"Thanks for taking me out to dinner, mom and dad."
"No problem, beta. But you barely even ate anything, just the side of rice."
"I know, but I couldn't totally enjoy it because I know H is at home eating leftovers and he doesn't get to eat out very often."
"Ah, I feel that way when I go out with my girlfriends and your father is at home."
"It's crazy, right?"
"No. That's what's called being married."
Monday, February 09, 2009
Friday, February 06, 2009
which is why i have an eye appointment this afternoon
Last night EB called to say her dad needs to have surgery next week to repair the hole in his heart. I attempted to reassure her by saying my brother has about four or five foreign objects tacked onto his ticker, including some GORE-TEX to make up for his lack of left ventricle, and he's as much of a smartass as ever. But I know there's little you can say to put someone at ease when a person they love is going to have his ribcage sawed open. I'm sending them good vibes.
Then my mother called. She's been having some eye issues for months (big black floaters, flashes of light, sometimes a sharp pain), but because someone told her she "really didn't need it," she opted out of eye insurance coverage for 2008 and couldn't see a doctor until January. Upon seeing her, the eye doctor freaked out, yelled at her and immediately sent her to a specialist.
The specialist did an eye angiogram (!) and referred her to another specialist. He was not happy she had waited, said that she has a "macular hole" in her right eye and should have surgery ASAP. She downplayed the severity of the situation and even told H she'd be angry with him if he told me what was going on. So while my mom was getting injected with dye, I spent the day beating myself up over a coverletter that somehow disqualified me for what would have been a perfect job instead of worrying about something way more important. I guess that's why she didn't want me to know.
This is just the latest in a long history of my mother being a great nurse but a horrid patient. She was supposed to have some other procedure for months, but has put it off for some ridiculous reason. Even though this is the perfect time: Unemployment means I can come home, drive her to appointments, pick up medicines--and most importantly--smack her around if she doesn't comply.
But it doesn't matter what I have to say. I think what got her in gear was the specialist telling her with certainty that this eye thing could render her completely blind. She ran home and made an appointment for the very next day. Because for as much as she likes to whine about not being alive to see her grandchildren, being alive but not being able to SEE her grandchildren may very well kill her on the spot.
Then my mother called. She's been having some eye issues for months (big black floaters, flashes of light, sometimes a sharp pain), but because someone told her she "really didn't need it," she opted out of eye insurance coverage for 2008 and couldn't see a doctor until January. Upon seeing her, the eye doctor freaked out, yelled at her and immediately sent her to a specialist.
The specialist did an eye angiogram (!) and referred her to another specialist. He was not happy she had waited, said that she has a "macular hole" in her right eye and should have surgery ASAP. She downplayed the severity of the situation and even told H she'd be angry with him if he told me what was going on. So while my mom was getting injected with dye, I spent the day beating myself up over a coverletter that somehow disqualified me for what would have been a perfect job instead of worrying about something way more important. I guess that's why she didn't want me to know.
This is just the latest in a long history of my mother being a great nurse but a horrid patient. She was supposed to have some other procedure for months, but has put it off for some ridiculous reason. Even though this is the perfect time: Unemployment means I can come home, drive her to appointments, pick up medicines--and most importantly--smack her around if she doesn't comply.
But it doesn't matter what I have to say. I think what got her in gear was the specialist telling her with certainty that this eye thing could render her completely blind. She ran home and made an appointment for the very next day. Because for as much as she likes to whine about not being alive to see her grandchildren, being alive but not being able to SEE her grandchildren may very well kill her on the spot.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
me, Gandhi, Darwin, Clinton...and Duff
Yesterday Ri was telling me about a segment on Good Morning America about this book Why Him? Why Her?, and she said there was an online quiz that would reveal your personality type. So I took the little test.
Apparently, my primary traits are of a "Negotiator" and my secondary traits are of a "Builder." Normally on these quiz-type things there are one or two bullet points that I disagree with, but I had zero beef with this one. Aside from the generic "friendly," "sweet," "empathetic," "trusting" types of adjectives, it picked up on the more specific "you almost always seek consensus and harmony, and are willing to give up some of your pleasures to build an orderly, harmonious home and family life," and even "when you feel betrayed you can be unforgiving and hold a grudge too long." Yep. But I'm trying to work on that last one.
At the end, the assessment told me that I naturally gravitate toward Director/Builders. So of course I asked H take the quiz when he got home. I'd say it targeted him pretty dang well, too, with the "analytical," "logical" and the "You are also calm, efficient, quick to make decisions and remarkably self-disciplined." Naturally, he is a Director/Builder.
None of this revealed anything I didn't know before--while we do our fair share of bickering, H never makes me feel like yelling until my throat feels torn or hurling inanimate objects at his head; we usually just talk it out. But when you've been feeling frustrated and useless, it's a nice consolation for an unbiased third party to confirm that something you did actually works.
Here are some celebrities who share our personality profiles:
It's a pretty impressive list. However I must not be caught up on all the stuff Hillary Duff is doing lately that makes her especially noteworthy.
Apparently, my primary traits are of a "Negotiator" and my secondary traits are of a "Builder." Normally on these quiz-type things there are one or two bullet points that I disagree with, but I had zero beef with this one. Aside from the generic "friendly," "sweet," "empathetic," "trusting" types of adjectives, it picked up on the more specific "you almost always seek consensus and harmony, and are willing to give up some of your pleasures to build an orderly, harmonious home and family life," and even "when you feel betrayed you can be unforgiving and hold a grudge too long." Yep. But I'm trying to work on that last one.
At the end, the assessment told me that I naturally gravitate toward Director/Builders. So of course I asked H take the quiz when he got home. I'd say it targeted him pretty dang well, too, with the "analytical," "logical" and the "You are also calm, efficient, quick to make decisions and remarkably self-disciplined." Naturally, he is a Director/Builder.
None of this revealed anything I didn't know before--while we do our fair share of bickering, H never makes me feel like yelling until my throat feels torn or hurling inanimate objects at his head; we usually just talk it out. But when you've been feeling frustrated and useless, it's a nice consolation for an unbiased third party to confirm that something you did actually works.
Here are some celebrities who share our personality profiles:
Oprah Winfrey
Leo Tolstoy
Katie Holmes
Bill Clinton
- Hillary Duff
- Mohandas Gandhi
- Charles Darwin
Albert Einstein
Hillary Clinton
Bill Gates
Nicole Kidman
It's a pretty impressive list. However I must not be caught up on all the stuff Hillary Duff is doing lately that makes her especially noteworthy.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
last link in the chain
It's no secret that I love that I'm Indian. I can't get enough of the food, the cheesy movies and the sometimes inexplicable superstitions, and the culture has really shaped who I've grown to be. In recent years I've tried to absorb as much as I can, from learning Devanagari script to unlocking the secret of making a killer gujiya.
But is it all for nothing? Am I going to be the annoying person whose children roll their eyes whenever she tries to get them interested in some music or a movie? Does it make a difference that I can cook all this stuff if nobody wants to eat it? My own brother has never taken a liking to our culture--while we'd dine on dal and chawal or chicken curry and fresh roti, my mom would make him a separate meal of pizza, spaghetti or a hamburger. He's just not into it, and I can accept that, but I hope he'll be more interested when he's older. Because we don't have any family here; he's all I will have beyond my parents. And there won't be many family-friend get-togethers with long folding tables of aluminum vats full of food like those we had during our formative years; even the after-church tea receptions are rarer as time goes on. Besides, our family friends have their own extended networks with whom to share spicy Thanksgiving turkey and four different kinds of bhaji among the plates of mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. Everyone has moved on, and the preferred path is the one of least resistance. One of my friends even says the reason she doesn't cook Indian food is because her parents do such a good job she just lets them do it.
I wasn't always this keen on the traditions of my culture. When I was in junior high, our family started going to this evening Hindi church service on top of the morning mass we'd attend every Sunday. Mom and Dad wanted to give us a sense of the community they'd left behind. It was a whole lot of praying for a kid, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think it was a drag. However those sermons boosted my Hindi vocabulary exponentially, and I saw people my age who were actually into the culture. I looked up to them, noticing their pretty outfits and that they already knew how to do all the cool dances and cook complex dishes by the time we were in high school. I wanted in on all that, and for once I felt lame because I didn't embrace my heritage, after all those years among my school friends when the opposite was true. And after a little while, I started appreciating that stuff for its own merit, not only to fit in.
But all of those people have moved on and away. Our family doesn't attend that church anymore. I have several closets full of gorgeous outfits, but noplace to wear them. I can't even cook Indian food in my condo for fear that any lingering aromas might turn off potential buyers. I used to feel so confident saying it doesn't matter--that I'm Indian enough for everyone--but the truth is that holding onto a minority culture is a whole lot of work. And if you're the only one interested in keeping up with it, just doing something you enjoy once in awhile can quickly make you feel like an unwanted proselytizer preaching to deaf ears, even if all you want is some company during a cheesy movie.
When I go back to my parents' house, I can indulge in comfort food, binge on some bad soap operas and catch up with my family in grammatically questionable Hindi. But I won't be able to do that forever. And if enough time and resistance wears away at my enthusiasm, a big part of my identity will be relegated to the spice rack--busted out about as often as a non-Chinese family springs for dim sum or hot and sour soup. And that just makes me want to cry.
But is it all for nothing? Am I going to be the annoying person whose children roll their eyes whenever she tries to get them interested in some music or a movie? Does it make a difference that I can cook all this stuff if nobody wants to eat it? My own brother has never taken a liking to our culture--while we'd dine on dal and chawal or chicken curry and fresh roti, my mom would make him a separate meal of pizza, spaghetti or a hamburger. He's just not into it, and I can accept that, but I hope he'll be more interested when he's older. Because we don't have any family here; he's all I will have beyond my parents. And there won't be many family-friend get-togethers with long folding tables of aluminum vats full of food like those we had during our formative years; even the after-church tea receptions are rarer as time goes on. Besides, our family friends have their own extended networks with whom to share spicy Thanksgiving turkey and four different kinds of bhaji among the plates of mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. Everyone has moved on, and the preferred path is the one of least resistance. One of my friends even says the reason she doesn't cook Indian food is because her parents do such a good job she just lets them do it.
I wasn't always this keen on the traditions of my culture. When I was in junior high, our family started going to this evening Hindi church service on top of the morning mass we'd attend every Sunday. Mom and Dad wanted to give us a sense of the community they'd left behind. It was a whole lot of praying for a kid, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think it was a drag. However those sermons boosted my Hindi vocabulary exponentially, and I saw people my age who were actually into the culture. I looked up to them, noticing their pretty outfits and that they already knew how to do all the cool dances and cook complex dishes by the time we were in high school. I wanted in on all that, and for once I felt lame because I didn't embrace my heritage, after all those years among my school friends when the opposite was true. And after a little while, I started appreciating that stuff for its own merit, not only to fit in.
But all of those people have moved on and away. Our family doesn't attend that church anymore. I have several closets full of gorgeous outfits, but noplace to wear them. I can't even cook Indian food in my condo for fear that any lingering aromas might turn off potential buyers. I used to feel so confident saying it doesn't matter--that I'm Indian enough for everyone--but the truth is that holding onto a minority culture is a whole lot of work. And if you're the only one interested in keeping up with it, just doing something you enjoy once in awhile can quickly make you feel like an unwanted proselytizer preaching to deaf ears, even if all you want is some company during a cheesy movie.
When I go back to my parents' house, I can indulge in comfort food, binge on some bad soap operas and catch up with my family in grammatically questionable Hindi. But I won't be able to do that forever. And if enough time and resistance wears away at my enthusiasm, a big part of my identity will be relegated to the spice rack--busted out about as often as a non-Chinese family springs for dim sum or hot and sour soup. And that just makes me want to cry.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
these pulsating lights make it really hard to knit
Last night H and I went out to the Hop Haus to celebrate Cool Cat's big 3-0. That place holds special memories for me: It was the sports bar/purveyor of exotic-meat burgers where my coworkers took me for a great birthday lunch--right before we got back to the office and were all laid off. But it does serve a mean cheeseburger.
I was expecting the same casual vibe from the place, so I was surprised to see the DJ bumping in a booth, laser-lightbeams bouncing off every surface, and that I could feel the bass in my sternum and on the bottoms of my feet (through heeled boots). H was even convinced individual hairs on his head were vibrating to the beat.
But it was a lovely get-together. The music took me back to the old days (especially the merengue and bachata they were playing toward the end). And it's always great to see my college girls, especially Cool Cat, who I discovered has been living pretty close to us all this time. Sadly, after a few hours the lights started to give us psychedelic hallucinations, so we moved to the bar area. The music was still plenty loud over there, but we didn't have to yell as loudly and were away from the throat-scratching fog machine and crazy lights.
Taken by H from his iPhone.
The light display was very cool. And seven years ago--when I could dance all night in four-inch heels and run around without a coat when it was below freezing--it would have been pretty freaking awesome. But you just can't turn back time. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take my vitamins before shuffleboard starts.
I was expecting the same casual vibe from the place, so I was surprised to see the DJ bumping in a booth, laser-lightbeams bouncing off every surface, and that I could feel the bass in my sternum and on the bottoms of my feet (through heeled boots). H was even convinced individual hairs on his head were vibrating to the beat.
But it was a lovely get-together. The music took me back to the old days (especially the merengue and bachata they were playing toward the end). And it's always great to see my college girls, especially Cool Cat, who I discovered has been living pretty close to us all this time. Sadly, after a few hours the lights started to give us psychedelic hallucinations, so we moved to the bar area. The music was still plenty loud over there, but we didn't have to yell as loudly and were away from the throat-scratching fog machine and crazy lights.
Taken by H from his iPhone.The light display was very cool. And seven years ago--when I could dance all night in four-inch heels and run around without a coat when it was below freezing--it would have been pretty freaking awesome. But you just can't turn back time. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take my vitamins before shuffleboard starts.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
he spoke to me
Yesterday I waited for H to come home so we could watch the Inauguration together. And despite seeing it eight hours after everyone else, the proceedings still felt momentous. Obama's speech isn't being lauded as "memorable," but a few points seemed to speak to me directly--my parents certainly packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans so that we might live a better life. Even the fact that he included the word "Hindu" hit home, and that's not even my religion.
Sepia Mutiny's Anna was there, and she captured some of what I felt:
Sepia Mutiny's Anna was there, and she captured some of what I felt:
You are what you look like. And to the vast majority of the world, I look Hindu. I’m not ashamed of that at all. Today, I felt celebrated for it. I felt included, even though my actual faith was mentioned first, in a group which was organized by a man magnanimous, courageous and heedful enough to include “non-believers”.If every American could feel included, there's a much better chance we will work together to turn this ship around. And in these frightening times, the hope that things will get better is what I'm relying on to make it through.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
hurts so good
The great thing about one of your best friends studying to be a yoga instructor is that in her classes you get individual attention, can ask any stupid question you want, and you don't have to feel self-conscious about the fact that your legs have not been de-fuzzed in more than a month.
I had a great first session with Kaiya at her in-home studio--something about teetering around in the tree pose in a sun room surrounded by real trees is very very zen. And our little yogi-in-training is off to a fabulous start: I left there feeling refreshed, energized and content, and I woke up this morning with the best kind of sore muscles an out-of-shape cadiz could ask for.
I had a great first session with Kaiya at her in-home studio--something about teetering around in the tree pose in a sun room surrounded by real trees is very very zen. And our little yogi-in-training is off to a fabulous start: I left there feeling refreshed, energized and content, and I woke up this morning with the best kind of sore muscles an out-of-shape cadiz could ask for.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
life block
In the time since I stopped working I have come up with hundreds of things I can spend this time at home doing: half-finished projects, hobbies I'd like to pick back up and tons of time-consuming tasks that have fallen to the wayside as life had picked up speed the last few years. But it's been weeks and I have yet to completely finish a single one.
I have NO idea where the time goes. I wake up at about 8 a.m. every morning and spend the day shuttling between looking for jobs, puttering around in the kitchen, cleaning/reorganizing something in the house that annoys me and television. Then suddenly it's 5:15 p.m. and H is home. I feel like while I was working I did more in two hours than I accomplish in eight hours here. And it's frustrating, because I'm not just sitting around eating yogurt and watching reruns of Project Runway (well, not ALL day, anyway).
The more I plan to do, the more paralyzed I get. This is not a state of mind I'd like to hang around in for very long.
I have NO idea where the time goes. I wake up at about 8 a.m. every morning and spend the day shuttling between looking for jobs, puttering around in the kitchen, cleaning/reorganizing something in the house that annoys me and television. Then suddenly it's 5:15 p.m. and H is home. I feel like while I was working I did more in two hours than I accomplish in eight hours here. And it's frustrating, because I'm not just sitting around eating yogurt and watching reruns of Project Runway (well, not ALL day, anyway).
The more I plan to do, the more paralyzed I get. This is not a state of mind I'd like to hang around in for very long.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
don't leave home without me
Velocibadgergirl tagged me for the six things thingy.
RULES: Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
Let each person know that s/he's been tagged by leaving comments on their blogs. Link to the person that tagged you. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.
Here are six random things about me when it comes to staying home. Here are six other random things about me, which are a little more random.
I tag: Madelyn, Mike, Supacoo, Momma, the Casual Perfectionist, weebug, Eclectic Bride. No obligations.
RULES: Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
Let each person know that s/he's been tagged by leaving comments on their blogs. Link to the person that tagged you. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.
Here are six random things about me when it comes to staying home. Here are six other random things about me, which are a little more random.
1. I prefer not to leave the house more than once a day.
2. When I'm home, I like to be in pajamas no matter what time it is.
3. When I'm home by myself, I often forget to eat. When other people are around, I'm constantly snacking and asking if they're hungry, too.
4. I am creeped out when taking a shower if I'm the only one in the house.
5. If you want to be sure I will get absolutely nothing accomplished, leave me home alone where there are one or more of the following: a television, a couch, a bed and/or the Internet.
6. An alarm is not as effective without another human being around to make sure I haven't turned it off and fallen back asleep.
I tag: Madelyn, Mike, Supacoo, Momma, the Casual Perfectionist, weebug, Eclectic Bride. No obligations.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
the things they did for us
The year was 1984. The holiday season was ramping up and there was absolutely nothing 6-year-old Cadiz wanted more than a Cabbage Patch Kid. Unfortunately for my mom, everybody and her momma wanted one, too, and the shelves were bare. To hear Mom describe it, getting a Cabbage Patch Kid that Christmas probably inspired that Schwarzenegger action flick Jingle All the Way.
Little did I know then, but late at night my mom went to every toy store within a 15-mile radius for weeks in vain so I wouldn't be disappointed on Christmas morning. And there was no way she was going to let me open a box with a raincheck in it, so the poor woman finally ordered one from abroad.
The "official" paperwork that came with "Brigitta Sylvia," dated December 25, 1984. I was apparently so excited to start playing mom that I never bothered to add my signature.
Little did I know then, but late at night my mom went to every toy store within a 15-mile radius for weeks in vain so I wouldn't be disappointed on Christmas morning. And there was no way she was going to let me open a box with a raincheck in it, so the poor woman finally ordered one from abroad.
The "official" paperwork that came with "Brigitta Sylvia," dated December 25, 1984. I was apparently so excited to start playing mom that I never bothered to add my signature.When I ripped open the wrapping paper that morning, I noticed that Brigitta Sylvia looked slightly different than the *real* Cabbage Patch Kids my friends had. But my mom--clever as always--put on the spin: My doll was WAY cooler than everyone else's because she came all the way from GERMANY, just for me. I was sold.
Me and Brig on Christmas.
I don't know if I ever really told my mom how sweet it was that she went to such great lengths to see me smile. Awhile back, I stumbled onto a set of short films called The Responsibility Project. They're all about doing the right thing. I hadn't thought about ole Brigitta in years, but watching the film called Tony reminded me of what parents are willing to do for their kids. And while we don't always show a lot of appreciation at the time, those gestures stay with us forever.
Me and Brig on Christmas. I don't know if I ever really told my mom how sweet it was that she went to such great lengths to see me smile. Awhile back, I stumbled onto a set of short films called The Responsibility Project. They're all about doing the right thing. I hadn't thought about ole Brigitta in years, but watching the film called Tony reminded me of what parents are willing to do for their kids. And while we don't always show a lot of appreciation at the time, those gestures stay with us forever.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
2009: Reboot
I can't say that I'm going to miss 2008. I lost my last grandparent, my job and pretty much all of my savings. However, I am thankful for being able to look upon my boyfriend's face in person nearly every day, actually living in the place I've been paying mortgage on for three years (though it doesn't look like it's going to sell anytime soon) and having a reliable fast Internet connection for the first time in a long time.
My situation is likely going to get worse in 2009, but there's little I can do to prevent that. So I'm taking time to "reboot" my life. It started with an abrupt decision to chop off most of my hair, and now I'm looking at everything around me in a new way: Have I truly expressed how much the people who love and support me are appreciated? Do I really need to watch so much television? What needs to change to prevent my being taken advantage of in the future? Maybe that life-assessment I didn't go through when I turned 30 is catching up with me four months late, but I suddenly feel like a bomb is going to go off if I don't get my crap together as soon as possible.
Last month I reconnected with people who studied abroad with me; we reminisced in disbelief that our semester in Spain was a full DECADE ago. Then I stumbled onto a journal (I still haven't put my albums together) from that time and discovered that the uncertainty and frustration I had wanted to escape back then isn't all that different from the confusion and helplessness that I wrestle with today. Ten years can change a lot of the details, but the sentiment is the same. There's no such thing as a vacation from your life--and perhaps the best way to figure out where you're going is to take a good look at where you have been. So that's what I aim to do this year.
Happy 2009 everyone. I hope things get clearer and brighter for all of us.
My situation is likely going to get worse in 2009, but there's little I can do to prevent that. So I'm taking time to "reboot" my life. It started with an abrupt decision to chop off most of my hair, and now I'm looking at everything around me in a new way: Have I truly expressed how much the people who love and support me are appreciated? Do I really need to watch so much television? What needs to change to prevent my being taken advantage of in the future? Maybe that life-assessment I didn't go through when I turned 30 is catching up with me four months late, but I suddenly feel like a bomb is going to go off if I don't get my crap together as soon as possible.
Last month I reconnected with people who studied abroad with me; we reminisced in disbelief that our semester in Spain was a full DECADE ago. Then I stumbled onto a journal (I still haven't put my albums together) from that time and discovered that the uncertainty and frustration I had wanted to escape back then isn't all that different from the confusion and helplessness that I wrestle with today. Ten years can change a lot of the details, but the sentiment is the same. There's no such thing as a vacation from your life--and perhaps the best way to figure out where you're going is to take a good look at where you have been. So that's what I aim to do this year.
Happy 2009 everyone. I hope things get clearer and brighter for all of us.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
happy holidays!
I hope everyone has an opportunity to spend the next few days with those you love the most. I'm sure I'll be posting up a storm once I get back to the city where the online connection moves faster than those sticky toys that crawl down the wall. Until then, I wish you all the very best, most happiest, safest of holidays and will see you again around these parts very soon.
Love Cadiz
Love Cadiz
Saturday, December 20, 2008
this one's for you, supacoo
A long time ago, I tried to explain my nani's method of covering a comforter with a duvet--a "rolling" method that doesn't require that the roller have a basketball player's wingspan. But I don't think I explained it well. So I made a little video, during which I learned:
a) It's virtually impossible to demonstrate something while trying to keep only your arms in front of the camera.
b) Anytime you say something is "simple," "easy," "a snap," "a breeze" or the like, it will prove to be much trickier once that red camera light is on.
c) If you feel like you're speaking extremely slowly, it'll sound nearly normal on the playback.
d) My real voice isn't as horrifically squeaky as I thought. Maybe.
Friday, December 19, 2008
snow day--finally
It started snowing last night at about 11:30. We had been warned: Weather reports had estimated a 100% chance of precipitation and everyone was bucking up for a Big One. My mom's hospital even offered up their security guys to come and pick people up from their HOMES this morning and bring them to work if needed. I haven't been outside yet, so I don't even know if it's as horrid as we were preparing for, but it doesn't look so hot through the window (we can't really see more than 50 feet).
H is going back to cali, cali today to spend the holiday; he hasn't been back home since March. His flight was to leave at 6 a.m., which meant getting up at 3:something to get to Midway. But checking online showed--shocker--the flight was canceled. He was on the phone with the airline for about an hour, and is now booked on a 3 p.m. flight. I have to leave for suburbia in about an hour (hope the trains are on time), but I'm not going to lie: While I'm happy he gets to be with his folks, I was secretly pleased I got more time with him. By the way, I'll be staying in the land of DialUp with my peeps for the holidays and I'll miss the sweet connection we have here, too. So posting/commenting may be sporadic, and I won't be able to respond too much on twitter.
It's so ridiculous because for three years H and I said goodbye for months at a time and he's only going to be gone for ten days this Christmas. The funny thing is all those times we'd wish for a snow day to cancel flights, but it never happened.
Be careful what you wish for, and specify WHEN you want it to come true.
H is going back to cali, cali today to spend the holiday; he hasn't been back home since March. His flight was to leave at 6 a.m., which meant getting up at 3:something to get to Midway. But checking online showed--shocker--the flight was canceled. He was on the phone with the airline for about an hour, and is now booked on a 3 p.m. flight. I have to leave for suburbia in about an hour (hope the trains are on time), but I'm not going to lie: While I'm happy he gets to be with his folks, I was secretly pleased I got more time with him. By the way, I'll be staying in the land of DialUp with my peeps for the holidays and I'll miss the sweet connection we have here, too. So posting/commenting may be sporadic, and I won't be able to respond too much on twitter.
It's so ridiculous because for three years H and I said goodbye for months at a time and he's only going to be gone for ten days this Christmas. The funny thing is all those times we'd wish for a snow day to cancel flights, but it never happened.
Be careful what you wish for, and specify WHEN you want it to come true.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
shorn
Ri and I timed our buses so we got off at the same part of Michigan Avenue within a minute of one another. We ambled over to Tempo Cafe, had waffles and french toast, and caught up on the last few months, which have been so busy.
We headed over to the place I had a gift card for (you know, the one I got in August when the guy stopped me in the street and somehow got me to fork over money, which I later thought was a scam?) It wasn't a scam after all, and I figured I should try and use it before it expired (apparently the card said four months, but they didn't even check it when we got there).
When we got to the salon, I told Barbara (the in-her-fifties-looking woman at the counter) what I was having done and she said, "Oh that's great! I'm a cancer survivor, myself; I'll cut your hair." So right away I felt really good about what was going down.
Barbara seemed like a very no-nonsense/rip-the-Band-Aid-off kind of French woman, and she explained that we'd take off the hair in sections while it was dry so I could give the maximum amount while still keeping as much as possible. She showed me a photo in a magazine, and I was like Ok, do your thing lady.
In a matter of five minutes, the whole thing was done. Barbara the speed-stylist said it was probably 14 to 16 inches of hair* and that it would be enough for an entire wig because apparently I have great hair for this kind of thing. I must say that I do like my hair; whenever I take the trouble, it'll do what I command--straight, wavy or curly--and stay that way unless it's humid outside. And I like the unusual color (for an Indian girl, anyway), which my friend Jackie says is "Mexican-girl Brown." (Jackie is Mexican. Who am I to question an authority on the subject?)
It is quite a change, though. I told Barbara that I'm no-fuss when it comes to beauty and that I don't even know where my hairdryer is (probably rattling around my mom's linen closet). She said I could air-dry and go, put a little gel to bring out the curl and go, roller-brush with a dryer and go or do a bunch of other things. I liked the "and go" parts the best. She showed me how it would look with more volume, which she said I need on top to apparently balance the square-ish parts of my face. Barbara said the way she cut it, which sort of feels like a graduated bob (or not, I don't know technical terms here) with enough in the back to cover my neck, will make sure that it can be curly without being frizzy. Phew.
Ri and I were looking at each other in panic in the mirror because after Barbara blowed it out, my hair was WAY puffy. I mean really REALLY big. I wasn't sure what to think. We went next door to Sarah's Candies afterward for coffee and cookies (where I actually asked the lady at the counter if she thought my hair was puffy. She said no). I kept my hat on for awhile in the hopes that it'd cut the puff a little. Ri did a lot of parting and re-parting in different ways and even though she was really trying to convince me to cut some bangs and keep some of it at an angle over my tiny forehead, she decided this looked best.
Ri's signature move is getting her finger in the shot. But at least she does it artfully.
I realize this is the first photo of myself I've ever put on the blog. Whoa, big step. Then I realized a lot of you out there don't know what I normally look like. So here you go:
Sorry it's fuzzy. This was during my birthday party back in August. It was one of the few times this year that I let my hair down (toward the end of the evening when all the shot-taking was going on, and whoever was taking the photo was probably tipsy). And my hair has grown quite a bit in the last few months, too.
I'm sorry I've devoted so much space to describing something as ridiculous as hair. While it's a big change, I'm pretty happy. It's just hair; it'll grow back. And pretty much the only ones who have to look at it these days are H and the television. I think it's going to grow out to look a lot like the Best Haircut I've Ever Had (in Spain), which makes me really nostalgic and happy.
But this is kind of big. I'm NOT a risk-taker. I don't like gambling; I like a sure thing, and I HATE to lose and will beat myself up for every little screwup. But I value doing what I set out to do more than that, so I'm happy I went ahead and did this. I emailed the first picture on this post to a bunch of people who have only known me during the last 14 years or so when my hair has been long. One of my favorite responses was from pp:
She knows me so well. But that just goes to show that even though I'm pretty predictable, I can throw out a curveball every once in awhile. Thanks for all the support, guys!
*I just measured it and the longest part is TWENTY-ONE INCHES LONG. Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good about myself.
We headed over to the place I had a gift card for (you know, the one I got in August when the guy stopped me in the street and somehow got me to fork over money, which I later thought was a scam?) It wasn't a scam after all, and I figured I should try and use it before it expired (apparently the card said four months, but they didn't even check it when we got there).
When we got to the salon, I told Barbara (the in-her-fifties-looking woman at the counter) what I was having done and she said, "Oh that's great! I'm a cancer survivor, myself; I'll cut your hair." So right away I felt really good about what was going down.
Barbara seemed like a very no-nonsense/rip-the-Band-Aid-off kind of French woman, and she explained that we'd take off the hair in sections while it was dry so I could give the maximum amount while still keeping as much as possible. She showed me a photo in a magazine, and I was like Ok, do your thing lady.
In a matter of five minutes, the whole thing was done. Barbara the speed-stylist said it was probably 14 to 16 inches of hair* and that it would be enough for an entire wig because apparently I have great hair for this kind of thing. I must say that I do like my hair; whenever I take the trouble, it'll do what I command--straight, wavy or curly--and stay that way unless it's humid outside. And I like the unusual color (for an Indian girl, anyway), which my friend Jackie says is "Mexican-girl Brown." (Jackie is Mexican. Who am I to question an authority on the subject?)
It is quite a change, though. I told Barbara that I'm no-fuss when it comes to beauty and that I don't even know where my hairdryer is (probably rattling around my mom's linen closet). She said I could air-dry and go, put a little gel to bring out the curl and go, roller-brush with a dryer and go or do a bunch of other things. I liked the "and go" parts the best. She showed me how it would look with more volume, which she said I need on top to apparently balance the square-ish parts of my face. Barbara said the way she cut it, which sort of feels like a graduated bob (or not, I don't know technical terms here) with enough in the back to cover my neck, will make sure that it can be curly without being frizzy. Phew.
Ri and I were looking at each other in panic in the mirror because after Barbara blowed it out, my hair was WAY puffy. I mean really REALLY big. I wasn't sure what to think. We went next door to Sarah's Candies afterward for coffee and cookies (where I actually asked the lady at the counter if she thought my hair was puffy. She said no). I kept my hat on for awhile in the hopes that it'd cut the puff a little. Ri did a lot of parting and re-parting in different ways and even though she was really trying to convince me to cut some bangs and keep some of it at an angle over my tiny forehead, she decided this looked best.
Ri's signature move is getting her finger in the shot. But at least she does it artfully.I realize this is the first photo of myself I've ever put on the blog. Whoa, big step. Then I realized a lot of you out there don't know what I normally look like. So here you go:
Sorry it's fuzzy. This was during my birthday party back in August. It was one of the few times this year that I let my hair down (toward the end of the evening when all the shot-taking was going on, and whoever was taking the photo was probably tipsy). And my hair has grown quite a bit in the last few months, too.I'm sorry I've devoted so much space to describing something as ridiculous as hair. While it's a big change, I'm pretty happy. It's just hair; it'll grow back. And pretty much the only ones who have to look at it these days are H and the television. I think it's going to grow out to look a lot like the Best Haircut I've Ever Had (in Spain), which makes me really nostalgic and happy.
But this is kind of big. I'm NOT a risk-taker. I don't like gambling; I like a sure thing, and I HATE to lose and will beat myself up for every little screwup. But I value doing what I set out to do more than that, so I'm happy I went ahead and did this. I emailed the first picture on this post to a bunch of people who have only known me during the last 14 years or so when my hair has been long. One of my favorite responses was from pp:
"OMG? Who are you? What made you do this! I love it! So adventurous & brave. Did someone dare you? I know how you can't resist a dare."
*I just measured it and the longest part is TWENTY-ONE INCHES LONG. Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good about myself.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
drastic times
I've mentioned before that I have long hair. To steal a phrase from someone's twitter (velocibadgergirl? sorry, I can't remember), it's grown so long that I can very nearly tuck it into the back of my pants, which is why it's almost always in a bun or ponytail these days.
For years, I've bandied about the idea of cutting my hair really short and donating it to Locks of Love. Cc can attest to the fact that I've been talking about doing that for at least seven years. I've come close to hacking it all off a few times, but couldn't bring myself to do the deed. But something clicked in the last few months, and I've accepted that it's time for a change (plus all the stress has really taken a toll on the old hair and skin and I think nearly starting over will probably be a good thing).
One thing I've always prided myself on was that I always try to do what I said I'm going to do. Even if it takes seven years. My appointment is tomorrow at 12:30 p.m. Ri is coming along for moral support.
If I end up going through with it, be readyfor a WHOLE LOT of crying and whining. I'm prepared for everyone to be shocked when I show up with the shortest hair I've had since 1984,* but it helps that the boyfriend doesn't care one way or another; in fact he prefers short hair (practically the only guy I know who does). What he doesn't realize is that it's probably going to take me 12 times as long to get ready to be seen in public. My reliable 20-minute routine is in for a makeover, too.
*Well there was that one other time: During freshman year in high school I put it into a ponytail and chopped--right before a big party where I was going to see the guy I liked. When I saw how awful it looked, I pretty much threw myself on the floor and beat the carpet with my fists in hysterics. Kids, don't try any hair-cutting "techniques" you read about in teen magazines. Especially when you're 14 and STUPID.
For years, I've bandied about the idea of cutting my hair really short and donating it to Locks of Love. Cc can attest to the fact that I've been talking about doing that for at least seven years. I've come close to hacking it all off a few times, but couldn't bring myself to do the deed. But something clicked in the last few months, and I've accepted that it's time for a change (plus all the stress has really taken a toll on the old hair and skin and I think nearly starting over will probably be a good thing).
One thing I've always prided myself on was that I always try to do what I said I'm going to do. Even if it takes seven years. My appointment is tomorrow at 12:30 p.m. Ri is coming along for moral support.
If I end up going through with it, be readyfor a WHOLE LOT of crying and whining. I'm prepared for everyone to be shocked when I show up with the shortest hair I've had since 1984,* but it helps that the boyfriend doesn't care one way or another; in fact he prefers short hair (practically the only guy I know who does). What he doesn't realize is that it's probably going to take me 12 times as long to get ready to be seen in public. My reliable 20-minute routine is in for a makeover, too.
*Well there was that one other time: During freshman year in high school I put it into a ponytail and chopped--right before a big party where I was going to see the guy I liked. When I saw how awful it looked, I pretty much threw myself on the floor and beat the carpet with my fists in hysterics. Kids, don't try any hair-cutting "techniques" you read about in teen magazines. Especially when you're 14 and STUPID.
Monday, December 15, 2008
christkindlmarket chicago
Last week when there was a heat wave (it was like 35 F in Chicago), I met up with H after work at Daley Plaza for the annual Christkindlmarket they have set up there. I'm guessing it's supposed to be like the Christmas markets they have in Germany. Here are a few of the less-shaky shots I took:
The Daley Plaza tree is pretty huge. One of those golden snowflake ornaments is twice the size of my head. Or more.
There is a cute display with smaller trees, a train (which wasn't running) and some horses and caroler figures. You can kind of see the skyscrapers in the background.
There are a ton of little kiosks with red-and-white awnings that sell curios, lacework, steins, sweaters and all sorts of trinkets from places as far away as Germany and Nepal. And there were a few "indoor" tented shops like this one, which was filled to the gills with "handmade" ornaments. I felt a little silly taking this shot, which I'm sure shows in the quality. The ornaments, by the way, are hella expensive. But hey, if you want craftsmanship, you've gotta pay. We didn't buy any. Mostly because we're lucky and often get handcrafted gifts.
Of course there was food, too. And it smelled DELICIOUS. H was more practical and said we should probably pass and eat at home, but I was dying to have something, anything I could say was "authentically" German-ish. We decided to share some spiced apple cider wine, which came in a commemorative cup. That stuff was pretty rough going down, but I have to say it left me with a very warm belly. And a buzz. In shocking news, H didn't like it. But I can see why. I don't know if I'd be rushing to get another cup, either, unless I was stranded in a snowy barn in Switzerland and needed to stay warm all night.
The Daley Plaza tree is pretty huge. One of those golden snowflake ornaments is twice the size of my head. Or more. 
There is a cute display with smaller trees, a train (which wasn't running) and some horses and caroler figures. You can kind of see the skyscrapers in the background.
There are a ton of little kiosks with red-and-white awnings that sell curios, lacework, steins, sweaters and all sorts of trinkets from places as far away as Germany and Nepal. And there were a few "indoor" tented shops like this one, which was filled to the gills with "handmade" ornaments. I felt a little silly taking this shot, which I'm sure shows in the quality. The ornaments, by the way, are hella expensive. But hey, if you want craftsmanship, you've gotta pay. We didn't buy any. Mostly because we're lucky and often get handcrafted gifts.
Of course there was food, too. And it smelled DELICIOUS. H was more practical and said we should probably pass and eat at home, but I was dying to have something, anything I could say was "authentically" German-ish. We decided to share some spiced apple cider wine, which came in a commemorative cup. That stuff was pretty rough going down, but I have to say it left me with a very warm belly. And a buzz. In shocking news, H didn't like it. But I can see why. I don't know if I'd be rushing to get another cup, either, unless I was stranded in a snowy barn in Switzerland and needed to stay warm all night.Sunday, December 14, 2008
what's that old saying about the dead cat?
"We're going to do presents and such after you get back from L.A., right?"
"Either way is fine with me. But sure. I mean, if you need the extra time and all."
"What do you mean if I need the extra time?"
"I already got your present."
"Is that so? Hmmm....is it in the house somewhere?"
"Sort of. I mean, I got it, but I don't have it."
"What does that mean? Like you ordered it or something and it hasn't come yet? Does that mean it'll come when you're not here? Or do you have it hidden in like one of the 2.5 possible hiding places in our tiny place? Or are you just trying to throw me off because you can say absolutely anything with a straight face?"
"We're done talking about this."
"Either way is fine with me. But sure. I mean, if you need the extra time and all."
"What do you mean if I need the extra time?"
"I already got your present."
"Is that so? Hmmm....is it in the house somewhere?"
"Sort of. I mean, I got it, but I don't have it."
"What does that mean? Like you ordered it or something and it hasn't come yet? Does that mean it'll come when you're not here? Or do you have it hidden in like one of the 2.5 possible hiding places in our tiny place? Or are you just trying to throw me off because you can say absolutely anything with a straight face?"
"We're done talking about this."
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
a moment to breathe
Some of you are aware that I've been working a lot lately. That's probably an understatement: For the last few weeks it has been 9-10 hours in the office with plenty of files to take home and finish before going in again the next morning. Plus weekends and all-nighters. But the last deadline has come and gone, and I'm sort of stunned at the oodles of time I now have to do things like holiday shopping, catching up on blogs and actually sleeping through the night instead of naps.
I'm not advocating the throwing of health and wellness out the door for work (it's not for everyone); but that extra cash gives me a tiny window of financial security during which I can hopefully find a job.
I'm not advocating the throwing of health and wellness out the door for work (it's not for everyone); but that extra cash gives me a tiny window of financial security during which I can hopefully find a job.
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