Repost - The Story

Hi Friends,

So, this week, I have obviously been getting in touch with my roots. It may have something to do with the upcoming visit from some of my family from New Jersey and New York this week. I am not my usual snarky self, so bear with me as I kind of go with the flow on this one.

I wrote this a long time ago - before most of you knew me.

Meet my dad. I call him "Papa."


It's Papa's story. I can never do it justice, but I love him enormously for giving me the opportunity to tell it.

I hope you love him as much as I do.

****************************************************

All of these lines across my face

Tell you the story of who I am

So many stories of where I've been

And how I got to where I am

But these stories don't mean anything

If you've got no one to tell them to,

it's true I was made for you . . .
The Story, Brandi Carlile

The lyrics above are from one of my all time favorite songs by singer/songwriter extraordinaire, Brandi Carlile. Despite the wisdom of her words and the lines she speaks of, I think she is only about 27 years old with no visible lines that I see.

But I get it Brandi. I really get it. And thank you for one of the most moving songs that brings me near to tears every time I hear it.

Every time I hear this song, I think about my father.

My father has a lot of lines on his face. And each line is a beautiful line. My father has a lot of stories to tell, and over the years, I wish I had listened more closely.

I wish I had paid more attention to the stories he has of growing up in a poor village in India, the eldest of ten siblings. I wish I had listened to the many stories he had about each of his siblings, my aunts and uncles, some of whom have passed away, and others whom I have not seen in years.

I wish I had paid more attention to his own stories of growing up in poverty but having the love of an amazing mother and father, whom he still speaks of with emotion in his voice, pushing them through.

I wish I had stopped being distracted by my latest "issue of the day" to maybe listen to the inflection in his voice when he talked about what it was like to be so malnourished that he did not walk until he was four years old. Or stop to think about how some of the health issues he experienced later in life, like premature blindness, may have been related to that rocky start in life.

Of how he made it out of the village to earn scholarships to get an education at some of the better schools in India. So that he could help be a provider for his family, as the eldest of so many children.

Sometimes I want to go back and ask him to tell me in more detail about how he came to this country with no money but with the support of a strong band of friends who were like brothers, many of whom I call Uncle today. How these men came with nothing to this country except some petty cash and their hard earned degrees, and stayed at a YMCA in NYC until they were able to get jobs, rent places and set up shop in a country that was so new and foreign to them. How they supported each other till each was able to stand on his own feet.

Where was that YMCA? Did I ever even think to ask? Queens? Brooklyn?

What did he feel like, leaving everything he knew behind in India?

Leaving his first wife and children behind in India, while he tried to start a life for them. Was that scary?

Being in the United States when his first wife got sick and passed away and returning to India to four grieving children, my brothers and sisters.

Of being arranged to marry my mother and returning to the United States with her and his four kids. And carrying not just their luggage, but what must have felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Of what it was like to have me years later, years after he thought he was probably done, to welcome a fifth child into the world. Of the relief he felt the day his last child was married, long after he had given hope that anyone would have me.

And his undying gratitude to John for taking me off his hands. (see that smile below. priceless). **

Of the pressure he may have felt as a young man, knowing so many people in India still were counting on him for money while trying to build his own family in a new country.

Of the mistakes that he made - maybe in his career, maybe in his marriage, and even sometimes in raising us. Because while he is a wonderful man, everybody does make mistakes.

Of the happiest moments in his life.

And the saddest.

I have a great life today. I have had opportunity. I have had food. I have had education. I have never gone hungry. I have been loved always.

I have two wonderful sisters and two equally wonderful brothers. We don't always get along as well as we probably should but I love each of them dearly. I love their children and am proud to be an aunt to all nine of them.

I have an amazing extended family that was able to come to the United States with help from my mother and father. I am lucky to have grown up with cousins who are more like siblings to me than anything else.

I have a husband and two wonderful children.

We are healthy.

Life is not perfect, but at this point in my story, it is my responsibility to make it as close to perfect as I can get (without being too perfect that I want to gag).

My own story is intrinsically tied to my father's story, and all the subplots that unfolded within it.

It's not too late for me to ask my father to tell me these stories again, and for me to really listen this time.

So that one day, I can tell my own children these stories that need to be retold so they never forget where they came from.

I love you, Papa.

** (Also note, my mother looks like the cat that ate the canary. I bet she is thinking, "Oh, John! You sucker!")

In Hindi, of course.

XOXO,
Kiran

Both Sides of the Story

I was born in the United States.

I am an American.

My parents and siblings were born in India.

I am Indian.

It seems like a dichotomy sometimes, one that is raw and one that I don't always know quite know how to wear.

Sometimes it feels like both identities are extremely complementary to each other.

At other times, both parts of my identity feel like they are at complete odds with each other, ready to knock the presence of the other out.

I have struggled throughout my life on where my identity lies.

Because you see? I AM an American. I was born and bred in New Jersey. I grew up on Mac and Cheese and Tuna Fish sandwiches. I can tell you things about MTV you don't even know you remember - you know - when they actually played music. I went to the University of Virginia and I breathed in the essence of its founder, one of the original Renaissance Men of this country, Thomas Jefferson, and felt my heart swell with pride.

I like cheeseburgers. I support the great state of Texas by eating lots of steak.

The rarer, the better.

But I also AM Indian. I grew up in a house where I danced to Indian songs and could recite the most popular Bollywood hits while flipping back on my remote to Twisted Sister on MTV, all without missing a beat. While I grew up on Pizza and Mac & Cheese and Tuna Fish Sandwiches, what I didn't tell you was that we usually added a lot of chilli pepper to all of it and then made sure to chase it all with some spicy "daal."

When my parents came down to visit me at Thomas Jefferson's UVA, they would bring me lots of homemade chicken curry, my mother's homemade dumplings in Karhi sauce and samosas.

(I'm sure my sorority sisters at Chi Omega appreciated that).

But whose life isn't a dichotomy?

Maybe my situation seems extreme. Maybe it doesn't. Because you have your own "sides" of you that probably are at war with each other on some days, in love on others. Perhaps you have struggled with issues of racial, religious, and sexual identity throughout your life.

The thing is that, at some point, I realized that it was not about choosing.

There is no choice.

One does not override the other.

I am Indian.
I am American.
(hint: glasses, in the back row)

I am a sister.


But I am a girl who has not been "sisterly" at times in my life.

I am a daughter. I love my parents a lot.


But . . . sometimes I cringe at how I have expressed it.

I am a mother.

But, I don't know if I'm a very good one some days. Sometimes I feel like I am on autopilot and my kids are steering me, more than the other way around.

I try to be a good wife.

Key word being "try."

I am an angel.

Well . . just don't cross me. Because, then I'm not.

But I won't ever, EVER be boring.

I don't think you will either.

XOXO,
Kiran

Mom in a Million - Rebekah

I am on a Virgin America flight right now. I have internet.

It feels really weird.

But exciting at the same time.

However, moron that I can be, I left my battery charger at the office so guess who has five more minutes to use that wireless internet before my computer goes kaput.

Uh oh. Blinking red lights. Not five minutes.

Oops.

This is my friend Rebekah from Mom in a Million. May you love her as much as I do.

Peace out homies. I am going dark now. (No double entendre intended. Cuz, you know, I'm tan.)

XOXO,

Kiran

When Kiran said I could guest post for her I was very, very excited because her blog is so awesome and I hoped some of the awesome would rub off on me. Then I was afraid she would somehow notice the deep, dark pocket of envy that I slip into when I read her blog. No, not envy of her phenomenally gorgeous wedding photos in which she resembles a supermodel. No, not envy of her job that takes her to fabulous places even though she swears it’s not as glamorous as she says. No, not even envy of her blog design. I’m jealous of…her daughter. Or more specifically, that she has a daughter to buy clothes for.

I have a two-year-old son and he is as cute as a button. Cute, cute cute. You know how cute he is? He looks at me with a big grin and says “Gimme sugar!” when he wants kisses. Are you dying from the cute? Yeah. It’s lethal.

But take a walk through the kids section at Target and look closely at the toddler boys clothes. Stripes, sports, trucks. Stripes, sports, trucks. Stripes, sports trucks, over and over and over again. If you want to get cutsey, you can sometimes find a puppy plastered across the chest. For dress up, you get strange little stuff like madras shirts and sweater vests. Really? Sweater vests? I love my child. I don’t want the other kids to kick him and call him Poindexter because I dressed him in a sweater vest. So, my kid is stuck in golf shirts and khakis if we ever go anywhere dressier than the playground, which leaves him looking like a very short frat boy and leaves a fashion yearning in my heart unfulfilled.

But the little girls clothes! Oh! My head very nearly exploded at a birthday party recently when I saw one of my son’s classmates dressed in black leggings, black Ugg-style boots, and a flowy multi-colored tunic top. She looked like her next stop was going to be an acoustic indie-rock show at a coffee house somewhere. Well, at least until she put a fire fighter’s hat and pirate vest on over her cute outfit.

Girls have all the fun.

Now it’s spring and the style disparity in children’s clothing is so abundantly clear. Boys summer shoes are so ho-hum. Yeah, the Crocs have a nice color palate but everything else is more of the same: sports, cartoon characters, blah, blah, blah. But little girls are getting dainty white sandals with bright flowers adorning the toes. Girls Crocs are in multiple styles – mary janes! ballet flats! – in a rainbow of sherbet tones. And Target now sells kids Converse for girls in PINK GINGHAM!!!!! For boys? Red. Black. Brown. Bleah. Oh wait. I forgot navy. Whatev.

The most heartbreaking toddler clothing subset is bathing suits. I cannot begin to explain how I feel when I see a navy-and white striped toddler bikini with red lining and STRAWBERRIES appliqued on the top piece. Or a pink and white polka-dotted ruffled tankini with a matching hat. Do you know how cute that will look with sherbet pink Crocs ballet flats? Swoon!

I just checked Old Navy for boys swimwear. This summer, the shark trunks are in green. Last year they were blue. Wow. Fashion innovation at work.

I know that a time will come when I will be grateful that boys clothes trend toward baggy and covered up while girls clothes start veering into territory that makes them look like Miley Cyrus wannabes (I mean the newer, sluttier Miley, not Hannah Montana). And if I had a little girl, I sure wouldn’t want her emulating the average pop star who seems to feel that less is more when it comes to clothes and under-garments are meant to be revealed to all and sundry. But right now I am facing a summer season shopping trip that will involve stripes, sports, and trucks and no flowered sandals or ruffled bathing suits at all. All the cute I’ll have to sustain me through the summer is my apple-cheeked boy running up to me in his green shark trunks, giggling out “Gimme sugar!” when he wants a hug.

Which really is pretty darn cute.

Rebekah. Don't be sad. You can "borrow" Shaila anytime you want. She is really easy to handle. (Snort.)

But that's ok - because pink flowers makes it all worth it!

Have a great weekend all!

Go on and follow if you like what you read ;-)
Mom-in-a-Million

You Can Get With This or You Can Get With That

. . .

Or you can get with this, yeah, cuz this is where it's at.

Damn, I loved that song, by the Black Sheep. It made me bust into moves I didn't even know I had at countless Sweet 16's in the early nineties.

I was such a badass. But I was a badass who was also very good at the Running Man.

Chelle from the Winey Mommy has started a meme called "This or That." The question is:

Do you buy your makeup at a discount/drugstore or some type of specialty makeup store?

My response? I am 100% schizo when it comes to this and I am ALL over the place. I don't care if I am at a CVS, a Nordstrom, Sephora or heck - the grocery store.

The magnetic pull of sheer pinks and the promise that i could have Jessica Alba's lips if only I could find that RIGHT lipstick makes me buy exactly what they are selling me.

Which is a goddamn load of crap, apparently.

screw that.

I look the same whichever I wear. I am better off just making my own oatmeal scrub at home or something like that.

If you want to play - go on over to Chelle's link.

XOXO,
Kiran

This is How it Feels . . .

Hey guys - I am over at my friend Nathanael's today.

He is giving me a little voice over at his blog: "This is How it Feels: A Survivpr's Guide"

I heart him.

He looks like he could be my brother. And like he says, "It's not my fault that when I was a baby, I was dropped in a box of glitter, and I've been shinin' ever since . . ."

Go on over and become a follower.

Go on.

I DARE YOU.

XOXO,
Kiran

Faithful Friday

Hey gorgeous people.

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Maybe I haven't. I have been a little busy.

A little overwhelmed.

But what I wanted to say to you was this as you start your weekends:

1) You rock. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you don't. They are just jealous and trying to "out-rock" you.

But they can't.

2) When you are feeling low and lamenting all the things you DON'T have - or all the things you so, so wish you had, just remember that we all need a good pity party sometimes.

But all pity parties need to end. Otherwise you will be that annoying drunk girl who doesn't leave and nobody will like you.

3) Have perspective about what and who matter. I have lost perspective more times than I can say and I am sure I will probably be guilty of it ten minutes after I hit "Publish Post," so please know I am not preaching.

I will remember these exact words when I cuss out the lady who just cut me off on the way home, I promise.

4) Laugh a LOT.

5) AND Love even MORE.

The other day I wrote a post about our neighbor's son. Stan and Sherri are rocks for their family and all that they have asked is for as much positive hope, thought, prayer and love to be directed to their son as possible.

I asked the same of you. And you guys all delivered.

Thank you.

Like I said - you guys all rock.

Here is the update on Declan. www.declansjourney.com. He is full of grace. Full of love. He is a fighter and I cannot want to see his smile when the day comes that he can be home with family.

Please continue to pray?

Love yourself. Love your parents & Grandparents. Love your siblings. Love you friends and neighbors. Heck, love your mailman.

Life is too precious not to.

XOXO,
Kiran

What the Hell is Wrong with Viva Glam?

I love lipstick.

It is one of my favorite vices.

I think I discovered it when I was about 13. Sadly for me, I did not realize that the bright, gaudy "Cherries in the Snow" and "Ravishing Red" clashed terribly (JUST TERRIBLY) with the gleaming silver of my braces.

I went everywhere with lipstick. I felt naked without it. Whether it was a a trip to the grocery store with my mom, an early morning 5-mile run with the girls cross-country team, or even a trip to the Indian Hindu temple, I felt a need to walk around like Bozo the clown and make sure my lips made a bigger entrance than any other part of me.

Less was NOT more. I looked like a (rhymes with "door").

I think all the years of making myself up like a cheap little strumpet paid a toll on me and nowadays, I find myself gravitating more to "chapstick" and "aquaphor" - not terribly sexy.

But VERY moisturizing. And they don't make me look like a two bit hooker.

When I walk by a MAC counter though, my head turns, and I yearn to go and explore all the colors. If I succumb, I usually will buy something low key with names like "Whirl" or "Twig" or "Nude" versus the much more exciting ones that scream "Saucy Vixen," "I'm Cheap and Easy," "Buy Me a Drink & You Might Get Lucky."

Because I'm in my 30's now and I think I need to keep it real.

I stumbled upon this article and wanted to share it with you. It's for a lipstick that changes color when a woman wants to have sex.

Wow.

Why in the Hell would anyone buy that? Would you buy it? I am flummoxed.

Chap-Stick for me baby.

XOXO,
Kiran

This is Going to be Trouble . . .

In an effort to be proactive, when we realized that Shaila would be trying to sneak out of the house the minute she knew how to unlock the door, John got this nifty lock from Home Depot that he could put on the top of the front door.

It's like a magnet - and it makes it impossible for those who are "vertically challenged" to open the door without the help of a chair or ladder.

So . . .

The other day, I stepped away for a minute to take a conference call. I came back into the main area and heard the distinct sound of a very familiar gasp, the thump of feet running back into the family room and the bad acting skills of a 2 1/2 year old as she began singing an off-key version of the "Itsy Bitsy Spider."

All very suspicious.

And that's when I saw this:

She dragged her chair to the front door.

What do you think is going to happen when she is 16?

XOXO,
Kiran

Prayers for a Child

I am very lucky to live in an amazing community. I don't know if John or I ever felt such a strong sense of solidarity in any of the homes we have lived in before. It's kind of humbling to have the kind of support we do amongst the neighbors who extend across our broad and welcoming cul-de-sac.

I think all of us who moved here wanted very much the same thing. We wanted to be in a place "where everybody knows your name" and where our kids could ride their bikes the same way we did when we were young. We DID NOT want it to be a place where neighbors scurried into their homes, not willing to make eye contact because they couldn't remember your name.

But what we got was so, so much more.

It's not just that we end up having impromptu parties on the street on Friday nights or the weekends. It starts with one neighbor chatting with another and before you know it, we have all dragged coolers and grills out and the kids are yellling and screaming while the adults laugh over another beer.

These are good peeps. And they are my peeps.

Our neighborhood brings out the best in all of us. We all have each others' backs and will drop anything in a second if one of our neighbors needs us. We want to help each other out as much as possible and when someone is having some tough times on this street, all the neighbors pull through - whether it is to lend a hand or to come up with a cooking schedule so that the whole block can contribute meals to the family when things like cooking may just be too hard to handle. When it snows - everyone comes out with their shovels and snowblowers and all of the roads and driveways are slowly uncovered through the teamwork of our large extended family.

One of our neighbors is going through an especially difficult time right now and our street is taking a step back - not aware of how we can offer help and if so, what we could do. I guess we just feel so helpless that we can't make a difference when something like this happens.

My neighbors, Sherri and Stan and two of my favorite people. They are positive, fun loving, the first ones to offer up their house for these impromptu block parties. The first ones to offer up a hand. They love to laugh and make others laugh with them.

But these days, they are not laughing very much.

They have 4 sons. Will is 10, Brady is 3. And then they have the twins 6 month old - Cole and Declan.

Cole and Declan arrived only a few short weeks after Nico. We are very excited about what the three of them will get up to because knowing our kids, it's going to be trouble. But knowing they will be in it together will make it a little more acceptable, I think.

Last week, there was some terrible news. Declan had not been acting normally and they took him to the hospital. It was confirmed that something was wrong - Declan has a brain tumor. He also has a tumor on his spine and kidney.

Not much else is known right now.

Did I mention that Declan just turned six months old? Yeah.

Sigh.

It's hard to be overly happy or laugh when you have this kind of news hanging over you. I am sure you can imagine how hard it is to deal with this for Stan and Sherri.

Will you please join me in praying for the quick and speedy recovery of Declan? In our desire to help them, they have asked for nothing more than for us all to pray and to pray hard.

I have every belief that he will be home safe with the family that loves, adores and NEEDS him. He will get through this.

But please, please pray too.

I want to hear the sound of laughter from my friends' home as soon as possible.

Thank you.

So, What is it that You DO?

So I know that all have you have been chomping at the bit (ok, ok, not really) to find out what I do for a living.

Because I make it sound way more exciting than it really is.

Actually, in all honesty, I do really enjoy my job.

Which is in Web and Data Analytics.

Yeah. Super, Duper Glamorous.

Mucho Glamoroso.

So in 2005 I worked for a company which was called Visual Sciences, which then got bought by WebSideStory, but then it got called Visual Sciences again. Then, Visual Sciences, which was REALLY WebSideStory, got bought by a Utah based company called Omniture.

And a few months ago, Omniture got purchased by Adobe. Yes, as in Photoshop, Flash and Acrobat Reader Adobe.

Got that?

Good.

(Because most days, I am still a little bit confused myself).

So, I know that Mommy and Cool Chickadee bloggers are often intimidated by measuring web traffic and understanding what is driving traffic to their sites. I was at the "Secret is in The Sauce" Bloggy Bootcamp this weekend and when someone went up to present on SEO (Search Engine Optimization), one woman said, "What is SEO"?

To which I promptly responded, "Skinny Egg-White Omelette" because I can't help myself in these types of situations.

But then I told her I was kidding and as I tried to explain what it was, I saw this blank look come across her face - kind of the same look I know I get on my face when my husband tries to explain football to me.

So here is what I want to tell you.

I am here for you. My colleagues are here for you.

I blog over at the Omniture blogs website - I write about the best ways to implement large, complex projects for organizations. However, you will find lots of other great information around getting the best measurements for your site and blog there, especially if you are monetizing.

So if you ever feel just a teensy bit nerdy and want to sound down with the tech lingo, come on over to the dark side. I will tell you cool phrases which you can throw around and sound like you are really on the down-low when it comes to all things analytics.

Hello. Hello?

Wake up! It wasn't THAT boring. Was it?

You can follow the nerdy me on twitter @meaureTHISgirl. I just started tweeting because I apparently needed one more form of social media to become addicted to so I could neglect my family even more than I already do.

Ok - just letting you know why I have been a little busy lately.

Hope you all are well!

XOXO,
Kiran

The Wonder From Down Under

I always loved Kylie Minogue.

And Elle MacPherson.

Oohh - and Nicole Kidman.

These Aussies are hot to trot ladies who always had me believing that our friends from down under really were NOT eating Outback Steakhouse, and really had some kind of special water that just made the women look either ridiculously thin.

Go on love, eat a french fry. Please?

Check out that hair. How is it legal to even be that pretty?

Or the one's who shant age.

I am going to Sydney later this year and have became friends with a great blogger named Karls from Karlosophies. I hope to see her when I got to Sydney - but I am a teensy bit scared because she is a bad ass and I don't think I will be able to hang with her. One sambuca shot and this petite Indian girl pretty much morphs into a raging lunatic. These kinds of nights don't usually work out for ANYBODY. No one.

Hmmm. Wonder why?

This is Karls She is way hotter to me than Alien Kidman nowadays.

Anyway, I love her. Karls is me, but if me was Aussie and even more curse abusing and beer swigging than I already am (so you know her current condition is bad, right).

Go visit the sexy audio message hostess. If I'm not going to let my husband watch porn, I will be ok if he finds happiness by listening to my hot Aussie friend's voice.

****************************************************

When Kiran asked me to guest post, I had no effin idea what to talk about - like most days on my own blog, I’d drawn a blank. I figured, if I were really sitting in a room talking to you, I’d likely be chattering away nonsensically about me... effin asking questions about you. Hell, I’m much a more interesting topic (I kidd... I kidd).

I thought I’d let you have a brief glimpse into my psyche and I guess I should start by introducing myself (how rude of me not too).

I’m Karly (also known as Karls - from Karlosophies), I’m a married, immature 30 something who has not yet taken the plunge into motherdom - mostly because I love beer too much (hell, I’m incubating a beer baby - well it looks like it anyway). I reside in a small coastal town on the Mid North Coast of NSW in the land downunder (that is, Australia). Here the sun is almost always shining (unless its pissing down with rain). The climate is perfection!

By day, I’m a Voice Over Artist... that is, I have my own studio in the rainforest that is my backyard and I record and edit my own voice (told you I like to talk) for major Australian clients. It’s mainly eLearning based stuff... and it’s my dream job! I’ve got an editor and about 10 other dudes that I contract out work to. I’m lucky... although I believe you create your own luck, so it’s not so much lucky as obsession. I’m also a gym junkie who always wears a heart monitor (only so I know how hard I’m going and how many beers I’ve earned - desperate? Yes).

By weekend I’m a beer swilling piss head. A drunk dialler... and even worse, a facebook random message-r (although I’m on a champagne ban to stop further embarrassment to myself and others). I’ve also been known to spend obscene amounts of money on ugly crap via ebay. Hmmmmm... could I have a problem? Nah, sounds much worse than it actually is.

Kiran has told me that I am her, prior to Motherdom. I’m thinking perhaps she’s now wishing she’d never said that. If I turn out to be half the woman and mother she is, I’ll be wrapped. Oh and me and Kiz (that would be her honorary Aussie nickname - we all have them) will be throwing back beers together later this year (with any luck) so stay tuned for ‘When Beauty meets the Beer Beast’.

Karls

*******************************************

Aw Karls - thanks so much. But you know something? "Kiz" can so not wait to throw back some drinks with you and get up to no good. Because that's just how we roll mama.

Just don't let me near any Sambuca.

Go over to Karlospophies and become a follower.

XOXO

Kiran

Fathers Be Good to Your Daughters . . .

And don't EVER, EVER - EH-VAH (that's the Jersey me coming out) let them date John Mayer.

God, seriously? What A talent! But . . . Oh - you just knew there had to be a but . . . Too bad it's being wasted on a complete D-bag. (Sorry Meredith - I know you're a fan).

I must admit. I had a huge crush on John Mayer when I first learned about him about a decade ago.

I didn't care that he made faces when he was playing that lil old guitar of his.

Faces that made it look like he had been caught doing . . . well . . .

Oops, excuse me. I didn't realize . . .

Origami. Yeah - that's kinda what it looks like he is doing.

Anyhoo.

I get it, though. I get the appeal of ugly men who still can be hot because they are playing a freaking six string and god help us if it doesn't look like he brushed his teeth in 2 days because HOW COULD HE if he wants to play guitar LIKE THAT?!!

A while ago - WAY, WAY before I met John (Hmmm. ok, OK. It was actually in between dating John. We had a teensy break for a bit. More deets on that later, peeps).

I dated a really cute musician.

I was just starting my short lived career as a burgeoning songwriter. And he was hot and reminded me of Rob Thomas from "Matchbox 20" - which was cool, but what was even cooler was how "anti-establishment" he was because he would never, ever, EVER listen to Matchbox 20. Or anything else on the radio.

Which is ironic, because I did. But he was cooler because he didn't.

Yeah. EXACTLY. Makes sense, right?

Oh please - don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.

So I brought my friends Liz and Sang to one of his performances - he had been asked to play the lap steel and lead guitar at another musician's show. (Not at once. He was good. But not THAT good).

So I took my two friends, thinking they would behave and be nice and make a good impression because I had just kinda started dating this guy.

Yeah. GREAT idea.

So - just so you know - the lap steel is not a perverted toy of any sort. It's an instrument. It's like a guitar. But it doesn't have the large body and you hold it in your lap.

And you know. You strum it.

So it looks like you are strumming your lap. You know.

And he was good at it. He was also really great with a guitar, drums and producing music. Like, Carlos Santana good.

But you know how when musicians get really, REALLY into something and then YOU ARE LIKE - WOAH, BUDDY - YOU JUST WENT ALL John Freaking Mayer on me?

Yeah - well - the instrument was in his lap. And he got really, really into it.

Hmm. What can I say? He loved music.

So - there he is on the stage, giving everything he had to those two sets and playing that lap steel like it was the last time he was EVER, EVER going to play lap steel - so help him God.

And of course I look across the row at Liz and Sang - and of course we are RIGHT IN THE FRONT OF THE STAGE and they are both slapping each other, and covering their mouths while LAUGHING OUT LOUD while the guy I am dating is spazzing out on stage all over that steel in his lap.

So neither party made a great impression on the other is my guess.

So the whole thing with John Mayer? I get it. I really do.

I still think he is a d-bag.

XOXO (except YOU - John D-Bag Mayer),
Kiran

Champagne and Curry - Who'd a Thunk it?

Guys - hectic week. We all have them, right? What do you do to decompress? Do you yell at your significant other a lot and blame him for all of it? And then throw things at him?

Oh, you don't?

Gosh. Hmm. Yeah, I guess that would be weird.

Silence.

Damn, that was awkward.

So some of my friends were so kind to help me out this week when they thought I would be off gal-avant-ing to Dublin, by writing guest posts for me this week. And well - that SOOO didn't happen and this week has sucked so much you know what that I haven't even been able to post some of them.

My friend Karls - from Karlosophies is up on Monday. And she was so darn considerate to make the deadline I gave her and everything (I used to run a tight ship around these parts)!

So I want to introduce you to Allyson from Magnolias and Mimosas. She rocks my world. And she can rock a wedding dress in a classy way like no other broad I know. (I was sooooo going to use a picture from that post but she would completely KICK MY ASS. Because . . . well, just go look at it.)

But she can rock some chopsticks and glasses like nobody's biz

She will get into fights with Health Club Managers and leave them gasping with fear. She can be super scary.

But she has a soft side too. Incredibly, endearingly so . . .

All - without further ado (because I talk a lot of crap a lot), I introduce to you the lovely Allyson from Magnolias and Mimosas (her blog title is two of my favorite things, in no specific order (big lie)).

Over at Magnolias and Mimosas we do a little thing called Champagne Friday. It was born from the idea that life is too short to drink Pabst and bottom-shelf tequila. Fridays are the end of the work week (unless you are lucky enough to work weekends, which I no longer do, thank heavens) and the start of the wide-open weekend (unless you have kids who have basketball/soccer/tennis/baseball/swim practice at the buttcrack of dawn on Saturday morning. Sorry about that. Athletics are an important part of building a child's self-esteem...until it conflicts with your Saturday morning sleep). So, I introduced Champagne Fridays. This is not, mind you, Korbel. It's not even Barefoot. It's some cheap ass bottle of Spumante that they store in the fridge in the front of our party store...much like the separate case of milk in front of Kroger - convenient to run in, grab, and get out. No, it is NOT $40 champagne...but it has bubbles and a girl has to take her bubbles any way she can get them.

You know what goes really well with Champagne Friday? Indian food. I did not always believe this. I used to be stuck in that American girl rut that paired champagne with fruit and cheese and crackers (OK, maybe that's a French girl rut. An American girl rut would pair champagne with a bacon and mushroom cheeseburger and a side of loaded cheesefries. Still not half-bad but the impending heart attack could prevent you from finishing the bottle and wasted champagne is one of life's greatest tragedies). But what champagne really begs for is tandoori chicken, samosa, and kebabs. Perhaps I should stop here and say that I'm pretty sure Kiran wouldn't agree. She would probably say that I need to trade in my champagne for a Kingfisher. I would tell her she needs more bubbles in her life. If she's not getting them in the tub or the bed, then definitely in the glass.

My first legitimate experience with Indian food, and more precisely, curry, was in Glasgow, Scotland. I was visiting my sister for 2 weeks when Curry Friday rolled around. I had always heard of curry...it's that yellow sauce stuff, right? OK, sure. Load me up. I can't actually remember how this all went down for me because there was a decent amount ofBlack and Tan consumed while waiting for the curry delivery guy to arrive (I cannot even begin to imagine what his car smelled like. I'm sure his girlfriend, at some point, just quit buying perfume altogether because within 3 minutes of getting in, her Chanel No. 9 was completely overpowered by curry).

My second experience was not limited to curry but involved various meats, sauces, and naan. Lots and lots of naan. I should probably also mention that I am from Nowheresville, Kentucky (which is a lot like Nonesuch, Kentucky except that Nowheresville is fictional and Nonesuch, actually, is not). So, anything with artichokes was considered exotic. Thus my first dining experience outside of Applebee's and The Sizzler came in my mid-20's. I'm slightly embarrassed by this but now eat pretty much anythingbut American food on the reg so as to redeem myself.

Experience दो (that's two in Hindi) came in London, England (the Brits LOVE Indian food...that's the first lesson I learned) on a 10-day first date with my husband (which is a whole new post). He loved anything with spice and flavor and I loved him. So, logically speaking, I loved Indian food.

It was not so bad...at first. They served 2 slices of naan and a large glass of water with the meal. When the naan was gone and the water glass dry, I seized Neal's naan and water. This was about the time he explained to me the difference between spice and hot. But when your tongue has gone numb and your esophagus is in flames, it's sort of a moot point. Also? Americans are incredibly spoiled to waitstaff. We expect them to show up at our table at least every 3 minutes, asking how everything is, can they get us anything? And we say, through mouths overstuffed with ground cow, that "no, no. Everything is great. Thank you." The rest of the world's wait staff must be beckoned. I thought this was purely a British thing until we went to Italy. Generally, I prefer it that way...except when both glasses are empty and the heat/spice/flamesticks disguised in creamy-looking sauce are making it increasingly difficult for me to speak without drooling. At some point, I'm pretty sure I just walked over to the serving station and grabbed my own pitcher of water. But I don't remember. I was a ring o' fire.

Since then, I've married that Indian food connoisseur, met his BFF, a nice guy from Bombay who actually approves of my nosering and buys me pretty beads in the market when he goes home each year, and eaten at every Indian/Thai/Vietnamese restaurant this city has to offer. I still don't understand why there's no chocolate in Indian cuisine. And that yogurt drink makes my stomach turn. Yes, I will inhale a smoothie, but please don't order me anything milk or rice-based that has to be consumed through a straw. Potato served in a fried shell? Yes, please. Meat on a stick? Absolutely! Bread to sop up the puddles of creamy, delicious sauce? Fo sho. Anything labeled "2 stars" or higher on the heat meter? I'll pass. I'm gonna need those taste buds for my Thai Chicken pizza and champagne.

I really love this fantastic woman - fo sho. Although an Indian (by way of New Jersey) I feel the same way about Indian deserts.

And I know if someone offended me, or said anything culturally insensitive, Allyson would be the first one to throw an aloo tikki at their head.

Cuz she's that kind of friend and that's how she rolls.

Go visit her at Magnolias and Mimosas.

XOXO,

Kiran

She'll be There in a Flash

Sometimes life takes you on some twists and turns. I don't navigate these twists and turns very gracefully. I am much more the straight path kind of girl. I like non-bendy highway driving.

And keep your tolls to yourself, thank you very much.


Don't give me a jughandle (also known as a U-turn). It's one of the reasons I left Jersey so just don't do that to me, 'k?


So, as I have been lamenting the loss of my non-bendy body (more on that later - i am the anti-thesis of Gumby) and my even less bendy outlook on some aspects of our family's collective life.

And sometimes I trip over some of the turns and I don't twist the way I expected.

I am lucky that I have some lovely female writer friends who have agreed to fill in for me in my absence.

I would like to introduce you to Meredith, from (flash)pasteurized.

Oh - and don't hate her because she is beautiful. And because she can rock bangs like I NEVER could.

Why do my bangs NEVER end up like that?

Meredith agreed to take you on a ride on the less spicy, and more organic side. Along with some unplanned guests . . .

Enjoy - and definitely go over there and check her out - what's not to love about this little chica? I am closing comments so you can go on over and visit . . .

La Cucaracha . . .

there is something you should know about me: i HATE cockroaches. i hate everything about them. their color, their creepily long antennae, their disgusting legs, the fact that many of them can fly, and the fact that they can pretty much survive through just about anything confirms that they are the spawn of satan. they are evil, disgusting, deplorable creatures to be feared. you heard me, FEARED. i don't know when, how, or why my fear of these demons got so out of control. fear typically comes about as the result of our experiences or may often be a learned behavior. growing up, my mom was never particularly afraid of bugs. i mean, she didn't like them, but she knew how to use a can of raid to commit insect murder. perhaps it's been the culmination of my experiences with cockroaches that solidified my terror. one particular and very recent experience comes to mind and i feel compelled to share.


my job as a lobbyist (you heard me - the big, bad "L" word) requires me to drive all over the damn city attending lots of meetings and events. well, this particular day i attended an event we were hosting about an hour outside of houston. (you will see later why this tidbit of information about the time spent in my car is important.) so i make it to the event, meet with the area's united states house of representatives' congressman and other local stakeholders, and stay for part of the luncheon. i have another meeting downtown i have to make, so i quietly excuse myself. i get on interstate-45 (a highway that i hate) and begin the 32 mile drive into downtown houston. in my passenger seat, i have my giant handbag large enough to carry the amount of rice needed to feed a small country for a week, a water bottle, and my laptop case. (i keep my car clean* and i don't leave crap in it, albeit the two tennis rackets in the trunk.)

so i'm driving along the five-lane highway of i-45 listening to pete yorn's "crystal villages" (check out petey if you haven't, he's gooood) and dodging houston traffic when all of a sudden i see a dark object slide (or crawl) across my passenger side floorboard. my immediate reaction: "oh sh*t! that had to have been a cockroach!" my heart starts racing and my palms become clammy. i turn pete yorn down (as if turning down the music will make it better), take a deep breath, briefly close my eyes (i am still driving, you know), and think through my options. "okay, meredith, you didn't actually see what it was on the floorboard. it could have been a penny. pennies are brown, right? hmm, no, pennies are actually copper, but whatever. it was definitely bigger than a penny..." bravely, i peer down over my passenger side floorboard... NOTHING! i see nothing! success! "whew," i think, "that could have been really bad."

just when my heart beat starts to return to normal and i ease back into my driver's seat, i see it dart across the floorboard!!! it IS a cockroach! a giant, disgusting, creepy crawly spawn of satan!!! i swerve into the lane to my right, barely missing an oncoming ford F-350 diesel truck.** the guy behind me flips me off and i see him mouth a word that rhymes with "ditch." i don't care. i have a creature in my car from the paleozoic era and i have no idea how it got there!! my fight or flight response kicks in: i am definitely a flight kind of person. i see danger, i run like hell. at this point i am halfway standing up in my driver's seat, scared to touch anything in my car. i would have opened my car door and duck and rolled out onto the freeway if i could have ensured that i would have lived. i saw an approaching exit, and quickly veer over three lanes of traffic. at this point, i look around at my surroundings and realize i am in the absolute worst part of town i could have possibly been in. i don't care. i have to get to a gas station or something. i have to get out of this car. i fly into what i think is a gas station. it has one gas pump, no real sign identifying it as a legitimate fuel station, and a taco truck. yes, a taco truck. i'm jumping out of the car as i'm putting it in park. i'm shaking and in a cold sweat. i look around me and realize i am surrounded by non-english speaking construction and maintenance workers eating tacos. (like i said, there was a taco truck.) let's just say i stuck out like a sore thumb in my three-inch heels, black pin-striped business suit, and pearl necklace. quasi-bf's in meetings, so i know i can't call him to come and save me. plus, he would have made fun of me. so i call my mom because she's brave and always seems to know what to do.

me: "mom! you're not going to believe what just happened to me!"

mom: (pause) "what?"

me: "well, i'm driving along 45 trying to make it to this meeting i have downtown when i see a massive cockroach crawl across my floorboard! i had to get out of my car. i almost died, but i'm at a gas station or something now. and there's a taco truck and men eating tacos. the cockroach is still in my car, i'm standing outside, and about a dozen men are staring at me. and they're eating tacos."

mom: "meredith, get in your car now. do you hear me? you're going to get raped. drive somewhere safer."

me: "MOM!!!! i don't think you heard me: THERE.IS.A.COCKROACH.IN.MY.CAR!!!!!! i am not going anywhere!!!! can you come get me?"

mom: "no, i cannot come get you! go somewhere safer! the cockroach is not going to bother you, but those men might."

me: "no. they are the least of my worries. baby satan is in my car! fine, i'll figure it out. you CLEARLY do not understand the severity of this situation! if i don't call back in 10 minutes, call the police."

i stomp inside to the little gas station and shout to the clerk: "there is a cucharacha in my carro!! i need bug spray!!" (as you can see, my spanish isn't any good. i took french for six years.) the poor clerk didn't understand me, (i wonder why?) so i start running down the only two aisles in the tiny station. aqua net hairspray! that oughta do the trick! it didn't kill me in the 80s, but i'm sure it'll at least stun baby satan in my car! i pay five bucks for the $0.25 hairspray and run back out to my car. taking a deep breath, i fling open all my doors, and holding the aqua net like a .45 pistol, i shout, "alright! where are you, you little satan creature?!?!" nothing. there's nothing there. great. i'm just going to have to sit and wade this thing out. i sit on the curb and start to cry. (yes, i'm feeling sorry for myself.) i'm in a nice suit, a great pair of heels, my hair actually looked semi-decent that morning, and i'm sitting there crying and sweating in the 90 degree sweltering heat and humidity. all of a sudden, i see it! it crawls right out, onto the pavement, and flies off!!!!! it was gone!!! wasting no time, i slam all my doors shut, and get back into my car...

victory washed over me, and it felt good. i had slayed the dragon that day. i had an encounter with the devil, and i won. good always prevails over evil.
-----



Meredith is a: type-A perfectionist, organic food eater, lady gaga lover, former college athlete, lover of good books, political news junkie, hot tea drinker, cockroach fearer, HGTV lover, Christ follower, acknowledged germaphobe, soulful music lover, severe food allergic person, realistic optimist, mid 20-something just starting her career and living the good life in texas.