A Dime a Dozen

D and I have no qualms speaking to Son about sex ed.  Our method is the one where we take any opportunity in the form of Son's questions, tv ads, aisha buying tampons etc. as a way to inform him about sex ed.  We talk about the biological, the social, the relationships and even the embarrassing (with an "OMG, I can't believe he asked me that" conversation afterward) in a matter of fact tone hoping that he will have not problem bringing questions or comments up in the future.  One thing we have drilled into his head is that being careless  and irresponsible can lead to unintended pregnancy and worse yet, disease.    

But I realized a new issue came up.  Girls.  I mean real ones.  Not that Son has outwardly shown interest as of yet.  But I have noticed when I refer to a girl as hot or pretty he will verbally agree or disagree.  Before, he was not interested enough to have an opinion.  I have yet to catch him gazing at one of my Victoria's Secret catalogs though.  Needless to say, this has put a different type of fear and terror into mine and D's hearts.  He will one day bring home a date (well, not yet, he's 10).  

Son likes looking at pictures of any sort.  One day, we were looking at my cousin's photos on FB from her last modeling job.  I turned to Son and said, "Wow, she is really pretty, smoking hot, huh?"  I wasn't really expecting a response and then...

"Yeah she is."  I heard him say.  

I stared at him for a second and then informed him.  "Well, pretty girls are a dime a dozen."  Though I think my cousin is special, I felt he needed to know that prettiness and hotness are not the only things to value in a chick.  After all, anyone can be pretty.  So now I am trying to think of a breakdown with price:

Pretty girls=10 cents for a dozen

Pretty girls with a brain=25 cents for a dozen

Pretty girls with a brain that don't act condescending=30 cents for a dozen

Pretty girls with a brain who are also into comic books and baseball=50 cents for a dozen

Pretty girls with a brain who are also into the same things you are and can kick back a beer with a shot in 1 second flat=80 cents a dozen.

Pretty girls with a brain into the same things you are(baseball, comics, sci fi etc), laid back, is trying to make a difference in the world and doesn't mind if you go out with your friends without her because she likes her independence = 2 dollars per dozen.

The latter who is interested in you and keeps her looks, brain, priorities, and the relationship important and thinks the world of you even into your dottage=priceless.

I have to work on the break down a bit.  I tailored this one a little more to Son since he is into baseball, Transformers and sci-fi.  There are things I think of privately (i.e pretty girls with a brain who are naturally hairless and don't have to go to the waxer every two weeks =?)

He'll probably end up coming home with the pretty girl that all the guys are panting after in high school.  Hormones usually trump logic.

peace,

aisha 

My Eye!

I thought I was on the verge of going blind a couple weeks ago.  I was in Long Island when it started.  It felt like a speck of dust got into the inner corner of my left eye.  Having glasses since I was nine years old and contacts since about fourteen, I am a pro at jiggling around my eyeball and checking to see if everything is okay.  I didn't see a speck of dust but, decided to take out the contacts and rinse my eyes with saline.

The next morning it was worse.  The thought of putting in contacts made me shudder so I perched my dreaded glasses on my nose and went to work.  Of course I was fielding comments all day of, "When did you start wearing glasses?" or "Huhuhuh...you look smarter."  I hate wearing my glasses.  Most likely this is due to the post traumatic stress I suffer from my tour of duty most civilians refer to as "junior high".  But, any nerd who has experienced it and survived refers to that dreaded period as the Heinous Years.

My eye actually started to feel a little better by the fourth.  Good enough that I stuck my contacts in again.  Which made my eyes feel like they were on fire by July 5th.  I started to get worried and bought a special eye wash and extra thick artificial tears.  The relief by the next morning was amazing.  I felt I had figured out the solution (though I was not sure what the problem was) and decided to keep going with my homemade treatments for the next week.  By the next Sunday, I was a hundred percent better and did not even put the drops in before work.

That's when disaster hit.  Two hours into staring into my computer screen, it felt like someone was taking a stake and slowly driving it into my eye.  By lunch I told my boss I had to take extra time because I was going to be losing an eye by the end of the day.  If the optometrist had a slim chance of saving it, I had to make a visit.

After a million questions from the eye doctor (are you on birth control, how old are you, what medical conditions do you have, etc.) and a thorough look into my eyes she diagnosed.  

"You have dry eyes."

Seriously?!  That was it?!  I mean, I have heard of the phenomenon but never took it that seriously.  Apparently, the eye drop care that I was doing was right--I just needed to do it more often.  And since I am getting older, eyes tend to get drier.  The colored contacts I wear are the worst things for dry eye syndrome and birth control tends to dry eyes out too.  And my psoriasis and most autoimmune diseases usually end up with people having dry eyes.  Basically everything and anything I do in my life contributes to dry eye.  Who knew?

Great.  As if I don't have enough maintenance in my life, now I have even more by putting drops in my eyes 4 times a day.  And I am supposed to wear my glasses more often.  Which will foster my paranoia that there is some pretty girl out there in a cheerleaders outfit just waiting to humiliate me in some way, shape or form. 

peace,

aisha 

This Is My Cousin Patty....

Today I popped into the apartment on the UWS for about 10 minutes to pick up my mail, use the facilities and grab a half drunk bottle of wine (hey, it’s going to go bad soon!) before jetting off to Long Island.  I have been diligently checking my mail and a writing contest’s website this past month because the winners were supposed to be announced in June.  As soon as I saw an envelope with familiar handwriting (mine), the first thing that popped into my head was, “The night was moist” from Throw Momma from the Train.  I actually haven’t even watched the movie in ages but, I quoted from it the other day for my facebook status—my humorous attempt to convey feeling stuck and frustrated. 

 

I really felt tuned into Billy Crystal’s character being stuck on ‘The night was…’.  The envelope being returned to me meant that the judges were not interested at all.  Not even for their regular publication. In a way, it is my fault.  Just like Billy’s character, I was waiting on one thing this last year and not trying a bunch of little things out.  I also felt akin to his sadomasochistic urge to watch his ex-wife on television.  To rip the proverbial scab off a bit, I tore the envelope open to see who the winners are. I don’t know what I am going to do with the list of winners—most likely compare myself to them.  Ouch. 

 

The length of the manuscript is only about three pages.  What happened to the bigger things I was working on?  I guess they must have fell to the wayside as I got wrapped up in the new job and life took over.  I got stuck on what the night should feel like instead of focusing on the whole story.  Gugh.  Some may call that a mid life crisis.  It’s time to figure out how to make the night sultry and move on with it. 

peace,

aisha 

 

Too Full!

I really couldn't figure out what was happening tonite but, D pinpointed the problem right away. I had cooked up some tasty Indian food, cracked a couple of beers and started chowing. All of a sudden, my stomach gave out.  The look of alarm on my face alerted D something was wrong (Son was too involved with the Simpsons to notice).  

"UNNNNGGGH!"  I grunted as I threw down my plate.

I tried to put my head between my knees or something but my belly wouldn't give.  I finally unbuttoned my jeans a bit and panicked because I was having trouble catching my breath.  D asked me what was wrong.  I couldn't explain it.  The troubled breathing, the sweat, and my expanded stomach made it hard to talk.  

"It hurrrtsss!"  I groaned.

I actually took a swig of beer thinking this might help.  It was worse.  I didn't want to let the food on my plate go to waste so I took a couple more bites.  After this stupid move, I had to stand up because the breath was taken away from my body.  I stared at my stomach which was starting to look about 4 months pregnant.

"I don't know what's happening to me!"  

D finally piped up.  "I think you ate too much, babe.  That's probably why it hurts."  

I refused to believe him.  The only time I overeat is with crab legs and there was nary a crustacean in site.  Except...D is an expert when it comes to overeating.  The last time I got back from India was a perfect example.  We had dinner at Ben Benson's steakhouse the day after I got back.  Keep in mind that all the portions at Ben Bensons are about the size of Texas.  He ate all of the tomato and mozzarella appetizer by himself, his gigantic steak and all the sides, downed about a bottle of wine and ate about 5 desserts.  I am not kidding. This was done in record time--my friends and I were about a quarter of the way through our steaks and D was already done.  I swear he looked like he was about to masticate on the fat and the gristle too.  My friends thought he was superhuman.   At the end of dinner, he ended up having a little snooze at the table as my friends and I caught up (he is still a little pissy that I didn't wake him up).  That evening, I was trying to snuggle up to him (since I had been gone a month) and he kept yelling at me not to touch him because he felt like his skin was on fire from being so full. He kept repeating to me, "It hurts, OH GAWD, IT HURTS!"  It was only after a late night bowel movement that I could lightly rest my little finger on him without hearing a moan.  And it wasn't till about 2 PM the next day that he finally felt normal.

Ends up, D was right.  I gave it a few hours and the horrible pain has subsided.  I don't know what came over me but, I must have been channeling some D energy with dinner this evening.

peace,

aisha

At Least You Have a Job

So, times have been hard lately.  I have had a bunch of friends who have been laid off from their jobs, morale is down and at times it feels like the whole world is being sucked into a black hole. People usually try to find the silver lining and it's usually something along the lines of ,"Hey, at least you are still working!"

Yes, I am still working.  I think I mentioned months ago that I thought I would be laid off.  I was partly right about the lay off.  However, it was my manager that they laid off among four other managers a few weeks ago.  She kind of knew it was coming but, the whole thing blindsided the rest of the staff and in a second, we lost a quarter of our department (there were only four of us).  

At least I have a job, right?  Hmmm...the stress levels seemed to have doubled, where two people usually worked there is now only one, we were told our vacation times were contingent on the other departments being able to accomodate us (What?!), and the whole hotel staff is in a rotten mood all the time.  I understand that $$$ need to be made and the remaining salaries need to be paid.  But, isn't there a better way of going about things?  Communicating may be a start.  What a novel idea!

I think part of this is that I am still not over the fact that they let my boss go, a girl who was worth her weight in gold as an employee.  No one really addressed the fact that a whole bunch of people got cut and had to pack their desks that evening and were not to be seen again.  Weird and not exactly comforting.  But, our customers still expect the same high quality service and the corporation just wants to see positive feedback.  Ummm....yeah.

At least I have a job.  Then again, I have a friend that got laid off from her job, enrolled to school online and jetted off to Australia to work for a year.  Losing her job is the best thing that happened to her.  She's having a blast.  Makes you wonder.

peace,

aisha 

Time and Money

I really try my hardest to get off work on time.  It just takes one question before the end of my shift and I will be there for another hour fending off about 15 more.  

Last Saturday, I was doing the happy dance at 3 PM.  I managed to finish everything, turned to my co-worker and said, "All done!  Looks like I'll be leaving right on time today!"  Saturday was a day that it was imperative to get off on time since I had a date with Hugh Jackman at 4:45. Okay, it was D, Son and about 4 other friends watching Wolverine but, a girl can embellish.

And then, it hit.  My colleague got masterannoyingcan'tbepleasednotevenstayingatthehotelwoman and I got Fabio.  That wasn't his name, just someone I think he wants to be and he had a similar accent.  

"I need *mumble*mumble*fasttalk*mumble*Bulgari*mumble*fasttalk* Can you do that for me?

I couldn't even decipher what it was he wanted.  He spit out a paragraph and I was still on the first sentence.  I asked him to go through it again at which point he gave me an almost pitying look and talked loud, and a little slower.

"I need the addresses of Bulgari, Gucci and*mumble*fasttalk*at 8PM."

I picked out Bulgari and Gucci and leaped on the tidbits I was given.  I flipped through my Zagat Shopping Guide to get the exact addresses explaining to him that there were two Bulgari's in town.  

"I can write both addresses for you."

"No, no...no time for that.  You see, my time is money," he informed me as he grabbed the card and pen out of my hands. "You can print all what I need and send it to my room."

Ah.  Everything became crystal clear.  As a peon, I obviously have no concept of time and money.  Since I have all the time in the world, it is better used to serve those with no time (to google) and therefore have a considerable amount money.  It was a wonder that Fabio and I could even communicate!  But, you see, I am not your average serf.  I was hand picked by my betters because of my unique linguistic ability.  It might take longer to get through my slow, dull-witted, bovinesque brain but, with enough repetition, I am able to comprehend and even make attempts to reply.   

He wrote down what he needed (three store locations and dinner for two at a Greek restaurant) and decided to THROW me a tip.  Literally threw it at me as if I was working a pole at a place that serves cheap watered down drinks with Aerosmith blaring in the background.  

I could barely contain my laugh long enough for him to walk away.

peace,

aisha 

Waiting For the Third

I am waiting for the third time. The first time was about a month ago. D kissed me goodbye to go to work and I lay like a zombie to the rest of the world as he crept out and shut the door. He has to shut the door at the Long Island apartment--or else the cats will jump repeatedly on my body then try to make up for their actions by headbutting my face. I get cranky when I am woken up before my time so D scoots the four leggeds out the door with the promise of a can of cat food so they leave me alone. By the time I did wake up, I was well rested and ready to tackle the day.

I turned the knob to the bedroom door and nothing seem to happen. I turned it the other way and still no response. I decided to give it a shake both ways as I pulled and it wouldn't budge. The door knob was an old one and had one of those skeleton key locks. I sat back for a second and tried again, this time desperately yanking to try and force the door open. Panic hadn't set in yet. After all, I had plenty of time before I was due in at work. I looked out the window and then at the neighbor's window just to my right. "Maybe I can make it across, jump through and come back into my apartment through the back door."

It was a good idea except for the fact that my neighbor's daughter was asleep and my still painful sprained ankle wasn't going to let me climb over the window sill much less scramble across a roof. So, I did the next best thing. I called my neighbor.

"Hey there, it's Aisha. Could you do me a favor and come into my apartment and let me out of my bedroom? I am stuck."

She laughed but, wasn't laughing after she brought her tools and tried to jimmy the door open. "Aisha! It's stuck and locked! I can't get you out!"

Panic still didn't settle in but the urge to go to the bathroom did. My eyes darted around the room but, nary an empty water bottle or the ilk in sight. I called D who was just about to get off the ferry at Fire Island for work.

"Did you turn the knob?" He asked.

"What am I, an infant?! Yes I turned the knob! The neighbor has been at the door with a screwdriver and pliers and nothing has happened. Plus I have to pee!"

"Okay, don't move, I'll be right there."

I knew I would be alright and that I just had a little misunderstanding with the door. D would take care of everything since he is a carpenter. Except....

"Holy s$#t! The damn thing is locked!" He said after about 20 minutes of fiddling with the knob.

"How could it be locked? We don't have a key for it and it's not like there is a bolt or anything!

"I don't know but, something made the lock inside click into place." I heard him tinker around a bit more then huff out a sigh.

"Hold on, stand away from the door."

I scurried away as fast as my full bladder could take me. I heard a thud, then a second one and the door burst open as D smashed it in with a kick. I had to pee like my life depended on it but, it was by far one of the hottest things I had seen in my life.

"Are you okay?" He asked. I nearly swooned then hustled to the bathroom.

I had to call into work to let them know I was going to be late.

"That is the best 'dog ate my homework' excuse I have ever heard!" My boss said as she laughed at my morning.

Cut to a week ago:

I trotted up the hall to the NYC apartment, lazily put the key into my apartment door and turned.  I couldn't hear the lock click back.  I tried to turn the other way but....

I couldn't turn the key back!!  This time, I did have a moment of panic.  My key was stuck int the lock and I could not get in.  I stared at my key chain wobbling from the effort, scared to try anything in case I broke the key into the lock.  I heard the outer door open and slam and was relieved to see my roommate walk up the hall.

"I didn't do anything to it!!  I stuck my key in like I do everyday, turned it and now it's stuck!  I have been here for about three minutes, tops!"

I wondered if my function I was due at the Four Seasons Restaurant would mind that I was in workout clothes with my makeup sweated off.  I didn't think it would fly.  Roomie took the keys and shook it around a little bit.  He glanced over his shoulder at me and had a look of concern mingled with fear in his face.

"Don't tell me we can't get in!"  I wailed.  I wondered if I would have to pee at the bar next door.  

"I can't seem to..." he rattled the keys around, "it seems like...*rattle, rattle, rattle*...wait..."

I heard the familiar *snick* of the lock clicking back.  The dark little apartment never looked so good.  

"Thank the maker!"  I said as I started to rip my clothes off while charging through the door.  

"I thought we were going to be stuck for good."

Well, it wasn't too far off.  It ended up that we couldn't really lock the door after us for about a day and half.  The lock just gave out. I was comforted by the fact that no one actually KNEW that we couldn't lock our door from the outside.  After all, I had left the door wide open for about four hours one day while I went out with my niece.  (She distracted me and I seemed to forgot the vital movement of pulling the door behind me as I left).

We did get the lock replaced the day before yesterday.  I am waiting for the third lock out (in?).  I thought it happened yesterday when I tried to stick in my new key for the first time and it didn't seem to fit.  It finally did after a minute--I think I am gun shy now.  

Please God, don't let it be the bathroom.

peace,

aisha

The Vampire Mess

As of late, I have been completely hooked on vampires. I am not a tv type of gal--I am content on watching shows when they are in re-runs or on dvd or never. But, I have been shamelessly hooked to True Blood and am now yearning for a devoted vampire boyfriend too. Mind reading might be optional--it's one power I always wished I had but, have lived without for so long that I know I can survive. But, I NEED a vampire-hotty-compassionate-devotedtoafault-dude.

I decided to ease the pain between episodes with a softy. I got the book Twilight. Not bad, fairly well written for a teen novel (completely had me turning pages and finished in a day and a half). At the end, I realized I needed to be 17 and move to a tiny, rainy town so I could meet my forever 17 virgin-vegetarian-vampire who would fall in love with me no matter how much he wanted to eat me and stay devoted forever.

I recognize my longing for the latter vampire story. I couldn't put my finger on it at first then identified the crappy smell. John Hughes. The man who's films I have a love/loathe relationship with. I love them because the scrawny/awkward/underdog girl had hot/brooding/jockish winner guy look past the scrawny/awkward/underdog qualities and found true puppy love/lust with her intellect. I loathe John Hughes because a part of me actually used to believe it would really happen at the hormone driven high school level. And now, the Twilight series. DAMN YOU JOHN HUGHES AND THE REST OF YOU PEOPLE WHO GIVE FRAGILE GIRLS FALSE HOPES!

I did actually burn through the book Twilight and liked it so much that I decided to see the movie. I actually braved the masses of teen girls to get a peek in this afternoon. Big mistake. Maybe I am too adult now but, that thing was a boring piece of work. The book made me want to turn the pages and I could feel the passion and tension building. The movie made me want to leave and wondered why I wasted my time and money. Oh well, the second book is in the works to become a movie. I'll believe improvement when I see it.

My vampire lust lost it's shine until I saw the last episode of True Blood tonite. The vampires have redeemed themselves. I am ticked that it was the last episode until summer but, at least I have found a space in my heart for the vampire species again. I might not want one as a serious boyfriend yet but, I am willing to consider a bite.

peace,

aisha

Dodging the Bullet

*WARNING* The following content may be offensive to some readers out there.

I am breathing a HUGE sigh of relief in the Big Apple. I seriously feel like we've dodged a bullet. Yes, I am talking about the election. I shudder to think about the possibility of what could have been.

A lot of people might consider themselves 'not politcal' but, I tend to be a bit of a junkie. I have no intention of being in politics but, I do like to know what the hell is going on for those people who are making decisions that can affect the rest of my life like:

a. Access to birth control, family planning, etc. Why the hell do you care if I am trying to suppress a few of my eggs and have sex without the consequence of a child? Anyone that barks about the joys of life remember the woman who drowned her innocent kids in the car and blamed it on some 'black guy' that didn't exist.

b. Health Care: I have health insurance and my number with my ankle is still going to cause close to $1000 out of my pocket. What about those people that don't have it? And why should I care what happens to other people when they get sick BECAUSE I AM A HUMAN BEING FOR CRISSAKES! And it costs more money in the end for everyone.

c. EDUCATION: There used to be pride in having and providing a good education. Now it is almost considered a nuisance. Why would anyone want to have generations of ignorant and unknowing *aka intelligent design*.

d. Energy: Why are we still pumping so much gas and using so much oil? In this day and age, it is ridiculous.

e. Jobs: There used to be a time where most everything we used was made in the USA. Why not build stuff here again. Oh yeah, it's cheaper to pay someone .50 an our with no tax consequences.

f. Gay Stuff: Seriously, if gay people are the scariest thing you can fathom, you need to get out of your la-z-boy and hang out with me for a little bit. And in reality, I am extremely tame, boring and mannered. Don't you have actual real stuff that is threatening you?

I could go on and on....the Supreme Court Justice appointments truly on the top of my mind--dodged a bullet. And that Sarah Palin thing...dodged a missile.

Could still be losing my job, will still have problems but, a little weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

peace,

Aisha

Gotta Have Friends?

Gloom and Doom in New York. The ripple effect is gaining speed and overflowing to all parts of the world. I have been stealing myself at the hotel preparing for the worst and yes, it has finally started to happen. Layoffs.

Not yet for me but, I just think it might be a matter of time. People think I am a pessimist but, I say I am a realist. What will happen, will happen. And then I'll move on to the next thing--isn't that optimistic? I'd rather be a prepared optimist instead of a poor, destitute one.

Anyhoo...I have been going stir crazy sitting on my ass. Cruising facebook and myspace and all my email accounts makes me wonder about friends. I had this conversation with D, Tanya and my cousin a few months back. I came off as slightly heartless but, I think everyone else feels the same way.

Basically, one of my dear friends has left for Australia but, I got together with her and another of her friends before she left. The OTHER FRIEND is super cool. Every time I hang out with this girl, I always think, 'Wow, OTHER FRIEND, is so much fun--I need to get her phone number.' And then reality hits.

I discussed my reality over beers and appetizers with D, my cuz and Tanya. They didn't understand why I had a problem with hanging out with OTHER FRIEND.

"I just can't take on another friend right now," I informed the beer party. "I have reached my friend saturation limit. And don't give me that crap of how someone can never have enough friends. There is such a thing as enough."

"Jesus, Aish! If you like hanging out with the girl, I don't see what the problem is," D said.

Tanya nodded and said, "I know what you mean girl, it takes a lot of time."

"Exactly. There I was, about to ask her for her phone number and I thought to myself, 'How can I start a new friendship?! I don't even hang out with the friends I have right now!'. Right then and there I new I couldn't start a new friendship with this girl because the new friendship would require time, babying and caring. I can be callous and tell my well established friends that I don't have time for a binge drinking episode. But I need to fondle and coo the new friendship into working well enough to get to the point where I can be callous.

"Geez, Aish. Just say aloud what everyone thinks in secret," D said.

Tanya agreed with me. I had to let OTHER FRIEND go. I'll keep up with her on myspace. Maybe leave a comment here and there but, as much as I want to hang out and have fun, I do not want OTHER FRIEND to hate me forever when I don't have time to pay attention to the budding friendship's needs. *sigh* Maybe it will work it out in the future.

peace,

Aisha

Owww!

Well hello there! Yup, I finally got off my butt and wanted to post. I was running around so much this summer I didn't have time, then fall started and I didn't have time and I just realized I will never have time but, I still want to blog!

At my old job, I blogged without worrying TOO much of big brother watching. This one...I have a suspicion of a secret room with an agent in black monitoring all the websites that we are cruising. Thank god I stick to porn in only private places. For example, facebook and youtube just got pulled. I didn't really check either of those sites out at work (paranoid of secret room) but, someone was obviously watching all our computer stations. I have found that I have fallen behind in everything computer related: emails from four accounts, blogging, porn (because I try to catch up on everything else when I get home) and shopping--the latter is probably a good thing. Especially with how the economy is going kablooey.

Anyway, I have been itching to get back to this site. But then...it hit. There I was after the first debate, walking down the steps of my co-worker's apartment building, when my four inch heel caught on the third to the last step and I went flying into the pee ridden sidewalk in front. I actually do not know if anyone peed there but, it is New York. The pain was familiar. I remembered the horrible sensation from about eight years ago when I walked down some steps and flew forward onto the ground of a drag restaurant. That was surreal. I was swooning from the pain with my friend in full drag standing over me asking if I was okay.

One look at my ankle and I knew I sprained it. I had to be carried home by my co-worker (I happen to live across the street). I cannot believe I made it through dinner, up five flights of stairs, down five flights of stairs and within spitting distance of my apartment when I managed to blow it. D insisted I go to the ER after he had to help me dress two days later and they confirmed what I already knew, a horrific sprain. The orthopedic surgeon then re-confirmed what everyone knew, I had a bad sprain (by this time, almost $350 spent and counting and that is with my insurance).

Now I am grounded at baking, cooking and munching on goodies with my ankle propped up. I really hope I don't get used to this lethargic way of life.

peace,

aisha

Olympics and Summer

Well, I got caught up with summertime and now the Olympics. I'll be back in a couple of weeks!

The Anti-Spaz

I have to admit that I have been feeling a little grounded lately what with the nearly nothing holiday time and all. And at the doctor's office today, I got the news that I'd be completely cemented down.

"So, you mean no yoga whatsoever?" I asked.

"I do not recommend it unless you absolutely have to when you work," he said.

He was, of course, referring to when I teach yoga and not when I concierge. I tried a different tactic.

"So pretty much not at all?"

He stared at me for a few seconds and finally put it bluntly. "If you want the pain to go away and heal up completely, it will happen faster if you do nothing to aggravate it. If you keep putting strain on it, you will have to deal with this for a very long time."

I got the 'are you clear with it now?' look and just nodded. I remember when I got the third degree sprain on my left ankle. I asked the doctor if I could go back to practice at the end of the week. He looked stunned and said, "Absolutely not! You have to keep off that foot for at least six weeks!"

Wow, I felt stupid.

I think the main culprit causing the pain is cranking my head on the phone all the time at the concierge job. It has done something to make my left trapezius muscle spasm. Add to that, my yoga practice and the whole thing is starting to get messed up. I probably wouldn't have went to the doctor if it wasn't for the chest pain that accompanied the giant knot in my back. Initially attributing it to my back spasm, D slowly made me think of the worst,

"Wait, you're having trouble breathing and it hurts when you inhale? I don't know, Aish. I don't like the sound of that!"

I finally worked myself into a lather worrying about going into the weekend with a chest cavity full of cancer that I left work to see the doctor. Who said the chest pain stemmed from the back spasm and it was very common by-product of this sort of injury. Damn you D! The doctor gave me a anti-spastic prescription. That's what I keep calling it. I'm sure that the people at work were hoping I would fill it sometime soon and take one of the pills along with a healthy dose of valium to ease the spaz. Instead of filling it I went and got accupuncture ,which helped immensely. I filled the script (anti-spasmodic, that is) just in case, but think I'll stick with my therapy of a heat pad and a couple glasses of wine. It's much tastier.

peace,

aisha

The Non-Customer.....

As most of you know, I have griped from time to time about my views of...the customer. I gotta say, the weekend before last was rough. It made me start to think about some of the worst and annoying clients. The non-client.

I am the type of person who will run into a McDonald's on a road trip--and I hate McDonald's--buy a Coca-Cola--and I do not drink soda--just so I can use a semi-clean restroom. Now why the Coke? I feel guilty about using something when I am not even a customer. Working in the hotel industry for years upon years, I have seen a lot of non-customers drift in and out of the hotel. Sometimes it's very legit. Maybe to drink at the bar in the hotel or dine in their restaurant. Other times it's just a run in to use the restroom. A hard thing to find in most towns, but especially in NYC. Others try to store their parcels because they do not want to drag them around all day, other's like to use the knowledge in my brain about the city without having to pay the sky high price tag of staying in one of the rooms, and others like to get the free literature and maps about New York.

I worked in a place that gave specific treats at check in. The amount of non-guests that would insist they never got one upon check-in was insane. I remember a couple walking in off the street and telling my friend that they didn't get their treat upon check-in. He asked their last name, couldn't find it in the system. Then asked for a room number, they made one up which did not exist in the hotel. Yeah, not willing to pay a dollar a piece for the treat, but willing to look stupid by lying about being a guest. Weird.

I also had a girl one time insisting on charging her ipod with me. I checked to see if there were any spares. There were none because all of them had been loaned out.

"So what are you going to do about it?" She asked.

"Well, ma'am, because the rooms have their own ipod chargers, we do not have many spares. You can use the one in your room."

"I do not have a room...yet."

I am not precisely sure when she was planning to get one since it was nearing midnite. Maybe five days from then?

"Doesn't any of the staff have one I could use? I just need it for five minutes!"

"Uh, no. We usually leave our chargers at home," I replied. Personally, I don't like anyone using my electronic equipment unless I know them. I might get electronic VD.

"Well, can't I just go into one of the rooms for five minutes and charge this,", she insisted.

Wanting to say, 'You sure can. Our check-in rate for tonite is $650. Will that be cash or charge?' I decided to get my manager instead. The girl had parked herself at my desk and was not about to leave. The manager came out and basically said the same thing. She proceeded to tell him that hotel was going to lose A BUNCH of business because she always books people at this property and makes many referrals for it. Now all of her BUSINESS was going to end.

Wait, over an ipod charger? Wow! I do not go to a bank, even one I bank with, and insist I use their equipment or facilities. I do not walk into the grocery store and start demanding and threatening people when I don't get an extra cabbage for free.

One of my favorites was a guy yelling at my colleague and me about how he ate at the restaurant of that particular hotel three times a week and they had the absolute audacity not to cash his traveler's cheques. Then, he had walked to the front desk, and they had the SHEER audacity not to cash his traveler's cheques. Mind you, he wasn't a guest at this hotel, and he wasn't paying for any services. He just wanted a ton of traveler's cheques cashed. Most hotels will cash a certain amount for their in-house guests (I believe the limit is usually about $100 per day per room) as a courtesy. But since a hotel is not a bank, limits have to be placed on how much is cashed because a hotel can run low on the real hard cash pretty fast. When the man realized we were not going to cash his traveler's cheques, he started throwing even more of a hissy fit. My colleague ran to get our manager who proceeded to be yelled at by the non-guest and the whole, um, conversation ended with a "F#$K You!" to the manager.

By the way, there were several banks within walking distance of this hotel.

Nice.

peace,

aisha

The Polish Holy Communion

D told me we had a party to go to. It was a Holy Communion party for one of his friend's sons. Growing up Catholic, I have been to a gazillion of these. Still, I had to ask at the last minute.

"What am I supposed to wear?"

After a near disaster for a family reunion where D told me it was a jeans and t-shirt function, I always ask. For the family reunion I offhandedly told D's mother told her I was wearing my new jeans and she gave me a shocked look and said, "This is a nice, catered afternoon party! Jeans are not okay!" But D was way ahead of me on this one. He made sure to ask his friend in advance to 'prepare' me.

"Tom said casual is fine. I mean, he's going to be wearing a suit because he's going to be at the church and stuff, but he told me to just dress casual."

So, we dressed. Me in a nice pair of jeans, a dressy top and heels. D in a collared shirt with a tie and jeans. We arrive to see that the place was a fancy catering hall with about three weddings going on. No kidding, brides were abounding at this joint. We walk in to the Holy Communion party to be greeted by a sea of people attired in formal/semi-formal wear. The smiles froze on D's and my faces. Mortification.

His friend was so happy to see us. D asked him nervously about the dress and Tom answered, "Who cares! I am just glad you came!"

Well, the open bar, carving stations, sushi table, food, food, food was only the COCKTAIL HOUR! We were herded into the dining room for a sit down dinner, a clown and Nemo for the kids, five table dessert buffet with a chocolate fountain to coat fruit on sticks, and a band that sang songs in Polish. I had no idea that 'Every Breath You Take" could sound just as good in different languages. Our table was the only English speaking table--all of Tom's friends from work and two girls that worked with his wife. It didn't matter, we were out on the dance floor dancing Polish dances, dancing with everyone and having a blast. D didn't want to leave even though he had to be at work at 7 AM. D kept on saying that his First Communion party consisted of a BBQ in the backyard and being handed a crucifix. I think I had something similar. Except I know I got a rosary.

Note to self: When your Polish friends invite you to a party, it's going to be one big shindig!

peace,

aisha

Breakfast at Tiffany's

I am not a jewelry girl. D was in a pickle when we first started dating. He did not know what to get me and said I had to give him some idea or else he was "just going to Tiffany's or something and buy some jewelry." The man wanted to impress me, but I guess it was hard to buy something for a girl who has no problem sleeping on a mat in a bare bones room. And call it home. I told him to steer clear of jewelry

He knows me a lot better after all these years. For mother's day, him and Son got me Aliens snap on figures that came in a tray of a dozen Aliens eggs. I was ecstatic. Hey, I do have some nice pieces of jewlery--most from India. But, my nerd collection gets more attention and time.

But. I adore any Audrey Hepburn film and one of my favorites is Breakfast at Tiffany's. I just love her Holly Golightly and the film is such glammy New York.

Anyway, I got a package at work today. I couldn't identify the address or the name, but sure enough, the package was for me. I had trouble opening the box--that sucker was packed tight! When I finally ripped the thing open, I saw a slender blue box wrapped with a white bow. I am not a jewelry girl. BUT THE THE JOLT OF EXCITEMENT THAT PASSED THROUGH ME MADE ME SHRIEK OUT LOUD!!! I was surprised at how giddy I felt at seeing that familiar hue of light blue. I didn't even care what was inside it. I got a blue box from Tiffany's and I felt a little Holly Golightly right at that moment.

A grateful client showed their appreciation by sending me a pen from Tiffany's. The pen is beautiful (I wonder what D will think if I dress up snazzy, take his arm and walk into Tiffany's to see if they will engrave it?). I still won't let go of the box. I have it sitting on my shelf.

peace,

aisha

Children Need Their Mother....To Stay At Home

I was chatting with one of our house car drivers the other day about Egypt. He is from Egypt and I told him about my sister who travels around the world for her job and one of her stops is Egypt. This somehow led to the topic of stay at home parents. My brother in law, is a stay at home parent and my sister is not.

"Yes, but children do not grow up the same if their mother is not home." Said the house car driver.

*fur bristling at the back of my neck* "What do you mean?!" I asked.

"Children need to grow up around their mother. They need that influence."

"Even if I am the type of person who will suffer from cabin fever and as a result, do bodily harm to my children to release my frustration?"

He didn't really know what cabin fever meant, but he got the gist. The conversation was amicable, but I left it at the fact that I would prefer to have my mate stay at home (if we had the luxury!) because I am not cut out for that job. Yes, I am lazy and that job is a lot of work. *note* I will most likely end up doing a complete turn around if I do have kids and suffer from seperation anxiety from children and home even on a 15 minute grocery trip.

I don't think there is a right answer. My brother in law is definitely the more maternal parent in some ways because my sister's personality is the one that made her climb really fast to the upper eschelons of her company at a young age. Great for business, not necessarily the best to run the household. She is a loving parent--but I think if she were to be corralled into her 'position' of being the maternal influence, cabin fever would abound. Yikes.

peace,

aisha

From Boston Pobble's Post

Well, I liked BP's last post so I am going to use it *grin*. Here it is:

Here are the rules:

You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.

1. Where is your mobile phone? Couch
2. Your significant other? Sweet
3. Your hair? Short
4. Your mother? Nervous
5. Your father? Crazy
6. Your favorite thing? Cheese
7. Your dream last night? Forgot
8. Your favorite drink? Wine
9. Your dream/goal? Independent
10. The room you’re in? Living
11. Your ex? Drama
12. Your fear? Monotony
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Free
14. Where were you last night? Home
15. What you’re not? Timid
16. Muffins? Yummy
17. One of your wish list items? Land
18. Where you grew up? Montana
19. The last thing you did? Gardened
20. What are you wearing? Tank Top
21. Your TV? Flat-screen
22. Your pets? Hysterical
23. Your computer? Mac
24. Your life? Happy
25. Your mood? Content
26. Missing someone? Niece
27. Your car? None
28. Something you’re not wearing? Bra
29. Favorite Store? Zabars
30. Your summer? Beach
31. Like someone? Mr. Pitt
32. Your favorite color? Green
33. When is the last time you laughed? Morning
34. Last time you cried? Morning
35. Who will/would re-post this? Questionable

peace,

aisha

Do I Disagree With Polygamy?

With all the other news out their (wars, food riots, gas prices, dollar taking an ass whoopin') there has been a lot of focus on the polygamist sect in Texas. My interest has been bourne out of my feminist outlook--and that no child should be married to a 50 year old person and start cranking out the babies.

Still, I am having a hard time watching the mothers of the sect have their kids ripped away from them. It seems everything they have been taught of the outside world may be true to them. And I also had to look at the whole polygamy thing a different way when I saw a report that Lisa Ling did on some average polygamists. The wives wore modern clothes and makeup, had jobs to help support the family, free to move around the outside world, and just happened to live in a huge mansion with a couple of other women married to the same man with about twenty-two kids. Another day in the life of an American.

'Ugh', I thought. I still couldn't see how women could subject themselves to this role. Until one of my favorite shows, The Girls Next Door came on. The Girls Next Door, for those of you who do not know, follows the life of Hugh Hefner's (I love him!) three girlfriends.

Crap. I realize I don't have a problem with polygamy. Granted, I dont' think the women from Lisa Ling's exploration were going out and getting ginormous implants and bleaching their hair blond (Brazilians optional). I will admit that I have a problem with any religion dictating the choices to be made in life (Girls, money can be a religion). But, if all the parties involved go into a relationship willingly, respect each other and (this is very important) have the option to leave if in the end it does not work out, more power to them. I would never want to be a part of it.

Unless I had my three husbands in tow. All in the name of a higher power, of course.

peace,

aisha

I was sitting on the crowded subway when the doors opened and a little girl dragged by her mom came plowing through the masses. Her mom found a seat and made the girl sit down. As she sat down, I saw why the girl was being half dragged. She was clutching an ice cream cone and licking it not even noticing the world around her.

I remember how ecstatic ice cream used to make me. An ice cream cone made me feel special and one of a kind. The days the Schwann man showed up at our house were the days me and my sisters and brother felt like we died and went to heaven. Sure, we would fight for that last orange dreamsicle but that did not matter the day we got to order the boxes of dreamsicles.

As an adult, I rarely eat ice cream. I like it enough, but it's not something that brings out the singing joy like it did when I was a child. I sat there looking at the little girl trying to figure out what in my adult life made me get that glow like an ice cream cone did when I was little. Even looking at the iced mocha with whipped cream that I held didn't bring that feeling out. I'm still thinking.

The little girl's stop was before mine. Her mother dragged her out by her ice cream arm. The little girl had bent her elbow and brought the cone to her lips, licking and smacking as she was jostled through the rush hour crowd. Now that's dedication.

peace,

aisha

I Am Determined!

I remember Boston Pobble taking on the challenge of writing in her blog everyday. I have a twist on that. I am determined to get back to writing in my blog at least once a week. I have been feeling a little less rundown--okay, I did sleep until 12:30 today. BUT.....I think I will feel more productive and accomplished if I tell myself I've finished a few things during my weeks.

One thing I wanted to write about was faith and practicality. I saw an article in one of the local city papers last week (I kept telling myself to sit down and write about it!) about a child dying from diabetes because the parents didn't take her to the hospital--they believed praying was the answer. I think challenging someone's faith or spiritual believe is a touchy thing but I do have to wonder, where is the line drawn between faith and ignorance?

Each religion has their own ideals and teachings. In general, no matter what you believe, I think a lot of religions have the same groundwork no matter Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Wiccan, Jewish, Mormon, etc. Such as, treat other people how you would like to be treated. Leave the earth a better place than when you found it. Help your fellow man (woman?). Murder is bad. Stealing, not good (of course, a person stealing bread for his family might not be the same thing as a person stealing from people's retirement funds).

I think prayer, meditation, and faith are very powerful. But I also think the powers that be up there *waving to the sky* also gave us intelligence to help ourselves and this is not a bad thing. Medical advances (says the girl who hates taking medication or going to the doctor) might fall into a category where the powers that be *waving to the sky* actually handed to us by letting us grow and evolve. A good parent (God?) usually wants there child to do well on there own and intervene in the child's decisions less and less as they grow older.

I guess in the end we do not really know. I felt upset when I read the article about what I thought was a needless death. I am sure it is nowhere near in comparison to how her upset her family feels about their loss.

peace,

aisha

What Happened?

What happened to the 40 hour work week? I have been pondering this as I work in my new place. To be in management, the requirement seems to be (now of course, I haven't asked the official powers that be but, gleaned it off management schedules) a 50 hour work week. Minimum. Now that we are short some of the management team, it looks like the day is exended to twelve hours.

I am hard pressed getting my time management under control with my scheduled forty hours. I mean, it's been busy, so I have been putting more time in than usual just to make sure all the loose ends are wrapped up. I do get paid overtime but, I'd rather have my time. When salaried, it looks like indentured servitude. Seriously! Because once you leave, that Blackberry keeps you chained to the work place.

Dump travel time on top of everything and I wonder when people have time to spend with their families, work out and eat healthy. You know, those things that give you a long and happy life. One of my sisters works ridiculous hours like this and is shipped all over the world for her job. Her kids are six and one years old. She told me that she is socking away so she can retire by 40. I told her at the rate she is going, she isn't going to make it to 40. And what is the guarantee? I could step out of my apartment, and get hit by a bus. No joke since the bus stop is right outside the door. Call me lazy but, I want to live life now, while I save for eventual retirement and hope I'm healthy enough to enjoy life more when I retire.

peace,

aisha

Will Somebody Make This a Little Easier?

So, I got my benefits package information for work. This wouldn't be as complicated (it's never easy) if it didn't happen to coincide with open enrollment for the whole hotel AND the plans are changing for 2008. The deadline for open enrollment is this Friday. I got two packets, one for the 2007 package and one for the 2008 package. I was told I had till the end of the month to enroll. But I had this niggling feeling so I called. The first time I was told I had until the end of March and then the second call said:

"You have until the end of February to enroll for the 2007 package end the end of the week for the 2008 package."

"But, I need a little more time for the 2008 package, I just got it in my hands a week ago and that one will affect me more. I'm not even enrolling in the 2007 package because it's not worth the headache to be barely covered for a month. I want to read over and figure out which 2008 health plan is the best!"

Of course the health plans offered aren't easy and wonderfully thorough.

"I can walk you through enrolling on the website if you like." The woman answered.

"I KNOW how to enroll on the website, what I want is a little more time to read through the different plans and it doesn't make sense that I have until the end of the month to enroll in last year's package and only till the end of the week to register for next year's package when I just got the information in my hands. At the same time I'm trying to figure out my 401K and..."

"Well, 401K is another dep...."

"I am AWARE that this is another department! I am just saying that I got everything thrown in my lap and it doesn't seem fair that I have until the end of this week to figure everything out."

"Yes, you do have until the end of the month to register." The woman said.

"I do?" I asked surprised.

"Yes, for the 2007 package."

I was totally frustrated and flabbergasted. The interview process the company put me through was quite rigorous and I was wondering how this person slid by without a brain cell.

"But, I have to register by this Friday for the 2008 package or else I will not be able to get coverage."

"Yes, you will be able to get coverage, you just wait for open enrollment to happen."

"Which is another year from now, right?" I asked.

"Yes. I can walk you through the website now, if you prefer."

Deciding not to take my chances with Negative Brain Cell I decided to try and navigate the health insurance policies myself and tried to figure out my domestic partner coverage with D on top of it. So far, it looks like I can go to the same doctor with the plan I'm choosing, pay more out of pocket and my brand of birth control is not covered so I'm going to have to pay out of pocket for it or else get pregnant. Which my new health plan would cover. I think.

peace,

aisha

What a Lousy Hiding Place

One of the channels, HBO, Showtime or whatever (they all seem the same) has been running all the Star Wars movies back to back. I can watch these movies a million times and still not get bored. But, I realized after finishing Episode III and starting Episode IV that I had a serious problem with Obi-Wan. He's a lousy hider.

Episode III finishes with Padma giving birth to Luke and Leia. They were taken to different planets and raised separately so that the Emperor would not hunt them down.

So Ben (Obi-Wan) decides to take Luke to his father's home planet, Tatooine, be given the last name of Skywalker, and raised by his father's family (step-family). Dude, why didn't you just put a red beacon over their house and yell "He's over here!"

What's even scarier is that I really don't have time for these type of in-depth nerdy insights. My mind must be going.

peace,

aisha

Wow, That Was Bad!

Just to let everyone out there in blogland know, In The Name of The King was a really bad movie. I wasn't expecting something that would be considered for an acadamy award or anything. Quite the contrary, I was expecting it to be dripping with cheese. But, this was just plain horrible. I can't say it was the worst movie I've ever seen. THE WORST title is still a tie between Town and Country and Bloodrayne. Bloodrayne featured Kristianna Lokken who, ironically, was also in In The Name of the King.

Note to self: Do not pay to see movies with Kristianna Lokken cast in them.

I love fantasy and sci-fi. A lot of times, I'm not expecting a stellar experience but, I like going to see these types of movies anyway. This was just one boring scene after another. The fight scenes made me yawn, the dialogue was ridiculous and the acting, poor, Which is a shame because there were some talented actors in the flick. AAANNNDD, it was over two hours. People, if you are going to greenlight a horrible movie, the least you can do is make it 90 minutes or less. I didn't even get to see Jason Statham without a shirt! I could have justified the $11 admission with that cheap thrill but, I was robbed.

I see that the newest Rambo is coming out this weekend. I think I'll have to pass. Sylvester, you are 61. Retire from the action flicks already. It's like watching a 61 year old woman walking around with a pair of Uggs, a micro mini and a halter top. Even if she has a slamming body, it still looks ridiculous.

peace,

aisha

How Do You Spell...

I don't know if it is because my parents' first, second and third languages were not English, but I never played the game Scrabble until the last couple of months. Very weird since I love crosswords, reading and any word puzzle in general. I did play once, with my brother-in-law a couple years ago. He is from India (English being about his fourth language) and soundly kicked our asses.

It seems I've lucked out. D's family loves to play Scrabble and the competitive spirit has come out the last few Mondays. I was ecstastic when I got a Q, blank tile (the 'u' I need for the Q) among other various vowels and consonants. Unfortunately, I had to start small--there was no way in hell I was going to let go of my blank tile for anything less than a triple word score or my 'Q' hitting on a double (at the least!) triple letter/word score. I was holding my own until...

My 'Q' was in perfect position for a triple letter score while using three other tiles in conjunction with an 'F' tile laying on the board SWEET! Until I realized my surroundings. D's mom and dad, great uncle and Son were in the mix. I glanced at the board and other letters. Nope, it was now or never.

I looked at Son. He was busy playing with his Halo action figures. All other eyes in the room were intent on my move.

"Ah, I have the perfect word, but I am not sure if it is entirely appropriate." I said.

"Is it in the dictionary," D's mother asked me.

"Um, yeah, it is but..."

I couldn't believe I was having issues. There wasn't anything bad about the word. A perfectly natural thing to tell you the truth.

"We're all adults here, Aisha." D's mom said. She gave a quick glance at Son. "Just put the word down!"

I think she knew where I was going with this. I sat there for a second and finally put the tiles down--I had to win! Q-U-E-E-F. Yup, I actually pulled a QUEEF in front of D's parents, great uncle and Son with hardly any guilt. I came in second place, but the word gave me the leg up to be a contender with D's mom.

Life is good.

peace,

aisha

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!

I can't believe I survived. The holiday season in New York City makes the tourist industry insanely busy. I am always wiped out during and after the holidays but, to jump into a job after five months off in the midst of the holiday season made it doubly exhausting. My free time after work was spent going home and sitting on the couch like a zombie with a little spittle running out from the corner of my mouth and a much needed glass of wine clenched in my hand.

The bright side is that D got me some phenomenal gifts for Christmas. Yes, the man did good. My two big gifts were the Rosetta Stone French programs and the newly released Aliens Power Loader with Ripley. Yessssss.....I am so happy that he didn't name a star after me as a gift. (Who does that?)

My camera has been giving me trouble with uploading pics (which is why this blog has been pic free for quite awhile now) but, I did it! So, I have to show you the costume I made (with a lot of D's help) this year for Halloween. These were taken at the end of the nite so my head piece got moved a little forward--it was a little heavier than I thought it would be. So, here they are. Even though I've rotated them in my computer, blogger insists on publishing them how they were originally taken.










peace,

aisha

John Hughes, I Hate You

Sixteen Candles has been playing on one of the cable channels as of late. A favorite of mine. That with a lot of the John Hughes teen hits of the 80's. But why are they favorites? I realized that they gave me a false sense of hope. John Hughes, I hate you. You made me actually think that the handsome/jock/rich/popular guy of my class might actually notice me--and had a sensitive and understanding heart. You actually planted the seed to think I had a chance against those bitchy but beautiful girls I grew up with. You really went all out to make sure we thought the underdog always had a chance. No matter what embarrassing and humiliating situation the underdog stumbled into, everyone would remember their heroism.

Fact: The handsome/jock/rich popular guy would have laughed at the thought of having anyone except the bitchy but beautiful girls of the class.

Fact: Maybe there was some underlying sensitivity brewing underneath those young rippling abs, but getting laid by the bitchy beautiful girls of the class trumped looking into the inner beauty of the gawky ones.

Fact: If I had been in detention with upper echelon of school society, had a bonding session, and teamed up against the evil principal, the upper echelon still would have ignored me in the halls the next day.

Fact: People still remember the embarrassing situations I stumbled into during my school days, not how I might have reacted to them after.

If it weren't for movies such as Planes, Trains and Automobiles, I'd say to hell with you, John Hughes. For now, I'll just wallow in my bitterness.

peace,

aisha

Ummm...I Prefer Public Transit

I was out shopping for leg wax the other day (see previous post) and I saw one of the most frightening things ever. And let me tell you, it wasn't some of the people who were cruising around in the store. Or the friggin' waterbug that came flying out of the shelves when I was looking at hair dye last summer.

There i was, perusing the wax smorgasboard when I finally found my brand. I turned to walk to the register when I bumped into a bunch of hot iron products. This was actually good--I felt that I needed something to spend my money on that i would most likely never use. So, I started searching for the perfect hot iron product. And then...I saw it.

A flat iron with ceramic plates and a car adaptor. Let me repeat, if you didn't quite get that. A flat iron with ceramic plates and a CAR ADAPTOR!!!

What the f...?! Isn't that kind of illegal? With almost 95 percent of the New York City cab drivers being male and having very short hair (or hair in a turban), I'm feeling fairly safe out here on the streets of the city. But, what about when I go to Long Island to visit D and Son? Will we be dodging traffic with somebody that's handling a searing heat through their hair? What about all of you--wherever you live?

I shudder for your safety.

peace,

aisha

Note to Self: Shave Toes

I'm trying to adjust life to an early morning schedule. For someone who has worked evenings for over 13 years, time management has been challenging.

My friend wanted to meet me for happy hour and I desperately needed a manicure and pedicure after work while trying to squeeze in laundry drop off, bills, bank and the grocery store. When I looked at my vampiric like toes and imagined clicking across the floor while teaching yoga, the mani/pedi won out.

I wish I had put a little thought in before I went. I was still wearing my business clothes and the beautician was filling the tub with water as I rolled up my pant legs.

"Heh, I, um, forgot to shave my legs so, they are a little hairy."

She just gave me this amused look. I was relieved there was hardly anyone in the salon. I rolled up my other pant leg and took off my flip flops. I had a chance to get a better look at my toes as she started in on the nails. The hobbit like hair on them made me forget about the hair on my legs. In my mind, I told myself that maybe it wasn't too bad.

No, it was worse. As I dunked my first foot into the soapy water, I noticed the hair on my toes swirling to and fro. When I took it out again, the wet locks swept off to the side like a bald man's comb over. Just with more hair.

Yikes.

I might not have much time on my hands as of late, but I really need to pay attention to grooming a little more.

peace,

aisha