hippies.
OK, will try to post from the down under if possible. Thanks for the good wishes from the last post - you guys are the best!
naked muslim girl
My mom was in India recently. I missed her a lot. Like when I scraped my knee. She spoils me with her love and takes good care of me. She feels my own pain with twice the intensity and celebrates my successes with excitement that dwarfs mine.
Case in point:
December of senior year of high school. Waiting to hear about college acceptances. As mentioned before, I was a bit (ha) of a stress cadette in high school. I was ten times more neurotic than I am now and really high strung. I had applied early to Harvard and was set on getting in. I felt like Balki Bartokomous in Perfect Strangers: "Harvard or Bust."
I was so nervous about finding out my fate that I literally did not eat, sleep or (shamefully) shower for the two days before the decisions were made available. I woke up with a start on Monday, December 16th, 1996. All potential applicants were allowed to call to find out their decision at 9:00 AM. I started calling at 8:30 AM (Stop judging! Years of therapy have made me better.) But apparently I wasn't the only one doing so. I kept getting a busy signal. Finally around 10:00 AM my mom came into my room, grabbed me and said:
"You look disgusting. Take a shower. You'll feel better."
I decided that a shower couldn't hurt ... and so went into her bathroom and turned on a stream of very hot water and let the steam cloud my already weary mind. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, finally having some semblance of sanity for the first time in days. I began shampooing my hair when I heard a knock.
I turned and looked, and saw my mother standing there knocking on the glass shower door. She was gesturing frantically at the cordless phone in her hand. I opened the shower door and looked at her with disbelief.
"I hit redial and someone picked up!" she squealed.
I took the phone, calmly told the woman on the other end my social security number, and nodded my head when she gave me the answer. My poker face fooled my mother, who thought I didn't get in. Then, I smiled and told her I had been accepted.
She shrieked like a banshee and burst immediately into tears (a technique I have still not been able to master. My tears build up slowly then pour like a fountain. I can't cry spontaneously). The next thing she said was:
"You must Thank God for this opportunity."
Without hesitating, she grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the shower and dragged me into her bedroom, where a large portrait of the Aga Khan (spiritual leader of our sect) hangs. Mind you: I am buck nekked, with shampoo in my hair.
She ordered me again: "Thank God for your acceptance to Harvard."
So there I stood. Hands clasped, suds in my hair and eyes, completely exposed in my birthday suit, saying "Thank you God for letting me get into Harvard."
Is she the cutest or what?
Now, readers, I do admit I have an ulterior motive in telling this story. I primarily want to express to you how awesome and funny my mom is. But I also am feeling very nostalgic for that day in 1996, because nine years and three months later, on March 16th, 2006, I found out I was accepted to Harvard Medical School. Woohoo!
I am beyond thrilled and really excited. My mom once again burst into tears when hearing the news. She didn't, however, make me strip down to my skivvies and thank the powers that be. I, uh, did that later.
Case in point:
December of senior year of high school. Waiting to hear about college acceptances. As mentioned before, I was a bit (ha) of a stress cadette in high school. I was ten times more neurotic than I am now and really high strung. I had applied early to Harvard and was set on getting in. I felt like Balki Bartokomous in Perfect Strangers: "Harvard or Bust."
I was so nervous about finding out my fate that I literally did not eat, sleep or (shamefully) shower for the two days before the decisions were made available. I woke up with a start on Monday, December 16th, 1996. All potential applicants were allowed to call to find out their decision at 9:00 AM. I started calling at 8:30 AM (Stop judging! Years of therapy have made me better.) But apparently I wasn't the only one doing so. I kept getting a busy signal. Finally around 10:00 AM my mom came into my room, grabbed me and said:
"You look disgusting. Take a shower. You'll feel better."
I decided that a shower couldn't hurt ... and so went into her bathroom and turned on a stream of very hot water and let the steam cloud my already weary mind. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, finally having some semblance of sanity for the first time in days. I began shampooing my hair when I heard a knock.
I turned and looked, and saw my mother standing there knocking on the glass shower door. She was gesturing frantically at the cordless phone in her hand. I opened the shower door and looked at her with disbelief.
"I hit redial and someone picked up!" she squealed.
I took the phone, calmly told the woman on the other end my social security number, and nodded my head when she gave me the answer. My poker face fooled my mother, who thought I didn't get in. Then, I smiled and told her I had been accepted.
She shrieked like a banshee and burst immediately into tears (a technique I have still not been able to master. My tears build up slowly then pour like a fountain. I can't cry spontaneously). The next thing she said was:
"You must Thank God for this opportunity."
Without hesitating, she grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the shower and dragged me into her bedroom, where a large portrait of the Aga Khan (spiritual leader of our sect) hangs. Mind you: I am buck nekked, with shampoo in my hair.
She ordered me again: "Thank God for your acceptance to Harvard."
So there I stood. Hands clasped, suds in my hair and eyes, completely exposed in my birthday suit, saying "Thank you God for letting me get into Harvard."
Is she the cutest or what?
Now, readers, I do admit I have an ulterior motive in telling this story. I primarily want to express to you how awesome and funny my mom is. But I also am feeling very nostalgic for that day in 1996, because nine years and three months later, on March 16th, 2006, I found out I was accepted to Harvard Medical School. Woohoo!
I am beyond thrilled and really excited. My mom once again burst into tears when hearing the news. She didn't, however, make me strip down to my skivvies and thank the powers that be. I, uh, did that later.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
grace be not my name
I'm excessively clumsy. I spill food on myself in approximately 2 out of every 3 meals, and I still insist on wearing white shirts. I trip when there is nothing to trip over. I slip even when the ground is made out of gravel.
Graceful is a word that has never and will never be used to describe me.
I have a large blue excercise ball in my room. Um, I did not realize the irony of my color choice until just writing that last phrase. Anyway, yes, excercise ball. It rolls around my room, often taking permanent position near my bed. The other day I got up in the morning, swung my feet over the bed and got up. And in my universe where gravity does not exist and vertigo is the name of the game, somehow I slipped ONTO the excercise ball and basically rolled off of it onto the floor.
Having trouble imagining it? Yeah, I'm having trouble accepting that it really happened. I don't know how, I don't know why, but it was truly a moment of slapstick comedy. Except that I hurt my hand.
Yesterday, I was leaving work and heading toward the train station. I heard the train coming as I was swiping my subway pass ... and decided to make a run for it. Up the stainless steel stairs. In my slippery orthopaedic shoes and my long down jacket that basically immobilizes my legs. And then ... you guessed it. I tripped and landed on my knees on the steps in front of me. It was such an impact that the stairs reverberated a pitch that harmonized with my shriek.
It was a fall that looked like it hurt a lot. Nobody stopped to help me as they were all running for the train anyway. People suck sometimes. Man, I hope I would help someone who fell like that. Anyway, amidst the searing pain in my knee, I still managed to hobble up the rest of the stairs and onto the train. People stared at me but noone asked if I was OK.
As the train started to move, I looked down and saw that my pants had not torn, which was a good thing. But the pain in my knee could not be denied. I knew I had scraped myself quite badly, as within a few seconds I could feel blood start to flow. I limped home, and took off my black pants to reveal ... my long underwear. Haha. Don't laugh. My thermal did have a large blood stain, and when I took them off I saw that I had skinned my entire knee.
I skinned my knee. I SKINNED my knee. How old am I? Seven? As I stared at my leg I had a flashback to the last time I remember skinning my knee. I was just about seven or eight and was riding my bike down the street. I distinctly remember holding nintendo cartridges in one hand and trying to steer the bike with my other. My guess is I was going to a friends house, but the memory is hazy. Anyway, yes ... so I fell off the bike and skinned my knee. I went home and my mom cleaned the wound and put a band-aid on it and kissed my boo-boo.
Last night, as I sat in my room, wincing as I put alcohol on the scrape and then bandaged the knee ... I realized that I miss my Mommy. And that I'm a complete and utter basketcase.
Graceful is a word that has never and will never be used to describe me.
I have a large blue excercise ball in my room. Um, I did not realize the irony of my color choice until just writing that last phrase. Anyway, yes, excercise ball. It rolls around my room, often taking permanent position near my bed. The other day I got up in the morning, swung my feet over the bed and got up. And in my universe where gravity does not exist and vertigo is the name of the game, somehow I slipped ONTO the excercise ball and basically rolled off of it onto the floor.
Having trouble imagining it? Yeah, I'm having trouble accepting that it really happened. I don't know how, I don't know why, but it was truly a moment of slapstick comedy. Except that I hurt my hand.
Yesterday, I was leaving work and heading toward the train station. I heard the train coming as I was swiping my subway pass ... and decided to make a run for it. Up the stainless steel stairs. In my slippery orthopaedic shoes and my long down jacket that basically immobilizes my legs. And then ... you guessed it. I tripped and landed on my knees on the steps in front of me. It was such an impact that the stairs reverberated a pitch that harmonized with my shriek.
It was a fall that looked like it hurt a lot. Nobody stopped to help me as they were all running for the train anyway. People suck sometimes. Man, I hope I would help someone who fell like that. Anyway, amidst the searing pain in my knee, I still managed to hobble up the rest of the stairs and onto the train. People stared at me but noone asked if I was OK.
As the train started to move, I looked down and saw that my pants had not torn, which was a good thing. But the pain in my knee could not be denied. I knew I had scraped myself quite badly, as within a few seconds I could feel blood start to flow. I limped home, and took off my black pants to reveal ... my long underwear. Haha. Don't laugh. My thermal did have a large blood stain, and when I took them off I saw that I had skinned my entire knee.
I skinned my knee. I SKINNED my knee. How old am I? Seven? As I stared at my leg I had a flashback to the last time I remember skinning my knee. I was just about seven or eight and was riding my bike down the street. I distinctly remember holding nintendo cartridges in one hand and trying to steer the bike with my other. My guess is I was going to a friends house, but the memory is hazy. Anyway, yes ... so I fell off the bike and skinned my knee. I went home and my mom cleaned the wound and put a band-aid on it and kissed my boo-boo.
Last night, as I sat in my room, wincing as I put alcohol on the scrape and then bandaged the knee ... I realized that I miss my Mommy. And that I'm a complete and utter basketcase.
Monday, February 27, 2006
excuse me officer.
Warning: This post contains some information that is not suitable for children under 13. Or family members of mine. Look away Mom! Actually my mom would be fine. Look away, lil' bro!
*~*~
This past weekend I went to a friend's bachelorette party.
Leading up the event, the ladies organizing the shin-dig dropped some very unsubtle hints about the "entertainment" by reminding the attendees not to forget their "dollar bills."
The entire spectacle was completely over-the-top and campy. Which made it hysterical and not gross. I laughed a lot, as did all the girls there. But to protect identities and keep some modesty to the blog, I regret to inform you that I will not be posting any pictures. Heh heh.
Here is what I can share:
The week before the party, a girlfriend of mine told me that the entertainment was a PhD from MIT who did this on the side. Uh, could you PICK a better dude for a bunch of Harvard girls? Hot body schmody. It's the size of the intellect that matters.
Turns out that guy couldn't make it though. The actual person we got was apparently in such hot demand that the only time he could make it was at 8:00 PM. So that's when he arrived. 8:00 PM. Who engages in such debauchery so early? It was like the early bird special. As if we are all senior citizens and need to be in bed by 10:00. Imagine that were the case: crochet at 5:00, dinner in the solarium at 6:00, backgammon at 7:00, and then watch a man do some very naughty things at 8:00. Just in time for some tapioca pudding at 9:00.
I digress. At precisely 8:00 PM, a Mr. Policeman knocks on the door. He tells us that he's received a complaint about the loud noise. And then ... the music blasts on and he proceeds to entertain the bride-to-be. He shook his booty then ripped off his velcro pants to reveal - I kid you not - an American Flag G-String (and he was wearing COMBAT boots! Combat boots! I'm surprised he didn't have a bumper sticker across his bum reading "Support Our Troops.")
I don't know about the other girls, but I sure felt like I was doing my civic duty. And before any of your minds start to wander to a dirty place, let me assure you that this was the extent of the raunchiness (sorta). G-String on, dancing galore.
But to me, the funniest part was that the CD player in the hotel room was rather tempermental. In the the middle of one of Mr. Policeman's lap dances to an unsuspecting lady, the music stopped. The room went silent. Everyone looked at her neighbor. Until Mr. Policeman had to get up and go fiddle with the controls of the stereo. The stereo was on a shelf close to the ground, so he had to crouch down and fix the CD. His bum up in the air, all exposed and everything!
When he finally got it to work, the CD started over from the beginning (opening track: sirens blaring). He'd have to skip tracks until he got to where he was before.
So then he went back to the dancing, for about 5 minutes before the CD stopped again. It happened like 3 times. It was incredibly awkward, because the girls weren't inebriated or raunchy enough to keep up the volume. But finally, the CD worked and he was able to finish his routine.
Utterly and completely hilarious. Good times overall. Still, it would've been nice if he were the MIT PhD when all of this was happening, so that he could tell us all about the mechanics of the CD player as he was fixing it. God I am such a nerd.
*~*~
This past weekend I went to a friend's bachelorette party.
Leading up the event, the ladies organizing the shin-dig dropped some very unsubtle hints about the "entertainment" by reminding the attendees not to forget their "dollar bills."
The entire spectacle was completely over-the-top and campy. Which made it hysterical and not gross. I laughed a lot, as did all the girls there. But to protect identities and keep some modesty to the blog, I regret to inform you that I will not be posting any pictures. Heh heh.
Here is what I can share:
The week before the party, a girlfriend of mine told me that the entertainment was a PhD from MIT who did this on the side. Uh, could you PICK a better dude for a bunch of Harvard girls? Hot body schmody. It's the size of the intellect that matters.
Turns out that guy couldn't make it though. The actual person we got was apparently in such hot demand that the only time he could make it was at 8:00 PM. So that's when he arrived. 8:00 PM. Who engages in such debauchery so early? It was like the early bird special. As if we are all senior citizens and need to be in bed by 10:00. Imagine that were the case: crochet at 5:00, dinner in the solarium at 6:00, backgammon at 7:00, and then watch a man do some very naughty things at 8:00. Just in time for some tapioca pudding at 9:00.
I digress. At precisely 8:00 PM, a Mr. Policeman knocks on the door. He tells us that he's received a complaint about the loud noise. And then ... the music blasts on and he proceeds to entertain the bride-to-be. He shook his booty then ripped off his velcro pants to reveal - I kid you not - an American Flag G-String (and he was wearing COMBAT boots! Combat boots! I'm surprised he didn't have a bumper sticker across his bum reading "Support Our Troops.")
I don't know about the other girls, but I sure felt like I was doing my civic duty. And before any of your minds start to wander to a dirty place, let me assure you that this was the extent of the raunchiness (sorta). G-String on, dancing galore.
But to me, the funniest part was that the CD player in the hotel room was rather tempermental. In the the middle of one of Mr. Policeman's lap dances to an unsuspecting lady, the music stopped. The room went silent. Everyone looked at her neighbor. Until Mr. Policeman had to get up and go fiddle with the controls of the stereo. The stereo was on a shelf close to the ground, so he had to crouch down and fix the CD. His bum up in the air, all exposed and everything!
When he finally got it to work, the CD started over from the beginning (opening track: sirens blaring). He'd have to skip tracks until he got to where he was before.
So then he went back to the dancing, for about 5 minutes before the CD stopped again. It happened like 3 times. It was incredibly awkward, because the girls weren't inebriated or raunchy enough to keep up the volume. But finally, the CD worked and he was able to finish his routine.
Utterly and completely hilarious. Good times overall. Still, it would've been nice if he were the MIT PhD when all of this was happening, so that he could tell us all about the mechanics of the CD player as he was fixing it. God I am such a nerd.
Friday, February 24, 2006
afternoon snack
Every day, just around 3:30 or 4:00 PM, I have a sugar fix. I need something sweet - and I usually head to the cafe downstairs and pick up a cookie or a brownie. I know it's unhealthy and I am trying to stop. But seriously, I really think it's an addiction. It's a beast that cannot be tamed. Come early afternoon, my mind is focused on one thing: lots and lots of sugar. I've tried to avoid temptation, but it just makes it worse. I sit at my desk and have day dreams of sugar plum fairies and twinkies.
Today was no exception. And boy, was I rewarded manifold. They had ... COCONUT CREAM PIE. My personal nirvana. It was so good; I nearly inhaled the small piece while eating at my desk. I am fortunate that my coworkers were in absentia at the time, because had they seen me they would've had animal services come and take me away. I probably had whipped cream all over my face and had to restrain myself (seriously) from licking the plastic container.
Mmmm ... new favorite thing. Coconut cream pie. I wonder if I can get some ready made somewhere, because I just looked up the recipe on foodtv.com, and it's not something I am capable of making (read: involves more steps than 1) open and 2) place in microwave).
*~*~
This morning I picked up and egg and cheese on a bagel from Finagle-A-Bagel. You know, I grew up on Long Island and spent several years living in Manhattan - both of which are tied for bagel capitals of the world. But frankly, I can't tell the difference between Finagle and local LI bagels. Once you toast 'em and lather em w/ a schmear (cream cheese, for all you non native New Yorkers) - they taste basically the same.
Anyway, I noticed a sign on the wall at Finagle: "Open now! The Finagle Bagel Outlet Store, in [some city I can't remember], MA."
Wow, a bagel outlet store. What do you think they sell there? Irregular bagels? Poppy bagels that mistakenly got put in with the chocolate chip batch, to form some mutant hybrid? Bagels with no holes in the middle? Bagels with two holes?
I suppose it's comforting to think that bagels who didn't make the cut to be front and center at retail Finagle stores still have a home. No, I take that back. It's not comforting. A bagel outlet store is the dumbest thing I've ever heard of.
Today was no exception. And boy, was I rewarded manifold. They had ... COCONUT CREAM PIE. My personal nirvana. It was so good; I nearly inhaled the small piece while eating at my desk. I am fortunate that my coworkers were in absentia at the time, because had they seen me they would've had animal services come and take me away. I probably had whipped cream all over my face and had to restrain myself (seriously) from licking the plastic container.
Mmmm ... new favorite thing. Coconut cream pie. I wonder if I can get some ready made somewhere, because I just looked up the recipe on foodtv.com, and it's not something I am capable of making (read: involves more steps than 1) open and 2) place in microwave).
*~*~
This morning I picked up and egg and cheese on a bagel from Finagle-A-Bagel. You know, I grew up on Long Island and spent several years living in Manhattan - both of which are tied for bagel capitals of the world. But frankly, I can't tell the difference between Finagle and local LI bagels. Once you toast 'em and lather em w/ a schmear (cream cheese, for all you non native New Yorkers) - they taste basically the same.
Anyway, I noticed a sign on the wall at Finagle: "Open now! The Finagle Bagel Outlet Store, in [some city I can't remember], MA."
Wow, a bagel outlet store. What do you think they sell there? Irregular bagels? Poppy bagels that mistakenly got put in with the chocolate chip batch, to form some mutant hybrid? Bagels with no holes in the middle? Bagels with two holes?
I suppose it's comforting to think that bagels who didn't make the cut to be front and center at retail Finagle stores still have a home. No, I take that back. It's not comforting. A bagel outlet store is the dumbest thing I've ever heard of.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
really, i'm ok
To those who commented and supported me following my last post: Thank You. You guys are the best! Thank you for letting me vent and for reminding me that these are small battles in the larger war we call every day life.
Yesterday I called home and spoke to my mom for a bit. As you may or may not know, my mom is an avid reader of the blog. I knew she read the post. She knew I knew she read the post. I knew she knew I knew she read the post. Haha. Pete and repeat, sitting on a boat. Pete fell off, who's left?
Anyway, my mom said "How was your weekend?" (Pregnant pause.) I told her it was fine. She didn't want to overtly say "I know you're lonely, it's ok." Instead, she tip-toed around the issue. "Is everything alright? Are you feeling ... sad? I know long weekends can be ... hard."
Hee hee. So cute. I had a bit of a downer day, no big deal.
Even though I am sans boyfriend, I try to remind myself every day that I have:
1) great support from friends and family and blog readers
2) a secret stash of chocolate, and a second, even more secret stash.
3) parents who miraculously are not pressuring me to get married ...
4) but who do consistently tell me how happy having granddkids would make them. (My response? Get on that lil' bro.)
*~*~
Maybe Monday was just a bad hair day. I am in the process of growing my hair out. Being in between hair styles SUCKS. I am a slave to headbands and clips and other things that make me look like I stepped out of a bad 80's movie. The short was fun while it lasted, but I never thought I would miss being able to tie my hair into a ponytail as much as I do. Even though it will be months before I can do that, I still sometimes wear the black rubber band around my wrist, out of sheer habit. The ladies know what I'm talkin' about.
Also, Grey's Anatomy? Like, the best show ever??!
Yesterday I called home and spoke to my mom for a bit. As you may or may not know, my mom is an avid reader of the blog. I knew she read the post. She knew I knew she read the post. I knew she knew I knew she read the post. Haha. Pete and repeat, sitting on a boat. Pete fell off, who's left?
Anyway, my mom said "How was your weekend?" (Pregnant pause.) I told her it was fine. She didn't want to overtly say "I know you're lonely, it's ok." Instead, she tip-toed around the issue. "Is everything alright? Are you feeling ... sad? I know long weekends can be ... hard."
Hee hee. So cute. I had a bit of a downer day, no big deal.
Even though I am sans boyfriend, I try to remind myself every day that I have:
1) great support from friends and family and blog readers
2) a secret stash of chocolate, and a second, even more secret stash.
3) parents who miraculously are not pressuring me to get married ...
4) but who do consistently tell me how happy having granddkids would make them. (My response? Get on that lil' bro.)
*~*~
Maybe Monday was just a bad hair day. I am in the process of growing my hair out. Being in between hair styles SUCKS. I am a slave to headbands and clips and other things that make me look like I stepped out of a bad 80's movie. The short was fun while it lasted, but I never thought I would miss being able to tie my hair into a ponytail as much as I do. Even though it will be months before I can do that, I still sometimes wear the black rubber band around my wrist, out of sheer habit. The ladies know what I'm talkin' about.
Also, Grey's Anatomy? Like, the best show ever??!
Monday, February 20, 2006
companionship
Most of the time, I am completely fine with being single. I enjoy my freedom and the ability to go out and meet a variety of people. But there are some periods when, no matter how hard you try to fight it, you feel profoundly alone.
I place long weekends into that category. Long weekends are meant for travel and shopping and long lunches and cat naps. And they are so much more fun when you have someone with whom to share those experiences.
I'm not depressed or psycho lonely; all I'm saying is that when you are given the gift of a Monday with no work and no responsibilities, it sure would be nice to have a boyfriend to accompany me to a museum. You know?
I have lots of friends and family; I could have easily gone home and spent time with my parents. But alone time is important too. Hard, but important.
Actually, it wasn't so much today as Friday when I acutely felt the lack of a significant other. I had a rather stressful presentation to make Friday morning, which I found out about Thursday night. My boss was freaking out. I remained calm, practiced the presentation a few times and made sure not to wear a button down shirt on Friday lest I reveal my excessive nervousness through perspiration.
The presentation went really well and I received great feedback. It was one of those times you wish you could call a boyfriend and squeal and have someone congratulate you. But I couldn't.
I did call my Dad, who was really excited. Still, it's different.
Now, it's Monday. And I am listening to jazz on the radio. I took a nice long shower and did my hair and makeup and look very trendy. With nowhere to go. I think I will take my book and go to Starbucks and read for a while.
I know these are the times that make me strong, independent, and resilient. But oh, are they hard.
I place long weekends into that category. Long weekends are meant for travel and shopping and long lunches and cat naps. And they are so much more fun when you have someone with whom to share those experiences.
I'm not depressed or psycho lonely; all I'm saying is that when you are given the gift of a Monday with no work and no responsibilities, it sure would be nice to have a boyfriend to accompany me to a museum. You know?
I have lots of friends and family; I could have easily gone home and spent time with my parents. But alone time is important too. Hard, but important.
Actually, it wasn't so much today as Friday when I acutely felt the lack of a significant other. I had a rather stressful presentation to make Friday morning, which I found out about Thursday night. My boss was freaking out. I remained calm, practiced the presentation a few times and made sure not to wear a button down shirt on Friday lest I reveal my excessive nervousness through perspiration.
The presentation went really well and I received great feedback. It was one of those times you wish you could call a boyfriend and squeal and have someone congratulate you. But I couldn't.
I did call my Dad, who was really excited. Still, it's different.
Now, it's Monday. And I am listening to jazz on the radio. I took a nice long shower and did my hair and makeup and look very trendy. With nowhere to go. I think I will take my book and go to Starbucks and read for a while.
I know these are the times that make me strong, independent, and resilient. But oh, are they hard.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
singledom awareness day
Today, my friend sent me an instant message reading "Happy Singledom Awareness Day! (SAD, if you're keeping track)".
So there you have it. I'm not bitter about Valentine's Day. Really. I like chocolate too much to be bitter about this completely contrived holiday singularly established to make single people feel worse about themselves.
I am lucky enough to have amazing friends who have all agreed to be my Valentine. Yeah, I'm a player. I gots lotsa Valentines. In all seriousness, I received tons of e-mails and instant messages from my friends. I am one lucky gal. One single, twenty something, spinsterhood-headed, lucky gal.
And, well, I did wear a red and white sweater today. So shoot me. Right through the heart. (Because I give looove a bad name.)
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
So there you have it. I'm not bitter about Valentine's Day. Really. I like chocolate too much to be bitter about this completely contrived holiday singularly established to make single people feel worse about themselves.
I am lucky enough to have amazing friends who have all agreed to be my Valentine. Yeah, I'm a player. I gots lotsa Valentines. In all seriousness, I received tons of e-mails and instant messages from my friends. I am one lucky gal. One single, twenty something, spinsterhood-headed, lucky gal.
And, well, I did wear a red and white sweater today. So shoot me. Right through the heart. (Because I give looove a bad name.)
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
Monday, February 13, 2006
snoooooooow.
It snowed. A lot. Man do I hate winter. Last Friday, in light of the coming storm, my coworker from London told me how excited she was for her first New England snowfall. Needless to say I didn't share her enthusiasm.
Prior to the discovery of the imminent BIGGEST STORM EVER IN NEW YORK CITY HISTORY, I had already decided to go to New York for the weekend. I originally had plans to go into Manhattan and spend time with friends. Those quickly transformed into sitting at home all weekend with my parents and alternating between ZEE TV and the Weather Channel. The Weather Channel, by the way, is run by a bunch of sadists. How else to explain their continuous display of the current temperature in Jamaica (the island) during breaks between blizzard coverage?
After the storm, a group of men in a pickup truck came by and offered shoveling services. Now, there is a luxury worth spending money on. I agreed to a price. But I will admit something: I monitored them from the windows like a hawk. I mean, service is service is service, right? At some point, my mother and I were both watching them from our living room. She turned to me and in Hindi said:
"They need to do the part near the end of the driveway ... and they are piling too much on the right, how will we get the car out?"
Therein is one of the funniest and most natural elements of immigrant life. When you want to talk about someone, you revert back to Mother Tongue. Mind you, the shovelers were outside. They couldn't hear us. But my mom delicately lowered her voice and altered her language in order to convey mild criticism. Gotta love it.
I was booked on a flight back to Boston this morning at 6:30 AM. Amazingly, it took off and was only about 40 minutes delayed. I feel a little bad; everyone who was booked yesterday had their flights canceled and will have to struggle to get a flight back at some point today. But serendipity led me to book my ticket for early this morning as opposed to last night, and as a result, here I am. Blogging at work. Glad it was so crucial for me to rush back ahead all those other passengers.
*~*~
If you can watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and not tear up even the littlest bit when Ty and the family scream "MOVE THAT BUS!", then I declare you positively inhuman.
Prior to the discovery of the imminent BIGGEST STORM EVER IN NEW YORK CITY HISTORY, I had already decided to go to New York for the weekend. I originally had plans to go into Manhattan and spend time with friends. Those quickly transformed into sitting at home all weekend with my parents and alternating between ZEE TV and the Weather Channel. The Weather Channel, by the way, is run by a bunch of sadists. How else to explain their continuous display of the current temperature in Jamaica (the island) during breaks between blizzard coverage?
After the storm, a group of men in a pickup truck came by and offered shoveling services. Now, there is a luxury worth spending money on. I agreed to a price. But I will admit something: I monitored them from the windows like a hawk. I mean, service is service is service, right? At some point, my mother and I were both watching them from our living room. She turned to me and in Hindi said:
"They need to do the part near the end of the driveway ... and they are piling too much on the right, how will we get the car out?"
Therein is one of the funniest and most natural elements of immigrant life. When you want to talk about someone, you revert back to Mother Tongue. Mind you, the shovelers were outside. They couldn't hear us. But my mom delicately lowered her voice and altered her language in order to convey mild criticism. Gotta love it.
I was booked on a flight back to Boston this morning at 6:30 AM. Amazingly, it took off and was only about 40 minutes delayed. I feel a little bad; everyone who was booked yesterday had their flights canceled and will have to struggle to get a flight back at some point today. But serendipity led me to book my ticket for early this morning as opposed to last night, and as a result, here I am. Blogging at work. Glad it was so crucial for me to rush back ahead all those other passengers.
*~*~
If you can watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and not tear up even the littlest bit when Ty and the family scream "MOVE THAT BUS!", then I declare you positively inhuman.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
i left my heart ...
I was in San Francisco this past week for a medical school interview.
Everyone warned me that I would fall in love when I least expected it. And I did.
Unfortunately, not with a man. But with the city. And the state. And the sunshine.
Pray tell, East Coasters, why do we live here amongst the career focused, money hungry, stressed out masses simmering in such cacophany? I know I am romanticizing the lovely Bay Area, especially since I was a relative virgin to its seductive wares. But the city mesmerized me with good weather and friendly people.
Rather than bore you with the minutae, I will just tell you that I spent four days with one of my closest friends, who is a graduate student at Stanford. We drove all around the place, had good food and great conversations. We hiked (sort of) and took a tour of wine country (perhaps the most beautiful scenery in these here United States). I did notice the following things:
Everyone warned me that I would fall in love when I least expected it. And I did.
Unfortunately, not with a man. But with the city. And the state. And the sunshine.
Pray tell, East Coasters, why do we live here amongst the career focused, money hungry, stressed out masses simmering in such cacophany? I know I am romanticizing the lovely Bay Area, especially since I was a relative virgin to its seductive wares. But the city mesmerized me with good weather and friendly people.
Rather than bore you with the minutae, I will just tell you that I spent four days with one of my closest friends, who is a graduate student at Stanford. We drove all around the place, had good food and great conversations. We hiked (sort of) and took a tour of wine country (perhaps the most beautiful scenery in these here United States). I did notice the following things:
- People are pretty darn healthy out in California. They hike and run and play tennis instead of Nintendo. They wear less makeup. I stood out like a sore thumb as I get winded climbing a set of stairs and swear by lip gloss as if it's the elixir of life.
- Sun makes me happy.
- They're not kidding about the, um, diversity of San Fran. My last day there, I took the BART (public transport) to the airport. A transgendered/transsexual/i-have-no-idea-what-the-correct-terminology-is teenage boy (with lipstick and a hybrid outfit consisting of jeans with a skirt on top and some kind of muumuu blouse) sat next to me. Suddenly s/he said "I loooove your hair." Huh? I thanked him and told him I was contemplating what to do with it. But the salient point here was that s/he was nice and pointed me in the right direction to the airport.
So, ladies and gents, I loved California. My interview went well, but as always it's a big crapshoot and I still have no idea where the heck I will be next year. Exciting? Yes. Frustrating? HELL yes.
Here are some pics for your viewing pleasure:
At a winery in Sonoma. The two wine glasses are shown to illustrate the color differences for wines aged in cork barrels vs. stainless steel barrels. It may not seem like it, but you can tell quite easily once made aware of the difference.
The view of the Golden Gate Bridge from the med school library. That's right. The LIBRARY.
I know I will end up where I'm supposed to be ... but wouldn't it be nice to look at that, like, every day? I loved California so much that I am going back next month. My family and I are going to do the drive along the Pacific Coast Highway from LA to San Fran.
*~*~
Random aside. I went on a pseudo-date (friend of a friend, not really a date but kind of a date. Know what I mean? I bet many of you do) a few weeks ago. The dude was desi. An ABCD, second generation, what have you. Just like me. Or so I thought. Until he asked me when I moved to the States. I stared at him and told him I was born and raised in New York. And then he asked me why I still speak with an Indian accent. Oy vey. Or should I say, Aree Yaar!
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
little debbie, meet my conscience.
Last night I had dinner with one of my all-time favorite people. She is a friend of mine from college, and was my roommate in Manhattan the first year I lived there. Now, I must tell you how much of a rock star this girl is:
Incredibly intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, caring, fun and super sweet. Harvard Undergrad. A big wig on Wall Street. Harvard Business School. Captain of the girl's tennis team in college. Yes, I'm serious. A tall Indian girl who plays tennis like nobody's business. As opposed to your garden-variety desi girl, like me, who is 5' 2" and can hardly play ping pong. Speaking of which, will someone PLEASE teach me how to put on a damn topspin?
So yes, she's awesome and I'm so glad we had the chance to catch up yesterday. We had a lovely dinner. After dinner, we wandered over to CVS since she had to purchase some paper plates for an event she was hosting.
Now, you can hardly expect me to walk into CVS and not buy at least one of the following items:
Doritos
Makeup
Some kind of newfangled hair product for my style du jour
Cookies
Chocolate
People magazine
Chewing gum
Hand cream (FYI - I have discovered that the best possible remedy for dry hands / cuticles is none other than slathering on some Vaseline prior to bed time. Yes, it's kind of ghetto. But it's so effective and works better than anything else you will try. Scouts honor. Take THAT Cosmo).
So, as I wandered the aisles of CVS, my eyes fell on the Little Debbie display. And people, I LOVE Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Sandwiches. I am talking pure, unadulterated love. So much so that I am going to name my daughter Little Debbie. My dad liked Sophia Loren, but I can safely say that she doens't hold a candle to Oatmeal Creme Sandwiches.
I secretly purchased my box of cookies ($1.19 for 12. How sad is it that I know the price has gone up, since a few months ago a box was $1.00 even?). My friend finished her transaction at another register. As we walked out, she saw my sheepish grin and asked me what I had bought. I looked at her guiltily then pulled out the box of cookies. She gave me an adorable look of admonition. I protested "Metabolism in my family slows down at 30! My cousin told me so! I want to eat whatever I want while I still can!"
She smiled angelically and told me, "Soph, it's fine. Just make sure you pay attention to your health." Oh man I love that girl. Her sincerity and all-around sweetness can make anyone melt and see the righteousness of her ways.
Last night I had two cookies though. Don't tell her.
Incredibly intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, caring, fun and super sweet. Harvard Undergrad. A big wig on Wall Street. Harvard Business School. Captain of the girl's tennis team in college. Yes, I'm serious. A tall Indian girl who plays tennis like nobody's business. As opposed to your garden-variety desi girl, like me, who is 5' 2" and can hardly play ping pong. Speaking of which, will someone PLEASE teach me how to put on a damn topspin?
So yes, she's awesome and I'm so glad we had the chance to catch up yesterday. We had a lovely dinner. After dinner, we wandered over to CVS since she had to purchase some paper plates for an event she was hosting.
Now, you can hardly expect me to walk into CVS and not buy at least one of the following items:
Doritos
Makeup
Some kind of newfangled hair product for my style du jour
Cookies
Chocolate
People magazine
Chewing gum
Hand cream (FYI - I have discovered that the best possible remedy for dry hands / cuticles is none other than slathering on some Vaseline prior to bed time. Yes, it's kind of ghetto. But it's so effective and works better than anything else you will try. Scouts honor. Take THAT Cosmo).
So, as I wandered the aisles of CVS, my eyes fell on the Little Debbie display. And people, I LOVE Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Sandwiches. I am talking pure, unadulterated love. So much so that I am going to name my daughter Little Debbie. My dad liked Sophia Loren, but I can safely say that she doens't hold a candle to Oatmeal Creme Sandwiches.
I secretly purchased my box of cookies ($1.19 for 12. How sad is it that I know the price has gone up, since a few months ago a box was $1.00 even?). My friend finished her transaction at another register. As we walked out, she saw my sheepish grin and asked me what I had bought. I looked at her guiltily then pulled out the box of cookies. She gave me an adorable look of admonition. I protested "Metabolism in my family slows down at 30! My cousin told me so! I want to eat whatever I want while I still can!"
She smiled angelically and told me, "Soph, it's fine. Just make sure you pay attention to your health." Oh man I love that girl. Her sincerity and all-around sweetness can make anyone melt and see the righteousness of her ways.
Last night I had two cookies though. Don't tell her.
Monday, January 30, 2006
thunder down under
I am going to Australia at the end of March. This is very exciting. It marks my first foray into "adventure travel." Lots of people travel to cool locations and explore the land. My vacation preferences to date have been Florida, and, um, Florida, and ... uh ... Costco?
One of my closest friends is an adventure traveler. I think this will be a good experience - I am not gutsy enough to travel alone. This way, I get to have all the adventure with the added benefit of companionship. Crocodile Dundee, here I come!
I just booked the ticket online, which was WICKED expensive. Whenever you make an egregious purchase, do you ever find yourself inexplicably apprehensive? As I stared at the final price, my mind started racing. I thought "This is nearly a month's salary, if not more. This much money can be put toward my medical school expenses. Spending this much money makes me a really extravagant person."
But then, fears aside, I pressed the "Purchase" button. Do you know what I did while the little hourglass was indicating that my credit card debt was slowly inching up? I prayed. I don't know for what or why, but I prayed. Perhaps I prayed for a safe and fun trip. Perhaps I was thanking the powers that be for my fortunate circumstances to have the time, means and friends to allow me these experiences. Perhaps I was just praying my credit card wouldn't get denied. Yeah, I think it was the last one. Woohee, it went through.
Three years ago a group of girlfriends and I went to Las Vegas for little debauchery. While walking on the strip, a man handed us a flier for a nude male revue called "Thunder Down Under." And dammit if it wasn't a 5-4 vote against going. And as if I really need to tell you, I was very much the ringleader of the girls who wanted to go see the show. There is still residual bitterness from the loss.
And now, I can finally go see the real Thunder Down Under. Hallelujah!
One of my closest friends is an adventure traveler. I think this will be a good experience - I am not gutsy enough to travel alone. This way, I get to have all the adventure with the added benefit of companionship. Crocodile Dundee, here I come!
I just booked the ticket online, which was WICKED expensive. Whenever you make an egregious purchase, do you ever find yourself inexplicably apprehensive? As I stared at the final price, my mind started racing. I thought "This is nearly a month's salary, if not more. This much money can be put toward my medical school expenses. Spending this much money makes me a really extravagant person."
But then, fears aside, I pressed the "Purchase" button. Do you know what I did while the little hourglass was indicating that my credit card debt was slowly inching up? I prayed. I don't know for what or why, but I prayed. Perhaps I prayed for a safe and fun trip. Perhaps I was thanking the powers that be for my fortunate circumstances to have the time, means and friends to allow me these experiences. Perhaps I was just praying my credit card wouldn't get denied. Yeah, I think it was the last one. Woohee, it went through.
Three years ago a group of girlfriends and I went to Las Vegas for little debauchery. While walking on the strip, a man handed us a flier for a nude male revue called "Thunder Down Under." And dammit if it wasn't a 5-4 vote against going. And as if I really need to tell you, I was very much the ringleader of the girls who wanted to go see the show. There is still residual bitterness from the loss.
And now, I can finally go see the real Thunder Down Under. Hallelujah!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
now that's what i call funny
This may be offensive, but it's so damn funny.
Check this and other really funny t-shirts here. I am particularly fond of the backwards one - see if you know which one I mean.
Check this and other really funny t-shirts here. I am particularly fond of the backwards one - see if you know which one I mean.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
i am a lucky moron.
Today's posts focus on restrooms.
This morning, I stupidly, stupidly placed some cash in the pocket of my jeans. Not an insignificant sum either - around $100, a recent ATM run that was meant to get me through the next few weeks. And by ATM, I mean Automated-Teller-Mom, who had generously given my increasingly poor student bum some spending money this morning before I returned to Boston.
I went to the restroom this morning at work - quite absent-minded and tired from my 6:30 AM flight (JetBlue, I love your cheap fares but could you please extend them to some semi-reasonable hours of the day??). But yes, went to the bathroom, freshened up, powdered my nose (not really, but it sounds nice) etc.
About an hour later, I noticed the following post-it note on the bathroom door. And people, I don't roam the hallways and linger near the bathroom. I literally sit in front of the bathroom. The post it said "If you feel that you have dropped some $$$ in this rest room, please page 55555."
I read it once, and didn't think anything of it. A minute later, I did ye-olde-Homer slap to the forehead and said "D'Oh!" I checked my pocket, and sure enough, the money had fallen out. I am such a moron! And I am SO lucky!
But I am more moron than lucky, as you shall see. I took the post-it, but instead of reading "page 55555", I thought it said "Call 5-5555". So I did. A man answered. "Computer support!" he said.
"Um, did you leave the post-it on the bathroom saying that you had found some money in there?" I asked.
Muffled laughter. "No, I sure didn't."
"Oh, um, thanks."
I then wandered down the hallway, and then asked a secretary whom I do not know how to page someone. She told me how to do it - amazingly, online. Tekmology! Unbelieveable! I paged the number with the following message "Hi, did you leave the post-it on the bathroom? If so, please call me at [my work phone #]"
Sure enough, he did. And then he came by and dropped off the $100. I thanked him profusely and tried not to notice his sardonic smile, so obviously thinking "This girl is one lucky moron."
Sorry for being so careless Mom. I hope this doesn't block off future withdrawals from the ATM!
This morning, I stupidly, stupidly placed some cash in the pocket of my jeans. Not an insignificant sum either - around $100, a recent ATM run that was meant to get me through the next few weeks. And by ATM, I mean Automated-Teller-Mom, who had generously given my increasingly poor student bum some spending money this morning before I returned to Boston.
I went to the restroom this morning at work - quite absent-minded and tired from my 6:30 AM flight (JetBlue, I love your cheap fares but could you please extend them to some semi-reasonable hours of the day??). But yes, went to the bathroom, freshened up, powdered my nose (not really, but it sounds nice) etc.
About an hour later, I noticed the following post-it note on the bathroom door. And people, I don't roam the hallways and linger near the bathroom. I literally sit in front of the bathroom. The post it said "If you feel that you have dropped some $$$ in this rest room, please page 55555."
I read it once, and didn't think anything of it. A minute later, I did ye-olde-Homer slap to the forehead and said "D'Oh!" I checked my pocket, and sure enough, the money had fallen out. I am such a moron! And I am SO lucky!
But I am more moron than lucky, as you shall see. I took the post-it, but instead of reading "page 55555", I thought it said "Call 5-5555". So I did. A man answered. "Computer support!" he said.
"Um, did you leave the post-it on the bathroom saying that you had found some money in there?" I asked.
Muffled laughter. "No, I sure didn't."
"Oh, um, thanks."
I then wandered down the hallway, and then asked a secretary whom I do not know how to page someone. She told me how to do it - amazingly, online. Tekmology! Unbelieveable! I paged the number with the following message "Hi, did you leave the post-it on the bathroom? If so, please call me at [my work phone #]"
Sure enough, he did. And then he came by and dropped off the $100. I thanked him profusely and tried not to notice his sardonic smile, so obviously thinking "This girl is one lucky moron."
Sorry for being so careless Mom. I hope this doesn't block off future withdrawals from the ATM!
transitory
I am getting antsy.
As I prepare for a new journey come September, I'm feeling very unsettled in my current situation. I wish I knew where I was going for medical school ... where I will be spending the next four years of my life. I wish I knew if I'm finally going to meet someone semi-normal and get on with this whole marriage/adulthood thing already. I wish, I wish ... but right now, I just wait.
Boston is starting to feel like more of a place of the past, even though I still live here. Is that weird? I know I'm leaving so I've already begun to mentally disconnect from my life here. I'm not that interested in my work, and I'm starting to plan out when to leave my job and move back to NY. Needless to say, the date is continually creeping up. As of now, I think I'll travel for most of March and be back in NY by the beginning of April. Buh-bye beantown!
Always, always in transit. I am constantly out of town - a few months ago it was for interviews and now it's been more for random trips. I feel like I did when I was working - although this time the traveling is all on my dime. In spite of that, it's still so much more fun this way.
One thing has remained constant though: I hate airport restrooms. Given the amount of traveling I've been doing, I've been relegated to use these restrooms more so than I would like. Do you know why I hate them?
Because never, ever, in my entire life, has an automatic flush toilet ever flushed at the right time. Seriously, whose genius idea was this? Are people really SO lazy that they can't flush the toilet? (Sadly, the answer is probably "yes" to this question). Some may say that auto flush toilets are more sanitary. Aside from the aesthetic factor (i.e., said toilets actually being flushed), I disagree. Even pre-auto-flush toilets, I skirted this problem by pushing the handle with my foot. And don't tell me you've never done that either.
Did anyone see Beavis and Butthead Do America? Great movie. And if you did, perhaps you may remember the scene where Beavis and Butthead are transfixed in front of auto flush urinals. They stand there, wave their hands in front of the urinals, and grunt the Beavis and Butthead laugh while the urinals keep flushing.
Not so fun in real life when the toilet flushes when you least expect it!
As I prepare for a new journey come September, I'm feeling very unsettled in my current situation. I wish I knew where I was going for medical school ... where I will be spending the next four years of my life. I wish I knew if I'm finally going to meet someone semi-normal and get on with this whole marriage/adulthood thing already. I wish, I wish ... but right now, I just wait.
Boston is starting to feel like more of a place of the past, even though I still live here. Is that weird? I know I'm leaving so I've already begun to mentally disconnect from my life here. I'm not that interested in my work, and I'm starting to plan out when to leave my job and move back to NY. Needless to say, the date is continually creeping up. As of now, I think I'll travel for most of March and be back in NY by the beginning of April. Buh-bye beantown!
Always, always in transit. I am constantly out of town - a few months ago it was for interviews and now it's been more for random trips. I feel like I did when I was working - although this time the traveling is all on my dime. In spite of that, it's still so much more fun this way.
One thing has remained constant though: I hate airport restrooms. Given the amount of traveling I've been doing, I've been relegated to use these restrooms more so than I would like. Do you know why I hate them?
Because never, ever, in my entire life, has an automatic flush toilet ever flushed at the right time. Seriously, whose genius idea was this? Are people really SO lazy that they can't flush the toilet? (Sadly, the answer is probably "yes" to this question). Some may say that auto flush toilets are more sanitary. Aside from the aesthetic factor (i.e., said toilets actually being flushed), I disagree. Even pre-auto-flush toilets, I skirted this problem by pushing the handle with my foot. And don't tell me you've never done that either.
Did anyone see Beavis and Butthead Do America? Great movie. And if you did, perhaps you may remember the scene where Beavis and Butthead are transfixed in front of auto flush urinals. They stand there, wave their hands in front of the urinals, and grunt the Beavis and Butthead laugh while the urinals keep flushing.
Not so fun in real life when the toilet flushes when you least expect it!
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
happy happy joy joy
Here are some cute pictures from last week. It was my amazing roommate Rainey's birthday. Given that we are both New Yorkers born and bred, I treated her to our most favorite birthday ice cream cake from CARVEL!!
Celebrate good times ... Come on!
Celebrate good times ... Come on!
the love of my life.
I love an intangible force of modernity. It is a coping mechanism. Helping me manage my life, minimize boredom, multi-task, procrastinate ... and most importantly, surf the web while supposedly doing "real work." My heart belongs to ...
ALT-TAB.
How I love thee. Let me count the ways.
1) I love you first thing in the morning when I catch up on CNN.com and NYTimes.com
2) I love you mid-morning as I check e-mail
3) I love you at lunchtime as I surf Amazon.com for nothing in particular
4) I love you in the afternoon as I get sucked into friendster
5) I love you as the day concludes and I once again check e-mail and then write a blog post
Alt-Tab, will you marry me?
ALT-TAB.
How I love thee. Let me count the ways.
1) I love you first thing in the morning when I catch up on CNN.com and NYTimes.com
2) I love you mid-morning as I check e-mail
3) I love you at lunchtime as I surf Amazon.com for nothing in particular
4) I love you in the afternoon as I get sucked into friendster
5) I love you as the day concludes and I once again check e-mail and then write a blog post
Alt-Tab, will you marry me?
Thursday, January 05, 2006
hairy arms
I took a glace at the stats for my blog. The meter can show me search words that have led people to my blog. Someone chanced upon the site by searching for "hairy arms", and per my second to last post this site came up as a hit.
In case that reader returns, here's my advice. Wax. No pain, no gain. That's my motto.
Man fifth grade sucked. And if those were my arms, imagine my legs. I was finally allowed to get my legs waxed at age 10. My desi female readers will understand my plight. My mom didn't take me to a salon. She took me to some desi woman's apartment who did ghetto waxing on the side. This woman made wax on the stove with sugar, and um ... sugar? Then she used a butter knife (a METAL butterknife) to put the wax on. And no muslin strips. She used old torn up sheets as the wax strips. We are so cheap. Needless to say, I never went back to her again.
It gets worse. Since I was so young, my mom only let me wax the bottom part of my legs - not even up to my knees. And then she dressed me in shorts for school the next day (it was summer). The shorts covered only half of my thigh! Imagine going to school with hair up to my knees and nothing below that. It was like that scene from "40-Year Old Virgin" when Andy gets his chest waxed. Except sooooo much worse.
By the way, I know I tell these funny and rather cringe-worthy stories of my childhood and paint my mom as some evil perpetrator. But she didn't mean anything by it. My mom is the best woman in the whole wide world. In fact, I think she had the premonition to know that one day people would write journals on something called the "Internet" and that her daughter would be one of these people. She did these things to ensure that I would have material 16 years later. Isn't she amazing?
In case that reader returns, here's my advice. Wax. No pain, no gain. That's my motto.
Man fifth grade sucked. And if those were my arms, imagine my legs. I was finally allowed to get my legs waxed at age 10. My desi female readers will understand my plight. My mom didn't take me to a salon. She took me to some desi woman's apartment who did ghetto waxing on the side. This woman made wax on the stove with sugar, and um ... sugar? Then she used a butter knife (a METAL butterknife) to put the wax on. And no muslin strips. She used old torn up sheets as the wax strips. We are so cheap. Needless to say, I never went back to her again.
It gets worse. Since I was so young, my mom only let me wax the bottom part of my legs - not even up to my knees. And then she dressed me in shorts for school the next day (it was summer). The shorts covered only half of my thigh! Imagine going to school with hair up to my knees and nothing below that. It was like that scene from "40-Year Old Virgin" when Andy gets his chest waxed. Except sooooo much worse.
By the way, I know I tell these funny and rather cringe-worthy stories of my childhood and paint my mom as some evil perpetrator. But she didn't mean anything by it. My mom is the best woman in the whole wide world. In fact, I think she had the premonition to know that one day people would write journals on something called the "Internet" and that her daughter would be one of these people. She did these things to ensure that I would have material 16 years later. Isn't she amazing?
adult ADD
Do you remember the commercials for Strattera, the ADHD medication, that came out a while ago? They showed a woman in a meeting. And then they showed her "thoughts" as a disjointed vignette. For example, as she sat in the meeting suddenly her thought was her kid at soccer practice, or her cooking a casserole for dinner.
The advertisement then said "If you can't concentrate, or your thoughts are disorganized, you might have adult ADD."
Well if that's the case, then EVERYONE has ADHD. I think that was the point of the commercial though.
For whatever it's worth, I think we all have elements of ADD to our personalities. Remaining focused 24/7 is impossible, and we need to let our thoughts swim amorphously in our subconscious for us to ever come to terms with them. Then and only then can we think clearly and coherently.
Oh, I lost my train of thought. Gosh darn ADD. In all seriousness, over the last few days my brain has been checked out and I can't hold a single thought for more than a minute. But I think that's OK. Over christmas break I focused on completing a difficult application, and it took all of my energy and attention. To recover, I've hit the opposite extreme - complete mental disarray and confusion.
What was I saying? Hee hee. As part of my current inability to say anything with substance, I will change the topic. My roommate and I were recently discussing how the meaning and nuance of language is deteriorating. The use of modifiers such as "like" and "whatever" are so commonplace that the actual meaning of the words "like" and "whatever" have been lost.
With the onslaught of e-mail, instant messaging and text messaging, I fear that all the strides in communication we seem to be making will be undone with the loss of all substantive meaning. Recently, while surfing the host site for my blog, I came upon some blogs by high-schoolers. Truth be told? I was *appalled* at the use of language and acronyms. It felt as if my every nerve were being scraped by a dull nail file.
I admit I am a grammar snob. I have mentioned this before, but I think hearing language used eloquently and correctly is a beautiful experience. Not that I am an excellent writer by any stretch of the imagination; nor am I the best in my every day speech. But I am trying to get better, and frankly this blog challenges me to do so by creatively articulating myself.
Who will challenge the next generation though? Will novels of the future be full of grammatical mistakes and peppered with acronyms?
Chapter 1:
Jane like walked into the room. Billy was standing there and OMG he was like "Hey Jane" but Jane was like "whatever" and then Jane said "Your shirt is untucked" and then Billy was so embarassed but then they both laughed OMG it was so funny ROTFL.
Someone (or the educational system at least) please help us.
My iPOD is making funny noises. I am so the girl who messes up all her technological gadgets. I lost my cell phone, broke my laptop, and managed to screw up my iPOD twice in a year. No wonder I'm all about books with words and trying to save the art of language. I am the quintessential luddite.
The advertisement then said "If you can't concentrate, or your thoughts are disorganized, you might have adult ADD."
Well if that's the case, then EVERYONE has ADHD. I think that was the point of the commercial though.
For whatever it's worth, I think we all have elements of ADD to our personalities. Remaining focused 24/7 is impossible, and we need to let our thoughts swim amorphously in our subconscious for us to ever come to terms with them. Then and only then can we think clearly and coherently.
Oh, I lost my train of thought. Gosh darn ADD. In all seriousness, over the last few days my brain has been checked out and I can't hold a single thought for more than a minute. But I think that's OK. Over christmas break I focused on completing a difficult application, and it took all of my energy and attention. To recover, I've hit the opposite extreme - complete mental disarray and confusion.
What was I saying? Hee hee. As part of my current inability to say anything with substance, I will change the topic. My roommate and I were recently discussing how the meaning and nuance of language is deteriorating. The use of modifiers such as "like" and "whatever" are so commonplace that the actual meaning of the words "like" and "whatever" have been lost.
With the onslaught of e-mail, instant messaging and text messaging, I fear that all the strides in communication we seem to be making will be undone with the loss of all substantive meaning. Recently, while surfing the host site for my blog, I came upon some blogs by high-schoolers. Truth be told? I was *appalled* at the use of language and acronyms. It felt as if my every nerve were being scraped by a dull nail file.
I admit I am a grammar snob. I have mentioned this before, but I think hearing language used eloquently and correctly is a beautiful experience. Not that I am an excellent writer by any stretch of the imagination; nor am I the best in my every day speech. But I am trying to get better, and frankly this blog challenges me to do so by creatively articulating myself.
Who will challenge the next generation though? Will novels of the future be full of grammatical mistakes and peppered with acronyms?
Chapter 1:
Jane like walked into the room. Billy was standing there and OMG he was like "Hey Jane" but Jane was like "whatever" and then Jane said "Your shirt is untucked" and then Billy was so embarassed but then they both laughed OMG it was so funny ROTFL.
Someone (or the educational system at least) please help us.
My iPOD is making funny noises. I am so the girl who messes up all her technological gadgets. I lost my cell phone, broke my laptop, and managed to screw up my iPOD twice in a year. No wonder I'm all about books with words and trying to save the art of language. I am the quintessential luddite.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
say what?
Happy New Year everyone!
Here are some funny things I overheard / were said to me / were said to friends:
Here are some funny things I overheard / were said to me / were said to friends:
- Just now, I overheard a conversation between two people in front of my cubicle. One guy asked another "OK, when do you want to talk about the project?" And the other guy responded "I'm going to urinate, and then we'll talk in five minutes." I mean, it was obvious he was headed to the bathroom, but did he need to spell it out like that? And these are DOCTORS people!!
- I flew back to Boston on Sunday. While at the airport waiting for my flight, I decided to get some McDonalds. The McDonalds counter was super busy. I finally ordered. The cashier, a large African American woman, said "Six Chicken McNuggets?" I nodded my head and took the bag from her. She looked me straight in the eye and said "Each one will make you fat." I swear! That's what she said. I didn't know what to do. I stared at her incredulously for a second. And then started to laugh, and she laughed even louder than I did.
- My friend said that while on his flight, a gay steward was trying to hit on him. Now, I caveat that my friend is a bit of an exaggerator. But he told me that the steward asked him what he did for a living. My friend said he was in medical school. The steward replied "That's great! I am studying for my bachelorette in Marketing."
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