Crying over me

I've had a busy week, full of schmoozing with professors. These events are normally a huge ego boost because for the most part my incredible knack for bull honky gives me the illusion of an articulate, intelligent, put together woman. Not so.

Originally, I was planning on telling a nice story about going to a hot dog joint called Lawtons. (or with a French accent Law-tons sur le riviere). But after freaking V out with my sobbing, I thought I should share my thoughts in attempt to emotionally purge myself.

The trigger for this afternoon's outburst of tears was an essay excerpt by Maureen Dowd in the Sunday NY times magazine. Nothing remarkable about the essay, except to say that somehow in the modern era intelligent non sexy women still struggle to find a man. And that idea is what even now 3 hours after reading it is causing my eyes to well up.

My closest friends have always been females, but the majority of my buds have been males. Never understood this phenomena, but even in the second grade I was the only girl invited to Andy C.'s birthday party. I used to be that girl that was allowed to play dodgeball. I guess you could call me a tomboy, but I never felt like it because I was always confident that I was a girl. Perhaps I was a very precocious feminist.

In high school and in college, I somehow adapted the role of matchmaker instead of someone who was matched. Guys would come to me and tell me how they had a crush on my friends and would I please put in a good word.

Now many years later, things have not progressed very far. How often have I heard the phrase "Wow, Evil Twin #1 you are so much fun and cute," only for it to be followed by "I kind of feel like your big brother." To add insult to injury, women seem to feel the same way about me. When my friends' have significant others and somehow I get stuck with a bunch of boys talking about Daunte Culpepper vs. Eli Manning, no girlfriend, whether it be a guy friend's squeeze or one of my female friends, have ever been worried. Its not that I would ever steal someone's boyfriend, but couldn't I at least be thought of as a threat?

I guess my problem is that I am questioning my ability to be an alluring heterosexual female. To the heart of the matter: Will ET#1 ever have a boyfriend? According to Maureen Dowd, Oprah, and all dating guides things are looking pretty bleak. I am sarcastic, I don't play hard to get, I go to Harvard, and I don't wear panty hose (the sound of hose rubbing together gives me the willies). By 29, these traits are hard to change. As much as I joke about dying alone in my house of a million cats, its not really what I want. What I want is someone special, who thinks I am fun, cute, and wants to tear off my clothes.

The temporary solution to my low self esteem and negative outlook is to go out on Friday night. I plan on being half naked with really high heels and will allow anyone to buy me a drink. Shallow I know, but at least if they have only met me for 1 hour, I won't seem like their little sister.

My Horoscope

"Don't spend so much time getting ready this morning that you make yourself late for work. A slightly disheveled appearance is better than no appearance at all. Swallow your pride. Besides, you already look better than most everyone else."

Considering that I am one of the few women on my floor under the age of 45, I would hope so...

Organic foods, vegetarians, and other hippie stuff

For the past two months, I have been getting organic vegetables delivered in to my apartment. Deliveries come every other Thursday in large green reusable plastic bins. When I come home on those Thursday nights, I get all giddy thinking about the endless permutations of produce waiting at my front door. One benefit about this service is it delivers food that are in season so you have no choice in what produce you will be getting. Since I am so indecicive in the grocery store, it is a welcome change to be told what to eat. Ineveitably, there will be one odd item, such as dandelion greens. Included in your delivery is a pleasant note on recycled paper that thanks you for shopping organic and includes a few recipes (normally including your odd item). The whole experience has been like a bimonthly mini-Christmas, green box and all.

On Saturday, K, S, C and I went to the Boston Vegetarian Society Food Festival. It was at the Roxbury Community College Gymnasium. Inside there was a sea of people of all ages fitting into the vegetarian stereotypes. The young couples in North Face fleece vests stalking the Cliff bar station. Older ladies with frizzy graying hair, glasses with chains, and hemp tote bags. Vendors handed out free samples of Vegan soups, breads, chips and much more. Some were tasty, many were not. C could not understand why vegetarians seem to regect the notion of salting their food. Is using salt a carnivore thing?

Samples are about the best advertising in my book. I seem to have a very weak will because I often buy what I taste. (Trader Joe's understands this well.) Anyway at the vegetarian fair of many unsalted foods, I was swayed into buying seaweed noodles. Black and briny, they were delicious cold and according to the salesman a great source of calcium. I had dreams of coming into school with my exotic salad of seaweed noodles and chicken (I'm not completely turned yet), and having every ask me what I was eating.

So there you have it. I keep most of my hair on my body (except for some facial hair which I pluck), I carry totes to the grocery store, I get organic produce, I went to a vegetarian faire. Now all I need is a flowy skirt, some hemp shoes and an electric bus and hippies here I come!

A Break from the Norm

I think I am spoiled. The past two weeks have been only 4 day work weeks courtesy of the High Jewish holidays (Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur). I don't know how I'm going to work five days straight without having a day off. It's Day 3 and I can hardly wait for the weekend. Here's a brief roundup of what I did 2 Tuesdays ago and last Thursday.

Happy New Year!

I celebrated the (Jewish) new year by waking up early with BF -- he had a 9:30 am meeting -- and taking the train down to lower Manhattan with him. He walked towards the World Financial Center (as an aside, why does every city seem to have a "world" financial center?) and I headed for what I think of as a poor substitute for the Basement -- Century 21. But, alas, I did not get a chance to root through racks and racks of discounted clothing. Century 21 was also closed for the high holidays.

To compensate, I took the train to Union Square to the 4-story Filene's Basement that is located on every floor BUT the basement. I was thrilled to find a plain white sugar bowl that I am now using to hold Kosher salt. I also stopped at Forever 21 (the American version of H&M or Zara, one step up from Rampage). This was my first time in the store and I'm glad that I went at about 11:00 am -- I can only imagine the chaos that ensues when it is thronged with 16-19 year olds, which is about how old you have to be in order to pull off a lot of what they sell in this store. I did buy a navy stretch velveteen (I was looking for velvet, but this does the job) military style jacket for only $32. I had to buy a large (it was the only size left) and was thankful that it was made out of a stretch fabric. I have pretty narrow shoulders and can't imagine how anyone could fit into the medium, let alone the small, if you were wearing anything other than a tube top.

I was enjoying the happy shopper's feeling when I realized that I was running late for my lunch date with BF. We had reservations for Perry Street - Jean George Vongerichten's latest restaurant in NYC. I had been trying to get a table for dinner for about a month and couldn't get anything other than for 6:00 PM or 10:30 PM midweek. Perry Street is a very cold, clean, modern restaurant in the FAR West Village, pretty much on the West Side Highway. If you are walking from the Christoper Street Subway station, allow yourself at least 15 minutes--it's a really nice walk, so really not so bad. We were seated promptly and our drinks were excellent (they'd better be for $14 each!). While waiting for our appetizers to arrive, I was so excited about my Filene's Basement purchase that I whipped it out right there, unwrapping it from the 2 plastic bags that the sales clerk had wrapped it in since they were out of tissue paper, in the middle of the restaurant, excitedly recounting to BF how "I just got a bargain!" Retail price for the sugar bowl was $30 and I got it for $4.

As we were half way into our entrees, I overheard the conversation from the table that was next to us. It was 2 "ladies who lunch", one of which was carrying an orange Hermes Birkin handbag (which incidentally was on last night's Gilmore Girls -- Rory's was pink ostrich). This handbag has a 2 year waitlist and costs a minimum of $9,000. That's right, that handbag (plus the tax of over $700) costs about as much as my rent for the year. One woman was telling the other about the great Philippe Starck couch she just bought -- on sale -- for a paltry $10,000. I still think that I got the better bargain. Our lunch was the most expensive lunch that either BF or I had ever eaten. The final tally: a little over $60 per person. The food was great, but I don't think it was worth the price. I am glad that we went for lunch because I don't think I would have been able to stomach the dinner prices.

The Day of Atonement

Last Thursday was Yom Kippur, a day of seeking forgiveness. I started off by going to yoga (hadn't gone in about a year and I was sore for the next 3 days) and then doing all the things I never seem to have time for -- washing dishes, doing laundry, picking up dry cleaning. After all that, I was feeling quite domesticated and wanted to cook dinner for BF. BF is a fine cook and as a result, I never get to cook anything when he is around. Instead, I am relegated to dishwasher. Because he was at work and I could get a head start, I decided to take my chance while I had it and planned a fine meal starting with a salad of arugula, pear and toasted hazelnuts with a citrus dressing, followed by mustard dill baked chicken. I was very excited to cook for BF. He seems to think that I don't know how to cook -- but I think that I can hold my own in the kitchen.

I spoke to him at 6:00 to let him in on my plan to have dinner and to break open the bottle of Bordeaux that I bought about a month ago. He tried to change the entree -- suggesting that he cook something instead. But I stood firm, I was going to cook and he would have to eat whatever I made. While at Whole Foods shopping for ingredients, I wasn't sure if I had garlic left for the vinaigrette, so I called BF to see if he remembered. He had said that he would leave the office at around 6:30 -- it was already 7:00 and he was still at his desk. No problem, I'd just take my time preparing dinner. I was at my apartment by 7:30 and was merrily preparing all the food.

8:00 rolled around, then 9:00, then 10:00. Where was BF? And why was he not answering his phone? I was starting to go through disasterous scenarios in my head -- maybe there was an incident on the subway, or he got hit by a cab on his way to the train station, or maybe he decided to grab a drink with friends not caring that I was slaving over a hot stove. He rang my buzzer at 10:10 and strolled into the apartment saying "What's up?" I was not amused. It would take 35 minutes to bake the chicken -- I had prepped it but didn't bake it because I wasn't sure what time he would show. I didn't realize how upset I was until he walked into my apartment. When I saw how un-phased he was by his tardiness, not offering an apology for being so late, I lost my appetite. I didn't want anything to do with him and was so angry that I locked myself in the bathroom. Why this reaction? I am not really sure. Maybe it's because that was the sort of thing that my ex would do and having BF do the same thing really pissed me off. Was I in another destructive relationship? I don't think so, but things have been a little "off" lately.

Anyway, after I freaked out and BF saw how upset I was, he was super apologetic. That didn't really help things, though. Too little too late in my book. He really should have called to let me know that he was going to be late. He admitted that he thought about calling me, but then didn't. This upset me even more. Why? I don't know.

And then it happened -- I hate blaming it on this, but it's the only explanation for my extreme reaction to BF's tardiness (a chronic problem) -- as ET#1 likes to put it, my uterine lining started sloughing off. Ahh. Hormones. I guess things aren't as bad as I thought. So, if BF is reading this (I doubt it), sorry for over-reacting, and I accept your apology.

Continuing down the path to obesity

Once in high school, all the girls in our class had to fill out a survey on our attitudes towards food. Being not so evil then, I filled it out truthfully.

-Do you eat when you are stressed? Yes

-Does eating alter your mood? Yes

-Do you eat to celebrate an accomplishment? Yes

The questionnaire went on with many different permutations of the questions above. Apparently, the correct answer to those questions was "no," because the school counselor pulled me aside and told me that I had an unhealthy attitude towards to food. I was on the road to obesity or bulemia if I did not change my ways.

12 years later, little has changed. Take Sunday for example. I have been working (amazing I know), at my computer at home. For some odd reason, I still have never gotten out of that undergraduate mode, in which I just seem to think more clearly in the wee hours of the morning. So it is 2 am Sunday morning, and I am feeling a little blue and stressed. I go to our pantry and see the box of Cheezit's my roommate let me open earlier that night. MMMMMM stolen salty original cheddar goodness. Since nothing accompanies salty snacks better than procrastination, I started to read my "Destiny" horoscope.

"You are single, because you choose to be single. Although you surround yourself with friends, your independent ram spirit does not want to be tied down so you think of clever ways to keep people at arms length."

By the time I finished this tragic horoscope reading, I had burrowed my way through more than half of the box. I read the box and to my horror it is a 160 calories a serving, one serving is a paltry 27 crackers and there are nine servings to a box. Perhaps having cheddar halitosis and a cheddar gut was my way of keeping people at arms length. Something to think about. Oh well, at least the combination of carbs and fat in the Cheezits gave me a little energy boost so I could continue working.

Later when the sun came out, my friends B and S called to see if I wanted to go on an outing. It was a little cold and blustery, but an outing seemed appropriate for the first day sans rain in 9 days. The highlight was a dozen and a half sugared cider doughnuts. Fried crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, they were the perfect answer to the cold. After eating 4 doughnuts, I fell into a deep food induced coma. When I woke up, I brushed off a little of the excess sugar caught in the corner of my mouth. Gosh, doughnuts make me happy.

-Do you eat when you are stressed? Yes, doesn't everyone?

-Does eating alter your mood? Yes, it makes me feel contented, happier. If it didn't, then I would be wasting a God given pleasure.

Spit

As I was walking down the street, a older red head woman in a plastic rain scarf spit at me. What does it mean?

A Parental whirlwind (late entry)

Last week my mother officially retired. She had been postponing her retirement for the past year and a half, claiming that she wanted to save up to buy some fine china. (This excuse was not accepted by anyone, since it was clear that work provided my mom an environment to socialize and have a little time apart from my dad. But we let her get away with it.) So as their first outing as a retired couple, the two of them hopped on a plane to visit their delinquent daughter. Before leaving, I asked my mom what she wanted to do when she was here. Her reply was, "Evil Twin #1, I want to do whatever you do. Remember when I came to visit you in college, and I ate the 2 dollar pizza that was soooo large? Like that."

Well, parents if that's what you want, I'm going to bring it.

When they arrived on Friday night, it just started to rain. Prior to that the weather had been beautiful: sunny warm with a cool autumn breeze. They also arrived to the disappointment of millions of members of the Red Sox Nation, who suffered a humiliating defeat on their own turf. I was a little stressed out too, because in their attempt to be unimposing, they had made no plans and I started wondering what I was going to have them do.

On Saturday, we toured Harvard Square and MIT. They enjoyed the campuses although my father could not understand why all the tourists were at Harvard and not MIT. MIT, he thought gave him a far more authentic college experience because he at least could see kids studying.

Another point of interest was taking public transportation. 1) They could not believe how convenient it was. 2) It was much cleaner than New York's. 3) And this was their favorite part. It was 35 cents for them to take the train and 25 cents to take the bus.

Many of my friends are fascinated, by my parents. Mainly, I assume, because both of them have an incredible knack for saying highly inappropriate comments and because they are miniature and have cute Korean accents they get away with it. Evil Twin #2 even took a 5 hour train ride from New York to say "hi." ET#2, D, T, my parents and I met at a Malaysian restaurant in Brighton for dinner. Surprisingly, my parents were well behaved. Yes, my father seemed to misunderstand every question asked him. Yes, my mother giggled at everything. We had a lovely meal chitchatting with my peeps. ET#2 came back to the apartment with us. She was cornered into doling out some legal advice to my father. She did this with the patience of Mother Teresa.

On Sunday, we took a tour of the Boston Public Garden and Beacon Hill. My mom and I attempted a run through of Filene's Basement, but it was way too crowded.

For the authentic grad school experience, I dragged my parents to Anam Cara the Publick House, one of many Boston/Irish Pubs. We waited in line for a wooden table, with my pint of beer. Soon enough friends started to enter through the door. We stood around making small talk, and finally found a table to accommodate our group. After ordering more beer and some bar food, we settled in our table. Sunday nights, unbeknownst to me, is trivia night so our table decided to participate. Admittedly, we had a slow start. I could not figure out the rules of the game. The Bunker Hill Community College team was beating us quite handily. But something happened. My dad got halfway through his PBR (he really just wanted a Budweiser) and all of a sudden he became an asset to the team. With B, S, V, C and myself we had an impressive number of years of higher education, many of those in the Ivy league, but my dad had the years of experience. He remembered watching Dick Cavett on TV, answering one of the picture rounds. Most importantly, he convinced us all he knew the answer to the final question.

"Out of the 30 companies used to calculate the Dow Jones Industrial average, what is the only one that was a part of it when the Dow Jones was established in 1896?"

"Edison's company, " he said "General Electric."

So we went with it, betting the maximum number of points allowed. And....We came in third place. (Bunker Hill Community College left in our geriatric dust.)Winning a 15 dollar gift certificate and the pride of knowing that we were a little smarter than the other drunk patrons would last us a while.

My parents did a little more sightseeing and returned to California on Tuesday. Their main objective of making sure I was okay was fulfilled. They were comforted in knowing that I do not live in a crack den, I am not starving to death, I can take public transportation around the city, and being over educated can win you the occasional drink at the local bar.

Through the looking glass

Through out the years I have surrounded myself with fascinating individuals. Most of my friends share core values of loyalty, kindness and humor, and often little else. And while sometimes this makes my life a little difficult when bringing my friends together, the trade off of knowing such a diverse group of people is always worth any small aggravations. This weekend a close friend from high school got married. Attending this wedding was like walking through the looking glass. Its hard to say which world is the real one, since it boggles the mind think that both my version of reality and hers could coexist on one tiny planet.

Too many tales were amassed for one blog entry. Many of them entail me drinking way too much alcohol. And perhaps I should consider drinking less, as things did get a little out of hand when I grabbed the right buttock of one of the wedding attendees because his friend dared me. (Fortunately, he did not mind. Actually I think he thought I was hitting on him and he was hitting on me, but I have a bad sense of these things.)

But you can get a ET#1-getting-out-of-control story any time. The event(the wedding) and the other events (the tennis tourney, drinks etc..) were fun, but far more interesting was the environment in which they were set. My friend is from East Hampton, and for those of you who may not know, it is a an affluent resort town in New York. Well technically, it is a village but let's not get caught up with semantics. Luckily the wedding was off season so that most of the wealthy New York City vacationers were absent. However, enough were around to make people watching a main event.

Now it is true that I do not have the greatest self esteem when it comes to my appearance, but there is no greater blow to that esteem than being surrounded by flawless blond amazons. Amazons that are for the most part really fun and kind, and probably with procreate with their extremely wealthy husbands and spawn off another generation of beautiful people.

Which brings up self esteem buster #2. Every once in a while you get a tidbit of a conversation about how someone just bought a flat or a condo in London or Manhattan, and I would reel back thinking about how much money they had laying around. I told my sister this and she said now she understood who could afford some of the houses in California. (She and her husband were speculating that even if the two of them caught Osama bin Laden, whose reward for capture was 25 million, they still would be never be able to afford the property taxes on the house they bought with the money.)

Taking a step back, the people in the Hamptons were entertaining like they jumped out from the pages of a Judith Krantz novel. It was as if I glimpsed into the future in which entertainment will be fully interactive. I talked and they talked back. I told them about my research, they told me about places visit in the south of France. One woman had bandages on her 3 of her toes, and told me Jimmy Choo's always were painful, but weren't they worth it. I just nodded even though I did not think it was worth it.

I wish I had the energy to write about the sea of Mercedes, Jaguars, and Lexuses from people who live in a city with public transportation. I wish I had the energy to say that the joy of drinking top shelf liquor is that you are NEVER hungover the next morning. I am a little tired from my trip to the other side.