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

90210 via the 300 in 1992

What I drove to high school, in 1992..., originally uploaded by suitablegirl.

...the one I drove was prettier, though.  :)  Like a silver-bronze, double-color Kanjeevaram. 

Obviously, it was Daddy's wehicle, but since it was bigger, slower and safer (ABS!  Airbag! In the late 80s/early 90s?? Woooo!) my father tended to start this in the mornings, wordlessly vs. my ride, and then hand me the keys, pointedly.  There was no arguing, "but...but...what about...my...fast...car with the booming system??" at that point.  ;) 

Big beats bumpin with the bass in back
All the sophisticated suckers catch a heart attack
Cos they don't understand why I act this way
Pumpin up the funky beat until the break of day
It's because I want attention when i'm ridin by
And the boys be on my kundi cos my system's fly

Um, those are totally the lyrics, btw. ;)

Anyway, I wish it were still alive, but it went to car heaven in 2003, after 360k+ faithful, solid, QUIET miles.  R.I.P. Martin (each of our cars-- except for mine-- was named by either me or my sister after a member of Depeche Mode.  Have I dated myself enough yet?)

April 12: Just What I Needed

What. A. Night.  :)

I picked up my dress and some chocolate milk (excellent tub-thumbing technique: coats the stomach!), rushed home, showered, exfoliated, moisturized, perfumed, eyelashed, glossed, tousled, glittered...and then left for erstwhile-intern-and-forever-adored Samir's "Hot Jazz, Cold Champagne"-event, for Children's Hospital, where I had a martini while listening to SMer ylrsings belt out some choons.  Lovely, yes?  But it got even BETTER. 

That event was over at midnight, so I ended up at Blue Gin for the first time since it opened in '04.  Obviously it isn't one of my favorite places, as evidenced by my four year absence from it, but on Saturday night, it was SO MUCH FUN.  Either that, or seven shots of Goose and Stoli make shitty clubs worth such capitalized proclamations of happiness. 

It feels like it has been forever since I did nothing but dance for two or three hours straight, reluctantly agreeing to leave, only to rush out because, "OMG!  They're playing TRIBE!!!  We have to dance to this!  THEN we can go!".  I forgot how much I love doing that-- and I remembered why I used to, three nights a week.  Dancing.  Love it.

I'm amazed; that used to be a total pre-req for dating-- how could I be with someone who didn't dance?  I don't think I'm being unreasonable, either.  Guys protest that they lack moves, but I love dancing to hip-hop more than anything else, so seriously, is it that difficult to fucking stand there while some girl backs that thing up or dry-humps your thigh?  Why is it so difficult to find a human thigh-master?  WHY?

Anyway, I realized that after going to see my faaaavorite DJ ever, System F/Ferry Corsten in, oh, 2004, I haven't really danced all night, which makes me sad, because that's what I always did in SF (1996-1999, 2003), NY (2002) and DC (1999-2002...the first time).  In the last four years, I was in relationships with two people who didn't really go out, or if they did (i.e., the former), it was to bars with live bands (the latter was rarely and then finally, never around...that's the LAST long distance relationship this penne will ever be in, y'all.  Ugh.). 

Cover bands at the ballroom are nice too, especially if they know what they are doing, but I'd much rather be bouncing around happily to the original version of  vs. shouting the lyrics to "Hey Ya", you know? ;)  Bars are not really my scene, like beer isn't my poison o' choice.  And you know what? Ain't no shame in my motherfucking game.  I'm a Eurotrash girl, and on Saturday, I felt more like myself than I have in years*-- and that was the greatest part of it all.**

::

* This could be a delusion brought on by eleven shots of wodka.

**The Mozzarella sticks I noshed on was lovingly hand-fed when I got home were a close second, I will totes admit that.

April 11

So much for making the "adult" Bhangra Blowout party/Electroganic at Bohemian Caverns...*

::

*which is not to say that I didn't intend to go-- I truly did.  I was all dressed up and even wearing MAC lashes...so you KNOW I thought I was going to go out.  Who the hell fucks with Elmer's school glue DUO lash adhesive if they aren't going somewhere??**

**I did end up going "out", but it was at 3am, to Marjan, where apparently, I was spotted by darling Cousin Lisa...but I didn't see her.  :(  I was just trying to get the hell out of there, since it sounded like there was a huge brown fight right outside, near Zara...not that the shitty chaos within the restaurant was much more pleasant.  Ah, Bhangra Blowout weekend...like me, you never change.

April 8

Yesterday's shenanigans (aside from one legendary hh at Mate/more lemon rice at Amma) are classified. Which means they were *awesome*. :)

Barbie shoes

Barbie shoes, originally uploaded by suitablegirl.

I severely injured my ankle almost exactly a year ago; I went from an ace bandage to a very awkward, heavy walking cast which consumed half of my leg. I was headed for surgery, and a very difficult recovery.  My mom started to plan a leave of absence from her job, so she could help and take care of me.  Yeah.  That bad.

At that point, I owned over 100 pairs of heels, all of which were immediately rendered useless. NB: it wasn't my heels which caused my injury. According to my doctor, because of a horrifying injury in my teens which never healed properly and a nasty kick to the ankle during that one summer I played soccer, my ankle was doomed to fail at some point, and it was amazing that I had made it to age 32 without it doing so.  Um...yay?

I used to live in my heels. And when I say heels, I mean 3.5-4 inch *heels*. I wore them every day. On the rare occasion that I wore flats, my friends asked if I was feeling all right. My much-loved shoes were as part of my visual or external identity as my penchant for skirts, long hair or my aversion to hosiery (I may prefer the right coast, but my legs don't give a shit for such quirks).

April 5

This is Stacy.

I haven't seen her since our graduation, in 2001.

I got to catch up with her, today.  :)

We went to lunch at Zorba's in Dupont (something I've always meant to do, but never got around to), where we dined alfresco.  Then, because I still hadn't had my coffee, we walked all the way down New Hampshire to Illy Caffe in the West End.  Since we had meandered THAT far, Stace asked if we might visit GW, since we were so close.  "Excellent idea," I replied.

We molested the hippo (for good luck), wandered past our old classrooms, marveled at the ridiculously luxe new version of the Marvin Center, shook our heads at the large, genuine Starbucks that is in the library (in!  IN!) and appreciated how much prettier University Yard has become.

In short, we acted like old people.  :)  It was fun.  We promised not to let seven years pass until we hung out again.  I promised to see her, the next time I am near Philadelphia.  The list of people in or around that great city whom I must visit grows!

April 4: a la mode

I have to write this down, because to me, it is a very big deal-- I wore real shoes tonight, to my  meeting-dinner at Heritage India. 

It was exhilarating, to walk down my front steps while wearing something other than a pair of ballet-fucking-flats. Now before you tsk-tsk...I wasn't wearing crazy heels-- more kitten-- but still.  They had pointy toes!  Pointy!  Ballet flats have rounded toes, you see. :)  Ballet flats are also the only vaguely "nice" shoes which could accommodate my ever-useless-ankle during this looooooong, past year of injury.  Oh, the repetitive, boring, limited choice-iness of it all.

Also awesome:  the balmy weather, which rendered my coat superfluous.  The aloo tikki/ma ki dal/laccha paratha were flawless (and what I had been craving for a while).   Oh, and the conversation about what comes next wrt my involvement in this exciting new endeavor...that wasn't bad, either. :)

April 3

I'm sad enough-- this shitty, grey, dreary, wet weather is neither welcome nor appreciated.  Cold is one thing, wet is another...must they both occur simultaneously?  It's April.  April!

I'm dazed by the sheer number of "eek"-inducing things with which I am currently contending...which is why I'm proud of how I made the best of today, when one of my appointments got rescheduled and then finally canceled.  What I initially wanted to do was go home, dry off and then hide in a blanket fort.  What I did was impulsively wander out of the rain and chill in to a nearby museum, where I was rewarded for such a constructive choice; I found a whole suite of paintings, glass and sculpture that made my soul swoon. 

The fact that a majority of that art had to do with loss or death isn't surprising, is it?  This bleakness too, shall pass, though not fucking soon enough, my friends.

April 1: The Joke is on me.

I took my ring off.

April fools!

Except...it wasn't a joke.   This is really happening.  On top of every other fucking problem (aptjobworkhealthandmore) I am facing now, I can comfort myself with the bitter truth that I'll face it all, alone. 

You know, I was fine. 

I was done with everything.  I believed that I was not the marrying kind and I had made peace with that.  But then I met someone.  And he knew the odds of getting his way and the strength of my will, but he persisted, because he wanted me to give it/him/us...a shot.  And I did.  Stupid girl.  I should have stuck to my cynicism.

But how could I?  My sister, who traditionally loathes my boyfriends, was charmed.  And that fact obliterated my Mother's considerable disapproval and negativity; if V liked him, he had to be ridiculously fantastic.  And so I dumbly believed in happily ever after, after all.  It  felt like a dream.  I mean, how awesome was this: all of my friends had married men who didn't get along with their parents/siblings/families.  My family and my boyfriend were in a mutual admiration society.  Go me!

I should have know better.  I should have known that nothing so fantastic can last, that the rug would get yanked out from under my feet sooner or later, and that I'd fall.  I just didn't think that lightning could strike twice, that I would lose someone because of...this.  Again.

It doesn't  matter that I tried to do everything to prevent this from happening, because so what if I gave it my all...once again, it wasn't good enough.  Why do I fucking bother.