We ladies: a paradox.

This is true for the women I know, who may or may not be indicative of the population at large.

When we feel good, we only care a moderate amount about our appearance. When we feel bad, we try to make ourselves look a hell of a lot better. When you see us all "dolled" up, you can bet that something upsetting has just happened, something that's made us question our worthiness, our lovableness, our desirability. We pay meticulous attention to our clothing and to our makeup, the perfect cheekbone being one less thing that can be found wrong with us. Our mothers, who insisted that we should not leave the house without some lipstick, reinforced the idea that things such as this make us look alive, even if we are feeling a bit dead. It's all also one more thing between us and the world, cotton polyester armor, something to hide ourselves in.

These eyes aren't sad, they're smoky.
No, I haven't been eating much, but doesn't it look good?
No, I wasn't in the house, wallowing, I was out shopping. Bloomie's is having a sale.

And if the attention to our appearance sends some attention our way, well, all the better. Who can be hung up on anything that's happened when there's a new lover of the week? Who can remember who broke your heart when you are trying to keep straight all the last names and the professions?

A new face, a new body, a new person. Nevermind that it's all superficial. We can at least pretend, and sometimes the pretending sticks.

Chicago: Sunday.

I like this photo because it's out of focus. And it makes me wonder if I'm out of focus, not the lens.

Denver made me stand in the willow tree.

Denver come down from the tree. Come on. Seriously. I promise to do that photo shoot you asked about. Just come down.

The photo shoot I promised: "One Trashy Lady Wakes up After a Night Out," or "How did I get here?" or "Did I go Home with a Homeless Man?" Various shots in no particular order.

My two lives in Chicago: Prospective MBA student and Secret Agent.

6:30 am: Wake up and put on my "business" face. Try to look human.


6:45 am: Don shoes while Denver shoots.


6:46 am: Grumpy about having to leave the house.

6:50 am: Decide taxi is the way to get to Evanston; count dollars.

1 pm: Return from interview. Go skipping down the street with Denver.


2 pm: Pre-mission interview.


2:15 pm: Denver parks himself on a bench nearby to act as a lookout.



2:18 pm: Scaling fence.


2:20 pm: Laughing while scaling fence.



2:22 pm: Escaping through building window.

2:25 pm: Touchdown. Mission complete.


2:30 pm: Pretend to be dead while the bad guys run past me.



2:40 pm: Jump for joy at the mission's success.



3 pm: Celebrate at Intelligentsia with a double espresso.


The end.

Illin Oy.

So I'm officially in Chicago, which I realized is officially in Illinois. Which is....Illinois.

I had the worst possible experience getting to the airport. I left work at 4 pm, got t the airport after 7, my flight took off at 7:30. I landed in Chicago at 9:15, local time. I called my mom at midnight, EST. It is now 2:20 am, EST, and we just had a lovely Thai dinner. Our waiter was fresh off the boat from Phoenix, and very friendly. In fact, we chatted with him for about 15 mins after our meal, and he gave us a coupon.

This is all so weird. I'm honestly not so sure I can live outside New York. I look at the subway stations, the metro card machines, and I just don't know what to make of it all.

And besides...it's Illinois.

(Denver, laying next to me in bed, is telling me to "knock it off" with reminding him about Chicago's Illinois status.)

Oh, speaking of Denver, we realized that in the Midwest we're whores. Big whores. Big whores who swear in public. Oops.

~.^

If one more person says one more thing about MY short hair or ANY woman's short hair, there is doing to be hell to pay. I'm sorry, next person, it's not your fault, it's just bad timing. But I'm going to beat you now.

Yes, men like long hair. Well, women like money and a great body. I don't see many men rushing out to acquire both of those things on our account. Men also like someone who's really beautiful, and, well, gee, guess I'll go get plastic surgery or new DNA.

God forbid a woman lives her life the way SHE wants to and not the way "men" want her to. If "men" chose to behave a little better, perhaps we'd all take their wishes a little more seriously.

Font lovin'.

Tonight, the Ladies Springer+1 and I went to see Helvetica at the IFC Film Center. Helvetica is a documentary about -- you guessed it -- the font. It discusses the font's birth and life, and interviews those who wish it were dead. Some say it is the most neutral font possible, one that expresses nothing, one that expresses everything, one that reflects anything, one that is modern, one that is overused. One man called it garbage; another said that it was uniquely Dutch. The film was punctuated by images of the font as it appears in our every day lives (though some of those fonts were definitely distant relatives of Helvetica proper). Overall, it was a very intriguing, interesting, quirky film. I highly recommend it. And Helvetica remains my favorite font.

After the flick, we went to the beloved Little Branch, where we quickly nabbed a booth. I had the champagne; S1, red wine; and L and K each ordered the bartender's choice. We had a booth at the end of the space, so we couldn't people watch quite so well, but we did entertain ourselves for a while by working on a book proposal which a really fun and funny name, and which I will not mention here so it is not stolen.

Then we trekked up to Gobo, a little vegetarian haven which I have been meaning to try for years. The food was quite good, if the wine left a bit to be desired. It was also a bit pricey, but still worth a return trip sometime in the near future.

All in all, a lovely night out, even if it was raining.

A wealth of eerie coincidences....

1. Yesterday morning I had a stack of books on my desk, fresh from their boxes, ready to be read. Thinking I needed some fiction in my life, I decided to pick up one of the two fiction books on my way out the door. Instead, however, I picked up Girl Meets God. I was annoyed when I got to the subway station, but I started to read anyway. Interestingly, within the first 34 pages, it addressed two things that had been on my mind over the weekend, both quite specific: firstly, the Jewish community and synagogues in Charlottesville, Virginia (turns out the author lived there for a while, grew up there, became Orthodox there); and, secondly, the idea of making kiddush cups at the pottery wheel.

2. I was talking to a high school friend online today, a good friend who lives in Buffalo. As old girlfriends are apt to do, she was completely honest when I asked her how she was doing. Turns out she has come down with the same random and bizarre infection that I did.

3. One of my co-workers has a Manu Chao station on Pandora. I didn't know them, so I decided to check them out this morning. I was about one minute in and I decided to Google my favorite writer. As I was surfing her site and her blog (two minutes after starting the station), I noticed she had an entry about Manu Chao.

Parallel Lives.

As much as I love the fact that S1 and I seem to lead parallel lives, it's beginning to become a little freaky and inconvenient.

We seem to have gone through similar relationship issues over the years, developed the same bad habits and tendencies when it comes to relating to other people. Heck, we're both in favor of a Palestinian state.

But I'm drawing the line.

Just over a week ago, when I was out on Long Island with her for Eid, we spent Saturday in the ER. I didn't mind, but I did notice a certain something, while we were there, waiting for her tests, wasn't quite right about my own body.

"It's nothing," I thought, and went about my life.

Over the next five days my symptoms progressed and worsened, and refused to respond to over-the-counter relief. Friday morning I called my doctor at 9:20, arrived at their offices at 9:30, and left their office at 10 o'clock, Rx in hand.

I, too, had a bizarre and unexpected infection. And I have also been incapacitated this past week by the same heavy-duty, hard to tolerate, fatigue-inducing antibiotics. I have one day left, and I am so grateful. They have rendered me useless at the gym, and in pain at the studio. I've been in slow-motion since the first dose.

Consequently, tonight I skipped my class and decided to take it easy. We got pedicures and bought books. We sought serendipity in the streets of Chelsea and bought pecan pie. My tummy has gotten a bit squishy from being out of commission but my toes look awfully cute tonight.

Busy Bee.

Saturday: met Lindsay at the studio at 3 pm. She caught me up on what I missed in Thursday's class. It was a bad centering day. I love this pig.


After dinner, after the studio, L and I headed down to the LES to Reuven's house for movie night. On the way, we saw these kids playing.


I thought this was quaint scene.


This building looks like it belongs on a suburban college campus.


A woman who saw my camera said I should take a photo of this building, and told me it was a mikvah. But since she told me it was the only one in the city (I know of at least 2 others), who knows if she was right.


The view from Reuven's balcony.

Confucious looks so small next to the projects.


I wanted to buy one but they were too big.


Bettina and I met at Dim Sum G0-Go for some bunch brunch.

Inside DD-GG.


Me and B.


After dim sum, we needed caffeine. We went to Whole Foods. I had a double espresso. It was a bit watery (and a bit too big), but the taste was fabulous.


Then I went to the studio. It was a good centering day. I want to make some tea sets.



I like this balcony in the East Village.

For the ladies' eyes only.

This morning I was told* that I have a sensitive cervix.

"Great," I thought. "I bet its feelings get hurt all the time."

In fact, knowing me, it's sitting around writing poetry and drinking vermouth. It would probably wear black if it could.

This is embarrassing. I can only imagine what people** are saying:

"Better not look at Betsina's cervix the wrong way, it might start crying."

"Stay a few feet away -- you'll cause bruising."

"Check out the sensitive cervix on that chick."***

I guess there are worse things to hear. Or maybe not. Or maybe I'm as sensitive as my cervix.

*sniffle


*By a doctor, you pottybrain.
**Or people's "bits."
***A girl can fantasize.

I am a social butterfly.

Somehow I seem to have become a productive social butterfly.

Worked ended a bit early due to a system outage (in Holland), so I headed to the gym for a three-mile run. Then I headed back down to the SoHo Room for happy hour with co-workers. Then I booked it over to Perilla, where I had dinner with M.

Perilla: Lovely little boutique restaurant. Was jumping by 7 pm and didn't stop. Several H sightings as he fluttered in and out of the kitchen. Packed house of young and old. I ordered the green papaya salad for the first course (with seared halibut and coconut milk) with a Gruner Riesling. Second course for me was the shank steak, medium rare, piled high on my plate. Done just right over spinach with a side of 'shrooms. CA Pinot Noir on the side. Dessert was an apple rum raisin crisp. Not-rushed service. Lovely meal.

Of course, that not-rushed service made me miss my class at Bodanna all together. But I met up with L for a drink at the great Decibel, where I hadn't been for quite some time.

And clearly I need to work on my scowl: no fewer than three people asked me for directions today on the street.

Boredom --> insanity

If boredom leads to insanity, then I'm losing it at work. My mind is so unengaged that it chases its own tale all day. I think in circles. It's a good thing I'm applying to school because I really can't stand me in this state right now.

This made me cry.

But in a good way.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PSdjixBTNE

Reservations.

Tonight M and I have a dinner reservation at Perilla, Top Chef Harold's new restaurant in the West Village. I made this reservation about a month ago, and I've been looking forward to it ever since. And since I haven't seen M in quite some time, this is doubly exciting! Review tk tonight (if I'm not three-sheets to the wind).

The inexplicable.

I'm very no-reason-for-it, not-gonna-fight-it, feeling-good-about-life happy today. I'm practically dancing a jig. As someone who woke up ready to get in the ring and box the world for the championship title, I think this is kind of strange but wonderful :)

To: you know who you are

(previously verbose and vague entry deleted in favor of the following:)

If this person is who you think she might be, I think she deserves a lot better than you inviting someone else to the table to make the game more fun. And if you don't agree, or if you don't want to give her that, then you should probably rethink what you're thinking. Or at least that's what I think. Because nothing "good" comes out of situations without integrity.

But then again, what do I know. I'm just someone you met serendipitously on the internet. And no good can come of that, can it?

Hiromi's Handiwork

I paid a visit to Kuwayama tonight, one of my favorite things to do in life. I had scheduled far enough in advance to get an appointment with Hiromi. While she cut my hair, I admired her clothes. She has style. I mean, she's a Japanese hair dresser -- she should have style. And I wished for a moment that I did, too. But then I looked at what she was wearing -- really looked. And realized that I could wear what she was wearing. It was just a matter of shopping. Realization #1 of the evening.

Then I headed uptown to have dinner with J, who I haven't seen in a while (or so it seems). We went to our old standby, where everyone knows our names (or at least our faces). The little joint where Jerry Stiller once held the door for me and said, "Everyone in the pool!"

Yay! A drunken post!!

This is going to sound really lame, but one of the reasons I believe in G-d is because life just happens to give you what you need, when you need it.

Take tonight, for example. Now, it's difficult for me to have feelings. And often, they manifest themselves as tears, even though I can't figure out what it is that I'm feeling. Such was the case tonight, when Lindsey was working late. I told her that I was desiring an alcoholic beverage, and she concurred, and so I went back to my desk to clear up for the night. And the tears began to fall. There were no emotions attached; just a wet face. It was fine.

We headed out to the Cupping Room, where, it turns out, I know the bartender, who just happened to comp some of our drinks. We tipped generously and then walked to the LES and the East Village, where Lindsey and I discovered that we were mostly the same person, and that I think I will take a pottery class with her.

On a side note, I love Lindsey.

By this time, I was a little toasted. But we had things to do. We headed up to Union Square where we hit up a Facebook developer's meeting. Go figure. We were two of four girls (later, five) in the room, of about forty people. We ate, we drank, we schmoozed. We conspired and got cards.

(I love tech guys. And one of the reasons why is because they can go on and one about something you have no interest in, but you can just see the neurons sparking. And another reason: they look at women like we're people rather than breasts.)

It was a totally random night. So random, so good, so quirky, so me. So just what I needed.

And I'll admit it -- on my way home on the train there were tears on my face, but also a smile. When you live the life I do (not to wallow in self-pity, because I don't), it's not easy to cry. But you do, it feels so good. And after the few months I've had, dammit, I deserve a good cry.

Monday Part II: Judaism

Despite the fact that I was off celebrating a Muslim holiday this past weekend, and I love me a zeppole for St. Joseph's feast, I have a penchant for Judaism. In fact, I was (for a bit) studying at OZ on the UWS, and now I've gone the cop-out routine of taking a class at the JCC. Philosophically, it's remedial, but it's one of those classes that helps out with the vocabulary and practicality of a topic.

Another nice complement to my education has been all the nice folks at GLWD, where I volunteer on Tuesdays. Most of the people, it seems, are Jewish, and for some reason religion always comes up (maybe because people can't tell with me?) and when they find out I'm gonna convert they get all interested. So we chat. One nice girl the other day was telling me about an organization called Aish New York. I've been checking out their website, and they seem pretty damn awesome. They have a lot of free and low-fee stuff, and I might just skip my Judaism class tonight in favor of one of these tonight. They even have a matchmaker, and MBA happy hours! They're a good enough reason to go Jew all by themselves.

Monday Part I: Boredom.

I’ve rarely been so busy and yet so bored in life as I am right now. Most of my time spent feels like busy work, nothing to even wake up the brain for. My work is okay, but not challenging. I have plenty of hobbies and past times, but they’re all pretty interchangeable. Speaking with Sarwat this weekend, I realized I need two things to feel good and busy and challenged in life: challenge and deadlines. And so while I have plenty of things “to do,” I have very little to look forward to and nothing to become focused on (now that my applications are almost done), and here’s what I’m gonna do about it:

1) Register for a 5k.
I have often started “training” in my mind, but I know that if I’m not registered for a race I get lazy. So today I’m going to register for one. I’ve also printed out training guidelines from RunnersWorld.com.

2) Take a photography class.
This is entirely budget-dependent. But I’m going to see if I can find a workshop.

3) Enter writing competitions.
Self-explanatory. Takes very little more than a bit of time and a couple of bucks. But: deadline-oriented.

4) Perhaps do some freelance writing.
Preferably for a non-profit or in some other volunteer capacity.

My weekend on LI (more or less).

I remember these days.

Today was one of those days that reminded me that I once loved New York -- it was a lovely fall day, reminiscent of those first days when I moved to the city in September of 1998.

I spent my lunch break wandering around the Lower East Side, first to the Whole Foods to pick up lunch, then further down to Hello Sari to pick up a gift. Finally, past several synagogues to Flicker for a cup of coffee to keep me warm on my long walk back to the office. Every restaurant and cafe had a different smell. Tonight, too, running an errand after work, I smelled the sweet smell of roasted nuts in the evening twilight, which always reminds me of my first evenings in the city, making new friends, discovering something new and lovely with every passing hour in my new home.

Sadly, New York doesn't excite me anymore. On good days I like it. On bad days, I look at real estate in California. At best, I can say that it gives me the comfort of "home." But, I left home once before, and it might be time to do so again.

Deletion!

Wow, those photos weren't so dark on my Mac.

Effects...or --

Most of you already know I'm crazy so I'm not afraid to talk about this. I've been struggling (with my doctor) to find an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication that still lets me be a real person. The most recent attempt, Effexor, is failing miserably. I'm a non-emotive version of myself. While this certainly has it's advantages ("You say I'm never going to see you again? Well, okie-dokie." "The sun died and civilization only has a few weeks to live? Huh. That's a shame.") it has equally strong disadvantages ("You built the Taj Mahal for little old me? That's nice. Wanna watch some TV?"). It's really gotten to a point that other people (ones who don't even know me well, like co-workers) have noticed and remarked on my non-human, results-oriented MO.

So this leaves me with two options. One, I ditch all the meds all together, and see who I am these days. I suspect, based on an experiment earlier this year, that I'll have a relapse (whatever that means these days) pretty quickly. The other option is simply to look for another medication. Fortunately, there a hundreds. Unfortunately, they all have nasty side effects and you have to give them a few-week trial.

I think I might be going with the former option there. Let's see what doc says....

Holy Copyright Infringement, Batman!

YouTube has opened up a whole new world for those of us who love this song but don't like the original recording on Someone Else's Clothes. There's a whole slew of options over on YT, but I kind of like this one in particular. I think Brian Nash should get on board.

Little Branch.

So I finally made it to Sasha Petraske's newest enclave of happiness on Varick Street, just a stone's throw away from my office. It was raining outside and crowded inside, but we were "lucky" enough to score a table not long after arriving and giving the host my name.

I ordered ginger and vodka, my old standby from Milk and Honey. It was just as tasty as I remembered. I chased it with a glass of clean white wine and then some stolen Czechvar. Live music was a nice complement to the milieu, as was the fellow sitting across from me, sporting several days of beard, reminiscent of Ahmadinejad.

Overall, Little Branch was pleasant and charming, but still no M&H, which takes the cake for privacy, atmosphere, and coolness.

Groundhog Day? Buddhist karma? An ominious portent? A TSA safety warning?

Last night I had a very strange dream. Or perhaps I should say dreams. In it, I had been on a trip, and I was at what was serving as the airport. I would pack my luggage, get a seat number, and go down the escalator. The strange thing is that particular part of the dream kept repeating. I would get to the bottom of the escalator or out to the plane, and then the scenario would start all over again. Each time, however, I would get a different seat number and talk to someone new. I remember getting seat "41" at one point, and talking to a guy who had a very nice camera. At the end of the dream, however, I think that they didn't give me a seat number, and I didn't know what to do.

I don't usually put stock in dreams, but this one seems particularly pertinent and I'm a little freaked. What do you make of it?

No hablo Icelandic.

Tonight S1 and I went to the Annex, a quirky little venue on the quirky Lower East Side. It had been quite a while since I had been to any show, and the fact that I was one on of the oldest people present - in the audience OR on stage - doesn't tempt me to repeat the experience.

The band we were there to see was a very young (babies, I tell you) band from Iceland. The lead singer was the only one who addressed the audience in English, and either he occasionally had a VERY thick accent or he slipped in and out of Icelandic without noticing. He exhibited a personal dancing style that was somewhere between skipping in place and a severe, full-body seizure, and, watching him, I thought, "Maybe I can dance, after all." He looked like a blond Michael Pitt, with a buzz cut and lip-length asymmetrical bangs.

I'm too old for shows, I think. Or for the Lower East Side. Or maybe just for things from Iceland.

In a land far, far away.

I met Jenny today in Grand Army Plaza. It was a lovely day for a walk through the park, or unlimited champagne with brunch at Sotto Voce, and then tea and cookies at Tea Lounge. Hm-hmm.... I do love that borough.

Jenny and I "keepin' it real" outside Tea Lounge.

Forest Bee

Today I had an optometrist appointment on the East Side. So I pulled the usual routine: I took the train to 79th St and then was going to take the M79 cross-town. I got on the bus, and it turned up Amsterdam at 79 th St, only to get caught up in a religious procession of some sort at Holy Trinity (my old church). The bus driver decided to go around the block to CPW, and then back to Broadway, up to 86th, where he would cross, and then go back down to 79th. It was 11:47 by the time he got back to Bway, and my appt was a noon.

I called the dr's office at about 5 of 12 telling the I would be late, from Columbus. They told me to get there by 12:30, if I could. So I did what any able-bodied person carrying running shoes would do: I put them on and ran cross-town in my regular clothes and backpack. And I got there at 12:15 .:)

Perfection.

For the second night in a row I've canceled my evenings' plans to find a bit of reprieve. Tonight, I think there is nothing better in the world than Chinese takeout, cheap wine, and a bizarre television show. I actually feel like I'm getting away with something.

This isn't going to be an interesting blog by any means.

As most of you know I'm in the process of applying to business school. I have eight of my nine applications done, with the most time-consuming one to go. I plan to have it finished this weekend, and then I can breathe every day for a couple of weeks at a time. I still can't believe I'm doing this. Sometimes I forget that big steps are just a serious of little steps (and credit card swipes). This all began with the notion to go to school, which then precipitated studying for the gmat, which precipitated registering for it, then taking it, then doing well on it, then starting applications, then asking for recommendations, then submitting applications, then deadlines passing, and then interviews and finally -- a decision: yes, no, or maybe. And then I evaluate my options, and make a major decision, which will also be made in a moment -- the moment I make my deposit.

I gotta say, it's not been the best of weeks. I'm tired! Most of my body hurts! I woke up at 3 am today with Feist's "Secret Heart" playing on a loop inside my head. I fell asleep again at some point, but I've been dragging all day. Lovely lunch, though, with the girls at work, at an LA Mexican diner near work. I love the people I work with -- well, a few of them. Which is enough.

Sympathy Jones.

This afternoon I took in Brooke and Masi's Sympathy Jones in the New York Musical Festival. Brooke filled me in on a couple of details: firstly, Kate Shindle (Sympathy Jones) had sprained her foot, and so she would be sitting on a chair in the corner of the stage for the entire show, delivering her lines and singing from there.

Since I had never seen the show before, it didn't bother me to miss the live action. I've been to plenty of readings in my day, and this was similar in a lot of ways. When the performances are good, the action doesn't matter. But the ankle scenario lent a lot of hilarity to the show, however inadvertent.

For instance, there are many fight scenes in the show. Kate was on the corner of the stage. The rest of the cast pretended she was where she would normally be. Therefore, people were often fighting with themselves, or tying themselves up, handcuffing themselves, throwing themselves on the floor, and dragging themselves off stage by the collar.

Decisions.

I'm one of those people who doesn't really go shopping unless I know what I want. I have an image of it in my head, I figure out where to go, I go into the store, I buy the item, I leave. Nice and simple. I know what I want when I see it, and then it's a done deal.

Of course, you can't always have what you want.

Sometimes, if what you seek is an inanimate object, it's too expensive, or won't fit in your apartment. Other times, it's not such much an inanimate object, and that's when things are excessively complicated. That's when decisions must be made.

This can happen with a business school or a boy. I want Kellogg. Does Kellogg want me? The deadline isn't even until tomorrow, and I don't interview until the end of the month. It will either work out or it won't. If it works out, life is good. If it doesn't, there will be a brief period of wondering what I could have done differently. It's a useless exercise, but it sometimes makes us feel better to wallow and critique. Life goes on.

But then there's a decision: Do I attend my second choice, or hold out to either re-apply to my first choice, or hope I find something else I like just as much? Do I settle for #2 or hope for another #1?

I've always been a fan of the philosophy "better to be safe than sorry," and I'm reluctant to deviate. But should I?

Welcome to the new blog.

I'm still working on a layout, and hope to move this to my own domain, but for now this will do!