2007 In Review

I envy young married couples and families at this time of year. Not for their domestic bliss or tax write-offs, but for the simple fact that they are allowed to send out Holiday Letters. Usually printed on some inane red and green trimmed stationary and/or decorated with pictures of the children in matching sweaters, the sole purpose of these little notes is to boast about the family's achievements. Last February, little Billy got the lead in the school play! Susie earned her orange belt in karate this summer! Janet won a blue ribbon for her rhubarb pie at the county fair! Bob managed one more year of choking down his bitter disappointment over unrealized ambitions and dying dreams. Hang in there, Bob!

Why should families have all the fun? Why am I not allowed to send everyone I've met a picture of myself posing adorably in front of a fake holiday backdrop? As we all know, I could make even a reindeer jumper look good.


She's right, you know!

On the other hand, I suppose this blog acts as a year-round Holiday Letter ... only more amusingly and with less waste of paper. And I'm saving a ton in postage (let's politely ignore my loss of productivity at work). So let the families have their letters, which will be tossed in the recycling by guilty recipients as soon as decency and waning holiday cheer allow. My words will haunt the internet long after I'm dead and gone, or a least several months after I've lost interest. Blogs are forever.

Speaking of young marrieds, this weekend was packed full of fun and catching up with friends thanks to one of my favorite couples, Kristin and Kevin. They were gracious enough to put up with me put me up for the weekend in a well-appointed guest room. On Friday, Kristin and I met with Ducks and Chris for dessert at the Cheesecake Factory. Ducks works in publishing, and makes gifts of the latest releases.

Ducks: Monkey! Long time no see.
Me: *patting her down* I know you have it - hand it over!
Kristin and Chris: *edging away*
Me: You brought me a book, didn't you? Where is it?
Ducks: Awww, aren't you cute?
Me: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!

And so I am the proud owner of Un Lun Dun by China Mieville. I could barely restrain myself from opening it at the table. Yes, it is a children's fantasy novel. No, I am not ashamed. It will travel afar with me, and excerpts may be read to unsuspecting Indian cousins.

On Saturday morning Kristin, Kevin and I had brunch with Sarah and Brendan on their way through DC. We had an excellent time and came *this close* to being forcibly evicted from The Corner Bakery. Which, for all it's folksy title and atmosphere, is actually a mega-chain staffed by immigrants. Mmmm, just like madre used to make.

Then, much to my delight, there was bridge! Kristin and I always have a good time, because we are compulsive gigglers. This can be slightly unnerving for our opponents.

Kristin: Hee.
Me: Hah.
Kristin: *twitter*
Me: *snort*
Both: *gales of laughter*
Maggie: What's so funny?
Kristin: *blank look*
Me: I ... don't know.
Chris: Can we just play? Please?

But the highlight of the weekend, the proverbial cherry on top, was watching Sense And Sensibility.

Me: Professor Trelawney and Madam Pompfrey, huzzah! If only this movie included Professor Snape, my life would be complete!
Kristin: Wait for it ...
Alan Rickman: *enters*
Me: OMG! I can die happy, now.


It was weird to see him smile.

This post kind of got away from me... Though you may be glad of this rambling during the dearth that will follow. Miss me while I'm gone, my chickadees!

She's on to me...

Lesson Three from the Family Sri - Censorship
Mom: {something hilarious}
Me: Um ... {correction}?
Both: *hysterical laughter*
Mom: Don't put that in your blog.
Me: {expletive}

Today my mother leaves for India, and I will be joining her after New Year's. From the sound of things I will be spending most of my time in transit - be it by plane, train, rickshaw or elephant. I'm kidding, we don't ride elephants ... we worship them as gods. See, now you don't know what to believe.

I'm really hoping she lets me post it all when I get back. Visiting my relatives is like hanging out with my parents, times twenty. And if you think I'm awkward here in the States, can you imagine me in India? Blog-worthy misadventures will undoubtedly ensue. I may have to record them in my long-neglected journal, on actual paper in actual ink. Freaky.

While I was home for the holidays I came across my journal from sixth grade, which included my... third(?) visit to India. Anyway, it was the first time I was old enough to be fully cognizant of my surroundings. My initial impression of the motherland was, "this place stinks to high heaven."

*sigh* I promise to not be quite so plebeian in the future.

I'm kind of a gamer

... in that I enjoy video/computer games that do not require too much commitment or hand-eye coordination. My love of gaming started with Battle Toads for old-school Nintendo. My specialty was hitting "Forward" and "Punch" frantically while verbally abusing my digital opponents. As a strategy, I recommend it highly. An homage to the original game can be found here.


Zitz, Pimple and Rash. I think The Professor was a chicken, or something.

Now that I'm adult, my taste has matured... Super Smash Bros, Guitar Hero, that sort of thing. And recently I discovered the games on Adult Swim. More specifically, Viva Caligula.

Oh. My. God. This game makes Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas look like The Sims: Holiday Edition. Game play consists of maneuvering a tiny Caligula around, killing Roman citizens and collecting new weapons. Citizens include civilians, whores, drunks, priests and bathhouse attendants (who die pretty easily) as well as soldiers, tribesmen, gladiators and skeletons (who put up more of a fight). At first you are limited to stabbing people with your dagger until they collapse into a pile of dismembered body parts. But as you gather weapons, you can kill your subjects in new and exciting ways. Once you gather all 26 weapons (each one corresponds to a letter on the keyboard), you unlock the palace and ... well, I won't spoil the surprise.


Basically, this game is messed up.

I'll admit that this game is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. But since I don't mind a bit of digital depravity, I enjoyed Viva Caligula. It's simple and easy and lots of fun. Just like (in the overall spirit of letting out my 13 year-old gamer boy persona) "your mom." Ha.

Lessons from the Family Sri

Let's be honest, okay? Most of you read this blog solely for the amusing quotes from my adorable parents. I've come to accept my role as nothing but a scribe, a conduit for their genius. And so I bring you the first of many Lessons from the Family Sri.

Lesson One - Microbiology
Me (about the chicken curry): Mmmm, smells good!
Mom: Don't! It is only half-cooked.
Me: Can I half-taste it?
Mom: OK, you'll get half-sick.

Lesson Two - Philosophy
Dad: What is the word embedded in 'independence?'
Me: Don't you dare say 'depend.'
Dad: The point is, law is blind.
Me: First of all, no. Justice is blind. Second of all, no. Just ... no.

Not Dead Yet

My birthday came and went, overshadowed by one of my infamous Black Moods. You know that I am usually a woman of infinite jest and most excellent fancy. But even I am susceptible to the occasional funk, especially during the holidays. So I spent most of the anniversary of my blessed natal event curled up on the couch, contemplating the grim prospect of growing older. Yes, I realize that I'm too young to be having a midlife crisis. But when I went to bed at 12:34 AM on December 4th, it suddenly occurred to me - in a few years I will turn Thirty.

Prior to this late night revelation, Thirty had always been a distant and largely insignificant milestone. I had some vague ideas about family and career goals for Thirty, but no real plan. Part of me still expects the things I want to manifest out of thin air (like when I thought I'd get a boyfriend when I turned 16, or my skin would completely clear up at age 20). Turning 25 made me wonder, what if none of that ever happens? What if this is it - working at the same job, coming "home" to an empty condo, dreaming about a permanently deferred writing career?

Maybe it's all part of the process of growing up. When you're a kid your parents tell you, "you can be anything you want to be." As you get older, however, you start to make important decisions (science versus humanities, career versus family, &c. &c.) and some opportunities are naturally lost. You become a real adult person. Going back or starting over would be exhausting. If you don't like the person you've become, tough. You have responsibilities now, people depend on you. You have car insurance payments and a mortgage, birthdays to remember and office Christmas parties to attend.

And I've decided ... I'm not having it. As soon as I let myself settle on what I've "grown up to be," it means that I'm no longer growing. And that way lies madness, not to mention stagnation. So to hell with all of this maturity nonsense! I absolutely refuse to grow older gracefully - I'm going down kicking and screaming.

Who's with me?


P.S. Many thanks to my folks, Maggie and Ruby (and family) for the ah-mazing gifts, to Wistar for taking me out and letting me whine, to FV for you know what, to Liz, Laura, Jojo and my cousin Priyanka (and family) for the lovely cards and to Kelli, Emily, Kara, Mariam, Erin, Sandra, Matt, Andi, Amola, Mike, Davina, Rachel, Danielle, Sarah B. and Sarah Z. for the birthday wishes! Personalized thank-you's will follow, but please let me know if I've neglected to mention anyone. Also, if my brother is reading this he should know that a belated, two-sentence email will not excuse him if he fails to come home safely, bearing Belgian chocolates.

Shameless Self-Promotion

My 25th birthday is in one week, and I know you all are tortured with worries about your gifts for me. Is this diamond tennis bracelet too flashy, or not flashy enough? Did I remember to get a receipt for World Peace? Where is the appropriate place for a bow on a slave boy? That sort of thing. Let me clear up the confusion.

Might I suggest that you do good works in my name? You could donate a giant novelty check to a reputable local or national charity. Bonus points for handing it over to a tow-headed orphan, stoic cancer survivor or weeping disaster victim in a televised public ceremony. Planting a tree is also acceptable, as long as you include a commemorative plaque bearing my likeness. For the poor, cheap and/or lazy, why don't you tell one friend about my blog? Seeing that little hit counter tick over (along with comments of any kind) is what gives me the motivation to keep writing. That's assuming, of course, that you wish for me to continue.

I suppose after such a vain declaration I should blog something amusing. And so I bring you, My Family's Thoughts On Their Youngest Reaching The Quarter-Century Mark.

Mom: Oh god, I'll never get her married at this rate. *logs onto indiamatch.com*
Dad: Hm, old enough for House but she should hold out for Senate. *wanders off to make campaign posters*
Brother: What? Is it some one's birthday? *goes back to work*

Just kidding! Mostly. Anyway, all I really want is money love.

National Family History Day

You may be under the impression that Thanksgiving is all about stuffing your face and passing out on the couch in front of football games/parades/Christmas movies (come earlier every year, don't they?). And while I don't wish to detract from the true spirit of this most American of holidays, I'd like to remind you that tomorrow is also National Family History Day. Huzzah! Get out your pedigree stencil and medical records release form, this is gonna be fun.

Don't know what I'm talking about? Check it out on the Surgeon General's website. Getting more information on your family's medical history is not only a great way to annoy grandma while she's trying to enjoy her tryptophan-induced stupor, it could save your life. Right now you're thinking, 'is she being serious?' The answer is YES. As serious as the heart attack you could avoid by knowing about your predisposition to cardiovascular disease and consulting your physician (for example).

The Surgeon General's website has a great family history tool that makes organizing your family tree (or "pedigree," as we say in the biz) easy. And you can have fun with it. Get photos or draw pictures of your family members, and make a pedigree collage. If you're technically inclined, make a website so that all of your geographically distant relations can contribute. Shake any family tree hard enough and a genealogist or two will fall out - you'll be surprised at how bad ass fascinating your ancestry can be!

Another excerpt from Desi Kids

"We're going to have a great time, okay? And make some awesome food, am I right?" The instructor, a petite blonde woman, beamed out over her captive audience. She wore a sturdy apron over her t-shirt and jeans, and as she spoke she whipped her long hair up into a ponytail. Planting her hands on her hips she continued, "Why don't we go around the room and say our names and favorite dishes?"

Sati tried to pay close attention as the men and women around her announced strange names and stranger meals. My English is terrible, she fretted. I cannot understand half of what they are saying. She was trying to puzzle out how to make a loaf out of meat when she realized everyone was staring at her.

"Oh! I am Sati Chandra," she strained to make her voice audible over the shuffling of feet and clearing of throats. "I like to make ..." Her mind blanked. "Ah. I like -"

"O.M.G., if you say 'chutney' you will totally steal my answer!" A long-legged beauty, who looked as if she had stepped straight off a Bollywood movie poster, dropped her bag beside Sati's workstation. "So sorry I'm late. I couldn't find a place to park, like, anywhere. Also, my name's Pooja Shertukde. Hi!" Her grin at once encompassed the entire class and singled each of them out as her particular friend.

Word count: ~25,000. Slowly but surely.

Progress report

Word count after three days off work: ~20,000. Not good, folks - I had hoped to be up to 25K, at least. Of course, if you count all the blog entries I've made so far this month ...

Personal blog:
11/2/07 - NaNoWriMo begins - 200 words
11/9/07 - Work sucks, I know - 260 words
11/13/07 - Let the wild rumpus begin! - 320 words

TV blog:
11/2/07 - I feel compelled to mention, THE END IS NEAR - 130 words
11/7/07 - Is it moral ambiguity or an epidemic of dissociative identity disorder? - 750 words
11/10/07 - Strike Watch, Episode I - 380 words
11/13/07 - Strike Watch, Episode II - 180 words

Total blog word count - 2200 words (give or take).

Still. Not. ENOUGH! Why did I think I could do this? It's insane - produce the first draft of a novel within a month? Ludicrous!

I once had a philosophy professor who said, "Man's reach should exceed his grasp ... that's why none of you will be able to earn an A in this course."

I've always hated that saying.


P.S. Thank you Rachel, Erin, Sarah, Kelli, Monica, Julie and Satan Melanie for your kind comments!

Let the wild rumpus begin!

Big news - I passed my certification exam! Not only that, but all of my classmates passed, as well. You go, girls! Now we get to add C.G.C. to our qualifications. As if I needed more letters at the end of my name.

I celebrated by taking three days off from work to write my novel. No, it doesn't make sense. But I'm OK with that. Wistar and I tried to do a mini-retreat in her parent's house, but ended up blogging and showing each other amusing websites all day. I did type up what I had previously written, and wrote about 500 words .... *sigh* I am so screwed with this whole NaNoWriMo thing. My only hope is to set a grueling pace for the next two days, with an eye to reach 25,000 words by Thursday.

Anyway, after an exhausting day of pretending to write, I needed a break. So Mike and I went out to South Street Brewery for grad student night. I'm not that into beer, but I'm definitely into grad students. I even saw a guy I had met at a party, and decided to be friendly.

Me: *waving like a fool*
Guy: *blink blink, walks on by*
Girl He Was With: *looks right at me, then away*
Me: Well, damn.

I didn't let it ruin my night. Mike and I had a great time. We only left when some sketchy guy in a baseball hat came over to talk to us and ask if we knew any good jokes. I waited until we got into the parking lot to tell Mike the one about four naughty nuns. Our laughter rang through the night like the sounding of joyous church bells, waking the neighborhood drunkards from their stupor at an ironically ungodly hour.

You know you've been writing too much when your prose is purple from asphyxiation.


Word count: ~15,000. Kill me now.

Work sucks, I know

Work has really been getting me down lately (I won't get into the nightmare-inducing details). Plus, my former classmate Emily called to inform me that some lucky counselors have received their certification exam results. Combine the looming threat of failure with general job dissatisfaction, and you get a recipe for trouble. Don't worry, Mom. Regardless of my success with NaNoWriMo(a), I'm not going to quit my career. But I have half a mind to stop all efforts to disguise my gross incompetence. And so, I bring you ...

When I Am Fired, It Will Be For One Of These Reasons:

1. Lack of empathy
Me: So, did you follow-up on those issues we discussed?
Patient: *in a harassed tone* Yes! I did everything, alright? God!
Me: Um... suuuuuuure. Quick question - you realize that I'm just asking for your benefit, right? And that I don't actually care? Great.(b)

2. Poor clinic coordination skills
Me: Head Doc's coming down the hall with a patient who had an abnormal ultrasound.
FV: What?!? Why do they schedule things like this at 3pm on a Friday???
Me: Um. I was covering phones, and I scheduled it.
FV: *stony silence*
Me: The referring physician's office requested this time. They said she wouldn't need an amniocentesis, so --
FV: *stonier silence*
Me: I'll just ... go now.

3. Back-talk
Me: *cough cough*
Head Doc: Hm. Consumption.
FV: What?
Me: He's saying I have tuberculosis.
FV: I have never heard it called "consumption."
Me: Well, that's how they referred to it when Head Doc was training ... in the late 1800's. Ooh, burn!


(a) Word count: ~13,000.
(b) Please note, I did not say this out loud. Even I'm not that stupid.

Excerpt from my novel, Desi Kids (working title)

The only light in the dim parking lot flickered feebly, like the ugliest strobe light imaginable. The smell of oil and urine was pervasive, occasionally dispelled by a tepid breeze off what must have been a nearby landfill. Though it was nearly midnight, the whole place was filled with a moist warmth that stuck to the back of Artie’s throat. The only sounds were the yowls of tomcats in the alley and the distant thrum of bass. Sirens would have provided an appropriate counterpoint, but Artie reasoned that even the police avoided this neighborhood at night.

Word count: ~ 10,000. I didn't quite meet my goal of 12,500 for the first week, but I think that's a pretty decent start. Go me!

NaNoWriMo begins

Last night marked the beginning of NaNoWriMo! Unfortunately, I wasn't really in The Mood when I got home. First of all, I had a headache and a slight fever. Secondly, my grammar usage had just been insulted at work (if you know my bosses you can guess who, how that went down, and how blatantly wrong he was).

Anyway, I was feeling pretty low. I know myself well enough that if I'm not feeling in the pink, I won't be productive without outside motivation. So I called my wing woman, Wistar, and begged an invitation to her house.

Of course, I ended up puttering around and distracting her and her boyfriend, Darren, from their work. I played music, I stole earrings, I smelled things, I asked annoying questions. And I ate a lot of leftover Halloween candy. But they took it all in stride, giving me Advil and a cold remedy, and not choking me to death (as they would have been well within their rights to do). So, thanks guys! You're in a good position to get a mention in my acknowledgments.

Word count: ~5000, almost all of which I had already written and was just revising. Poop.

W&M Homecoming

Thanks to Sandy for taking all the pics!

Ah, Homecoming. That magical time of year when we renew past acquaintances, revisit old stomping grounds, and relive our misspent youth. Also known as "every third Friday" for yours truly, The Creepy Alum. But this time there were Events! And a Schedule! And an honest-to-God Plan!

Here's the trouble I got into this weekend ...

Friday
Just In Time - I arrived in W'burg for the Wind Symphony concert. I passed the conductor, about to make his entrance, on the way in. The concert was fun, even if Dr. Feldman felt the need to preface each piece with a explanation.

Dr. F: It doesn't actually sound very good, but you will appreciate it on a purely esoteric level, now that I have described the intricacy of the composition.
Me: I see your lips moving but all I hear is a muted trombone, like in Charlie Brown. "Wah wah wah wah, wah wah wah wah." Less talk, more Bach!

Afterwards, Erin, the Low Reeds and I retired to the Daily Grind (W&M's student coffee shop), as is our wont. Candace introduced me to the newest bass clarinet player in the most flattering manner possible... "This is Sri. She's OLD." Pete and I played chess until they kicked us out, but since we both suck at it we only managed to make it through one game.

Saturday
Ass Early O'Clock - Parade ... oops, rained out. Luckily Erin is still young enough to have friends she can call about these things or we would have showed up with our umbrellas, looking hopeful. As it was, it was all I could do not to cry ... over missing that extra hour of sleep.

During The Game - Outlet shopping with Sandy and Wistar. I was resolved to only buy dress slacks and pumps, for work. Two hoodies, a couple t-shirts and a set of penguin pajama's later, I remembered my lack of impulse control and common sense.


Oh, yeah. I'm cool.

The Afternoon Sometime - APO alumni reception / meeting up with other APO alums. Sandy and I didn't spend too much time with the reception, as it was filled with Pledges who were in middle school when we joined. But lurking on the outskirts of all that brotherhood were the other Old Alums, including people who had graduated when we were still freshmen (freshwomyn?). Some of them are married. Some of them have babies! Age is purely relative.

Dinner - Having eaten all day (kettle corn at the outlets, grazing through free samples at the Peanut Shoppe, brownie bites at the reception), Sandy and I forgo food in favor of alcohol from the 9606 tent. We then retire to our hotel room to watch TV (my friend Sarah joined us as we watched Goosebumps and made snarky comments) and have a long nap.

Dessert - Trellis! We demolish a slice of Death By Chocolate ... which, sadly, is not as deadly as I remember it to be. You can never go home.


Probably should have taken a "before"...

Afterwards - We tried to make it to the Meridian, an indie off-campus coffee shop, for a concert but arrive too late. So we wandered around campus molesting statues and taking scandalous pictures. Good times.


Sandy and her boyfriend, Thomas Jefferson.

Sunday
While Others Were At Church - I snuck into Millington to leave random notes on my advisor's doors. Eh, it was a good way to kill 20 minutes until the Younge Guarde brunch, where I stuffed my face full of bacon and tried to pretend I was a Respectable Alumna.

Just Before I Left - After a brief nap in Ewell Lobby, I had lunch with the Low Reeds. Well, they had lunch. Still full of brunch, I opted to mainline Mountain Dew in an effort to stay awake on my drive home.

As always, lots of fun to be had at Homecoming. Plus, no one was arrested! Aren't you sad you stayed home?

On the Continent of Wild Endeavor

I've decided to tackle NaNoWriMo this year. For those of you who are woefully plebeian and don't know already, NaNoWriMo is a challenge to aspiring authors to complete their novels ... in 30 days or less. Anyone who pays attention to how frequently I update this blog is laughing her ass of right now.

But my whole writer's group is attempting it, and I figure that trying to keep up with those lovely ladies will help me stay on track. Also, because I have the attention span of a goldfish, I have decided to cut myself some slack and do a book of short stories rather than an actual novel. Maybe there will be a unifying theme like Hope, or Death, or Cheese. It will be completely by accident.

Of necessity, my blog entries for the month of November will be shorter. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I only have so many words in me and I will have to conserve them. It is possible that entries will be more frequent, as I will have something to report (i.e. my progress or lack thereof). I make no promises, though.

Wish me luck!

Blog Action Day

Some of you may be puzzled by my blog's title: The Biological Imperative. This started as a joke amongst the neuroscience nerds at W&M - every living creature has four basic needs, or "biological imperatives": feed, fight, flee and reproduce. *nudge nudge, wink wink, gigglesnort*

But as human beings, we have other, higher needs that drive us more strongly than the F4. To continue the scientific gibberish (Eh. Why not?), I need only turn to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Beyond the simple act of maintaining our bodies, we need Safety, Love, Esteem and Actualization. In my mind, this is what separates People from Other Animals. This blog is an expression of my creativity, an aspect of self-actualization ... and of my need to be loved/praised/petted. But mostly the creativity thing. *shifty eyes*

Anyway, another important aspect of self-actualization is morality. Anyone who thinks a tiger or a sea urchin is as moral as a human being should probably seek professional help. Don't worry, I'm not about to get on my soapbox (I'm saving that for the 2008 Presidential Campaign). This has all been an elaborate lead-in to my contribution to Blog Action Day:

I'm going to take out my recycling.

Now, you may be thinking, so what? But when you consider that I've only taken out my recycling once since I've lived in my new apartment (I signed the lease in August of 2006), you may begin to understand the importance of this event. I may need to rent a U-Haul.

I have the best intentions when it comes to recycling, and try to reduce my garbage output. Sure I'm no Sarah McGaughey or Kyle Glover, but I do try. Whenever I am forced to throw away a glass bottle or newspaper, my soul writhes in agony. Well ... perhaps it fidgets with discomfort. So I hold back half my trash, tucked into the corners of my house, for the day I find time to make a trip to the recycling center.

As Gandhiji would say, "To believe in something, and not to live it, is dishonest." I realized that by keeping my recycling in my laundry room/shed/guest bedroom, I am turning my own home into a landfill. Disgusting, and only marginally better for the environment than actually chucking it all in the dumpster. So today I will sally forth, the trunk of my car filled to the brim, and divest myself of my recyclables.

I expect it will be extremely cathartic. Gandhiji would be proud.

Wedding Season

This year I had a much lighter wedding schedule - just Jojo's a few weeks ago and Andi's this weekend. Even so, I find my mind turning to nuptials much more often. Maybe it's because all my friends are doing it. Perhaps this is the chiming of my biological clock, being too old-fashioned to allow me a child out of wedlock. And by "biological clock" I mean, "my mother."

Mom: *SIGH!*
17 Year-Old Sri: What's up, mom?
Mom: I used to have two beautiful brown babies. Now they are all grown up.
17YOS: ...
Mom: I need new babies. Who will give me new babies??
17YOS: Um. I have to ... go, now. Bye.

You know what, though? It would all be worth it, just for the wedding reception. Huge party with great music and all my friends gathered around to dance like fools? Sign me up.

By the way, if you ever need a ringer to get people out on the dance floor, I'm your girl. Usually this is the job of bridesmaids, but your best friends and/or sisters will be too pretty and coordinated. People want to see someone like me flailing about before they feel confident enough to bust a move.

Of course, any reception has its low points (two words: Cha-Cha Slide .... *shudder*). And it has to end with that most mortifying of wedding customs, the Bouquet Toss. I make sure to stand in the back, behind some girl whose been dating her boyfriend for a decade or so.

Rabid Bouquet-Catchers: I got it, I got it!
Me: You got it, you got it! *ducks* Did you get it?

Catching the bouquet wouldn't be so bad if we could all agree to get rid of that trashiest of traditions, the Garter Toss. I understand the guys felt left out, not being allowed to jostle each other for a useless memento of someone else's special day. But what is the fun in having the winner put the garter on the leg of the bouquet-catcher, letting everyone watch some random guy grope a girl he has just met? There's a time and a place for that, people (dance clubs at 2:17 AM). Jojo had the good sense to omit it from her wedding, and I hope Andi will follow her example.

Wild Weekends, Part II

9/21: Davina's birthday in Richmond - Dallying with Desis.

My friend Davina hosted three birthday parties this year, all fund raisers for the American Heart Association. Since I was going to Williamsburg anyway for Jojo's wedding, I thought it would be fun to attend the function in Richmond, hang out with some of her old friends and spend the night there. Here's the best part: the friends in question are a bunch of Desi kids (Desi means "native" or "of the homeland" in several South Asian languages).

One thing you have to understand about me - I am absolutely terrified of other Desi girls (WARNING: blatant stereotyping ahead). They're slim, they're pretty, they watch Bollywood movies and speak Hindi. Basically they are everything that I will never be, and I know (I just know) they see me a tall, awkward freak.

Obviously, not all Desi girls are like this - my friend Davina being a notable example. But because of my certainty that I would be judged (ironic, no?), I've always stayed on the periphery of the Indian community. I pretend I'm just an observer, lambast them on my blog and show up for about half of the major holidays. This strategy that has worked well so far.

But I recently realized I may be missing out on some good times, as well as the opportunity to meet Nice Indian Boys. So I figured I'd take the plunge, and try to make up for a lifetime of non-involvement in the Indian community. I went out with Davina and her friends, determined to keep an open mind. I will embrace my Desi brothers and sisters without fear and without judgement. I will. I will!

I had no idea what I was getting in to.

The night was actually going well - while the others drink and gyrate, I order soda after soda and flail my way across the dance floor. That is, until someone decides around midnight that we don't need to go home (perish the thought), we need to move to a different bar! Tell me this - have you tried shepherding a gaggle of drunks from one venue to another? It's like trying to eat Jell-O with a fork. We make it to the next place at around 1 AM.

Me: A techno club? Seriously?
Everyone Else: Oooh, I love this song!
Me: Oooh, they have couches!

I promptly curl up and make myself a nest of cushions and purses. At around 2:30 AM, a surly bouncer wanders by to tell me, "You know, you cannot sleep there." It was so Bruce from Kids In The Hall*, I almost die of excitement. Soon after that, it's last call and the establishment has the bad manners to turn on all the lights. Like cockroaches, we little ravers scatter back into the night.

Me: Ugh, what time is it? I smell burning. My feet hurt.
Everyone Else: Let's get something to eat!
Me: *whimper*

The crazy thing is, we are not the only band of Desi kids on the loose - we run into a group of young men, known well by many in my party, who are clearly still in the midst of their revelry. Or possibly high. One boy (5'5" on a good day, smoky eyes and luscious lips like a made-up Bharatanatyam dancer) decides that he wants to pick fights. I decide that it is way past the time when we should be getting off the bloody streets. Yet, 3 AM finds us at the only Mexican restaurant that will still serve rowdy Indian kids at this time of night.

Me (adding extra tip to the check): I am so sorry about this.
Manager: We're used to it. I have the cops on speed-dial.
Me: We'll just ... go now.

We finally tumbled into bed (rather, into bedding strewn across the floor of an unfurnished apartment) at around 4 AM. There was no shower curtain. We might as well have been staying in a cave. I was seriously afraid that I would have to attend Jojo's wedding smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke, after having slept in my clothes. But that's a story for another blog.

You know, it sounds like I'm complaining (because that's kind of what I do). But really, it was an amazing experience. Spending time with Desi kids is halfway between meeting total strangers and visiting your family. We may know almost nothing about each other, but there's this body of common experience that we can all draw from and laugh about. So yes, it was crazy, exhausting, and possibly dangerous.

It was also tons of fun, and I can't wait to do it again.



*"I found no love in the hollowed-out belly of a dead elk. Just warmth, and quiet. But then the questions: 'Hey, why are you in the hollowed-out belly of a dead elk? Are you in there because of love?' And always, 'You know if you're homeless, man, you cannot sleep there.'"

And now, a poem

English words interspersed with Tamil, overheard in an increasingly alarming telephone conversation between my mother and her best friend (who lives in India)

vit-amins. calcium, because of the menopause.

gene. gene. genetics.

not a love-match sort of thing. arranged.

five-fifty. three thousand.

hello? hello?

private college. doctor. engineering.

dowry. donation.

three thousand.

ooh, four hundred. hmmm.

hello? hello? hello? hello? hello?

*click*

Wild Weekends, Part I

9/15: Renaissance Fair or, "Excuse for Plump Girls to Show Off their Bosoms."

And I can say that, because I'm ... of a certain size, and I was seriously considering attending the Maryland Renaissance Festival in a Lusty Wench costume.


How did she convince herself that this was acceptable? How???

Sadly for my fans (Kristin, Doug) and blackmailers (Maggie) alike, reason won out and I stuck to street clothes. I did buy a crown of flowers and it is my dearest wish to be able to wear it again to go Christmas caroling. Yes, I love Christmas carols. Yes, I realize I am Hindu. No, I do not care if people point and laugh at me.

The best part of the festival was a juggling team called London Broil. If you like throwing things, humor, or men in tight pants (check, check, double check!) this show is for you. And they definitely appreciated our unique form of audience participation.

Me (after the show): That was great!
Louie: Thanks for coming! And thanks for ... giggling so much.
Me: By 'giggling' do you mean 'cackling?'
Louie: ... maybe.
Me: You're welcome.


The London Broil boys ... clearly, juggling is Serious Business.

In faith, we didst carouse most merrily at yon fairgrounds. Mayhap I will attend again next year!

Coming soon: Davina's Birthday Celebration ("The Lonely Little Desi: Why Indian People Don't Like Me") and Johanna's Wedding ("Dancing The Night Away: Why White People Don't Like Me, Either").