Last thing about Paris and then I’ll shut up. I promise. Topic du jour: dessert. My trip made me realize that, for me, it is essential to have dessert with every meal.
This is not based on anything scientific whatsoever, just one sugar lover’s humble opinion after indulging in dessert with every meal for an entire week. I’m not exaggerating for the sake of comedic effect. I really ate 21 desserts while I was on vacay. There were a few factors which contributed to my sugar spree: I was traveling with a food critic who took me to all the finest easting establishments, it’s the French way, and of course, because I was on vacation so I was cutting lose. Keep reading »
In the few days following my dad’s passing a few weeks ago, I received flowers from friends and coworkers, endless phone calls, emails and Facebook messages expressing condolences, and more than a few people offering to help in any way they could. It was wonderful and comforting, to be sure, and would, I thought, keep me going as I set about tying up all the loose ends of my father’s “estate,” something I assumed would take a few weeks to a month, at most.
Well, a little over a week has passed, the flowers have dried, the calls have died down, and people have rightfully moved on. But, I’m realizing, the shitshow is just beginning for me. I don’t know what I was thinking, assuming that settling my dad’s affairs would be a simple process, but it’s far from it. He didn’t have a will. I won’t have a death certificate for a few weeks, at which point I can then finally establish myself as the executor of his estate, which hopefully no one will contest. (You hear that, uncle of mine?) In the meantime, his house languishes in rural Hawaii, already two months behind on the mortgage payments. The unofficial “tenants” my dad had let stay there over the years have the run of the place; I’ve heard that they’ve already begun selling off his more valuable possessions (there aren’t many) like his TV. And I can’t do anything about it because Hawaii’s tenant laws allow any old person to establish residency in a home by spending a few nights somewhere. Seriously! Crash at someone’s house for a weekend and it’s suddenly your place! I will have to formally evict people who never paid a month’s rent from my dad’s home, as they sell off belongings I can’t even prove are his. It’s a nightmare. Keep reading »
One month ago, I broke my ankle. It was a sort of freak accident – a simple fall on the stairs (being the klutz that I am, that part wasn’t unusual), but one that resulted in a fracture. I was at a bar, and after it happened, I went straight to my boyfriend’s place. He met my cab at the corner, and he’s barely left my side since then.
Navigating New York City on crutches is no easy feat, nor is going about the simplest everyday tasks with a broken bone and a painkiller-clouded brain. So, once I injured myself, my boyfriend started sleeping at my apartment every night. He helped me with meals, propped my foot up, and provided all-around company while I was incapacitated.
Now that the fracture is healing and I need less maintenance, we’re slowly getting back to our pre-anklegate routine: three to five sleepovers and a handful of shared dinners a week. And I’m sad about it. The kicker? He lives across the street from me. I could run to his place, give him a kiss and run back in the span of five minutes if I wanted to. It’s not that I’m dependent on him, or that I don’t like my roommates, but I’ve gotten used to Andy’s regular presence – kissing him goodbye when he leaves for work in the morning, hanging out and playing some pre-dinner Mario Kart with him at night; it just felt so natural and easy.
So, we should move in together, right? It’s not like it hasn’t crossed my mind. After nearly two-and-half years together, if friends aren’t pestering us about marriage, they’re asking us about living together. And they aren’t the only ones. He recently told me he wants to make the move when our leases are up—it’s the logical next step, he says. Keep reading »
On April 23, 1977, Kalpen Suresh Modi was born, and on March 21, 1984, I was born. We went on to do different things; he got to work for Obama, I almost made the cut to be a Disney Princess in Orlando. Though it seemed unlikely our life paths would ever cross, I have been dead set on making that happen. And I have failed, failed, failed.
I am not one of those people who is shy about her crushes. I HAVE A CRUSH ON KAL PENN. It began the first time I saw “The Namesake” in 2007. I had just moved to New York City and was feeling lonely, and I went to the Paris Theater by myself with a box of Dots and some whiskey and cried my little blue eyes out. I wanted to be that blonde bitch who got to date Kal so bad I had visions of pulling off some weird-ass “Silence Of The Lambs” shit on her. No matter that she didn’t get to date him in real life. Because here’s something you are about to learn about me: I don’t care about real life. I am all about fantasy all the time. Like getting to make out with Kal Penn. I want to lick those lips in circles until the Hindi cows come home. I want to run my hand through his locks and cup his butt cheeks. Keep reading »
I like to consider myself a strong and independent woman. I live alone; I take care of myself and never waiver in my beliefs. I’ve managed to convince myself that I’m fearless; I look confrontation in the eye and am without regret in my behavior – even when it isn’t the most flattering or well thought-out way to handle certain situations. I am, admittedly, a hot head.
I do not allow others to define me, put me in a box labeled by how they see me and will scream at the top of my lungs before I’ll ever let someone try to silence me. I am all these things; I have been all these things, and years from now these expectations that I have for myself will still be true. I don’t give a fuck who might be angered or won’t agree along the way. In the words of the great sailor, Popeye, “I am what I am.”
However, there were a few years in there, the dark years, that I was not all these things. When it came to Christoffer, I was a shadow. Keep reading »
“I do worry about you,” wrote my mom, upon watching the first “Ask A Single Dog Owner” video a couple weeks ago. “I think you should really think about getting another dog as Lucca gets older.” Lucca is my 6-year-old dog, who I’ve had since she was eight weeks old. My mom’s concern, her urge to get another dog — which she has vocalized more than a few times — stems from the joke I made in the video (and more than a few times off camera) that my dog and I have a double suicide pact. If something happens to one of us, the other will end things too. It’s a joke, of course, but like many jokes, it’s couched in a serious truth that my mom is naturally attuned to — I truly do not know how I would live life without my dog.
Given that she is six (six-and-a-half actually), and, gulp, if I am lucky will live another 10-12 years (I think she’s part Chihuahua! They live a long time!), living without her is something I am going to eventually have to deal with.
It is my worst nightmare. Keep reading »
I have been a registered voter since the week I turned 18 years old. Admittedly, at 18, I was fairly clueless about the people for whom I’d be voting, but I educated myself on each of them the best I could and embraced the privilege like no other. This opportunity, for me, was far more paramount than any other milestone that came with turning 18. But then again, I wasn’t a smoker or an avid purchaser of porn, so maybe I had no choice.
I do not regard myself as one who is overtly obsessed with politics. You will not find me on a street corner handing out pamphlets or walking Union Square decked out in a sandwich board that roots for my preferred candidate. Although I am very staunch in my liberal beliefs and will take these thoughts to Twitter and Facebook – where the majority of my friends, if not all of them, share my political ideas – I’m still rather mum on the subject unless pushed. Push me, and I’ll gladly tell you my thoughts on why I voted for Obama weeks ago (absentee New Hampshire ballot, because they need every liberal vote they can get), and why I think Romney is bad for women, the environment, equality and pretty much everything else. I’d be more than happy to share this with you, but since, for some, politics falls under the same awning as religion and money, I won’t. Besides, there’s no sense in getting into a heated debate just so we can throw around the word “malarkey,” and walk away knowing, in our hearts of hearts, we are completely and positively right in our views.
However, my lack of public display on the matter, doesn’t hinder my devotion. Ignorance is not bliss when it comes to politics; we all must be aware and knowledgeable of those in power who are making the decisions. Keep reading »
Unlike my future captor Tom Cruise, I’m a big fan of psychiatry. Why? Well, it’s given me opportunities I never could have experienced without medical intervention for depression, agoraphobia and panic attacks. To put it more simply: Psychiatry has saved my life. But thanks to a couple of friendly letters from health insurance companies, I’ve recently learned I don’t deserve to go to the doctor.
And here I thought I was doing well. Keep reading »
At 26 years old, I felt like a birth control virgin. How had I survived all those years without managing to know anything about the Pill? My reasons for going on Ortho Tri-Cyclen were simple: I was prepping for a move across the country to be with a guy named Isaac who I was in a long-distance relationship with. Isaac and I communicated every day. We talked on the phone, texted, emailed and GChatted every chance we got. We saw each other every three months, but this time, I was coming for good. We were going to live together for two weeks before I moved into my sublet apartment. We were falling in love.
I was ecstatic at the prospect of this seemingly superior form of birth control. Sex without condoms! It only cost $8 a month (which was about all my meager budget would allow)! From what I’d heard, it would make my skin super clear and get rid of the ungodly cramps that I’d been blessed with! I couldn’t wait. Keep reading »
I am a person who is very ambitious and aspirational in life. I’ve found that jealousy is the emotion I tend to listen to most, because it is filled with clues. When I feel envious of someone, I ask myself what is it that they have that I want, do I really want it, and what do I have to do to get it.
It’s become clear to me over the years that I feel pretty set career-wise. I have a lot of confidence in myself and that confidence gets reinforced. I genuinely believe that I can achieve most things I want if I truly set my mind to it. Not that I haven’t struggled before, but there have only been a few examples of ways in which I’ve disappointed myself. I feel only a little envious towards other people’s careers.
Instead, the place where I find myself feeling the most envy — and its attendant emotion, insecurity — is in relationships. I covet the relationships of absolute strangers. The perceived relationship, anyway. Keep reading »