Weddings are apparently these joyous fun filled occasions that halo a milestone. Apparently.
Hence the hoopla to make it ab-so-lute-ly perfect. Everyone turns into a valley girl when it's their turn.
I cerebrally get that.
But come on people! Must it really turn into a three ringed circus?
Memories of T's wedding gives me the chills. Lord, I have never travelled from Pickering to Etobicoke that many times in my life as i did that summer. Practically every weekend was spent at her house. Every conversation was about her wedding. Every minute was spent dealing with the minutia of her impending nuptials. I almost lost my mind that summer. I think i was happier than she was to see her get married on the big day. And that's when R& I sighed in relief. Yes, no more wedding speak. It truly rivals babyspeak in its atrocity. Gawd, like fingernails on freshly wiped chalk board.
But karma has a way of kicking back the past. And now, i'm stuck in a tortilla of the same ish with a handful of weddin- happy peepz.
I’ve got three important weddings this summer. Well four if you count the one that I can’t financially afford to attend. And quite frankly after the bridezilla’s I’ve encountered and the groorilla’s I’m forced to work with, I’m about ready to give up on getting married.
According to Dad and M, people transmute into these crazed beings once its their turn to hit the alter. The pressure of perfection drives them up the wall, into a cocoon and inevitably gets their too big heads stuck up their behinds. And that’s understandable, I suppose. But quite frankly, I wonder if people truly realize that a wedding is just one day. One measly day. A day that most people will barely remember what with being inebriated and all.
So the question is then, what is more important the wedding or the marriage?
As simple as the answer may seem, I don’t think that it is as straightforward as it needs to be. Because obviously, if it was common knowledge then people wouldn’t find themselves entrenched in the drama of their own weddings or the weddings of friends. They’d be more focused on celebrating the impending union as opposed to the big ass party.
A few things that I’ve noticed:
• The grooms often try to avoid the eye of the storm. The storm usually being their soon to be wives and their larger than life dreams of a perfect wedding day.
• In this country, a large number of marriages end in divorce. So one would think that people would be wary of spending heinous amounts of money, undergoing unduly stress and generally be lax about the commotion of throwing a fabulous “talk of the town” wedding. Nope, nothing of that sort though. The stat doesn't seem to matter. Cuz i guess inside every cynic is an optimist that believes in forever. :) Okay, now im truly ranting. When i was a law school contender, i used to justify my un-hinged state to relatives by spewing witty stats about the divorce rate in the country. And then i'd flip the script on them and say something completely childish like "now, you wouldn't want me to get divorced would you?"...gawd i was so naive. People don't care. They just want another wedding they can attend, chat through, get completely wasted at and bitch about after the fact. Yup, that would be a sliver of bitterness peeking through the veneer.
• Being brown means doubling the stress of the planning process. Consider the 300 people you’re roped into inviting, the hideous traditional “mores” that one’s culture subscribes to and thereby is obliged to follow, the seemingly unnecessary “events” that one is forced into hosting/attending…it all adds up to a serious case of quick to implode dementia.
• Does anyone want a massive wedding? Okay, apart from R and the likes of her generation raised on rice and dreams of dum dum dum – one is forced to question the logic that drives this wedding business forward – cuz that’s what it is – a money making business. From the mandaap to the three gazillion sari’s – everyone is out to make a quick buck. The laws of capitalism facing off with the horned being of over-consumption that’s rife in our cultures. Oy-vey.
• The list can certainly go on but im gonna quit while im ahead. Oh and honestly, if I ever get egotistical enough to believe that a choice of flowers can make or break an event, please bitch slap me and remind me of this post.
Urgh weddings!
Apparently, when its my turn, I’ll understand.
Although for my sanity, I certainly hope I don’t.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Time is trippin out…
Forcing me to inhale the smoggy cloud of smoke that its inevitably left behind.
Everything is on fast forward.
Work: a general shortage of minutes, hours and days. I need more time. Time to give things the attention they fully deserve. Im floundering at times, choking because of my sheer inability to breathe in this oftentimes radioactive slump. I want fraggle rock to come back. I think that might just ease my nerves.
Family: R is driving everyone up the wall. Everyone including dad. Her job ends in a few weeks. She hasn’t decided on school. She’s paralyzed by the fear of failing. Funny how everyone is, to some extent. I called that very spot home for years. Too afraid to truly try. And too cocky to completey fail. I tried to shield myself from the seemingly inescapable ouch of not becoming anything. She’s there. I understand. I’ve tried to help but, I think it might be too late. And that realization kills me. Like giving up on tadpoles still learning the doggypaddle. Like flushing your fledgling of a goldfish into its white ceramic demise. I want to help her. But I think we’ve collectively hurt her too much. We’ve protected her, coddled her, held her and shielded her. We’ve fought her battles, taken on her responsibilities and ultimately, we’ve stunted her growth. So why on earth, does it freak Dad out when I bring this up? I feel like I’m the worst fucking sister in the world because I’ve resigned myself to letting one of our own lag behind. Its frustrating and the fact that time is making its super sonic way to nowhere certainly doesn’t help.
Weddings: R is getting married in 3 weekends and S is getting married in like 34 days or something crazy like that. I’m hobbling to catch up with all the hoopla. It’s nuts.
And my new diabolical friend, the infamous diabetes, is working its magic on me. Regardless of my gym visits, regardless of my no saccharine diet – regardless of how hard I try – I still get these piercing headaches that make me feel absolutely spent. I don’t know what’s wrong but, it will certainly get checked out on June 7th (I have a physical scheduled with my family doctor) – nope, don’t get your hopes up – I didn’t find one. I just merely borrowed my mum’s.
The weekend synopsis:
• Friday: doctors appointments – Dr. A is ageless. This woman is truly ancient folks. She was our family doctor when we first came to Canada (like 17 years ago) and she still looks the same. It gives me the willies. Also watched monster-in-law with R (who was convinced to skip work) at Rainbow Cinemas in Fairview Mall - $4.50 tickets. Enough said.
• Saturday – hanging out with M. He’s the sweetest man ever, The more time I spend with him the more I realize how lucky he is to have me. Hehe. Cocky? Nah, just merely honest. We went to Vaughn Mills with his mommy. Big whoop. People hyped it up waaaay more than it deserved to be, leaving me totally disappointed. I picked up a shirt at H&M and some mad sexy lingerie for $12.50 at La Senza – can’t beat that. Obviously buying lingerie with your boyfriend’s mum isn’t the most ideal of situations but, considering the deal – I lied. Told her it was for someone else. Yup, hell I’m on my way. But at least I’ll be sheathed in the sexiest black 40’s inspired number…woo-hoo.
• Sunday: Family barbeque in Cambridge. Uncle R lent us his van ( what a sweetheart) – I love the man but his van definitely needs to be dunked into a vat of fabreze. We got there – and of course the entire gang was in attendance. It was okay. More fun than I expected. And just long enough to still leave me sane.
• Monday – Uncle R and Aunty made me a hammock bag. Believe it or not, they actually designed and made me an ab-so-lutely adorable orange sheathed piece of bliss. I love it.
So that was that folks. The weekend much like the rest of my frikkin frakkin life felt like it was on fast forward.
Work calls. Bloody hell.
☺
Everything is on fast forward.
Work: a general shortage of minutes, hours and days. I need more time. Time to give things the attention they fully deserve. Im floundering at times, choking because of my sheer inability to breathe in this oftentimes radioactive slump. I want fraggle rock to come back. I think that might just ease my nerves.
Family: R is driving everyone up the wall. Everyone including dad. Her job ends in a few weeks. She hasn’t decided on school. She’s paralyzed by the fear of failing. Funny how everyone is, to some extent. I called that very spot home for years. Too afraid to truly try. And too cocky to completey fail. I tried to shield myself from the seemingly inescapable ouch of not becoming anything. She’s there. I understand. I’ve tried to help but, I think it might be too late. And that realization kills me. Like giving up on tadpoles still learning the doggypaddle. Like flushing your fledgling of a goldfish into its white ceramic demise. I want to help her. But I think we’ve collectively hurt her too much. We’ve protected her, coddled her, held her and shielded her. We’ve fought her battles, taken on her responsibilities and ultimately, we’ve stunted her growth. So why on earth, does it freak Dad out when I bring this up? I feel like I’m the worst fucking sister in the world because I’ve resigned myself to letting one of our own lag behind. Its frustrating and the fact that time is making its super sonic way to nowhere certainly doesn’t help.
Weddings: R is getting married in 3 weekends and S is getting married in like 34 days or something crazy like that. I’m hobbling to catch up with all the hoopla. It’s nuts.
And my new diabolical friend, the infamous diabetes, is working its magic on me. Regardless of my gym visits, regardless of my no saccharine diet – regardless of how hard I try – I still get these piercing headaches that make me feel absolutely spent. I don’t know what’s wrong but, it will certainly get checked out on June 7th (I have a physical scheduled with my family doctor) – nope, don’t get your hopes up – I didn’t find one. I just merely borrowed my mum’s.
The weekend synopsis:
• Friday: doctors appointments – Dr. A is ageless. This woman is truly ancient folks. She was our family doctor when we first came to Canada (like 17 years ago) and she still looks the same. It gives me the willies. Also watched monster-in-law with R (who was convinced to skip work) at Rainbow Cinemas in Fairview Mall - $4.50 tickets. Enough said.
• Saturday – hanging out with M. He’s the sweetest man ever, The more time I spend with him the more I realize how lucky he is to have me. Hehe. Cocky? Nah, just merely honest. We went to Vaughn Mills with his mommy. Big whoop. People hyped it up waaaay more than it deserved to be, leaving me totally disappointed. I picked up a shirt at H&M and some mad sexy lingerie for $12.50 at La Senza – can’t beat that. Obviously buying lingerie with your boyfriend’s mum isn’t the most ideal of situations but, considering the deal – I lied. Told her it was for someone else. Yup, hell I’m on my way. But at least I’ll be sheathed in the sexiest black 40’s inspired number…woo-hoo.
• Sunday: Family barbeque in Cambridge. Uncle R lent us his van ( what a sweetheart) – I love the man but his van definitely needs to be dunked into a vat of fabreze. We got there – and of course the entire gang was in attendance. It was okay. More fun than I expected. And just long enough to still leave me sane.
• Monday – Uncle R and Aunty made me a hammock bag. Believe it or not, they actually designed and made me an ab-so-lutely adorable orange sheathed piece of bliss. I love it.
So that was that folks. The weekend much like the rest of my frikkin frakkin life felt like it was on fast forward.
Work calls. Bloody hell.
☺
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
The game
Last night was ihaveanidea’s 3rd annual Canada wide portfolio review. After fighting a losing battle with a pesky brief – I waged war by packing up my things around 7:30 and heading out to meet B at his soiree. I told myself that I would hang out for 30 minutes and then bounce. In my defense, I’d like to point out that the intent of leaving early and on time was there – initially at least.
I got there and it hit me. Like a mobile brick wall. Last year I was there. Clutching my portfolio, shaking in my sandals and smoking like nicotine was the only air my lungs could handle. I was absolutely terrified. And I left balling my eyes out. Not because my work should be in the crapper but because there were more “that’s nice” as opposed to “that’s fucking great”. And I realized that if I was serious about being in advertising, I needed to work twice as hard to reach that elusive pinnacle. I also remember calling M right after my session, balling my eyes out and vowing to make it work. He picked me up, drove me home and consoled me as I fell asleep in his arms.
Yup, nice, smart, funny, charming, hot and he’s nurturing. Swoon.
Back to last night – it was intense. I ran into a bunch of CD’s that we met on our employment circuit. It was nice to feel included. We are actually part of the industry that we both love so much. It’s intense folks. I had this conversation with these two Seneca students and it was strange to hear the passion in my voice as I spoke to them. I love this business. Every little dark nook and cranny of it. I get to change perceptions. Granted, right now we’re doing piddly little project but every go is an opportunity and every opportunity is a learning experience. Last night, I realized how hard we toiled to get here – to this legitimate writing gig – and I also realized how much farther we still need to go. Nothing is forever people but as long as we’re having a great time (most of the time) – this is heaven.
And of course time flew. M was waging his personal war against T+2 and was at work until after 10pm. He got his first ever cab chit. Weee. Loved it. He drove me home (which was totally reminiscent of last year) but this time there were no tears, no need to console a weeping girlfriend – just absolute and utter bliss.
Of course he told me this would happen. I never really believed him. But like the shaman that he is – he once again proved that the pesky little gremlin named faith and the grueling beast they call hard work is all it takes to make your dreams come true. Oh and ironically, a sprinkling of luck certainly makes the broth - brothier. :)
Thank you guys (all of you). For all the yesterdays, the todays and the joys of our pregnant tomorrows.
Be Blessed.
I got there and it hit me. Like a mobile brick wall. Last year I was there. Clutching my portfolio, shaking in my sandals and smoking like nicotine was the only air my lungs could handle. I was absolutely terrified. And I left balling my eyes out. Not because my work should be in the crapper but because there were more “that’s nice” as opposed to “that’s fucking great”. And I realized that if I was serious about being in advertising, I needed to work twice as hard to reach that elusive pinnacle. I also remember calling M right after my session, balling my eyes out and vowing to make it work. He picked me up, drove me home and consoled me as I fell asleep in his arms.
Yup, nice, smart, funny, charming, hot and he’s nurturing. Swoon.
Back to last night – it was intense. I ran into a bunch of CD’s that we met on our employment circuit. It was nice to feel included. We are actually part of the industry that we both love so much. It’s intense folks. I had this conversation with these two Seneca students and it was strange to hear the passion in my voice as I spoke to them. I love this business. Every little dark nook and cranny of it. I get to change perceptions. Granted, right now we’re doing piddly little project but every go is an opportunity and every opportunity is a learning experience. Last night, I realized how hard we toiled to get here – to this legitimate writing gig – and I also realized how much farther we still need to go. Nothing is forever people but as long as we’re having a great time (most of the time) – this is heaven.
And of course time flew. M was waging his personal war against T+2 and was at work until after 10pm. He got his first ever cab chit. Weee. Loved it. He drove me home (which was totally reminiscent of last year) but this time there were no tears, no need to console a weeping girlfriend – just absolute and utter bliss.
Of course he told me this would happen. I never really believed him. But like the shaman that he is – he once again proved that the pesky little gremlin named faith and the grueling beast they call hard work is all it takes to make your dreams come true. Oh and ironically, a sprinkling of luck certainly makes the broth - brothier. :)
Thank you guys (all of you). For all the yesterdays, the todays and the joys of our pregnant tomorrows.
Be Blessed.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
The musings of a self-prescribed lunatic.
I’m mulling over some ‘made for tv’ estrogen infused lunacy.
After a long and languid walk through the rectangle of chaos: King and Spadina with a friend, I left questioning our collective sanity. You see, after two years of back and forth with a disgusting reptile she fondly calls her ex – she has finally met a man, worthy of verbiage. He’s nice. Italian (so is she), friendly, super-established, passionate about his work, respectful to women and the list of pleasant characteristics go on. So what’s the problem? He’s slightly older, 6 years older than her in fact. And she’s using that as a scape goat.
So the question is as follows:
Are we, as young single hip urbanites, so jaded by our own experiences with all the XY’s in our lives that we would willfully sabotage a seemingly perfect blossoming relationship?
Now to most urban women who are busy building careers and routing their destinies, a nice man is a rarity to find, especially in Toronto. It seems like the number of asshole-egotistical-high maintenance XY’s are far more rampant than the stable-low-key-mellow-i-got-my-shit-together ones. So it’s acknowledged that when you find a dude that treats you with respect, showers you with chivalry and makes you feel like a princess (without stifling you) – he’s a keeper. Sadly, most of us don’t act on what we believe. We’re cynics – some of us wear it on our sleeves and other’s of us feed it in secrecy.
We all have these pre-conditioned notions of what we deserve or don’t. My friend, much like most women, has been through tumultuous relationships in the past. She’s had to be motherly (god bless her because I don’t have the patience for that shit), the stable one, the care taker, the provider and protecter. So obviously, meeting a man that doesn’t require someone to compensate for his lack of character or skills has thrown her for a loop. She’s trying to conjure up issues to poke holes into something that’s blossoming in it’s own innocent perfection.
I seem to know a whole lot of women just like her. Women who subconsciously sabotage themselves with negative self talk. Who willfully (sans clarity) make the game harder to play and thereby harder to win. Who find fault where no fault can be found. Who over-analyze and over-assume the under whelming realities of any situation. Damn, I know a whole lot of women who fuck themselves over by simply trying to protect themselves from getting hurt. Ironic innit? That which you actively avoid is what you inadvertently dole out for yourself by active avoidance.
Brilliance in a nutshell folks.
Thinking back to the way M and I started out, I recall my nervous twitches. Being accustomed to controlling everything in my life, I had to learn how to let things go. He doesn’t appreciate being told what to do (im still learning that), he doesn’t need someone to take care of him, he doesn’t like it when I micromanage our relationship – and these thorns led into heated discussions and wayward arguments. It was hard accepting the fact that he was a genuinely nice guy who has his shit together. An anomaly in my world! And now, he’s spoiled me rotten because I would never settle for anything less.
So the answer seems glaringly simple – yes of course. The human condition dictates that you fear what is unfamiliar and that which you can’t control. But at what cost?
The flip side to that is - do you miss what you’ve never had? Probably not.
And if so, does being open minded even matter?
Sometimes, hiding behind those self-constructed walls perpetuates that condition. So is faith the adequate resolution? Because I’m bloody well tired of the cliche – have a little faith.
Here’s the thing – if anyone knows a doctor in the GTA that can scratch out a prescription for some ez-faith tabs– please drop his/her contact info into my email box.
Because I for one, know at least two other people (apart from myself) that are in dire need of them.
More to follow.
But in the event that it doesn’t – here are two things that I must document.
Sideways: incredible movie – tragically comic. It takes the reality of life and brings each moment and all it’s subtle nuances to gleaming brilliance. An absolute must-see.
Gym: today makes it a week since I’ve had this blasted cold/flu – surely the death of me-viral infection. A week since I’ve worked out. A week since I’ve sweated for ten more minutes. Tomorrow this will change – so watch out flu buglets – ready or not, here I come.
Peace.
After a long and languid walk through the rectangle of chaos: King and Spadina with a friend, I left questioning our collective sanity. You see, after two years of back and forth with a disgusting reptile she fondly calls her ex – she has finally met a man, worthy of verbiage. He’s nice. Italian (so is she), friendly, super-established, passionate about his work, respectful to women and the list of pleasant characteristics go on. So what’s the problem? He’s slightly older, 6 years older than her in fact. And she’s using that as a scape goat.
So the question is as follows:
Are we, as young single hip urbanites, so jaded by our own experiences with all the XY’s in our lives that we would willfully sabotage a seemingly perfect blossoming relationship?
Now to most urban women who are busy building careers and routing their destinies, a nice man is a rarity to find, especially in Toronto. It seems like the number of asshole-egotistical-high maintenance XY’s are far more rampant than the stable-low-key-mellow-i-got-my-shit-together ones. So it’s acknowledged that when you find a dude that treats you with respect, showers you with chivalry and makes you feel like a princess (without stifling you) – he’s a keeper. Sadly, most of us don’t act on what we believe. We’re cynics – some of us wear it on our sleeves and other’s of us feed it in secrecy.
We all have these pre-conditioned notions of what we deserve or don’t. My friend, much like most women, has been through tumultuous relationships in the past. She’s had to be motherly (god bless her because I don’t have the patience for that shit), the stable one, the care taker, the provider and protecter. So obviously, meeting a man that doesn’t require someone to compensate for his lack of character or skills has thrown her for a loop. She’s trying to conjure up issues to poke holes into something that’s blossoming in it’s own innocent perfection.
I seem to know a whole lot of women just like her. Women who subconsciously sabotage themselves with negative self talk. Who willfully (sans clarity) make the game harder to play and thereby harder to win. Who find fault where no fault can be found. Who over-analyze and over-assume the under whelming realities of any situation. Damn, I know a whole lot of women who fuck themselves over by simply trying to protect themselves from getting hurt. Ironic innit? That which you actively avoid is what you inadvertently dole out for yourself by active avoidance.
Brilliance in a nutshell folks.
Thinking back to the way M and I started out, I recall my nervous twitches. Being accustomed to controlling everything in my life, I had to learn how to let things go. He doesn’t appreciate being told what to do (im still learning that), he doesn’t need someone to take care of him, he doesn’t like it when I micromanage our relationship – and these thorns led into heated discussions and wayward arguments. It was hard accepting the fact that he was a genuinely nice guy who has his shit together. An anomaly in my world! And now, he’s spoiled me rotten because I would never settle for anything less.
So the answer seems glaringly simple – yes of course. The human condition dictates that you fear what is unfamiliar and that which you can’t control. But at what cost?
The flip side to that is - do you miss what you’ve never had? Probably not.
And if so, does being open minded even matter?
Sometimes, hiding behind those self-constructed walls perpetuates that condition. So is faith the adequate resolution? Because I’m bloody well tired of the cliche – have a little faith.
Here’s the thing – if anyone knows a doctor in the GTA that can scratch out a prescription for some ez-faith tabs– please drop his/her contact info into my email box.
Because I for one, know at least two other people (apart from myself) that are in dire need of them.
More to follow.
But in the event that it doesn’t – here are two things that I must document.
Sideways: incredible movie – tragically comic. It takes the reality of life and brings each moment and all it’s subtle nuances to gleaming brilliance. An absolute must-see.
Gym: today makes it a week since I’ve had this blasted cold/flu – surely the death of me-viral infection. A week since I’ve worked out. A week since I’ve sweated for ten more minutes. Tomorrow this will change – so watch out flu buglets – ready or not, here I come.
Peace.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Snap, Crackle and Kaboom!
This weekend was filled with familial love, amongst other things.
Friday night proved that I am a fully clairvoyant being – my predictions were totally on the money.
M & I met up after work and after some rather embarrassing pda’s we made our way to the cinema’s at yorkdale. While the plan was to initially pop the cherry on “a lot like love” – the totally wack scheduling at Famous Players propelled us towards watching ‘the interpreter’. Now, that was one happy accident that we both enjoyed. The movie was dramatic, thought provoking and interesting enough to keep me awake for the whole two hours. Those who know me are sure to know that doesn’t happen too often. Yup, im a sleeper. At the most inopportune moments, my body decides to shut down and take a nap.
After overdosing on popcorn (sans extra butter) I found myself once again nursing the urge of writing/filming/directing an expose on the brutalities that define my people.
My people. Sounds elitist doesn’t it? It also sounds like I’m segregating myself. And unfortunately, in this case – I am. Because that’s our reality. I will forever be defined by the struggle that has ravaged my country. The struggle for basic freedoms that has somehow gone sadly awry.
Now, why is it that the ideology of a revolution is always theoretically sound but the practice and application of it flounders like a fish that didn’t pass its swimming lessons?
That’s how I feel about most revolutions.
Socialism – great idea. In theory.
The fight for equal rights in Sri Lanka – a great game plan in theory and then it got side tracked. It’s the travel down a tangent that politically fucks up an entire nation. The LTTE were on the money – theoretically. In practice, egos and alter egos have marred its basic premise – leaving us with a nation torn on the grounds of hurt feelings and miscommunication. Someone needs to document these things. Appropriately. In a way that leads us to reconnect with the struggle as it happened. In ways which help the diaspora feel the girth and the strength of this monster. In a way that will make us all feel equally responsible for the unified survival of our island.
Yet, nobody has or ever does.
Sri Lankan authors seem to come in two varieties. Those who wax poetry about the struggle of balancing and juggling two cultures. Or those who document the historical and meticulous statistics of the war. I have yet to read a novel that inspires, informs and moves people through invective. I’m incensed people. Because I have that opportunity.
A fully functioning pen. Pounds of blank paper. Minus the balls to actually birth it.
Or maybe it’s a matter of fear.
But someone’s got to write this out. To write not only about the dark, grimey nature of war in a small island but to bring the motivation behind it to light. The only book that has come close to re-creating those feelings would have to be Cinnamon Garden by Shyam Selvadurai. Woven magically into his plot lines, he briefly grazed upon the large cavern that seems to separate the Tamils from the Sinhalese.
One day folks. One day I’m going to stumble upon that maturity I so desperately seek to pen the novel of a lifetime. One that will reveal the real consequences of this war in Sri Lanka. One that will touch on our collective experiences. One that will paint the Tamil culture in its true colors – not as trigger happy rebels, not as gang banging crack heads but as intrinsically cultured, naturally passionate and inherently multi-faceted individuals. One day people. And until that day comes, I guess I’ll take a number and join the rest of them arm chair critics.
I hate my powerlessness. Well, there’s one thing I hate even more than those feelings and that’s the fact that I am aware of it and yet, haven’t done much to alter that situation. A result of the human condition? Hrmph.
Back to the diaretic entry.
-----
Bottling small doses of wine. And not to mention some saccharine sweet love.
Saturday’s wine bottling was incredible. I love learning something new through application. S&Magic meant business – they were totally focused on the act at hand. We filled, corked and packaged 200 bottles. It was awesome. A was wonderful enough to show us the ropes and help out. And QC is pretty cool – I don’t think I’ve ever had the opportunity to get to know him before – so all in all – good times. Oh and the wine: how sweet it doth taste – it’s ice wine (a taste sensation for your palate) and acts as a dessert. It was mind numbingly sugary but I sampled some for the good of the larger group! Purrrrfeck.
I can’t believe that this shindig is merely 6 Saturdays away (as L pointed out in her email). HOLY SMOKES FOLKS! My lil sister is getting married. And she couldn’t have picked a better match. I’m so happy for the two of them and I can’t wait to share in all this joy. All this seemingly unbearable stress, chaos and planning will come to fruition when she walks down that make-shift aisle wearing that gorgeous sari of hers. My jaw almost hit the bed when I saw it – it’s absolutely stunning. And she will surely look like a Rani on that day decked in nothing but 6 yards of bridal pleasure.
The Family Do
I had to break the news to the masses. Which was hard enough. Couple that with the usual insensitivity that my extended family is well known for – and you’ve got the makings of a great melodramatic episode. I’ve always wondered how the dude upstairs links and pairs people together. Yes, I know I’m intelligent enough to realize that science disputes those celestial theories but, come on people – you look at my family and you quickly realize that some of us just stick out like sore thumbs. We have no patience for the collective gossip, the friendly mud slinging that inevitably turns ugly and the general backstabbing.
My family is filled with motormouths. Amma tells me it’s because they don’t really mull over what they’re about to say hence end up saying the wrong thing at the most inopportune of moments. I got the usual “you should lose some weight”/”when are you getting married”/”when are you going to let your parents retire” etc etc. It never ceases to amaze me that my family can make me feel like shit – I feel small, powerless and cornered when I’m with them. And that’s on a good day. So I left, balling my eyes out and vowing that my own family will never mutate into the pack of blood-thirsty piranha’s that my extended fam can be.
The mantra is as follows: Real love survives through the roughest of times.
Well, that’s what I keep telling myself at least.
----
Sunday: Absolute and utter heaven.
I rode the metro in the morning to M’s and hung out with him and his mom. I swear it was the most relaxing time ever. I usually feel like my best self in that house. Unless uncle is making some insensitive comment which aunty chalks up to his lack of sensible genes. Boys are oftentimes afflicted with that condition. Well according to Aunty at least. And I am quite comfortable accepting that reasoning. Thank you very much.
I watched Meet the Fockers at their place. It was rip roaring in both content and comedic value. So funny. And more funny because aunty was watching it with us. Good times.
Oh and lest I forget – aunty bought me the most gorgeous black chiffon skirt – it’s tiered. Yup, sequins and tiers of silky smooth black paradise – I feel like a primadonna straight out of the forties. Gawd, I love a great skirt. And it was on sale. Yup. Heaven.
I ended my night with a friendly pow-wow with the members of the inner circle. Rejuvenating to the spirit and easy on the ears.
All in all, a nice relaxing weekend. I needed it too cuz this morning we got a couple briefs which means a comfortably busy week will be on rotation. Woo-hoo.
I love it folks.
Life with all its disparities, extremities and complexities tickles me all shades of pink.
And leaves me jonesin’ to don that sensational skirt with some slightly glorified flip flops. (WTF, where did that come from!)
Peace.
Friday night proved that I am a fully clairvoyant being – my predictions were totally on the money.
M & I met up after work and after some rather embarrassing pda’s we made our way to the cinema’s at yorkdale. While the plan was to initially pop the cherry on “a lot like love” – the totally wack scheduling at Famous Players propelled us towards watching ‘the interpreter’. Now, that was one happy accident that we both enjoyed. The movie was dramatic, thought provoking and interesting enough to keep me awake for the whole two hours. Those who know me are sure to know that doesn’t happen too often. Yup, im a sleeper. At the most inopportune moments, my body decides to shut down and take a nap.
After overdosing on popcorn (sans extra butter) I found myself once again nursing the urge of writing/filming/directing an expose on the brutalities that define my people.
My people. Sounds elitist doesn’t it? It also sounds like I’m segregating myself. And unfortunately, in this case – I am. Because that’s our reality. I will forever be defined by the struggle that has ravaged my country. The struggle for basic freedoms that has somehow gone sadly awry.
Now, why is it that the ideology of a revolution is always theoretically sound but the practice and application of it flounders like a fish that didn’t pass its swimming lessons?
That’s how I feel about most revolutions.
Socialism – great idea. In theory.
The fight for equal rights in Sri Lanka – a great game plan in theory and then it got side tracked. It’s the travel down a tangent that politically fucks up an entire nation. The LTTE were on the money – theoretically. In practice, egos and alter egos have marred its basic premise – leaving us with a nation torn on the grounds of hurt feelings and miscommunication. Someone needs to document these things. Appropriately. In a way that leads us to reconnect with the struggle as it happened. In ways which help the diaspora feel the girth and the strength of this monster. In a way that will make us all feel equally responsible for the unified survival of our island.
Yet, nobody has or ever does.
Sri Lankan authors seem to come in two varieties. Those who wax poetry about the struggle of balancing and juggling two cultures. Or those who document the historical and meticulous statistics of the war. I have yet to read a novel that inspires, informs and moves people through invective. I’m incensed people. Because I have that opportunity.
A fully functioning pen. Pounds of blank paper. Minus the balls to actually birth it.
Or maybe it’s a matter of fear.
But someone’s got to write this out. To write not only about the dark, grimey nature of war in a small island but to bring the motivation behind it to light. The only book that has come close to re-creating those feelings would have to be Cinnamon Garden by Shyam Selvadurai. Woven magically into his plot lines, he briefly grazed upon the large cavern that seems to separate the Tamils from the Sinhalese.
One day folks. One day I’m going to stumble upon that maturity I so desperately seek to pen the novel of a lifetime. One that will reveal the real consequences of this war in Sri Lanka. One that will touch on our collective experiences. One that will paint the Tamil culture in its true colors – not as trigger happy rebels, not as gang banging crack heads but as intrinsically cultured, naturally passionate and inherently multi-faceted individuals. One day people. And until that day comes, I guess I’ll take a number and join the rest of them arm chair critics.
I hate my powerlessness. Well, there’s one thing I hate even more than those feelings and that’s the fact that I am aware of it and yet, haven’t done much to alter that situation. A result of the human condition? Hrmph.
Back to the diaretic entry.
-----
Bottling small doses of wine. And not to mention some saccharine sweet love.
Saturday’s wine bottling was incredible. I love learning something new through application. S&Magic meant business – they were totally focused on the act at hand. We filled, corked and packaged 200 bottles. It was awesome. A was wonderful enough to show us the ropes and help out. And QC is pretty cool – I don’t think I’ve ever had the opportunity to get to know him before – so all in all – good times. Oh and the wine: how sweet it doth taste – it’s ice wine (a taste sensation for your palate) and acts as a dessert. It was mind numbingly sugary but I sampled some for the good of the larger group! Purrrrfeck.
I can’t believe that this shindig is merely 6 Saturdays away (as L pointed out in her email). HOLY SMOKES FOLKS! My lil sister is getting married. And she couldn’t have picked a better match. I’m so happy for the two of them and I can’t wait to share in all this joy. All this seemingly unbearable stress, chaos and planning will come to fruition when she walks down that make-shift aisle wearing that gorgeous sari of hers. My jaw almost hit the bed when I saw it – it’s absolutely stunning. And she will surely look like a Rani on that day decked in nothing but 6 yards of bridal pleasure.
The Family Do
I had to break the news to the masses. Which was hard enough. Couple that with the usual insensitivity that my extended family is well known for – and you’ve got the makings of a great melodramatic episode. I’ve always wondered how the dude upstairs links and pairs people together. Yes, I know I’m intelligent enough to realize that science disputes those celestial theories but, come on people – you look at my family and you quickly realize that some of us just stick out like sore thumbs. We have no patience for the collective gossip, the friendly mud slinging that inevitably turns ugly and the general backstabbing.
My family is filled with motormouths. Amma tells me it’s because they don’t really mull over what they’re about to say hence end up saying the wrong thing at the most inopportune of moments. I got the usual “you should lose some weight”/”when are you getting married”/”when are you going to let your parents retire” etc etc. It never ceases to amaze me that my family can make me feel like shit – I feel small, powerless and cornered when I’m with them. And that’s on a good day. So I left, balling my eyes out and vowing that my own family will never mutate into the pack of blood-thirsty piranha’s that my extended fam can be.
The mantra is as follows: Real love survives through the roughest of times.
Well, that’s what I keep telling myself at least.
----
Sunday: Absolute and utter heaven.
I rode the metro in the morning to M’s and hung out with him and his mom. I swear it was the most relaxing time ever. I usually feel like my best self in that house. Unless uncle is making some insensitive comment which aunty chalks up to his lack of sensible genes. Boys are oftentimes afflicted with that condition. Well according to Aunty at least. And I am quite comfortable accepting that reasoning. Thank you very much.
I watched Meet the Fockers at their place. It was rip roaring in both content and comedic value. So funny. And more funny because aunty was watching it with us. Good times.
Oh and lest I forget – aunty bought me the most gorgeous black chiffon skirt – it’s tiered. Yup, sequins and tiers of silky smooth black paradise – I feel like a primadonna straight out of the forties. Gawd, I love a great skirt. And it was on sale. Yup. Heaven.
I ended my night with a friendly pow-wow with the members of the inner circle. Rejuvenating to the spirit and easy on the ears.
All in all, a nice relaxing weekend. I needed it too cuz this morning we got a couple briefs which means a comfortably busy week will be on rotation. Woo-hoo.
I love it folks.
Life with all its disparities, extremities and complexities tickles me all shades of pink.
And leaves me jonesin’ to don that sensational skirt with some slightly glorified flip flops. (WTF, where did that come from!)
Peace.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Old age
sux.
because i even forget the important things
like verbal nirvana shout outs.
Happy Birthday B!
At 24, you are the loveliest, most balanced goof ball i've had the pleasure of knowing
and ultimately adoring.
You keep me sane and I keep you on your toes. You add colour in places that need it and sometimes in the ones that don't.
thanks for being the bestest art director in the entire world.
xoxo
J
P.S. Your present(s) will come on monday. Pinky swear.
because i even forget the important things
like verbal nirvana shout outs.
Happy Birthday B!
At 24, you are the loveliest, most balanced goof ball i've had the pleasure of knowing
and ultimately adoring.
You keep me sane and I keep you on your toes. You add colour in places that need it and sometimes in the ones that don't.
thanks for being the bestest art director in the entire world.
xoxo
J
P.S. Your present(s) will come on monday. Pinky swear.
Predictions for the weekend ahead.
I am the proud owner of the world’s weakest immune system. I have to be. After all, it’s quite miraculous that I’ve survived to 27 – my god! Absolutely everything health related has been downhill since the beginning of may.
Yup, im sick, again. Feeling stuffy and congested. Worst part is that I sound like a toad. I’ve always believed that when I’m sick I sound like one of ‘em. Ribbit Ribbit.
Okay, so toads are supposed to be these creatures with the hidden potential of transforming into prince charming – in my fairy tales at least. Using a kiss as a catalyst that is.
And yes, fairy tales are 1% make believe and 99% real&for sure. So it’s inevitable that I believe in them. I mean, that’s a better statistic than condoms offer.
But really, come on people – who would kiss a toad?
On the lips? Okay maybe a few times – in past lives
In the hopes of what? - (of not being single on valentines day)
A man that will eventually return to his former self by ways of attitude or physicality?
I don’t think so peepz.
I for one, don’t kiss toads (anymore).
However it’s quite tragic that I do manage to sound like one.
This weekend will be filled with bliss.
Here’s why.
I’m hopefully going to have a mindblowingly hot date with M tonite. Something about a movie, some din din (which now works out to be a whole wheat bagel or couscus) and some straight up lovin’. Well a girl can hope innit? I won’t be able to breathe mind you, courtesy of my congested sinuses. But who needs to breathe during the act – I mean, its supposed to be breath-taking no?
Although, I recently discovered that respiratory droplets have the endurance of traveling up to 3 feet. Yup, so when you’re on a bus and somebody sneezes across you – you just got sprayed with their germies. Germies that cause all sorts of diseases like E.Coli and Salmonella (to name a few). So perhaps I won’t be splashing M with my flu-droplets although with that boy – he never listens. He takes it quite personally (and offensively) when I refuse to share my sickly germs with him. C’est la vie!
Then Saturday – after a blood test (the fasting variety) yup requires me to give up food for 12 hours – R, R & I head out to S&Magic’s wine labeling/bottling event. Oh my god! They’re getting married in less than 2 months. That’s crazy. It’s scary and overwhelming and just so god darn adorable. I mean, S is gonna be a Mrs. I think I need a few moments to actually internalize all of that. But tomorrow will be loads of fun.
Sat night: my uncle’s birthday bash. N (my cousin and alibi) has decided to get married – in Sri Lanka in August. Yup, August of this year. We had a pact you see. We’ve both been using each other as covers. Each telling people that we’ll get married once the other one does. Well, the rat, went ahead and fixed his date without consulting me. I’m happy for him and stuff but really – what about me?
And me? Tomorrow night, I’ll the one scurrying away in the hopes of avoiding all the “oh it’s your turn now, when are you going to get married?” –esque questions. I actually despise them as I’m sure most adult women do. Initially it was – ‘why don’t you stay with one man for longer than 3 months” – now that I have. The argument has flipped itself and has become a whole new monster, “what’s wrong with M, why doesn’t he want to marry you?”
And I keep wanting to scream – god damnit! It’s not just him. It’s me too. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to leave the safety of my home. Definitely not ready to become ultimately responsible for another human being. Not ready to be a full fledged adult with real life responsibilities. Not ready to deal with Mississauga on a full time basis. Im just not ready people!
But I don’t vocalize these thoughts. I nod. Laugh. Giggle often and much. And cross my fingers and wish that time would fly. I console myself by tuning out the chatter. I actively fight their words in my head and remind myself that:
~I will get married. Hopefully to M. It will be my turn. One day. And that day will happen when we’re both absolutely certain and ready. Whenever that may be. ~
And Sunday – will be bliss. Nothing but pure chillaxing and recovering from the night before. I love my extended family but sometimes, I look around and realize that there’s got to be more than just this. Most discussions quickly deteriorate into friendly mud slinging matches where someone picks on someone and makes said someone feel shoddy for not following the invisible time table.
I keep reminding myself that when the three of us grow up –our family gatherings are going to focus on three things:
Love
Support
Encouragement
And the mud-slinging – we’ll do that in jest in the privacy of our own spaces.
It’s 3:32 and I am bored.
I can’t stand having nothing to do.
Being sick doesn’t help the situation.
I feel like a caged beast – my mind is turning on me!
I need some sugar. Oh yeah, I forgot. I can’t have that anymore.
Grrrr.
Yup, im sick, again. Feeling stuffy and congested. Worst part is that I sound like a toad. I’ve always believed that when I’m sick I sound like one of ‘em. Ribbit Ribbit.
Okay, so toads are supposed to be these creatures with the hidden potential of transforming into prince charming – in my fairy tales at least. Using a kiss as a catalyst that is.
And yes, fairy tales are 1% make believe and 99% real&for sure. So it’s inevitable that I believe in them. I mean, that’s a better statistic than condoms offer.
But really, come on people – who would kiss a toad?
On the lips? Okay maybe a few times – in past lives
In the hopes of what? - (of not being single on valentines day)
A man that will eventually return to his former self by ways of attitude or physicality?
I don’t think so peepz.
I for one, don’t kiss toads (anymore).
However it’s quite tragic that I do manage to sound like one.
This weekend will be filled with bliss.
Here’s why.
I’m hopefully going to have a mindblowingly hot date with M tonite. Something about a movie, some din din (which now works out to be a whole wheat bagel or couscus) and some straight up lovin’. Well a girl can hope innit? I won’t be able to breathe mind you, courtesy of my congested sinuses. But who needs to breathe during the act – I mean, its supposed to be breath-taking no?
Although, I recently discovered that respiratory droplets have the endurance of traveling up to 3 feet. Yup, so when you’re on a bus and somebody sneezes across you – you just got sprayed with their germies. Germies that cause all sorts of diseases like E.Coli and Salmonella (to name a few). So perhaps I won’t be splashing M with my flu-droplets although with that boy – he never listens. He takes it quite personally (and offensively) when I refuse to share my sickly germs with him. C’est la vie!
Then Saturday – after a blood test (the fasting variety) yup requires me to give up food for 12 hours – R, R & I head out to S&Magic’s wine labeling/bottling event. Oh my god! They’re getting married in less than 2 months. That’s crazy. It’s scary and overwhelming and just so god darn adorable. I mean, S is gonna be a Mrs. I think I need a few moments to actually internalize all of that. But tomorrow will be loads of fun.
Sat night: my uncle’s birthday bash. N (my cousin and alibi) has decided to get married – in Sri Lanka in August. Yup, August of this year. We had a pact you see. We’ve both been using each other as covers. Each telling people that we’ll get married once the other one does. Well, the rat, went ahead and fixed his date without consulting me. I’m happy for him and stuff but really – what about me?
And me? Tomorrow night, I’ll the one scurrying away in the hopes of avoiding all the “oh it’s your turn now, when are you going to get married?” –esque questions. I actually despise them as I’m sure most adult women do. Initially it was – ‘why don’t you stay with one man for longer than 3 months” – now that I have. The argument has flipped itself and has become a whole new monster, “what’s wrong with M, why doesn’t he want to marry you?”
And I keep wanting to scream – god damnit! It’s not just him. It’s me too. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to leave the safety of my home. Definitely not ready to become ultimately responsible for another human being. Not ready to be a full fledged adult with real life responsibilities. Not ready to deal with Mississauga on a full time basis. Im just not ready people!
But I don’t vocalize these thoughts. I nod. Laugh. Giggle often and much. And cross my fingers and wish that time would fly. I console myself by tuning out the chatter. I actively fight their words in my head and remind myself that:
~I will get married. Hopefully to M. It will be my turn. One day. And that day will happen when we’re both absolutely certain and ready. Whenever that may be. ~
And Sunday – will be bliss. Nothing but pure chillaxing and recovering from the night before. I love my extended family but sometimes, I look around and realize that there’s got to be more than just this. Most discussions quickly deteriorate into friendly mud slinging matches where someone picks on someone and makes said someone feel shoddy for not following the invisible time table.
I keep reminding myself that when the three of us grow up –our family gatherings are going to focus on three things:
Love
Support
Encouragement
And the mud-slinging – we’ll do that in jest in the privacy of our own spaces.
It’s 3:32 and I am bored.
I can’t stand having nothing to do.
Being sick doesn’t help the situation.
I feel like a caged beast – my mind is turning on me!
I need some sugar. Oh yeah, I forgot. I can’t have that anymore.
Grrrr.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
J'aime Montréal
S had a wonderful idea – theoretically at least. And in her defense how was she to know that it would pour. A road trip was a wonderful suggestion to celebrate her birthday – so healthy bond inducing. Montreal was the chosen city. The date was agreed upon (and changed – thanks to me) and the peepz confirmed, including D. My oh my! That was the first of many anomalies.
On my end, M was apprehensive about the trip. I abruptly discovered the Type 2 Diabetes thing on Tuesday of that week. And started a new med on that very same day. On Wednesday, my body seemed to be rejecting the meds and I was concerned enough to hit the walk in at queen and spadina. SO, M’s trepidation was acceptable given the situation. But I desperately needed it. A couple days where the focus was on anything else but me and my dysfunctionality. He was sweet though. Endearingly so.
He explained his fear to me, rationally and in a very M-esque manner. And I understood. Once again, my boy was fighting to hold on to me. Fighting to protect me. And fighting to make sure that he could guarantee my safety. I love it. I’m so loved and so blessed ( I know I know, its getting quite redundant – but I can’t help it folks – its awesome to be loved so much- a part of me is certain that there has been some kinda colossal mistake that GOD made – I couldn’t possibly deserve so much love in one lifetime).
We left after the others and drove up in our trusty civic. The drive was memorable to say the least – I got some shut eye, we talked, laughed until I nearly peed my undies, discussed things until they resembled dead horses and cuddled the entire way. He’s lovable. And adorable. And loves me. Gosh darn it; I couldn’t possibly get any luckier.
The rain descended upon old-world Montreal leaving it grey, wet and dreary looking. It was all right though, cuz we sat in the car for a bit and just chillaxed. That’s when the group arrived. And the weekend became a slight blur from that point on.
I’ve probably mentioned this many a time – I love M’s friends. They are the sweetest, most passionate group of people – each with a personality that is larger than life. It’s so easy to immerse yourself in great conversation and hysterics with the lot of them. Thankfully, S liked her birthday gift. I was wiling out about the Guess bag – I mean gosh, it was bronze with snake skin – and since B grimaced when he saw it – I was certain that my shopping intuition had failed me. But yeah, it still works. Kinks and all.
We decided to hit the Casino. My first time. The energy was unbelievable. It was a gorgeous building. Architecturally awe-inspiring. But then again, most of Montreal looks like it were designed by a group of European artists – everything oozes of old world charm and culture. I love it. God damnit, why can’t the Tdot be more like that. I blew $20 on the slots. Not a big deal. It wasn’t hugely fun. I won some, lost some, won some more and finally played to lose cuz I was incredibly bored. I had such a good time watching the little Elvis impersonators though. Not that they were little people – like midgets but little as in cute and cool. They were awesome – period costumes met period music and brought forth good times. I loved it. Oh and the stereotypes about seniors and casinos – so true. I got beat down by an old woman who tried to jump the escalator before me. What did she use? You guessed it – her god damn bag. Could it get more clichéd than that?
After the casino, we hit an urban club. Urban being the word that night. The DJ had ADD. He couldn’t decide what to play and once he threw something on – he killed it by either interrupting it with another tune or his own unintelligible voice. The crowd was ghetto. A bunch of youngin’s trying really hard to emulate all them hip hop music videos. A bunch of inappropriately timed bumps mixed in with a few badly designed grindin sessions and you had a club filled with frenchies who had no rhythm. Needless to say the Tdot massive was peeeeved. I had an okay time. But then again, all my hoey ass needs is some beats and it does its own thang. Sad but true people. In my old age, im still a big club-hoe. I don’t plan on giving that up anytime though – I plan on being a ‘dance like nobody’s watching’ minx until gravity does its number on me and things start to hang to my knees. That’s the cut off point. Once my tits touch my ankles – I solemnly swear to resign my dancing shoes.
The Chinese food after the club was niiiice. N took great care of me. She is so effin nurturing that it makes me envious. I mean think about it folks – she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s a princess, loves to shop, is totally feisty, unbelievably charismatic and NURTURING? Gawd. I hate those nearly perfect people. But then again, the entire group is blessed with just enough of everything – that’s what makes them - them. Either way – hate pushed aside, N took care of me. Made sure I had something to eat in the smoke filled restaurant.
Okay – in Toronto you can’t even smoke in the doorway to a patio without a burly know-it-all bouncer butting it out. In Montreal – they’ve got great architecture, awesome cobble stone pathways, the most romantic waterfront and you can friggin smoke inside a restaurant. ALL THE TIME. EFFIN CLAP. I wanna move to Montreal.
Now.
Anyways, a couple verbal altercations later – we hit the sack. I slept like a baby despite the fact that J was snoring loud enough to wake the sleeping giants that live under the bridge or so I was told the morning after. I heard noises in my head – which apparently I also made out loud. Embarrassing yes. But was I sorry? Nah. I was just glad that M was there to hold my head close.
Breakfast was yummy. And then it was off to Raman’s. His kids are adorable. I think I actually heard the slight whirr of that dreaded biological clock. I mean gosh, something stirred in my cardio-arterial region and I involuntarily sighed. They are the cutest little people. Personalities and all. It was good to see him. And it felt good to introduce him to M – after all, dude is definitely a cornerstone on Amma’s side of the gang. It was refreshing to my spirit. I hope that their lives are filled with delight and utter goodness – pure in its sanctity.
The drive home was sweet. The trip was tiring. I vowed that sometime this summer – the home crew would most definitely plan a weeklong trip to MTL. A trip to absorb the culture. A trip to expand our souls. A trip to experience a European lifestyle on a budget. I love MTL.
And sure, the trip was filled with sniffles, flared tempers and general scuffles – but that’s half the fun of traveling with family. It’s not so much the way you interact with people during the awesome times but the way you hold them close during the rough ones. Everyone is allowed to have an off day or two and nobody is perfect. And when you love people as much as the group seems to love each other – everything is forgivable. And in time, ouchies become bygones.
The crew (M&C, N&J, S&P) is gearing up for their week long sojourn in Mexico. I’m envious people – green – a putrid green at that. But I sincerely hope that they have a fun filled week to celebrate all their many accomplishments and changes in the last year. They most definitely deserve it.
And me? I’m just glad that the back-blogging is done. Starting tomorrow – this blog will return to featuring my daily rants, raves and emotionally driven doodoo. After all, for some of you – I have become part of the daily morning routine. And for others, what the heck are you waiting for??
Be blessed.
MTL – we will return.
On my end, M was apprehensive about the trip. I abruptly discovered the Type 2 Diabetes thing on Tuesday of that week. And started a new med on that very same day. On Wednesday, my body seemed to be rejecting the meds and I was concerned enough to hit the walk in at queen and spadina. SO, M’s trepidation was acceptable given the situation. But I desperately needed it. A couple days where the focus was on anything else but me and my dysfunctionality. He was sweet though. Endearingly so.
He explained his fear to me, rationally and in a very M-esque manner. And I understood. Once again, my boy was fighting to hold on to me. Fighting to protect me. And fighting to make sure that he could guarantee my safety. I love it. I’m so loved and so blessed ( I know I know, its getting quite redundant – but I can’t help it folks – its awesome to be loved so much- a part of me is certain that there has been some kinda colossal mistake that GOD made – I couldn’t possibly deserve so much love in one lifetime).
We left after the others and drove up in our trusty civic. The drive was memorable to say the least – I got some shut eye, we talked, laughed until I nearly peed my undies, discussed things until they resembled dead horses and cuddled the entire way. He’s lovable. And adorable. And loves me. Gosh darn it; I couldn’t possibly get any luckier.
The rain descended upon old-world Montreal leaving it grey, wet and dreary looking. It was all right though, cuz we sat in the car for a bit and just chillaxed. That’s when the group arrived. And the weekend became a slight blur from that point on.
I’ve probably mentioned this many a time – I love M’s friends. They are the sweetest, most passionate group of people – each with a personality that is larger than life. It’s so easy to immerse yourself in great conversation and hysterics with the lot of them. Thankfully, S liked her birthday gift. I was wiling out about the Guess bag – I mean gosh, it was bronze with snake skin – and since B grimaced when he saw it – I was certain that my shopping intuition had failed me. But yeah, it still works. Kinks and all.
We decided to hit the Casino. My first time. The energy was unbelievable. It was a gorgeous building. Architecturally awe-inspiring. But then again, most of Montreal looks like it were designed by a group of European artists – everything oozes of old world charm and culture. I love it. God damnit, why can’t the Tdot be more like that. I blew $20 on the slots. Not a big deal. It wasn’t hugely fun. I won some, lost some, won some more and finally played to lose cuz I was incredibly bored. I had such a good time watching the little Elvis impersonators though. Not that they were little people – like midgets but little as in cute and cool. They were awesome – period costumes met period music and brought forth good times. I loved it. Oh and the stereotypes about seniors and casinos – so true. I got beat down by an old woman who tried to jump the escalator before me. What did she use? You guessed it – her god damn bag. Could it get more clichéd than that?
After the casino, we hit an urban club. Urban being the word that night. The DJ had ADD. He couldn’t decide what to play and once he threw something on – he killed it by either interrupting it with another tune or his own unintelligible voice. The crowd was ghetto. A bunch of youngin’s trying really hard to emulate all them hip hop music videos. A bunch of inappropriately timed bumps mixed in with a few badly designed grindin sessions and you had a club filled with frenchies who had no rhythm. Needless to say the Tdot massive was peeeeved. I had an okay time. But then again, all my hoey ass needs is some beats and it does its own thang. Sad but true people. In my old age, im still a big club-hoe. I don’t plan on giving that up anytime though – I plan on being a ‘dance like nobody’s watching’ minx until gravity does its number on me and things start to hang to my knees. That’s the cut off point. Once my tits touch my ankles – I solemnly swear to resign my dancing shoes.
The Chinese food after the club was niiiice. N took great care of me. She is so effin nurturing that it makes me envious. I mean think about it folks – she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s a princess, loves to shop, is totally feisty, unbelievably charismatic and NURTURING? Gawd. I hate those nearly perfect people. But then again, the entire group is blessed with just enough of everything – that’s what makes them - them. Either way – hate pushed aside, N took care of me. Made sure I had something to eat in the smoke filled restaurant.
Okay – in Toronto you can’t even smoke in the doorway to a patio without a burly know-it-all bouncer butting it out. In Montreal – they’ve got great architecture, awesome cobble stone pathways, the most romantic waterfront and you can friggin smoke inside a restaurant. ALL THE TIME. EFFIN CLAP. I wanna move to Montreal.
Now.
Anyways, a couple verbal altercations later – we hit the sack. I slept like a baby despite the fact that J was snoring loud enough to wake the sleeping giants that live under the bridge or so I was told the morning after. I heard noises in my head – which apparently I also made out loud. Embarrassing yes. But was I sorry? Nah. I was just glad that M was there to hold my head close.
Breakfast was yummy. And then it was off to Raman’s. His kids are adorable. I think I actually heard the slight whirr of that dreaded biological clock. I mean gosh, something stirred in my cardio-arterial region and I involuntarily sighed. They are the cutest little people. Personalities and all. It was good to see him. And it felt good to introduce him to M – after all, dude is definitely a cornerstone on Amma’s side of the gang. It was refreshing to my spirit. I hope that their lives are filled with delight and utter goodness – pure in its sanctity.
The drive home was sweet. The trip was tiring. I vowed that sometime this summer – the home crew would most definitely plan a weeklong trip to MTL. A trip to absorb the culture. A trip to expand our souls. A trip to experience a European lifestyle on a budget. I love MTL.
And sure, the trip was filled with sniffles, flared tempers and general scuffles – but that’s half the fun of traveling with family. It’s not so much the way you interact with people during the awesome times but the way you hold them close during the rough ones. Everyone is allowed to have an off day or two and nobody is perfect. And when you love people as much as the group seems to love each other – everything is forgivable. And in time, ouchies become bygones.
The crew (M&C, N&J, S&P) is gearing up for their week long sojourn in Mexico. I’m envious people – green – a putrid green at that. But I sincerely hope that they have a fun filled week to celebrate all their many accomplishments and changes in the last year. They most definitely deserve it.
And me? I’m just glad that the back-blogging is done. Starting tomorrow – this blog will return to featuring my daily rants, raves and emotionally driven doodoo. After all, for some of you – I have become part of the daily morning routine. And for others, what the heck are you waiting for??
Be blessed.
MTL – we will return.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
The trip after the trip.
Home is sweet. I was glad to be back in my court, my week started as it normally did. A mad scramble to get to work on time and in one piece. That’s when I noticed that I wasn’t feeling so hot. Something on my inside was doing something funky that made me feel horrible on the outside. And I don’t usually feel horrible – physically at least. Not enough for it to concern me.
Okay fine, I complain a lot. About this, that and every other thing hurting. But I’m not a complainer just an interpreter of life’s misgivings. That’s all. Consider me the equivalent to a public service institution.
So admist the chatter, it arrived. Silent and deadly. Here we go:
I recently had some blood work done. So I got the dreaded call where they asked me to come into the walk-in clinic. I went in with Rama. And apparently, my blood glucose levels are at a record breaking high. Most people are at a 4 to 6 – my random sample was at 27. Yeah, apparently that’s reason enough to be hospitalized. But then the walk-in doctor found my test results that showed a reading of 16. Which is still horribly bad. Still life-threatening. Still preventable. That was the hope. The hiding silver lining.
So amongst all the good and the bad things I’ve inherited from my folks – I also bear the brunt of being too sweet. There’s just too much bloody sugar in my system. Which rationally makes total sense. After all, if anyone saw our snack drawer at work – you’d know why that doesn’t surprise me.
In the last few weeks, this is what I have learnt:
My family adores me
M loves me to death
B loves me enough to give up sugar too
My friends are there – all the time
Everyone’s getting healthier for me
I have to take a pill twice a day
I have to take some more blood tests
I have to figure out how to become normal
I have to take care of myself
I have to cut out ALL sugar
I must wave goodbye to all things Refined (read: yummy)
And most importantly,
I have to find an effin doctor.
It seems to be easier to find a hit man than a god damn family physician in Toronto. Perhaps we need to send out a memo to all the brownies who are expanding their horizons and getting into communication arts. No expanding necessary thank you very much. They need to be doctors god damnit. DOCTORS. Young, healthy, virile ones that promise not to keel over in the next few years. Cuz god knows, I can’t imagine going through this ordeal twice.
I need one.
ASAP.
So apart from that – I’ve been working out diligently.
Who would’ve thought that facing my mortality could be so powerful?
Who would’ve thought that I had the self control to break away from sugar completely?
Who would’ve thought that I had the power to say no?
It’s so inspiring - the threat of dying actually makes the weakest duckling stronger. I feel reincarnated.
Alive.
And with all the people holding my hand
And helping me through this enormously confusing tunnel
I feel adequately loved and blessed.
But what did amaze me through all of this was the sheer power that my body has over my life. You see, I’ve always disregarded it. My body is my vehicle – that’s it. Well and now, my vice. I’ve never cared enough to worry about it’s performance, endurance, health etc. And now I realize that the one thing I never felt the need to control or worry about – is the one thing that can end my love affair with everything else I absolutely adore. That’s powerful stuff people. And heady too.
It makes you feel small and powerless. It forces you to realize the fact that there are greater things at work in this universe. It bitch slaps you until you open those eyes to the fact that you really do have just one life to live. And its precious. Especially when you are loved and when you love so many other people and things.
It sounds clichéd. Felt clichéd to even scribe. But it is the truth. Powerful and simple.
That night, I wept my eyes out. M drove down to console my sorry behind. And I realized. I have 7 people in this life that depend on me – not literally but figuratively. They belong to me. They are my responsibilities. Their happiness is partially in my hands. And if I was to die (as I very well could’ve apparently considering that my eyes are flippin out and my head is doing something funky) – I would leave them with one less love portion. And that’s horrible. And so, everything else is relative.
I still hate the gym. I’m fine once I get there. But the trek there is filled with soap-operatic self talk that resembles a series of grade 9 gym class excuses. And when I’m on that elliptical machine that I’m certain was designed by a sadistic bastard – I keep reminding myself – the next ten minutes will make sure I get ten more with R or ten more fighting with Appa or ten more playing with M– god the list goes on. And it might seem silly and childish – but that’s what I need: I need to know how every second of sweat is going to change my life.
I’m grateful for having found out now.
So I can fix this now.
And I’m lucky to have friends and family who are willing to pitch in and help out.
So that’s that – my run in with the sugar monster.
(the word on the street is that once I get everything under control, I could have a sliver of cheesecake without it killing me – I’m looking forward to those days.)
cross your fingers folks – I need all the luck I can get.
Okay fine, I complain a lot. About this, that and every other thing hurting. But I’m not a complainer just an interpreter of life’s misgivings. That’s all. Consider me the equivalent to a public service institution.
So admist the chatter, it arrived. Silent and deadly. Here we go:
I recently had some blood work done. So I got the dreaded call where they asked me to come into the walk-in clinic. I went in with Rama. And apparently, my blood glucose levels are at a record breaking high. Most people are at a 4 to 6 – my random sample was at 27. Yeah, apparently that’s reason enough to be hospitalized. But then the walk-in doctor found my test results that showed a reading of 16. Which is still horribly bad. Still life-threatening. Still preventable. That was the hope. The hiding silver lining.
So amongst all the good and the bad things I’ve inherited from my folks – I also bear the brunt of being too sweet. There’s just too much bloody sugar in my system. Which rationally makes total sense. After all, if anyone saw our snack drawer at work – you’d know why that doesn’t surprise me.
In the last few weeks, this is what I have learnt:
My family adores me
M loves me to death
B loves me enough to give up sugar too
My friends are there – all the time
Everyone’s getting healthier for me
I have to take a pill twice a day
I have to take some more blood tests
I have to figure out how to become normal
I have to take care of myself
I have to cut out ALL sugar
I must wave goodbye to all things Refined (read: yummy)
And most importantly,
I have to find an effin doctor.
It seems to be easier to find a hit man than a god damn family physician in Toronto. Perhaps we need to send out a memo to all the brownies who are expanding their horizons and getting into communication arts. No expanding necessary thank you very much. They need to be doctors god damnit. DOCTORS. Young, healthy, virile ones that promise not to keel over in the next few years. Cuz god knows, I can’t imagine going through this ordeal twice.
I need one.
ASAP.
So apart from that – I’ve been working out diligently.
Who would’ve thought that facing my mortality could be so powerful?
Who would’ve thought that I had the self control to break away from sugar completely?
Who would’ve thought that I had the power to say no?
It’s so inspiring - the threat of dying actually makes the weakest duckling stronger. I feel reincarnated.
Alive.
And with all the people holding my hand
And helping me through this enormously confusing tunnel
I feel adequately loved and blessed.
But what did amaze me through all of this was the sheer power that my body has over my life. You see, I’ve always disregarded it. My body is my vehicle – that’s it. Well and now, my vice. I’ve never cared enough to worry about it’s performance, endurance, health etc. And now I realize that the one thing I never felt the need to control or worry about – is the one thing that can end my love affair with everything else I absolutely adore. That’s powerful stuff people. And heady too.
It makes you feel small and powerless. It forces you to realize the fact that there are greater things at work in this universe. It bitch slaps you until you open those eyes to the fact that you really do have just one life to live. And its precious. Especially when you are loved and when you love so many other people and things.
It sounds clichéd. Felt clichéd to even scribe. But it is the truth. Powerful and simple.
That night, I wept my eyes out. M drove down to console my sorry behind. And I realized. I have 7 people in this life that depend on me – not literally but figuratively. They belong to me. They are my responsibilities. Their happiness is partially in my hands. And if I was to die (as I very well could’ve apparently considering that my eyes are flippin out and my head is doing something funky) – I would leave them with one less love portion. And that’s horrible. And so, everything else is relative.
I still hate the gym. I’m fine once I get there. But the trek there is filled with soap-operatic self talk that resembles a series of grade 9 gym class excuses. And when I’m on that elliptical machine that I’m certain was designed by a sadistic bastard – I keep reminding myself – the next ten minutes will make sure I get ten more with R or ten more fighting with Appa or ten more playing with M– god the list goes on. And it might seem silly and childish – but that’s what I need: I need to know how every second of sweat is going to change my life.
I’m grateful for having found out now.
So I can fix this now.
And I’m lucky to have friends and family who are willing to pitch in and help out.
So that’s that – my run in with the sugar monster.
(the word on the street is that once I get everything under control, I could have a sliver of cheesecake without it killing me – I’m looking forward to those days.)
cross your fingers folks – I need all the luck I can get.
Transylvania - we came, we saw, we left as soon as we could.
Road trips are finicky lil’ vacations filled with tumultuous beasts that depend on a number of variables. For instance, the type of vehicle it takes place in, the number of hours before arriving at the preferred destination, the passengers, their relation to the drivers, over active bladders, over zealous bellies…yup, the whole gamut. So sit back and prepare yourself to enjoy our explorative journey into Pittsburg, Amerika.
( no really, grab a snack cuz this bollywood-esque review is sans intermission)
Appa decided that for his birthday he’d like to cordon his troops and go on a quasi religious excursion. So after a ton of negotiations about the date, we arrived at the conclusion that this trip would have to be short cuz R couldn’t sleep out for more than one night. A van was booked, directions were printed out, no sandwiches were packed (thank gawd, the last thing we needed was the rank odor of soggy tuna wafting over our slumbering heads only to abruptly choke us once we awoke) and we each packed A bag. Some were of course, larger than others.
Hey, I can’t help it if I need a god darn flat iron – being beautiful is hard work people.
R&M did most of the driving on the trip – after a few wrong turns, missed exits and re-visited toll-booths, we found our way to the Holiday Inn in Pittsburg, Transylvania. The fact that these damn yanks charge you for driving through their country is laudable enough without factoring in their insane ability to open up these 24 hour Walmarts – giving us more of a reason to render ourselves completely broke.
(Yup, count that – 41 words in 1 sentence –im a textologist and obviously a believer in run-on sentences.)
Either way, getting past our hurdles, we all got changed and drove up to the Pittsburg Temple – Temple number one on our list. I’m telling you, brown people are infamous for these religious pilgrimages (that’s actually what dad told the guy at the border – yup, me and these 6 slightly suspicious looking tanned people are crossing over for a pilgrimage - ). Tamil folk can’t seem to leave the country without mapping out and falling prey to the temple circuit.
I always question this though: does Lord Ganesh or Shiva care that you just saw him at three different places in the last 24 hours? I mean, is there such a thing as over-exposing yourself to the powers that be? And whatever happened to us experiencing our religious beliefs in an inherent, visceral manner? Not that I mind temples – I enjoy the shanti it brings me. But I can imagine M’s apprehension, his discomfort and how bloody much he must love me to put up with me and my “suddenly religious” family.
The temple was gorgeous. The lingam was ridiculously beautiful. Each deity in his /her own samaj. Each housed in magnificence, encased in enough bling to send Luda into a tizzy – the whole place was just light and flighty. I immediately fell in love with the architecture of each vestibule, simple yet complex – the perfect oxymoron and a rather impressionable one at that.
The sambar rice and the lemon rice was absolutely titillating to my taste buds. I wanted to crawl into mom’s lap and relive childhood memories. Although, amma wasn’t in many of them – the maid was. But no matter, it still brought back vibes of safety and security and fooooooood – not just a content sigh from my belly – but a tantalizing roller coaster for my palate.
I want to live in a temple. No joke, I’ve always wanted to do something religious with myself. Not join the pilgrimage circuit, but to be a part of the actual institution – I went through many a phase like the destined to be a nun, priestess, monk, tribal healer, black queen and spoken word warrior – just a few of the many that hovered on my plate. And sometimes, I still feel slivers of those yearnings haunting me. Although, I think that the food they serve at religious institutions had a little something to do with that decision.
Either way – adequately blessed and belly full – the 7 of us trudged back to the van. And that’s when we hit Target. A dream come true. I have been addicted to the Target website for weeks – printing out things, pictures, directions – virally salivating. I know they don’t ship to Canada, yet I have an online shopping cart filled to the brim in the hopes that they might change their effin policies. Thankfully, R& M made sure we made it to Target, just so that I’d quit bugging them.
God I was excited, pee my pants excited - only to realize that it was a glorified Zellers. EEEEEGADS. My dreams shot – I still managed to procure a pepto bismol pink short trench by Isaac and a pleated skirt that R thinks is absolutely hideous. She calls it my ‘slave girl’ swag. Then we hit DSW (the mecca of shoes), where M bought me the most adorable pointy toed flat Rocket Dogs (my newest obsession) and to Marshalls where I got the sexiest bra’s for $5. Through the entirety of our shop-a-thon, Amma and Appa nestled themselves in the backseat of their rental and went to sleep.
Yup, this was his birthday trip. He chose to sleep most of it away. Parents..
Either way, the shops were closing so M & R drove us back to the Inn and went exploring (aka foraging for beer). R was in heaven when he found the DSW equivalent of beer at a Beer mart. They bought back a 24 case of tallboy Coors cans. Yup, they drank all of 4 maybe. We went out for dinner sans Amma and Rashmi and then called it a night out of sheer exhaustion.
Day 2: Had some breakfast, packed up our stuff (I brought along waaaay more than I needed) and then we hit Grove City. The mecca for people who get off on outlet shopping. I think we spent a good 3 hours there and trust me, by the end of it I was bitchin belly broke but, that didn’t seem to matter. I made out great at the GAP – a yummy skirt, a khakhi blazer. I got a tee that reads “high maintenance” and appropriately so. I also got a bunch of other stuff from other places that I don’t quite remember (I’m certain that M is shaking his head in distress – my love affair with things often don’t get past the 48 hour mark).
I prefer to think of them as ‘trysts’ or ‘flings’ as opposed to affairs. Albeit I pine for them like they might be of the latter variety.
After that we drove to the Rochester temple. Well we thought that’s where we were headed but R actually took us elsewhere. Still a temple. So he can’t be blamed. Tempers were starting to flare, people were getting argumentative but by sheer luck – a couple of nice Indian fellows led us to the real temple. So we got there at like 7:30pm on a Sunday night.
Yup, 7:30 on a Sunday night and we were just starting on Temple number 2.
This temple was gorgeous – and it’s built by the sheer power and labour of volunteers. Which is quite impressive. Apparently, people travel from all over the world to help out and do some ‘seva’ (religious work) in the hopes of garnering a piece of the marketshare of the blessings that Lord Ganesh, Shiva and the crew dole out. Either way – I was blessed to be there with all the people I loved. And I would definitely like to go back.
In fact, its where I hope to get married.
One day.
No hints.
No subtle prodding.
Just the wish of a lonely little girl …. * sniff sniff*
☺
So while we were busy garnering some divine votes of confidence at the Rochester temple, M generously offered to de-tag and de-price all our procured goodies so that it passes through the border without getting taxed. He was meticulous – that’s my boy! If accounting doesn’t work out – smuggling. That’s his next big career move. And so we got everything past the border.
Yup, seven people who all spent atleast a hundred dollars a piece who voluntarily screwed the system without batting an eyelash!
I love brown people – especially the ones that belong to me.
We drove past the ‘welcome to Toronto’ sign and collectively sighed in relief. I think we pulled into our drive way around 11ish.
Tired.
Grumpy.
Sleepy.
And glad to be back home.
God, I missed Sparx and Trix.
I’m gonna assume that they missed me too.
The boys took off and we ended our weekend with watered down hugs and repeated reassurances that we had a great time.
I think the folks enjoyed it. It made them feel adequately tethered to their litter.
You see, I realized on that trip – how awesome our lives are truly going to be. The people I love, love each other. Sure they bicker. And nag. And get hostile. And sometimes claws come out. Someone loses an eye on occasion. But at the end of the night, all we seem to need to have a great time is each other.
And that reassures me.
Makes me feel complete.
This weekend was the first time the boys were invited on a sleep over trip. A huge honkin deal on Appa’s part. To him this wasn’t just a trip – this was his official welcome to the clan. Now regardless of the spine tingling undertones a la the Soprano’s – we should focus on the positive and that means that the boys have an extra place to call home.
And we have an extra bunch of hands to lift things, carry things and drive things forward.
Like the rest of our lives.
It really is fun when you find those perfect pieces that complete the puzzle.
Almost people. We are almost complete.
Next post: The drama that followed our trip to Transylvania.
Back-blogging is a pain in the ass. But it certainly makes each memory more tangible.
Oh - I also seem to have picked up a linguistic equivalent of a bad habit - i seem to have generously smattered this post with "either way this" and "either way that" - now this embarrassing boo-boo is officially done.
( no really, grab a snack cuz this bollywood-esque review is sans intermission)
Appa decided that for his birthday he’d like to cordon his troops and go on a quasi religious excursion. So after a ton of negotiations about the date, we arrived at the conclusion that this trip would have to be short cuz R couldn’t sleep out for more than one night. A van was booked, directions were printed out, no sandwiches were packed (thank gawd, the last thing we needed was the rank odor of soggy tuna wafting over our slumbering heads only to abruptly choke us once we awoke) and we each packed A bag. Some were of course, larger than others.
Hey, I can’t help it if I need a god darn flat iron – being beautiful is hard work people.
R&M did most of the driving on the trip – after a few wrong turns, missed exits and re-visited toll-booths, we found our way to the Holiday Inn in Pittsburg, Transylvania. The fact that these damn yanks charge you for driving through their country is laudable enough without factoring in their insane ability to open up these 24 hour Walmarts – giving us more of a reason to render ourselves completely broke.
(Yup, count that – 41 words in 1 sentence –im a textologist and obviously a believer in run-on sentences.)
Either way, getting past our hurdles, we all got changed and drove up to the Pittsburg Temple – Temple number one on our list. I’m telling you, brown people are infamous for these religious pilgrimages (that’s actually what dad told the guy at the border – yup, me and these 6 slightly suspicious looking tanned people are crossing over for a pilgrimage - ). Tamil folk can’t seem to leave the country without mapping out and falling prey to the temple circuit.
I always question this though: does Lord Ganesh or Shiva care that you just saw him at three different places in the last 24 hours? I mean, is there such a thing as over-exposing yourself to the powers that be? And whatever happened to us experiencing our religious beliefs in an inherent, visceral manner? Not that I mind temples – I enjoy the shanti it brings me. But I can imagine M’s apprehension, his discomfort and how bloody much he must love me to put up with me and my “suddenly religious” family.
The temple was gorgeous. The lingam was ridiculously beautiful. Each deity in his /her own samaj. Each housed in magnificence, encased in enough bling to send Luda into a tizzy – the whole place was just light and flighty. I immediately fell in love with the architecture of each vestibule, simple yet complex – the perfect oxymoron and a rather impressionable one at that.
The sambar rice and the lemon rice was absolutely titillating to my taste buds. I wanted to crawl into mom’s lap and relive childhood memories. Although, amma wasn’t in many of them – the maid was. But no matter, it still brought back vibes of safety and security and fooooooood – not just a content sigh from my belly – but a tantalizing roller coaster for my palate.
I want to live in a temple. No joke, I’ve always wanted to do something religious with myself. Not join the pilgrimage circuit, but to be a part of the actual institution – I went through many a phase like the destined to be a nun, priestess, monk, tribal healer, black queen and spoken word warrior – just a few of the many that hovered on my plate. And sometimes, I still feel slivers of those yearnings haunting me. Although, I think that the food they serve at religious institutions had a little something to do with that decision.
Either way – adequately blessed and belly full – the 7 of us trudged back to the van. And that’s when we hit Target. A dream come true. I have been addicted to the Target website for weeks – printing out things, pictures, directions – virally salivating. I know they don’t ship to Canada, yet I have an online shopping cart filled to the brim in the hopes that they might change their effin policies. Thankfully, R& M made sure we made it to Target, just so that I’d quit bugging them.
God I was excited, pee my pants excited - only to realize that it was a glorified Zellers. EEEEEGADS. My dreams shot – I still managed to procure a pepto bismol pink short trench by Isaac and a pleated skirt that R thinks is absolutely hideous. She calls it my ‘slave girl’ swag. Then we hit DSW (the mecca of shoes), where M bought me the most adorable pointy toed flat Rocket Dogs (my newest obsession) and to Marshalls where I got the sexiest bra’s for $5. Through the entirety of our shop-a-thon, Amma and Appa nestled themselves in the backseat of their rental and went to sleep.
Yup, this was his birthday trip. He chose to sleep most of it away. Parents..
Either way, the shops were closing so M & R drove us back to the Inn and went exploring (aka foraging for beer). R was in heaven when he found the DSW equivalent of beer at a Beer mart. They bought back a 24 case of tallboy Coors cans. Yup, they drank all of 4 maybe. We went out for dinner sans Amma and Rashmi and then called it a night out of sheer exhaustion.
Day 2: Had some breakfast, packed up our stuff (I brought along waaaay more than I needed) and then we hit Grove City. The mecca for people who get off on outlet shopping. I think we spent a good 3 hours there and trust me, by the end of it I was bitchin belly broke but, that didn’t seem to matter. I made out great at the GAP – a yummy skirt, a khakhi blazer. I got a tee that reads “high maintenance” and appropriately so. I also got a bunch of other stuff from other places that I don’t quite remember (I’m certain that M is shaking his head in distress – my love affair with things often don’t get past the 48 hour mark).
I prefer to think of them as ‘trysts’ or ‘flings’ as opposed to affairs. Albeit I pine for them like they might be of the latter variety.
After that we drove to the Rochester temple. Well we thought that’s where we were headed but R actually took us elsewhere. Still a temple. So he can’t be blamed. Tempers were starting to flare, people were getting argumentative but by sheer luck – a couple of nice Indian fellows led us to the real temple. So we got there at like 7:30pm on a Sunday night.
Yup, 7:30 on a Sunday night and we were just starting on Temple number 2.
This temple was gorgeous – and it’s built by the sheer power and labour of volunteers. Which is quite impressive. Apparently, people travel from all over the world to help out and do some ‘seva’ (religious work) in the hopes of garnering a piece of the marketshare of the blessings that Lord Ganesh, Shiva and the crew dole out. Either way – I was blessed to be there with all the people I loved. And I would definitely like to go back.
In fact, its where I hope to get married.
One day.
No hints.
No subtle prodding.
Just the wish of a lonely little girl …. * sniff sniff*
☺
So while we were busy garnering some divine votes of confidence at the Rochester temple, M generously offered to de-tag and de-price all our procured goodies so that it passes through the border without getting taxed. He was meticulous – that’s my boy! If accounting doesn’t work out – smuggling. That’s his next big career move. And so we got everything past the border.
Yup, seven people who all spent atleast a hundred dollars a piece who voluntarily screwed the system without batting an eyelash!
I love brown people – especially the ones that belong to me.
We drove past the ‘welcome to Toronto’ sign and collectively sighed in relief. I think we pulled into our drive way around 11ish.
Tired.
Grumpy.
Sleepy.
And glad to be back home.
God, I missed Sparx and Trix.
I’m gonna assume that they missed me too.
The boys took off and we ended our weekend with watered down hugs and repeated reassurances that we had a great time.
I think the folks enjoyed it. It made them feel adequately tethered to their litter.
You see, I realized on that trip – how awesome our lives are truly going to be. The people I love, love each other. Sure they bicker. And nag. And get hostile. And sometimes claws come out. Someone loses an eye on occasion. But at the end of the night, all we seem to need to have a great time is each other.
And that reassures me.
Makes me feel complete.
This weekend was the first time the boys were invited on a sleep over trip. A huge honkin deal on Appa’s part. To him this wasn’t just a trip – this was his official welcome to the clan. Now regardless of the spine tingling undertones a la the Soprano’s – we should focus on the positive and that means that the boys have an extra place to call home.
And we have an extra bunch of hands to lift things, carry things and drive things forward.
Like the rest of our lives.
It really is fun when you find those perfect pieces that complete the puzzle.
Almost people. We are almost complete.
Next post: The drama that followed our trip to Transylvania.
Back-blogging is a pain in the ass. But it certainly makes each memory more tangible.
Oh - I also seem to have picked up a linguistic equivalent of a bad habit - i seem to have generously smattered this post with "either way this" and "either way that" - now this embarrassing boo-boo is officially done.
Monday, May 09, 2005
My segue
Admist all the activity that fill my days - i seem to have lost the one connection that my spirit needs: this blog.
Life has been absolutely manic - highs, lows, tempramental and rather deranged. I'm stumbling and falling and bruising my knee in places that have been bruised before. And boy does it hurt. It sucks to re-skin a pre-skinned part of your body. It burns - lingeringly. And unbeknowst to my rational self - my emotional psyche has melodramatically flipped the script on my ass. More on this will surely follow - i promise.
I've got multiple weeks of eventful days to scribe - roadtrips with the fam, roadtrips with M, dinner with S, fights/scuffles/joys, lunch with my grandma, endless visits to the doctor and of course, my love-hate relationship with the enemy in white. Weeks of pure joy and pure pain. It's ironic how all of life's greatest moments arrive packaged neatly in a dichotomy.
Well, thats how all of mine arrived.
But in the meantime and the in-between time - here's a little something that Aunty Madge sent to all her loved ones. I'm blessed to be on that list and it tickles me pink to know that M's momma loves the bejeesus out of me! Weee! That's one thing in my existence thats going just right. Anyways, she sent out a little something that works as a beautiful reminder of what human beings unconsciously do. A reminder of how desperately short and potentially sublime this life could be. And most importantly, a reminder that we control the good, the bad and the ugly in this lifetime.
More will come. Soon. Pinky-swear.
----
When is Now
We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, when we are able to go on a nice vacation or when we retire. The truth is there's no better time to be happy than right now.
If not now, when?
Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with. Remember that time waits for no one.
So, stop waiting .
Until your car or home is paid off.
Until you get a new car or home.
Until your kids leave the house.
Until you go back to school.
Until you finish school.
Until you lose 10 lbs.
Until you gain 10 lbs.
Until you get married.
Until you get a divorce.
Until you have kids.
Until you retire.
Until summer..
Until spring.
Until winter
Until fall.
Until you die.
There is no better time than right now to be happy. Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
So work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt and dance like no one's watching.
----
i thought this was fitting for all the right reasons. I for one, hope that i have the foresight to remember this lesson every time i feel like life will be better when......
until soon
be blessed
j
Life has been absolutely manic - highs, lows, tempramental and rather deranged. I'm stumbling and falling and bruising my knee in places that have been bruised before. And boy does it hurt. It sucks to re-skin a pre-skinned part of your body. It burns - lingeringly. And unbeknowst to my rational self - my emotional psyche has melodramatically flipped the script on my ass. More on this will surely follow - i promise.
I've got multiple weeks of eventful days to scribe - roadtrips with the fam, roadtrips with M, dinner with S, fights/scuffles/joys, lunch with my grandma, endless visits to the doctor and of course, my love-hate relationship with the enemy in white. Weeks of pure joy and pure pain. It's ironic how all of life's greatest moments arrive packaged neatly in a dichotomy.
Well, thats how all of mine arrived.
But in the meantime and the in-between time - here's a little something that Aunty Madge sent to all her loved ones. I'm blessed to be on that list and it tickles me pink to know that M's momma loves the bejeesus out of me! Weee! That's one thing in my existence thats going just right. Anyways, she sent out a little something that works as a beautiful reminder of what human beings unconsciously do. A reminder of how desperately short and potentially sublime this life could be. And most importantly, a reminder that we control the good, the bad and the ugly in this lifetime.
More will come. Soon. Pinky-swear.
----
When is Now
We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, when we are able to go on a nice vacation or when we retire. The truth is there's no better time to be happy than right now.
If not now, when?
Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with. Remember that time waits for no one.
So, stop waiting .
Until your car or home is paid off.
Until you get a new car or home.
Until your kids leave the house.
Until you go back to school.
Until you finish school.
Until you lose 10 lbs.
Until you gain 10 lbs.
Until you get married.
Until you get a divorce.
Until you have kids.
Until you retire.
Until summer..
Until spring.
Until winter
Until fall.
Until you die.
There is no better time than right now to be happy. Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
So work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt and dance like no one's watching.
----
i thought this was fitting for all the right reasons. I for one, hope that i have the foresight to remember this lesson every time i feel like life will be better when......
until soon
be blessed
j
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