::evbeff

alba.

2012-01-05T23:24:00.000-08:00

you should know my loves that i recognize our bravery.

we have exceeded expectation.

the intent to honor passion and purpose. seeking and finding deserved happiness. love. longed for inner peace. overcoming self hate and doubt. faces illuminated with the brightness of joy. comparisons and fear cast away. standing in nobility. emptying basins of clouded uncertainty. filling them with the promise of beauty and grace and action.

the first morning of 2012 i awoke to a flash of light warming my face. glowing droplets falling all around. wake. up.

i opened my eyes to find my friends standing at attention. all busy inspecting a small glimmer leaking into the dark room from an outside covered window. pulling back the fabric, a singular ray of light shot through, illuminating the walls and ceiling. through the window we jumped into the dark of outside. and there they were, slicing through the thicket. burning signals through tree tunnels. rays streaming among us, exposing a lit path to somewhere in the distance. and so without thinking we ran, escaping the cold, basking in the golden possibility breaking over the horizon.

welcome to the Year of The Light.

ze barfday leest.

2011-10-29T00:36:00.000-07:00

this week i turned one year older, and am surprisingly excited about it.

not excited because of some epiphany or movie ticket discount, but excited to be moving towards the future...towards me being me...and the happiness that will ultimately bring. at this very moment, me being me consists of: friday night cravings for Fage yogurt (listen to your elder and go get some immediately), peppermint tea, and the new Coldplay album (ditto).

as a bday present to myself i decided to compile a special list. typically i am fab at focusing on questions, but for this special occasion i thought it best to impress myself with answers.

so in no particular order, i present to you...

The Things I Know For Sure.
(one for every year)

once you start waxing whatever, you can never stop waxing whatever
breathable fabrics are best
laughter cures
i am chemically addicted to fire cheetos
when in doubt, cover it up
i will never win a spelling b
my friends are more fun than your friends
everyone endures pain
india sweats the demon out
proper food and sleep could change the world's function
one's jungle-book-fantasy-void can be filled by bathing elephants in a river
biscuits are better with maple syrup
if you bake it, they will come
thread count and shower pressure matter
people mostly remember how you make them feel
it's not as bad as you think it is
things become much easier when you stop holding on and just let go
if you have met, but do not like, anna brame spessard mulhair kiani - you are a horrible person
pretty is good. funny is much better
truth and trust should be the goal
wealth in all forms is meant to be shared
when i write my book, my mother will first critique the cover art
paper cuts bring out the dragon
5 hour energy is an afternoon of bad trips and tender moments spent in the restroom
it is10xs the fun if there's a costume
grandmother stories are the best stories
dried apricots will do the job
entitlement right next to ego is the most unattractive
your dream for me is at times bigger than my dream for me
fringe makes everyone fall in love

khappy berthday to me.

80 minutes of summer.

2011-08-14T14:11:00.000-07:00

this year we had more or less 80 minutes of glorious summer. #lesigh

with september soon approaching - i thought it best to conclude this season with some pictures of my favorite summer memories. for the next 9 - 11 months they will remind me what it's like to dress without long underwear.

they will also serve as vindication that my natural skin color is in fact brown. not wan.

i will miss these things.

but more than roughage and high heels. i will miss this most of all.

i hope you enjoyed summer as much as we did.

the power of four.

2011-08-06T10:06:00.000-07:00

families are a slightly incredible cohort. you can probably relate.

they hold the ability to empower or erode. shield or abandon. enlighten or completely confuse.

and if your family is special like mine, they have the power to do all these things simultaneously.

their interconnectivity is quite brilliant. affectionate glances framing guilt. vocalized pride stemming from secret deception. a bit of codependency thrown in just to make sure you're still awake. love and belonging interlocked, laced together in a lumpy soft embrace.

my father, mother, brother and myself are a compelling bunch. and one stupid gushy blog will not do us justice. this also holds true for extended family, however it should be known the smaller group is arguably more entertaining than the larger one.

by the way, i decided it's best that grandmothers are not included in the extended family list. one. they are far too wily. and two. they have eaten more shit in their lifetime than i care to ever eat in mine. they therefore warrant distinction, and nothing ever general. each one rightfully exists in their perfectly crafted ecosystem of fantasy. and by ecosystem, i don't mean terrarium. something with a little more first class leg room and extra drawers for jewelry. one day i'll write down my memories of my grandmothers. you can then drink tea and cozy up, reading tales of my Jewish Bubba asking her 8 year old elizabeth what she wants for breakfast. my answer forever being french toast. smoking in the kitchen, she relays every detail of each conversation had over the past month. repeating and then she says to him so many times elizabeth grows up to be a story teller. doesn't every kid play 21 and shop at Bloomingdales? or if you need something with more of a bite, aloha. sit ocean side - drink something serious - and fantasize of my hot-legged-chinese-portuguese Tutu. her chapter lovingly named Have That Man Put Some Ice In My F*cking Wine, will make you vomit with laughter.

warning: tutu makes other grandmothers blush. she lives in las vegas. she has Club A on auto pay.

in not so plain terms, my family hooks me. confuses me. loves me. keeps me on my toes. they are charged and aware. ready-to-not-take-your-ish. ready for a good laugh and great story. and above everything - above allllll the few great guarantees of this world - they are never. ever. boring. thank the prophets.

after weeks of searching for the perfect word to describe them, i still can't nail down the proper term. in surrender, all i have come up with is: power nap. because sometimes after spending a week, or a day, or a dinner, or maybe just a speaker phone conversation - you'll need one.

growing up, i memorized their individual frequencies. measured their collective output. spent the majority of my life, in two groups of three. things always seemed crystal clear.

Group 1) cindy + elizabeth + max = elizabeth giving max a hard time/food shopping
Group 2) artie + elizabeth +max = elizabeth giving max a hard time/food eating

the number three was easy. it was comfortable. it was rehearsed and expected. but four...four was mysterious. the yet-to-be-cracked algorithm.

artie + cindy + elizabeth +max = the unconstrained variable.

i had often wondered what the unknown power of four would hold. not that i expected Donna Reed Show utopia, but what type of family experiences the perfectly manicured lawn. or late night conversations in the kitchen over chocolate cake. dialing one number and reaching two people.

turns out, if you have introduced me to your family, i have most definitely stalked them for as long as possible. not to worry. i made a concerted effort to not be creepily noticeable. why would i want to go outside when i can stand in the kitchen and watch Gail passionately read the newspaper while Ron works at the computer, re-telling old jokes. she was totally unaware she ate all of the sesame seed snacks from the bowl on the counter. if you waited long enough, she would start to play the blue piano in the bedroom and sing a tune or two. who wants to meet up with friends, when i can sit in a chair and watch andi and danny cuddle on the perfect-cuddle-couch for hours. never getting up for anyone. there was no better place to be.

i blame it on my shower curtain pull back disorder. discovering rationale behind mock turtle necks and cruise ships. wall plate displays and chicken chachkes. guns and eighties hair. stories of old hollywood standards and soft-shoe. i have to know if it's pristine. if you only clean for company. if professional help should be called. or maybe no one gives a shit, and just leaves it all wide open.

but for right now, the investigation can rest. because for the first time in my life, i got the chance to experience the unimaginable. my first family vacation. ever.

prompted by the Berkeley college graduation of my brother, i have to admit i was ~~a bit~~ terrified. but then figured even if the trip was a complete bust, at least i had the opportunity to answer the question: Why are you going to California? with...

I'm going on vacation with my divorced parents.

words sweet as honey.

yes, i knew what was coming. and yes. some of it came. but there were other far more glorious moments i didn't anticipate.

it's a good feeling to be surprised. but being surprised as a jaded 30 year old, is even better. i grabbed ahold of memories i never thought would be mine. held tight. and floated above it all. watching my parents sit in the front seats of the car. max and i silently in the back, listening to artie and cindy family vacation conversation. mom saying how she keeps raw green beans in her purse to eat on the plane. dad laughing at mom for being ridiculous. mom laughing out loud because even though she knows she is ridiculous, my father is still far more ridiculous than everyone.

cut to the restaurant. we all sit down. together. dad and mom share salmon with asparagus. cindy can't eat her half because the kitchen basted it in sweet sugar devil sauce. another piece of salmon is ordered. the establishment makes the grievous error of charging $8 for replacement salmon. my parents riot. they tag team the restaurant manager over the erroneous $8 charge. someone gets bored and leaves to retrieve blood from a nearby rock. the argument gets heated. my father unknowingly addresses my mother, saying, hold on honey. i gleefully shit my pants. team Alinikoff wins the standoff. my exhausted mother unintentionally leaves her to-go half eaten free piece of salmon on the table. she laughs. my father hits it home with, it's the principle of the matter.

graduation day. my dad and i take pictures from the stands. my father uses his fancy camera. he lets my mom direct some shots. i ask for a thumbs up and take a picture. they both smile, give me thumbs up and say heeeyyyy.

celebration time. my dad's sf friends organize a last minute graduation dinner for max. my sweet father is excited to show off his kids. the dinner is held at the beautiful home of my father's first wife. all four of us arrive. i curse myself for not stealing more liquor bottles from the flight. during dinner, i talk to dad's first wife - seated across from me - while his second wife (my mother) sits next to me.

what's more awesome than being able to say Going on vacation with my divorced parents?

...Hanging out with my dad and his ex wives.

i'm blessed to know my experience lies somewhere between the Donna Reed Show and bat-shit-crazyville. we are humans after all. made up of unconscious gabs and loving embraces. a mess of boundless brilliance. talented artistry. and hilarious honesty.

with the humorous jaw line and humbling body hair swirls of arthur alinikoff, i am grateful. to the secretly sensitive cindy powers of observation, i promise to sit up straight to open my heart chakra. to my brother max, who really isn't impressed by anything unless he feels it in his heart. u are my doppelganger.

to all three of you. i love you.

things i never thought i would say...

2011-05-13T13:44:00.000-07:00

my brother is 26.
my brother is a berekely graduate.
my brother is taller than me.
my brother is better looking than me.
my brother appears to have a small nose, but it is really big in pictures.
my brother has a bigger heart than you.
my brother grows a lot of facial hair.
my brother wears shirts that fit him.
my brother doesn't take a shower every day.
my brother still touches his nose when he laughs.
my brother got all the freckles.
my brother is going to be a great father.
my brother loves me more than anyone loves me.

takeover makeover.

2011-05-10T00:37:00.000-07:00

i'm not trying to be a debbie downer. god knows i have made huge shifts this year toward being a happy beam of bouncing light - which thanks to some adult acne medication - i totally am. thankful for my life. thankful for my job(s). thankful for all the money i ~~don't~~ have. thankful for steven tyler's open shirts and feather hair extensions competing against jlo's open shirts and hair extensions. but this week the light has fizzled and i am left listless, waiting around for the kneeling bus to take me home.

everywhere i turn. everywhere i look. everywhere i sit to pee. senior moments follow me.

in other words, i have been blindsided by the takeover.

the takeover infiltrates my dreams, reminding me to bend with my knees; mocks me in poorly lit bathroom mirrors, and wickedly taunts me through livingsocial deals to some caribbean paradise named 'burry me here'. you're probably desperate to throw me a congrats since you may have heard i obsess over the elderly. but let me clarify. while i do love old people - i didn't expect the takeover to lurk around the corner waiting to randomly pounce at the age of 29 3/4 on a monday. physical ailments. early onset mental-pause. tripple checking for my purse, keys and heavy sweater. sudoku puzzles. my mind encased in some sort of mold growth build-up. i would clean it off, but last week i threw my back out again, reaching for the soap.

it all started after my 29th birthday, when i received a promo email from urban outfitters. inside the email, lived a black and white photo of a model in 4 different outfits. the words "Vintage 90s" in bold.

vintage 90s. the two words curdled as i said them out loud. i found myself offended, as if it were a personal attack. this was obviously the work of some paid intern-child. some gap baby who's parents didn't yell at them enough. some knit wit who thinks the dewey decimal is a new clothing line.

two things bothered me. one, how the hell are the 90s vintage. two, who in their right mind wants to relive them through fashion? classified personal photos from middle school shot out from my memory box. boxy crew neck tshirts. spaghetti strap flower patterned dresses. high wasted acid washed jeans. clogs. brushed frizzy hair. the egyptian pyramids. wait. let's bring up a visual.

6th grade social studies fair. here i am, looking unbathed and disheveled before it was cool to look unbathed and disheveled. i'm pretty sure the teacher gave me an A for ~~pity~~ effort. wearing the curtain from our living room as a toga - and belt of desperation around my head - who wouldn't want to probe this furry child for trojan war factoids. or at least take a few sunflower seeds. it's a bit rhetorical, but i'll say it anyway - the parents didn't help with this one. like prostitution or recreational drug use, for me the 90s were a victimless crime. do not encouraged. do not repeat.

[side note
trojan horse : romans
6th grade : elizabeth]

while we're at it, what would happen if we brought back all of the 90s from this picture in particular? uni-brows. girl mustaches. shoddy shaved legs. babe, your mustache is so boss...no baby your mustache is so girly and truly ironic....wanna go back to my place and look through my encyclopedia britannicas? their vintage.

speaking of feeling nauseous, the takeover has branched out to my clothing choices of this decade.

[another side note i will share: i am crabby as i write this post. a bloated blogger. i just devoured six green tea mochi icreams, chased with a jar of dill pickles. all my ethnicities are satisfied.]

outside of pajamas, all things i wear seem to be tragically uncomfortable. at the end of the day my body screams to be released from the casing of convention. everything.must.come.off. no matter the cut or stretch, jeans are too restrictive and trigger my sciatica. i thought it was just me, until i caught some 60 minutes report on a study done of the correlation between low rise jeans and back problems in younger women. moving forward, i vote for the cropped palazzo. along with pants, belts = body torture. i use them sparingly. underwire bras and thongs are devil snacks. i would need to be getting paid a lot of money for a playboy spread to ever consider recreational thong use. we'll see where i land on that one. i thank god for my non existent chest, and double shirt it whenever possible. shoes must be semi-flat with pillows of arch support, making heels a big fat joke. but while still a joke, they are permissible under two specific circumstances. 1) to show and shave my legs for a wedding 2) to be a fo-hoe in a club, coming face to face with other real life hoes. in both cases heels stop being heels. they become twisted obligatory social armor, protecting my ego from other females.

i don't know why getting dressed is becoming such a chore. zipping and buttoning, a superfluous eff you. i thought maybe it was weight gain. but no. turns out i just hate buttoning my pants. lately i daydream of soft billowy coverage. linen blowing in the wind. elastic waste bands. jersey knit summers. relaxed tummies. damn you, eileen fischer. damn you and your twine pleated shorts. any chance those come in pants?

the final straw breaking this camels back was a moment last week in my bathroom. monday morning, 7am. (really quick. for anyone who hasn't yet experienced the takeover, let me give you a tip. only bad bad things happen in the bathroom at 7am. nothing ever good happens there, so don't take your time and hang out like you have nothing else to do. go into the kitchen. or into the bedroom. or for fucks sake watch some tv, but don't think you are in control once you enter into the lair of truth. it will end up owning you. sorry, i'll stop.) so, after turning on the shower, i pulled my hair back and waited for the room to get warm and cozy. kicking my clothes to the corner, i applied toothpaste to my toothbrush and turned to get in the bath. like a crack of lightening, i got a side shot of myself in the mirror and shockingly shuttered away in panic. steam billowed around me. i held my breath. was i hallucinating?? was it a day terror???? with magellan eyes.....i leaned in...... and stared at my ass in the mirror...

...my ass. the shar pei. stared back. (click the link.)

stunned. overnight subduction zones of distinct ugli fruit texture had managed to form. at long last, i was an impressionist. a bus ride of possibilities later, i convinced myself this condition was not a cocktail of laziness, stretchmarks and cellulite, but somehow related to extreme dehydration. figuring an iron would not generate prolonged remedy, and i've already had surgery once this year, i opted for drinking more water and avoiding the mirror entirely from this point on. so far, lighting hasn't struck twice.

enough kvetching for tonight.

my pajamas are calling.

i kees de muderrr.

2011-05-08T10:57:00.000-07:00

to my momma,

thank you for teaching me how to laugh and enjoy all of life's little blessings.

you also showed me how to pose for the camera. thanks for that too.

i love you forever.

happy momma's day.

italiano de amore

2011-04-16T20:45:00.000-07:00

can we please have a moment of silenzio for the following...

grazie david burton. grazie elle bride italia. more here.

g.r.i.t.s.

2011-04-16T00:31:00.000-07:00

i am pining for my peoples.

i miss makeup-less faces. banana hair. and ache vulgarous.
foxy charm. sassafras. and unrelenting absurdity.
i miss magnetism. kindness. and mania.
morning glasses. ratty t-shirts. wal-mart granny panties.
i miss adorable confusion. and indigestion. and stupid stories.

i miss us not doing anything. together.
i miss dancing in an ugly kitchen.
i miss your heart.

a long stupid story about a small stupid fish.

2011-03-30T00:43:00.000-07:00

the day before my 29th birthday my dear friend andy grammer happened to be in town.

i first met mr. grammer many years ago on a costa rica service trip. not only did his new york accent, knowledge of magic tricks, and tube socks make a lasting impression - he felt the need to solidify our kismet connection by stuffing a wriggly hand-sized cockroach down my shirt. after burning my clothes and borax-ing my skin, i made sure to push him off the mountain, and laugh in his face. we have been friends ever since.

andy is the best buddy a girl could have. he is a guys guy, has a flare for hysterical self deprecation, and is one of the most entertaining human beings i've ever encountered. oh, and he makes music videos in his spare time. basically he's an an ego boost pack. just add water, stir, and enjoy. instant awesome.

as we walked along the water front, catching up on life, andy decided i should have a pet. he demanded to know where the nearest pet store was, so he could buy me a puppy for my birthday. i explained that though the thought was irresistible - it ultimately was a horrible idea. looking back at the history of our relationship, i can confidently say this sums up andy in a nutshell: irresistible ideas with potentially disastrous consequences.

with the dog acquisition behind us, we went back to my apartment.

i don't know if it was the eminent nauseating taste of 29, or the fact whimsical andy was there, or that i was miffed since dogs aren't permitted in my building - but that sunday night around 9pm the persistent phrase screw this shit, i am an adult kept weaseling it's way back into my conversation. the truth was i wanted a pet. it was my birthday damnit. andy and i downed a bag of nacho cheese doritos and set out on our journey in the black of night.

for this specific whim, only one retailer would do. enter, the illustrious 24hr wal-mart. i know. many of you poo poo this multinational super giant (i understand why and i don't disagree with you), but please have compassion. as many aspects of my southern upbringing present themselves, i embrace some, and distance myself from others. but there are those that aren't worth the effort. when you require socks, a snow shovel, and 40 ft of rope at 2am, the wal-mart is there. when your wife kicks you out after finding tanya's panties and his-and-her KY in your truck, don't be troubled. you may sleep peacefully knowing surveillance cameras watch over you in the wal-mart parking lot. if you were me last week, and blew all your money on organic chard and planet friendly bathroom cleaner solvents - in and effort to 'live the kind life' - $4.50 for 32oz of shampoo looks real good. it's sick and it's real and i welcome it.

if you don't do cool things and go to the wal-mart in the black of night, let me tell you something. wal-mart not only sells fish, but also fish accoutrement (please say that in a French accent). putting myself in the fish's place, i thought it better to err on getting two, than just one. un poisson seemed so awkwardly friendless. no one to stare at. no one to swim to. no innocent bystander innocently seduced by your codependent fantasies. after all, one is the loneliest number. i chose two goldfish (one big one small), a large bowl, fish food. checkout. done.

may i please introduce you to my fish. tina and ike.

tina is camera shy.

ike the publicity whore.

andy and i got home, put the fish in the bowl, sang happy birthday and called it a night.

monday morning mr. grammer was driven off to live his normal life - this week consisting of a west coast radio tour, his guitar, and magical vocal stylings. i of course, applied bus face, and prepared for the reenactment of my very own groundhog day: an office job where before 8:45am i microwave myself a bowl of quaker oats with raisins and banter with rock and math nerds. at some point before 10:30am an unofficial game of: now that's inappropriate! ensues (imagine jovial harmless fun of the penis game from jr. high with participants being middle age educated professionals). however this day would be different. it was my birthday. i was a now 29 year old pet owner of wal-mart fish. someone congratulate me. pat me on the fucking back.

now about le poisson.

the fish started out great. each morning as i fed them, they swam to the top of their bowl, eager to see me and say bonjour. at the end of the day, they welcomed me home and recounted cutesy forgetful stories of blowing bubbles and bathing about in a bowl of love. soon after that, they started talking. i first noticed the 'talking' one nite as i sat on the couch in silence, lotioning my feet and researching grilled cheese recipes. studying the sound, i found my fish made a sweet bubble licking noise as the they repeatedly kissed the top of the water. awesome i thought. it's like i have an imaginary cat. content with my pet purchase, i closed my eyes and lived out my extensive dreams of pet ownership some more.

later that week, my friend cheney - the only vegan who visits me - came over and noticed the curious fish talking. she seemed alarmed.

elizabeth, why are the fish making that sound?

huh? because they are just goofing around....see?

with that comment, i noticed my fish weren't traversing around the bowl as they had before, but were concentrated skimming the top of the water with their mouth.

cheney jumped on the computer and researched the behavior.

45 seconds later.

THEY'RE DYING!!!! she screamed THERE ISN'T ENOUGH OXYGEN IN THE BOWL FOR THEM AND THEY ARE FORCED TO TAKE IN AIR FROM THE OUTSIDE!!! THEY ARE SUFFOCATING! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO????

cheney was abhorred. her eyes filled with overwhelming sadness, giving way to grape sized tears tumbling down her cheeks. she looked at me for guidance.

by this point i had lost all feeling in my face. i turned to the poor fish. there was no talking or kissing, but languid swimming, gasping for air. i had become the most horrible human being ever born into this world. in that moment it had been decided.

in an emergency effort to save them and aerate the bowl, i emptied out 25% of the water, and poured in fresh water from the tap. this would have to do until i could buy a pump after work. in doing so, however, it seemed my worst nightmare had come true. adding the fresh water had disrupted the million particles of debris (read: fish shit), which now ubiquitously floated around their universe. this had in turn traumatized my fish so acutely that they could only now drift. not move. not go belly up, but just exist. i guess if some asshole put me in a glass cage, forcing me to live and breath in my own excrement - i'd be traumatized as well. all of this proved to be too much for cheney, who apologized for her intense reaction, but thought it best to leave. i didn't think an apology was necessary. wanna come over tonight and watch me kill my fish? anyone??

i said goodbye to my friend and watched ike and tina begin their floatathon for 10 more minutes. in the end, i felt defeated. i said the long healing prayer and went to sleep.

the next morning, they were actually alive and moving about.

feeling the guilt of a jew attending catholic school, i went to the pet store to purchase whatever was necessary to not kill my birthday fish. after speaking with candy the pet lady - i learned their bowl was too small for their size, and i would need a 16 gallon 40$ tank. 40$ WHAT??! no thank you. i told candy i would get a 10 gallon, and they could pretend to live in a 6 floor walk up in nyc. i also procured an air pump and filter. with my goldfish guilt still in the forefront, and my ego determined to not project vacant-tank-of-water shame - i bought gravel, plastic trees and bushes. i was banking on the hope that ike and tina's love language was receiving gifts. this for sure would make up for the attempted manslaughter.

after 60$, and one heated discussion highlighting how none of my purchased items were returnable (if by some ironic twist of the universe where i arrived home to find my fish had in-fact died in the 45 minute outing i took to save their life) - i made peace with the fact i now had no food money, but my goldfish would survive. in a moment of desperation and future planning, i studied ingredients on the fish food canister. good to know if worse came to worst, i could throw back a few flakes. or just eat tina.

putting together their new fantasy suite, i cursed andy grammer under my breath. what kind of man flies around the country - bringing goldfish home from the wal-mart - and then abandons his responsibility. no emotional or financial assistance. no fish support. what sort of person tortures young females with cockroaches and then is amused by his own jokes and good natured acts of kindness? a good for nothing prankster, that's who. i should have known this idea was ridden with shoddy repercussions, which i would be made to suffer through alone.

finally with the drama gone, the fish took to their new home swimmingly (sorry), and life began running much smoother. i researched tank cleaning, feeding tips, and behavioral warning signs. in my seeming regulatory conversations with candy and the pet store customers, i learned more about goldfish than i have ever cared to retain in two lifetimes: they are dirty and expensive. i believe it has something to do with the fact that they speak french. one gentleman informed me ike and tina will soon outgrow this current tank, and will become so massive - they will be impossible to flush if.they.should.die. i now have the email of a fish farm in north seattle - which adopts coy sized goldfish from owners who are unable to care for them. my non fish friends laugh and threaten to buy me more tank-life. heartless bastards.

and then it happened.

this past weekend, while passing through the kitchen i spotted an orange body floating belly up. it was ike.

i began screaming at the tank. NOOOOOOOO!! NOOOO! You stupid fish!!!! You can't DIE! not this week! I have spent so much money on you! What is TINA going to do?? he bobbed up and down atop the green tree. tina gave him one last fishy kiss goodbye and swam away. i had never noticed how big ike had become. he had bulked out considerably thanks to the larger tank. fins of silky orange fabric hovered around his body like a cocoon. what a beautiful animal. i would miss the circles he swam around tina - showing off for her. she would now be lonesome without his companionship. reflecting upon this was particularly gloomy. i couldn't help but feel i should have given them both away when i had the chance. at least then they could have grown old together on the fish farm. but no, i was selfish, at ike's expense. tina has been widowed. their romance only lasted 5 months. everything i had done: the research, shopping, food, prayer - was for nothing. i became enraged.

i grabbed a spoon off the counter, whispered stupid fish, and poked ike in his side.

and then, like harry potter magic, ike came to life and swam away. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he didn't sink, or float, or run. he speedily swam to all four corners of the tank, and then to the bottom, and then to rub up against tina, and then swam by my face and pooped in it's general direction - as if to say sukkkkkaaaaaaaa!

stupefied, i picked my heart up off the floor. incredible. i don't even remember teaching him now to play dead. i congratulated myself for being a fabulous pet owner.

the only downside of ike being able to resurrect from the dead? he most certainly will out live me.

i need fish support.

cannibalism

2011-03-19T13:37:00.000-07:00

breakfast this morning was struggle. in the end, i just couldn't do it.

wanted: more sweaters

2011-03-18T01:12:00.000-07:00

with my 2011 push to propel myself into adulthood, i organized my closet by color, and discovered a whole lot more about myself than i bargained for.

15 grey sweaters.

JCrew loves you

15 grey sweaters, that i actually love and wear, and have no intention of ever giving away.

this unearthed sweater guilt is a bit difficult to admit. one, because that's an inordinate amount of the same color for any one person's needs. two, because when i arrived home from india i had three sweaters. none of which were grey.

anthropologie i hate you. i love you. i hate you. iloveyou.

as far as material possessions go, i grew up identifying as under-complicated. not uncomplicated. just under. simple. give me a coat and a toothbrush. i can make it work. stock my fridge with simple pleasures, i am happy as a clam. i once visited vermont for two weeks, with only what fit inside my backpack. a more dramatic excursion involved a baha'i winter school in the mountains of valencia spain for eight days - where i survived with the clothes on my back. somewhere in between an intense training workshop- sleeping in a linen closet - washing my hair with bathroom hand soap - and using paper towels to dry off - i knew my capacity to do without was larger than most. i saw this friendship as a positive, and treasured it as such.

i assume part of this came from max and i being raised without a lot of excess, which is easy to do when you don't have money to spend on vanity. why own a hairbrush in your early 20s when you don't (want to) brush your hair? who needs a second lipstick in college when you have one from hs prom circa 1999? i was branded with the ability to identify need vs. want, carried it with me through high school, and then onto college. i associated spending money on pure wants as wasteful. and in my gut, it sort of still is.

even though i make my own money, and pay my own bills, and have a 401K, deep down i am petrified of the wanting enslaving my life. this reaction isn't just limited to big ticket items or buyer's remorse. i'm speaking of irrational thoughts on simple purchases. little devil whispers lurking in the isles of target.

put the body lotion back, it's 10$.

but i want it, i use lotion every day.

then buy a cheaper one.

but i love this one - the fragrance reminds me of a tuscany romance.

fine. one pump. once a day. (eye roll).

the ludicrous continually harps that somehow people would see my 15 grey sweaters, and identify me as a grey natured gal. this of course would be completely accurate. they then go on to perceive me as being frivolous and shallow. good thing my boot addiction is still under wraps.

somehow this unhealthy relationship with my own personal stuff, bled into the ish i have with your belongings as well. ooooh i like your purse doesn't mean i want to borrow it. please don't try to lend it to me. help yourself to anything in my closet is a phrase more or less wasted on this girl. there are others in this world better suited for this friendship. with balls of fire, let me introduce you to anna 'the absconder' kiani. she'll ~~take~~ borrow anything. your sweater, your purse, your child, your heart. and then proceed to 'pull an anna'...where she keeps it. for herself. forever. however, since i see this as her one and only flaw, she is forgiven.

i will attribute this particular conditioning to my best girl friend-sisters emily, juliette, and rachael. more commonly known as the cholas of la mia. since the age of 7 i watched on as three girls fought dirty over every possession imaginable. clothes, hair product, territory of the 'front spot' during bath time. yes they are beautiful. yes they are talented. but don't let their web of charm fool you. lose her hairbrush? gurl knows how to cut-a-bitch. i will never borrow juliette's belt ever again. i am so so sorry.

[side note: if any of the sisters have a different story, i really encourage them to start their own blog. we then could begin a blog war. not only would it be a thrilling glimpse into the pathology of opposing familial gangs (yes? its a word), it would give siticom and tv series writers everywhere enough material until 2100. not to mention - lead the way to a major book deal. head out to your local barnes&noble, scoop up their best selling memoir, Champagne Wishes and Ketchup Sandwiches...which can be found on the shelf next to my very own, How to Paint Your Mother's House: A Story of Life and Loss]

in closing, though my sweater collection is an embarrassment, i will be keeping all of them. my boots as well. it's winter time over here and a girl gets cold easily. justification trumps sick childhood hang-ups.

here's a sweet vid from cindy on skype, showing off her new square dancing boots.

suddenly everything seems so clear.

deals with God.

2011-03-16T00:21:00.000-07:00

this morning i awoke to the sound of rain hitting my window. again.

day number: whatever nine-months-worth-of-cloudy-days-is-equal-to.

my eyes still shut, i flirted with the idea of going back to bed for only five minutes more.

then, unexpectedly - yet understandably - God spoke to me.

get up elizabeth. clouds are out today, so put some pep in your step and get movin'.

(eyes still closed) pep. really God? i scowled respectfully.

yes elizabeth...you need to have pep. zest. pizzazz. vitality. fire. effervescence....panache.

effervescence...at 6:30am?

what's wrong with you today? why the extra 'tude?

forgive me, but i just don't think i have the capacity today. i have an intense desire...an intense desire to wear all black polyblend...and communicate in sporadic heavy sighs...to allow the excessive buildup of cat hair on my sweaters...and adopt a bloated sense of paranoia, which will resign in the same cave along with my masochism. enveloped by my own trickery, i will forgo all ruffage - existing as the fattest skinny girl ever - and will continue to roll around in my pity puddle until the smell can be detected a mile away.

(unfazed) OK Vonnegut listen, i'll make you a deal.

a deal??

yes. a deal.

(thinking) ....

i'll carry your burden today. i'll take on the clouds, and the rain, and the - tired - and frustrating imagined drama. you just work on being elizabeth. sounds good??

yes. sounds perfect. thank you.

glad you agree... now i have a song for you to get your morning off right. look over here so i can sing it to you.

i rolled over, and to my amazement found this little guy...smiling at me...

...ready to perform the greatest morning song ever.

im disfigured...but then there were these things...

2011-02-07T00:19:00.000-08:00

on friday my vanity took me to the 'salon' near my house so i could get my goatee removed. i did this for a few reasons: partially because i haven't gotten my face waxed since the grapefruit debacle of 2011, partially because i ran out of home waxing strips, and partially because anna is coming home to visit....and i wanted to 'trick' her into thinking i don't have any lip/chin/face/body hair of any kind. this of course is kind of hilarious since the words elizabeth and hair go together like maury and 'who's my baby daddy.

my fancy ways told me to spend five extra dollars and 'treat' myself instead of doing it at home this time. because i'm a cheap-ass, and a moron, and because i forgot i am using acne medication - i allowed this woman at the hole in the wall sally nail franchise to wax my goatee, and then thread part of it to remove extra hair. for those of you who don't have excess body hair, go to hell. for those of you who don't know what threading is, here you go.

i am now the proud owner of a number of large scabs along the perimeter of my lips. to the hairless untrained eye it looks like i made out with fire. or just tripped and skidded to a stop with my mouth.

in my attempt to dream of my future, post electrolysis, and get pumped for the week ahead - i did what every prideful consumer does. i surfed the web for things i cannot afford and do not need, but want desperately.

i hope you love them as much as i do.

she is my new best fantasy friend.

home with where the anna is.

2011-02-06T01:47:00.000-08:00

just knowing that if i screamed reaaaaalllly loud you might hear me. that is enough.

i love you so much i wanna punch you in the face.

don't worry. be happy.

2011-02-05T00:30:00.000-08:00

here's to having fun, and not being a crab.

gift of the grapefruit

2011-02-03T00:10:00.000-08:00

hi. i've been absent recently. absent not just from posting, but from all of it.

here is my shoddy attempt at getting back on track, or at least weeding the path so i can see where the hell i'm going.

to say november and december were busy months for me would be an understatement. anyone working retail during the holiday season should be given the Oprah Final Season hookup: the continent of Australia, John Travolta, free booze, spiritual renewal at Uluru, and a handshake. to give you a glimpse into my world around mid november - please read the following excerpt from a previous post i was working on, but never found its' way out of the cyclone of crazy....

"it seems the more energy i shovel into not being so electron at the office - and a little bit more proton at antrho - my grave just gets dug cheaper and faster. necessary-ness suffers: the writing. pilates. painting. lotion. reading. vitamins. photos. my obsession with your facebook status. prayers and exfoliation. no ladies, its not diamonds and pearls that keeps this girl in check, it's surfing for ghetto-youtube-yoga time and soft skin. don't be jealous.

it's this everything that keeps me from being on the 5 o'clock news. i am one away people. one away, from the sales girl who - instead of breezily throwing away the customer's half full venti caffeine-binge whilst chirping of course not a problem:) - suddenly SNAPS - and in front of the anthro gods, guzzles the remaining boiling beverage. the lava ole spills onto her face and clothes - permanently disfiguring her upper body. eyes are enveloped in a fiery blaze. the tired angry dragon is awake... scalding froth shoots from her nose, melting the cash register. she roars into an eruption of obscenities and bellows can you please tell me why you think OATMEAL is a good color for you??? can YOU for F*$!# sake?????!!. mothers and children evacuate, and the lip glossed dragon monster queen is left amongst piles of indian imported duvet covers and eternity scarves. finally she left alone to enjoy blissful silence and calm. with the dragon monster queen alone with no one to bother her, she transforms again into a pirate with the sea weathered mane of penelope cruz and swagger of captain jack sparrow. she then grabs a bottle of drink, and with her feet up on the sweater table begins to count her gold teeth in the reflection of her dagger. mandir music still playing overhead, she randomly screams aaaaarrrrrr, just belt it ya landlubber!!! "

hmmmm. just like crapping fire, nervous breakdowns are preventable and should be avoided.

though not a bad idea, this entry isn't concerning angry dragon vindication projections, gold teeth, or incredible penelope coiffe fantasies. this entry tells a story far more delicious....

if we can please reach into our memory banks for a moment, you may recall the post from india in 2009 titled baldy and a bag of bones go to the hospital. It was in this post where i was told my bladder decided to store 250ccs of urine, translating into my 'tuma', which i ended up taking drugs for. problem solved. long story short, it actually wasn't urine and wasn't my bladder. fast forward to november 2010, a routine pelvic exam followed by an ultrasound showed my tuma was not only still very much alive - but was actually now a grapefruit sized cyst in between my two ovaries, holding around 700ccs (1/2 a liter) of fluid. at the age of 30 some people are growing babies. i grow grapefruits.

#indiayousucksomuchass

after reluctantly scheduling surgery i couldn't help but still deny the grapefruit's existence, and so i made a humiliating but necessary phone call to my doctor to discuss the possibility of being misdiagnosed. i explained how i felt the need for a third ultrasound, since i felt that maybe the gynecologic oncologist, two radiologists, my lower back and her sweet self included were all confused and mislead. could this have been a mistake? could the ultrasound machine tech been misinformed? could my bladder just be peacocking? i thought i once read in some medical journal how organs can become jealous of other organs. for instance, it's possible the bladder was in like with the uterus, but because the uterus knows she can do better than the bladder, ended up saying screw you and fell for the right kidney who has job security. so in my bladder's attempt for attention and fueled by jealousy from mr. kidney, he fluffed and puffed to be noticed, and then things somehow spun out of control. or maybe this perpetuated his current identity crisis where he convinced himself he was the bad ass liver. purify this mother f#$*@!

.........in a world where everyday people misuse leggings as pants - i thought my confusion was justified. (and if you don't retain anything else from this post, please know - LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS. stop it.)

dr. wang explained to me in the nicest possible way that i am a complete idiot, and if i wanted to ensure the baby makers could one day fulfill their purpose, surgery was best. awesome. so cindy flew in, i had the surgery, grapefruit was benign and everything fine.

the recuperation period post surgery has been far from boring. many things have happened, i just wish i could remember all the details. after this experience i can wholeheartedly say that i would make the worst drug user in the world. recreational or hardcore, it doesn't matter. if i didn't learn my lesson from my brief yet memorable (or was it?) encounter with tylenol pm a couple years back, this reaction to anesthesia confirmed it. elizabeth needs to say no to drugs. the seamless same day surgery experience turned into how low can your blood pressure go fail...which turned into let's spend the night in the hospital since we can't sit up... which turned into who can dodge the projectile vomit...which began the sad game of catch the catheter.

hospital.

besides the awkward catheter fun, im pretty sure the award for my fave hospital moment goes to me being left alone on the toilet by a random lazy wicked evil nurse robot (long story). in order to call my real life super nurse (vanetta) to save me, i attempted to locate the emergency string.

attention: outrageous oxymoron sighting.

the search for the emergency string sent me into a silent panic of desperation. one of those moments where the intensely sluggish focus of your eyes is clouded by your body's purposeful yet drawn out movement...all of which are seemingly useless. experiencing absolute depletion while reaching for a flimsy cream colored string blending into a white tiled wall is the cruelest of jokes. whatever asshole medical professional thought this would save lives thought wrong. i would have had difficulty locating a giant clown face slot machine, sporting a bulls-eye nose, spitting out silver dollars. hospitals are not places to goof around. what they should have had was a big thick red rope. a strong rope. a serious knotted rope. a rope ready for the adventures of The Deadliest Catch. i am quite positive eagle scouts aren't running around packing dental floss to survive in the wilderness, or throwing twine to someone drowning in the ocean. no, they use helpful large brightly colored floaty thingys of quality and strength. i am the only one left taking these things seriously.

after my last steady pull on the string of life, vanetta ran in the bathroom and commanded me to not faint. she immediately propped my head up with her bosom (it was definitely a bosom), began splashing cold water in my face - slapping my cheeks - and rocking me back and forth - all while humming church hymns and chanting baby you stay awake, you say with me. while my mind was pondering there's a first time for everything, my mouth could only answer mmmmmhmmmmmmmmmm. she called for a second nurse and a wheel chair, which i can remember thinking didn't come as quickly as it would have if we were on grey's anatomy. once in the chair i slumped over to one side, looked at vanetta and said i think im going to throw up. and then i did. e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e.

vanetta never stopped humming. she never raised her voice above a calm butterfly whisper. two minutes after complete chaos ensued, she had swiftly cleaned me up, gotten me into bed, turned on the tv for distraction, and made a little pillow fortress to protect me. because that's what people do after you vomit at them. they immediately build pillow fortresses so you feel better. she congratulated me every time i called her to pee, each time my bp improved, and every two hour vital check until her shift ended at 7 am. vanetta has been a nurse for 30 years, and i am certain she was the angel answer to prayer. i pray she has someone in her life taking care of her so beautifully as she takes care of everyone else.

home.

once home, i took a shower and crawled oh.so.carefully. into bed, things began to improve.
though recovery was slow, and i had some pain, the grapefruit surgery ultimately did open my eyes to a few things worth mentioning.

numero uno. i love old people. deal with it.

since i was young(er) i've always had this strange desire to be like an old woman. (i know i know i know, what's the rush). for instance, i have always thought can i eat pomegranates when i have no teeth? what if i winter in san antonio instead of 'flarida'? i think i should wear dresses, they are more comfortable. continuing on. in elementary school instead of wanting to be ariel the little mermaid, i was fixated on ursula the evil overweight silver haired octopus. in middle school, when my friend juliette paraded around in cute sundresses i would pretend to be an old tootheless widow with dementia puttering about the kitchen calling out where did everybody go?! after highschool i had a brief intense obsession with jewish sun-glass-wearing bubbies (who doesn't), and for halloween last year i decided to go to work as myself. but 80.

basically, if you are old i will love you forever. and if you are old with an accent, just move on in. i want to study how you dress, and stay warm, and hold all the secrets...and how you tell your stories. i begin to fantasize about how if i were you, i would comb my hair to the side, and get a deal on good fabric with a nice weight, and tell you i ate the sweetest melon of my life last sunday. my friend and i play a type of game where we discuss the old days back in our homeland...where we lived through ze koldest weenter en russia - where we khad no choyce but to burrn de stof eetself fur kheet..eet was so kold eye could not blink...

young people make me nervous. we are too flaky too often, and handle ourselves and others with unease.

also, in comparison, we have boring sucky stories.

after the defruitation, i was delighted to find how walking in public enabled me to live out a part of my fantasy. me with my comfortable loose fitted clothes and orthopedic shoes, hair out of my face in a clean bun, wheezy shallow breaths, hunched over with a slow yet committed waddle. right when i was congratulating myself for doin' good, things suddenly took a turn for the worse. as i passed the south side of the macy's shoe section a gang of cracked out beliebers stampeded in front of me - knocking over shoe box towers in my path. they were running and jumping, giggling and high-fiving. snorting happiness and idealism off each other's flat tummies. terrified i would trip, fall over, or be mugged of my seething pessimism, i instinctively froze into the position of geriatric opossum - but upright - and waited for the leaders of tomorrow to scram. my anesthesia bloated brain reciting... young people. how i am completely offended by their blatant disregard for the whole world. how can it be no one looks where they are going anymore?? someone could. have. been. killed. when i was their age i would have never... i blame the shitty parents of this generation. even with my eyes shooting daggers, the girls were unaffected and skipped into wet seal...unbeliebably happy.

dos. i lost my mojo and memory for a minute, but i did manage to remember that you love me.

fyi: i have a deep affection for accents. listening to them, learning them, doing them. this affection is like a normal person's healthy love for shoes. you are smitten, you study, polish, honor and treasure their intended purposes. each day you pick out the pair specific to fit your current mood (or the mood you wish to be in by the time you get to where you are going). shoes are reliable, they easy on the eyes, and they give the gift of confidence. ever in a shitty mood? go to the store. walk around in a pair of pretty shoes. worries gone. accents are no different. i covet all of them.

talking on the phone one week into recuperation, i attempted to joke around in an indian accent. normally this would have been no problemo, but somehow, my brain short circuited and i suddenly lost my ability. hm. dumbfounded and in denial i chucked it up to lack of sleep and a couple days later i attempted again....nothing. nada. zip. around this same time i grew bored of life in my apartment. sleeping. eating. sleeping. eating. walking. sleeeeping. so, i tried to begin writing again. in emails to friends i attempted to not sound sick, but witty and refreshed (as if i was recovering in the hamptons), but alas even simple sentences were no match for my big no good drug soaked brain. even my speech became ridiculously inadequate. memory was gone. words failed me. the ability to do anything else but sleep all day - vaporized. cheney said it best, i had swiss cheese brain. its as if the christopher columbus crew had come and conquered my thoughts by injecting me with cognitive smallpox. or whooping cough. or polio. or whatever other swag they were giving out. in a brief -or not so brief - moment of freak out, i wrote an email of panic to my friend, hypothesizing how it may have been possible that my grapefruit was in fact my hatch of mojo, my hive of imaginative production. all the elizabeth, her humor and accents and stupid compulsions, oddities, and ridiculous sarcastic jaded everythingness had now been removed. and in its place, painful moments of kathy lee and hoda would have to suffice. i would be ruined. forever.

in the words of my friend emily slow down crazy. slow down.

i am grateful to report that this was not the case, still forgetful and flaky, but what else is new. i do feel that my hive of compulsion is on the up and up, and if that means i am doing much better - then i am doing much better. but even with my crappy memory, it wouldn't be possible to forget those of you who took the time to include me in their thoughts. those of you who called, wrote, stopped by and laughed at and/or with me, please know your outpourings of love completely exceeded my embarrassing assumptions and i am so immensely blessed to call you my friends and family. god has given me many great gifts, and you are one of them.

i now have to go to sleep to charge my brain for tomorrow. i am looking forward to it.

some things never get old...

2010-11-09T18:20:00.000-08:00

indexed is one of them.

speaking of pleather...

2010-11-07T23:59:00.000-08:00

this is for anisa, so she will not be disappointed in me.

pleather makes everything better.

2010-11-07T23:35:00.000-08:00

the street next to my apartment complex has free street parking. don't everyone rush over at once. there's no room.

it's here - in this side street - where i have found fascinating new subjects for observation. why does all the fun come my way you ask? well, maybe because it's a secluded area. maybe because it's poorly lit. maybe because i live in the pacific nw, and just maybe because my living room's giant street-facing-window provides the best seats. when life gives you lemons you should do something with them besides make boring lemonade. you should know my street dweller friends are borderline secret friend status. i am bemused. i am infatuated. i watch on with bated breath, disbelief, and at times both eyes closed. i have become a community blogger. a private investigator. an anthropologist. i am gladys kravitz.

note: if i knew what the hell i was doing on Twittface, this would be the moment i could enter a # (it's called a hashtag, for idiot twitter virgins such as myself). and it would be something like: #creepystalker.

did i get it?? did i?

eff.

the hair academy is upon us.

there is a gene juarez academy on the other side of the free parking street right below my window. for those of you not familiar with the gene juarez students of northgate, i write this for you.

dressed all in black, they are not be confused with the ladies of the Mac counter. i have found these girls to be laced with far more dark bitchy gossip smoke breaks, less turquoise eye shadow and higher heels. each morning i giddily wake to an a symmetrical shangri-la of hair. a sea of sophisticated street walker adorned with ed hardy lighters. i once witnessed two students on a break sitting curbside, smoking a pack of cowboy killers, as they traded asshole boyfriend stories and hair trims. these things brighten my day.

the gaggle of girls flock to school every morning, parking by 6:45am, as to begin their morning ritual. each sits in their car prefunking to the latest and greatest. as my windows begin to vibrate, they start the application of the black smokey eyes. as i fist pump my way in and out of the shower, they bounce over to starbucks and return with a venti non-fat double shot and stand around to say hi. running to the bus in my orthepedic shoes, i am kissed by 15 pairs of 6 inch thigh high studded black pleather boots and large rolling duffel bags - each containing the mystery of my amusement. i must pass them quickly, or become enslaved by my seething jealousy.

jealous of what you may ask? well, jealous of having the balls for asymmetrical hair even when there are no cheekbones, jealous of the ability to function in stilettos without the onset of osteoarthritis and knee replacements, the jealousy of each individuals commitment to self grooming and presentation. and above all, i am jealous of their collective dedication to get a party started at 6:45am without the consideration for sleeping babies and the muslim morning prayer. for the love of the creator, i wore the same green sweatpants to class for 4 years in college, and didn't know until half way through high school the terms 'blow out' and 'blow job' mean very very very different things. do not judge me.

i have grown to see the academy girls as my north star. my compass. like geese flying in formation, returning from winter vacay - or from the shoe pavilion - i welcome them to the neighborhood. maybe i should take them a basket of mini muffins.

Runway Hairstyling. Bumble & bumble. NY. <3

feliz cumple amor.

2010-09-19T23:50:00.000-07:00

today is my dear friend's birthday. she's the type you come out of hiding for.

hyperbole mania x2.

2010-07-19T14:51:00.000-07:00

hyperbole hysterics strikes again - sobbing with laughter.

hyperbole mania.

2010-07-19T14:34:00.000-07:00

i laughed until i cried.

this brings me so much joy.

screenshot of the week.

2010-07-11T23:32:00.000-07:00

cindy and i discuss futbol, spain, and her new dress.
and then we have a tutorial on how to take a screenshot.

cowlicks and shnozes

2010-07-02T01:35:00.000-07:00

some people grow into to adulthood. others just grow into their noses and ears.

my brother and i are a strange pairing. we are close but not the type of closeness you would assume. scarily similar, but functioning at total opposite frequencies. we remain baffled by our connection, yet adore being eachother's true confidant. my brother gets me. he is my duck walk and chin twin. together we enjoy your inappropriateness. we will talk about you for years if you give us what we want. turns out there was a 4 for 1 special the day god divvyed up the funny bones. i keep mine in my nose, while max tries to hide his in the tuggy part of his dumbo flaps. i think they're on to max.

this photo was taken on picture day at the k-8 private school we attended in tennessee. Teddy Bear Portraits was the portrait professionals who came to school each year, and set up shop in the library. not only were they known for lighting up little faces for generations, but also for handing out plastic harmonica sized sparkly pink and blue hair brushes - complete with logo. for some reason the hired teddy bear guy in charge of this teddy bear operation felt it would be a bear-ific idea for us to take a sibling portrait. and for some reason, 14 years later Teddy Bear Portraits kept the name - Teddy Bear Portraits.

so yeah, the Alinikoff school picture pose.
i had seen professional family photos in friends' houses. they were typically along the stretch of the staircase wall, or propped up on a special corner table next to a bronze bowl of red sparkly plastic apples. i remember there weren't just professional school photos, but family group shots as well - all matted, framed at Joann's, and hung so everyone could behold the progressive portraiture of polo shirts and pearls. after all, guests should have something to look at as they make their way to the upstairs game room.
family portraits typically involved matching outfits and the family dog or 4x4. individual closeups were diffused, black and white, and very serious. the girls had golden straight hair and knew how to work a mascara wand. fancy portraits typically involved a rope swing and plantation-esque background - sans the slave quarters. the less fancy ones were from jcpenny with a choice of blue or green background. those were fun too.
[not-so-side note: it should be known there will never be a better high school graduation picture taker than the great photo prophet himself, gary moor. in high school, gary always delivered the goods. click on the senior girls section, aka people i knew from high school. a couple years before senior year, i remember a specific incident where gary had to give up the fluffy white bed as a session location for the young female graduates. generations of disappointment. lock up the effing nyquil.]
i was particularly fascinated when parents hung massive picture frames enclosing 13 little wallet sized slots, one for each school year k - 12. i wrestled with how they remembered to put in each picture for 13 years, diligently preserving each grade as a landmark occasion. i was concerned for these families, all this time spent preserving new haircut and sweater day. how tragic if they ever had to make the difficult choice of what to grab in case of a house fire. oops, forgot the dog- but made sure to save Misti's 16x16 shrine of this-is-why-braces-and-acutane-were-a-great-idea.

back to my teddy bear nightmare.
before we got started, a teacher eyed one of the freebee brushes. knowing anything but a yard rake would be permanently lost in my nest, i assured myself , 'but this is the way i always look', and said no thank you to her suggestion. glancing at max's cabeza de cowlick, i noted his breathless silence of there's-only-so-much-a-young-boy-can-take, and opted to go no brush for him as well. just get it over with. at least the picture would be saved by max's new shirt. i on the other hand, wore a uniform of unfortunate circumstance and floral print schmatta. i more than likely chose it the night before, firmly pondering its duality. not only was it the perfect pajama shirt, but once again proved the myth true - flat chested frizzy haired girls do have more fun.
teddy bear camera man stood my brother and i next to each other. i was told to sit while max stood at my side. with the skills of a bob ross tutorial, he took my head in his hands and gently tilted it to the right, placed my brother's hand on my shoulder, and said 'theeeerree you go, juuuust like that'. everyone in the library watched.
i became fixated on the fact that this was all a exercise in vanity. we both knew these pictures would never be ordered, never framed, never sent out to family members or put on refrigerators or desks at the office. still to this day, the only picture i have ever seen my mother display at work is a frameless black and white 8x10 reproduction of a 60s james taylor. recently i asked her if she ever considered putting up pictures of her kids. she replied that yes, it was probably a good idea to frame a picture of cleo the dachshund.
blinded by the flash of our awkward inadequacy, the photoshoot commenced, and this picture is all that is left. the most endearing part isn't max's dopy look, but the detail of his left arm tucked behind his back, slightly peeking out from behind. he is respectfully keeping his distance from the situation as a whole. his cowlicks breaking our cover, my nose poking you in the face.

bring thyself to account...

2010-06-16T00:09:00.000-07:00

“Therefore I say that man must travel in the way of God. Day by day he must endeavor to become better, his belief must increase and become firmer, his good qualities and his turning to God must be greater, the fire of his love must flame more brightly; then day by day he will make progress, for to stop advancing is the means of going back. The bird when he flies soars ever higher and higher, for as soon as he stops flying he will come down. Every day, in the morning when arising you should compare today with yesterday and see in what condition you are. If you see your belief is stronger and your heart more occupied with God and your love increased and your freedom from the world greater then thank God and ask for the increase of these qualities. You must begin to pray and repent for all that you have done that is wrong and you must implore and ask for help and assistance that you may become better than yesterday so that you may continue to make progress.”

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

the good

i am in bed by 12:11am. i cooked vegetable soup. i called my friends back.

the bad

i lost it at work today.

'ol reliable.

2010-06-09T23:22:00.000-07:00

i am not a napper.

for me, napping is sleep uncommitted. it's neither here nor there. and in my current world of gray - i appreciate me some definiteness. snoozing outside the designated parameters of 'bedtime' is not a good look for me. i wake up confused, horribly hungry, and more cranky than i was at the start of it all. and that combination doesn't exactly highlight my best awesome self - since im all about keeping up with appearances.

im a busy girl. my week consists of having a couple jobs, with a couple responsibilities, a couple of coffees - and just to make sure im still conscious - a couple nervous breakdowns in between. lately i have been so out of my mind tired, i have been just that. out of my mind. work conversations are had that i have no memory of, bosses are inquiring about my mental health, and i have a better relationship with my voicemail than actual friends. im sorry everyone. i love you and i will call you back. you actually may want to leave a message to remind me, but please not before 10am or after 10pm. yes, i am becoming my mother.

to top it off, the sleep still doesn't come as easily as it should - and i have just given up. the brain doesn't switch off. maybe im just going through a three year phase of insomnia...which will continue on for the next 50 years. it will be so exciting at the age of 88 to announce, "I slept once - but that was when i still had a waist, my license and old nose."

im starting to realize the couple of coffees probably doesn't help either...but i don't want to hear it. i can't give it up. i won't. it's just so good to me. the strange part is, i don't even drink a lot of coffee. i order a short, which living in seattle is an embarrassment for my friends. unless its a mini dress, they don't see the point of a short anything. but that's really all the caffeine i need. im a sensitive person on all levels. mellow melatonin = violent night rages. dentist laughing gas = pass out black out.

for me, coffee is that secret summer make-out fling without the awkward goodbye and language barrier. it makes me feel like a woman. something out of the norm, something to get my heart blood pumping, something to look forward to that doesn't involve airplane fare or a razor. unlike tylenol pm, cigarettes, and reality tv - it's the last legal drug left on the planet without attached judgment. and the one something i can do alone, and not feel all alone.

even when the adult acne sets up shop again, reminding me to humble myself before God, and the morning reflection. it's better than forever true love. and horses and diamonds. and this.

wedding numero tres.

2010-06-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

sunny san fransisco. kimia and kenny wedding. costumes. my girls.

the pics speak for themselves.

more later.

momma's day

2010-05-09T01:44:00.000-07:00

happy momma's day to my momma!

this past year, i have been fortunate to have many adventures with my momma gallivanting across oceans and continents. whether traveling by train or elephant or the bart, we have seen it all folks. and we have had a fa-bu-lous time:)

india.

nepal.

kauai.

san fran.

hendersonville.

i loooooooove you momma:)

the polar bear.

2010-04-18T23:56:00.000-07:00

they say with old age comes wisdom.....and a crap load of white hair.

how i have determined that old(er) age is a comin' :

*officially, my dark brown head hair has surrendered to the infiltration of - not gray - but wiry white. with the deforestation of india behind me, my 73 strands of new growth stand 2 inches tall, scattered all about my head. i am a fuzzy white dandelion.

*a couple months back my goatee sprouted a great white. i verbally assaulted it, plucked it out, and haven't seen him since.

*tonight on my arm i spotted my first long and strong mighty whitey.

god help us.

i need a tropical island vacation. anyone who wants to come - lemme know.

i'll be the white polar bear with a virgin pina colada, evian spritzer bottle in hand, relaxing to this.

name that mammal.

2010-04-15T00:56:00.000-07:00

primordial personas.

2010-04-13T11:16:00.000-07:00

presently, i have moments of being so tightly wound i will either burst into tears or ignite into flames with your sweet glance of so how are you doing?. some of you have witnessed this already. for those of you who haven't, i apologize in advance.

in india, unplugging from our surroundings was necessary for anna and myself - but there were limited avenues available for mental escape. there was no eat,pray,love-ing it up in lucknow. sitting in silence in an ashram for 10 days may have been in the cards, but we were given the wrong deck. attending together, anna and i wouldn't have lasted 10 minutes anyway. with no money and no options, we unintentionally created our own way of taking a much needed mental-pause.

i wish i could tell you we found enlightenment by studying local indian cuisine, or painting the burnt sienna indian sunsets, or studying kundalini yoga with the yogi Bahjan himself. colossal fail on our part. sorry. all of those marvelous things seemed too complicated, too much energy and not enough escape. we are simple gals, southern raised, and we were probably too far gone to even care.

we chose to share a coke ya'll.

hey, a coke was about all we could get away with. it was economical, didn't draw too much attention, and didnt make us sick. it was our go-to upper, and quickly became our unspoken ritual. the fffftz!! of it opening. the cool carbonation. the primordial swig. the first one, the best one.

your eyes closed....the animals whispered....my body odor dissipated..........it was glorious. it was cold, it was sugar, it was fizzy, it was my high fructose security blanket.

screw 10 days of silence. with the brief primordial 10 second swig: stars were born, babies were conceived, your tax return doubled, and croissant was made of rolled oats and honey. everything but tunnel vision dried up and blew away. its' initial injection granted you your wish. the first taste was the best taste... spearing through all my ish and providing me with what i required. a friggin' moment to just be.

i had forgotten about this ritual until my recent trip home to hendersonville, tennessee. (lucknow and hendersonville are similar in the fact that they both molded my character, and were incredibly hot and smelly places to live...)

there are certain idiosyncrasies of the south which only make sense to those who have lived it. i had 2 hrs to kill at the memphis airport - just enough time for the smell of bacon wafting from gate B11 through X13 to fully permeate my clothes. in a daze, the restaurant hostess had to ask me twice if i wanted smoking or non. for a brief minute the plane ride had transported me back in time to memories of a former life. bacon and cigarettes was the smell of my next door neighbor Ida the grandmother. she used to give me mini story books about fairy tales. the waiter of the non smoking section called me sugar, and i ordered one egg scrambled with a side of hash browns since everything else involved gravy, ham, atherosclerosis, and my mother's warning. i paid attention when i saw a girl reading a novel as she waited for her flight. looked a little closer and realized the title of her book read The Last Song. what's better than a miley and bacon cigarette sandwich? being delayed an extra hour so i could watch a 60 year old woman named Missy talk about the wild time her and her 70 year old boyfriend were going to have while on vacay in mexico. she wore a spaghetti strapped midrift complete with a Southern Comfort logo...her white hooters shorts and tennis shoes were extra credit points. it was good and right to be home.

the older you get, the more you for-get. or maybe that's just my mother's experience. you become recycled in with rain and work and the city and your public transportation. and then one day, your good friend devon gundry decides marry a gorgeous woman by the name of golriz (one of THE loveliest human beings)...and you board a plane wearing your roomy dark washed jeans, sunglasses and a coffee headache. physically, i look the same as i did when i was 16. even though i have lived in seattle for 10 years (yikes), i like to think of myself as someone who hasn't changed...much. still the simple southern girl who enjoys her grits.

hendersonville is where i was raised -it's where they grew me. where i learned to pluck my eyebrows and was told to act like a lady. im still trying figure that second part out. as a teenager i wasn't schooled in personal style or sustainable architecture or even world geography. we may have 'forgotten' to cover african history, but i did know trinity city housed the great Jan Crouch. i also learned you should apply a wet wad of tobacco for a bee sting. oh, and the most important: The holy cracker barrel is where God brunches on sundays. he sits outside in the rocking chairs playing checkers with jesus. the prophet playoff is the 2nd sunday of every month.

no it wasn't new york, or la. it was better.

waffle house in lieu of starbucks. pintos and cheese was our old reliable for 75 cents in couch change. a night at the park was a good place for the perfect story. high school friends were honest with the best of intentions, they looked you in the eye and loved you, and trusted me to do the same for them. our friendships weren't based off of money or what someone wanted from me. they were based on the stuff they were supposed to be based on - connectivity, mutual respect, and a lot of laughter. even though i was a bahai - and even though many prayed for my salvation- they still love(d) me. and i still love them.

but if you want to know about my life before high school...what groomed me, who i answer(ed) to, who i am indebted to forever...look no further than my bahai community of the south. these are my mothers and my fathers. my sisters and bothers. these are the ones that took care of me, that loved me, that baby-sat me, took care of max and i when we were sick, fed me, clothed me, reprimanded me, and created the makings of my identity. it does take a village to raise a child, and when i see the incredible children this village has raised - i can only pray to find such a place to raise my own. sorry, i should say... it takes a village and one baby-sitter. 10-13 children is quite the load, and assembly meetings are once a month.

i have traveled, i have visited, i have experienced community in all forms. however i can honestly say, the others don't come close in comparison. i know you aren't supposed to say things like that - but it's true. and, yes, it's a pride thing - so i'm going to save you some time and let you know the search is off. it is imperative to understand the genius of my community is not simply as a result of one person or family in particular. it is a complicated tangled puzzle of mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles and children and grandchildren all fitted together perfectly. all artists and entertainers in one way or another, regardless of how much it was discouraged. if you drank the water, you were in. even if you left, or returned, or were a late settler, you know exactly what i am talking about. the wedding allowed for the birth of a phenomenal experience. for the first time in a long time, every piece was in place.

it was this blessed catalyst which enabled me to soak in my bahai community in its truest form. at it's finest. i was gifted the experience of watching the fruits of determined parents, love, companionship, humor, and genius in all forms - and was reminded of its breathtaking mastery to heal and nurture those who are swept away within it - whether it be for 5 days, 3 hours, or 15 minutes. i fell head over heals in love again with every.single.one.of them. even the ones that have continued on to watch over us.

i was surrounded by radiating love. pure and simple. and for the first time in a long time, i found myself in a safe place. a place where people love me for me, the person before all the life happened to her. the first friends. the best friends. my walls came down, i could unwind, and for a brief moment my heart could beat without restriction.

i'm eternally grateful for all of it. bacon smell included.

these are a few of my favorite things.

2010-04-10T23:23:00.000-07:00

i miss you

2010-04-08T23:12:00.000-07:00

even if you do wear head gear.

very soon...

2010-02-04T00:30:00.001-08:00

we will see each other.

i heart my tutu and grandpa danny.

analysis paralysis.

2010-01-23T23:41:00.000-08:00

why do i feel more capable of running other people's lives better than my own?
what the hell is my problem?

i am a clever girl. a witty girl. a hard workin' girl. a girl who can problem solve, multi-task, knows recipes by heart. a girl who did kumon. has the skill to de-seed a pomegranate in seconds - without mess. i understand the difference between too tight and just right. i can be self deprecating - or charming - or confident - or invisible - or whatever you need. i have the power to make the unsocial social. i can shower, do hair/makeup, and be out the door in 15 minutes. i can put together the perfect anthropological outfit for you. i know how to haggle with the rickshaw wallah. i am your desert island first choice. if you let me, i will work it all out for you.

key word. you.

how is it humanly possible for someone so sure (and vocal) about making other people's life decisions, SO INEPT when it comes to her own? HOW is it that i am so indecisive?

It's 2 for 1...Do I get 2? Do I NEED 2?? Is this a trick so that I spend more? If I got 2, I could save the other for next month...but then i need to buy more ingredients. Or should I save the money...or should I not get this brand....hmmmm...no sugar..but it does have ascorbic acid....

truthfully, my minutia mania has almost completely come to an end. i had to learn to get over myself. now i just buy two. screw it. over time i became angered- watching how my enjoyable toiletry isle browse was being ruined by my outrageousness. i was tired of clouding the delightfully delicate choice between cellulite obliterating lotion and sweet pea body wash.

however, one huge victory is never without a gigantic loss. instead of the small, i have become obsessively fixated on the massively meaningful - that whichisaffectingtheoutcomeofmylife - decisions. adult decisions. long term care and folic acid decisions. somehow the older i get, the deeper my thoughts piggyback on what carries the most weight. i have become a junkie to what oozes the highest proof of dramatic flair. am i addicted to the adrenaline rush of losing my mind? is my plight to be a drama whore? am i just a moron?

no. i am apparently just a victim of analysis paralysis.

analysis paralysis looks a bit like one supersized order of deflated hopelessness (add a side of extra sarcasm), sprinkled with an aversion to light, and a big gulp. no eating. no focus. no sleeping. no doing...just existing in a hamster wheel of fun.

when it comes to analysis paralysis, i am the crappiest type. i am out of control. judge judy would label me an Outrageous Person. she speaks truth, and i can prove it. number one, i myself can't stand people like myself. i hate indecisive people. ambivalence is a waste of life- it drives me insane. number two, i choose to not choose help. i don't want help with my indecision. i hate appearing to others as if i've lost my mind (huge surprise i know). i detest my ego for having so much control over my inability to share myself with you. i am bitter at the fact i have turned into this wavering woman...who may undoubtedly one day collect all two-for-one specials but no real ingredients. i will come to rely on the private life, solitude, and colossal landslide of funk which has a nice weight and keeps me warm at night.

what kind of person is addicted to the battle of internal struggle? how do we exist using this outrageous approach?

one sleepless night at 3am - with one hand surrendered to an empty bag of sea salt and vinegar kettle chips - and the other surfing the internet for the purpose of my superficial existence - i found my answer.

wiki.answers.com

behold. the mother ship. it was at this moment, my brain haze momentarily dissipated and a deep love blossomed. gazing at my computer screen like it just offered me a lifetime supply of marc jacobs. never before had the internet's true ability been so clear. i had entered unto the mecca of my people. some little decision warriors, and others with a heavy heart the weight of a whale. people who are desperate for resolution, but stress with execution. there was no reason to be embarrassed, there are are all types. people who are self-conscious. people who don't give a shit. those who are silly, those who are serious, those who can't sleep. wannabe foodies embarrassed to ask if the french eat french onion soup in france, 13 year old girls trying to decide if an when to lose their virginity. anime enthusiasts being enthusiastic about...anime. a fascinating community who prefers to enter their questions into an online data base, rather than talk to their best friend, or mother, or teacher...sounds like perfection. i let it simmer and surfed for a couple more hours.

after my initial awe wore off, i was left with an unsettling feeling. is this what technology has given us? the ability to lose our connection with each other? no need to research? not have to study for the test - or ask a doctor- or do the hard work to reap the rewards? if i fear my son has arthritis, should i be asking a website where other loserfaces (like myself) are awake at 3am? it terrified me to think i had lost my connection with the things i valued most. i began feeling i wasn't cut out for wiki.answers. i became certain of it when i found myself beginning a response post to the 13 year old who wanted to know if she should lose her virginity. after first telling her to go to sleep, and then providing her with my personal phone number so we could 'talk things out',i realized i had hit the boundary wall my therapist and i worked so hard to establish. maybe not. i deleted, signed off, and went to bed. i am not going to be that weirdo. i am not i am not.

for me, what wiki.answers represents is far scarier than myself or any indecision i may feel. and that is something i will be working out with myself. but it won't be with "How much does it cost for your dog to get an abortion?" guy. no thanks.

it's time to go make some decisions.

other decisions may take time. wearing this khat was not one of them.

love.

2009-12-29T01:42:00.000-08:00

and they said it wasn't possible.

2009-12-11T01:26:00.001-08:00

daddy and his art.

photo cred: mom

orgullosa

2009-12-08T21:31:00.001-08:00

so here's a big news flash, my mom and dad are divorced:) and have been for some time.

like everything in life, growing up with divorced parents has its good parts and not so good parts.

good parts.

* at 17 you can get out of any speeding ticket - claiming you are rushing off for dad time.
* you belong to the elite my parents are divorced, so on some level, i am a closeted control freak club.
* you are intensely aware. of everyone's needs.

not so good parts.

*people were missed.
*a lot.

internally, i have worked out the not so good...the un-cohesiveness of it all. allowing myself to be comfortable with my experience. knowing that its all OK. not defining. not comparing myself to others (pointless comparisons are...pointless). im passed all of it. enough. im proud to say i can see the good - the good and the murky. and it is just that, murky goodness with lots of layers in between. my family. oh how i love and enjoy them.

lately i have enjoyed watching my parents' current relationship from afar. life after the kids are way gone. she's a petite lady from hawaii. he's a tall jew from pennsylvania. and after 28 years, they still live within a 7 mile radius of each other in hendersonville, tn. separate lives, surrounded by the wal-mart, taco bell, ford car dealerships and jesus.

my parents are two of the most similar - and at the same time - completely different people i have ever met. it is painfully confusing. simply looking at them, one would never imagine they lived in the same neighborhood, let alone hung out long enough to get married and have children. both share the same love for music, art, humor, food, and health. they desire the same things out of life. however, they are the perfect example of how sometimes people must travel totally opposite paths in order to reach their similar destinations.

individually, mom and dad have always enjoyed photography - and are both very talented at it.

for a while now, dad has made a big push towards exploring his talent as a photographer- he has done a lot to cultivate and develop his art. recently, he had the opportunity to show his photography in Nashville with other local artists. its an incredible feeling to know anyone (let alone a parent) is getting the recognition they deserve. like pumpkin pie, its heartwarming goodness. the kids were excited for daddy-o. the morning of, i spoke with him on the phone. he let me know all the pics were printed and hung, and of course criticized this and that...made sure i knew he was learning a lot by just seeing the set up of the more experienced. he told me he was all prepared and ready for the people. dad was sweetly nervous and charged. i was sad i couldn't have been there.

an hour or so after i spoke to dad. mom called...

Hey mom.

Heeeeeeey. What are you doing?

Getting ready for work. You?

Im driving to see your dad's showing.

Really? You're.....going?

Um, YES I'm GOING! I have known your father for a looong tiiimmme dear. I am the MOTHER of this chILdren...I can GO to his SHOW.

Wow...great! Well...can you take a picture of it for me? I want to see it!

Yeah, I'll call you - so you can talk to him.

No mom, im not in India - i just spoke with him. Just take a picture with your phone and send it to me, so I see how everything looks.

OoooKaY! I'm parked. Gotta go. LOVE YOU, BYE!

Bye mom!

30 minutes later i received an email of my picture. subject: your dad.
i became confused.

yep, ok, there's daddy. thanks.

Really Mom?? WHERE are the displayed photos? He's sitting drinking coffee - watching the TITANS game on his macbook?! Like, this couldn't have been any other day - you couldn't have taken ANY other photos to send me besides Dad sitting down, watching football?!

Weeellllll, this is what your father was doing - no one had arrived yet. You wanted a picture.

Good. Thanks Mom.

so special. my mother using her iPhone to capture, yet another important moment.........

i didn't realize how special this picture actually was until max and i received an email with an attached photo from dad the following day.

subject: at the show

Your mother came to see the show. It was very sweet of her to do that and I really appreciated it. She was so funny, trying to get her iPhone to take a pic. I finally handed her my camera...she's the one who took that pic for Facebook. Hope you guys are all good. It was great talking to the both of you yesterday. Thanks for your wonderful support. It helps more than you can know.

Daddy-o

AA

at least they both are on the same page.

murky goodness = similar ridiculousness.

:)

me gusta.

2009-11-20T00:42:00.001-08:00

indexed does it again.

secret friends.

2009-11-15T22:04:00.000-08:00

brief realization.

i notice and relish the details of people. if i have ever watched you in person from afar, you should know i commit to memory your details. you are my secret friend. i think i am addicted. in fact, i know i am.

secret friend loves of my past include: pickup truck drivin' good ol boys who wore confederate flag t-shirts and had a bumper sticker reading Lee Surrendered, I Didn't; too serious sweaty dancers named salsa fight guy dressed in black, scarves and eyeliner; dirty seattle bike messenger lesbians and their amazing muscle legs; a yellow sweater vespa riding italian man on spanish holiday in search of someone to help them practice english; a scientist who believes hobby degrees (ie women studies) are a waste of time and anything which can't be scientifically proven doesn't exist; a sorority girl who was supremely happy to invite me to her King Tut And The Egyptian Sluts costume frat party; and a woman who not only wore the color peach every day, but also decorated her entire house in the same shade, after a sales girl in florida told her it was a nice color on her - 20 years prior. oh to be there, to have witnessed more. i could have spent years being perfectly content...listening. watching. waiting for everything to play out. i would have given up all my long underwear for more time. and if you know me - that's serious talk.

these secret friend impressions make my life. get me through the day, through the years. obviously yes i am more in love with them then they are with me, and that's fine and expected - half the time they don't know i exist (and frankly im not even going to try to compete with a King Tut and Egyptian Slut party). so there. though most of these encounters have never blossomed into full friendships, or they are intensely short lived, my heart lights up all the same. whether my attention was first attracted by their accent, smirk, story about their mother, dark comment, sigh, crows feet, or the way the warm their hands in front of the car heating vents as they drive. i love my secret friends and their truth.

for me, that's the ultimate deal maker. their sparks of truth. any truth- whatever it may be for just that moment. the glimpse doesn't need to be constant and ever present, doesn't even need to be on purpose. i don't have to like, or agree with it - for me its courageously beautiful and fascinating all the same. i am not saying i want to sit in a circle with you and listen as people divulge into the slough of life, as we cry, do trust falls and make lists of our shit. no. i can't handle that. i want the subtle, the unrehearsed and organic. i don't like parts that float to the top. i want the murky stuff that sinks to the bottom and and gets stirred up.

so yes, i am addicted to the murk. it's what i crave and actively seek out. little crumbs leading to some part of a back story. the why. why do they (and we) do the incredible things they (we) do. i find it fascinating...the truth of it all. maybe i obsess since i struggle with my own honest expression. my own murk.

brief (and not so brief) examples.

the other night i took the 73 bus back from work. i sat close to two younger gentleman both wearing long black trench coats, unkept patchy beards, and australian adventure hats. one brown one black. they were good pals, sitting next to each other, discussing a shared story from time spent in some alternate universe i wasn't familiar with. some location where they enjoy zorb. i couldn't decipher if zorb was a reference to their leader, or an activity. [got home and realized it is quite the activity]. anyway, black hat with glasses finally says to brown hat with red bow-tie, Hey, so i have finished that last chapter for my novel. You wanna hear?. brown hat replies, sure, and i become nervously addicted. From the inside of his trench coat, the author pulls out a small pocket size journal - covered in bright blue oriental fabric speckled with pink cherry tree blossoms. Where shall i begin?? oh yes...he smiles at himself and embarks. his voice and cadence swell into an homage for voice over guy from the Days of our Lives. firm and reassuring, wise and whimsical, but with some bitterness thrown in.

"Those of you present for the feeding, i have a hidden gift for you. As planet Delpheriax selflessly provides our nourishment, I implore you to do the same for others. I pray you not to harm 3XY and his clan. Instead, leave them be. I shall escort them to the galaxy beyond the 3rd sun. Yes they have destroyed our earth clones, but what happened to compassion? Have we not learned from the crusades of Borthum and Bob?! The decision is my gift to you. Take it with substance, the healing shall begin..."

i couldn't decide which i was more in awe of...the fact that brown hat writes his novel in small $3 asian inspired fabric bound journals, or that he decided to read his prose allowed on the bus during 6 o'clock traffic - all while two seats down juanita chastised rico on her cell (something la ultima vez, puto!). She was very very angry. he was very very proud. it was like 3secondheat, i just couldn't get enough.

a more endearing example occurred last month while my mom and i visited my brother max at berkeley.

we had the fortunate pleasure of being in san fransisco the night of halloween. after sitting through a power surge of rock lobster sung by salvador dali dressed as a spanish bullfighter, we made our way back to el cerrito. if you ever have the opportunity to take the Bart at 2am, waiting patiently amongst hundreds of others, on halloween, in san fransisco - you should pack a lunch and go. pure inspiration.

after finally making our connecting train, i managed to score a seat next to Fred Flintstone. a 350 lb Cartman (who could have been identified from space) stood in front of the car, taking up the majority of the room. Bike Man stood next to him with the six remaining members of the Double-Wide Bandit Crew, and Pizzazz with her jealous girlfriend sat along the side. There was a gang of Zombie Slut Bridesmaids behind me, and a pissy Lady Gaga dressed in a belly button plunging black bathing suit, fishnets, stilettos, bedazzled ray-bans, and blond bangs. At some point, a young man in the front spotted his lost friend in the back of the car, and with dripping elation and a huge smile to match screamed out, JULIUS! JULIUS YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! LOOK AT YOU BITCH!! I FUCKING FOUND YOU!!! HAHA! I THOUGHT I FUCKING LOST YOU BITCH!! FUCK! DAN, LOOK! ITS JULIUS!! I FUCKING FOUND YOU MAN! I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

i never did see julius, but it was worth the price of the ticket, just to see such friendship among men.

with all the amazing-ness abuzzing around me, i proudly sat next to fred flintstone, inhaling everything, being thankful - secretly wishing the train would break down at that moment - and i would be kept inside its' custom-made time capsule f.o.r.e.v.e.r.

to my surprise, Fred turned to me, smiled, and said, I should go home, and change out of this. I have to have brunch with my mom this afternoon. Fred was a young kid, sophomore at berkeley. skinny to the point of not really filling out his red/one shoulder strap/no shirt/cave man costume (but an excellent attempt non-the-less). sweet disposition. he reminded me of one of the guys in college that was a reliable, gentle soul. i said, Oh honey, im sure your mom would still love to have brunch with you - even if you showed up in that. he gave me a yeah i know goofy grin, and i went back to listening to 'Julius's friend' realize he had just found Julius all....over...again.

a minute passed.

Can I ask you something? (Fred now wanted my full attention)

Sure! (intrigued - i turned to face him)

So, i like this girl...

[at this very moment, i had to take a deep breath to stop myself from screaming at the top of my lungs, THANK YOU! THANK YOU GOD! THANK YOU!!]

...mHHHHmm...

...Yeah so this girl, she is just so amazing and funny - and BEAUTIFUL, so beautiful... and so we have been talking for a while, and finally last night we were alone together and i kissed her, and i was so nervous - but it was amazing...so now i was so excited to go out tonight, because we made plans - us and our friends - to all hang out tonight right? but tonight we were all together and i was talking to her girl friends and they told me she really isn't wanting a relationship right now...and so now i am so confused and i don't know what to do... i just think she is amazing and we kissed... i mean, she wouldn't have kissed me if she wasn't in to me! so i don't know what to do?! she is just so beautiful and we have so much fun together! should i just stop talking to her? should i text her and ask her how she feels about me????

[by this point in his confession, the two men seated directly in front of us had perked up and were listening in on Fred's love life. they sat with their heads leaning back, holding hands and grinning. i took a second before i gave my response.]

You know (Fred), this is what I think you should do. You should call her up and tell her you would like to meet up for coffee, just to hang out, no big deal. Once you two are there, you talk about normal stuff. once you both are relaxed you just ask her how she feels about you - if her feelings are mutual. No pressure, no weirdness, just asking sweetly for an honest answer--

--Wait, so i shouldn't text her first? What about her friends?

You know, Im sure her friends mean well, but I'm sure you can appreciate this just being between you and her. It's important to make that connection with that person face to face, not through phone or email or friends- but just real people talking. Know what I mean?

Yeah, that makes sense...I'll should do it face to face.

(and then my heart kicked in)

Oh, and one more thing (Fred). So, when you tell her how you really feel - and if she dodges the question, or is mean to you, or doesn't give you a real answer?? Well, then she isn't worth it. Remember that OK? You are a sweet guy being very mindful of her feelings, putting yourself out there - and you deserve the same respect, OK?

(Smiling) Yeah, YEAH...you are right. Thank you so much! Thank You!

the gay couple in front smiled and nodded, as to say - 'good job'. i sat in awe of my sweet life.

fred's stop came up. he, and everyone else, departed.

secret friend success.

twenty eightish

2009-11-04T00:37:00.000-08:00

i have turned 28.

we will say it again - i have lived beyond my 27th year- i am now 28.

two from 30, twelve from 40, ten from 18.

now begins the point where i can mentor those who are younger. instead of answering their questions directly, i will begin recounting stories of my 'youth' in which i learned important life lessons: stories of high school drama, working as a telemarketer selling country music collection dvds, my sense of independence shaped by Waffle House and vain pointless conversation. these distant momories will be just as helpful as aesop's fables, but instead of the crow and some cheese- mine would include a football player and my self-respect. with these pearls i will illustrate how i too pretended to be apathetic to the world, because i was 18. i too simply went through the motions (and emotions), reveling in my mediocrity... i too pretended like it all began with acceptance from. just. that. person... i too sought my truth, which shone brightly in awkward displays for attention. wait, this is starting to sound more like 28.

never mind.

OK, this is what i know for sure:

grilled cheese is next to godliness.

here's to another year.

no sleep for you.

2009-10-20T02:13:00.000-07:00

The Sad Game.

blame
keeps the sad game going.
it keeps stealing all your wealth-
giving i to an imbecile with
no financial skills.
dear one,
wise
up.

It Felt Love.

how
did the rose
ever open its heart

and give to this world
all its
beauty?

it felt the encouragement of light
against its
being.

otherwise,
we all remain

too

frightened.

...hafiz is one of the few i can visit with at 2:30am, and still retain the lesson the following day...

the reality of it all.

2009-10-19T02:03:00.001-07:00

i love these things.

jobless in seattle

2009-10-17T01:08:00.000-07:00

the process of finding a job in seattle is sort of like choosing between one crappy movie and a separate movie you know is going to suck. either choice blows, but hey. you need a job.

let's get right into it.

i am done with people asking the ridiculous question, 'Well, what are you looking for?'. First off, these are obviously people who currently hold employment, and aren't freaking out about the possibility of being homeless. they are not paying for the bus out of couch change, gum wrappers, and lint. they are not in frantic search mode. they are in advice mode, saying things like oh yeah, i heard its hard to find a job now a days, did you check out Monster??. they sit and calmly enjoy their coffee. such a treat for them, the coffee break. for me, coffee is starting to taste less like coffee and more like unemployment. i should write a book entitled The Coffee Break of My Life. 2009 - ?????. anyway. instead of listening to their sage advice, my mind is instead having a manic episode with the fact i just used my last dollar bill to pay the $3.00 for my cappuccino. damnit. now i have to make change for the bus...and spend more MONEYYYYYYYYY. these are my friends who love me. the people that say 'You know Elizabeth, you are SO blahblahblah - you would be an excellent LAWYER!!!'. Thanks, i know. i would be an excellent lot of things. i'll get right on that. can you loan me a dollar?

please know i had no disillusions about coming home and magically finding something that pays well, has benefits, and provides me some sort of personal fulfillment. i was lucky if i was going to get one out of the three. i was lucky if i was going to get anything, period.

after one month of revamping my resume, searching online, and walking door to door - i had given out my resume to around 35 jobs...and hadn't heard back from any. one. of. them. i applied for a plethora of admin jobs, education jobs, serving jobs, non-profit positions, DOG WALKING positions, personal assistant positions, coordinators, and house cleaners. i literally hit up everything except egg donation - which i considered. (however, while researching, realized i wouldn't have been approved since im not enough of a pure bred human being. for someone to pay me 20 grand to give them my eggs, i am not jewish enough, not asian enough, not hispanic enough, not white enough. i don't read enough literature or ski or play chess enough. not to mention my sense of humor is too inappropriate and i am too old. im just too much. done.)

towards the end of my crusade, i became so desperate, i even began responding to the gigs section postings of Craigslist. 'cause if i can't land a job, maybe i can get a gig. i am proud to say, the gig section is one of my favorite sections. if you are ever bored and looking for a good time - go to gigs. or free...i love free. if you are ever troubled and want to feel better about your life, go to free. its free fun. there is no where else you can witness someone trading pink flamingo lawn decorations (complete with bullet holes), a half drunken bottle of jack, and a wheel barrow - for a pure bred pit bull. in love.

through my gig search, i encountered some particular diamonds in the rough, seeming completely appropriate for my state of mind at the time. i replied to a Hair Models Wanted add...so some woman named Snow dressed in all black, a lot of leather, and four too many lip rings could cut and style my hair for a hair show. they would even pay me $400. unfortunately the position was filled (damnit!). im not bitter, snow will have to give me my androgynous sexy back another day. later on, things really started looking up when i found a post reading: Leopard Model Wanted. This was a special find where some lucky human got to pose for a save the endangered species calendar - head to toe in body paint- as a leopard. i was upset they had already cast the hippopotamus. i would have been incredible as a hippo.

the more i searched, it became clear i don't need or want my dream job (whatever that may be). as horrible as it might sound, at this point in my life, i don't want a world of unnecessary responsibility. i don't want to feel the weight of the world on my bony shoulders. i don't want to stress out so the rest of my hair gives up the fight. the fact is, i am tired of all of it. tired of being tired. im almost 28 and exhausted...which isn't normal (i think). i deserve a break from the intensity of: go to school, get married, clean this, organize that, get benefits, this agency deadline must be met or my boss will be fined 25K and thrown in jail, please format this and answer all the phones annnnd deal with the tea vendor coming at 12:45, here - go to india and figure out a way for the slum/village children to have a better education. ps, some the teachers don't like teaching, we need backing from government officials who are only driven by self interest, oh, and convince illiterate parents why it is beneficial to send their children to school. also, you may want to be aware that student scholarships given out to families are sometimes used to fund the father's alcoholism. not to mention, everyone could use a good bath, medical attention, and new shoes.

i should re-word my resume so under Skills Summary reads: i need a nap.

this is not me saying i haven't loved my jobs and the light of experience i have gained from all of them. i have. i know how fortunate i am to have worked with such wonderful people thrown into such thrilling circumstances. this is me saying that for this brief chapter of my life, i have lost my need to actively save the world. i don't have the desire to battle it out mentally anymore for things that are beyond my control. just for a little bit. i need a break. i need to save elizabeth instead of everyone else. i need to make some money, go back to school, write some, and enjoy. fun. just be superficially in it to win it.

i was discussing the job search with my sisterfriend emily. she of course asked me where i had applied. by that point i was so overwrought with the feeling of unemployment - nervous about selling my soul to the devil, if i did in fact find one - i informed her of my new vocational interests: coffee shop girl, anything involving accessories at Forever 21, dog walker, haiku ghost writer, body exfoliate tester. she thought i was joking. i was proud being so honest sans embarrassment.

i was just about to answer the add Dancers Wanted - No Experience Necessary - GREAT Tip$$$$!!!! when i was informed by a friend Anthropologie was hiring.

I don't know if you know about Anthropologie, but if you are a lady, and if you love the colors of your imagination on steroids - transcribed into physical manifestations of modern prints, fabrics, and necklines - you would heart you some Anthro. as a starving student in college i would visit just to sit on their couches, breathe in the air of cute bags and adorable kitchen accessories, try on clothes, and look at their bedspreads. it was a calm environment where i felt all the superficial facets of my personality come together. the creative - the silly - the professional - the fun - the mature. everything was organized, and fresh, and lovely. if you are hearing this and thinking What? A store can actually do that???. um yes. for me it did.

still no job in site. i looked to the heavens, and with help from the powers at be (and we will call them powers) - i managed to score an interview on a sunday. still ringing in at a whopping 116 lbs, i bought a pair of tight jeans for $18 from a second hand store, straightened my patchy hair, applied some lip gloss, gave myself a good pep talk/smack in the face, and went downtown for one of the most intense experiences of my life.....the dreaded retail group interview.

after 1.5 hours of conversation, discussion, and a style challenge (that's right. i said a style challenge) i not only learned about the behind the scenes of anthro - i learned the back stories of my fellow candidates... and we all know that elizabeth loves a good back story.

Grace. grace is blonde, short, cute, incredibly-excited to learn she is the third person to arrive, the first to introduce herself. firm handshake. wears cotton. likes yellow. grace just got back from studying abroad in granada, spain where she spent the majority of her time at an american bagel shop. she of course "LOVES speaking spanish", and after she graduates from college, she hopes to be a teacher. grace has so much energy emanating from her pores, her pheromones could have re-carbonated the left over flat coke i drank for breakfast that morning. the main attribute she possesses which would benefit the anthro team: her 'creativity'.

Mercedes. mercedes wears a leather jacket and motorcycle boots. her front tooth is chipped, and she wears a huge gold rose on a choker. her real job is performing at local night clubs as a singer/songwriter, and "on the side" works as a stylist for a local band (Death Slayer Something-er-rather). I missed the name, since i was already obsessed compiling the story behind the 1/2 missing front tooth. fascinating. the main attribute she possesses being of benefit to the anthro team: her 'blunt honesty'.

Lalalksdfj. i am embarrassed to say i don't remember Lalalksdjf's name, mainly because she sat on the opposite end of the circle (yes we were in a circle) and spoke so quietly, i honestly don't think a single person heard a word she said the whole time. we all collectively nodded our heads, too idiotic to say anything. i mention Lalalksdfj for the pure fact that she is from india:) her interests are biology and she loves to read. she wears glasses and lives at home with her parents. she wears socks with little kitties, and says she takes direction very well. an attribute she possesses being of benefit to the anthro team: her 'work ethic'.

oh india. you follow me still.

my favorite part would have to be the style challenge (i know, incredible). one of the managers gave us her style preferences and then we were given 3 minutes to run around the store- and compile an outfit for her night on the town. it was right out of BRAVO tv hell. a mad dash to the finish, complete with shoes, bags, jewelry, all of it. each one then got to stand and explain their outfit/concept. it was actually pretty clever of them - seeing who could really put a look together - explain and defend their concept - or just bullshit their way through all of it. hey, if there is one thing i learned in the south - confidence is key - fluff and butter works for me.

this whole scene was such an out of body experience. still readjusting from being back. interviewing for a position at a store that sells knicknacks from india for 40$, which i could have gotten for 50 rupees a month ago. sitting amongst the 90s kids discussing how they are just looking for part-time work, nothing too serious. it took every fiber of my being, controlling myself from introducing myself as, "Hi, I'm Elizabeth, i just got back from lucknow. Yes, Lalalksdfj, that is your country of birth. i have no money. i just got a cell phone yesterday. i gave up 6 months of my life, 20 lbs, and 1/3 of my hair for the good of humanity and i have nothing to show for it besides various stories in which i repeatedly crap my pants. fyi, to all of you with hobby degrees, this will be you in 8 years....now back off so i can have this job. thanks." i am such an embarrassing human being.

but its all going to be ok (as baldy would say). i got the job, and i am working it all out.

i am thankful, and happy to say that im gainfully employed (well maybe not gainfully) - currently working a zillion hours at the downtown Seattle Anthropologie. the environment is colorful and lovely. art displays are creative and inviting. the clothes are fabulous. and i get some of the best stories of my life from the customers and employees. we will survive. no, this this is not my life's new career. but it is definitely something new to learn - something i can enjoy.

i won't have to dance...unless i want to. and that of course, is another story to tell.

yeah, i'll eat that.

2009-09-23T14:49:00.000-07:00

so it's been a while.

i should officially post and inform you that the rumors are true. 1 month and 4 days have passed since i landed in Seattle, and probably for the first time in my life - i am proud to be back on this side of the world. happy to be in the good ol' U.S.of A. relieved for a whole list of reasons, and sad for a list equal in length.

part of me feels as if india was one of those hallucinated melatonin induced dream sequences. like one morning i woke up and there was a goat playing the harmonica in my bathtub. i don't know how it happened, but it did, and it was real, and i got the pictures to prove it...but why dear God was there ever a goat? How was that ever my reality? Life is incredible. On the 15th I can be with a delhi belly cindy, on a moving train balancing ourselves in the toilet at 3 am - and at the same time - Nordstrom's Rack is having a sale. I have personal investments in both obviously.

my friend paul warned me about my return to this life. 'its like you've been through war elizabeth...its gonna take a while to get it together.' never has a statement been so true.

i miss lucknow. i miss the simplicity of it all. the truth behind living within your means, finding a connection with people not based on what they have, but who they are. working towards something you believe in, both in the professional and personal sense. the strange pride of managing your life with hot spit and a prayer. experiencing the outrageous-ness of monkeys and madmen and oiled braids, and loving every. darn. minute. but i aint gonna lie, i heart me a caesar salad, a strawberry lemonade and clean fingernails. i loved my work, but it is good to move on. i must be satisfied knowing it provided me with a deeper sense of humor, clarity, direction and motivation. its up to me to just accept the good...here's to accepting the good and moving in that direction.

the arrival.

as i exited the plane in chicago at 4:30am - i was greeted by my two besties: quite and clean. in a matter of 14 hours, overstimulation had ceased to exist, and i was gifted personal space, a self-forming line, and easy to read signs of what to do in the event of an emergency. it was a scene straight from the movie Babe, when only after knowing the secret sheep code could the herd understand Babe's requests, and in complete silence and without instruction, lead themselves through the obstacle course into the pen -to win the prize. i was that pig. i was that sheep. i won the grand prize. i stood muhaha-ing at all the aunties and uncles in the foreign entry cue - while i cruised by with my american 'chai is something you order from starbucks biiiittttcchhhes' comrades. customs was welcoming, i was overjoyed when the agent hit on me sans crotch dig, wink, or invasive energy - i let out a big 'aawwwwwww', as i was flattered. good to be home.

immediately, i bypassed baggage claim and found the nearest ladies room. i entered, stood with my eyes closed and took 5-7 deep breaths, frantically searching for some trace of filth....nothing....incredible. for the first time in six months i didn't have to hold my breath, or make a choice between stepping in liquid or liquid, or purposefully not wear my glasses to fuzzy up the situation. it was embarrassingly clean. tasteless air is underrated. there is no shame in the fact i love sitting down when i pee. it is euphoria knowing nothing can possibly attack you through the toilet-while you are seated. i celebrate the death of my internal conflict: the belief that using soap from the washroom somehow makes you less sanitary. like a good product of therapy, i felt safe and loved knowing i could lick the stall wall and not melt of dysentery four hours later. it's a gross truth and it was my reality.

seeing everyone.

being home and hugging everyone was wonderful. while gone, i was never really homesick for family and friends. from my end, there was no feeling of missing out. most of my friends are married or have kids - the days of going out dancing, vacationing, and relaxing are fading out. i knew people were living their lives, and they would still be doing so once i returned. on both sides of the globe our daily routines were monotonous, slowly completing what we have been trying to complete since we began. school. work. kids. sleep. bills. weekends. everyone's day - even mine - had these major headings, but constructed in different orders and colors. with the exception of not being able to make it home for the passing of a man who was a father figure throughout my life (Danny Seals), and the wedding of one of my best sisters (Courtney Gundry) - i felt confident with the distance. i missed my people. but it was good to leave, so i could be reminded of why i love them, why they love me, and why they are my people.

i haven't gone all out yet - eaten everything, seen everyone, pulled an all nighter dancing my heart away- but i've done enough to recognize that i have definitely returned to a new stage in my life and all the ridiculousness that ensues with new shiny stages.

a week or so after i got back Anna, Anisa and I were invited to a 16 year old birthday party for one of our friends in the Baha'i community. sweet 16 party, sounds easy enough right? who would have thought something so straight forward could actually give you the insight of what was to come. Anu's birthday was the persian tea, fingernail painting, place to be. her friends were adorable of course, but i was baffled how children (because that's what they are right?) can have such an intense sense of personal style and grown up sass to accompany such flavor. all i had at 16 was a lack of hair product and cleavage. well, welcome to the new generation. they have hair straighteners, and push-up bras. instead of dancing with the 'kids' in the other room - the 28 andnevertoolate club found ourselves sitting around the dining room table with the parents, discussing Obama's health care plan, politics, and intercultural marriage. my dream of sitting at the adult table had finally arrived, and i wasn't even employed. that night i had an epiphany. i had met Anu and her parents when she was 6. that's right. i have lived in Seattle for a decade. why does this make me feel old. that was more of a statement than a question.

later that week one of the girls friended me on facebook, which i accepted. as i snooped around her page, i clicked on her info to discover her birth year read 1990. my first thought was this had to be a mistake, there is no way a 10 year old could be on facebook, let alone want to friend ME?? and then i realized...it is almost 2010. I am almost 28. i have lower back problems and make the choice to buy and wear orthopedic shoes. i can identify flaxseed in a poopy diaper. i have spider veins. i like to drink hot water. a good nap sounds like a great plan. i watch Suze Orman and take notes. i don't care if she has a jacket addiction. i love her.

note: i will no longer befriend anyone on facebook whose birth year is pre- 1990. so if there are any of you out there reading this, please don't take it personally. also, if you are pre-1990 - some topics in this blog may be inappropriate and misleading about my character.

the plan of getting it together.

so, for my own sanity, i am definitely continuing to blog.

a while back, an episode of Clean Sweep on TLC made the point that we should respect and honor the things we cherish - and remove the things we don't. for example: keeping my home and possessions clean, donating clothes i don't use or need, removing the clutter and excess that hazes your ability to live your best life.

[yes. i am going to be 28. i fantasize about calling in on the Can I Afford it Segment on Suze's show. yes. I obsess about being that favorite guest assistant on Clean Sweep. i will make them cry damnit.]

i actually have come to see this outlet as something of value, something that organizes my thoughts and verbal outbursts, and reminds me of me. with the same immediate powers of the cinnabon center - it makes another day possible. the first part of my plan to get it all together.

cindy and artie, this does not mean that i will be correcting all grammar and spelling mistakes. i will never have it that together, sorry to disappoint. better look to max for that, he's the poet at Berkeley.

that's all i know for now.

yes please.

i smell the end.

2009-08-04T08:58:00.000-07:00

Before I left Seattle, i had the most vivid dream.

I was in India atop a huge sand dune, no civilization in sight, screaming at the top of my lungs into the desert sun. It reminded me of a silent scene from Babel. Soundless yet palpable. I stood in the sand, howling, punching, blaring my anger at the world. My throat, long black chow mein hair, and dad's red loose C&K t-shirt from the 70s, being sliced through by the gritty wind. The harder it blew, the more manic my rage. It was mocking me. My voiceless verbal assault ready to wrestle it into submission.

The dream was so startling, i woke up. Due to stress, I hadn't remembered a dream for months, and was surprised this one decided to stick.

I think its safe to say I had a lot of anger before this. A lot of misdirected and mis-intended emotions. A lot of unbalance. Too many things to do, and not having the foresight to start or finish any of them. Sometimes we run our lives, and other times our life runs us. Both are inevitable.

My time here is almost up people. I can't believe 6 months is allowed to escape like that. so quickly. I leave Luckland on the 10th. Anna's last day is tomorrow. my cindy is coming this friday - visiting for 2 weeks - before we both head home on the 20th.

Anna and I are shifting to Urvashi's house tomorrow, so this apartment can be cleared out and done with before we both leave. This evening has been filled with packing, tossing, washing, moving, and praising the sky for finding a hidden travel size Purel. i am sitting in my apartment, wearing a jacked red t-shirt, with the fans torturing my challenged bouffant. Look like ive been through Desert Storm without the desert. or storm. The rains psychotically starting and stopping. Tomorrow is a holy day (again), so tonight the mandir (hindu temple) across the street is on fire. No, not that kind of fire. It's blasting music to make sure allllll the gods can hear. hindu gods are the most sleep deprived of all the gods. we will be marching to this same 3 song track until 10am, guaranteed. all the furniture is piled in the kitchen/seating area, and since the rain can't make up its mind - every piece of underwear i own i have brought inside to dry, instead of out on the clothesline. i am surrounded by filthy clean clothes.

2 more weeks.

i don't know if it is because the date of my return is eminent, or just that i have been here for almost 6 months. the extra - ordinariness of this place, the daily exclamation marks, are losing their hold of me. difficulties are becoming less difficult, and the honeymoon is eclipsing. my football stadium of noise is no longer noise, more like elevator music with a lot of cowbell. yes the honking is still as loud, but it has lost it's power to completely immobilize me. of course the smells are still ripe, but i have grown oddly fond of the 7 deadly scents on my cycle rickshaw ride through the city. men still leer and i still yell, but i don't feel the same hatred and resentment as before. i don't internalize the negativity. walking home the other night a man on a rick screamed at us "Oh Yes, verrrrry nice item!" and then blew a kiss in our direction. i swallowed it, and spit back at him, "You are disgusting! You are a pig! Say hi to your wife!" and dear dear sweet Athena yelled "YOU MAKE ME WANT TO VOOOOOMMMIT!". The words just fell out of my mouth, no asking questions - just another day trying to get home.

the total eclipse of the heart has gone from 'im going to miss the people', to something greater. or little-er. depends on how you look at it.

*while walking home tonight. i passed the trash pile with the abandoned shacks, by the yogurt stand. instead of smelling garbage, i noticed the family of cows who have reclaimed their turf. to my elation they had 2 baby additions to their family. i was happy to notice.

*when deepmala cleans, we both hum to ourselves. two separate melodies.

*i get a tinge depressed when we arrive home, but the happy dirty dogs - all named Babo after anna's grandfather (since she sees his spirit in them) (i don't make it up, i just blog) - aren't there to greet us. kind of like i was being stood up.

*the Barista guy knows my drink, and plays early Enrique Iglesias upon my entry. he also calls me ma'm.

*at the intersection of death in the Haz, i choose to cross directly in front of a massive muffin top Tata trucks plowing through at full speed. I hold my hand out and use the magic 'thereisnowayyoucanrunmeovertruck,iamusingthemmagicsignal' signal. magic hand signal works every time.

*the hide and go seek game with the mouse that is crapping on my bathroom floor. i am at peace with the fact that we will not meet.

*the thickness of the air right before it finally decides to rain.

*surprises. buffalo milk. roti shaped like a monster.

so yeah, im sad to go. im going to miss the connections ive made. my co-workers. the kids. deepmala. athena. the guard across the street smiling and waving. movie theater intermissions. eating a mango by sucking it out through a hole in the top. laughing at ugliness and scabies and pregnant parasites. my fairly simple life and simple joys. its relieving to feel my difference pre and post l-town. the stress and anger diluted by an even stronger dose of contentment and gratitude. there isn't a lot of room for anger when you're full on happy and thankful. its a relief to have that feeling back. to remind myself of myself. and this time, i plan to hold on to it.

cindy comes very very very soon. i pray the blog will do her justice.

namaste y'all.

i look forward to showing my momma this.

2009-07-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

there are many things...

2009-07-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

....which have happened.

i just didn't feel they were blog worthy.

well, i take that back. here are the updates:

Cuz the monkeys weren't enough.

With no real change in our health (read: we aren't dead yet) - we were jonesing for a because my life isn't ridiculous enough fix. Yes yes, the hair is still falling etc....and although that may be exciting news to some of you - i am kind of over it. bald, and over it.

Because we are creative educated type women, we have taken to hunting the cockroaches hooking up on my bathroom floor at night. The little buggers hide inside the floor drains, and when its dark and quiet, the residents of drain no. 1 venture out to slut it up with the loose ladies of drain no. 2. That is, until I caught on. I hadn't yet done anything about the nightly party in my bathroom - im terrified of cockroaches. And these ones are big fat juicy suckers. I once peeked out from behind the wall and watched one struggling to smush itself back into one of the tiny drain holes - its ass wriggling around in the air - until it succeeded and returned to roachland below. disgusting. angry at being scared to enter my own bathroom after 8pm - i made the decision to overcome my enabling nature of cockroach city, and implemented a plan.

i will kill every last one of them.

The slaughter occurs while babies sleep. We whisper "Shhhhhhhhhh, we are hunting cockroaches..." and then tiptoe in the dark...slowly...calculated...and then SPLAT!! They ooze fear. you would too.

don't be too jealous.

The blogging fast is also in part to work picking up. quiet moments at home are spent napping off sweaty days- instead of writing about them. Just when i was convinced life was becoming normal and boring, I looked down at the back of my hand and noticed a rash forming. little raised clustered red bumps forming a long line, traveling throughout the web of my fingers.

there is no use lying to myself. this is no typical bug bite. i have scabies. of course. because i didn't feel unattractive enough. no adventure would be complete without the one skin rash that carries the weight of the world screaming 'you are dirty'. i feel like some character out of the Grapes of Wrath. "Elizabeth, bring me the lie - gonna scrub yew down. haven't had a scrubbin' since paw lost the harvest." I know this is a bit dramatic. and i know lie is for lice. and i know im not in cali or a sharecropper. but i am allowed to say it. scabies depresses.

I probably picked it up from some kid in a school, or in a village, or some friendly dog. Scabies is everywhere - everyone gets it - its no big deal. right? There is dirt and mites and bacteria - what do you want? yeah, I WANT TO NOT HAVE SCABIES.

To kill this mite crawling around under my skin - laying its little baby mite spawn - i have been applying Neem Oil. i am also scalding my hand each night with boiling water in hopes to seal the fate the damn things. its a difficult balance. purposefully burning the shit out of my hand, while making sure the temperature isn't hot enough to result in a skin graph. I thought i would give the Neem Oil and boiling water a couple days to see if there was any improvement. sorry sucker no go. it is still spreading. Neem Oil (dark brownish in color) smells a little something like.....dirty fermented ass...on a hot summer day.

it is actually kind of amusing. while i am dealing with my own oil issues- anna has hers. in her effort to do everything short of a scalp transplant to prevent the big head shave, she has taken to using Parachute Therapie hair fall solution - a hair growth treatment used by the local ladies who have had their olfactory glads removed. Anna religiously oils here hair every third night and then washes it the next morning. When she first started the treatment, i would sit in bed at midnight and wonder why i could suddenly smell the trash pile rotting outside. got a little closer, and realized it was her. Honeybucket eau de toilet, literally. one month in, it isn't working. but at least our night smells compliment each other. if you have a sensitive gag reflex (or you don't like friends who smell like shit) we are not your kind of people. you will throw up, and probably get scabies as well. athena and anna both have started itching.

tomorrow i plan on getting some 'real' medicine, the kind with western chemicals in it.

(we smell like the train toilet. mom are you ready?)
(yes the brown blob is what you think it is)

uptight americans need not apply.

Deepmala's son (i call him Beta meaning 'son') has been coming over more frequently. He is the most adorable 3 year old, full of curiosity, silliness and little boy attitude. clear gender differences are strongly defined at an early age (like any culture). The preference of boys over girls is no secret. Beta will run jump, get into trouble, demand pani tanda (cold water) from his mom - and get into a whole bunch of mischievous trouble. When Deempala is finished cooking, he will sit at the table and eat with us - slurping his dhal with one hand - munching on roti with the other. His sister (Gudia) sits quietly and smiles, does what she is told, much more under control. both are very sweet children. very intrigued by us ladies, our computers, our strange lives. We watch a lot of Tom and Jerry on youtube.

Beta is just a little younger than my nephew Devin in Seattle. And like my nephew, i am constantly overwhelmed with the fear that the child is going to hurt/kill himself and i could have done something to prevent it. Devin jumping on a trampoline gives me a heart attack. I was half terrified half overjoyed when rode his bike without training wheels. i had to hold my breath. i have nightmares of him poking his eye out as he furiously plays the drums (he is a drummer boy). i am a worrier. i blew on his food to make sure it won't burn him, gave him plastic spoons to play with, and sat with him with a whistle around my neck during his bubble baths - making sure he stayed above the water at all times. My poor poor children will be bubble wrapped until their 18th birthday. Can't you insert some sort of chip underneath the skin to act as a tracking device?

So you can imagine my shock when helping mommy time in the kitchen turned into a mantra meditation exercise for elizabeth to calm herself. i did end up storming into Anna's room to express my fear and concern. she of course calmed me by recalling the story of when she lived in africa, her mother would send her outside with some matches and a tin can to learn how to make her own fire. le sigh. I am so american.

(cutie pie has two knives, just in case one doesn't do the job)

thieves.

2009-07-12T11:54:00.000-07:00

So i didn't have to go very far to find monkeys.

Literally 1 hour after the last post, i was woken up from a 5pm nap, by Anna and Deepmala screaming, "MONKEYS! MONKEYS!" "IN THE KITCHEN!!"

"WWWWWWHHHHHHAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTT?" was i dreaming???

I have never seen monkeys in this neighborhood. Actually the ONLY real-up-close-and-personal monkey i have seen in india so far was the man dressed as one, who tried to attack me in Varanasi. As i described before, people here fear them. They can attack you, bite you, steal you. That's right, i said steal. I found out a plethora of monkey stories through my co-workers. I was going to wait to disclose them until after tuesday when i go to the monkey bridge to see the monkey banana man in all his glory. but since i have managed to have good luck AGAIN in lucknow, we can settle for now.

Amit's Story:

Amit was stolen by a monkey when he was one year old. I will write it again, in case you feel you misread. HE WAS STOLEN BY A MONKEY AS A BABY AT THE AGE OF ONE. As all fairy tales go....his mother had just finished giving him a proper oil massage and laid him down beneath the shade of a mango tree. Suddenly, a mother monkey swooped down and picked him up- taking him high up into the tree - keeping him there for sometime. Obviously his mother was beside herself as she screamed and pleaded with the monkey to please come down and release her child. After some yelling from the father, the uncle, the mother, the everyone - the monkey finally came down after an hour (ONE HOUR i said) and returned the baby unharmed. Amit hates monkeys. They give him the heeby geebys.

Stories of monkeys taking babies is quite frequent. This goes for not only monkeys, but dogs and other animals as well. Take Mowgli for example.

Richa's story:

Richa was in her home one morning when she turned around to find a monkey had sauntered into her kitchen. Not wanting a commotion, she backed away to let it do its thing, hoping it would quickly leave. The monkey approached the refrigerator, opened the door, and stood there side-saddle as it took inventory. It helped itself to two eggs, cracking each one into its mouth separately. Richa claimed the animal cracked an egg as if it were a chef on the Food Network. Monkeys and meringue, yuummmmy. Still unsatisfied, it remained there with the door open, looking for what else was appetizing. Seeing that biryani wasn't available, it settled for the bread- which it pulled out with one hand. It then copped a monkey squat on the banister, where it stayed until it had consumed the whole loaf.

Another time, Richa stood by and watched three monkeys sit properly at her kitchen table with a bucket of butter and bushel of bananas. They ate the butter by the hand fulls, chatted about their weekend holiday, licked their fingers after every drop was finished, and then moved onto the bananas. Ate every single one. Richa is the one person here i have met that has a deep LOVE and affection for all animals. However, monkeys make her very nervous.

Deepmala's story:

Told to me in hindi of course, but this is what i got out of it. Deepmala was outside folding clothes on a table. She heard something beneath her, and looked under the table to find two monkeys and a mirror. Both were using the mirror to get a better look at each other's butts. They stood there, showing off their backsides, entertaining themselves, laughing and monkeying around (sorry). Suddenly, they noticed her and got annoyed that she had disturbed them. To retaliate, they attacked her, bit her on the arm, stole the iron, and pushed off. Deepmala is terrified of monkeys and has the scar to prove it.

I have been told these tales are a dime a dozen. Everyone i talk to says any person on the street can give you a monkey story, each one being more outstanding than the next. No biggie.

I don't know why these stories are so entrancing, aaaaannnnnd I don't really care to know why. For me, they are just magical - so out of my element - so incredible to hear and see. I know monkeys can be dangerous, i know they carry diseases, i know i am from a small town in tennessee, i know i know i know i know - but WOW. monkeys, bananas, butter, and a baby?? YES PLEASE! I am overly elated at the fact that this is a place where stories of monkeys are just part of the flavor. Kind of like how we at home have transfats. They may seem like a lot of fun (and they ARE), but realistically, are dangerous company to keep.

So, to answer the previous question, NO. I was not dreaming about the monkey madness:)

A momma and a baby monkey were roof hopping, and decided to stop by and see what we had for them to nosh on. We were an easy target. third floor, door unlocked, napping americans. They walked right in via the front screen door. Deepmala found them in the kitchen - screamed bloody murder - and startled them so badly they managed to escape with just a peach. Anna and I spent the next hour, bating them with day old roti - trying to coax them back onto our terrace - to get a good shot of the culprits. It worked rather nicely in fact. Besides Anna being chased back into the house a couple times - we got our proof.

what they got.

what they left.

us being brave.

us being really brave.

us being a little too brave.

deepmala being brave, showing us her monkey bite.

the peach.

sorry cheney.

2009-07-09T02:43:00.000-07:00

Near death experiences? Check!

Bribing the train conductor? Check!

Finally seeing giant mamalians walking around my neighborhood? CHECK!

Don't you love how the dream wedding in India involves ELEPHANTS?

Now, on to my next search: MONKEYS in Lucknow.

One of my co-workers (Tanuja) explained to me that on Tuesday mornings there is a man who walks the bridge in town (monkey hang out central) - and feeds them bananas. She says the monkeys don't push or squirm or swear at each other to get fed, but line up- one by one- take their banana, say thank you, and then leave. I will be taking pictures of this asap and reporting back.

Officialness

2009-07-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

Just in case you haven't figured it out already, it is official.

Anna and I have officially lost it.

Over the course of this past month, probably since Mr. Paul wouldmakeagreathusband Javid got us into the Taj for a breaky, we have become painfully pathetically delusionally hopelessly incoherently inappropriately immature.

Yes, we were pretty stupid before. I know. but we are light years ahead now. we laugh uncontrollably when coworkers try to talk seriously. we poke each other under the table at restaurants. we dance around to motown - imitating our mothers' dancing ability and creating the conversation they would have if they ever each other at a club. we have taken to ordering coke, nachos, AND popcorn at the movies. we walk around at home in our underwear- giving the neighbors a show and tell- in our hotbox of an apartment. we have attained the retched energy of 6 year old girls at a princess party, who snorted a couple pixy stix in the back, and then proceeded to have their way with the jumping thing.

I don't know if it's because we now only have 1.5 months left of this lucknow business - and the bright clorox bleached light at the end of the tunnel makes us giddy with hope. Maybe it was the Taj followed by our second trip to Delhi to see Jeevy last weekend which sent us over the edge (more about that later). I don't know. It could be the fact i am becoming uglier and she is becoming balder minute by minute. Its probably the lethal high from the Larabars and Extra peppermint chewing gum my mom sent in her care package. Whatever it is, we cannot control ourselves any longer. we have lost our minds completely.

Here are the most eminent clues as of late:

Star Trek.

Breaking News, Anna is a fan of Star Treck TNG. Im not joking around. This is a woman who has tutored me in Ruhi Book 6 during college, we have sunbathed together at Greenlake and just barely escaped getting our asses kicked by a heard of obese chicanos. she has cleaned up my puke. Even though I have known her for 7 years, she has just recently decided to reveal this deep dark gem.

One morning we were sitting at the kitchen table smelling ourselves in silence. she looked over at me and spoke, "You know, sometimes when I am working in the office, I want to turn to you and say 'Make it So' like Jean-Luc Picard in Star Trek..." (enter hand gesture and FRENCH accent on the John Luke Piccard).

..........everyone holds their breath and waits...... ...... ... . . .

I was so embarrassed by this blurtation of honesty - and hilarity of the situation - i literally began to cry for everyone involved.

So now that she was out of the battlestar galactica closet, we had to go see Star Trek the movie when it came to Lucknow. I had never watched Star Trek in my life, I was too busy with Little House on the Prairie - but i am a loyal friend - so we went. good movie, but i understood nothing due to the fact Anna was blabbing on and on in Vulcan the entire time. And in true Vulcan fashion, anna mind melded me right then and there in front of the gods, aunty and uncle across the isle, and Jean Luc...fascinating.

And like any inappropriate joke, or extreme accent, or catchy idiotsyncracy, i was immediately hooked from that moment on. it is possible we have taken it too far though. i should have known there was going to be a problem when Amit (coworker) caught us mind melding each other randomly throughout the last half of the movie. or in the rickshaw ride home. or at the office. or on skype with seattle. or in the middle of the night. or on facebook.

if you don't watch out, i will mind meld you.

Dr. K Chaudhry.

Dr. K Chaudhry is the mommas milk that sees us through this endeavor. He is the ringleader of our rickshaw wallah riding, mango eating, kurta sweating circus. If you don't know who this man is, you haven't spent enough time talking to us. I am quite the fan. She is quite the junkie.

In a perfect world, Anna and I would show up at his house in Delhi (we have done our research), introduce ourselves as fans from America, and he would invite us in to sit on his couch in the background as he records his grammy worthy performances of Metalica, Michael Jackson, Celine Dion, and Avril Lavigne. The good Dr. got his start on youtube after he auditioned for some talent tv show in india- but was rejected for lack of ability. He decided to prove to the officials and the world that he was in fact talented - and 700 songs later - we never miss a new upload. He has become quite pleased with himself, confident in his prowess (as can be seen here), and even commemorated the death of our dear Michael Jackson. Dear sweet watermelon eating man.

We laugh, we cry, we religiously imitate. At night as india gets its beauty rest, his warble of a mating call can be heard four cows down, three trash piles over. He has become one of our constants throughout all of this. no disappointments.

Hair.

Vanity has officially flown out the window here. Our fate has been officially sealed. It has dried up along with the cow shit i stepped in today. been removed along with my desire to eat anything with the words palak or paneer in the title. I have mentioned in several blogs how Anna has lost 1/3 of her hair. Well, i am happy to report that her hair still is falling out at the same rapid rate - a pace so intense, it would make a woolly mammoth nervous. Anna has become incredibly obsessive about her follicular regeneration - which she rightfully should be. Please don't inquire about it. Please don't give her your opinion. Please don't offer any thoughtful tips. She will regurgitate every sleepless night medical blog she has read, every webMD self help cure she tried, every guru she has prayed to. Its a sensitive topic. We have in fact had a couple real arguments about it which have lead to me being wildly insensitive and her crying. The only non-rejectable reassurance i have managed to offer is: if she actually goes bald, i will shave my head and wear large earrings along with her.

I shouldn't have said anything. My hair got jealous of all the attention her hair was receiving - so it has started falling out as well. It is not as noticeable as anna (yet), but it is definitely happening. My bouffant has become mouse-ish and ordinary. I really took noticed on the train ride to Delhi last week. In an effort to relax, I took my hair down in the ac car, began to stretch out, and there in my hand was a clump. Anna informed me the average person sheds 50 - 100 hairs day. I ran my fingers through it again. oops. another clump. Just for fun, i began counting the individual strands. 10 minutes later I reached 100 and stopped.

I should mention Athena's hair was lonely too, and went on strike as well. What is stranger than seeing a white lady, chinese lady, and mexican lady in a cycle rickshaw? Seeing a bald white lady, chinese lady, and mexican lady in a cycle rickshaw. I'll make sure to cut out the newspaper article for you.

Hair is a woman's crown and glory? After this experience i would say so. After us being so sick, it is the only physical feature i have left empowering me to feel attractive. and now that this is pretty much gone, we have lost hope. and lost our minds along with it. my pretty is an endangered species, 200 a day and counting. anna no longer does activities which would put stress on the tresses. no more getting a hwbd (hair wash blow dry), no more running at the gym, no more letting it be to fly around in the rickshaw. she won't even stand in front of the ac for fear it will be blown off. I wait for the day she comes home from work, walks through the door, reaches up and grabs a hold firmly, and removes her hat of hair. "Here hold this, i gotta pee."

On a typical saturday night, you can find Anna and I in our underwear - in 100 degree heat- frantically chasing after the rat sized hair tufts foxtrotting across the kitchen floor to the tune of the ceiling fans. we lay in bed and feel the strands take their last breath and let go. falling in the food. clogging the drains. onto the keyboard. tickling you as you sleep. You can actually see it floating through the air if the light is right. Sometimes when she is on the computer she notices a big chunk clinging to her shirt. She reverently cups it in her hands, says a silent prayer, and lets it fall. all three of us american morons fearing the inevitable. greeting the nightmare receding hairline each morning with a hopeful smile. saying 'up yours' as we stare it down before we go to bed each night. Poor Deepmala has been sweeping and sweeping. The more that falls, the more we tell her to clean. Denial denial denial.

The other evening anna and i were frustrated, balding, and overheated due to a power outage. Lying in bed with just the light from the laptop. Anna bargaining with God - for the 5th time that week - to please turn the electricity back on (this is a common occurrence when the power goes out, and so far we have found that we get a better response if she does the talking). We glanced in each other's direction, and for the first time recognized what had actually happened to us. It was the epiphany of the year. We had done it. It was all over. We had peaked.

Some girls peak in middle school, some in high school, some when they go away to college and start waxing their goatee and wearing cute scrunchy brown boots. Unfortunately this wasn't our fate. We had peaked in hair ball city India. Not out with friends dancing, or on a beach with our husbands, or at the park - being one of those ridiculous women who looks even sexier after a couple of kids. We had peaked in cowtown. I was on the toilet and she was checking for lice in the mirror when we should have been out photographing our 6 month window of opportunity. i could smell it. we had become the most disgusting, sickly, smelly, bony, unattractive women on the planet. We just had to say it out loud to fully commemorate the momentous occasion. I of course went first.

"Honey, you look like shit." loving smile.
Gaping silent laughter "Honey so do you!"

we laughed as if our life depended on it. how ugly we had become. wiping the sweat from my upper lip trying to make its way into the crease of my mouth, she went fishing for a couple more strands and was actually surprised at the 50 she caught in one go. and for the next 20 minutes, and laughed until we about threw up.

Who is with us for a good head shave?

Paul Javid. I love Paul Javid.

2009-06-24T11:55:00.000-07:00

Paul Javid is a good man. He is my friend, and after this post, you are going to wish he was yours too.

Paul Javid

relationship status: single? (you should hope so)
eye color: brown
hair color: brown
height: 5'9"
weight: 180 lbs (he's fit y'all)
hobbies/interests: laughing, rock climbing, travel, working hard towards the betterment of humanity, Berkeley, eating bananas, making children smile, rugby, being a swell guy, doing the impossible, creating special awwwww moments.

Baldy and I both know Paul from Seattle. In some twisted way, he is in fact responsible for Anna working here in Lucknow with DSH - and in turn me being here as well. However, Paul is no longer in Lucknow. He is at home working hard, getting his masters, sleeping on white sheets, eating cesar salads, and becoming an even greater dude.

Even though Paul doesn't live here anymore, he still knows 'here'. he understands it. he gets it. and there are only three people i can count who could possibly get this: baldy, this bag of bones, and mr. amazing himself.

As i said before, Anna and i have been not well. Paul, being the good man he is, thought we ought to have a proper mini vacation. A clean bed to go home to. A climate controlled environment. A pool to lounge by and room service to spoil us. That's right ladies. Paul Javid made it so. He did the unthinkable. He booked us a relaxing weekend at the Taj.

Paul Javid is my hero, and he should be yours too.

And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

2009-06-23T11:07:00.000-07:00

... Never in all my life, would i have thought to utter these words.....

My Indian Maid Has Lost Her Friggn' Mind

I have been blessed to experience the indian novela which is Deepmala.

If you remember, last episode of Deepmala in Da House we heard the story told of The Stone and the Roti.

The Protagonist (Deepmala): A very sweet young indian woman with kidney stones, hums love songs as she diligently cooks and cleans. The geckos sing back up.

The Bad Guy (mio): The spoiled and privileged american girl embarrassed to have help - but still manages to gchat and sip guava juice as the maid scrubs her floor.

Over time, Deepmala's story has strangely morphed from a tear jerker - to a made for tv mystery of Emmy winning proportions.

Deepmala is a lovely lady. However, out of my life's quirky characters she is one of the strangest anomalies i have ever come across. she is not the best maid, nor the best cook. She has difficulty remembering, always has an excuse why she can't come to work- but still asks for a raise, misplaces things constantly [i.e. lost her salary (like all of it)], and has a history of playing the sympathy card of to collect donations. For me, trying to rationalize her thought process evokes the feeling of the first time I attempted to sit in one of those chairs. the kind where you aren't really sure where the arse goes. its confusing. its awkward. its frustrating. its a bunch of little 'Now how the hell is this a good idea?' moments all strung together. She is just flaky as all hell. But- eh- what can i say, 4:30 - 7:30 m-s we are hooked.

Lately, we have been lucky. This season, episodes of Deepmala have in no way disappointed its fans. Her character has progressed from a one dimensional young lady - to a woman filled with attitude, bossiness, sass, and secrecy. Maybe because i am paying closer attention, maybe she is just getting comfortable with us - and this is the REAL deal (OOOOOOHHHH GOOD plot twist!) Either way, I am happy to report, she has now began yelling when she is displeased. It 1st happened the other day. After arriving 2 hours late, she became angry at the site of the mango peel i left in the sink. She was pissed because i was an idiot and cut off too much of the meat of the fruit along with the skin...so i got a scolding. anna got chastised when the bread and eggs went bad while we were out of town for a couple days..so she got an ear full as well. i understand this is a bit wasteful - but the reality is - things go bad. specialy when they don't have preservatives in them. lately she will randomly start going off in hindi - yelling about a bucket - or there is no water - or its hot outside. aren't these normal idocyncracies of india? isn't it no big secret it is a zillion degrees out, and the power has gone off for the 5th time today? its quite the treat to witness! I will quickly continue so that you may see for yourself what kind of craziness we got a brewin' in lucknow.....

Bluntly put, Deepmala is weird and does a lot of weird shit. you can quote me on that. i feel the most enjoyable part is she believes no one knows how weird she is - like she has created some alternate universe of 'normal' where she keeps her quarkiness a secret. she is the worst closet weirdo on record. one of the oddities that is Deepmala, which i have grown to accept, is watching her do the dishes. She randomly THROWS cans and bottles up into a little shelf in the kitchen wall - hinding them from plain view. It goes a little somethin' like this:

wash wash wash hummmmingtomyself hummm hummmmmmmingggggggg CHUCK with the left hand!!!!hummmmminggggggsomehindilovesonnnnng hmmmmwashhhh hmmm THROW THROW right hand! twitter twitter rinse rinse chiiiiirrrrp chirrrrp hmmmmmmm wash wash wash hummmmhmhmmmm TOSS!!

the first time i saw her do it, we thought we were watching some sketch from snl. its incredible. instead of taking these things out with the trash, she has taken to chucking them up to the shelf - making a little garbage collection. ?????????? ok. i thought to myself , that is kind of strange. yeah, but this is part Deepmala's appeal. its why we watch.

*why are there bags of snuff poorly hidden in my windowsill? ok. that's just Deepmala.
*why am i missing shampoo? Deepmala is secretly using it.
*how did watermelon rinds and seeds suddenly appear all over my bathroom? was it the watermelon fairy? No, Deepmala just decided to eat watermelon in the bathroom. thats all.

Our little made for tv mystery has all the all the necessary makings for prime time success. You would request it on InDemand. You would put it up on youtube.

All of this was in good indian fun. i could deal. i love a good laugh. Until, last night. OHHHH last night pushed me to the edge.

Please let me repeat:

... never in all my life would i have thought to utter these words....

My Indian Maid Has Lost Her Friggn' Mind

Athena was cleaning up the kitchen, and decided to collect the pizza box from the top of the kitchen shelf.....and this is what she found.....

And naturally, as i FUMED in disgust, anna and athena had a laugh throwing it all away.

its official. this whole country - even the maid - is trying to kill me.

One this is for sure, you are going to want this shit to be syndicated.

Tune in next week as the saga continues!

baldy and a bag of bones go to the hosptial.

2009-06-18T05:48:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie. Anna and I have been sick. Not the kind of - oh i have a cold and feel sheepish. The kind where you think "OK, It's been a month of health issues. Im getting worse. Maybe I should go to a doctor? Hmm, I can feel my coccyx jut out when i sit on the floor. My arm just fell off. I just blacked out sitting still in my chair. Yeah, i should go to a doctor."

So last week we caved and went to the nearby hospital, Saint Joseph's. It is a private hospital with nuns dressed in white, and Jesus statues, and a close rickshaw ride away. Of course we were idiots to think we could go and get all of our health concerns 'sorted out' in a day. in one of the most populated states in india. in one of the most populated countries of the world. The hospital reminded me of the train station. Lots of families, lots of lines, lots of milling about. No one is really going anywhere.

(thrilled as usual)

Basically this is the lowdown: You first travel downstairs to get a number to see a doctor. If you are a first time patient at St. Joseph's you need to be issued a 'book'. It is your responsibility to keep this book with you at all times (FOREVER apparently). You bring it with each visit, and each time the doctor writes his notes down - medication prescriptions - further tests to be taken- etc. In a nutshell, it's a complete record of your medical history, so the hospital doesn't have to keep the records of everyone they treat (i am sure that would be nearly impossible). You also must provide your name, religion, phone number, and address. Anna filled her religion section: Baha'i. I left mine answerless. By 9:00am, she was Hindu, and I was Christian. great start to our day.

(this is anna excited about our day)

We were number 10 in in line, for room #10, so we patiently sat on the benches in the main room, in front of Jesus, in 110 degree heat, for 2 hours...waiting to be called. There were about 15 rooms along the parameter of the main room - all taking patients. Some treating #4, some #45, some #62. I was grateful to get number 10.

Our doctor we were randomly assigned was actually helpful (i know that sounds strange). He listened to our concerns, asked questions, took our privacy seriously as men randomly barged in to sell stuff. He wanted to be thorough. i was relieved. things were going well at first. however we did hit a slight hiccup in my evaluation when he took my bloodpressure.

1st time.....pause. look of concern.
2nd time....pause....confusion.
third time.

"Madam, are you OK?"
"Yes, Im fine, is everything OK?"
"Your bp is 80/60."
"Is that normal?"
"The lowest you should have is 100. You are at 80. Would you like to be admitted to the hospital for a couple days to rest?"
"......um... (enter thought: me lying in hospital bed in room with 10 indian women staring at me. no bra. iv drip in my arm.).......no, im fine. i have to work. (thankfullsoutherngirlsmile)."
"Okay (youwesternwomenaregoingtodieinthisheat head bob)."

He prescribed a plethora of meds, and a lot more tests for the both of us to have done: chest xrays, blood work up, urine/stool, testing the thyroid, making sure anna didn't have diabetes, abdomen ultrasounds...LOTS of fun stuff. It took us all week to get it all done. All the tests, the xrays, the reports. After fighting to hold my place in line for 3 days, glaring at and pushing old women trying to cut in front of me, children asking me for money to for medicine they can't afford (some lying - some telling the truth)... i had had enough. i will never go to a hospital again. i will just die at home. it was too exhausting. and after all that, my time, energy, missing work - all i thought was- i better had had some condition worth having...like an all paid inclusive vacation for 2 to the carribean lodged between my spleen and whatever is next to the spleen. or a ceasar salad.

the doctor looked at my results and reported everything was 'normal', except for some mild hepatomegaly in my uterus/liver which came up in the abdomen ultrasound. he say not to worry, but prompted me to go see a 'lady doctor' just to make sure. this frustrated me. i know 'normal' is relative. different places. different cultures. but apparently, in india, even though i didn't feel normal, i was normal. if my bp got any lower i could slip into a coma, don't worry - everything is fine. anna has lost a third of her hair - don't worry - everything is under control. we were two perfectly unhealthy girls, given 'healthy' thumbs up. lucky lucky ladies.

we made an appointment for us to see the gynecologist (aka: the lady doctor).

Note: i had thought retelling experiences of getting over my inner fears or crapping my pants in varanasi would be on the top of my 'difficult subjects to write about' list.

i am overjoyed to report that i was wrong.

may i please start by saying i don't know of anyone who actually LOVES to go to the gynecologist (if you do, please inform me). Its not like its as bad as getting a skin graph, or going to get your hemorrhoids looked at. it is after all, a mostly painless and informative examination. but for me, there are better places to be - more fun to be had elsewhere - than having someone poke around downtown.

just so you know, i did go to the p. poker before i left for india, and got a clean bill of health. Unfortunately the abdominal ultrasound at the hospital detected something different. So, i obliged.

For those who aren't aware, when you go to the 'lady doctor' in the states, the doctor is very aware of you as the patient...there is consultation, feelings and emotions are discussed, she lets you know the order things, what she is going to examine when, what she is doing before she does it. there are no surprises. your comfort is top priority. Its easy to relax. Now, I have heard the bedside manner of indian doctors is a bit different, so i was trying to prepare myself mentally. Doctors and medical staff are rougher, quick to get things done. There isn't any tiptoeing around nerves or potential hurt feelings. But if you think about it, there isn't a lot of time for that sort of thing when there are huge amounts of people to fix, and not so much time to fix them in.

My boss Urvashi found out we had to go see the lady doctor and immediately made the arrangements to take us herself (with the driver of course). We went to her personal gal- the best in Lucknow - a Dr. Chandrawati. Its incredible. Urvashi and Anna both know how to get things done, but on two completely opposite planes. Anna is the one to know if you need to get a rickshaw, bribe a train conductor, or get down and dirty with the chaiwala on the corner. Urvashi (a woman who knows everyone who is anyone) is the force who calls meetings with government officials in order to persuade them do what she needs them to do, barges in and demands prompt service to be delivered, and gets you into the lady dr without an appointment when there are 45 women waiting in front of you. There is no number taking with her. She is a godsend.

So in we went. two western women and queen Urvashi herself. we waited around for about 40 minutes, finally Dr. Chandrawati came out of 'surgery', walked through the room and spotted us (which is kind of like identifying a 3 tall giraffes in Antarctica). Urvashi inquired about her daughter, introduced us, and said we needed to be seen immediately. The doctor kindly asked us to wait in the AIR CONDITIONED office across the room. she would send someone for us when she was ready. Urvashi of course had to run off, and left us to relax in our private waiting room. Done and done, as anna would say.

30 minutes later we were taken into her office. They didn't seat us in the regular room with the other indian women- but put us in the examination room itself. A small room with two examination tables and a 'privacy' wall about 4 feet high between them. Anna and I sat there, awaiting our fate looking around for an escape hole. Underneath each table was a bucket containing clear solution and used gloves (some bloody and some not so bloody). All i remember is anna saying "i wanna know why some of those have blood all the way up to the wrist. elizabeth?? do you see what im talking about???". i heard her, but couldn't respond. i was fixated on the woman lying down on the table in front of us. we were facing the bottoms of her feet...and they were ....getting ready to...... "um, anna...are they going to...?" we began fidgeting, adverting our heads, situating ourselves in nervousness. when i thought of coming to india for a personal experience, this wasn't what i had in mind......awwwwwwkward........ and then just before things got too personal, someone finally moved us. we ended up sitting on the next bed with our backs to her. thank god. i thought we were safe. i obviously thought too soon.

2 seconds later the doctor herself walked in. we both reviewed our health problems. i showed her my ultrasound report, let her know ive lost a lot of weight and have been sick, blah blah blah. anna briefed her on her hair loss, weakness, and other health issues. She took note of our problems, smiled and said "OK, lie down." I looked to Anna, quipped 'good luck, you go 1st!' with a smirk, and attempted to leave the room. "Nonono elizabeth, you too - you lie down." suddenly the scooby in me spoke, "HOOOOUUUUUHHH?" i stopped in dread, turned around, and saw the other bed was free now as well. great. I walked to the other side. The assistant held a sheet up, told me to take of my stuff and lie down. Apparently anna and i do everything together here. e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.

Lets just say the next 5 minutes i spent on that table will forever be burnt in my memory. This marks the point when india had taken enough of my sass, bitch slapped me across the face, served myself back to myself on a platter, lit a cig and sauntered off to get some chai. have i not LEARNED to expect the unexpected? All the things i felt, saw, and heard: blood, forceps, removing objects, white knuckles screaming in silence, five sets of hands poking my stomach. Never again will the phrases "very very very very bad fungal infection." and "Oh yes, its a rather LARGE tumor." have such weight in my heart and stomach.

After the terrorist attack of the entire southern hemisphere, i quickly got dressed. My insides screamed "WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED TO US?!?!?!", but i was silent. Anna and i sat at dr's desk in the middle of 30 indian women, as she let us know what we needed to do. We nodded. Anna held back tears. We held hands. She got a list of meds. I got a list of meds and a referral for ANOTHER ultrasound. I was to get it asap and come back to see her the next day at 11:00. "Don't worry" she said, "...im sure everything is fine."

We stumbled out of guantanamo, traumatized beyond our wildest nightmares. i rhetorically asked..."Anna? What the hell just happened?" "Don't worry honey..." anna held it together, went in to give me an eskimo kiss, and in her best Arnold impression stated, "You don't have a TUMA."

So in our fragile state, we did what any other smart american girls would do: we walked to the nearest 5 star hotel, called a car service to take us home, and ate a big plate french fries as we contemplated how we were going to break the news to our mothers. walking with our arms intertwined, we made sure to curse everything and everyone we saw. the men. the trash. the dogs rummaging. the birds mocking us. the holy cows. the noise. the indianess of it all.

We made an appointment for my second ultrasound (internal kind this time - woo friggn hoo) the next day. I was supposed to see a woman, but her schedule didn't work with ours - so i opted for the man doctor option. The receptionist making the appointment was reluctant to let me have it (the doctor available was a man after all, and i was....well...a woman), but it turned out that since i was married - it was OK that a man examine me. lucky lucky girl.

so the next day, i woke up early, and went to see about this alleged TUMA. The MAN doctor started off by talking to me about how his cousin lives in Seattle- which i tried to block out - and then moved on to feeling my stomach. He asked me if i needed to urinate. i said no. he said to go try. so i went and peed. i returned to the table and we began with the procedure. He then told me again, "I thought I told you to go urinate?" I was confused. "I did. I can't go anymore." silence "Hmmmmm. Well you have quite a lot of urine." Stupefied.

So here is the deal, this whole time i just assumed that my inability to pee was because i didn't have to. I thought i was sweating out all the water I drank. THUS no pee. I mean, its HOT here. I had NO IDEA my broken body was retaining 250ccs of urine! YEAH, there is your TUMA bitchesssss.

Back at dr. lemme indianize you, i ran some more urine and blood tests. i showed her allll my results and she of course informed me everything was normal- besides a liver infection/inflammation, and my 80 year old inability to fill a urine test cup. She dismissed me with medications to take. i will be taking them.

So, in short, anna and myself are slowly on the mend. we are still a weak pair, all full of talk and no walk. Even though we may be a little slower physically, we are quick to remember the positives of this situation.

Let's just review the scary symptoms and their positive counterpart outcomes shall we?

Serious hair loss: real human hair wigs in various drag queen colors.
Serious infection of the delicates: i will never return to lucknow ever again.
Serious weight loss/weakness/blackouts: we can get a leg wax for 5$.
Serious 'i am starting to look like a sewar rat' disease: n/a.
Serious inability to release urine: elastic waste bands and Ol' Country Buffet.

But through it all, being sick has provided me with time to unwind, relax, medicate myself (lucknow is better on medication), and most importantly -thanks to an aquaintence in Haifa- i am currently spending my time surfing one of the most excellent websites i have ever come across.

You are so welcome.

El Miedo

2009-06-13T00:19:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been reviewing life experiences, focusing on different parts of my character - and looking at how each part is a direct result from personal tests and adventures.

For example:

Experience: Being the sister of a younger brother and daughter of a single mother.
I Learned: I am the goddess of multitasking. i am stupidly funny. I know what you need, even before you do. Also, i have an unhealthy (but happy) relationship with this stuff.

Experience: Going to college.
I Learned: I am a lot smarter than I give myself credit for, and actually enjoy learning. I am stupidly funny. Don't trust people (young and old) who appear to have it all perfectly together. 9 times out of 10 they have no idea what the hell they are doing - just like you. I am a great bullshitter. I should have been an art major.

Experience: Getting Married.
So far I have Learned: I am better at giving than receiving love. I am a chronic worrier. Boundaries are healthy. Listening is much more effective than talking at times. I am my mother. i am homebody. mom did a good job raising me. I am a hard worker. i am stupidly funny.

So, throughout this short experiment God likes to call my life, I have recognized some basic things about elizabeth. At the ripe old age of 27.75 I can actually list some of the things which make me tick- what i need from you- what i don't need from you. This list will probably change as early as next month, but please know this is quite a feat, since I remember not so long ago being completely clueless when it came to knowing myself. embarrassingly clueless. This is not to say i am any less clueless now, and its also not to say I have it all 'figured out'...oh we are definitely not saying that. no ma'am. Like, i am not completely sure what i want to do with with my life - but i definitely am closer to knowing what i DON'T want to do. and that is a great feeling. It just feels good being able to know yourself, even if its just a little bit.

One thing on my list, I am a firm believer that all things (good and bad) happen for a reason. All life's trials and messes are there just to make me a more colorful person. A more complete, capable, and 'with it' human. well, maybe not 'with it' and capable - but definitely colorful.

Im not saying i don't loathe these experiences. Stupid obstacles and detours roughing up my little path. Some annoying pebbles in my shoe, some boulders I dodge, and some are effin landmines i unfortunately can't escape. Some obstacles I can see from a mile away, but then there are others that sneak up, and knock the wind out of me. Everyone has their own personal landmines and pebbles. Everyone loves a : A what the hell was that moment, or some i have just been shot in the face experience. On one level, how you handle them reminds you of your growth and progression as a person. And on other levels, it just plain sucks ass. For me, its difficult to not dwell too much on the sucking ass part.

So yeah, the reason behind this post.

I am currently in the process of working through an annoying pebble that has been a constant companion for me, and has been since i can remember. Fortunately (or unfortunately) this trip to India has brought it up to the surface. Maybe its the fact that i don't have a television, maybe its the fact im going to be 28, or maybe im just getting tired of me.

its Fear. So much fear i fear.

I know people have different quantities of fear. But for me, i somehow must have gotten a really good dose of it along the way and i haven't been able to shake it, dilute it, unload it, or whatever it.

I am not referring to the basic normal fear stuff (which i have in abundance as well):

* i want to put a permanent helmet on my 3 year old nephew
* driving on the freeway in general is scary as all hell
* the fear of drying a bread knife and cutting off all your fingers
* fear that my loved ones won't make the right choices for themselves
* fearing people who come over will look behind the shower curtain

Im talking about the self sabotage fear. the type that prevents you from living your full potential - that halts your growth by not allowing the development of your given talents. the type that has the ability to alter your future peace. the real fear we should be fearful of.

Bluntly put, i fear expressing myself....shocking i know. but understand I don't mean VERBAL forms of self expression. i think i have the verbal part covered thanks, we are currently working on pulling that back a little. or a lot. Im talking about not talking. Writing, painting, tweezing, singing, photography, interpretive dance, whistling. whatever. Oh my God how i love these things, how they inspire.....But one would think, if i loved them, if they feed my soul, if they were a part of my identity - then WHY am i so PAINFULLY shy and incapable when it comes to doing them!? Sing a solo- diarrheaville . Write something to read out loud -no way jose. Paint me a picture - i have to file my paper piles. I feel judged before i start. All my ideas are moronic. I am suddenly 4 years old. Self criticism becomes my best friend. defeated.

The sick justification is the fear. Do it well, or don't do it at all. The sense that for it to be worth doing, it must be of a certain quality, and im not capable of delivering such quality. Thus, nothing happens. Maybe this comes from growing up in such a creative hot spring filled with brilliant artists. The critical nature of my family? The brilliant could afford to be critical...they were....well, brilliant. Maybe its my self esteem. Maybe i haven't learned to get over myself and other people. Anyway. I can finally say, I am slowly getting over the fear. Like i said before, all things happen for a reason. Thanks to my bff mother india. (here's a good video to explain what bffs do together).

I experience a lot of 'normal fear' here. A language I don't understand. A culture that seems a bit wacky at times. A lot of men staring at you, taking pictures of you, laughing at you (unfortunately its all about male frustration. im not even going to lie). Doing wrong more than doing right. Getting yourself in potentially unsafe situations (translation: it was unsafe. i admit it). You look like an idiot, you feel like an idiot. I fear the known, the unknown, the possibility of god knows what. So to deal, I have developed a tough exterior. i know i have always been snarky and sassy, but I do things in india i would never do back at home. I yell at random strangers, i am off putting on purpose just to intimidate. Sometimes i feel i have to be mean - to be forceful. Let people know I am not to be taken advantage of, let people know even though i am a foreign woman - i demand respect. or at least, some personal space ("I'm sorry, i can SMELL yall looking at me, can you please BACK THE FUCK OFF!" is what screams through my head. in case you were wondering). I have learned that if i allow the fear to consume me, i don't get a lot accomplished, so i will be 'assertive' - its a fair trade. its a good lesson.

The action of forcing myself to act fearless in my daily routine, has managed to spill over into my personal life. I began asking myself: if i can stare down a man - a complete stranger - and make him leave anna alone, if i can take an overnight train by myself - if i can attempt to learn hindi and have my coworkers laugh in my face, if i can yell and scream in broad daylight at the guys who pull over on the side of the road in their car to harass us....well then i should be able to write down my random thoughts and actually invite people to read them. i should be courageous enough to paint. and i should take pictures of whatever the hell i want. i should be able to lighten up .

And surprisingly....it is going pretty well.

This blog has actually been a big part of that. consider it an exercise in getting over myself. i enjoy writing it, i am arguably consistent, i get what i need out of the process, and even though it freaks me out - i can send it 'out there' as i close my eyes and hit the 'publish post' button. done. it does a good job of informing the family what is going on- as well as reminding me of why i am here. Painting is also going well for many of the same reasons. Its easy to be inspired in india. The more i do it, the less frustrated i become - not just with painting- but with the other messes i deal with. The only problem i have had is I am attempting to do a cow series, but lately everytime i go to take a picture of a cow - it charges me. i figure if i get gored it will make for an even better story. I have come to terms with the fact that the action of doing is the important thing - not necessarily the end result. I consider it my new meditation, which really works out because i don't fall asleep as often. im taking it as a good sign. moments of calm, quiet, and contemplation are a good thing. alliteration is also quite nice.