Wednesday, February 29, 2012


     My freshman college roommate turned nine years old today.  Of course she's really my age--and we all know how old that is or have we forgotten the title of this blog already?!--but since she was born on leap year she's only had nine true birthdays.  Imagine!  So happy happy to you, my old roomie.  It's hard to believe it's been so long since college.  It's like it was almost yesterday that I was waking up early to put on a hair net and work in the dorm's cafeteria.  Yep, that was me, while my roommate slept in like a normal person.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012


     One of my girlfriends texted me the other day to tell me a guy I used to date was named as one of the best dentists in a local magazine.  Ok that makes sense, when I was dating him he'd finished dental school and was in medical school to become an oral maxillofacial surgeon--who did some botox, some rhinoplasty and other plastic surgery procedures on the face.  He was a smart guy and did well on his boards.  I Googled stalked him and found his medical practice's website.  My first question is: how does one go from teeth and face to being a expert in breast augmentation?
     Curious.  Not really.  This guy was always making comments about how people needed certain surgeries to make them look better.  He told me I had "great bone structure" and that my orthodontia work was pretty good except my front and lower teeth didn't line up perfectly.  But then he threw out: "if we were going to do any work on you, we'd just raise the tip of your nose a little bit."  Thanks but no thanks.
     One time he came over to my apartment one night extremely upset.  His surgical mentor had made a comment about his nose being too big and that he should think about getting a nose job.  That mentor even held up profile nose cards to the guy's face to show him what a brand new nose on his face would look like.  He told me that he never thought he needed a nose job, that he had a big nose and that it was fine.  Well, it turns out if you want to be in the business he's in you succumb to peer pressure.  Guess who's got a new nose?  You guessed it.  I compared his current, best dentist picture to a picture from my birthday party over 5 years ago and one of the things on his face isn't the same.  I however, have the same nose and think my tip looks quite well, thank you very much.
     Then after meeting all my friends and co-workers at my birthday party he told me that one of my friends needed a boob job and a lawyer at my firm "needed a whole new grill."  Who says that to someone he's dating about her friends?  Well, it gets better.  That same night he told my one friend (the one, who according to him, needed breast implants) that he wanted to set her up with one of his doctor friends.  Not 2 hours or so later, we'd moved from my party to a karaoke bar, he told my other girl friend that she was better suited for the doctor friend of his but not to tell my first girlfriend that or (and I quote, he seriously said this) "I will cut your tits off."  Well friends and countrymen, looks like he's cutting someone's tits off (and making them bigger), just not of anyone I know.

Monday, February 27, 2012


     On one occasion, when I was young and my sister and I accompanied my mom to the grocery store, nuns followed us out of store and to our car.  I remember loving going to Smith's and Albertson's.  We'd pass by the bakery and we'd each get a free cookie.  I'd usually choose an M&M one and my sister got a sugar cookie that'd been dyed green, pink or orange.  We never fought or misbehaved--we had cookies and and that was enough to keep us in check--that smart mommy taking us to the bakery case first to bribe us with sugar...
     Anyway, back to the nuns.  The nuns, in full habits, chased after Mom to tell her how well my sister and I behaved while she shopped.  That compliment made Mom’s day and she treasured it as one of her crowning achievements—if two nuns had noticed what a good job she, a Jewish woman did, then she must be doing something right. 

Sunday, February 26, 2012


     I’m going to the USA Film Festival Oscar Night America Party tonight.  Attire is cocktail or pjs.  My friend and I opted for pjs, but with big jewelry and possibly a tiara or two (not two on my head, two, as in, one for each of us).  My friend wanted us to go get up-dos for the party too.  I ix-neiged that idea—just because it seemed like too much of an effort and expense if I was going to be wearing my leopard print pajamas with the up-do.  You know?
     So now the fashion dilemma is footwear.  Do we wear our slippers out of the house?  Remember I won’t wear my Ugg brand slippers in public.  What about those slippers I swiped from the Spa I went to?  Hmm.  Sneakers?  No, those just seem wrong.  High heels?  No, that seems way too uncomfortable to be paired with pjs.  Huh, ballet flats?  That might be the ultimate winner.  Take that Fashion Police!  That means you Joan Rivers and the Joan Rangers.  I’ll take my red carpet moment anyway I can get it. 

Saturday, February 25, 2012


     You know you're having a bad day when your manicurist can tell you're in a foul mood.  And then she keeps asking and asking and asking you about it.
     On another note, I can't remember my mother ever getting her nails done.  Ever.  Her mom did, my maternal grandma, but never my mom.  Seems odd, considering it's what so many mothers do with their daughters now as a bonding activity.

Friday, February 24, 2012


     Sometimes I forget how much my relatives in India love and miss me.  I don’t get to see them that often.  I’ve only been to India four times and three of those times were recent (since my Dad passed away in July 2008) when my sister and I started trying to go every year to see our grandma.  The trip (it is almost 24 hours!) is too hard for her to make so we decided to go there.
     We’ll be going to India in the fall for one of my cousin’s weddings.  It’ll be nice to have celebration to go to—Indian weddings are the best.  They last for days.  So much food, dancing and preying.  Plus, they are huge.  My cousin’s fiancé invited 4,000 plus people to their wedding a couple years ago—basically her entire village.  And the bride’s dad took out a crazy number of mortgages on their family home to finance the wedding (the rumor was 11 mortgages, which I wouldn’t doubt; the white horse or elephant the groom rode in on must have cost a fortune in and of itself).
     Anyway, I talked to one of my cousins the other night (well it was night for me and breakfast time for him) and he was telling me how my family is always talking about my sister and me and telling stories about us and wishing we didn’t live so far away.  It was so nice to hear.  I’ve only met some of those relatives once and you’d never know it.  They probably hear about us from my grandma, we call her Mama.  That woman is the busiest 84 year-old I know.  She’s on her cell phone (the screen of her cell phone is a picture of the God Krishna; actually its baby Krishna and I find it so sweet and kind of funny) half of the day talking to her siblings and sister-in-laws laughing and telling stories.  I talk to Mama on the phone once a month or so.  I used to mail her cards and letters but lately Mama hasn’t been receiving them.  Mama sends me emails via my young cousin; Mama writes a note in Hindi and gives it to my cousin who then translates it into English for the email.  It’s a collaborative process and they have it down to a science.  My Indian family is full of amazing, caring and loving people and I’m so lucky to be related to them.

Thursday, February 23, 2012


     The cortisone has started to wear off and my elbow is hurting me again.  So I started physical therapy today.  The therapist instructed me not to “work  through” any pain and to stop doing activities that will aggravate and inflame my elbow.  Well, that’s most things…
     So goodbye: pushups in yoga class; the Tabata class I was going to go to tomorrow morning; basically any lifting of weights; tennis (still haven’t picked up a racquet since December), brushing my hair (good thing I don’t brush it a lot—it’s too curly for that, gotta use a wide-toothed comb or there’s major, more than normal, frizz); I could go on and on and on.
     And hello: thera-bands; ice massages (an oxymoron if you ask me); stretches; more stretches; ultrasound (sound waves going through the tendon covering my elbow); weekly physical therapy; I’m sure there’s many more things I should be listing here, but I’ve conveniently forgotten them.
     Good thing its 80 degrees in Dallas and there are lots of patios that serve drinks; because that’s where I’m headed.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012


     There is a extremely specific group of people who wake up early every morning to go to the gym.  Tonight my friend organized a happy hour for ladies who work out in the morning--mainly the 6 A.M.ers.  We had such a great time.  It's funny to see women all dressed up and in clothes when you normally see them naked getting ready for work in the morning.  Yes, it's true, I'd seen almost everyone at the happy hour tonight previously at the gym in the locker room...naked.  That's the way it goes when you work out and get ready at the gym.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


     I didn't really do anything special for Fat Tuesday today.  I didn't eat a lot of rich and fattening food, I just did my normal thing.  But I did go to my friend's Mardi Gras Brunch on Sunday and the food there--that she and her fiancé made--was amazing:  crawfish hushpuppies with Remoulade Sauce; shrimp gumbo and rice; a veal Grillades and grits; bread pudding and whiskey sauce; corn bread muffins; and king cake.  Now that was a proper New Orleans style meal.

Monday, February 20, 2012


     The summer I worked at Target and as a busser at Le Peep restaurant, my sister worked at a local eatery called Savory Fare.  A word about Savory Fare—its food was savory (Exhibit A, the cakes and desserts my sister brought home for me after her shift ended) but its owners were not.  According to my sister they were downright unpleasant.  Gaging by the stories she told I believe her.
     My favorite story is when they smacked a dead chicken on the counter for my sister to pluck and cut up—that’s right the chicken still had its feathers.  And I wonder my sister is a quasi-vegetarian.  Anyhoo, the nightly Savory Fare event that eventually drove my sister to abhor the place was this: at closing time, when it was time for my sister and the other workers to clean up, one of them (a jackass) would go lock himself in the bathroom and conveniently unlock himself from the lavatory when all the cleaning had been done and my sister was hanging up her apron.  Who does that?  And who’s so brazen to do it habitually every night?  One time, two times…maybe.  But not every night! 

Sunday, February 19, 2012


     When I was seven years old and my sister was four, my mom was hospitalized after she was diagnosed with leukemia.  That meant Dad had to take over many aspects of raising us that he'd never been a part of; number one: morning routine.  He'd never helped us brush our hair and style it or help us pick out our outfits.  All the bows and barrettes must have freaked him out, because he eventually convinced one of us to cut her hair super short, leaving only one little girl's hair to get ready in the morning.  I was the loser and ended up with a puffy, frizzy afro.
     Dad had bought us clothes before, but not every outfit, shoes and underwear.  On one shopping trip, I convinced Dad to let me buy yellow stirrup pants--it was the eighties, thank you very much, a yellow and white striped short sleeve button down shirt, and a yellow sweater vest.  This was my outfit.  I thought it was cute and that I looked nice in it.
     While we were at the hospital visiting my mom, I wore my super duper yellow (I might as well have been Big Bird) outfit.  I bent over to pick something up and she got a full view of my tush.  Not bad.  Seven or eight year olds have great tushies.  But my mother gasped in horror.  She could see the purple flowers on my underwear through my yellow stirrup pants.  She scolded me and then Dad for letting me leave the house in see-through pants.
     "Who's lets a child walk around with the flowers on her underwear showing through her pants?" she asked.
     Dad looked confused.  Apparently, he hadn't received the memo on how visible panty anything--lines or full underwear was a no-no.

Saturday, February 18, 2012


     It's 3pm on a Saturday and it's raining outside.  I'm curled up on my couch with a cup of tea and a magazine--as soon as I ditch this laptop.  It's a little early for tea.  My grandmother has her chai at 4pm and the señora I lived with in Spain had her tea around 4 as well, or whenever I got home from class.
     Tonight I'm going to Lucia, one of the most difficult restaurants in Dallas to get a reservation--I made this reservation in January and they only take reservations on the first day of the month, so you call and call, get a busy signal, call and call some more.  Eventually, if you haven't given up, you get an answering machine and you leave a long message listing any conceivable date and time you'd want to eat there.  Then someone calls you back and curtly tells you when your reservation will be.
     After we eat at Lucia, we're going to see John Leguizamo's show Ghetto Klown.  Should be a fun night.  Oh and earlier today I went to a baby shower and I didn't get too bored--it's the single girl's dilemma.  I didn't gag at any of the baby gifts or games, which I'd say made for a pretty good day.

Friday, February 17, 2012


     You know you're into some pretty freaky stuff when you send a picture of your feet to some dude.  Don't get excited or enraged, it's not as x-rated or foot fetishy as you think.  I keep a pair of slippers under my desk at work.  You know in case my feet hurt in the heels I wear or my ballet flats start rubbing my heels and I want to stave off a blister or if I just want to get comfy at work--hey, I am there 8 plus hours a day!
      This guy didn't believe I actually wear slippers at work.  So to prove it, I took a picture of my feet while I was wearing the slippers and texted it to him.  That's the weird part.  The fashion forward, more edgy, but not even close to x-rated part is that I was wearing flesh colored fishnet tights that day.  And when he got the text, he laughed about my slippers and commented on the fishnets...duh.

Thursday, February 16, 2012


     I attended the Planned Parenthood of North Texas Dallas Awards Luncheon today.  The speaker Cecile Richards was amazing.  And it turned out to be a great lunch considering Komen reversed its controversial decision to cut funding to Planned Parenthood last week.  I'm glad I got to be part of the lunch during such an important time.  Plus, it was Planned Parenthood's biggest lunch in the country.
     So many people are confused or misinformed about what PPNT does.  It provides, breast cancer screenings, cervical screenings, adoption and prenatal care referrals, tests and treatment for sexually transmitted infections, birth control and education.  I wish people would stop assuming and start listening and become more educated about what this organization does.  Open your ears.  Read a newspaper.  Please. 

Wednesday, February 15, 2012


     You are not invisible in your car; because I can see you:
(A) picking your nose and look at the results (which I do not approve of) and
(B) rocking out by car dancing and singing along with the radio (which I most definitely approve of).

Tuesday, February 14, 2012


     My dad used to send us Valentines every year.  I wrote about his gifts by entering a Daily Candy Deals Valentine’s Day Sweepstakes.  My entry (100 words or less) reads as follows:
     Each year Dad sent me and my sister Valentine’s Day gifts.  The most memorable valentines were the tubes of Lancôme hair mascara.  How’d we get a Dad who was so in the know about cool cosmetics?  The most cherished valentines Dad ever sent were the Michele watches with red patent leather bands.  I still wear mine with the original band.  Dad passed away almost four years ago.  And while my sister and I can’t look forward to Dad’s witty Valentine’s Day cards and fun gifts anymore, we’ve kept up the tradition and send them to each other.
     I find out if I win $500 in Daily Deals later this week…
     Oh and this year, my sister sent me enrobed petit fours from Harry & David; and I sent her flowers--an orchid.

Monday, February 13, 2012


     Why were the only stations playing Whitney Houston songs today oldie stations?  Is her music really considered "old."  I think not.  But I'm not a disk jockey and those guys apparently do.
     When I was younger, I listed to the Whitney Houston album "Whitney" until the tape wouldn't play anymore.  And I remember watching Whitney on TV when she had a guest appearance on Silver Spoons.  She was a big part of my childhood.  It's sad she died so young.

Sunday, February 12, 2012


     One of my biggest pet peeves is a workout instructor who looks like s/he doesn't work out.  I mean come on, an untoned instructor or trainer is supposed to inspire me to work hard?  You know these people, they look like they haven't seen the inside of a gym or a pilates studio in ages and yet, you're meeting them in one--you should be training them or teaching the class, not vice versa.
     I don't get it.  How do gyms hire these instructors who don't seem to be in shape?  How can these out of shape instructors bring in new clients?  It makes no sense.  

Saturday, February 11, 2012


     I went to the same school for grades 6 through 12.  The campus was divided into two schools, the lower school for 6 through 8 and the upper school for 9 through 12.  Before I left middle school and the eighth grade I was part of a program called Bridging the Gap.  For a week, during Eight Grade Project Week, some of us eight graders got to go to the high school, tour around, meet with the psychology teachers to discuss the transition to high school and meet high schoolers.  Meeting the highs schoolers was the best part.  I knew all their names from the old year books I studied.  Plus, I had a mad crush on one of the guys in the Bridging the Gap program.  Greg Brown.  He was a junior.
     Greg Brown's dad was my eight grade English teacher.  Mr. Brown also coached the boys varsity basketball team.  Both his sons played on this team.  I played on the eight grade girl's basketball team and when we'd get back from an away game, I'd go watch the boys' games.  I'd sit alone in the bleachers, still in my sweaty, red and white, polyester, Chargers basketball uniform to watch Greg.  I cared about the basketball, but I cared more about him.  I didn't' want to sit with anyone else.  I needed to focus on my game watching, strike that, staring at Greg.
     I could (to some) have even been considered a crazed fan.  I videotaped the games when the team made it to the State Finals and then took that video to my cousin's Bat Mitzvah in New York and made all of my cousins sit and watch Greg Brown play basketball.  One year they played the team from Albuquerque High and its good player was also named Greg Brown.  What are the odds?  I think I might of worn out the video on that one, since there was an interview of Greg before the game.  My heart swooned. 
     But after every single one of those games, I'd get to English class on Monday morning so embarrassed.  I thought Mr. Brown knew I had a crush on his son and that I'd been at the games only to see my crush.  I used to get this embarrassed when I watched Happy Days with my parents.  I loved Fonzie.  I mean adored him.  When Fonzie snapped his fingers and the girls came rushing over to him and then he'd kiss one, I lost it.  I got so embarrassed by Fonzie kissing a girl I'd bury my head or throw a blanket over my face.  If my parents noticed this odd behavior they never said anything or asked me why I acted like such a spaz when Happy Days was on.  And then, when Scott Baio started on the show, forget about it.  It was over for me.  embarrassment city.  I was done.  Scott Baio just being in a scene had me in hives and blushing at the same time.
     But back to Bridging the Gap.  This program allowed me to actually meet Greg Brown and speak to him.  Never in my wildest dreams did I think that would happen...ever.  But it did.  And he was nice.  Plus, the rumors were true, Greg dribbled his basketball down the high school hallways, he took it to every class, he even brought it to the dining hall.  He was never without his basketball.  I think he named his basketball too and everyone knew the name.  I just can't remember it now.  Maybe my crush wasn't as big as I thought it was.  A true fan would remember a detail like that.  Shame on me!
     When I started high school one of the boys who'd been in Bridging the Gap with me came up to me and told me the 1 sentence that got me through high school.  What I'm about to write got me through heartbreaks and heartaches, bad skin, frizzy hair, a terrible haircut that required me to wear hats for the majority of my sophomore year, not making certain sports teams, not getting all As every quarter, every single bad high school moment--you name it; because that boy told me...wait for it...he said: "Greg Brown thinks you're the cutest girl in the freshman class."
     Always and forever I'll remember those words.  Thank you Greg Brown (and thank you to my friend for telling me that Greg said that); what you said made a world of difference for me.  High school was bearable on the days when it was intolerable, because I had that confidence in the back of my head.  I mean when one of the cutest, most popular, not to mention star athlete says that about you it gives you confidence (even when you had no business having any, I looked a mess on many a day in high school and probably acted like a big ol' goober a bunch of the time--I was a late bloomer, very late).  And you remember it and you cherish it.  But you don't flaunt it.  I guarded those words for me, just me.
     Now, I never confirmed that Greg Brown actually said this to that kid.  Maybe my friend knew about my larger than life crush and was trying to mess with me.  But I think not.  That kid was a nice kid, a good person and most of all kind.  And if Greg didn't say that about me then I know where to find him.  Last I heard he's back in Albuquerque coaching basketball at a public high school.  I mean I could go there and confront him.  Actually, no, probably can't do that--too embarrassing.  I'd just end up in the bleachers again staring at him while he coached his team.  

Friday, February 10, 2012


     Yesterday, I heard the author of the book the Happiness Project speak to a group called Inspiring Professional Women.  The fact that she’s an author and has published a book is awesome.  What’s even more awesome to me was that she clerked for Justice Sandra Day O’Connor.  Everyone kept asking her questions about her book and what advice she had for them to have happier lives.  All I cared about was if she still kept in touch with Justice O’Connor, but I didn’t raise my hand to ask.  I clerked for a judge, not a Supreme Court justice but a federal judge nonetheless and I still keep in touch with him.  In fact, I had dinner with him and his wife last week and my clerkship ended nine years ago.  So I was only curious if that speaker still gets together for dinners with Sandra.  Wouldn’t you be curious? 

Thursday, February 9, 2012


     Last night I took my first trip of the my company's plane.  And since the last time I flew in its plane, which was also my first time in a private plane, the company has upgraded to a bigger plane.  This is only one of the reasons I love my job.
     There is nothing as cool as walking the short distance from the FBO (fixed-base operator) to the plane.  In my mind, the song that played in the movie trailer for the Hangover--Live your Life by T.I. featuring Rhianna--was playing as us three passengers walked to the plane this afternoon.  I thought I was such hot stuff today with that soundtrack in my head, until I got real.
     First, I forgot my sunglasses.  Who, I ask, forgets sunglasses for a trip to Florida?  This idiot (meaning me).  So I wasn't as cool as I thought because I was squinting as I walked to the plane with my soundtrack on silent.  No Rhianna song is playing with you walking in slow motion (that cool movie slow motion that makes everyone look totally bad ass) towards a plane if you're squinting, it's just not...ever.  Second, I was wearing work clothes and not some hot new dress and killer heels.  Third, my travel size deodorant was all dried up this morning, so I effectively had no deodorant on today.  All day.  And I had done some pretty intense work this morning that had caused stress and perspiration.  Not to mention it's 80 degrees in Florida and I had left Dallas last night with a winter coat since it was 40 degrees.  While I don't think I smelled, I surely didn't smell my best.
     So in closing, I lived an extraordinary good life last night and today in terms of my travel.  But my forgetful, nerdy self pushed me right back into ordinary.  Oh and one more thing, if you ever have the occasion to fly private, always, always always opt to valet your car when you arrive at the private airport/FBO.  Why?  Because when the plane lands and you deplane, your car is waiting right there for you, less than 20 feet away.  Seriously.  I did not valet and had to go searching for my car like a commoner, while my boss and the other traveler, the real cool ones, waved at me and got right into their waiting cars.  Man alive!  I really need to get it together!

Wednesday, February 8, 2012


     There is a distinct difference between being nice and being kind.  A nice person isn’t necessarily a kind person or a person you want to be friends with.  But a kind person, a person who displays kindness, is a person I’ll always want to be friends with. defines “nice” as:

nice   adjective, nic·er, nic·est. 
1. pleasing; agreeable; delightful: a nice visit.
2. amiably pleasant; kind: They are always nice to strangers.
3. characterized by, showing, or requiring great accuracy, precision, skill, tact, care, or delicacy: nice workmanship; a nice shot; a nice handling of a crisis.
4. showing or indicating very small differences; minutely accurate, as instruments: a job that requires nice measurements.
5. minute, fine, or subtle: a nice distinction.

     Yes, the word “kind” is included in the second line of the definition.  But that’s not true for the definition of “kind” which reads:

adjective, -er, -est. 
1. of a good or benevolent nature or disposition, as a person: a kind and loving person.
2. having, showing, or proceeding from benevolence: kind words.
3. indulgent, considerate, or helpful; humane (often followed by to ): to be kind to animals.
4. mild; gentle; clement: kind weather.
5. British  Dialect . loving; affectionate.

     Lately, I’ve realized that people who I thought were nice, really aren’t.  And since they’re not that nice what they’ve really showed me that they aren’t kind people.  I don’t think I’m splitting hairs here.  It’s sort of like nice is another way to be fake.  A friend and I talked about this and she said “nice is not enough,” people need to be thoughtful too.  I know what she means; I come from that lucky place where my greatest, closest friends (and my incredible sister) are the kindest people I know.  They are always willing to help or listen and have my best interests at heart…always.  These are the people I want to spend my time with; because they’re worth spending time with. 

     What kills me and truly disappoints me are those people who think they are kind and thoughtful, but aren’t.  Just because someone told you were nice once doesn’t mean that adjective sticks forever.  If you’ve changed or are acting differently, then guess what that word nice doesn’t apply to you anymore. 
     I knew someone once who everyone called “the nicest person,” myself included.  Boy was I wrong.  She moved to town and needed a job.  I went into the depths of my friends, friends of friends, contacts, colleagues, etc. to see if anyone could help her get a job.  I shopped here resume to everyone I could.  Then I even let her stay with me in my 1 bedroom apartment for almost a month.  Not once did she offer to clean, put her dishes in the dishwasher, buy dinner, but groceries, or help with any chores.  In fact, every time I came home she’d be on the phone or her laptop and wouldn’t even look up when she said hello to me.  And did I mention she had the nerve to ask to sleep in my bed with me so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch?  I introduced her husband to my guy friends, with whom he is still friends with today.  I took her to every event I could and introduced her to my friends.  What did I get in return?  “Your friends never call me to make plans.”  “Umm, maybe you should reach out to them,” I offered.  (That’s what I did when I moved to Dallas and didn’t know a soul.  I reached out to people).  At the end of this incredible (being sarcastic here) time together, when she no longer needed a place to stay, she and her husband gave me a gift.  It was a nice gift.  But it didn’t make up for the lack of thank yous or lack of offers to help around my apartment.  She wasn’t nice.  And then when the tables were turned a year or two later and I needed her help, as in it's-an-emergency-I-need-help, she didn’t act.  She made excuses.  It was as if she was frozen or incapable of remembering everything I’d done and continued to do for her.  That behavior was not nice and beyond unkind.  And that’s the story of how the so-called nicest person I knew became one of the most unkind people I’ve ever met.   

     Kind people don’t try to make themselves feel better by making you feel bad or ashamed about something.  Kind people don’t continually act selfishly.  (I know we all act selfishly at times and sometimes we have to put ourselves first, but doing this relentlessly and without any regard to another’s feelings is not kind.)  Kind people are helpful—they possesses a generosity of spirit.  Kind people apologize and mean it.   

Tuesday, February 7, 2012


            I’m reading Mindy Kaling’s book Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?  Actually, I’m listening to it as an audio book.  Yes, I listen to books.  (I mostly read books, actual, real books, none of this Kindle or iPad stuff; but listening to them on cds is a good way to get through my commute to and from work.)  And I checked it out from the library.  Say what? Yes, the library, the public library.  (You know the library, where Sarah Jessica Parker’s character Carrie Bradshaw got married in NYC in the Sex and the City movie.  And she even checked books out from the library too.)  Because after I listen to the audio book, do I really need the cds taking up space in my shoebox of an apartment?  Not really.  And will I listen to it again?  Probably not.
            Anyway, Mindy’s pretty funny.  And I feel proud of her.  Why?  Because she’s Indian and since I’m half Indian I have this odd sense of connection to her.  She wrote and published a book.  I, myself want to do that.  If I saw her on the street I’d walk right up to her and say “you go girl!”  And “by the way, I’m a halfie.”  Really I would.  I also feel this way when I hear that a Jewish person has accomplished something since I’m also half Jewish.  You’ll notice other Jews doing this too.  “Oh, the Weinsteins produced another movie? What such nice men.  Such good Jewish boys.  Good for them!”  And “that Natalie Portman, what a great actress.” 
            Why do so many of us do this?  Why do we feel like we know a person just because they share the same religion as us or the same ethnic heritage?  I don’t know why.  But I know we all do it.  Probably, because that’s how you feel connected to others in this world.  The similarities we share are what make it so much more meaningful to hear that an author came out with a new book and that author happened to go to your mom’s same high school.  Even my 83 year-old, Indian grandma calls to tell me about Indian people doing interesting things: “you know that the girl who won Miss World, Aishwarya Rai, is Indian, right?”   My grandma has even gone so far as to adopt Sonia Gandhi as an honorary Indian—hey so has the whole country of India—because Sonia, born in Italy, married former Prime Minister of India, Rajiv Gandhi. 
            Back to Mindy.  If she can write a book like Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? and get it published and have people actually read it/listen to it, then I think people will want to read my book too.  I’m writing a memoir about my dad.  I can’t wait until it’s finished and find out that someone’s writing a blog about how they just read it and that they liked it too! Now I know there’s such thing as good karma for writers—meaning if you want people to buy your book then you’d better be buying other authors’ books too.  Which for me means, I’ll buy Mindy’s book, I won’t let my listening to it from the library be the end of it; I’ll buy it and give it to someone as a gift and spread the words of a really funny Indian girl (she writes for the show the Office, you know).  Here’s hoping that same practice will be done for me once my book is finished, bound, published and sold in book stores and online. 
While I’m on this topic, let’s all say a silent prayer that book stores will still be alive and well in the coming years.  I need there to be book stores.  And if you think about it, you do too.  Don’t you love that feeling of walking into a book store and seeing all the possibilities of things you could read?  Opening a book for the first time is the best— those crisp pages, that pristine cover, the words you haven’t read yet…it can be magical if you find the right book.  But if the book stores all close then you won’t be able to do that, or get your coffee, or skulk around the aisles until you pick up some girl or guy.  I know people do this; I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  I’ve gotten off track, back to books.  Yes, back to books and bookstores.  Please keep them in your thoughts.

Monday, February 6, 2012


     I'm in the middle of trying to use all of my samples, trial sizes, hotel toiletries. etc.  I don't plan to buy any new shampoo, conditioner, face wash, face cream, you name it, until all of these small bottles and packets cluttering my bathroom and limited storage space are gone.  Should be interesting.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

DAY 193: WU WU

     I know this should be a post about the Super Bowl.  But it's not.  I'm not really into the game except for the girly things about it, like Madonna performing at the half time show, the commercials and the food spread at any party I attend.  I'm rooting for Tom Brady's team--its playing right?--because he went to my alma mater, the University of Michigan, and it's only the right thing to do to cheer on a fellow Wolverine.
     This post is about the Jason Wu designer collection at Target.  It opened today.  I went to Target at 8am, when the store opened, well a little bit after 8am, like five minutes after eight and half of the collection was gone.  I saw one woman with almost every single item from the racks in her arms.  Really?  Really, you're going to wear that dress in every single size the store clerks put out?  Please.  We know you sell that shit on ebay.
     Oh and I looked online too.  Most of the stuff was sold out online or wasn't ever sold online.  This wasn't as bad as the Missoni collection for Target that crashed the website (twice I think) and had women stealing stuff out of each other's carts and ripping items out of each other's hands in the actual stores.  I guess there's not as big a woooo for Wu as there was for Missoni.  I get it.
     And who are you people trying on every single Wu item in the fitting room?  The line for the fitting room was ridiculous.  I wish they had alumni Target benefits--my time answering the phone in the fitting room would have been well served if I'd been able to cut the line this morning or get first dibs on all the stuff that was being sent back to the floor.  But alas there are no such thing as alumni Target perks.
     I snagged a couple of Wu items.  And I'll be trying them on in the middle of my living room with my DVR recorded episode of 30 Rock playing in the background.  Don't you think that if First Lady Michelle Obama wore a Jason Wu gown to the Inaugural Ball, then I should be wearing Wu to work.  I mean it only seems natural, not to mention fair.  Ok, maybe not fair, but right.  Go Wu.

Saturday, February 4, 2012


     Do people really not know that water has zero calories?  Come on!  I'm shocked and disappointed to see a logo that reads: "0 calories per bottle" on a bottle of Deja Blue water.  What has this world, this country come to, that we need to tell people that water has no calories?  Isn't it obvious?  Doesn't everyone already know that?  Shouldn't everyone already know that?  And don't even get me started on what water bottles are doing in terms of pollution and to our landfills.

Friday, February 3, 2012

DAY 191: 505 GIRL

     I'm a 505 girl.  That's the area code in New Mexico, in case you didn't know.  My cell phone still has the same number from years ago and that 505 area code of course.  Up until a few years ago, the whole state of New Mexico only had one area code.  That's one area code for the entire state--can you say that about where you come from?  Not sure if that's something to brag about, but apparently I do...
     Anyway, all that changed and now there are two area codes for New Mexico: 505 and 575.  One for the north and one for the south.  It's just not the same to say you're from a state that used to only have one area code but now has two--you know?

Thursday, February 2, 2012


     One of the most inappropriate things you can do at work is clip your nails.  And I've had two jobs now where people do just that.  At my old law firm, my partner used to clip his finger nails during conference calls; and now at my current job a guy clips his finger nails at random times.  At least my old partner had an office and clipped in his office--not everyone heard it.  But at my current job, the guy clips his nails in the open.  All of the people working in the cubicles can hear him and I can hear him across the hall in my office.
     When I lived in New York and rode the subway, I occasionally saw people on the subway clipping their finger nails.  That was totally unacceptable behavior; we were on public transportation.  But people still did it.  And people are going to continue to clip their nails at work even though I personally feel that nail clipping is an at home (possibly even only for the bathroom) private activity.  That sound--it just icks me out.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


     I'll be the first to admit that I workout almost everyday, just so I can pig out on junk food.  Major evidence of this is the tub of frosting in my fridge that's a quarter empty.  There was never a cake.  Just me, a spoon and a tub of frosting.  Don't judge.  I eat that stuff plain.