“Don’t drink the hard stuff. Not the liquor. Whiskey, vodka? These things are bad. If you drink wine and beer, that’s better. But otherwise, you are an alcoholic.” – *Anonymous.
Ok, *Anonymous is my papa.
I drink the hard stuff. And the soft stuff, I guess. I kind of like it all. I am an equal opportunity booze drinker.
I’m not a big drinker. I mean, I DO drink. But never, out of control. Well. Hmm. Maybe, sometimes. I mean, I am certainly not really including my college years in that statement. Or my twenties.
Definitely not any of my twenties.
I drank during both of those phases of my life. If I took one of those tests asking me to evaluate if I was “the A word” (No, not “asshole” – “alcoholic”), I may have tested with flying colors in the affirmative. Actually, depending on which part of my twenties we are talking about, I might have passed positive for both things.
The holidays are almost upon us. I know this because everyone in my house is feeling sick, that feeling of dread prevails that NOTHING IS DONE THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE and I am overwhelmed with the sense that I have already overbooked our calendars, thanks to my masterful planning skills. It is all seriously freaking the shit out of me.
Of course, the holidays bring with it the inevitable questions from family about gifts for the kids. “What does Shaila want this year?” or “What kind of toys is Nico playing with now?” And I try to answer to the best of my ability but then sometimes I forget who I told what to and Nico ends up with twelve swords. Or Shaila ends up with all the things I really wish I could get for Christmas. Like a mini-Athleta outfit collection.
I come from a family that doesn’t talk much about elephants. Don’t get me wrong. We aren’t averse to wild animals and will even watch Animal Planet from time to time. We love images of Lord Ganesh, the Indian God who represents overcoming obstacles and throughout my childhood, his pictures and likeness were always on display in our family home. We aren’t very quiet and talk about other things, including other animals, what Oprah is doing, or our very differing views on Obamacare. In fact, we are loud and can sometimes be the family that gets rude looks from other restaurant patrons who are trying to eat their Wonton soup in peace as we laugh too hard, or say something that makes the person next to us snort out their egg drop soup out of one nostril.
Yes, there were times where we are that family. And trust me, egg drop soup should never come out of a nasal passage.
You know that line from the movie Notting Hill? The one where Julia Roberts, who plays a famous actress – real stretch role for her - tells Hugh Grant’s character, the manager of a small bookstore, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”
First of all, I call bullshit. She’s not just a girl. He’s not just a boy. When most people become famous, odds are, they change. I have seen and known it to happen with some friends in my own life. They became more than just a girl or a boy and depending on their character, the people they need to surround themselves have to come with a pedigree I don’t have or serve a purpose I apparently don’t.
To them I’m just a girl.
But I do want to re-purpose that line for my own use and maybe change it just a little bit.
“When I grow up I want to be a slut,” said no girl. EVER.
The other night I was talking to an old friend about nothing and everything. We somehow ended up talking about a reality show, since everything in my life has about two degrees of separation from the Bravo Network. The subject moved to the storyline of one of the the women that appears on this show. I don’t know her, but she seems like a really sweet woman with an amazing personality, which says a lot for anyone represented on reality television. I think it’s fair to say that 80% of them DON’T seem like real “quality” people. Quite the opposite, even.
Anyway, I would guess that this woman is about 40 years old. I can’t say for sure, but she seems so nice, like she would give you the shirt off her own back.
I check Facebook too much. Whether it’s to look at my news feed or to read what someone REALLY thinks about John Mayer and Katy Perry dating again, it’s a total crutch for me. John knows this and if he sees me looking down at my phone, he’s always like, “Really? Facebook? Again?” So I try to be very stealthy about the whole thing.
So I was sitting there, trying to read my news feed in stealth mode when I got a message. I get very excited about Facebook messages. I don’t know why but I think it has something to do with not having a very exciting life.
Anyway, I opened the message and was a little confused.
Me: What’s an amend letter?
On Tuesday of this week, my husband and I will have been married years. 8 years!! It’s crazy to me. Almost as crazy as Paula Deen, but maybe not quite that crazy. I am getting nostalgic so am hoping you’ll walk down memory lane with me.
Here is a picture of me and my husband, John, on our wedding day.
I know, you’re probably wondering why I call him John when his name is so clearly something like Jagdish. Or Rajiv, or something.
But no, John is his real name. He just looks like he is Indian (another story, another day). I think it has to do with the fact that he is half Italian and half Puerto-Rican. Somehow, it made him look like a hybrid of Ponch and Amitabh.
Anyway, here is another picture of me and John on our wedding day.
For a while, I’ve been talking about starting a yoga inspired jewelry company called Simply Om. I’ve had the idea for a long time – I kept thinking it was interesting how many people did yoga and didn’t know what the word “Namaste” meant.
I’ve written this before, so bear with me if you’ve seen it already.
Namaste, loosely translated, means the divine in me sees and honors the divine in you.
I sat on the idea for a while. Wouldn’t it be great to bring this concept, the idea behind namaste, to people in some way? Maybe, through fashion? Not just that, but in a way that was empowering, that was authentic, that gave back to those in need in some way.
As you can tell, I had pretty lofty dreams.
But then, it got even more complicated.
In our family, we sometimes tease each other when we are caught with our “love face” on. It’s this special expression that we often notice each other making. I sometimes see John with it when Nico says something adorably witty about farting or burping. The sheer pride in both of their faces just warms my heart. I’ll see Shaila make it when she is pretending to pummel Nico to the ground. I have seen Nico make it in those special moments when he puts his face up so, so close to my own and holds my cheeks firmly in his 3 1/2 year old hands before he plants a kiss on me.
The love face is kind of hard to describe. I guess it’s a slight clenching of the jaw, an over-exaggerated under-bite. The lips purse a little and convey a little more than just pure joy, but it’s this weird semi-smirk, I guess.
I don’t have many friends who are models or on television. I do have a handful of friends who I sometimes get a get the opportunity to see unexpectedly, like when I’m waiting for a route canal and open a magazine at the Dentist’s office. This never becomes dull – I get excited every time. I still think it’s cool when we see our friend Craig peddle pretzels in commercials on television or notice my friend Sang’s cousin, Gene, on the Tempur-pedic brochure at the mattress store. In fact, I am pretty sure the reason we bought a Temper-pedic bed was because Cousin Gene looked like he was having so much fun on it. In a PG kind of way, of course.
The other person I see from time to time is my friend, Jennifer.
THIS is Jennifer.