Filed Under: The Stupid Things White Men Say

I was at Blockbuster's in WeHo. I was taking my time looking at the back of the dvd boxes. Picking a good movie is a serious process. This guy looks at me. I know, he must have been staring at my curlicious locks. I ignored him and hoped that he'd continue on his way. No such luck.

Hipster: Do you know much about indie films?

Me: [I didn't want to get into a conversation with this man, color me anti-social] No, sorry.

Hipster: I'm looking for a German film about a government investigator.

Me: [I knew exactly which movie he was referring to... a fucking amazing movie that I saw at the New Beverly Cinema as part of a double feature.] The Lives of Others!

Hipster: See, you do know your indie films.

Me: Uhm no. That was just an amazing film.

Hipster: Really?

Me: Hands down one of my favorite films. I think it's over there (far away from where I was standing). [I go back to reading the back of the dvd box. I had helped the man. Now he could leave me alone.]

Hipster: Are you in the film industry? Do you make films?

Me: [Is this his pickup line, for reals? It's not like everyone doesn't try to use that line in L.A.] Definitely not.

Hipster: So where are you from?

Me: [Jesus, this question???] I'm Bengali.

Hipster: Wow. I've always wanted to visit. [Yeah right buddy bear.]

Me: Well, you should check it out.

Hipster: So is your boyfriend from there too?

Me: Actually, my HUSBAND [let me say it loud and clear] is Punjabi.

Hipster: [Taking a moment for it to sink in that I am not available] So do your tribes get along, or is there a lot of tribal fighting? [This man was dead fucking seriously]

Me: [I just made a face. There clearly was nothing left to say.]

Butter Up Your Yoni Flower

Yeah good stuff. I own this stuff and it's great to play with solo or with a partner.

I'm Sick & Cranky, Bite Me

Who knew, I had a wonderful time having dinner and dancing with a mostly desi crew on Saturday night. I ended the night early b/c my stomach became a knife stabbing monster. As I walked back to my car from Little Temple, I saw a ghettoburg helicopter flying overhead because there was a shooting. Got to love L.A.

I woke up Sunday with that dreaded tickle in the back of my throat. I was also feeling hormonal and cranky, my period should be here on 9/4 (I know my cycle that well). Of course when I'm in no mood to talk to anyone, dearest MIL calls. She damn well knows that I am a having a birthday dinner in the Bay on Friday with mom, hubby, Bengali Dude (BD) and Bengali Dude's girlfriend (Shiny) [in-laws are OF COURSE invited]. BD is making me a gluten free pizza from scratch. Shiny is making me a gluten free burfday cake. Good times. Dearest MIL is very much aware of the plans. We'll be splitting the weekend with my family and the in-laws. The first 1/2 of the weekend will be with my family, since Friday is my burfday, and I always see my mom for my burfday. It's normal to see your mother, the woman who gave birth to you from her vagina, on your birthday. And OBVIOUSLY, this will be my 1st birthday where my dad won't be there to hug me, kiss me and wish me a Happy Birthday. [Now I want to cry.] Obviously MIL doesn't get it.

MIL: On Friday we can have a birthday dinner for you at our house. It'll be fun.
Me: [this is fucking awkward as the plans have already been made] Well we already have plans.
MIL: [ignoring me] I just need a days notice to prepare everything for Friday.
ME: [trying to be nice.. holding back my tongue] We really do have plans though with my mom... she always sees me for my birthday.
MIL: Your brother and mom can come to our house.
ME: [am about to fucking lose it.. why the fuck should my whole family commute 2 hours on my birthday to go to my in-laws house????] My mom is excited about me coming over.
MIL: [her victim voice]: Oh okay. It's your birthday. You can do whatever you like.
Me: [no shit] K.. see you this weekend.

She then goes to have this exact same conversation with my husband. Well guilt-ing him didn't work either. It's my birthday goddammit.

So maybe for hubby's 26th b-day next year (I married a young one) I should invite my in-laws to a birthday party hosted by my family. That would go over just swell.

The So Called Right Path

Oh you’re not a lawyer, I-banker, doctor, Ivy League grad or don’t make a shit load of money? Well you’re a loser, clearly.

There’s a lot of pressure from the family/society in desi and other cultures to be make it big. Making it big certainly means getting an education. An education from a State school, unless it’s prestigious, or a non-Ivy school is a waste of money. And having a career that doesn’t make a shit load of money is a waste of time.

I thought I was above all of this brainwashing. I was wrong. I was disappointed with my brother’s choices regarding his professional life upon graduation with a B.A. in Economics. I was taken aback when he told me he wanted to purse a one year program in a mechanics school. My little brother a mechanic??? I immediately thought [ashamed to admit now], “but he’s smart…he’s going to ruin his life.” He told me that he always loved cars. He said he liked working with his hands. More importantly, he told me he would be happy as a mechanic.

I lectured my brother. I told him that he should get a job that will utilize his degree. This all came from a good place in my heart. But the bottom line is that I was judgmental. I couldn’t imagine him being happy in a “blue-collar” profession, I wanted so called better for him.

My little brother puts a lot of weight in my words. He took a job he hated. He told me, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Do you know how that broke my heart? But my little brother is courageous and brave. He’s now enrolled in a 60 week mechanics program. He’s happy. A weight has been lifted off his shoulders. And I’m proud of him.

I’ve learned a valuable lesson. One of my close and very wise friends told me:

I mean, look at us.
We went to law school, we achieved, wrote stuff, did stuff
We are unhappy with our careers like crazy
But we did everything right!
And it still didn't turn out
I'm learning that sometimes the "right" path isn't "right"
If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't do what I've done.

Somehow happiness, the pursuit of happiness, gets lost in all of this other garbage. We get piles of shit thrown at us, subtle and overt indoctrinations on how to live our lives, and we start forgetting what it means to be happy. I’m glad that my little brother taught me that the path to happiness is easy: don’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks, pursue your dreams and your heart won’t steer you wrong.

I’m a better person today.

She's fabulous, but she's evil.

I'm kinda scared of brownies. Okay, scared is a strong word. Plus I'm married to a South Asian, does that give me street cred? Maybe not since he is admittedly white washed -- I have to coerce him to eat anything Indian (he wrinkles his nose, and not in a "my interest has been peeked" sorta way, if I've been making my mean curry), but I digress. I have a bias against my peeps. I automatically think I probably won't like the brownie(s) or they won't like me. The first thoughts that cross my mind are -- conservative, clickish & catty chicks..... Yeah, I think of myself as a married but dislike married people type of bad ass who isn't catty (of course) but more of a scamp;) I'm a bit tweaked.

Where is this fear coming from? I've never been part of a desi crew. None of my homies (ride or die friends) are desi. Hell, I only have one desi girl's number in my cell phone (girl you know who you are). Plus the desi chick clique wasn't into me in college -- maybe I was too much of a ho. Anyhoo, fearful of the brownie (more so the brown chick -- desi chick clique gone a la Mean Girls) is where I'm at. Anyone else a wee bit intimidated yet secretly want to be invited to the party?

I know, I need to get over it. Fo shizzle.

Give Me the Big Ones, No Really, I Ain't no Weanie!

I'm ready for the big guns. Boy oh boy am I excited. I am in love with Christina. She said, "I'm Lebanese between my knees," in my weights class today. She is an amazing instructor. We did a full body weights work out in one hour. She keeps it interesting by whooping and screaming like a banshee. You know that exercise where you have a heavy bar on your shoulders and you squat -- making sure your knees do no not extend beyond your ankles AND your ass sits down on an imaginary chair? It was easy peasy!!! I am ready to increase my weights. Spank my firm melon ass baby!



*Sniffle* I miss you Roonie, my foreva' gym buddy.

A Tofurkey Good Time

This weekend was a good time.

Sicko

We grabbed dinner at Govinda's -- the buffet was healthy, tasty and affordable. Moon's hookup got us into a *free* screening for Sicko at the Fox studio in Century City. I'm not going to write a movie review. I have intimate knowledge of the health care industry and the movie just made me sad. The question is, beyond my sadness, what am I going to do to make change? Probably not enough.

Rollerblading Away the Blues

Saturday was full of rollerblading with friends in Santa Monica. Grabbing grub at my favorite veg place in town (Real Food Daily) Ending the night with a few friends, some vino and a movie.

Tofu Festival in L.A.



Bless you tofu. I had tofu savory and sweet dishes: tofu tostada, tofu salad, okonomiyaki (tofu & cabbage infused pancake smothered in japanese mayo and okonomiyaki sauce), tofu dip, boba drinks galore, barley tea, tofu bread, tofu pasta.. more food than I could stuff in my belly.

Skid Row Premiere in Hollywood

I have to run to the gym for yoga and an hour of spinning before hitting the *free* premiere of Skid Row. [Monday is my Sunday baby!]

Film Summary

SKID ROW, Pras Michel – one third of the successful hip-hop band The Fugees - lives on the streets of Skid Row, an area in downtown Los Angeles infamous for its poverty rate, for 9 straight days and nights as a homeless person. The entire time he and his crew are undercover, using surveillance cameras.

Feel good movie, huh?

Gigantic Tub of Popcorn with Extra Butter and Salt

Movies and popcorn are the perfect marriage. Popcorn without butter is a sin. It should be no surprise that movie theatres serve popcorn without butter unless butter is requested in La La Land. It's just so satisfying watching a movie on the big screen with greasy covered hands, stuffing my face with popcorn and slurping on a large diet coke. Of course I get the free refill on the popcorn, hullo it's free and popcorn goes down easy. It's the aftertaste that's really the problem.

I go to the movies at least once a week for FREE. I live in the land of movies. There are free screenings galore. Today I'm heading over to a studio to watch Sicko.

Trimming My Bush

I thought it was a fabulous idea to give Connie, my muffin, a haircut before my first date with hubby, then boyfriend obviously. I was a slut and put out on the first date. We didn't sleep all night. I am proud to say that hubby dearest limped home from sheer exhaustion. What wasn't so cool were the rug burns Connie gave Mr. P, hubby's lingam. Connie's hairs were short and prickly. Oops -- I suppose I got carried away with the trimming.

I really like my bush. I do! Luckily hubby loves the bush -- I found a good man. But there is so much self-guilt for not trimming my bush. I certainly don't want hubby to have a mouth full of hair! Trimming alway makes Connie all itchy for a few days. And then the hairs poke out through my panties. *Sigh*

I love the idea of getting a Brazilian. The pain terrifies me. The realization that the hair will certainly grow back and stubbly irritates me. I am so not into stubble . Hence, I don't shave. I trim with scissors. I am a fan of the close trim. [Pic below.] No crazy hearts or lightning rods cut out in my pubes.
I'm so boring. I don't appreciate my pubes. My pubes can be art! Don't believe me? Check out the pubic hair fashion show video. Enjoy. I'm off to trim my bush.


Pubic Hair Fashion Show - For more funny videos, click here

Uhm.. nothing that crazy though.

Cafe Talesai: Green Papaya Salad

Cafe Talesai** is a crazy good Thai restaurant. Hubby is in love with their pad thai. I have fallen hard for the papaya salad.

Papaya Salad: Shredded green papaya, tomato, green beans, cashew nuts, in a chili-lime & garlic dressing.

Divine. I don't even like papaya regardless whether it's ripe or unripe. I was blown away by my intense love for this salad. Tart, crisp, harmonious papaya dancing in my mouth with this tangy, spicy and fresh dressing. I could eat this everyday.

I never understood how salads were meals. I've had salads at some awesome places on the East Coast. I'd almost always prefer something else than salad as a meal. But then I discovered salad in Los Angeles. It's a meal. Nothing plain or boring. The vegetables are so fresh and bursting with flavor. Salad everyday would be no more problem for me.

**I've only been to the Beverly Hills location. The other location does not have the papaya salad either.

Flaunting the Pedestrian

I didn't go out all weekend. I feel very pedestrian. Hubby is away a lot. His work is super demanding and he is constantly jet-setting around the country. I'm happy for him. His professional success inspires me that maybe, just maybe, one day I can finally achieve success in my career. Anyhow, hubby flew into LA Friday night. Here's how my weekend went down:

Friday Night:
-Dinner with hubby. Snuggle fest with hubster

Saturday:
-Hubby went to the office
-I went to the gym
-Went to hubby's office and watched movies on the laptop while he worked. His office has lots of tasty snacks as well as da bomb ass espresso!
-It was actually very nice and cozy.

Sunday:
-Hubby worked out of our house
-He took breaks from work and we made love
-It was an official sex fest.

It can be difficult being married to a many whose life is COMPLETELY driven by his blackberry. I accept it and I won't complain. But when he has free time, I have to make myself available (if I want to see him!). The pedestrian weekend really didn't bother me. It was nice finally getting a chance to spend time with my husband.

But hey now, I'm not ready to become completely pedestrian. I have lots fun things planned for the weekend. I guess it's nice being comfortable with staying in and chillaxing or going out.

Do Ya Speak My Lingo?

My MIL, even more so than my mother, wants grandkids from my vagina. Both mom's vocal desire for the grandkids make me act out like a petulant child, this behavior started before I found out I have so called fertility issues and before I even wanted kids.

Mom/MIL: [innocent comment] When are the grandkids going to be here so so we can play with them and spoil them rotten? [all too bubbly]
Me: Uhm never. I don't know if I even want kids. Seriously. As if. [with the angst of a teenager]

My mom and I have combative communication. I was a tomboy growing up. I had my grunge period in high school: converse shoes, slouchy jeans, flannel shirt & an ugly green cardigan I wore daily. My mom would plead with me to wear a dress and brush my hair to look suitable for a Bengali function, she knew that wearing anything Indian-esque was completely out of the question. Of course I'd wear my grungy clothes. My mother would yell the entire car ride to the function. The combative relationship we have is surprisingly satisfying. All of that arguing and quasi-yelling just hits the spot. I swear, I am not abusing my mother, she gets a kick out of the frustration. My family is quirky.

So my petulance in the above scenario is semi-automatic. My mom knows I'm just being cheeky. Now silence is deadly. Avoidance maybe worse. If my mom hints at something and I completely ignore her and become very succinct with my answers, she knows that she is treading on thin ice. The only person who could get away with repeatedly asking me annoying questions that I clearly didn't want to answer which I indicated by my avoidance technique was my dad. The reason being is that my father was probably the most annoying human being alive (I say that with the utmost love and respect, he took great pride in his annoying abilities).

A few weeks ago, while I was having my period, my MIL called me at work. I was already in a pissy mood -- bleeding like a stuck pig, moody as hell and bloated like a beached whale. Really, I was in mood to talk to my MIL.

MIL: Hi beta. Are you busy?
Me: Well yeah I kinda am.
MIL: I'm just calling to see how everything is. [translation: She asked hubby if I was pregnant and he told her I was on my period. Marvelous how everyone knows my cycle so well.]
Me: Wonderful. [I get succinct when I'm pissy.]
MIL: So are you going to see the doctor? [translation: We want you to do everything in your power to get pregnant. Take Clomid. Get IVF. We don't care. Give us a baby.]
Me: Things are wonderful.
MIL: So are you going to see the doctor?[Clearly, she doesn't get me]
Me: Things are wonderful. No reason to see a doctor-- physical won't be for another year. [Classical me ignoring the issue]
MIL: Oh...
Me: [Lying like a skank trying to score crack] I have a meeting to go to RIGHT NOW. Bye!

Connections

Building, strengthening and celebrating relationships nourishes my soul. Connection is powerful indeed.

The test of any friendship/relationship is longevity. My heart smiles thinking about the sometimes smooth, sometimes bumpy and sometimes rocky long road that I have walked/skipped/breathlessly ran down with my friends. The path made us stronger. The passing of time gave me faith that our paths would always meet.

I am always gently surprised when I meet a new kindred spirit. It's utterly lovely. The surprise occurs because it is magical to meet someone and form an honest connection. No false pretenses. No inflating of the ego. No facades. Simple honesty. Openness. Trust. Kindness. Authenticity. Oh it is so invigorating -- the rush of it all.

Cheers to all of the kindred spirits in my life and the ones that are just around the corner.

Marie Claire Virtual Make Over

After using Marie Claire

Before

Makeup

Makeup:

1. Foundation: Bare Escentuals
   
2. Under eye concealer: Becca
3. Powder: Almay Skin Stays Clean that I picked up at Big Lots for $1.
   
4. Blush: Revlon Gold Affair
   
5. Top eyelid eyeliner: Wet 'n Wild Mega Liner (liquid and lasts all fucking day) $1.99
   
6. Inner eye eyelsiner: Some stuff my mom gets from the Indian store for like $1. Better than all brand name eyeliners. This junk stays on my inner eye. It's so freaking rich and black!
   
7. Mascara: DiorShow
8. Lipstick: MaxFactor -- old as hell. Hubby hates the color but it stays on all day long. Hell I fell asleep with this lipstick on and it looked almost perfect the next day (after hot sex mind you).
   

3 Things Needed:

1. Desperate for haircut
2. Braces
3. Teeth whitening
   

Blame it on da Yoga

Shit. Shit. Shit. I should really be a good girl and get to work on this time sensitive crap. But can't! I went to yoga from 7-8 and then came home and stuffed my pie hole. And now I feel like a sloth. I'm so goddamn lazy that I don't have the motivation to upload my digital camera pics.

I want to get my drink on. Fuck me. I have shit to do. Why fight the inner slacker?

After much deliberation -- Peace Out & Cheers!

Daily Murkiness

I am sure to find stress. Once one problem goes away I fabricate another. Funny how I stopped complaining about the "career" problem once I started focusing on the "baby" problem. Well now I've reverted back to the "career" problem since I've essentially resolved the "baby" problem.

Wonderful ain't it? I compartamentalize my life into problems. So now I'm giving myself stress and heart burn over the career thing. Nothing has changed, I still have my good on paper job, but now I have started to analyze my career, career ambitions and finding meaning in a professional arena. Funny how NONE of this was an issue yesterday.

My world is a roller coaster, enjoy!

My Espresso Maker

I pay The Coffee Bean good money for my daily espresso/Americano/latte. I am such a lazy fuck. I own a Delonghi Espresso Maker. I haven't cleaned it out in over a year, hence, I haven't used it. This weekend I cleaned the shit out of it and it honestly took less than 30 minutes. I have been drinking delicious mocha lattes & Americanos. It's so nice to be able to wake up first thing in the morning and smell my home made espresso. Yum. I promise to take better care of you my darling espresso maker.

Dealer

I fucking hate having a car. Do you know how siked I was to move to San Francisco? I got rid of my fucking car. I don't know anything about cars/repairs and neither does hubby. I love my hybrid but I was not excited to move to LA and have to buy a car. While it is *possible* to get around Los Angeles without a car, it would downright suck to holy hell.

I have a crack on my windshield. Hubby, my little safety pumpkin, wants me to get my windshield replaced ASAP.

Dealer Quote: $1,000 for just the part PLUS $150hr/labor.
Some Auto Glass Place Quote: $275.04
Quote from Auto Glass Place in the City of Commerce (not the best hood): $194.18

I have an appointment on Saturday in the City of Commerce. Ugh! I hate having a car.

Sexsomnia

Oh SHIT I fell asleep during sex. How did that happen? Hmm.. well
this feels good. I could have sworn we both came already. [Drifting back to sleep]

[Conversation with hubby the next day]

Hubby: Do you remember us having sex in our sleep last night?
Me: Huh?
Hubby: We made love once. We fell asleep. And then I woke up and I was inside of you.
Me: Hmmm.. Now it all makes sense.

[Conversation with best friend]

Me: Oh Dilly we had sex again in our sleep.
Dilly: Which is why I can't ever crash on your floor.
Me: Oh come now.
Dilly: Uhm.. remember the time that we were all sleeping over Doc's place? We were watching a movie and all of a sudden your hubby tried to mount you in his sleep. Gross.

Diagnosis: Sexsomnia. So instead of sleepwalking we engage in sleepfucking -- I don't mind it at all;)

Maybe all of the times I thought I was having vivid dreams about cumming were real and hubster and I were getting it on...