I think I've lost me marbles!

Sometimes my own stupidity baffles me. Lately, I've been wondering if I've been sippin on some stupid juice or if I'm battling with senility. I started noticing the problem last Thursday. I came home from work and realized I left a paint swatch in the car. I also realized I left my keys in the car. Then, I went through the house like a mad woman trying to find the spare. Knowing myself, I looked in every WRONG place, such as in old purses, my bathroom drawer, my make up bag (places you wouldn't typically find a spare key). I couldn't find it anywhere, so I decided I'd check the right place, which was a little box on top of a sofa table where I throw my keys. Alas...it was there. Next stupid happening was on Sunday. The local college had an Indian night and asked me if I'd like to sell my books there. I thought I had a bag of books in my car, but they were suddenly gone. I was convinced that theives broke into my car at night and took the books. Then I stopped and thought about why a band of thieves would want to risk jail time for light reading! After I came to my senses, I ransacked the house once again. They were in a small corner of the closet in a box exactly where I had put them 2 weeks prior. Later that night, I stopped off at 7-11 to return a movie I rented the day before. The lady behind the counter opened up the DVD case and said, "Honey, you forgot the movie." Of course I did!! So, I hurried home to get the DVD, got back in the car only to realize NOW the case was missing! I ransacked the house for the millionth time, only to see it laying peacefully on my dresser where I left it. Today, I had two stupid happenings...One occurred at lunch. I went through the drive through at Subway, ordered my sandwich, got to the window, and realized my wallet wasn't in my purse. I canceled the order and decided I needed to go home and find my wallet. So, I drove TWENTY MINUTES to my house and once again, ransacked it looking for my wallet. When it wasn't there I ran back to my car to rummage through the mess in there to find it. Alas, it was on the floor of my car the entire time, so I drove TWENTY MINUTES back to work, wasting my entire lunch hour. Yesterday, I noticed my internet at work wasn't working. I read in an email that they were changing internet usage policies and I was convinced they took away my internet rights. So I sat there all day pouting about this. Today, I decided maybe I oughtta call the help desk and find out what was wrong. Sure enough, I had changed my windows password with out rebooting, thus causing this error.

I have no idea what's wrong with me...I'm losing what few marbles I have left. I'm sure I'll find them later though, after I'm done ransacking my house!

Celebrating the BFDO!

Many people don't know about Best Friend's Day Out. It was originated several years ago by one Susan Varghese. It is a special day in which you take time out of your daily routine to celebrate your friendship with your bestest friend. Today is my BFDO with Sonia. We have a little bit of nothing planned, which is why it's so exciting! We don't HAVE to do anything.

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of Sonia's life in OKC. These rare bonding times are soon going to come to an end, so we might as well enjoy it now. I think I'll slip into a life of a hermit after she leaves. Or maybe I'll take Billy up on his offer...live in his closet and eat flaming hot cheetos all day long. =/

In response to a fellow blogger...

I read a very interesting post by one of my blog brothers about freedom in the flog/blog world. My post isn't really a rebuttal but more like my take on the subject. I think freedom is something we all crave, but there are many things that stifle being free: your mind, your family, your church, your morals, your friends, your community...seriously, the list could be endless. But, ultimately YOU control what does or doesn't inhibit your freedom. For instance, my religion tells me that I can't pierce my ears. But, I say to hell with manmade rules, I'm wearing earrings. Now, although I know the opinion of the church and the possible reprecussions, I decided that it's my freedom of choice to pierce my ears...because well, they're MY ears.

Now, let's talk about the flog/blog world. Do any of us really know each other? Some of us do because we actually know each other outside of the flog/blog community. But for the most part, we only know our fellow flog/bloggers by the pictures we post and the captions we write. And in all honestly, that's only a small fraction of who we are. We choose what we post, knowing full well that whatever we reveal on flog/blog is how we are perceived. Now, some of us don't care how we're perceived and others might. For example, I once wrote in a caption that I'm painfully shy, and a flog sister posted that she would have never guessed that because I seem as if I'm a leader and outgoing. But, that is because I don't want to make myself look like the shy dork I truly am.

All this brings me to my final thought. We can be who we want to be. We can post what we want to post. We can reveal all of ourselves or just a part of ourselves. It doesn't matter because it's our freedom to do so. However, people...for as long as they have breath...will have their opinions, so we have to be prepared for that. Either fight for freedom (as humans have been doing for centuries)...keep being who you are... or let it get to you and conform your thoughts and expressions to match the mores of your community. But in the end, the decision is all yours. You have freedom...just grasp it.

Beware of Charming Snakes..

"Baby, are those wings behing your back? Because, you've GOT to be an angel." This was a line thrown at me once from a charmer. Of course, the charmer was a friend of mine who was practicing corny lines on me. But in all seriousness, he did go around saying things like this to girls. I found it sick, but there are girls out there that swoon over such stupidity. If I actually heard something like this, I'd run the other way...as fast as my little legs could take me.

I had a great convo the other day with one of my gal pals about "charmers." For some guys, it just comes naturally. He could be buying a stick of gum from a grocery store, and next thing you know, the cashier would be head over heels in love with the man. It's just something about his style, charisma, his natural smoothness. Then, there are the rest of the so-called charmers, who throw out cheesy lines and call any random girl "baby." Eww.

It's one thing if the guy is single and just trying to get some, but if he's married and still pulling this stuff????? Houston...we've gotta a problem! But, this happens every day. Some married men charm a little too hard and in their minds, it's A-ok because they're not DOING anything. They say things like "let me know if there's anything I can do for you?"...in this low-toned voice. I've wanted to ask...anything as in mow my lawn?? or anything as in...ya, know...anything. Eww.

My galpal and I were saying charmers are the most lethal guys to come in contact with and more lethal if you're married to him. Whether they're just naturally smooth or one of those gross kind that unbutton their shirts to show their hairy chests. It's one thing to have a guy open a car door for you, pull a chair for you, hold your hand when you cross the street...those are subtle charming acts. But girls, if you've met a guy who's eyes rove, charms other women when you're with him, or can sweet talk a grocery store cashier...those are great cues to make like a basketball and bounce. Don't let the snake charm you.

Some "smurfy" memories...

I received a call this morning on my way to work. As usual, I couldn't rummage through the clutter of my purse fast enough to find my phone. When I finally pulled it out of the black abyss of my purse, I had missed a call from SunuA. With a raised brow, I wondered why she would be calling me so early. Surely, something catastrophic must have occurred.

SA: You're not going to believe what's on channel 25.
SV: What is it kid?
SA: I just can't believe it.
SV: WHAT?!?
SA: The Smurfs is on.

I was all concerned and worried, and she was calling about smurfs?! I've never been a huge fan of the smurfs. Grant it, they are kinda cute, but in 8th grade my English teacher pointed out that they used the noun "smurf" as an adjective "smurfy" and adverb "smurfily." At the time, we thought she was an under-cover nazi, so the class brought all our little plastic smurf collectibles and placed them all over her class...even in her coffee cup.

After I studied grammar in college, I realized she was right. I could finally appreciate her opinion, and I became anti-smurf myself. But, I must agree that "The Smurfs" was a real cartoon. And I definitely miss real cartoons. I mean, when I was a kid, the best part of the weekend was waking up early on Saturdays to watch cartoons till noon. The summers were even better because you got your daily dosage of the Flinstones, Jetsons, Fat Albert..etc...without worrying about making it to the bus stop on time.

These poor kids today are seriously missing out. Occasionly I do wake up early on Saturday mornings. Nothing's on. Most of what I see is reality TV type shows for kids. That's really sad. I'm beginning to realize how detrimental reality TV is to American television and entertainment. What happened to creating shows and cartoons based off of the imagination and creativity of brilliant writers? What happened to real actors?

I'd like to pledge not to watch another reality show again, but I've already kicked the junk food habit and the biting nails habit...and quite frankly, kicking one more bad habit might be just a wee too much for me to handle right now...causing a relapse. So, I won't even go there. But, I will say that I'm quite glad I was born in the 70's because I got to experience things like real cartoons, real sitcoms, and REAL music. My condolensces to these children who will one day say..."you remember that show when we were kids...how there was this one girl and she had to pick a husband from 25 guys?"

A Tribute to Sunu...On this, her 25th *and holding* birthday...

I went to school with Sunu. She was a grade older than me. Although I would see her around all the time, we never talked. She was what you would call "Ms. Popular-teen" of the Indian community. And me? Well, I never lived in the Indian community before I moved to Oklahoma, so I was still trying to figure things out. So, I did what any self-respecting akward teenage tom-boy would do...I decided I didn't like her. This dislike only increased when she signed my autograph book on the last day of my 8th grade year. She wrote, " To a great guy." After which, she crossed out "guy" and replaced it with "gal." I wasn't impressed. To me, it was attack on my tomboyhood.

In highschool, I moved up on the scale of Indian socialites. I went from a "Sue who?" to a "Sue, you know...Sunu's friend Sheba's friend." This meant I got to deliver notes from Sunu to Sheba from Sheba to Sunu. Lucky me. I had no clue how I assumed this position. God knew, their friendship nauseated me. I would cringe when I walked into Sheba's room and read the banner on her wall..."Sunu and Sheba Smile Sexy So Smile Sunu and Sheba Style." HURL! GAG! BLEH! Somehow my delivery service stopped soon after it started. I assumed they probably thought I was reading their notes. I mean come on, what self-respecting akward teenage tom-boy WOULDN'T read their notes?!? She never questioned me on it, nor did we ever talk. We had a world history class together and sat at opposite ends.

After highschool we parted ways. Somehow, a few years later, I met her younger sister, Sonia. It was friendship at first sight. We went from being fast friends to inseperable friends to best friends. And that's when I had to tell the self respecting akward teenage tomboy in me to stop drinking that hatorade long enough to see what Sunu was all about...since Sunu and Sonia came in a packaged deal.

Never in a zillion years would I think that she and I could become such close friends. I definitely regret not being friends with her during my school days because we would have probably had a lot of fun times. But, I am thankful that she's in my world now. We are definitely polar opposites...she loves Hindi music, irons her underwear, takes 5 hours to get ready...and I am all about 80's/retro music...my idea of ironing is shaking out wrinkles...and getting ready is no more than a 20 minute process. But, regardless of these differences...we have a lot in common... We are each other's shoulders to lean. I love her most because she laughs at my dumb jokes and makes me feel smart when she says I'm a deep thinker....and because I know that I can count on her for anything...to pick me up when we go out, so I won't get lost...to listen to me whine when I'm depressed...to loan me 20 bucks even if she doesn't have it. =) She reminds me of what friendship's all about

Scaring away Fobio...

I think I'm on every matrimonial site that exists. Not because I put myself on them, but because my brother has. To say I'm annoyed is the biggest understatement. I have strange guys leaving messages on my website and sending me emails. If I've told my brother once, I've told him a million times that my email was created for PROFESSIONAL purposes and not so every Tom, Dick, and Thumby can see my "photo."

I find that scaring off Fobios has become an extracurricular activity. Not that I do it on purpose, but it's just what naturally happens when I start "corresponding" with them. You think my brother would take a hint, but no... he has made this his passion in life...his sole reason for being.

The situation with the last guy was an interesting scenario. He was orthodox, and I am pentecostal. My family could care less because at this point they just want someone who looks like a male and has a heart beat. He can have a disease I don't know about, be a transvestite, or a serial killer as long as he reveals that AFTER the wedding. Anyway, I told the guy that we have different beliefs about things that I happen to think are important...like baptism. THAT went right over his head. He says to me..."You're a good Christian. That is great. My parents are strict Orthodox." I rolled my eyes. He wasn't getting it. Did I mention anything about his parents? When you get to the gates of Heaven are you gonna say, "Hey God, let me in...I'm Chinama and Joy's mon?" By this time, my brother was planning the wedding. So, I had to email the guy and spell it out for him. I* AM* NOT* INTERESTED*

Now, the latest guy is a doozie. He wrote to me...I wrote him back, trying to be open minded...told him to tell me about himself. He sends me a resume that he was sending to me AND MY BROTHER!!! I wrote him back and said exactly this..."Listen, from here on out, don't write to my brother anymore. It's me that is making this decision. Write back and tell me about yourself...and I don't want to see biodata." Ok, so maybe that was a little rude. Apparently it scared him off...because I've never heard from him again. I can't say that I'm saddened by this fact either.

If there's anything that Friendster and Fotolog have taught me...it's that the Malu world is quite small. You'd think that hook up would be so easy. I mean, surely...if I have 10 friends who have 50...who have 100...then, SOMEONE would know SOMEONE who would be a good match for me. You'd think...right?

Wrong! I am CONVINCED that there are more women than men. Seriously, I know 2 men who are 30+ and single and about 10 women who fit in that same category. It's sick!..I tell ya. When my CCL was pregnant the first time around, there were 4 of her friends who were pregnant too. She had the only boy...do you see that ratio 1:4. OMG! For a non-confrontational, non-competitive girl like me...there is NO HOPE.

Dealin' with the Fear Factor...

My entire life I have been pretty scared to take a chance in fear of failure. The only time I truly put myself "out there" was when I sought a publisher for my book. Honestly, I can't credit my own bravery for that either. The driving force behind that search was my professors, peers, and friends.

I pretty much enjoy playing it safe and dreaming from a distance. A buddy of mine wants to open his own coffee shop, but fears the risk and the potential failure. So, instead of pursuing his dream, he works his 9-5 and lets his unhappiness eat away at his spirit. Hmm...sound familiar? It often amazes me how I give the best advice to others and don't take the advice myself. This struck me when I heard myself tell him "don't live your life fearfully, but fearlessly." Even better... was when I was talking to my cousin Ashley,a senior in high school. She complained that her parents were holding her back from living her life...and I said to her, "Ash, the only person who can hold you back is you." She looked at me wide-eyed with that "wow, SusanChechi's so wise look"...so far from the truth.

The truth being that I am a PROFESSIONAL advice giver. But as for me and my own life, I choose to live in the confines of my fear. Ever the lecturer, my BF part 2, Dains harps at me to step out and deal with my fear factor. Typically, I listen with my head down, and Sonia, BF part 1, tells him to quit harping, hugs me and assures me it's okay. But is it okay?...

Not so much. A year ago, someone told me to pursue freelance writing, but I was too scared. I mean, A. I'm a fiction writer, B. what if I send in an article and the readers think it sucks, C. I just CAN'T do it. Last night, I was surfing on the web, looking for a new hairstyle...when I come across this website that needs freelance writers for web content. I sat and stared at the ad for a few moments, convinced myself I wouldn't qualify, and called it a night.

This morning, I went back to the site...stared at it a bit longer and decided to email them my resume. Folks, I'm now a freelance writer for some hair website (as silly as it sounds). My first article is about "hairstyles in the work place."...it's going to be like blogging, but about hair! I approach my assignment with excitement. I'm about to embark upon an unknown territory...but, I figure...what I want to do is WRITE...and I'm unhappy because I'm NOT WRITING...so why not give it a shot?

3-15-91

March 15, 1991...Spring Break was on the horizon. My cousin Lisa was visiting from Dallas, and we sat around the dining table eating macaroni and cheese as we talked about our plans for the week. Aaah, yes..a week full of waking up at noon, prank calling our innocent victims, eating pringles till they made us sick, and watching soap operas. Could life get any better?

Unfortunately, this wasn't how the events of the week unfolded because that night as we sat around the dining table talking...the phone rang. It's amazing how it only takes one instant to change your world...to turn your happiness into sadness...to remind you how mortal you are. My sister picked up the phone, and the smile that she had on her face from laughing at me and Lisa...turned into a look of shock within seconds. She hung up the phone and told us that our cousin Binou had been in a fatal car accident.

My 16-year-old cousin left his house that day, coming back in 3 times for various different reasons before he finally left for the last time. His mother says, that perhaps in some strange way, he knew what was going to happen...that he'd never come back. He got in his car and followed his friends to their hang out spot that day. The two cars were racing...and needless to say, the negligence caused Binou his life.

Today, I try not to focus on his death...but his life. At 16, he embraced life...he was the best story teller I knew. We spent many Sunday afternoons talking and playing karams...and most of all just laughing. That's what Binou did best....laugh and make others laugh with his crazy tales and happy spirit. He would have been 29 years old today...I'm sure today, he is thought of by many...his parents, brothers, friends, cousins....and his neices who never knew him. And, I'm sure he's in heaven...with the rest of our loved ones who we miss dearly...watching over us from a better place.

MONEY, MONEY, MONEY....

Twas the day before BONUS and all through the house...the employees were stirring...even the mice!! Tomorrow is bonus pay out day at AFA. I love to see/hear the reaction of my fellow-colleagues. Some dance as soon as the hot little check settles in their hand...others tear it open and gripe that Uncle Sam took 40 % of it. (Isn't that SICK?!) Everyone's been walking around talking about what they're going to do with their bonus check...which has left me with the lingering question...what am I gonna do with mine??

In years past, I have take my bonus and flown out on the first plane to NYC...but this year, I like the idea for saving it, so I won't be strapped for cash later. But, that's a tad boring, so I decided to save the vast MAJORITY of it and take a bite of the pie by buying a bike and maybe a cute spring purse...and some eyeshadow. That's it!..I swear!! I went bike shopping this weekend... I saw the bike of my dreams on Saturday when the Illustrious Finuji and I went shopping. It was bubblegum pink with black and white stripes on the side. My eyes widened in awe and Finu almost fell to the ground laughing hysterically. She said she wouldn't be caught anywhere with me on THAT bike. I had a bike much like that one when I was 7...it was bubble gum pink with a cool white and pink banana seat. Fins thinks I need to seek some sort of professional help...she thinks I have some sort of psychosis that is causing me to re-live my past. Unfortunately, the bike was $200. Fins says it's a total rip off because it doesn't have gears.

So, we went to Walmart...where I found a Huffy for 80$. But, it's baby blue...and not half as cool as bubble gum pink. Fins suggested I get a pink helmet, but of course they don't have any for adults. Why is that??? Is it so hard to imagine a 30 year old with a pink helmet? So far, a few of my friends suggest I get the bike that makes my heart flutter...but, I can't see myself spending that much on something that I'm bound to break.

So this year, I guess I'll "pretend" to be responsible, and save my bonus for a rainy day.

Just a thought...

In my neighborhood, we have a man-made lake...In fact, my friend, the Illustrious Finuji lives right in front of it. The lake draws geese, which can be spotted all around my neighborhood. As I was driving towards my house, I spotted a few geese, and I started pondering on why male birds are better looking in the bird species. I wondered why the same wasn't true in the human species...and then the thought suddenly came to me. God is sooooo beyond brilliant! He knew that if he created males to look better than females , the human race would never procreate because men are way too superficial and shallow to be with a female that's less attractive.

Bulls n' Blood, Dust n' Mud, Roar of a Sunday Crowd...

Picture this, the year was 1992. I was a young, vivacious senior eager to make it through the final months of school to begin college. Highschool had been quite a challenge for me. After all, I was one of only two Indians in a predominately white school. Not just predominately white, my friends...predominately "hick." They wore Wrangles (tight jeans), ropers (cowboy boots), and cowboy hats. Throught my three years at the school, I had endured many a racist prank. Not so much because people hated me, but because my dumb arss never got mad or fought back, so I was just an easy target. The "cowboys" knew they could get away with it. In tenth grade, they waited for my teacher to leave the class and then proceeded to dot my forehead with a red, permanent marker as the whole class watched in horror. In eleventh grade, they stold my picture from the year book room and posted signs around the building that said "camel jockey wanted for oil guzzling, double parking her elephant, and flying her majic carpet with out a permit." I tried to explain that half of those things were more middle eastern than India, but to them...I was brown and so I represented South Asia and the Middle East. (they almost got suspended for that prank) My senior year, I was walking towards the school, trudging through the snow...and I see a line of cowboys standing in front of me with their arms crossed. They saw me and my friend Sherry (who was guilty by association) and pummeled us to the ground in the COLD, ICY SNOW!

Yes, by Senior year, I abhored the cowboys. My patience had been worn thin. I soon hated everything that represented them. Hated the hats...the boots...the jeans...the chewing tobacco...and ESPECIALLY the music. I will never forget sitting in a school bus seat with a coat on top of my head and my fingers in my ear trying to block out the sound of Garth Brooks as he sang for hours and hours on repeat when we would go to away football games and band contests. It was then that my hatred for country music began.

Now, nearly 13 years later (God, I feel old)...all of the cowboys have apologized to me in one way or another. Most of them told me it was all in good fun and I was a great sport. If I knew that then...I woulda been a biyatch! Recently, I've been listening to the country station on the way to work. At first, I hesitantly turned the dial and waited for the memories to hit me, but they didn't. And, I really enjoyed the music...much better than the rap crap I hear on the other stations. Country music usually has a great message. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me these days. I realize that as I get older, I get stranger. But, I guess it's good that I've let go of the past and have been able to appreciate my surroundings a bit...I guess this makes me a lil bit country and a lil bit rock n' roll!

That Battle of the Bulge...

I grew up on dingdongs and hostess pies for breakfast and chips ahoy chocolate chip cookies for an after school snack. I remember distinctly going to my cousin Lisa's for the summer and being disgusted by the broccoli that always accompanied our spaghetti and meatballs. Green things were simply foreign to me. The "good stuff" was laced with sugar, came in tin cans, could be dunked in milk...anything else fell short of my satisfaction. As a kid, I could get away with madness because chub was cute and elastic pants were acceptable. I can't blame my mom for the fact that Little Debbie was my best friend growing up. She was my sister's too, but she somehow grew out of the madness. Her son is ten and has NEVER eaten a twinkie in his life. To me, that's child abuse...to her, it's proper parenting. I swear if you cut me, coke would come pouring from my veins...this is how much I love it. I say, Give me Coke or give me death! I picture Heaven to be a place where coke falls freely from magnificent fountains.

A few weeks ago...I awoke suddenly and realized that this insanity MUST stop. My cousin Mikey...ever the fat-hater...reminds me constantly of all the naked, fat people he sees laying on stretchers on operating table with clogged arteries. Years of this message had no affect on me. What did? The inability to wear some of my cuter clothes! I mean really...were my clothes shrinking in the dryer? HAD to be the case...not so much. In hopes of fitting into cute capris and Bermuda shorts (now that they are FINALLY back in style)...I began this battle of the bulge.

Coke is no longer in my vocabulary...it has been a hard part of my life to let go. When I think about how it pops and sizzles as it hits the ice...I simply get chills. No more Johnny Carino's chocolate cake runs...no more pepperoni pizza (unless it's turkey pepperoni with low fat cheese on a reduced fat crust). I've learned to accept alternatives, drink water, eat fruit...and oddly enough, it makes me feel great. It's crazy...my insides feel clean and not so toxic and clogged. My friends always tell me I don't eat a lot...but I guess with me it's not about quantity...it's about quality...and that's what I concentrate on as I battle my bulge..s. =)

Things that make you say WT Freak?

I'm quite perplexed this morning about a few things that have left me feeling quite puzzled. One, is mankind's undying need to live in a state of constant dramatic turmoil. It's confusing...really. Wouldn't the world be more peaceful if people minded their own business and stopped judging people they didn't know?? But no, instead, people find it necessary to create dramatic situations in order to either A. make sure others are as miserable as they are or B. add an area of excitement in their lives by making other people miserable.

Two, is people who change their moods like they change their underwear. The one thing I ask from my friends is consistency, which translates into loyalty. Never will I be able to understand A. people who don't talk things out when a problem arises...just disappears as if that's a better way to deal with issues...or B. people who are bosom buddies with you one day and cut you off the next.

Three, is holier than thou people who are shady as the day is long. I mean really, I may not be able to see that you're devious because you hide behind the veil of religion...but God does, so good luck.

These are my perplexities this morning. I just had to vent!

Billy the Baffoon is right again...

It's Monday. It's amazing how 2 days of the weekend FLY by and 2 days of the work week simply CRAWL. I could sit and complain about this forever, but I'll spare u all. I had a rather unproductive weekend. The highlights consisted of watching Hitch, the Oprah movie, baby shopping, and reading 2 pages of Roots. I don't know how I've become so lazy to read, but I have. I'll just have to start challenging myself to do it. Not that I haven't been challenging myself enough lately....Not only am I watchin what I eat, but I've stopped biting my nails. I predict that this will last another week, and I will be gnawing on my nails during Sunday service very soon. Although it's completely disgusting, I've been a nail biter since the time I figured out that nails could be bitten. Anytime I see white on the tips of my nails, my teeth are just drawn to them. I was inspired by cousin Leslie a few weeks ago, when she told me she gave up meat for Lent (sp?) . She's not much of a meat eater anyway, but she does like chicken once in a while. She has such strong will, so I decided to give up nail biting for Lent. Not that my denomination even does Lent...but I think this year I'll do it anyway. Last year I celebrated "rakhee," which is a Hindu tradition...They tie a bracelet around their brother's wrist and the bro gives them money. My brother would have kicked my arss if I tied anything on his wrist, so I decided I'd tie it on my Hindu bro...Romel. I didn't expect anything in return. I just thought it was a nice sentiment and I wanted to be a part of it. Rome, being the prince he is, gave me 50 bucks. Gotta loveeee Rakhee. I realize I'm rambling about nothing, so I will stop here. However, before I go...I have to post this conversation with my friend Billy. (Sibil, you should find this pretty amusing.) I had to tell him some pertinent information that I found out this weekend, although I was dreading to do so because it meant that he was right about this particular situation...and I HATE when he's right. I tried to email him the info from work, and oddly enough he didn't get it. I emailed it again, and he didn't get it. So I emailed him from my personal account and he didn't get it. I figured it was definitely God's sign that he didn't want Billy to know this info because God and I both knew he would gloat. However, Billy came up with an alternate plan...email HIS personal account...I did, and he received it. This, Sibil, was his response...

Email Response 1:Well,, suzukee, now that i have been validated by scorps......SHE IS
AWESOME..... Well , well, well, i'll be telling you i told you so forever
now....SO RESPECK MY AUTHORITY!!!!!!!!!

My Response: I HATE YOU!

Email Response 2:as you should... sometimes i get frustrated at being right all the time too....YES!!!!

Email Response 3: Omigosh...............DARK PRINCE...............YEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I'll NEVER hear the end of this.

A Freak Is Off His Leash....

I'm just an ordinary girl, who some might consider to be a "Plain Jane." I've never been really pursued by anyone...except in fifth grade on the first day of school. This pale- skinned, dark curly-haired kid name Shilo had a mad crush on me. I mean really, I can't blame him. I was pretty damn cute with irresistable pig tails. He wrote me a note that asked me if I would be his girlfriend. I folded it up carefully after reading it and stuck it in my pocket. He assumed I'd answer the next day. But really, I went home and cried and showed my dad the note. I mean it was the FIRST day of school, and the boy totally freaked me out by his assertiveness!! So my dad, always my hero, went to my school and talked to the teacher. I'm not quite sure what she said to Shilo, but I never had to worry about that skinny little guy again. Actually, I never would have to worry about ANY guy ever again. =(

By the time I stopped being afraid of boys, I was in junior high, and this time I had a mad crush on big, brown-eyed Barrett. I told a friend who told his friend who told Barrett, and he said he wished I'd get run over with a Mack truck. And so ended that relationship. In high school, I took another stab at this thing called love. And pursued a tuba player named Wegus. I swear, I'm not making any of this stuff or the names up. These are the stories that make me, me. Anyway, Wegus was in interesting fellow. He loved to punch me in the arm. My friend Sherry told me that was the way guys show their affection. (Thankfully her husband has found other ways to show his affection) As dumb as I was, I believed her. So I let this FREAK punch me in the arm day in and day out. Soon the punching turned into trying to kick my legs to make me trip and then finally ended in sticking a frog down the back of my shirt. Yep, that was the last straw for me. Last I heard of Wegus, he was serving time in jail for beating up some guy.

Nowadays, I haven't had much luck in the guy department. And, it's not like random guys come up to me and ask for my name and number. If anything, the only interest I get is from some guy deep in the villages of Kerala who knows nothing more than my name, age, location, education, and religious background. And with that, is willing to be my lawfully wedded husband. All this brings me to the POINT at hand...

I got an email the other day from an individual, saying they read my story and I should write more and more and more. Then he thanked me for writing it. As I do with everyone who emails me in this manner, I responded, thanked him for his email, and asked him how he came across my book. His reply stated that he saw my very nice pic, wants me to add him to my friend list, and that he wants to know more about me because i'm sweet. My weirdar alert went off. But out of sheer curiousity, I wanted to know HOW HE FOUND MY BOOK. So, I wrote him again, said it was nice to meet him, and asked him he came across the book. His reply stated, "Thank you for sending your reply I recite it over and over again every day that I can." And he attached a picture of a pink rose.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Suddenly those feelings from 5th grade arose. I'm scared. Who is this guy? Why does he memorize and recite my emails? Why am I a freak magnet? If you have the answers to any or all of those questions please leave me a message in the box below.

Someone Better Fess Up...

I had two black sweaters. I swear, I interchangeably wore these sweaters daily, either as a part of my ensemble or just as something to keep me warm. I had a knee length and a waist length one. Oddly enough, both of them are no where to be found. While expressing my remorse to Sonia, she said that Sunu had the knee length sweater. "You must have left it here," she explained. Hmm, perhaps...possibly...although, I scarcely think I would let THAT happen. But what other explanation is there? So, I questioned Sunu. "It's at the cleaners," she replies as if that's an understandable, appropriate answer. Cleaners?! Why would you take a grungy black sweater to the cleaners? Why wouldn't you just throw it in the washer? These were the questions that floated in my mind. But, I believed her. Sunu is meticulous about ironing/cleaning her clothes. So...ok...it's at the cleaners...maybe. But, it's been friggin weeks, and she still hasn't given me my beloved signature sweater back. And what's more perplexing is the fact that my waist length is now missing too! Coincidence? I think not! For years my friends have been trying to pry those sweaters from the grips of my little hands. I think this is a conspiracy! I demand to know the truth! I know Sonia can't be guilty of this haneous crime because she herself owns a black sweater and knows the true value of it as I do. ( Is it any wonder why we're such good friends?!) I think this is a plot to remove my beloved black sweaters from my wardrobe!!!

This means I have to find a new signature "thing." Like, something that you look at and think..."that's simply so Sue." For instance, my friend Sangita is a connoisseur of fine things, but her signature "thing" is accessories...big, bulky rings, elaborate bead bracelets in all shades, and dangling earrings that are always the perfect finishing touch to her couture. Basically, anything furry, feathery, flashy, pink, and blingy is her style. Everytime I see jewelry/purses like that at a kiosk or store, I immediately think "that is soo Sang!"

A few months ago, I tried to develop a new "thing." I decided to add bangles to my couture. I thought it would give me an Indian flare while promoting good fashion. I went to the Indian store in search of my new "thing." That turned out to be a depressing nightmare. Not one of the friggin bangles fit my wrist! Now, this perplexed me. My wrists ARE NOT FAT! Ok, maybe my hands are a bit widish since I've been popping my knuckles since I was 5...maybe that's it. I decided no more bangles for me...EVER. Well, not until I can find some that I can wear with out smothering my hand in Criscoe first. So, bangles can't be my new thing. Then I thought about pink nail polish, but pink doesn't go with everything, and I'm a nail biter, so I might just die of stomach poisoning because of my new "thing." We wouldn't want that.

So, I'm open for suggestions, but what I'd REALLY like are my sweaters back. I miss them and all of my gray slacks miss them too. =( So if you know or have information regarding the whereabouts of two grungy black sweaters, please comment in the information box listed below. With your help, this crime might be solved and the criminals brought to justice.

On to bigger and better things...

The new season of America's Top Model begins tonight. Just another show for a reality TV junkie to obsess about. Last night they showed the girls from the last season their past, and what they are doing now.

Most of the girls came from small towns or weren't doing much at that point in their lives. But, modeling was something they dreamed about from a very young age, and they decided it was time to pursue it. A few of their parents were interviewed, and they seemed to be saying the same things..."since she was little she was always in front of a camera, prancing around, singing and dancing." I started thinking about my own life. I can't say that I used to write stories as a child, but I was imaginative. I was the youngest in my family and my brother and sister were 7 and 6 years older than me. They didn't have the time or the energy to entertain me, so I entertained myself with imaginary friends/enemies and an imaginary world. Through out school English was my strong point, the study of literature always fascinated me, and I seemed to be the designated "paper writer" for my group of friends. I just never realized this was my dream until I stumbled upon Creative Writing classes in college. It was then that I realized that I had something that I could call my own...and that I had to pursue it.

Several of the girls from the show, including the girl from Oklahoma City, moved to New York to make their careers happen. They have a crappy apartment in Brooklyn, work odd jobs (dog walker), and pursue their dream. Even if they never make the cover of Vogue...they are living their dream...because if you're not LIVING you're dream...you're not living...just dreaming. Lately I take inspiration from anywhere I can find it...and I found it last night. I'm inspired to keep trying and keep writing. My avid search for a new and IMPROVED publisher begins TODAY. I believe in the potential of my book...and if I can be published once...SURELY I can be published again.

How I survive the 9 to 5...

I usually trudge around despairingly all morning until I come to grips with the fact that I HAVE to be at work. But there are a few things that make my weekdays a bit bearable and with out them, I scarcely think I could make it. One is my packet of oatmeal. I realize how bizarre this sounds. But there is something comforting about the warmth and wholesome goodness of oatmeal. Either that, or I have just gone off the deep end. The latter would not surprise me in the least. The second is an email from my friend Billy. As maniacal as this man can be, I don't know what I would do with out his daily rants. When I open up my email in the morning and I don't see his name hilighted as new mail...I panic. Does this mean he's not in? Is his email not working? How will I make it through the day?? I don't think he knows (until now) how much his friendship means to me, although we agree on NOTHING and fight regularly. It's nice to know that I'm not alone...that someone else is sitting behind a computer like a robot...working day in and day out passionlessly. Third, is my daily calls from "Hoo"...better known as BC's property manager. In an office full of stuffy suits...it's nice to take a break and talk to someone real and down to earth. Fourth, is lunchtime...aaah...an hour to be free from the daily grind...to think about things I want to think about...to call people I want to talk to...to read about some other world where monotony doesn't exist...These are the things that get me through till 4:45

I decided that something has to be done...I can't go on hating the weekdays and craving the weekends that speed by before I get a chance to even enjoy it. So, Billy and I...and hopefully a few others have decided to start a writing group. (upon the suggestion of SG's cute fiction writer friend) At least this will give me something to look forward to...It will give me a reason to write (other than my flog/blog). Hopefully this will bring me out of the funk that I've been plagues with for months now...hmmm...perhaps this and an itsy bitsy bite of Johnny Carino's divinely delicious chocolate cake.