Karma: ('kär-ma) noun: a deed, work.
Commonly used to mean: the force generated by a person's actions to determine the nature of the person's next existence
The following is an abbreviated version of a phone conversation between my sister and me on Monday.
ET#1: I am so irritated with Mom.
Sis: What happened?
ET#1: You know I am part of this book club, right? And I asked her to please mail my yearbooks to me and she totally flaked.
Sis: How so?
ET#1: I told her a month ago to please mail them, I even reminded her weekly. I called them yesterday to say “Bon Voyage.” Since they are going to Korea for a month and half, I told Mom that I had not received the books yet and could she please give me the delivery confirmation number. Mom said she did not send them, but she did have them neatly packaged and waiting by the door for a month. She said she would send it as soon as she got back. I told her that that was too late because book club would be sometime in April so not to bother. Then she laid this huge guilt trip on me saying how sorry she was for ruining my birthday. I told her that I could not lie, that I was really disappointed, but there was nothing that could be done so forget about it.
Sis: But you know that how Mom is. You just have to learn to deal with it. You can’t make her feel bad about it and you need to stop being upset.
ET#1: Knowing how flaky she is, I gave her a whole month’s advance warning and reminders.
Sis: But that is Mom’s M.O. They’re your parents, ET#1. You need to be a little patient with them.
ET#1: I know but they drive me crazy.
Sis: That’s life, ET#1.
4 days later my cell phone plays “blue ice” my sister’s ring.
Sis: Oh my God. I’m so pissed.
ET#1: What happened?
Sis: You father is a jackass. Remember I gave him access to my Charles Schwabb account. Well, I just got this letter form the government today saying we owe them $$$$ on capital gains tax.
ET#1: How much did Dad make you all?
Sis: That is the worst part is my account balance has gotten smaller. So how the hell do I owe money when none was made. I swear Dad makes me so angry. Why didn’t he just warn me about this? And since they are in Korea, I have no way of really yelling at him. I mean seriously, I have never seen my husband so angry as when he saw this letter. We just cannot afford it right now.
ET#1: So why did you give Dad your password? Why didn’t you just lie and tell him that you don’t have an online account and you deal in paper transactions only? That’s what I did.
Sis: I know I should’ve.
ET#1: You know, you shouldn’t be so angry, you know how Dad is. He was bound to lose your money somehow if you gave him access to that account.
Sis: But this was idiotic. He makes me so nuts.
ET#1: That’s life, Sis.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
01:02.03 04/05/06
I made sure to stay awake to witness the consecutive number phenomena. Nothing happened. Maybe something big may happen in the European form on May 4th.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
Twenty-ten
Yesterday, I celebrated my 30th birthday. My friend S likes to call thirty, twenty-ten, the magical number that follows twenty-nine. Frankly, when she first mentioned this term, I did not understand what she was saying. I thought it was like an option "do you want to be twenty or ten?"
Because I am pretty focused on my marathon training, I thought it be best to hold off on any rated R (okay really PG13) partying. That is not to say that I did not revel in my special day.
I started off my birthday extravaganza by reminding everyone that is was going to be my birthday through a mass e-mail. I, also, called my father to remind him. Normally, that was my mother's job, but the past few years she has given up the nagging. I think she is vying for the "favorite parent award." So on Friday, I said,"Hey Dad, don't forget my birthday is on Sunday. I am going to turn 30." To which he replied, " I didn't forget. I saw your mother going to the post office yesterday, and I asked her if I could go too, and she said no. I couldn't figure out why and then I remembered your birthday was coming. Did I tell you your mom is sneaky?"
On the actual day itself, as I was coming back from my run, I ran into A in front of my house. She had come over to deliver my birthday tree as promised. It was hand-crafted; twigs bundled together with wire and ribbon with gold bows at the ends. I put it in a terra cotta pot and added some egg shaped ornaments.
I had a few errands to run, so I showered and dressed in denim capris, a t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt. Although the sun was shining, the cool breeze made the hairs rise on my semi-exposed mid drift. Perhaps I should have gone back to get a jacket, but I did not feel like it.
As I was walking up Harvard Ave, I came upon Rubin's deli. I had already eaten lunch, but the smell of cured meats intrigued me. I went in and to buy a hot dog for an afternoon snack. After some witty banter, the nice deliman said "The dog's on us, sweetheart."
Later that day, I was in a day spa, getting years of aged skin exfoliated off my body. When the attendant, turned on the vichy shower, I giggled because one of the jets was directly pointed at my right butt cheek. The giggling continued when she put the high pressure hose on me. The water tickled as scrubbed off the mud from my belly.
Refreshed from my day spa experience, I stayed in Harvard Square and walked into the new stationery store on Mass Ave. Called Bob Slate. I was a little overwhelmed by the amount of cute things they had. With sensory overload, I walked out having only bought a blue glittery gelly roll pen. Maybe I would spice up my lab notebook.
I wolfed down my Korean take-out while watching "Hanna Montana" the newest Disney channel original series. W and L took me out for ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery that night. I had strawberries mixed in with a banana base, delicious. I, also, made W tip the scoopers. For those of you not in the know, if you tip someone at Cold Stone, the workers are required to sing you a song. Unfortunately, we got a very unenthusiastic round of "thank you for your tip" to the tune of "row row row your boat." I enjoyed it anyway.
Back at home, my roommates (plus one boyfriend) baked me a cake, and got me a pretty bouquet of flowers. They even gave me the end piece and did not adulterate its vanilla goodness with frosting.
So lets recap:
acted like a twenty year old
Because I am pretty focused on my marathon training, I thought it be best to hold off on any rated R (okay really PG13) partying. That is not to say that I did not revel in my special day.
I started off my birthday extravaganza by reminding everyone that is was going to be my birthday through a mass e-mail. I, also, called my father to remind him. Normally, that was my mother's job, but the past few years she has given up the nagging. I think she is vying for the "favorite parent award." So on Friday, I said,"Hey Dad, don't forget my birthday is on Sunday. I am going to turn 30." To which he replied, " I didn't forget. I saw your mother going to the post office yesterday, and I asked her if I could go too, and she said no. I couldn't figure out why and then I remembered your birthday was coming. Did I tell you your mom is sneaky?"
On the actual day itself, as I was coming back from my run, I ran into A in front of my house. She had come over to deliver my birthday tree as promised. It was hand-crafted; twigs bundled together with wire and ribbon with gold bows at the ends. I put it in a terra cotta pot and added some egg shaped ornaments.
I had a few errands to run, so I showered and dressed in denim capris, a t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt. Although the sun was shining, the cool breeze made the hairs rise on my semi-exposed mid drift. Perhaps I should have gone back to get a jacket, but I did not feel like it.
As I was walking up Harvard Ave, I came upon Rubin's deli. I had already eaten lunch, but the smell of cured meats intrigued me. I went in and to buy a hot dog for an afternoon snack. After some witty banter, the nice deliman said "The dog's on us, sweetheart."
Later that day, I was in a day spa, getting years of aged skin exfoliated off my body. When the attendant, turned on the vichy shower, I giggled because one of the jets was directly pointed at my right butt cheek. The giggling continued when she put the high pressure hose on me. The water tickled as scrubbed off the mud from my belly.
Refreshed from my day spa experience, I stayed in Harvard Square and walked into the new stationery store on Mass Ave. Called Bob Slate. I was a little overwhelmed by the amount of cute things they had. With sensory overload, I walked out having only bought a blue glittery gelly roll pen. Maybe I would spice up my lab notebook.
I wolfed down my Korean take-out while watching "Hanna Montana" the newest Disney channel original series. W and L took me out for ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery that night. I had strawberries mixed in with a banana base, delicious. I, also, made W tip the scoopers. For those of you not in the know, if you tip someone at Cold Stone, the workers are required to sing you a song. Unfortunately, we got a very unenthusiastic round of "thank you for your tip" to the tune of "row row row your boat." I enjoyed it anyway.
Back at home, my roommates (plus one boyfriend) baked me a cake, and got me a pretty bouquet of flowers. They even gave me the end piece and did not adulterate its vanilla goodness with frosting.
So lets recap:
acted like a twenty year old
- dressed inappropriately
- flirted with deli man
- giggled at day spa
- ate cake with roommates
acted like a ten year old:
- announced birthday to the world
- received arts and craft gift
- bought glittery pen
- watched Disney channel
- amused by workers singing
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