Limited Express

I was waiting for a city bus today and when it arrived, it pulled sharply to the curb like a drunken sailor as waiter-bys like me jump from the curb fearing for our dear lives. As people were boarding, I shouted a question to the driver. "Is this express?" He grufflyreplies, "No!" Sadly, I walk away but it occurred me, for clarity, I should have said Is this limited? Why the MTA uses two words for the same concept is beyond me.

Mixed feelings - Material delights and frugal tendencies

Yesterday, a few packages from Williams Sonoma arrive for me. They wait patiently for my kids to go to bed and then the fun begins. First off, they arrive in what appears to be your run-of-the-mill corrugated cardboard boxes. But a closer examination reveals that they don't have the conventional perforated two flaps that are taped up in the middle, but an entire fold-over flap that tucks inside the box, ie. the box opens like a giant hinged gift box - very elegant and reminiscent of origami. Then, when you lift up the flap to open the box, the inside is lined in white paper and the Williams Sonoma logo in giant print "greets" you.
I've ordered stuff from other retailers before and never have they elevated or refined the humble and hum-drum corrugated cardboard box, so hats off to WS. Definitely not environmental to be creating, designing and using boxes that are non-standard, but boy are they delightful.
Finally, the throw that I ordered was tied up to look like a present in white grosgrain ribbon.At first I decided it was too nice to even open, but that created an economic dilemma because I wanted to use the throw. In the end, I settled with saving the ribbon and using the throw.
But, the biggest surprise of all was that, tucked inside one of the boxes was a complimentary round petite soap, wrapped in finely pleated tissue paper. I felt so giddy, it was like finding a luxe chocolate mint tucked in your bed, a top off to "turned down" service at a nice hotel. Except it's even better, because I don't eat mints but I do use soap.
Finally, I am so sad to recycle these delightful cardboard boxes and throw them out on the curb, because without closer examination, they look exactly like their regular, unrefined, with-no-family-crest cardboard box cousins, at least thrice removed and definitely from the wrong side of the tracks. It would be much better and more efficient for the world if my delight could be recyled to other people.
In sum, I have to give WS a lot of credit for stirring and bundling these emotions in me - both delight and a weird sense of Depressionesque-World-War-II-rationing-frugal-must-save-everything mentality.

Harvard wants my money and they're gonna get it

Just when I was lamenting for someone to curry favor with me, the latest issue of Harvard's publication, "The Yard" is addressed to both me and Josh. I don't know how or why this happened, but we're both perplexed over it.
Looks like I'll be giving money to Harvard and not Cornell....

Looking for a new (and cheap and clean) nail salon

I was at the nail salon this weekend, trying to explain to the owner that I had lost my loyalty card. (If you get 10 services, you get a free manicure.) I've easily been to this place at least ten times but have never cashed out on the free manicure. So I told her about how I got my purse stolen and that the thief took the contents of it, including my loyalty card. I was interested in getting about 5-7 stamps from the owner. I thought it was a reasonable request given that we can both agree that I've frequented the salon more than 5-7 times in the past year. She flatly denied my request (and moreover, didn't even sympathize or make one comment about my stolen purse). So I boldly looked her in the eyes and said, I probably won't be coming back here anymore then. I don't like frequenting service oriented places that pretend you've never been there before. I don't want to be treated like a number or a twenty dollar bill. I'm so annoyed that she wouldn't give me the stamps and made zero attempt at currying my favor. When I get my nails done, I want a pleasant obsequious chatty owner. Not a money-focused tight-lipped shrew. Is that too much to ask?

Free magazine!

Just when I was lamenting how lame it was that my husband gets the excellent Harvard magazine for free as well as another goodies from his Alma mater, Cornell decides to delight me. I just found out I can get Cornell magazine for free online! This is just so thrilling. I will consider it a one-upmanship of Harvard, since we're sensible about not killing any trees. Go Big Red!!! Rah Rah. Well not really. The writing is a lot worse and there's virtually nothing research worthy or academic, but it is fun, reads like a blog and hey it's free. Oh and I just read that Cornell doesn't rely as much on their endowment for expenses like other universities and that they made be taking loans if they needed to bridge any gaps. That sounds like a winning bet. How do I loan money to Cornell? Will they put Willard Straight Hall down as collateral? Personally, I would prefer the Statler Hotel.

Also, I was sad to read that the founder/owner of Hot Truck died in December 08.

Don't hate me

A few weeks ago, I was at Pam Real Thai (one of my favorite Thai restaurants in the city). It was a very cold day and predictably, there were many people crammed at the entry way, waiting for a table. Instead of faithfully and blindly taking a spot behind the last person waiting, I decided to charge my way through the crowd to inquire about a table. I was immediately seated with my companion. The hostess had muttered something about a table for two being available. I assumed that the throng of people waiting were one big party - more difficult to seat.
As soon as we were ensconced in the warmth and comfort of having a table inside the restaurant, I thought I saw some nasty looks from the waiting crowd.
I remarked to my companion - You know, there's no reason for them to be pissed at me. Yes, it's true they arrived before me but I'm sitting here and they're not but they shouldn't be mad at me but at the hostess. I just happen to be the person she seated but it could've been anyone else.
My companion agreed and added, Yes, you should always get pissed at the wish granter, not the wish receiver.
This is an apparently less novel concept than I thought, as the other day, I was watching a Chris Rock show and he appropriately summed up my sentiments, "Don't hate the player, hate the game." I wish I had shouted that to the mad crowd.

Pubescent thrills

I once read a book written by a psychologist about people reuniting with a love from the past. It was full of anecdotes penned by people who re-connected with a grade school or high school sweetheart. These reunited lovers all seemed to share a few characteristics:
1. The time that separated them (before they were re-united) was very long. Minimally 10 years, with some spanning 50+ years!
2. They can't remember why they even separated in the first place.
3. When they were reunited, they felt the same feelings as they did in their youth and it was if time had stood still.

Any way, I had an experience that felt just like the so-called reunited love.
When I was 12-14 years old, I often shopped at a store that sold women's clothes called Limited Express. I liked the form-fitting Euro-inspired fashions. And it felt good to buy size XS, any time there was a sale, I could find plenty of cast-offs in the smallest size. And then for 20 years, I totally forgot about them. Fast forward to now, the store is now called Express, I think they've made their sizing a bit more generous (though I've grown to an S now and in some truly form-fitting styles, I feel best in an L) and of course, I'm a lot more generous (in terms of my figure) now than I was at 13. But the fashions are still great and form-fitting, though I'm not sure how much Euro-inspired any more... And for the life of me, I don't know why I ever "separated" from them for 20 years. Nevertheless, it's like my mid-life crisis thrill to buy these clothes. I feel as if time stood still and I feel all glow-y and 13 years old. Minus pimples and certain insecurities. I can't wait for weekends, I'm going to live in tights and long, form-fitting tops. Hurray!

Colorstrology

This was shared to me by a co-worker, AKA "Giggles".
It is so cool. Http://www.colorstrology.com/
Read about your birthday and those around you. Be sure to select the month and then the date of your birthday to get the full story.
I found it incredibly entertaining and scarily true/insightful. But I'm a sucker for such things. Predictably, my hubby thought it was D U M B . Oh well, his loss. And it will be hard to convince him to paint each of our bedrooms the respective pantone color that brings each of us mental peace and a sense of well-being.

Express Radio - I love it

http://www.express.com/custserv/custserv_popup.jsp?pageName=Radio
Is there a way to get this while I'm commuting on the train? Alas, my Blackberry has no sound.

Million dollar idea - 24oz "big gulp" bottle?

7:40 PM and I walk sleepily down the stairs; I am so happy that the noisy twosome are finally asleep. My mind races with all the activities I can do - such as putting away the items from the suitcase from our Vermont trip, clearing the clutter on our desk and kitchen, cooking Sadie's lunch for tomorrow, maybe even go to bed early and other boring thoughts a suburban mom might have.

Daisee decides to ruin all of my fun and games. She wakes up screaming at the top of her lungs. She's acting like a crazy and pissed drug addicted junkie. I have no idea what she wants or how to calm her down. One tactic that usually works in a moment like this is to pick her up and walk around with her, but she's getting too heavy and I'm too tired to indulge her. I try a modified version of that by holding her close while I lie down. No dice. So I sit up and do the same thing, but she's still pissed. Then I asked my loving husband to make her 8oz. of milk in a bottle. Lots of thoughts are racing in my head - she's too old to be using a bottle and I'm afraid that after she finishes the 8oz, she will scream her head off, but 8 oz is the limit that a bottle will hold. Finally (probably only 90 seconds, but it felt a lot longer because she's screaming the entire time), Josh comes back with the bottle. I try to give it to her but she resists. So I force it into her mouth. Miraculously, she shuts up and peacefully begins to drink the milk. As she's drinking, I tell Josh about my fear that she will scream as soon as the bottle is finished and why don't they make a 24oz "big gulp" bottle for infants. I know it sounds silly but in moments of desperation and when you want to calm a screaming baby, all sorts of implausibilities start to make sense.
So my prediction comes true -- she finishes the 8oz in no time flat and starts to scream in fits of anger. I asked Josh to fill the bottle again. We agreed on 4oz. We repeat the entire cycle, ending with her screaming her head off after she finishes the second round of milk. Make another one, I command my husband - 8oz! He thinks 6 is enough so he comes back with 6. This time, her angry outbursts seem to be filled with more vim and vigor, probably fueled by 12oz of whole fat milk.
Then it occurs to me that she's pissed because she wants to play. We go downstairs and she immediately stops crying and is full of smiles. How can I take this sentient, moody, willful human being seriously?!

Cute (I think) lineup for a whodunit

Isn't this a cute and at the same time hilarious mug shot? If something's broken, it's definitely the one with the "ponytail." If someone's kvetching, it's usually the taller one.

Apple doesn't fall far...

When I first met Josh, almost 8 years ago, I think he thought my ethnicity was a novelty. One of our first dates was in Central Park, it was one of those free (but of course!) concerts. While sitting on the blanket and as I was feeling pretty good about getting to know him, he came up with a proposal for a game. How about I make a whole bunch of noises and you tell me if it's a word in Thai? he suggested. He completely jostled me out of my daydream into an indelicate reality. I was so offended, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I gave him a mouthful. Told him how offensive it was and that it was like making throwing up or other bodily funtion noises and asking someone if it meant something in his/her language - juvenile and uncouth.
We were able to move on from this experience because, as you know, a few years later, I have two beautiful children with this sometimes boorish idiot. Last night, one of our children told me she was going to say "goodnight" in Japanese. I got really excited, thinking that she picked up some Japanese from school. "Oookie ka ka ka da du" she says and I realize that she's making up sounds/noises. Then she says, I'm going to sing a song in Japanese. She belts out "Ode to Joy" but uses a bunch of non-sense syllables for the "lyrics". I can not believe the perfect pitch and melody and how long the "singing" goes on for. I guess she inherited her musical sense and sense of humor from Dad. I am now very concerned that she will soon tell fraternity-style potty and locker room humor types of jokes and humiliate me (as my husband often does). But it also means she will play a mean twinkle twinkle little star on the piano!

Confessions of a bi-polar blurter

I'm not proud of some of my shortcomings. One of them is that when I get angry, depressed or feel despondent about something, I often look to blame and insult. My poor husband is frequently the victim of such vituperative put-downs. "This marriage sucks!" I'll proclaim if I feel like he's screwed up with something.
Yesterday, my husband miraculously fixed our broken dryer. I admit that he's pretty handy and can fix many things, but this amazing accomplishment shocked me. I swelled with pride. And then it occurred to me, I should try to mitigate some of my past nasty comments so I told him, "This marriage rocks!" I expected at least a little smile but I got nothing.
The funny thing is that I think he's a unique (super-conceited?) individual.... impervious to both compliments and insults. Maybe a little more so with compliments. They don't actually affect (how great he already thinks he is). But really, my conclusion is that he is so much more intrinsically motivated than I am....hopefully he can pass that on to our kids.
Anyways, thanks for taking all of my wild mood swings in stride, Josh!
Sometimes, I do wish you could react outwardly to my comments. I know I sound like an immature pig when I say this, but I really wish I could get a rise out of you every now and again (without the surefire-brings-him-down-to-his-knees-as-he-cries-both-mercy-and-uncle; "I'm going to spend all our money!").

New skill

It's great to see cognitive skills develop in your kids. For the longest time, Sadie was oblivious to pronouns. Hold you, she would command me. Sit my lap, she would request. At 3 years old, she's mastered pronouns and now, I'm proudly announcing another new skill, transference.

Last night as I was tucking her in, she said that she was Cinderella. So we had to do all goodnights all over again with this new identity. "Good night Cinderella," I said. "Good night, Cinderella mom," she replied.

Late to the party, part six million

Previously, I had kvetched about not knowing about certain things that would either improve my quality of life or health that people (especially my in-laws) should have told me about (e.g. using a sonicare or electric toothbrush). Well I'm mad again! This time, it's over an electric blanket. We just got one and it feels so nice to slip into a warm bed. Why didn't anyone tell me about this because it seems like everyone has one! My sister in law touted the benefits once I brought it up, my father and mother in law confessed to having owned one, etc. The other day, we went to a birthday party and the door of one the bedrooms was left a crack open and what did I see? The unmistakable outline of controllers for an electric blanket.
OK - what else am I missing out on?!

My daughter is a goat

She eats anything and everything. When she was younger, frequently to my horror, I would find the most random and most horrendous thing in her mouth like a sequin, a piece of velcro or other chokables. Today, I had to restrain her from eating dry pasta that fell out of a box onto the floor. If my husband calls her over by name, she completely ignores him. If he yells, steak! she comes running over because she heard a magic word. If anyone is sitting at the dining room table, she comes begging and if you don't give her "a bite" (said in such a cute lilting voice), she will throw a tantrum. She gets over it quickly, and like a sharp-minded predator, she restrategizes, then moves on to look under the table for scraps.

She also destroys everything. She broke my DVD bay on the computer. She lost an online shopping basket 4 times (blame the horribly passe merchant that didn't use cookies?) by gleefully pressing the power key to suddenly shut off the computer. She broke my glasses. I can't find two gift cards that she decided were fun toys. She created deep scratches with who knows what implement, worse than a crazy cat on my coffee table. She's unplugged the cable box, the phone and other ulitilities after deciding that chewing on them wasn't good enough. On my dining room table, there are tons of brilliant pock marks created by pounding forks and other objects on the surface. I don't even think the Moh's scale of hardness applies to her, she can break anything hard. And today, I heard her making loud, obscene banging noises. I mosey on over and find her banging on a chair with wooden stick, each bang, creating a crater on the seat of a chair.

[CHEESEBALL UPDATE] I wanted to add that even though she's destroying everything and eating me out of house and home, I am madly and completely in love with her and can't stop giving her kisses and be completely in awe of her sweet chubby babyhood that will slip away too soon.

Husband or canine?

Yesterday, we had a couple over for an impromptu dinner. We enticed them with home-cooked steaks, one of Josh's specialities. I know it's hard to eat the meat close to the bone and the meat close to the bone is really very good, but is there another way to get to it aside from using your paws? I really was pretty embarrased. I think it made our proper guests a bit uncomfortable because they couldn't laugh about it with me. You can look at the image below and decide for yourself. Are you laughing or crying?

Part art, marketing and graffitti?

Last week, I borrowed by in-law's Prius to go shopping. I think it's a great little car. Any way, because they drove it from Vermont and it had snowed there, the car was pretty dirty. Of course some playful, unimaginative and compulsive person had to finger the words "WASH ME" on the rear windshield. But today I saw something interesting. Someone had fingered a website (URL) on someone else's car. A burgeoning viral trend?
Do I have to put myself on the "do not write" list?

Feel good plagarism

It was an exhilarating feeling, just as my daughter was falling asleep, she said to me, "There's no one in the world like you, Mom" and then she conked out. I thought it was the most heartfelt, most original, perfect, and sweetest thing in the world to hear. Just as quickly as my elation came, it left as I realized that technically, all she did was switch out a pronoun and parrot what I say to her almost every night as I tuck her into bed. "You're very special to me. There's no one in the world like you, Sadie."

Meatless in NY

A few weeks ago, I was treated to a most delightful, inimitable experience, brought to me by a benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous, so I will refer to this person as, Miss Havisham.

Miss Havisham works at Google and had casually mentioned many a times how she eats for free. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, in-between meal snacks and even takes a free, Google-provided shuttle to work. In March, Miss H moved from SF to work in Google's NY office. The fringe benefits in NY aren't as good as San Francisco, I was told, but still this was a chance for me to have a Googly experience.

Can I come eat for free, I asked. I wasn't too excited about it, I envisioned a college dining hall. After I made plans to meet Miss H at Google, I even gave Miss H a hard time about it. How am I supposed to get there?! Who the heck works in Chelsea?! I bemoaned.

But as soon as I arrived, I realized it was heaven. First of all, everything is so gimmicky and cute. The hallways are really wide so that employees can go to and fro using scooters (wonder if they have special insurance [from AIG, heheheh] because of this?). There are video game consoles peppered everywhere. Special storage units against the walls stored toys like Legos, etc. There were many in process Lego sculptures presumably made by fun-loving Googlers. Not to mention the requisite game room with foos ball, exercise equipment and other distracting sundry. And this has to be the ultimate, the entire building is a metaphor for New York. For example, we picked up her mail at "Wall Street" and had lunch near "Central Park". It was a great system; a stranger to the Google building like me, could figure out where I needed to go by the "address".

But that's not all....the best experience of all was the free food. The variety! The amount! The exotic! Vegan! Raw foods! Imported foods! ALL PLENTIFUL AND FREE!!!!

Check out this picture of complete satisfaction:

I'm holding a fresh(!) rambutan and coconut juice. In front of me is a delicious vegetarian spread (curried seitan, grilled tofu, etc.), the white drink is my favorite cocktail -- vanilla soy milk with skim lactaid and get this, they even had my favorite hot sauce - Tobasco brand Habanero sauce. Whatever my greedy little vegetarian spice-loving organic lactose-intolerant heart desired was there for the taking. I could definitely get used to this.

Outside of Google, I struggle with being vegetarian. At Google headquarters, the endless and delicious options makes it a breeze to eat vegetarian.

If I worked at Google, I could totally see myself giving up meat.