Sometimes being a girl sucks. I wish I could follow the lead of the boys in our society who look in the mirror and think they are fabulous no matter how ill fitting the jeans, dirty the baseball cap, and paunchy their gut may be.
Last night Evil Twin #2 and I were bitching over the phone about our looks. I recieved a bad haircut yesterday and ET#2 was worried about 8 extra pounds she was carrying. We strategized over bobby pin placement and excercise regimens.
This morning I was tidying my room and I noticed the messiest area was around my mirror. I have a shelf nearby filled with different lotions and potions all promising to reduce acne and wrinkles. Too bad they cannot fix my hair.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Monday, September 05, 2005
Making friends
It is hard to write these fluffy stories of my life, as so much has happened in this country. This week I've seen my roommate frantically searching for her grandfather, setting up accommodations for him, and serving as a switchboard operator so members of her family only miles apart can communicate with each other. Another friend is trying to figure out what to do with her life with the sudden loss of her home and job. Others have taken in hurricane refugees with open arms. And of course, who can miss the images that flash on the television at night of all those who are suffering. But a common theme is the need for community and empathy. So after much contemplation, I decided to post this entry even though it is light and fluffy.
My family tend to repeat the same stories over and over, but there are some of which we never get tire. For example, my mother likes to tell this story about my Uncle F. My aunt had gone to Korea for a few weeks leaving my Uncle F to fend for himself in their house in Germany. Now, my uncle had been a bachelor for a very long time before marrying my aunt and was capable of taking care of things. However, he must have missed having my aunt's chattering around the house. He decided to go down to the local pub for some dinner. As he was eating, he noticed two american girls walk into the pub. These girls were probably backpacking through Europe on some summer trip, but they were ill prepared. They struggled in their attempts to understand the menu and communicate with the waiter. Uncle F saw them and their american accents reminded him of me and my sister. He went over to their table and helped translate everything in his broken English. A little later, as he was sipping his beer, he saw the two americans trying to figure out the check. Thinking about me and my sister again, he thought if we were in this situation he really hoped someone would help us. So he paid for the girls' meal. They in turn gave him some really nasty looks and said something to the effect that they did not appreciate being hit on by an old man. Lesson to be learned: sometimes, no good deed goes unpunished.
On Friday night I went to a local pub with my friend C. The weather was beautiful, but the fight for the tables outside was fierce so he and I decided to eat at the bar. At this particular bar they have a beer sampling deal, in which you can try four 3oz. shot of different kinds of beer for 6 dollars. I thought this was brilliant so I tried eight. This tasting sparked the interest of the two gentleman sitting on the other corner of the bar. So we tried their beer, they tried ours. The four of us talked for a while. S and Ch were brothers-in-law. Both were expats originally from Germany. They gave detailed lesson on beer about the difference between kolcht, pilsner, lager etc.. S was a huge fan of the original Budweiser, now sold in the US under the name Czechvar. Anyways at about 10pm, S and Ch say they are hungry and are going to a Chinese restaurant down the street. They invited C and I to join them. So we did. Ch was apparently fluent in Chinese and was good friends with the chef. The meal we get is exoticly spiced and definitely not americanized. It was delicious. We sat talking with our new friends about philosophy, drug manufacturing and geopolitics.
When we left the restaurant we said good bye knowing we would never see these two fellows again. That did not matter, it was just nice to meet new people. It was nice to think that although I have grown a little cynical that there still is a sense of community in everyone.
My family tend to repeat the same stories over and over, but there are some of which we never get tire. For example, my mother likes to tell this story about my Uncle F. My aunt had gone to Korea for a few weeks leaving my Uncle F to fend for himself in their house in Germany. Now, my uncle had been a bachelor for a very long time before marrying my aunt and was capable of taking care of things. However, he must have missed having my aunt's chattering around the house. He decided to go down to the local pub for some dinner. As he was eating, he noticed two american girls walk into the pub. These girls were probably backpacking through Europe on some summer trip, but they were ill prepared. They struggled in their attempts to understand the menu and communicate with the waiter. Uncle F saw them and their american accents reminded him of me and my sister. He went over to their table and helped translate everything in his broken English. A little later, as he was sipping his beer, he saw the two americans trying to figure out the check. Thinking about me and my sister again, he thought if we were in this situation he really hoped someone would help us. So he paid for the girls' meal. They in turn gave him some really nasty looks and said something to the effect that they did not appreciate being hit on by an old man. Lesson to be learned: sometimes, no good deed goes unpunished.
On Friday night I went to a local pub with my friend C. The weather was beautiful, but the fight for the tables outside was fierce so he and I decided to eat at the bar. At this particular bar they have a beer sampling deal, in which you can try four 3oz. shot of different kinds of beer for 6 dollars. I thought this was brilliant so I tried eight. This tasting sparked the interest of the two gentleman sitting on the other corner of the bar. So we tried their beer, they tried ours. The four of us talked for a while. S and Ch were brothers-in-law. Both were expats originally from Germany. They gave detailed lesson on beer about the difference between kolcht, pilsner, lager etc.. S was a huge fan of the original Budweiser, now sold in the US under the name Czechvar. Anyways at about 10pm, S and Ch say they are hungry and are going to a Chinese restaurant down the street. They invited C and I to join them. So we did. Ch was apparently fluent in Chinese and was good friends with the chef. The meal we get is exoticly spiced and definitely not americanized. It was delicious. We sat talking with our new friends about philosophy, drug manufacturing and geopolitics.
When we left the restaurant we said good bye knowing we would never see these two fellows again. That did not matter, it was just nice to meet new people. It was nice to think that although I have grown a little cynical that there still is a sense of community in everyone.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
a run on summer
The NY Times said that "surest signal of approaching Labor Day is the appearance of black clothes on the sidewalks". I disagree. New Yorkers wear black year round. For me, the surest sign that summer is coming to a close is that the weather was nice enough that I could go for a "run" on a Saturday afternoon. I had meant to wake up bright and early to go run in Inwood Park but instead, I rolled out of bed at around 1:00 pm. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and the humidity was actually bearable. BF had suggested that we do a training run--this involves walking for 5 minutes to warm up, running for one minute followed by walking for one minute, repeat running and walking for a total of 20 minutes. This is actually only about 6 minutes of running, but that was enough to make me sore on Sunday. Sadly, this is the most activity that I've had all summer. It's been uttterly disgusting this summer--hot, muggy, gross. Great reasons for allowing myself to sit in front of the TV on the weekends, watching HBO on demand and to gain weight.
But, all that is over. I have vowed to be more active, to walk up the six flights of stairs to my apartment instead of taking the elevator, to eat salad for lunch, to be not so much of a slug. To be able to fit into something other than skirts and elastic-waist pants.
But, all that is over. I have vowed to be more active, to walk up the six flights of stairs to my apartment instead of taking the elevator, to eat salad for lunch, to be not so much of a slug. To be able to fit into something other than skirts and elastic-waist pants.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Fake dating
Being single and having not been paid in two months has not stopped me from dating. Unfortunately, it is not the kind of dating you would presume a hip and happening gal would be doing: no kissing, awkward pauses, or hoochie outfits. This past week I went on two such outings.
On Thursday night, I went out with H. He is pleasant upstanding (in all ways, I mean he even has excellent posture) fellow with a laid back attitude. I wore a skirt, he wore a blazer and to any unsuspecting bystander we looked like a typical yuppie couple. We met at 7:30 and has a pleasant stroll in the cool August night to the South end. Our waiter seated us at a window table for two illuminated only by the tealight in the glass votive. H ordered a bottle of wine and we sipped it as our meal trickled to our table. Talking with H is always a blast. He has the kind of dry voice that can make a story funny, which is why I am sparing you all the details because they lose their zest in any retelling. When our tealight burned out, we realized it was time to go home. 11: 15 pm we had been chatting and giggling for almost 4 hours straight. We strolled back and watched all the real yuppies gathering for the Thursday night mating call. But we had our fake date, were done for the night, and parted ways.
While going out with H is a very rare event, my friend D and I have date night every other month, normally when his boyfriend is otherwise occupied. D and I used work in the same lab so many of our conversations cover old times or advances in sciences, subjects often found distasteful to others. The nice thing about going out with D is that he will tell you exactly what he wants. On Saturday, I got to choose the restaurant with D's only criteria that we had to dress "smart casual." I wore dark jeans with high heels; D wore a lacoste shirt. Once again to the unknowing eye, a handsome yuppie couple. D picked me up at around 8pm. We went to a hip restaurant in Jamaica Plain with red walls, funky picture lampshades, and hipster wait staff. A bottle of wine, excellent comfort food, and lots of laughter were the elements of the evening. Sometimes hanging out with friends results in entertainment and a valued therapy session all rolled into one. We moved date to a local Irish pub. This pub had once been a favorite of mine, but apparently got refurbished over the summer and the new sleek black tables and formica walls were designer don'ts. D and I were gossiping, when a reggae band walked in the door. The music was loud and the crowd odd and we kept seeing this one white girl with cornrows pacing back and forth. We sat outside on the steps of a church, enjoying the night air for a little while before heading home.
While I understand real dating is a necessary evil, I find it such an inferior experience to my fake dating. I hate the weird small talk, constantly monitoring my body language, constantly monitoring his, and the tango of guarded feelings. With my friends, I share intimate conversations, genuine laughter, and my emotions no matter how dramatic they may be. Who knows maybe one I'll go on a real date as good as my fake ones. I have my fingers crossed.
On Thursday night, I went out with H. He is pleasant upstanding (in all ways, I mean he even has excellent posture) fellow with a laid back attitude. I wore a skirt, he wore a blazer and to any unsuspecting bystander we looked like a typical yuppie couple. We met at 7:30 and has a pleasant stroll in the cool August night to the South end. Our waiter seated us at a window table for two illuminated only by the tealight in the glass votive. H ordered a bottle of wine and we sipped it as our meal trickled to our table. Talking with H is always a blast. He has the kind of dry voice that can make a story funny, which is why I am sparing you all the details because they lose their zest in any retelling. When our tealight burned out, we realized it was time to go home. 11: 15 pm we had been chatting and giggling for almost 4 hours straight. We strolled back and watched all the real yuppies gathering for the Thursday night mating call. But we had our fake date, were done for the night, and parted ways.
While going out with H is a very rare event, my friend D and I have date night every other month, normally when his boyfriend is otherwise occupied. D and I used work in the same lab so many of our conversations cover old times or advances in sciences, subjects often found distasteful to others. The nice thing about going out with D is that he will tell you exactly what he wants. On Saturday, I got to choose the restaurant with D's only criteria that we had to dress "smart casual." I wore dark jeans with high heels; D wore a lacoste shirt. Once again to the unknowing eye, a handsome yuppie couple. D picked me up at around 8pm. We went to a hip restaurant in Jamaica Plain with red walls, funky picture lampshades, and hipster wait staff. A bottle of wine, excellent comfort food, and lots of laughter were the elements of the evening. Sometimes hanging out with friends results in entertainment and a valued therapy session all rolled into one. We moved date to a local Irish pub. This pub had once been a favorite of mine, but apparently got refurbished over the summer and the new sleek black tables and formica walls were designer don'ts. D and I were gossiping, when a reggae band walked in the door. The music was loud and the crowd odd and we kept seeing this one white girl with cornrows pacing back and forth. We sat outside on the steps of a church, enjoying the night air for a little while before heading home.
While I understand real dating is a necessary evil, I find it such an inferior experience to my fake dating. I hate the weird small talk, constantly monitoring my body language, constantly monitoring his, and the tango of guarded feelings. With my friends, I share intimate conversations, genuine laughter, and my emotions no matter how dramatic they may be. Who knows maybe one I'll go on a real date as good as my fake ones. I have my fingers crossed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)