A N N A J O H N ' S D I A R Y

For V, who asked

On Language. And Puppy-wuppies.

"Who's a poop-ity, poop-ity baby? Who's a pooper?" I sang this to my puppy, five minutes ago, in the stupidest voice possible.

A moment later, I marveled at the fact that I speak to infants and toddlers as if they are grown ups, but when it comes to my five-month old dog, I communicate like a language-challenged moron. Maybe it's because I subconsciously know that Jubby is not depending on me to teach her how to speak English, so I don't have to model proper pronunciation for her...or maybe I'm just a fool for ittle-wittle, poopity puppy-dogs..either way, I am starting to get used to odd, amused looks when we're out in public. Sometimes, I just can't help it. She looks at me and I commence with the babbling, as if commanded to do so. My only consolation? More than half the time, those strangers join in the chant. :)

Call the wambulance, I dislike CoHei

The difference between my old neighborhood and new one can be summarized as succinctly as this; in Georgetown, street vendors hawked Gucci knock-offs. In Columbia Heights, someone just tried to sell me a "new", large, "Betty Boob" vinyl purse; it came in three tacky colors. There are so many things wrong with that sentence, not the least of which is that someone thought it a wise idea to counterfeit "Betty Boop". What kind of market is there for this shit? And why did I choose to live among them/it?

I'm going to shower off my distaste, the "afterglow" of my super-shitty "Bollywood Masala" dance class (first time! might be the last!) and my disappointment and go back to my old neighborhood, for brunch and an appointment. /end pathetic whine

Happy Anniversary, Parent(s).

I love St. Patrick's day, but not for any predictable reason.

Thirty-six years ago today, an 85-lb woman and a 110-lb man were married in a Greek Orthodox church somewhere in California. The bride wore cream, then peacock blue. Her hair was glamorously piled up; his massive collar pointed down.

A year later, the tiny couple would have a suitable 8-lb baby who would grow up to be much taller and fatter than either of them.

The end. ;)

I could come up with a few thousand reasons for "Why I am thankful for my beautiful, brave, loyal and funny little sister". Reason #9999? After noticing that I was writing WAY less and having severe issues with connecting to the internet (thus impacting communication, dream-completing, book and blog-post-writing, job searching, bill-paying and oh, every other aspect of my life), she quietly ordered a 13" MacBook for my Christmas present this year; I am typing on it, now. Did I mention that she coordinated all of this while in a war zone? Yeah. She's made of 100% awesomeness.

Dearest Veena, thank you, thank you, thank you.

This post was brought to you by the letters "V", "S" and "B" and the number "1". I have just one sibling, but I couldn't ask for anything or anyone, more. This blog post, this moment and this joy exists solely because of her. I am not worthy, but I am THRILLED. :) Merry Christmas, everyone!