Guilty Pleasure

I read recently that a good line to use when meeting someone for the first time is “what’s the most embarrassing song in your Ipod?” I’m not sure about that, but the question made me ponder what I had in my Ipod.

My current response to the question, hands down, is currently Miley Cyrus’s “See You Again.” I discovered it this weekend when I was trawling the apple store looking for new running songs, and since then have listened to it running down the East River, commuting around town on Sunday, and before Court this morning to psyche myself up. Yes, it’s by a girl half my age. Yes, she has a show on the Disney Channel. Yes, I’m pretty sure she lifted the main base line from the 80s classic “I wear my sunglasses at night” (she didn’t know! she wasn’t born then).

Despite all of that, the song is unequivocally awesome. I dare any of you to listen to the song and tell me otherwise.

Here’s a snippet of the lyrics:

The last time I freaked out, I just kept lookin down
I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I’m thinkin bout
Felt like I couldn’t breathe
You asked what’s wrong with me
My best friend Leslie said, Oh she’s just being Miley
The next time we hang out, I will redeem myself
My heart can’t rest til then
I can’t wait to see you again

You really can’t get the full effect without listening, so take a listen. It’s addictive.

Don’t Be Scared

I’m deliciously happy today. Thanks to Global Warming, New York is a gorgeous 70 degrees and sunny today, and I’m reveling in it. It’s so funny how little changes in the weather can have such a profound affect on one’s mood.

I went out last night and saw “I Am Legend” with Will Smith. Overall, I really liked it. A lot of the movie focuses on how Smith’s character manages to live on his own in Manhattan after all of the other humans have been annihilated by mutated, hyper-aggressive zombie-humans – the products of a genetically-engineered cure for cancer gone catastrophically wrong. Smith’s character recreates human relationships with his dog, Samantha, and the mannequins positioned in an empty record store. He uses an almanac to chart meticulously the time the sun will set each day, listens to his Ipod, somehow has electrical power in his house though ConEdison has long since disappeared, watches Shrek and re-runs of the Today Show, and insists that Samantha eats her vegetables, all the while hunting the zombies in an effort to find a cure that will reverse the effects of the mutation and save humankind.

The parts with the zombies were tense and scary, causing me to bury my head into the shoulder of my obliging date, who whispered softly, “Don’t be scared.” As a general matter, I’m not good with scary movies; I have a very vivid imagination and find it difficult to suspend disbelief when faced with terrorizing monsters or serial killers lurking in the dark. And, unfortunately, my inability to suspend disbelief often stays with me long after the movie has ended, causing me to check under the bed, in the shower, and behind the clothes in the closet before gingerly crawling in to bed, listening in the darkness for the faintest hint of movement somewhere in the house – the tell-tale sign of something disastrous about to occur.

But, today, it’s warm and sunny outside, life is good, and I’m so happy at the moment that the idea of zombies attacking is quite unthinkable.

Swedish Glogg Party

I had a total blast this weekend. Friday night, I went to a holiday party and out to dinner and then Saturday I threw a birthday/holiday party at my house, the theme of which was a Swedish Glogg Party since I’m part Swedish. I think the party was a success. There were about 30 people crammed into the living space in the apartment that I share with Rumi. In typical New York style, we had had to put the coffee table and living room chair out in the hall to accommodate our guests.

Here are a few things I would do differently that I want to remember for next year’s bash:

1) Start the party no later than 8:00 pm – This year, I started it at 7:00 pm thinking that because there were other holiday parties I’d give my guests the option of stopping by mine first. However, no one came before 7:30 (also typical New York – actually, 7:30 is super early), and literally all of my girl friends were just walking out their doors at around 8:00 pm.

2) Have no ending time – I had set the party for 7 to 10 but a large group stayed until midnight which was perfect. I don’t know what I was thinking imagining that I would be up for going out after the party (and after running around all day, baking, and getting everything prepared). Plus, it was pretty much the perfect end to the evening to turn around after shutting the door on the last of my departing guests to see Mr. Italian standing in front of me.

3) Have a bigger pot of glogg – The glogg was a hit. I went through three batches in a saucepan. Who knew it would be so popular. It turns out that everyone loves hot mulled wine, and frankly who wouldn’t? It’s hot, spicy wine filled with raisins and almonds. Yum. Next year I’m going to have a bigger pot or I’m going to use one of those catering things that dispense coffee as a glogg dispenser. How cool would that be?

4) Organize the booze so it’s more self-serve – Next year, the booze gets its own table so that guests know exactly what where it is, what their options are, and how to get it. I ran around trying to get people drinks but I think if I had organized it better people would have been able to fend for themselves a bit more. Ideally, next year I’ll be able to just direct them to the booze table and say, help yourselves.

Other than that, I wouldn’t change anything. I made lussebullar (St. Lucia Buns), had Le Tur and fig jam on crackers, pepper-encrusted salami for my meat-eating friends, olives, pepperkakor, Swedish candy (bilar, salt lakris, and vine gummi), smoked salmon, and a bunch of snack that Rumi’s boyfriend brought over. Also, everyone who said they were going to come came! It was fantastic. Pretty much all of my closest friends in New York came to the party, not to mention Mr. Italian (date # 5 for those of you keeping track).

It was a great way to celebrate my b-day and I was very happy.

Holiday Party Music Picks

I’ve been in a flurry of activity preparing for my upcoming holiday party. It’s actually a holiday/birthday party as my birthday is at the end of December. Although I grew up hearing how December babies always get shafted, I can report, happily, that that’s never been the case for me. I guess I’m lucky like that.

One of the things I’ve been working on, in addition to cleaning up and organizing my god-awful disaster of a room, lugging home bottles of liquor and tasty ingredients, and perfecting my Swedish glogg recipe, is picking the perfect play-list for the party. It’s actually way more challenging than I would have thought. I’m doing it in order and trying to have some chill, but fun music up front and then gradually picking up the tempo. The hard part is that you don’t want to bust out, for example, Britney’s “Gimme More,” too early, but you also don’t want to let things lag in the beginning.

What are your music must-haves for a holiday party? Send ‘em my way. Once I get my list perfected, I’ll be sure to post it. It’s going to be awesome.

In other news, for those of you who have inquired… yes, I’ve been rather preoccupied this past week with the Italian man. I’m not going to write much about it because, surprise, surprise, he actually seems cool and I’m genuinely interested in seeing him again. Me thinks blogging would not be a good idea at this stage. Now, if it all fizzles and goes to pot in some semi-painfully hilarious fashion, you can be sure that I will share all the sordid details.

For now though, I’m going to remain pleasantly mum.

Distracted

All I can think about today is sex. Walking to the subway: sex. Reading cases: sex. At a meeting in a conference room: sex. Maybe this is what it’s like to be a man, to walk around all day feeling a dull pulsing of desire and having it flare up at the most inappropriate moments when a stray vision of two bodies intertwined flashes across your mind. It’s quite distracting. How do men hold it together if they really think about sex every 7 seconds? (Or other women, for that matter). Good god, it’s a wonder they get anything done. As it is, I must have read the same paragraph over today at least 20 times, still without any comprehension.

Airports

Sometimes, out of the blue, delightful, completely unexpected things happen. Like, for example, meeting a ridiculously sexy Italian man at the airport on your way to London, having said ridiculously sexy man ask for your number while you’re tying up the laces of your sneakers, and then having a terrific first date where you find out that not only is Mr. Italy hot, he’s also smart, thoughtful, funny, considerate, accomplished, caring, chivalrous and possessed of a smoldering intensity.

These things happen. Isn’t life fun?

Drafting Doldrums

I really quite desperately want to sleep.

Unfortunately, I have a rather gigantic assignment due that is taking literally forever. It’s 9:00 pm and I’m stuck in the office and probably will not be able to go home for a while. Boo. As I have nothing substantive or interesting to say, I guess the point of this post is to whine. *frowning* This is the first OBIM day that I’ve had in a long, long time.

Which reminds me, it’s actually Tuesday! Which is both good and bad. Good, because I’m that much closer to the end of the week and my coveted weekend. Bad, because I have a boatload of work to do and I’m not sure how I’m going to do it. I’m also supposed to go on a date tomorrow night with the Masked Priest, but it’s unclear at this juncture how that’s going to happen.

Help.

I’ll leave you with a funny tidbit: The other day, I heard someone describe a person as ineffective by calling them a “one-armed coat hanger.” Hilarious. Come to think of it, I kind of feel like a one-armed coat hanger right now.

Date Update: The Masked Priest just called and for the third time in a row he did something that left me feeling pleasantly surprised. How delightful. He called with an idea for a bar to meet at tomorrow night which was midway between both of us in a cool area. Then, during the conversation when I was saying that I might have to meet up a bit later because of work, he suggested that we meet for dinner instead (because I would not have been able to eat by then). He even had a restaurant suggestion. He listened, thought of me, and suggested something that would make my life more pleasant. He’s confident, has back-up plans, and fun ideas. Remarkable. Wow. I kind of feel like a one-and-a-half armed coat hanger now. Once again I’m left with the impression that this guy might be kind of cool. Despite my work, I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow.

Dips

I’m having a slight emotional dip. I’m not sure why. This is 10,000 times better than it used to be. It used to be that the norm would be a dip, and the unusual would be a feeling of well-being. Those were in the dark days of things long since past. Now, I operate, especially lately, on a plane several stories above the emotional wasteland that I used to exist upon. It’s nice and warm and fuzzy up here, but sometimes there are the dips.

I’m not sure what precipitated this one. It’s not even a full dip, but I find myself hanging on with my fingernails, scared that I might slide down all the way. I don’t like the emotional wasteland. It involves feeling of isolation, being overwhelmed and anxiety. It feels a little like things are flying apart, like there’s no sense of purpose, nothing concrete to hold on to. It evokes the desire to binge. It evokes a feeling of need. Need. Need for what?

Not cool, creamy, chocolaty goodness. Despite what I feel.

But, as I was saying, we’re not in a full-blown dip. I think it started from a series of seemingly small, inconsequential things. I had to deal with the psycho-actress that I rent from about bills. Every time that happens it’s a source of stress and I think why am I still living here? The apartment suddenly looks dingy again, I hate the lack of bath tub, my room looks like a chaotic mess. I think, I’m not together. I don’t have the apartment of a woman who is together, sophisticated. My mom’s coming in to town and I’m excited to see her, but it’s also stressful. I have to think of what to do, where to go, will she be happy, will she be warm. I need to work because of something that came up last minute on Friday. I feel guilty. I also feel stressed about work.

And then, last night, I met the boyfriend of one of my new friends. She’s white, he’s Indian. Sound familiar? Well, it turns out that Indian boy, after dating this White girl for 4 years, finally told his parents that he was dating a white girl. Ooooooh. Yes, I intended that mocking tone – not to him, not to my friend, but to the past – my own past. It was a big deal for Indian boy to finally tell his parents, and of course he didn’t tell the whole truth. He told them he had been dating her for 1 year (not 4). The mother cried, the father wrote an email asking him why he made his mother cry. They both asked him why he couldn’t just date an Indian girl.

God, it’s all so stupid.

Exbf’s parents didn’t want me to be with him at first either for everything that I was not. I wasn’t Indian, I wasn’t Hindu, I hadn’t grown up in the Indian culture. Never mind that I’m respectful, culturally aware, and that I was genuinely interested in embracing their background and culture. My dad’s an immigrant. I get it.

The funny thing was that eventually his parents did accept me. It actually got to the point that his father gave him his blessing to marry me. The funny thing is that it happened a few weeks before we finally broke up. That’s hysterical. His parents came to accept me, actually embraced – to the extent that they could – the idea of us marrying, just before we broke up.

I have to admit that hearing my friend’s story last night, I felt a tiny flicker of hollowness laced with a tinge of bitterness inside of me. An edge of harshness. I guess it’s anger, maybe hurt. Still. I don’t want to be with him. I haven’t wanted to be with him or talk to him since the day, almost a year ago, that we broke up. But, things that I experienced with him still affect me now and then. Remembering still evokes some negative emotions.

I guess maybe this emotion is something like: You never saw how wonderful and special I was. And, that makes me mad. It makes me want to throw a plate at him. I tried really hard. His parents – people totally dead set against me from the beginning b/c of things completely out of my control – came to appreciate and accept me. But, not him. He was too selfish, too small, too weak, too insensitive, too self-involved, too cowardly, too insecure, too pathetic, and he had way too little to give.

Every time I remember these things it take me back to this: The re-realization and re-confirmation that he was not good for me and not good enough for me. He sucked.

So, why the lingering emotions that pick at the edges of the almost-healed scabs on my heart? I should be joyous, filled with elation that I’m not with him, that I didn’t end up with him, that I was spared from spending one more year with him and his bullshit. And, I am. Truly. A day ago, two days ago, I was filled with joy. The world was warm and fuzzy, and I was so incredibly happy to be me, on my own, safe from that kind of negativity. But, as I’m learning, things are not black and white. I can be joyous about not being with him at the same time that I still feel, on occasion, sad about how he acted and what I experienced while I was with him.

(I was just thinking, as I was writing, you should not be feeling this; it is over a year ago! But then I thought, Fuck it, I’m purging. This is how I feel. This is what I will write. So there.)

The Masked Priest: Part I

On Saturday, I went to two Halloween parties dressed as this femme fatale with a bunch of my friends. I had a nurse’s outfit, a cap, a wig of platinum blond 2-ft long hair, red patent leather high heels, bright red lipstick, and a hatori hanzo sword strapped to my back. It was awesome. Technically, I should have had an eye-patch but it turns out that those things are super uncomfortable, so I scratched it. My friends were dressed as a pirate wench, a mammary gland, a pirate captain, a boxer, and Gogo (the psycho-Japanese girl from Kill Bill). I loved dressing up, loved walking around the streets looking at the other crazies, and had a total blast at the parties.

At the second party, I bumped into a very tall (I’m thinking 6′4″ to 6′6″), broad-shouldered man wearing a priest outfit with a mask. We chit-chatted in the hall about our costumes and I couldn’t help noticing that even in my 3-inch heels (which put me at roughly 6-ft), I had to tilt my head to look up at him. Nice. The party went on, Gogo and I hit the dance floor, had some cupcakes, filled up our champagne glasses, and continued dancing. The apartment where the party was held has this really cool set up with a DJ-booth in the living room, and the guys who live there all take turns DJ-ing for parties. The Masked Priest DJ-ed for about an hour while Gogo and I danced, occasionally catching my eye. When he finished, he joined Gogo and I on the dance floor and he and I started dancing and talking. At one point, he took off the mask and put it on my face, and pictures were taken. It happened so fast and it was dark on the dance floor, so I didn’t get a clear picture of the top of his face. Or, if I did, the alcohol has since obliterated it from my memory.

Around 2:30 am, when Gogo was ready to go, I told the Masked Priest that I was leaving. He said that we should hang out some time, and I, looking up at him, said sure. I gave him my number and left with my friends, thinking that the evening had been fantastic, mildly flattered by the attentions of the Masked Priest, but not holding my breath for anything more. It had been fun for what it was, and I didn’t expect nor need anything else.

On Sunday, I mostly recovered, more so from lack of sleep than from dehydration. After coming home at 3:20 in the morning on Saturday night, I had made the somewhat poor decision to watch the latest episode of “Gossip Girls” until 4 am. Upon waking around 9:30 am, I lazed around, cleaned, organized, and then did a little shopping later in the day. That night, I saw “Rendition,” a very good and disturbing movie that I recommend seeing.

Monday, I worked and went to Swedish class – one of my new favorite things. Tuesday, I worked and went to therapy and talked about eating, emotions, and this new book I’ve become fascinated by, “Feeding the Hungry Heart.” It’s in the self-help genre and all about the emotional reasons people (women mainly) overeat and/or binge. I picked it up for research/exploratory purposes, and became totally hooked. When I finish it, I think I’m going to pick up another book about binging, anorexia, or bulimia. Maybe not anorexia – I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. Reading it, I feel a little like “Fight Club” when Marla and Tyler participate in a cycle of self-help groups as a way to deal with their own emotional issues. Of course, unlike Marla and Tyler, I’m not a totally disconnected observer – I have my own issues with eating and emotions and it’s so interesting to be exploring them and learning about other people’s stories and perspectives.

Getting back to the main thread of this post… I came out of therapy and was in the midst of checking my messages when I got a call from an unidentified number. Looking at it quickly, I thought it was a Utah number and assumed it was Bean calling so I clicked over. Guess who it was?

The Masked Priest! My, my, my. Not only did he call, he actually called to converse. What unexpected behavior for a man. Rather intriguing. We chatted for about half hour about all the basics – where do you live, what do you do, what did you do on Sunday, I liked your Halloween costume, etc. It was so pleasant because he was clearly interested in me and the conversation – quite a difference from the leagues of self-involved men I’ve encountered during the last year who can only talk about themselves in between trying to take off my clothes. After talking for a while – having a perfectly nice conversation – he asked me to do something next week. After we had agreed, tentatively on the day (pending me checking my schedule), he ended the conversation by saying he would call me around Sunday to touch base and wishing me a nice week.

Me thinks the Masked Priest might be kind of cool.

Here’s the funny thing. I don’t exactly know what his face looks like. I know what the bottom part of his face looks like, but I have no recollection whatsoever of his eyes or nose. When I meet him, I’m going to have to cover his eyes and nose with my palm to see if I can recognize him. Thank god he’s significantly taller than most men in the city. And what about me? The last time he saw me, I had 2 feet of blond hair framing my face. If we recognize each other, and like what we see, it will be nothing short of amazing.

Even so, I’m looking forward to it. I love Halloween.

Halloween Costume

Here’s what I think I’m being for Halloween (or, more accurately, for the Halloween parties this weekend):
I think it might just be the perfect mix of evil, slutty, fierce and creative. I might ever go so far as to get a blond wig which I think could come in handy for the future.

What are you all going to be?