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!

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.

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?

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.

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 ...

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'!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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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.

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.

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??!

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.

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!

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.