P: Boston's Dorkier Version of a Night Out, ie, SPACE PROM

Annie:
While you guys were hobnobbing with Miami hotshots and sneaking into cabanas and drinking champagne, I was spending this past Saturday night attending Space Prom at a house party in Somerville. Where people were dressed in green face paint, Storm Trooper rental costumes, and there was even a Chewbacca. I went with my friend Amy, and we thought tin foil obi's were about as Space Prom-y as we could get:
Annie recognized this dress as the one I was eyeing at American Apparel, but it was so thin all the lines would show underneath. Thankfully I dug out the only thong from my dresser drawer that didn't pinch at the waist (TMI)?

Was it super dorky? Yes, it was. But then again, that's how Boston rolls. Incidentally, I met this kid at the party who was starting a start-up that was something like Twitter, but not, and he was telling me about this article written by Paul Graham (some internet guru dude), who said Cambridge was a city of ideas (whereas NY is a city of finance/$ and Silicon Valley is about power, etc). He fwd'd this article to me via his iphone. I am amazed by how technology works here. It was an interesting idea, but I thought Graham's article lacked empirical research. It kind of sounded a little like he was talking off the top of his head. Judge for yo'selves:
http://www.paulgraham.com/cities.html

Then Amy and I attempted to run 7.5 miles on Sunday.... in 85 degree heat and direct sun. Up and down the hills of Heartbreak Hill. I wanted to shoot myself--my legs were sore (maybe from the heels from the night before?) and they are still sore today. Even though I'm heading out shortly to meet my old colleague Rebecca for a 7 miler.

Oh, and I was up till 3:30am last night watching Project Runway on netflix and then woke up at noon today and consumed about 3 pounds of pasta since. So it goes!!!

Stolen goods and a weekend without sleep: the extended edition

so as you know, Thursday night kari & nic came into town; after a run on the beach, i scooped them from the airport and we headed home. We all needed to eat dinner (it was probably 10.30 by that point) but didnt want anything too heavy, so of course we went to this local... uruguayan meat spot. I know, random. Anyway i had heard it was supposed to be really good-and it was only a block or so away. Kari & i shared this huge house-speciality plate that involved a base-layer of french fries, “russian salad” (potatoes with peas, in mayo), and green salad; on top of that was a large layer of beef; on top of that, ham; on top of that, cheese; and on the very top, fried eggs. It was a mound of food. For less than $20. We shared one pitcher too many, smoked one too many camel lights, and then headed home.

that magical dish...

i didnt sleep well, but i cant necessarily blame that on our random dinner- it might also be attributed to sleeping on the couch, or the fact that there was dust all around my apt that was making me all stuffy; or maybe that was all just a by-product of eating meat late at night and drinking too much budweiser. Either way, i shook it off (mostly) to get some stuff done at work.

Friday early evening, they took the bus down & we met at montys (of course; its kind of hard to take a visitor around miami without involving a stop there). We waited in the raw bar line for about an hour while we drank our $4 sapphire and tonics; nicole & her husband were there too, so that was a lot of fun. Nic commented at one point that it was nice that monty’s had such a random crowd: if it existed in nyc, it would be full of douchebags. (Then i broke the news to them: that was sadly why i hadn’t actually been back in a while, post spring-break scene). After giving them their first taste of stone crabs (and oysters of course), we headed out for actual food- to the big pink. (Truthfully i guess none of us were starving, but it was also that its quick, easy, and laidback). We sat outside and shared a bunch of random assorted bits for dinner, and then headed home around 11 or 12. An early night (well knowing that i had it in for them the next day)...

Saturday morning we all got up around 9.30am- gotta enjoy the vacay, right? Nic wanted to see some of the art deco stuff, so we bathing-suited up and headed down to south beach so we could stroll up and down and be touristy. Breakfast time meant some random bad-restaurant on ocean drive, which of course had some deal for like, $3.50 breakfast. So of course we wanted bloody maries. And then they unexpectedly came in these head-sized glasses- must have been 64 oz (and, notably, not priced on the menu, but came out to $25 each). Sure breakfast itself was no great shakes, but our drinks went straight to the head, as we sat outside looking at the beach, the people walking by, and laughing and sucking it all down in a straw. This was followed by more walking up on ocean drive; a few random stops in souvenir stores; the procurement of some ruby-red-and-tonics (an amazingly refreshing beverage that i am now a great fan of) in to-go cups so that we could continue our walk north to our ultimate plan: pool hopping.

First up was the raleigh hotel: we walked right in, towards the pool, and grabbed some towels (the attendant was gone) and a cabana and nestled right in, stripping down to our suits & then going for a swim. We couldnt have been there that long, but were delighted that the plan was, so far, going according to plan. We dried off, wrapped in our fancy towels, and then headed out the back for a walk on the beach. Once we got to the gansevort, we went straight up to the hotel rooftop pool– the last time i was there was when elana, jedd & candice were all in town, and candice was supposed to have her party there; it was super empty which was nice– but of course, this time, it being hot and gorgeous and sunny and a Saturday afternoon, the place was packed. We got some huge glasses of champagne, and all managed to sneak by the check-in security some way or another; we were almost caught when we sat in a cabana (security quickly came over to usher us away, lest we pay the $279/day for the use of lounge chairs) and they finally set us up with some folding lounge chairs (not as comfy of course but still, pretty nice), and enjoyed the gorgeous view of the sky & beach & ocean. Continuing the inebriated high, we sat up there for a while, before we realized it was about 3pm and we needed to eat something after consuming our body weight in alcohol, so we started a never-ending walk down washington to get some cuban sandwiches from a little hole in the wall. This walk progressed even further down to joe’s stone crab, where we got kari a “small” key lime pie. (I say “small” because it can easily feed at least 6, to a sickening point).

When we got outside of joe’s, i was so hot & tired and my feet were so swollen that i insisted we take a cab back to the car, parked about a mile north on collins.
While kari & nic teased me about it (what kind of ny-er takes a cab to her car?), we hailed one and got in; the driver asked if we had eaten at joes, he said he heard it
was good, and we said, oh no, we just stopped to buy a pie.
“A pie? What’s that?”
you know, key lime. A pie. A key lime pie.
“No, I don’t know what the pie is. I’ve never heard of it.” (Bear in mind, hes foreign. But still).
pie, you know? Like cake?
“AHHhhh like cake. Ok. Yes.” at which moment he looked out the window and saw a guy with a huge suitcase, yelled out the window at him -
“you going to the airport?”; the guy nodded.
The driver then turned to us and said, “sorry, i’ve got to take this guy to the airport.”
Then nic asked, “so you want us to get out?”
And the cabdriver said, “yes, get out. Oh dont worry, you dont have to pay me.”
This he oddly said, unironically, even though he had only driven us approximately 1 block. Somehow we all were like “oh right, ok.” and got out.
Most likely we were all terribly tired from being drunk all morning and couldnt really process what was going on, until we all got out, and said, “wait... did that
just happen?” people in miami are so nice!

the aforementioned key-lime deliciousness.

We ended up walking the remainder of the way north, with some stops to peer into tattoo parlors (an ongoing theme of the weekend was that we would all get matching tattoos, which then morphed into ridiculous tattoo ideas, like just getting a stone-crab claw tattooed on my arm. Which i did. Just kidding. For now anyway).

Eventually we got home, ate some pie, and then went to the roof to nap in the last of the sun; the wind was whipping around, and we all were dragging from having drankso much in the heat, but eventually caught a minor-bit of shut eye– necessary forrallying that night. After waking up further with some showering, we headed out to a neighborhood spot i hadnt yet been to - “shuckers” - off of the 79th st causeway, attached to a hotel, but overlooking the water; like a poor man’s montys– in fact, they have a raw-bar happy hour Monday thru Friday, but only from 5-7pm (probably why ive never been); we sat there for a while before kari decided she needed a redo of the stone crabs; so back down again to joe’s, for the second time in one day. Of course, deliciousness ensued, minus the fact that their oysters are pasteurized, which means they are not as delicious and dont have the same oyster-juicey-brine because they are flash-heated before served to “kill 99% of the bacteria.” well, let me tell you, lady. I dont care about the bacteria, or whether ill get sick from them. I want them raw!

Saturday night then was well on its way: after joes, we had a brief stop at buck 15 (line was too long, although there was a spotting of maybe 2 hipsters, amongst many other annoying others); champagne on the sidewalk at a cafe on lincoln road (we got tired of waiting for a server so i just brought some back to the bar, then we ended up walking away with the glasses); pictures from a photobooth at bowlmore lanes; and a drive up to the fountainbleu (where we waited for the overly apathetic bartender to serve us, looked at the annoying throngs waiting to get into liv, and ended up sitting out by the pool drinking until we were kicked out of there, around 2.30).

Once the hotel-bar closed, we went home, changed, kari & nic packed while i drank a diet coke, and then we headed back out to sandbar for the 3.30-5am one-last-drink, where justin met us coming south from a bar uptown, ordered a drink, and then couldnt even look at it before he left.

one of the many rounds of champers during the weekend: stolen glass set #2

The three of us held our ground though, stayed strong, and made it to last call—this, of course, while all the total weirdos who hang out at sandbar until 5am on a Saturday were doing their thing- (1) the blonde girl with big tits who was shoving them in everyone’s face and obviously wanted someone to take her home– kari kept saying, “its so sad she has such low self-esteem” - at one point, the girl was literally sitting on the bar, and then had someone feed her a banana; (2) the mis-matched couple making out right next to us (she was like a high-class prostitute while he was just odd looking), (3) the sketchy dudes playing pool (4) the guy who tries to enter the bar once the door is locked, ostensibly because he was the one who had been hanging out with the blonde girl in point (1) above in the first place, but left for some reason and then came back to retrieve her and (5) the other guy who tries to order after last call– as if he hadnt heard them yelling it.

We then walked the block over to ihop for last minute coffee, water and egg refueling (not knowing whether it was a good idea, or a bad idea?) before we threw everything in the car & scooted back to the airport. A night of no sleep! Who does that anymore? It was a ton of fun, although of course impossible at times– so horribly painful, exhausting, and annoying. Either way, i was impressed with us all.

misery loves company!

Not so impressive, though, was when i got back to my apt at about 6.45am, decided to try and tidy up, took a shower, and got into bed at 8.00– only to then fall asleep for about an hour and a half until i woke up and couldnt sleep any longer. As if the exhaustion had totally consumed me. Also, it was bright in my apt. and it looked gorgeous out. So i spent the rest of the day nestled on the roof soaking in the sun, alternating between napping and reading and listening to music before i hibernated for a while inside with takeout-sushi, and then took a much belabored walk to the supermarket where i could barely handle anyone (i even discarded several items last minute to get in on the short line). Me and budweiser and tylenol p.m. got together at about 8.45pm, and then i was in bed by 9. Soundest night of sleep in a while!

Still though, for most of the day i felt like i was still drunk and/or just very hungover and miserable and/or so, so out of it. When i wasnt in a bathing suit, i was in an oddly matched black-leggings-and-black-inside-out-t-shirt-and-white-sunglasses ensemble. Still though, the important point is that i survived and had a wonderful time– collecting some stolen champagne glasses & towels along the way. You cant say that every weekend, but oh, only if you could...

xoxoxo

stolen goods: a brief overview, longer edition forthcoming

we stole: two large durable champagne flutes; three small glass ones; and three fluffy, high quality pool towels.

we ate: key lime pie from joe's; stone crab on two consecutive nights; a plate of argentinian beef, ham, eggs, cheese all piled ontop of fries, potato salad and minor greenage; shared plates at 'the big pink'; cuban sandwiches; and ihop breakfast

we drank: absolute ruby red with tonic; outrageously huge bloody maries on a saturday morning; lot of champagne and faux-champagne; beers; and many other vodka-tonic/sodas.

i slept approximately 2 hrs this morning followed by a nap at the pool where i got all nice and crispy so i cant really function enough to continue this post right now. i will provide an update when i can actually sit up without thinking im wasted. apparently exhaustion does this to people.

xoxo

P: The Sudden Charm of Post-Pregnancy

This might dash my long-held hopes of ever intermingling with British aristocracy, with my even more secret hope of populating the House of Lords with little "Patty's" (cf:"Caliban from Shakespeare's The Tempest, as the anti-"noble savage), but I am convinced WASPs and Koreans should never procreate.

Besides the fact that they make the most beautiful Amerasian babies (see Exhibit A), I'm afraid that our characters, particularly our anger-management approaches, are just too incompatible to make for a successful match-up. What the hell am I talking about? Well, let me recount for you the day my sister and baby Clara (not pictured here; camera's broken) came home from the hospital.

(Exhibit A: Adorable Amerasian nephew Richard)

When I get to their apt (after having had a tooth extraction, so I'm bleeding up the wazoo with a wad of gauze hanging from my mouth), my sister looks exhausted. She says, "Why are you talking funny?" and I say casually, I had an extraction. Anyway, there are a ton of people at the house: their Trinidadian nanny Yanqui, who, by the way, has a high fever. James, my bro-in-law, my mother, the Polish housekeeper, the newborn Clara, and of course little Richard. We're all crammed into their small but beautiful West Village brownstone co-op apt. Anyway, Theresa, the Polish housekeeper, is in their even tinier kitchen (top of the line appliances, but it's about half the size of the tiny kitchen in my Brooklyn studio), and she's yanking on the dishwasher because she can't get it to work. So I go to the kitchen to try to help her, but the child guard is on, and I have no idea how it works.

Suddenly my sister, who'd been sprawled on the couch with her still-swollen, post-ceasarian belly, marches into the kitchen. "Patty, what are you doing? Get-Out-Of-The-Way."

"I was just trying to save you from getting up--"

"If you don't know how it works, then don't try to help. You're in the way."

This was going to be the start of a long day. Throughout, there are snips, snaps, and annoyances. It seems like everything I do just irks the hell out of my sister. At one point, Theresa is going at it with the vacuum, and my sister has moved to the bedroom, and she's lying down. Clara's asleep in her cradle. So I move to close the door.

"What are you doing?" my sister snaps.

"I'm just--I just thought the vacuum was bothering you."

"Don't you see that if you close the door, Richard won't have access to me?"

I told her I wasn't closing the door all the way. "The door is still ajar. Which means not closed. Look!"

"DON'T argue with me."

In another moment, when my sister's hands were full, Clara started crying her head off. Earlier that morning, James and my sister said that when she cries, it's because she wants milk. So I thought I would save my sister the headache of having to do this, and my mother, who was standing right next to me, said, here, give her a bottle. But when I went to put the bottle in baby Clara's mouth, she still continued to cry.

My sister once again came barreling on the scene. "What are you doing?! Did you check her diaper?"

"No..."

"Then CHECK HER DIAPER!"

But I couldn't get her out of her swaddled blankets quickly enough.

"Stop feeding her! Change her diaper!" my sister said.

I am getting super-frustrated by this point, but I'm thinking to myself, Patty, just be cool, be cool. But I do something in between--I throw my hands up in the air and call my mother in to change the diaper and figure out the situation. Meanwhile, their babysitter is still in the living room, sitting in the corner, drinking tea and looking miserable. I ask her what's wrong, and she's like, "I have a high fever," her lilting Caribbean accent only emphasizing her state of misery.

All the while, little Richard's reaction to his new sister Clara has undergone quite a progression. When he first saw her, he kind of ignored her. Or at least, he didn't know what was going on. My brother-in-law James could have very well been cradling a loaf of bread, for all it mattered to Richard. Then, say an hour later, when Clara started making noises, he kind of wandered over to her. He was very curious. Then James left for work, and my mother was feeding Clara. Richard started to vy for my mother--his Hal-muh-nee's --attention. He took the bottle cap of Clara's bottle and handed it to her.

"Oh, thank you, Richard!" my mother said, but her hands were full, so she received the cap with her mouth. The cap then fell from her mouth, bounced off her arm, and fell into her lap. So Richard seizes the bottle cap and then rushes from the room. He runs into the hall and throws the bottle cap on the floor, a mischievous smile spread across his face. He picks this up and does this again.

Meanwhile, I'm alternately mortified and laughing my head off. Somehow he knew this was Clara's bottle cap, and his first instinct is to take her things. It's like the big baby chicks taking the worms from the little baby chicks in the nest. But it's also kind of hilarious, because you can totally tell that Richard knows that what he's doing is naughty.

Then my sister is swaddling Clara in her arms, and Richard runs over to her and tries to clambor into her lap. But my sister's not allowed to do any heavy lifting (after all, she just had her stomach split open days earlier, and she still has fibroids, which thankfully didn't impale Clara during the pregnancy). So Richard's sitting on my sister's knee, while my sister's trying to hold Clara, and then Richard flies off his mother's lap and throws himself on the floor. Wahhhh! Wahh!! I have never seen the kid throw a temper tantrum before. And so I rush over with his rolling clown toy, and I pretend to have the time of my life with the toy (reverse psychology seems to work well on peoples below the age of 10 and all men from 22-35), and then Richard gets distracted and he runs over to the toy and takes it from me. Okay, all's well and good, until like a half hour later, he does the same thing. He runs to his mother, then he sees Clara and starts to cry. And then I start the toy up again. And then Clara starts to cry, which then makes Richard stop.

The afternoon is a series of the two of them switching off on crying. Meanwhile, Yanqui is sitting there miserably with her cup of tea, my sister is coughing up a storm, the Polish housekeeper is vacuuming or scrubbing or has five billion cleaning products nearby, and my mother and I are running about in circles.

At another point in the day, while my mother is rocking little Clara in her arms, and Richard is watching her, she says, "Richard is good boy, such a good boy. RIchard is better than Clara. I don't like Clara. Richard is BETTER than Clara. Richard is my favorite boy!"

Who knows if Richard has any idea what my mother is saying, but it seems to appease him temporarily.

We decide to take Richard to the park. This proves to be a nearly impossible feat, as Richard has now taken to running about the apartment (his invitation to play "chase"), and I'm on my hands and knees crawling after him (the next morning I woke up with bruises that looked like I gave one too many blow jobs). Yanqui is kind of making the gestures to go to the park, too, but she looks pretty miserable. I'm not sure whether she wants to go outside and get fresh air, or whether she's territorial/proprietarial (sp?) and wants to make sure Richard is in her sight, or whether she'd just be happier sitting in the apt. So I go over to my sister and say, "Um, so should Yanqui come with us to the park?"

"Why are you asking me for? If you want her to go to the park with her, ask her yourself."

"But if she's sick, I don't understand why..."

"Would you stop complaining to me? I am sick of hearing you complain. If you want her to go, she'll go! If you don't want her to go, then don't! What are you doing here, asking me for?"

"Alright, God! I was just trying to explain--"

But she shot me dead with one look. So my mother and I bundled up Richard, strapped him in his stroller, and rolled him out on the street. On the way to the Park, we run into one of my sister's neighbors, who is this older, distinguished looking woman that has apparently been giving my sister and James HELL to the co-op board, based on the renovations that are happening. This woman was in large part the reason why my sister and James had to reorder their windows, which cost them something in the ballpark of 10k. Nonrefundable. This woman is also the head of one of the top divisions of Random House. She is the editor of one of my AMerican BOok Award-winning professors (okay, Ha. J. in). My mother scrambles to introduce her. "Oh, you are--she is--Random House! Random House!" my mother says, while pointing to me.

"Hi, I'm Kathy's sister--I--please excuse me, I just had dental work done," I said, tucking the bloody gauze filling up in my mouth to one side of my cheek. She introduces herself, and I play dumb. "Oh, what division of Random House do you work for?" I asked, harmlessly. SHe tells me, and then I drop a name...of the lowest ranking person there (who I think used to be her assistant.) This woman nods, and then gestures to little Richard, whom she says is "adorable" (the same "adorable" kid she complains about making a ton of noise through the apt), and she makes her getaway.

And as soon as this woman leaves, I'm like, oh sh*t, I f*ed up! I could've had an IN! I could've name dropped-- Oh, my professor is so and so, and he's one of your authors," and then that might have shut up this woman in complaining to my sister's co-op board about all of the construction they're doing. So I start cursing myself and my slow-wittedness, and as we're walking to the park, I keep saying things like, "darn!" "grr!" "argh!" "I hate you, Patty," to myself until my mother's like, "Stop it! This is how you drive yourself crazy. You did great job back there. You not know how much your sister will appreciate it."

To which I retorted, through bloody gauze, "What the heck kind of stupid publicist am I? It was MY JOB to think quickly on my feet like that. What the hell is wrong with me?" and continued to grumble to myself all the way to Bleecker St Park, where I once had a Nigel Barker (noted fashion photographer) sighting. He was once there with his beautiful modelesque wife (who I think was preggers) and their little son. Incidentally, I was there with Richard, my parents, and my sister, shortly after my sister and I had another fight about me taking a picture of my nephew while they were crossing the street. Anyway, Nigel wasn't around this time, but I did notice that little Richard was kind of morose. He wasn't running about and smiling with his usual gusto. So after about forty-five minutes, we packed it up and headed home.

While I carried the stroller up the 4 flights of narrow stairs, Richard started crying on the second floor. My mother tried to hoist him up, but he continued to bawl. We panicked--the neighbors were surely going to complain. But the kid would not budge! Eventually, my mother and I got him up, and my mother's prying off his jacket and I'm trying to take off his sand-ridden shoes, when my sister yells through her closed bedroom, "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR!" So after I just manage to get his shoes off, she is shouting. So I open her bedroom door--Richard comes running in--and I see my sister hooked up to a breast pump.

"Jeez! You didn't have to yell!" I am totally fed up by this point.

"I first said it quietly, but then I figured you couldn't hear me, so that's why I said it louder, Patty," she said, the tubes of the breast pump squirting away.

"I was just trying to take his shoes off so he wouldn't track sand all over your room! Because last time, you yelled at me because he had the vacuum toy on top of your bed and it was dirty."

"I didn't YELL at you that time." SHe was actually right about that; she didn't yell that one time. What she had said was, Patty, can you please hand him the vacuum attachment after he gets down from the bed? which was the only even-keeled piece of running commentary she gave to me all day.

"I thought before you didn't want him to see you when you were pumping."

"Well, I didn't have A CHOICE. You and Umma buzzed the apt door WHILE I'M PUMPING, so I had to detach the things, go to the door, buzz you in, and go back."

I didn't point out that Umma and I didn't have a choice, either.

In transcribing my sister's dialogue, I realize that it all sounds very histrionic. But in truth, it IS histrionic. I wish I could say I was writing in hyperbole, but it's not the case. Like, if you were going to write a fictionalized story with my sister's words, and you put it through the workshop mill, all of your classmates and your instructor would say, that language is not believable. You better tone it down and gradually build, because right now it just sounds like a caricature. But in truth, every time my sister speaks to me, her language is so fraught with anger and frustration. And by the end of the day, I was exhausted. So is my mother.

Bear in mind, that my sister has been snapping at my mother this whole time as well. She doesn't snap at the hired "help," but she has been lifting Clara out of my mother's arms, saying, "NO. You are doing it wrong. THIS is how you swaddle her, " or "Why, UMMA, must you keep feeding her? I don't have much milk left. That's ALL The milk I have, and I won't produce any more, and if Richard catches me breast-feeding then he's going to start crying again." So the two of them start arguing about that.

At this point, James comes home, and he sees me playing--well, distracting Richard from the chaos, and he says,"Patty, that's FANTASTIC that you want to play with Richard, but I just ask that you please, please play with him on this side of the apartment. Our neighbors have complained about him running around."

"Okay, James, but I only moved him to that side of the apt because my mom and sister were arguing in the next room--"

"That's fine, okay, that's fine. But I just ask that you please move him to this side of this apt."

So I move Richard and me over to the appropriate side of the room, and I see my sister and mother arguing, and I'm really starting to feel a total sense of injustice, so I say, "Unni, I wish, I really wish you could talk to me like a human being instead of treating me like I'm some kind of animal."

"Patty, when I ask you to do something, you should do it. Don't question me. What makes me so goddamned pissed off is that you ASSUME you know everything. Have you ever been pregnant? No. Have you ever had a baby? No, I don't think so."

"Yeah, but I don't understand why--"

" 'You don't understand why,' " she mimicked. "You and Umma are supposed to be here to help. But you AND Umma don't know how to handle babies. You're not here to make my life harder than it already is. If you keep getting in the way, then it would have been much easier if you never came AT ALL."

"You could at least give me the benefit of the doubt and not yell at me right from the beginning--"

"Me give you the benefit of the doubt!" she scoffed. "You have been treating me like shit! You--"

"Can you please not say that word in front of the baby?" I said, pointing to Richard, who was running about the room. Alarmed, he stared to look up at his mother, who was shooting daggers at me with her beady eyes. My whole life, I've been scared of those beady eyes.

"Patty, I am so fed up with you, and your crap. You have to EARN my benefit of the doubt. Every time I talk to you, you just--"

"But you never talk to Obba [our brother] that way. You're always smiling when you see him."

"How many times have we talked about this? I had no expectations of Richard [she was referring to Richard senior, my brother]. RICHARD never whined while I WAS PREGNANT to plan his birthday dinner. Richard was never around, but he also never asked me to do anything for him! He could only go uphill from there. Meanwhile, the whole time I'M pregnant, you're whining on the phone about 'boo hoo, Doug broke up with me, I'm so upset' and making ME call ALL of these restaurants for your stupid birthday." My sister resumes her hacking cough at this moment. My heard thuds harder, louder, in my chest. "So yes, Patty, until you EARN my benefit of the doubt, that's how I'm going to talk to you. And until YOU stop treating me like shit--" there, she said it again, in front of both her children "--then that's how I'm going to talk to you. I'm so sick of your crap. I'm about ready to give up on you.'

At some point during this conversation, I start to cry, involuntarily--they are tears of extreme frustration. "YOU give up on me? You really should watch your language, Unni. You are SO melodramatic--"

But then James inserts himself into the conversation. In an even-keeled tone, he says, "Umma, Patty, now I know the Park and An families have a certain way of doing things. But in our family, Kathy and I are just trying to raise a family. And I know the way we do things might not seem logical to you, but if you don't know, then just ask us. Just the same way I don't come to your house and tell the housekeeper what to clean and what not to clean, I would ask that you please not tell Yanqui what to do, or when to go home."

"But you guys have like, five billion different rules that I'm trying to memorize--" I start to say, but James interrupts me.

"N-n-no," he tsks, "N-n-no." I feel like I'm being chided by a grade school matron. The way James is saying "n-n-no" reminds me of that annoying scene in Jurassic Park, where "Newman" from Seinfeld pops onto the computer screen and wiggles his little finger, No no no, you forgot to say the magic word!

James continues, "That's why you should ask either me or Kathy beforehand. You just have to realize it makes more work for me and Kathy when you assume something and do it wrong. Just ask." He smiles, but it's the most unsettling smile I've ever had flashed my way. He twirls his wedding ring and says, "I don't think you understand, but Yanqui spends more daytime hours with Richard than anyone else, than even Kathy or me. And on a day like today, on such a momentous day, and a potentially traumatic day for Richard, he needs as many familiar faces surrounding him."

"But she had a fever! She was going to get little Richard sick!"

I found the whole conversation extremely off-putting. Was HE there for any of the episodes through the day when my sister started yelling her head off at me and my mother? NO! Would my sister dare insert herself if James was having a fight with his brother Donald or his sister Nan? No, certainly not! And yet, why did James think he could talk with the kind of air of authority like he had been omnipresent through the day?

Then James and my sister started to lay in on my mother for bringing so much food. To which my mother said, "But I only give you best food! Do you know how much I could do with that food? And I am patient, I only give you the things I want to eat myself. You think it's easy for me, I spend all night cooking and peeling eggs and boiling potatoes. But if you not want it--"

"Umma, it's not that we don't APPRECIATE it," James said. "Like, for example, brunch on Sunday. My parents aren't...expecting Korean food. They just need to be...mentally prepared for that. So I ask that you please, not bring so much food." Incidentally, my sister will talk to my mother the next day and ask my mother to order a platter of California rolls and kimbap for said brunch.

"Well," my mother says, "that's enough talking today. To be continue." They don't stop us. And we leave the apartment and wait outside for my brother to come pick us up. Which meant we were waiting outside in the semi-freddo for twenty minutes.

"American people," my mother said, "they so scary. James, he is so good, he too good at fighting. I'm scared I fight with him. I not understand American people."

******
I almost vow to never go back to their apartment, but I know that they need someone to watch Richard. Or to distract Richard. But it turns out in the middle of the night, Richard started throwing up, and the next morning he wakes up with a fever.

My sister and I are cool with each other that day. And by cool, I mean chilly; we're not talking. THis is familiar territory; I know that once I go back to Boston and I try to call her to see how she's doing, she will first give me the silent treatment before screaming into the phone, "How dare you act like nothing's happened? WAH WAH WAH WAH $#@!%"

So I decide to broach the subject again. "Unni, I'm really sorry that I made assumptions and acted like I knew what I was doing yesterday."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"It was wrong of me to make even more work for you. I was just trying to be helpful, but--"

"THere is no BUT in an apology. That's not an apology. You can't say, 'I'm sorry, but'. Look Patty, I don't need your excuses."

I took a deep breath, exhaled loudly--if only to calm my boiling nerves, and restarted. "I"m really sorry, Unni. I have no idea what you're going through, and I've never been pregnant--"

"Patty, I'm not asking you to know every minute of what it feels like to be pregnant. I just ask that you don't talk back to me. When I say something, just please, just do it."

She wheezed, then resumed her hacking cough. "Patty, do you know that this morning I was bleeding? The doctor said, no picking up Richard for two weeks. But every time he sees me with Clara, he starts crying. All he wants to do is to be held. And so I have to pick him up. And Clara has a high bilirubin level, and I had to take her back to the hospital four days after I delivered, because the doctor thinks she might have jaundice. And on top of that, I have to come home to an apartment that's still not finished. Mike promised me all the construction would be done BEFORE I delivered. Then he promised to have everything done by the time I came home from the hospital. Do you know how much it took for me to hold back and not punch him in the face when I saw him?"

She paused, taking belabored gasps of air, before continuing, "Patty, as bad as my cough sounds now, know that it's twenty times' worse at night. I am in so much pain right now. Last night...last night, I thought I was going to die."

My sister, who generally trends towards hyperbolic, overly-dramatic language, was dead-pan, and I knew she was in more pain than she was even letting on. I thought of the seven fibroids--two the size of grapefruits--riddled in my sister's uterus, the ones that actually prevented little fetus Clara from getting skewered when my sister was getting her amniocentesis. Tears welled up and dribbled down my cheeks.

"Patty," my sister whispered, "I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me. All I ask, is that you not make my life any harder. Because I just don't--I don't have the energy for this." She herself started to tear up.

I walked over to her and stroked her back, but gently (my sister and I don't like to touch). "I'm...I'm so sorry, Unni. You don't know how happy I am that you were able to have a beautiful, beautiful baby. I should have been...more understanding of the situation you were in. You're right, I don't know one one-hundredth of the pain you're in now."

I hesitated before putting a tentative arm around her shoulders. "I...I love you very much, Unni. I'm so, so sorry."

She didn't push my arm away. Tears splashed onto the huge expanse of her still-swollen belly (when was that thing going to swell down, by the way?).

"I...appreciate your having this conversation," she said. She let me hold her for a moment more, before we both realized how corny the moment was. So I told her I'd boil her some tea, and left the room.

In the living room, my mother is rocking little Clara in her arms, with Richard watching her curiously. "RIchard," she says, looking at her grandson, "soon is time for the shower? Ay, Clara not able to take shower for fifteen days! Clara no good!"

My mother shakes her head and wrinkles her nose in feigned disgust. "She nothing but a baby! That's why Richard is better. RIchard is big baby, Clara is the little baby now."

P: Getting Excited/Nervous about Korea

Yay Kari and Nick's imminent/pending arrival! Tell them I say a big hello!

So...I am just starting to let myself imagine what Seoul will be like. Through the beauty of Facebook, I've reached out to some friends (Korean-Americans) who've been in Seoul recently. How did I know this? Through Facebook status updates, holla. So I was trying to gleam more info re language programs. Then yesterday, while I was sitting in the BU Student Dental office, my student dentist Bon. hee was telling me about how she was there 3 years ago. "Yeah, basically you have to look very fashionable all the time," she said. "They going to tell you, sal bbeh! sal bbeh!" Which means, literally, let go of your weight. as in, slim down, pronto. She told me that one of her guy friends thinks she's fat. Bear in mind that Bon. hee is roughly the size of my wrist.

Then she said people told her to wear more makeup (apparently Korean women don't leave their houses without a full face of makeup--I'm talking pancake-style). And she was walking around wearing sneakers, and everyone was like, "Why you not get dress up! Get dress up!" because everyone else was walking around wearing heels.

So I sat there in my dentist seat, haunted by flashbacks of my own Korean upbringing. The times my aunts, uncles, newly arrived relatives, would all tell me, sal bbeh! sal bbah-juh! Lose weight! and then the one time I was in Korea in 1994, and my cousin's girlfriend asked me, why aren't you wearing makeup? She herself was done up like a geisha. And I shrank lower in my seat, thinking about how I was going to set myself up for a horribly awkward year, where I would be uncomfortable even in my own skin.

Bon. hee continued, "Everyone in Korea, they all follow the same trend. There is no such thing as alternative culture there. People all look the same, dress the same, everything the same. And if you different, they look at you funny." She said she had no plans to go back, even though she spent the first 16 years of her life there.

So a few hours later, I met with my Korean language partner Bum. Shik, who arrived from Seoul in September. When I relayed this to him, he made a face and said, Aish! That's not how people are anymore. Maybe 20 years ago, Korean people would say things like that, but nowadays young people never say it. They might think it, but they wouldn't say it to your face. He said the old people might still say things like that, but you should just ignore them.

Bum. Shik then told me I have carte blanche to get mad at that person (provided it's a young person and not an old fuddy-duddy), and I can say, "Are you crazy? What's so great about you, that you can say something like that?" So that was really reassuring. Then he said if I get there early/mid August, he would borrow his sister's car and introduce me to his friends. And then we could go to the 38th parallel line that borders South and North Korea (apparently you have to be an American citizen to gain access to this point, or you have to be WITH an American citizen). And there's a tunnel and a train there, and it's supposed to be pretty cool.

Anyway, that made me feel guilty that I wasn't a better enough a friend to him on the US-side, but it's kind of hard to invite someone out to functions who is still getting a grip of the American social mores, without feeling like you'd have to "babysit" them. Which is what I would be feeling like. Which is probably what he would be feeling like, if we meet up in Seoul. So I must start to invite him to more American things before I leave. Although the other day he asked me "Do you have boyfriend" because it was the Korean equivalent of Valentine's Day coming up, and I clammed up and was like, "Um, I used to, um, no...It's complicated!" and then he patted me on the shoulder and said, "We should go to eat brown-sauce Chinese-style noodles" (aka jja jjang myun). And THEN I was all confused, because he probably asked in just a normal Korean way, but then I wasn't sure for sure, and I thought, can't we just be language friends? And I also thought, can't I just be attracted to you? It'd make things so much easier. But that isn't the case.

This morning, as I was filling out this dumb Fulbright paperwork (I'm on the verge of getting rejected from the separate language award), I looked at the dates, and there's a chance my Fulbright might even last a year and a half. In which case I wouldn't come back to America until Dec 2010. Which made me very nervous, because if I'm going to teach or do anything else, then I'd need to be back by Sept. But THEN I thought, how awesome would it be to ride out the year on the Fulbright's dime, and just keep buying myself more time to write? So I called my dad (namely to talk about some other things), and he said, you should put down 1.5 years for now on the form, and afterwards you can decide later.

And THEN my father said something that made me really excited. We started to talk about REAL ESTATE!!! Apparently Korean's rental system works one of 2 ways. You put down a huge deposit, $10K+, and you just pay for utilities, and then you get that money back at the end of the year. The other way is to pay month by month, but this is much more expensive. Abba also said real estate in Seoul is super cheap right now, and it's cheaper to buy than to rent, so we started talking about the possibility of buying a place, if the Fulbright people don't give me housing. And that was so exciting! Even though my savings dropped 20% in light of our crappy economy, the Korean Won (currency) is super cheap in relation to the already weakened dollar. So I'd still have enough $ to consider putting down a down payment for a small little place in a hip neighborhood, and then I can officially have a pied-a-terre. More so than that, I'd just be excited to start a housing hunt with numbers that aren't SUPER INFLATED the way they are in NY. Holla! So I am going to ride out that high, momentarily, before I get back to writing/revising. The faster I hand in my thesis, the sooner I can make it to Korea...

not much new...

Unlike you, p, i have not been running around all askew trying to get things done; no, no. Over here its been a slow week, although albeit with a few rough mornings. On Monday i woke up of course, thinking the week was already over (thats what you get for thinking Sunday night is a good night to go out to dinner with friends). Tuesday slinked on by– ashley is all alone in her office down the hall (everyone else is on vacay) so this has required me to constantly stop by for multiple coffee breaks each day. Its a wonderful bonus: not only do i get a break from work, but i also ingest more coffee than im used to these days, which in turn, i think, maybe makes me more productive? It certainly puts the cheer on things. Other than that, i *finally* finished up this supplemental-memo-work, which i had to revise like 53 times because new things kept coming to light; either way, its over and out of my hands for good now. Now, onto something new (always initially a happy feeling, although it is soon eclipsed by impatience, boredom, or annoyance. Aint that the truth).

Tuesday night i was sitting around, trying to watch ‘happy go lucky’ (indie british film?) and kept getting interrupted by various things, while swishing away some delicious pinot noir. Then ashley was in the neighb, at a friends house, so we met up and headed to sand-bar for some drinks. By this point, it was about 10.30. Going out on a Tuesday night at 10.30 is probably never a good idea. Either way, we somehow managed to keep socking away drinks until after 1.30 in the morning. As patty can attest to, the neighborhood bar always has a random assortment of characters: on Tuesday, there was this jocky-douche who came over to hit on us (well, ashley in particular), which i find always hilarious because shes married and has his huge rock on her hand and yet its like, guys just dont notice. Do they not even look? Then they get mad at her once they realize. Ridiculous.

Anyway so this douche is talking to her and every once in a while theres some banter, but its short lived- we’re not interested in talking to anyone else, mostly because we are having a wonderful time just laughing and talking. Apparently this offends le douche who starts asking if we are lovers; ashley responds, hello, im married. To which le douche responds, yeah but you guys TOTALLY f—, you do, you totally do. And on and on. I mean... is this really the best strategy for talking to girls? We basically rolled our eyes and tried to avoid him again; i think this upset him more, as he tried several times to get our attention with more insinuations that we were lovers; and after being ignored longer, left. (Im almost forgetting to mention here that he had a girl with him, who i think he was trying to use as his wing-woman- after he introduced himself to us, he introduced her to us, as if he would be less douchey because there was another woman on the premises. Nice try, bucko).

after our drinks magically kept being refilled, and we both understandably were tired and drunk, the night came to a close. It was one of those nights where i managed to throw all of my clothing in a wee little pile by the foot of my bed before crawling in and falling asleep, but apparently, i forgot to wash my face. Because in the morning (after waking up late and hungover), i still had the same amazing mascara in effect. So what did i do? Take a quick shower also without disturbing the mascara. I mean, why mess with good chance? Certainly i was late getting in to work, although not that late, and then ashley promptly had me over for some coffee, although i thought i was going to die until about 1pm when i finally recovered– i must admit, though, there was a dire stretch of time when i thought i might have to go home and crawl into bed. (My right eye turned blood-red at one point– irritated by the gross mascara no doubt – which morphed into a stomach ache– who eats yogurt and multibran cereal when they’re hungover? Bad decisions– which later resolved itself in a headache– nothing excedrine cant cure). Last night i again attempted to watch ‘happy go lucky’ but was derailed again, not by anything involving bars, but by my dad’s phone call.

You know when you’re talking to your parents and they are obviously annoying you? Sometimes i have a hard time hiding this. So my dad was just annoying me because he was talking about his trip to new mexico, and telling me all these little details about fights that they got into, and i was like ‘you guys are ridiculous.’ i wont even reiterate what they were fighting about because it is purely ridiculous. Anyway right after those accounts, he put me on hold for like, 10 minutes for a some random reason (he was getting a delivery or something? At 10.20pm? I have no idea), and i hung up; shortly thereafter, he called back and was like "did i do something to annoy or upset you?" (For all his craziness and flakeyness, i remain impressed that my dad is so in touch with things sometimes). Of course i apologised, i was just being a brat, and we caught up for a bit longer.

Later tonight kari & nic get into town- hooray! im not sure exactly what we’ve got planned for the weekend, although it will most certainly involve montys tomorrow after work, and probably cuban food (when dont these two things come into play?). they leave town super early Sunday so im going to try and convince them that its best to just stay up all night, although im not sure they’ll go for it (yes by really early i mean a 7am flight. Who does that?). Then i can be slothful on Sunday without feeling guilty. Otherwise ill just be slothful on Sunday and feel like i should be doing something else. And so it goes. Rambly-bambly. Someone has had way too much coffee this morning...

xoxo

P: Marathon Monday + Fulbright Paperwork Madness

It took 4 readings for me to get my blood pressure down.

I have steadily been receiving the most disorganized correspondence from the wonderful people at the Fulbright office. They mail me a health physical, which needs to be completed in 3 weeks from the day they sent it (which actually then means 2 weeks, 3 days). The strongly-worded letter said my Fulbright acceptance is contingent on my passing the physical, and having it pass THEIR medical standards.

Naturally, I worked myself into a tizzy to be sure all of this comes out okay. I'm like, oh sh*t, what if I have tuberculosis? or syphilis? Are the 2 slices of free pizza I just ate for lunch going to affect my blood work??!! What if the Korean government doesn't let me into their country?

So, I'm sitting in the BU health services office, with the blood pressure monitor strapped around my arm, and the doctor takes my reading. 135/90. I have never in my life had a reading that off the charts. They say Asian women generally have low blood pressure, and I've never been over 120 over 80 that I know of.
"That is impossible! I KNEW it was because of what I ate for lunch!" My body was punishing me for splurging on eating greasy cheese and carbs.
"It's more the salt than the fat that's raising the reading," the doctor said. "Just try to relax."

But I couldn't. My future hinges on these results. So I went back two days later to get my reading again. 120 /83. Still high! I got it taken again 2 hours later, after I went for a 4 mile (or 16 lap) run. 122 over 80. Still high.

THEN they forgot to take my TB test, which needs 2 days to process. So I had to go back and get that taken.

Then finally today I went back again (I was in and out of that doctor's office 5x in 1.2 weeks) and she took my reading again. 108 over 65. That was actually the lowest I remember ever having. WTF? Anyway, hopefully that will appease the Fulbright people.

Oh, then they sent me several more forms to fill out, which all need to be returned in 2 weeks, and then I just learned that the critical language award I had applied for is moot, because they require that I take a year of college level Korean, even though I'm like, HELLO I'm Korean American! and they said, oh, in that case, we'll have to put you on the alternates list for the language class grant because the Fulbright rules specify that you need a year of college-level Korean. Grumble grumble...

Anyway, I was back in NY from Wed to Sun, seeing some of your smiling faces. My sister just had a baby girl, Clara, and I'm going to have a whole long post about that later. But for now I'll just talk about Boston.

Sunday night: I arrive at South Station via C-town bus at 8:30pm and high-tail it to Somerville, where Amy is wrapping up a pasta dinner party in honor of Brian. We're there till 10pmish. Then I meet up with my gay poet friend Adam and I--we're just supposed to get a quick catch-up drink at Beacon Tv, around the block from me. But 1 pint turns into 3, then 4 and we start talking with this guy Nick, who looks a little Wall St/meat-heady (he works for Fid-el..ity) and seems to be in his late 30s. Nick's friends had left (they had gone to the Kings of L-eon concert), and Nick bribed us with a round of drinks to stay and talk with him because there was this 65yo schizo man who was starting to approach us at the bar. According to Nick, this 65yo is a regular at the bar (which then makes Nick a regular) and he claims to be a psychiatrist, and he goes around trying to psychoanalyze people.

So Adam and I stay, and this old dude makes his way over, and I don't play my part and I let Nick get stuck talking with him. Then the old guy leaves and Nick is like, gee, thanks Patty. And the reason why Adam and I didn't help him out was because Adam was convinced this table of 2 men way at the back of the bar were gay, and he makes me start waving at them (Adam seems to think, after about 12midnight and a few drinks, that any grouplings of men at a bar are probably gay).

So once it becomes apparent to Nick that Adam's gay, I notice he kind of moves in closer to me. First a pat on the arm, then a friendly squeeze on the leg. I've had a few, so I'm like, whatever, people in Boston sure are friendly. Pretty soon the bar is closed, and we're all there with the bartender, who pours us shots of this black sludge that takes like deer horn extract (which I announce quite loudly, but no one understands what the hell I'm talking about), and they're all smoking. And then all of a sudden Adam just leaves. Before I can react, I see him hopping into a cab. Oh, and it's like 2:30 by this point. Ahem, this is not the first time a gay man has left me stranded at a bar (Diane, I'm talking about your friend Craig!!)

Then Nick turns to me and says, "We're all getting a drink down the block."
"Where?" I ask.
He tells me at his apartment, and I'm like, whoa, I gotta go home. And then he bristles at that, and the night ends abruptly. So much for making new friends in the neighborhood. Plus I think I lost my "in" with Paul the bartender.

Anyway, I go home, shove tons of leftover pasta into my face, and pass out, circa 3:30am. Then I'm up by 8:45am to go for a run...back to Health Services to get my TB shot. But I was still a little tipsy, which made for an interesting run. Which leads me to....
Boston Marathon Monday: WHAT A THRILL! Oh, the whole city of Boston shuts down on Marathon Monday (aka Patriots Day) and people are drunk on the streets starting 10am. Diane and my roommate's friend Brian was running again, so my roommate planned a viewing party. So we lined up at mile 25 across the street from our apt, and watched the racers go by. My heart went out for every single person that was running. And then there were a bunch of these small, old Korean men, and I went crazy. I was like, "Go Korea! Dae Han Min-Guk!" and they all turned around and waved or slapped my hand. A couple of them who had passed me even turned back to wave before starting up again! It was the cutest thing ever. Also, I wanted to tell all the runners, esp the ones who looked like they were going to die, "Hell, if I can do it, you can do it! Ignore the pain because yes I know how much you feel like hell and this sucks and no one put a gun to your head, but if you don't finish this, you will feel that public humiliation for the rest of your life" but you can't convey that much info in a 2 second span, so I just continued to shout out their names or T-shirt slogans and say, "Last stretch! Looking great!"

Incidentally, the apt building across from us had the grill going and they were all drinking beer at like 11am. And my roommate and I were like, oh, those people are age-appropriate! I want to be friends with them so they can invite us over for the BBQ next year! Then I squinted, and I realized one of the men--wearing a collared shirt and sweater, drinking a beer-- is that guy Nick from the bar. Oh holy sh*t. I felt really embarrassed. Then I was like, wait, why should I be embarrassed--HE should be! And THEN I thought, should I go over there and say hello, so I can pimp out for my friends Sheila and Amy? And maybe steal a hot dog? Instead, I wave, and either he doesn't see me, or he pretends not to. So I wave again, and then I'm just like, f* it, and continue to scream my head off for the marathoners. But this made me realize once again just how small Boston is, and how I probably shouldn't go back to Beacon Tav for a while. Which is the same thing I said about Audubon a few weeks back, based on various shenanigans that took place there.

Well, much more stuff to post and catch up on--I'm really sorry I've been bad about posting, and certainly not as prolific as Annie, but this Fulbright stuff is driving me batty. Also, yesterday I had my last piece of writing workshopped (no new writing for the semester! Now I just work on my thesis!) and felt yet another ego blow--my writing kind of sucks. I can't produce one piece of decent literature. Everything's just churned out with a one week lead-time. I was told that my essay felt like it was an essay. Instead it should feel more like a raconteur (storyteller) narrating something. And I'm like, jeez, can't I just cut and paste my blog entries, then? When before I was told THAT kind of writing was too...riddled i nthe vernacular. At least I'm too tired to cry.

follow up. im on a boat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7yfISlGLNU

lesbians, ballet, and when do i get a friend with a boat?

Being Monday, its time for a little weekend recap. Friday afternoon, i got an IM from my coworker, anna, down the hall asking if i would be up for a lil’ monty’s happy hour. Obviously, i can never say no to such an offer, so once the day concluded, we headed over. After reveling in the $4.35 sapphire-tonics (i mean, come on. Like you wouldnt want to be there daily, too?), and deciding the raw bar line was way too long, we managed to beat some girls in heels to a table down by the water (they uttered, "are you kidding me?!" as we blazed past them to secure the premises), i found out that it was actually anna’s birthday! This called for several pitchers of beer. A bunch of her friends also came to meet us- a total lesbian posse. Its such a nice-yet-rare treat when you get to be involved in this type of social-unit, because i get the sense that they rarely find the need to open it up to non-lesbian/bisexual outsiders. Either way, they were an assorted crew: the jock girl, the pretty doe-eyed-girl, a few teachers, the short-haired hot older one, the one asian dude who hung with them, and for a while, some other random interlopers.

Before i knew it, i had consumed more alcohol than planned, and ended up with a belly full of nachos. Although the ladies were changing & then heading out to a bar later that night, i managed to escape with a "keep me posted!", after which point i got home, somehow ended up in my bathrobe, watching ‘flight of the conchords’ on dvd. It was one of those nights where, while i was driving away, i thought, "this would be so great! I should go out with them! This is so fun! We can dance and be crazy! Girl time!". but then once you are laying on your little couch drinking one last glass of wine with your feet up, its kind of hard to re-motivate. This often happens, although i can proudly say that it happens here less often than it normally does, at home in ny. I think its a comfort-factor thing: like, i end up doing more random things here, mostly because there is no fallback usual routine (or if it is, its easily disposed with in lieu of more excitement).

Saturday i woke up and was disappointed by the grayness that was hovering over the beach, so decided to spend the morning running some errands; by the time i was done at the farmer’s market, and back at home, the sun had come out- which meant, time for the pool. Im sure i was only there for a few hours, but eventually i had to wrestle myself out of my little reclining-chair and inside for a run, before i went to meet friends at the ballet (although not at all associated with last week’s ballet class). The show was called "open barre"; this not only meant that it was general-admission seating (prompting us to push past some elderly couples), but it also meant that bacardi was sponsoring the event, and there was an open bar (leading me to follow chanel’s lead of getting bacardi-coconut-rum with gingerale; oddly like drinking the beach, and being reminded of malibu rum and high school, but at the same time, delicious).

The ballet was wonderful: the auditorium was rather small so we were very close to the stage, which made it much more intimate than going to see the ballet in a large hall, like at lincoln center. The first act was balanchine- lots of traditional ballet, like swan lake or something. Several things occurred to me during this portion: (1) the guys are always basically props; they are the obvious romantic love interest, and they basically help carry, spin, or twirl the ladies, but are otherwise just accessories to move the plot along; (2) they have to have these funny facial expressions, as if they are totally and completely in love with their ballerinas; i mean, im sure ive noticed this before but its just so random, mostly because all the ballerinas’ facial expressions look the same- stoic, or calm, and rarely anything else); (3) which reminds me-- the girls all look the same! Its uncanny to see so many brunettes, hair pulled back tightly into buns, with the same overdone makeup and false eyelashes, the same pinched-yet-calm faces... and then, when you’re sitting all close, like we were, you just start to get noticeably distracted by how different they actually all are; this one is taller, this one is more graceful; that one looks like my cousin. (4) effortless– how do they manage to look so effortlessly the same? – when by the end of the piece, they are all covered in sweat. So impressive. After the intermission, the second half was a jazz-like, prohibition-era piece that was a lot of fun, with lots of 1920s-30s costumes on all the dancers; much more modern.

Once that concluded, we all headed out to dinner- there were 6 of us in total, two couples and me & another lady; one of the couples i had never met before: i had been forewarned that this girl was basically the miami-version of barbie, so i was ready and braced myself for it; but i was completely mesmoried- her father is some kind of famous plastic surgeon or something, and yes, she was totally barbie and pretty– long blond hair, blue eyes, full lips, whatever- but the best part? It was obvious that her nose was not an original genetic edition, nor were her *cheeks*. I mean, im talking like, when you see madonna’s cheeks, or some other older-celebrity that has had cheek-implants, and they’re all firm and high-up, and they look great– but so unnatural. And this girl? She’s our age. How weird. I mean, theres no other way to describe it... her boyfriend was about 20 yrs her senior, apparently very-well off (chanel’s husband later informed us that the boyf was wearing a $12k watch), and discussed his various cars during dinner (porsche vs. mercedes?). for the most part though, he was a total dolt- conversationless - although the best part came close to the end of our meal, when he casually mentioned that he & the gf were going to take the boat out the next day.

Take the boat out? Its not fair! These are the exact type of friends ive needed all along– the ones who have boats, who take them out, spend the day in the sunshine, drinking beers, fishing or swimming or whatever the hell. And yet, this is them? As we would later discuss, each one of us (at that very moment) wanted to invite ourselves along, to ask if we could come, to spend the day frying out there in the hot sun- but yet, so impossible. As if dinner hadnt been rough enough eeking words out of this couple- to imagine being on a boat with them? (Not to mention the whole blonde-barbie girl wasnt necessarily the kind of girl that then would go on to be astronaut, or doctor). Painful. So dreams were dashed.

Oh and how i wept on Sunday. No, actually, i was on the beach for a few hours in the morning, and then headed inside for lunch and a run, before heading to nicole’s house for wine with some more friends, and then all out to dinner at the sushi-bar-in-a-strip-mall that we had been to a few months earlier. Again, so delicious. I could eat sashimi there the rest of my life and never complain. Perhaps the best part of the evening was the fact that i drove there in my prescription sunglasses, but forgot to bring my normal glasses; so that on my way home, i had to continue rocking the sunglasses even though it was 11pm, and dark, and of course the road i was going to take home was totally closed for construction, so i had to toodle around in the car lost with my gps telling me every few moments or so, "Recalculating. Recalculating." eventually, yes, i got home in one piece, but it was definitely touch & go there for a while. (If i had been in any other city, i would have likely been more afraid about being pulled over for driving a bright blue pt cruiser with the windows down, blasting lil’ wayne and wearing huge 1980s white sunglasses, but apparently in miami, they will only pull you over if you obviously just shot someone or something. in other words? Very interesting law enforcement tactics).

A late Sunday night of course, means a rough Monday morning, when i actually thought first thing, "oh hello Tuesday. Or is it Wednesday?", sadly realizing shortly thereafter that it was neither. Nevertheless, its going along without many hitches and im managing to survive (although am on my 4th cup of tea)(granted, not for caffeine’s sake, but just to keep me awake and alert with a hot beverage). So far this week is pretty calm until Thursday night, when kari & nic are coming to visit for the weekend; hopefully in the meantime, i will find that friend who owns the boat so that i can be truly apathetic and end my work-days here with some sunset trips out into the ocean, instead of listening to npr on my drive home. You just let me know if you have any leads...

Xoxo

random updates?

this is what happens when you have too much wine solo on a thursday night... photo time!

this is from the fashion show, of several weeks ago- from l to r, sarah, carla, me, and ashley

the view from my mama's hotel room- miami beach, you are gorgie

me and mj!

the week that was barely

i cannot believe its thursday. this week has been one long stretch of the same day: i couldnt tell you how monday differed from tuesday differed from yesterday... except that each day i woke up with sore calves, made myself run longer than i wanted to, and as a result, have a matching sore quad. whats the dilly. (ok, so i do vaguely remember that it poured rain during my run on tuesday, which made it a lot of fun and very beautiful, to see the dark storm clouds gathering over the beach, lightning and the works, with the contrasting and varying shades of the ocean shimmering below). but really. thats the extent of my differentiation. maybe its a result of having had my mom around for entertainment's sake last week, or my busy weekend- but i think the only things ive managed to accomplish this week are (1) prolonging my obsessed with dexter, (2) telling myself to go to bed early each night, but subsequently ignoring it, and (3) thinking that if i keep drinking coffee, ill somehow wake up before 10am. for the record? false.

not that im being grouchy, i just feel like ive been hybernating this week. the friendies have all been rather busy; although a few of us are going to see the ballet on saturday night, otherwise i just plan on being a ferocious lump in the sun. oh, and, i recently decided i need some newness: ive been obsessing over the stray puppies available on the miami-dade animal shelter website. clearly i am not familiar with how one trains/lives with a dog any longer than 6 weeks (shoutout to chuey, holler summer 2005), but am very intrigued by the little bitty black labs pupples that are all over that site. i mean... theyre basically picking up the phone and telling me that they would like me to save their lives, and promise to cuddle, not eat my shoes, and go for long runs on the beach. no? you dont think thats what they're saying? my second minor obsession is the belief that this weekend im going to try one of those pilates reformer machine classes. not that i am all about the exercise (although i guess this post kinda makes it sound that way), but i figured it would be something different to do, new exciting etc blah blah that wouldnt involve me doing the same lap up and down the beach. (geez, this does sound grouchy).

all is well otherwise- got to talk to lil mirz yesterday on her eve of birth; keep getting these insane calls from my dad at random times when he's in a car, driving, and wants to say hello and talk for like 40 minutes even though he's yelling things at terry about directions (they're on vacay in new mexico); work is good, finally finished a case ive been working on for a while, which is a relief, and editing something else- so when i come in tomorrow, ill have a nice fresh clean desk all ready for me. i guess i just get a little stir crazy sometimes. i need a good walking. maybe like a few weeks ago, when i went down for a walk on the beach with a glass jar full of white wine, which provoked someone to ask if i was drinking urine. awesome. you kinda gotta love it. glass jar + white wine + hobo = assuming that im drinking pee. well, i guess it did look that way. but you know what? when you gotta do it, you just do.

with that, xoxo

patty- hope you're having a great time with little niecey clara in the big city.

sore calves, tacky italians, and latin dancing

that title about sums up the weekend. friday after work i rushed to go get my haircut - of course, my stylish greer (who is the cutest little blonde thing ever) was running 20 minutes late. this is miami, after all. when i arrived she was in the midst of blow-drying the longest hair ever in small, small sections. normally i wouldnt mind waiting, but (1) they dont have trashy magazines there, only fashionable high-class ones, like vogue, w and oprah (random); and (2) i was having several co-workers over at 8pm for drinks before we went out to the neighb italian restaurant, prima pasta- which ive walked by countless times and only marvelled at the excessive orange-and-purple neon lights that are in effect throughout the restaurant. nonetheless, chanel had been talking up prima p for months so we finally made a group-outing date. 

so there i am, sitting there all freaked out and type A and it reminded me exactly of why i am a nyer and why everyone else seems to be so relaxed. you just have to adapt, bc no one is going to rush for you down here. in lieu of reading the w, i got a much longer scalp massage by an assistant, and a nice head-washing, so all was not lost. i still managed to finish my appointment well within time, but had already told the girls i was running 30 min behind, so i had ample time to stop at the local liquor store on my way home to grab some wine. yes, wine, i thought. but then you know, you end up in a liquor store and dont know what to get, and normally if i was at home i wouldnt freak about it, but when youre having new friends over, you dont want to be all l.c. and pour them some yellowtail. you know what im saying. so i managed to get a bottle of cava (spanish sparkling), a bottle of pinot noir, and... a bottle of grey goose. i mean, one should always have the ingredients for vodka soda in the house, no? i treat it as an investment.

anyway, of course we only had enough time to drink the cava-- it was nicole, amanda, and another friend (non-law related), tracy, who is a prof at u miami- all very cool girls, and it was nice that it was small (others were supposed to come but had to cancel for various reasons). we drank on the roof and in the apt and then headed out for dinner. to the tackiest, most insane italian restaurant. i cant even begin to describe the random framed photos on the wall- like, random headshots of celebrities, but no indication they had eaten there, or anything. i mean, picture one of those places in little italy with all the tack, but transported into miami beach. we dont have a lot of those things down here, so it was a lot of fun, and the food was pretty good- i would say though, the ambiance ranked it at like a 9, while the food was about 6.5. so... you know. you go for the experience. we sat there for hours laughing and drinking wine and chatting and then suddenly it was 12.30am, and time for everyone to go home. 

saturday morning i awoke to a lovely catch-up call with heather, who ive been playing phone tag with for the greater part of 6 weeks or so... no joke! we talked while i drank my coffee, suited up in running clothes, and then eventually headed out the door to run to ballet class with rachel. i was expecting a painful experience (do most girls have negative connotations with ballet class? there was always something awkward... the mean teachers; the thick pink tights; the wedgie-leotards; or for me, sucking in my 4-yr old stomach) but it was actually a lot of fun: there were only 4 of us, and the instructor was thorough enough and slow enough so that i mostly followed. my calves are still killing me. we then stayed for the stretch-yoga class afterwards, and then walked up the beach the 2 miles back to my house. then, off to lincoln road down in so.be. for a huge salad at a sidewalk cafe, where it suddenly started pouring, so we just kept laughing and drinking white wine with lunch/brunch (by this point, i think it was already 3.30 or so...). i dropped rachel off at her house, and still managed to make it to the farmer's market by me, getting another slew of tomatoes, cucumbers, and citrus fruits- also, artichoke. theyre kind of great, if not messy, and a new weekly-thing.

although i was all set to watch juno and do nothing other than eat take-out sushi, a friend called and asked if i wanted to go to second-saturday- the art openings, over in the design district. of course, remember this is miami- the openings end at 10pm; carla was supposed to grab me at about 9.20; and she arrived to scoop me at 10.30. so.... events were over, for the most part, although we did go into a few places with really atrocious crap. the best part? a sign hanging over the register (yes, no joke. there was a register out in the open) that said "no refunds." ummm. must be classy. we saw there was another place bustling across the street, so headed over- it was this restaurant 'grass', that also has a club inside; johnny walker was sponsoring the night so they took some pictures of us, and then we got free drink tokens. for what, you ask? johnny walker black, with two options: rocks, or straight. neither carla nor her friend ana could tolerate it, so i adoringly took their magical coins and proceeded to wait until the whiskey (is that what it is?) was watered down enough to actually drink. not bad. but not my first choice.  the club portion of grass sucked- i think we lasted inside for about 7 minutes before i threw a minor shit-fit of facial expressions, prompting us to go back outside, where they were playing lots of latin music. so we danced outside under the moon and stars, even though you couldnt really see them at all bc there are these weird grass-hut-thatched-roof structures everywhere. still, not bad. a fun night, especially considering i was only expecting, remember, a night with juno and sushi. ana drove me home once i started complaining incessantly about my poor feet, and was in bed by 3am.

this morning i struggled out of bed and onto the beach, spending my easter-sunday barely clothed in the hot sun for about 4 hours, until i realized i needed to eat something, and toddled back inside for a bit. i have a personal mission to rid myself of unnecessary tan lines, so it requires me to constantly adjust and readjust my bathing suit, but let me tell you, its worth it. i am turning into the laziest little beach bum.

after some errand-running, i did a little more running on the beach, closing out the day with the fresh air and cool breeze and stretching in front of the water. now, baking some tofu and being mesmorized by 'the sound of music' playing in the background (earlier, it was 'mary poppins', i would say equally as good, if not better).  thats all she wrote on this end of things; im just proud i didnt try to supplement the easter-package patty sent me with more chocolate offerings. success! (if you count eating one-reeces-egg-per-day success. and i do.).

happy sunday night

xo

P: Lazy Poster

I know, I know, I've been bad--but until I finish all of my original (new) writing for the semester, I'm kind of too frazzled to blog. Wah wah wah. That being said, my last story for the semester is due this Monday, and then after that, I just need to rewrite and revise 100 pages of my writing for my thesis. The end is almost in sight! ...although it doesn't feel like it, as I stare out the window in the Theology library, looking at the rainy day go by.

So I'm still on Cloud 9 re the Fulbright, but I can't spare a moment there because my sister's giving birth next week to little Clara. A girl! I'm so excited. I will be taking my niece to the American Girls' Place for tea. I better make a reservation stat for 2015, which will be about the time she'd actually get to enjoy it.

So, I'm heading home to NY either late Wed night (April 15) or late Tues night (April 14). And will be home through my mother's birthday on Sunday the 19. Who's around? Let's all try to meet up!

love,
P

mandatory new policy

i have a new proposal. Its called, "the four-day-work-week." Im not saying we should always have 3-day weekends, no. But when you take a day-off mid-week, it makes the rest of the week seem so much more bareable and pleasant, and not as painful or boring or dreadful (so does drinking a lot, and while i also advocate that, i think it also makes it much more difficult to wake up the next morning).

This is stemming from my Thursday off with my mom: it started off with an 8am, 6 mile run along the beach, when the air was still a little cool and fresh and refreshing- maybe about 58 degrees. It was me and all the retired people out on their daily constitutionals. What a perfect way to start the day. This was followed up with a brief trip to pick up my refurbished glasses, and then over to my mom’s hotel, the ‘miami beach hotel and spa,’ not too far from me down on collins and 48th street. They were just finishing up their room-service breakfast, so i sat in one of the arm chairs and looked out at the ocean, painting my nails, until it was time to go downstairs for our *couples* massage. Yes. Couples. Me and mom! It was hilarious. We had one of those rooms with two tables, dim lighting, soundtrack of the ocean, and roses on our pillows. I mean. Too cute. The massage was lovely, although there was this weird point in time when the masseuse started pulling my hair. Im guessing it was somehow related to a kind of scalp massage? But it was totally unexpected & a little odd, to say the least. It happened a few times. So bizarre. I refused to wash afterwards so walked around feeling all soft-yet-greasy for the remainder of the day, and in fact, was so lazy i didnt even take a shower before bed. (when i woke up this morning, my hair had a mind of its own).

The rest of the afternoon was spent outside: salads, sunning on the beach, wading in the ocean, walking on the boardwalk – until dinner time, when we headed down to southbeach to eat at joe allens (ben & i had been there a month ago or so) and shared an incredible piece of cod, endive salad, bruschetta, and a few celebratory glasses of prosecco (i tried to make mj have more than one vodka soda but she resisted my enticements). Afterwards we walked to the water for a bit, and then i took them back to their hotel to pack and bed. They’re off today, in a few hours; its been such a treat to have them around, and to have had yesterday off, for sure.

This morning i woke up feeling so refreshed and ready to start the day- perhaps in part because i neglected the npr to listen to my recent running-mix (involving cheese-dancey katy perry, lady gaga and kanye.. I know, odd assortment), and then sped all the way to work bc apparently everyone else in this town has the day off (either for passover or good Friday) while blasting the strokes at full-speaker-volume, wearing an inappropriately short dress from forever 21, pearl necklaces, and my big white armani sunglasses from 1977. Can you tell its going to be an amazing day or what?

After work i finally get my progressively-moppy hair cut, and then some girls from work are either coming over for drinks, or we’re having cocktails at sandbar, before heading to a nearby totally tacky italian restaurant in my hood (‘cafe prima pasta’) which will involve purple fluorescent lights... inside the restaurant. No im not kidding. Its supposed to be good, so we shall see; but mostly it will just be nice to continue stuffing my face for the week. My goal is to eat 12 pounds of pasta. Ha? Yes.

Otherwise, i cant stay up/out too late or drink too much because ive promised rachel that ill go with her to a ballet class & then yoga tomorrow at 11am. (how virtuous) (and optimistic). Apparently i am sacrificing a little saturday-morning shut-eye to put on leggings and prance around in front of strangers. How could that be a bad thing? Hey, at least then i can spend the rest of the day being a completely lazy bum with no regrets... i also somehow promised to hold/help with a modified sedar involving brisket for either later this weekend or early next week, which im currently incapable of planning or organizing for, so im going to keep my mouth quiet on that one (unless i want to sit inside all day Sunday brinning a roast or however it is you make brisket).

either way, Easter + Passover = rebirth and spring and new beginnings. So here’s to a good fresh start for us all.

xoxo