114,000 now?

anything I do seems irrelevant at this point.
so many people dead.
my day goes on but whatever happens gets put into perspective. I think about the extent of this tragedy all the time.

anyway. I am taking back one of my statements earlier... about my belief in people.
There are a lot of people out there who moved their asses to find a way to help.
On the day of the news of the tsunamis the American Red Cross received 18 Mio. dollars in donations.

so. I moved my ass, whipped out that overdrawn credit-card and donated, too.
now, at least, I don't suck all thaat much anymore.

if you have your wallet on you, click here:
http://www.usaid.gov/our_work/humanitarian_assistance/disaster_assistance/help/index.html
or here:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4248155

I feel very blessed and puzzled on why my life has been pretty good so far. Of course, I've been bitching but really... I am very lucky compared to all the people worldwide who have to endure so much suffering.
Is this all random?
Back I am at the question of What is Life all about?

Anyway, if you're greatful for what you have then go donate.

Very bad story from last night (cellphone guy meeting) I will tell a little later.
I am still shaking.

now what should I say to that? (lost cellphone story part#1)

so, I lost my cellphone a week ago or so. i switch my number the next day to an old-ass phone and begin checking my voicemail for messages left during my separation from my number.
guy leaves message ..."yeah, somebody called my phone from this number. call me back."
so I call and tell him that I dropped my phone on the street somewhere and whoever found it must be someone who knows his phonenumber by heart.
I convince him to help me get my phone back somehow.
guy is pretty street, as far as I can tell, but nevertheless quite honest. calls me back a few times with speculations about which of his boys might have that nice nextel. finally, after a few days he calls again and tells me he noticed one of his friends with his new treasure. It's my phone.
That's great, I say (trying not to say 'fantastic', 'fabulous' or any similar kind of dorky-white-chick or funny-gay-man words). "I'm so excited!" (realize, shouldn't have said that either. sounded just as above established stereotypes.)
"Yeah, well," the guy says, "I don't think he's gonna give it to you, though."
"Ehm, why are you calling me then?" I say. "Are you teasing me?"
"Well, maybe he could give you your sim-card ...or maybe you could work out a deal," he says.
work out a deal? I wonder, the guy found my phone...what kind of deal will he prepare for me? Will I have to buy back my phone?

mediator guy (Jose, I find out is his name) tells me once again that he's going to call me back.
Days pass by and he finally calls this evening telling me I could meet the guy who has my phone and I should set up a date and time.

Well, I'm really not planning to buy back my phone (given that I got it from my job...i.e. never paid a dime for it), ...and the sim-card won't fit in this stupid old phone I am using now anyway. But I am really intrigued to find out what the hell this dude is going to say (Hi, nice to meet you ...I ain't givin' you your phone, just so you know.";) , ...so I am meeting those two tomorrow eve.

Wish me luck.

50.000 dead and counting....

I just can't get over these devastating news of the earthquake (and tsunamis) at the coasts of the Indian Ocean. 50.000 people.... all the news of war casualties (civil, soldiers, whatever side) which have upset me over the past months (and years) are suddenly put into perspective. So much more shit going on in this world.
Of course, this is a natural catastrophe but that doesn't take away from its impact and its reminder of how little we matter (we humans ... in this history of the world...this planet).

I wish I could drop everything, organize a big troop of volunteers and get over there to help.
But my belief in people (and the sacrifices they're willing to make) is rather faint...
It takes a lot to take such action. A lot of faith and determination and a whole bunch of other virtues only a few are equipped with.

i suck.
(but as the world keeps turning I am putting in a moment of silence in light of this very terrible disaster.)

jobs on the horizon (where they remain)

got offered a pretty cool job (and with cool I mean well paid)... unfortunately there's no way I'd get down to Wall Street by 9am.
i can't even make it to my job which is a 15 min. commute by car...i don't think I can even term this kind of drive to work a "commute" ... .... if I didn't have two small children I would have sooo taken that job...just to move on already.
sigh .. here is the more detailled mail my friend sent me (the one of referred me):

>yo mama,
>it's paying betwn 65k to 80k a year that's a lot of money. staff photographer for the nasdaq. >they will buy any and all the digital equip you want. shooting mostly guys in ties. sitting on >your ass, uploading the daily images to the website and maintaining their archives.
>piece of cake for you.
>call me so you can be a rich bitch.
>kelly

NY vs Austria news

here some of today's headlines of NYC local news:

Ripoffs secretly for sale
Man hurled down garbage shaft
Homeless man pitied, killed
Ex-con shot dead by cops
2 hurt as cops nab driver in smash-&-dash
May lose license - for 82nd time
The Justice Story: The South Side Strangler

and here some of today's headlines from Vorarlberg (where I grew up in Austria):

(Arrested: Two thieves in Bludenz and Dornbirn)
(Illegal Race: Undercover police patrol stopped two people 'racing' in Bregenz.
(traffic accident in Koblach)
(recent study: half of all women betw.14 and 24 are in danger of becoming shop-aholics)
(continued avalanche danger)

what happens when the TV/PC stays off one night

I can tell you what happens. Quality-time, ...no kidding. It's almost too corny to blog but D and I had a really good time yesterday and not once did he stray away to the computer or suggest we watch some TV.
Haven't had that much fun with him in a long time.
He must be having an affair.

I JUST can't help it can I? ... but I tell you, everytime I'm suspiciously happy it turns out he's been doing some sh*t behind my back.
This time, I'll try to not notice anything.
Me like-y happiness. And isn't happiness a very vague concept anyway. It's subjective and fragile and totally up to one's state of mind rather than one's state of being (i.e. all physical circumstances). Being happy isn't that easy but if you're good at being positive it doesn't matter what life throws in your way. You'll just deal with it, move on, see the positive aspects, make the best of it.
Hey, don't you like my pep-talk? ... Now I just gotta learn to live by it. ;)

Amongst many little mishaps today (yes, it was one of those days...see "bad day anyone" post earlier somewhere) the one that certainly outlined itself as the highlight of bad luck (or stupidity on my part) was when I managed to spill coffee into my bag three ... I repeat THREE... times in a row. This happened in the waiting room of my physical therapist's office. People started shaking their heads. As I was cleaning up the mess, I fought my tears (of laughter) while trying to satisfy myself with whatever caffeeine was left in the sugary disgusting stuff on the bottom of the cup.
If it things get this ridiculous, staying positive is actually much easier than at other times. Then again, I might also be close to a nervous break-down at that point and might possibly mistake my quiet laughter for positive attitude.
;)

Maia the Toddler Linguist

we're washing our hands. Maia has two soaps to her disposal but, of course, wants my precious body&bath&whatever-anyway-too-much-money-spent-on-it soap.
"ok, but only a liiittle bit." I say.
she manages to squeeze a quite small amount on her hand. I'm amazed, for she usually goes for whole hand coverage (on both hands).
Feeling a bit guilty about my stingyness I explain: " Only a little bit because this is special soap. it is very expensive."
Silence. Maia rubs her hands obviously in deep thought.
Then she looks up to me and asks: "it's soap for pants??"
"pants?" I wonder... then I catch up to her analysis of the word she just heard..
"ex-pants-sive".

;)

moving on where/what/why?

Dario is once again ready to move on. Mr. A.D.D., I tell you.
Aren't you happy in our new place," I asked him, "I mean, we just moved here barely a year and a half ago. It's possibly one of the best deals one can find in NYC but already you are unhappy and want more or different things. Don't you like our view of the water reservoir or the GW Bridge? Do you feel cramped in our 1000 sq.feet? Is the $300 mortgage too low? Does it make the place seem less worth? What about the 15 min. commute to work? Too short?
- "no", he said, " I just want to move on. I'm ready. I want a house already. Or I want to move out of NYC. I've been here all my life."
- "did it ever occur to you that you might not be able to be happy? cause I'm seeing a pattern here. Your enthusiasm is great before getting ANYTHING that's new or different but it always wears off quickly and then your comments go from "I would be so happy with this [...]" to "I hate this [...]". ... the car, the dog, every place we ever moved to, ...you name it."
- "I've wanted a house for a long time. I'm ready."
- " I think you're romanticizing house ownership. It's no picknick. We are living from pay-check to pay-check now, how would we afford a house? Also, there is ALWAYS something broken in a house... always things to do and we both know you ain't doing anything unless we're at the verge of a break-up."

- "what about Austria?" he asked. "Are we going to move there or not?"

I really want to move back, I do. But I have come to the conclusion that this might be more complicated than I have thought. Before, I was only thinking about difficulties such as finding a job, me having to readjust to the Austrian work-ethic and coping with the fact that I will actually have to be at work by 8 a.m.
Furthermore, I worried about Dario's assimilation and employability.
It's just different over there. Much stricter. And Dario is worse with punctuality than I am.
Also, he speaks no German. ...
And what about the stupid politics ... and the lack of diversity.
Ok, granted ... politics over here very much annoying, as well....in fact, more so than anything else.... but I don't know if I could live in a country without black people. It would seem weird.
In fact, I don't think I could live anywhere in the U.S. where there is a lack of diversity... and I'm white (according to those damn check-boxes). ....
sigh... well..

AAHH. my boss just jumped into my office.
almost gave me a heart-attack.
I'm supposed to be working.... don't even have a pretend work-window up in the background, which I could quickly jump to in case of unexpected office-visits.
shit. ok. I'm getting back to work.
see. I'd be fired in Austria. ..It's even unprofessional to take any personal calls at work.
This widely spread practice here (chatting with friends online or on the phone) took me a while to adjust to. I still don't like it actually... don't have enough time.
ok.
i'm going.
bye.

haunted apartment?

I don't know if I have mentioned before that my daughter seems to be a bit psychic. She knew a month before I was pregnant. She sometimes knows who is going to call, who is coming over, and where she is going. ... So I've come to believe she's inherited a little bit of an extra sense from her dad. The latter's experiences I won't even try to put into this blog today. Too freaky.

anyway, ..so, the other night Maia comes to me, a flashlight in her hand, and tells me there is a monster in our room and how scary it looks in there. "Every dark room looks scary if you're fiddling around in it with a flash-light," I say and walk past her into the room to turn on the light.

As I reach for the light-switch of our little bedside table lamp I see something move next to me on the floor.
I almost caught a heart-attack. As I turned on the light I could see that it was Maia's teddy-bear (well, actually it used to be my older brother's) that had moved.
But really, it's hard to describe, for it happened at the same moment I reached for the light.
From my peripheral vision it looked like the teddy-bear had been dropped from a very low height.
I try to console myself with the rational thought that it had dropped from somewhere ... maybe because of vibrations I caused walking into the room?
Very lame rational explanation, especially if familiar with the room's set-up but I am clinging to it like the victim of a ship-wreck.
If I see ANYTHING of non-physical appearance in my beloved home I am moving out. Don't care how much blood,sweat, tears, and dough I've put into it.

However, grounded by this very spooky experience I brought myself to say out loud, "there are no monsters, honey..... ghosts maybe...but no monsters." As if that was going to make it ok.

Later on, as I was laying in bed with Maia (finishing her bed-time story) I investigated a bit more (since I was still a bit freaked out).
I asked, "so what does the monster do to you, Maia?"
"It pushes me into the stomach" she replied promptly.
"When does this happen?" I asked.
"At night, when I want to come to your bed."
"So,...you tell that monster to get away and to stop it, ok?"
"ok." she sighed.
A little while later, as she drifted off to sleep she mumbled: "Mami, ... the monster is not listening. It's not going away."

Kids really have a quite vivid imagination. ... But she's not even three, yet. I thought this starts later on. ... The whole imaginary friend... or in this case foe kinda thing.

and so the back-talking begins

it's bedtime. once again Maia has managed to procrastinate her daily fate by announcing that she has to poop, which could mean an indefinite time on the toilet with or without result.
So, there she sits, in the bathroom, a book on her lap, reading out loud. For the third time I approach her with the question, whether or not she's finished. girl ignores me.
"excuuse me. hellooo. I am talking to you", I plead.
she sighs... "well, you're talking aaall the time."
I'm in shock and perplexed I answer: "well, excuse me... I asked you a question."
she sighs again deeply, looks at me and says in her coolest voice: "what?"
"are you done?", I ask(without correcting her language...still shocked by her fresh tone).
"Nope." she finishes me up and goes back to reading her book.

Note to myself: need to work on disciplining skills.

got screwed >:C

got screwed big time. did this website for a discount price (half of what I usually charge as a favor to the person referring me). anyway, they screwed me, are not paying me.HEY, this is my blog I can publish NAMES if I want to:it is the South Beach Hostel in Miami Beach that has screwed me. Spent two months on the design, thanks to the manager who took weeks to reply to my e-mails and subtly pushed off work which was his on me (i.e. communication with online reservations agent, hosting company, registration comp. etc.).
Anyway, in the fall I finally got them to go live. explained that a website was a dynamic thing and edits will always hang in the air...they should go live, losing business if not, etc....so finally I got the ok to publish.then the owner comes around and says he wants to edit a few lines and change a margin/color/graphic here and there. I remind them of my discount price to them but do changes anyway (sucker that I am).Finally submit my invoice.Hear nothing back.Then get notice from the person who referred me to them that they're not going to pay me.Something about taking too long with changes or ..whatever. Realize that little manager bastard I had been dealing with used me to blame his unprofessionalism and tardiness in e-mail reply on when being confronted by his boss (the owner). Unfortunate thing is, though, that the manager and the boss are best friends or something so my word won't count shit.
So, I went to the site and realize that they are using some twenty dollar design someone threw together based on some generic template he probably downloaded off of some site.
ooooh. I got sooo screwed. 1500 bucks. ... good thing I made a 1500 bucks site for them as opposed to what I usually create. Then I would have been really pissed.BUT either way it's 1500 dollars. ... and I have 89 in my account...soo it's not like I didn't need it.BAAASTAAAARDS!!!!!!!
this should teach me. ... DON't ever do a job without a making a written contract before-hand.And if you do and they screw you, you better be evil enough to f*ck them over the same way afterwards.Unfortunately, I am not, otherwise I would mobilize my Hacker friends to take them offline for as long as they try to get on.Why do I have to be so bloody ethical? Why can't I be on the screwing end for a change? Why do I always end up as the victim? I'm such a stupid sucker. So many past-midnight hours... so much work down the drain.

hopping with a bright red cane

hey carla,
thanks for the photo link.
always love to look at your travel albums (..live vicariously through you;) ... better make sure you're done traveling before putting any off-spring out there (well.."out there" wouldn't be so bad, I suppose... I should be more specific ... in YOUR house taking over YOUR life for the next 18 or so years;) ... am I being too cynical? oh well, I'm allowed to ...I'm a second-time mom at the edge.

OK, here my book suggestion... Haven't read it, of course (like I have time to;) but am very intrigued to (supposed to be funny, odd, etc.) :
"Naked" by...ehm... I should look it up..hold on... ok, hope this link works when you click it: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0316777730/qid=1102003399/sr=2-1/ref=pd_ka_b_2_1/002-6683477-6728860
The book is by David Sedaris.

gotta go walk the dog now. sh*t, it's cold. don't want to. but dario (usually damned to midnight dog walking) twisted his ankle yesterday and has been hopping around with a cane since then.
He called me from the road when it happened. I had to hold my laughter, for he was telling me --whose 18 hour labor he had been present for -- how this was the worst pain he had ever felt and "oh, no".. he was getting nauseous. He was a bit insulted by my giggles and told me it's not funny. Honey, I told him, you twisted your ankle and you act like you got shot. To me that's funny.

Anyway, everytime he puts too much pressure on the bad foot he squeals like a girl. Does complain about the questionable look of the cane I got him, though. Apparently it's not manly enough for him (granted, I did buy it at the 99cents store. bright-red, shiny, and quite nicely shaped). However, may I add that he uttered this macho-complaint only a second after he had urged me to not change the radio-station, for it was playing his (and I quote:) favorite song in the whole wide world ... something by the Bee Gees.
I told him to reexamine the possiblity of him being gay, after all. Fine with me. I'd love to have a good excuse to finally go have sex with someone else. He told me to shut up and that he's just very comfortable with his sexuality. okey-dokey.

oh well. enough procrastination.
going to walk the dog now.
nite-nite,
s. :)

pop-up visits are ok

hey val,
really would love to come visit one day ...meet your kids and all...but I'm not getting my hopes up too high, for I can't even make it to my best friend's more than 3 times a year and she lives in Queens. ;)

HEY, but if you're in NYC (or the Bronx, that is)... feel free to come see us! Just give me a call. I don't care about pop-up visits either. My house will always be a mess (at least for the next few years), so I'm not even going to try to pretend I can keep it clean at this point.

I'm planning to take the kids to a holiday event in the Bronx Zoo this Sunday. They'll have live reindeer and lights ...well, I guess, they always have live reindeer there..after all, it is the zoo. ...
Anyway, ... let me know if you're up to it.

;) ttyl,
s.

changing my blogging format (it's for the better)

ok. so I've decided to change my blogging format the following way:
I will begin posting excerpts from some of my e-mails to friends. These usually contain similar information to what I blog and this way I'll save time. The way my life is going at this moment I just don't have much me-time at the computer anymore (unless someone starts paying me and I can defend it as having to work but we all know that ain't gonna happen especially if I keep on saying 'ain't' and use such bad syntax).

So expect e-mail style blogs.
I'm gonna copy/paste one right now.
hold on.

what my daughter wants to be when she grows up

I'm standing in the bathroom trying to fix my hopeless hair as Maia stands next to me obviously restraining herself from picking up the toilet brush, which I've told her is off limits many times. As I watch her in amazement (amazed that she is actually adhering to rules I've set up) she looks at me and tells me straight up (and I quote): Mom, ...when I grow up I'm gonna clean toilets!"

Oh, perfect. That's the kind of ambition you want to see in your child.
Calm myself with the thought that she's 2 and might still change her mind on her career goals.

I don't know how she does it

... has it really been that long that I haven't written. It's frustrating not to have time to blog. I am constantly blogging in my mind. Everything I see I want to comment on. Maybe I'll get a dictaphone so I won't forget what I would like to write down.

Was in training all week. XML. Good thing I don't work in Manhattan, although it definitely would be cool I would have even bigger motherhood guilt issues than I already have working mostly from home. Also, I'd be broke in a minute.

Spent 10 bucks on lunch the first day. I had a small salad and a bottle of water.
So, the second day I skipped lunch and went window-shopping, only that the window-shopping turned into real shopping and I arrived late back at class with a bag full with 250$ worth of clothing.

I can't concentrate. Tv on with strange children show, Maia asking to be fed, Dario not listening for is solely focused on not going outside of lines in one of Maia's coloring-books. Must hide box of crayons from him. Baby is trying to bang on keyboard next to me. ...

Before I log off... one book recommendation for every working mother ... it's hilarious... and at times like an exact documentation of my life.
Another advantage of commuting in and out of Manhattan every day -> get to read (on the train).
... oh... almost forgot here's the booktitle:
"I don't know how she does it"

ok. gotta go now. house to clean. bank to go to. baby to take care of. Maia to feed. work to do (piled up from last week while at training). calls to return.

sorryeverybody.com

A post-election thought...
http://72.3.131.10/gallery/1/

and so I went to see a geriatrics specialist...

yesterday I threw my back out lifting Maia into her stroller. spent the evening and night in compromising positions wailing about the irony of my rapidly progressing physical delapidation after I had just turned 30 last week or so.
this morning I made my way to the family practitioner, who I had picked out of the provider listing while being rushed by one of the Health Benefits people at my job. Usually I research myself to death about everything. I am a walking information center when it comes to the important things in my life ...well, that was all before I had kids.
Picking a primary care physician then (before kids): weeks of research on internet, thorough investigation of listings in Best Doctors of New York issues, interrogation of friends and family about their physicians, doctor qualification checks, comparisons, browsing of considered doctors' publications and contributions to the medical world, and last, but not least location location location (Upper East Side preferred, for have wealthy clients and thus have to keep their act together...i.e. clean office, comfortable waiting area, professional reception, etc.)
Picking a primary care physician this time (i.e. after having adult life and thus time to research): Check if doctor takes our insurance plan. Check if doctor lives in same zip code, preferably on same block.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I sure picked one crappy place that way.
First of all, I couldn't find the damn office and ...mind you...they are on the same street as I.
Once I finally located the building, it was a mission to A) find the doctor's office listed (finally noticed small note written with permanent marker next to intercom) and B) to actually get into building (Chinese delivery guy let me in) and then find office inside (had to wait for tenants passing by to tell me where the doc's office was located...i.e. NO signs whatsoever).

Once I walked into the reception/waiting area I kinda wanted to turn right around. It was like walking into someone's living room. I felt like I'm invading someone's privacy. The secretary had secured a small corner of the room (which she wasn't sitting in) where she seemed to collect paperwork on a rather random basis of organization. There was no computer, not even a typewriter. The mail in- and out-box where from the 1960s. Once the surprised secretary showed up (surprised to have a patient, I suppose), she gave me an old clip-board to fill in new patient information onto a form someone must have put together 20 years ago or so. (Why does it matter if I am single, married or widowed ... on a doctor's form?)
She then asked me to sign a blank piece of paper (that made me nervous) and requested the $15 co-payment I owed. "At least she knows about the practice of co-payments", I thought as I was digging for change, for they didn't accept credit-cards, of course.
She wrote me a pretty badly torn out receipt, which I think I'm going to have to scan in for you to believe me.
Not only did she put the date down as 2003 but she also misspelled the word fifteen. Unless she learned to write on her own and that's how she makes f-s and t-s (she wrote Tibteen).
Anyway, if you think the mispelling, computer-illiterate (in this day and age) receptionist was bad imagine her leading you into a dusty, messy, and poorly equipped examination room and then multifunctioning as the nurse. At least, wear the white coat to fool me! Thank God, she didn't attempt taking blood or anything but she did try to take my weight (I had to operate the scale, for she was going the wrong way with the top part of it). I had to work hard not to laugh when she then wanted to measure me. I said, "Honey, I'm 30 years old. I haven't grown in 10-15 years. But feel free. Take my measurements." It should be noticed, that I also didn't have to take any of my clothes off for this so-called physical (THANK GOD). But who takes a weight measurement with clothes on (in a doctor's office?!) and a height measurement with shoes on??

Anyway, the doctor turned out to be a really nice guy (I mean, so was the secretary) but there was no examination and I think he was a bit scared of me. When I read his newsletter ( he has a newsletter? you may wonder - yes. a 4 page edition evidently home-printed), I learned that he specializes in geriatrics (oh, well ... I AM getting old). Most of the newsletter adressed the symptoms and remedies for dementia (=altzheimer's), and arthritis.
I must have looked soo out of place.
I sure felt like it.

Well, I didn't get much out of this whole visit. The doc told me to go take tylenol and call him back if the pain doesn't go away. Did he not hear the part, where I told him I was sleeping on the floor because I couldn't take the pain anymore? Did he not hear when I said I get stuck in certain positions as if someone had just shot me? And what about the fact that I walked in and out of that office as if I were one of his regular patients (i.e. 89 years old)?

ok. gotta go get the heating pad.

no time for spirituality

how does one find time for spirituality when one doesn't even find time to eat? how does one find spirituality when one can't really find a place in organized religion (i.e. spirituality) - personally this refers to my dilemma of having been brought up islamic in a country with a population construed of 98% catholics. Can't do the Catholic thing, can't do the Christian thing, period, for do not believe in Jesus being son of God...or trinity and such...thus -> problem being Christian (i.e. commit to going to church every Sunday for an hour or two). Can't do the islamic thing, for have no community I fit in (community -> very important when practicing any kind of religion). Can't do the Bhudda thing, for cannot suddenly change Gods altogether. Darn faith thing all drilled in my mind, so I had to take religion out of the equation altogether. But really, the equation that brought me to my agnostic standpoint is much more complicated than that.
Doesn't matter. Point is that I am having a huge void of spirituality and sense of balance in my life. If one doesn't have religion one at least needs nature, I believe. Nature is a very powerful thing to make us feel closer to God. So, one thing I haven't lost is my believe in God, although I think maybe he might be losing his belief in me...
After all, I'm not giving him/her much to work with lately. Sometimes I'm so out of touch (i.e. take everything in my life for granted) I forget what this is all about. Not that I know what the meaning of life is...... but .... well, one thing I know and that is....we're supposed to live. Live a life. Have a life. Make a good one out of it. And with good, I don't mean get oneself hooked up with all kinds of material shit but good in the sense of ...happiness...generosity...kindness etc.....
Then again, I look at the general human (with all his greed, basic instincts, and need to hate and kill and whatnot ...<-is that a word?) and I wonder,... maybe we're just supposed to live and that's it. That can't be it. It just can't.
Ohmygosh, I just wanted to figure out where to find spirituality in the daily mess that is my life right now and here I go again,.... beginning to philosophize about the question whether mankind is good or evil. This is not blog-material, sis... too complex ...

Anyway, I know where I can get spirituality from ... it is nature. Unfortunately, I haven't sat on a rock and looked at the sky in years so I'm pretty much shot there.
Let's see...what else. I've tried a couple of books. Problem is they have to be pragmatic enough for me to accept them as serious reading material (and that's hard to find or evaluate from cover-judging). Can't do that whole new-age kinda crap.
Last good book I bought in that genre... Letters to a Spiritual Seeker by Henry David Thoureau.
Note how I wrote "bought".... as opposed to "read". One would need time to read as much as one would need time to sit on a darn rock. So I might as well just give up or make some serious time to fill this void. HA, but how?
Not possible. Just not possible. I barely get to sit down to write this blog. So many things I would have liked to jot down, didn't have the time, and then forgot about... it's sad.

oh, well. gotta go.
10,000 things to do.
and it's 11:30pm...
sigh.

got 5 minutes

quick thoughts I can jot down in 5 minutes... then my crazy day continues..no time to write
came to conclusion that I really have bad service karma. after spa breakdown drama 2 weeks ago (see previous blog somewhere..."bad day anyone") I have now figured out where my excruciating sudden neckpain is coming from. I've traced it back to pre-haircut shampoo-girl, who gave me 2 minute shampoo with head-neck massage from hell (she had iron-clamp-fingers, I swear...so skinny but beware of those freakishly strong hands...well, I guess if you shampoo all day you get to exercise those muscles.). Damn, and they made me tip her 5 bucks, too. ...geez, I remember the days when I wasn't willing to pay much more than that for my haircut itself.
I'm really getting old.
hope that neck thing isn't a permanent injury.
I'm not the suing (sueing, sue-ing?) type. If I were, I should have sued my dentist, who was supposed to change the fillings in my front teeth and instead changed my front teeth for caps without telling me. I kept on wondering what the hell he was doing and then one day I took the mirror while he stepped out and realized he had taken out my teeth. I almost went into shock.
Haven't been to the dentist in 4 years now. Traumatized....
shoot. gotta go.
write later.

what I got for my birthday (husband collecting minus points)

thought it couldn't get worse after last "mixed tape" (well CD, actually) D made for me...with "all his heart".... and "with all our songs". I don't know what hoochie he was thinking of but none of those songs were "our songs". Looked more like he just collected all slow-jam summer '95 songs he could find on kazaa, burned them on a CD and tried to pass it off as a project he had put thought into.... just for me. sigh.

However, what my dear husband gave me for my birthday WASN'T FUNNY AT ALL!
No card, no diamonds (not that I want diamonds but I'm just saying), nothing fancy saying you look like a hot 20-year old to me...
Nooo...what does he give me....he gives me a bottle of Menopause Relief tablets.
HA. HA. very funny.

new haircut (unfortunately no haircut in the world can save that stupid face...sigh) 

the day after new haircut (don't have to
be black to have a nappy mornin';)

15 minutes of being 30

ok. so I just turned 30 years old about 17 minutes ago... aaahhh.
over with the twenties. now I'm officially a grown-up, right? No more excuses.

I've gone from anti-wrinkle-craze-ridiculer to having-found-my-first-wrinkle-panic.

people. it's too late. I was gonna bitch about that show "wife-swap" and the scary extremes of characters (especially in last week's show). I was gonna continue on some relationship philosophies and I was gonna bitch about politics....
unfortunately ... I am too tired to even get out one more sentence that makes sense...

later... i'll try.

100 year old water turtle - NY Aquarium 

NY Aquarium Sharks 

New York Aquarium - sharks with distinct personalities... I swear, one of them looked like Joe Pesci 

relationships. what for?

can someone explain to me what relationships are good for? Is it me or aren't they just mostly a pain in the ass for all involved parties ... most of the time? I hope it's me, cause if not then that's one triste outlook for any potential future relationships (i.e why waste time in a relationship ever again?).
Isn't your partner supposed to be the person you're supposed to be able to count on when you need to and when there is nobody else to count on anymore?

A vague memory of my old - much more independent and purer - self reminds me of the fact that this is a very bad expectation to have of your partner, for it will inevitably lead to disappointment (at least, in most cases).

In the beginning (and with beginning I mean, a couple of years...for it's been 9 years this past Summer since D and I first started going out) I never expected anything of him. I was my own person and that was that. No bitterness attached to this perception.... just life as I saw it. I always paid for my own way (didn't like when a man paid for my food/drink/etc.) and never expected help in whatever I planned, thus never was in for any disappointments.

Once again, ... living here has changed me.
I've begun to expect certain things of certain people (not because they fulfill them but because the mere presence of the expectation is a given by surroundings. ... I remember, the first time someone asked me why my husband isn't doing this or that for me...and then "good thing you have a husband to help you out with that" ... etc. etc. etc. I never realized that the expectation of help didn't change anything in the actual situation but my attitude. And that wasn't a good thing. I became dependent. I begun to wait for stuff to happen I would have done on my own in a minute. And then... when they wouldn't get done I became frustrated and resentful. It's been a vicious cycle. ... Dario's "Honey-please-do-list" I once compiled is a complete waste of paper. The items on that list are sometimes over a year old and certain things I didn't even bother putting on the reworked (i.e. edited) list anymore (e.g. things I can't wait for... floors need to be mopped, bathrooms need cleaning, no matter who's turn it is...as a result, Dario hasn't cleaned a toilet in like a year and a half).
Now, why don't I just do all that shit myself?
I used to do stuff myself (put up shelves, hang pictures, troubleshoot my computer, fix the VCR, etc.) why have I become such a hussy? Granted I have no more time to do any such simple task as to brush my own hair sometimes, I stopped being self-sufficient way before my kids entered the picture.
Of course, now that they're here and there is no time for anything AND I am still hoping D would actually take a look at that list one of these days NOTHING gets done anymore.

So tell me again, why are we in relationships then? If not to help each other out on all kinds of levels? Why do we put ourselves through so much emotional shit? For the sake of familiar intimacy? Companionship?? But then that's not what I call companionship. Wouldn't a companion be more like a friend... so ... why struggle through a relationship then?
I mean, not for nothing have I always put as much emphasis on my friendships as on my family relations... if not more so. Friends can last forever ... relationships mostly don't ... and if they do, you're lucky. Isn't it so?

soo tired.
if he could only see how much I need his support now more than ever. this whole situation is killing me. back at work full-time. both kids by myself when I get home from a day often without even so much as a lunch break. D at school every night until almost 10pm. loads of housework and left-over regular work after the kids are finally down (putting down 2 kids under 3 ....at the same time....isn't an easy task.). no life of my own. tense neck, cramped up back, and a chronic stomach ache. It's not fucking easy to then be very diplomatic, although lately I've been making a real effort to actively work on some issues we've been having. D, however, misinterprets my attempts to talk about certain things with resolutions in mind as some sort of nagging and his favorite reply to anything I would like to talk about nowadays is "let it go already." or today the nicer version "shut the fuck up already." ... now see, I can't be talked to that way. Things turn off there. I might have lived in the ghetto for almost 10 years now but I refuse to become that ghetto.
Respect is something you must not lose in a relationship or things will fall apart.
They will.

It's sad because I know we have love. It's just buried somewhere right now and we would have to dig for it (i.e. work on the relationship a bit. do some maintenance. ...but I don't have the energy to be the initiator anymore. the one to pull us out of the deep again. I don't have the energy and I'm afraid of what might happen now...I'm afraid because I have kids now...it's not about me anymore...I can't just say..."oh, I don't need a man to be happy," which honestly I don't ...but my kids need one...and that's their father. D is, after all, a really good dad.)

I know now why drinking is prohibited in Islam. Cause one way or the other we will probably all reach this point where we just wanna be drunk as often as possible to make it through. Good thing I was raised with this very strong resistance towards drinking otherwise, I'd be trying to be drunk at least by noon ;)
And,...since I'm nursing...I can't smoke or ANYTHING.
It sucks to be sober all the time. ;)

are urbanites doomed to become antisocial?

the antisocial act I pulled today bordered on pathetic.
maybe I acted the way I did because I was getting myself through the day with barely 2 or 3 hours of (INTERRUPTED) sleep but my old - austrian&well-mannered self would have pulled me to the side for some serious scolding (if it weren't buried so deep in my new ego-centric been-in-nyc-too-long self).
So, anyway... as the day passed by (me mostly being an uproductive crank-head) I had repeatedly expressed my reluctance to have any "guests" over tonight, for Dario kept on mentioning that an old roomate of ours (who somehow keeps herself in the picture...no comment here. it's a story in itself.) was going to maybe pass by with her husband and kid, both of whom are actually really nice. daugther - nice kid & husband - TV-addicted but otherwise very nice dude.
Anyway, when the bell rang in the late afternoon I began to panic. Oh no, D didn't make up any excuses on why today wasn't a good day for visiting. So I ran. Literally. I grabbed my bag, a book, a netflix movie, and dashed out the door shouting, "ok, D. I'll be upstairs then (at R.s house)". Maia in anticipation of visitors tried to follow me into the hallway but since I hadn't had the time to grab a key I couldn't just lock the door assuring her safety.
So, there I am in the hallway, my eyes frantically oscillating between elevator floor status display and Maia at door, threatening her like I would Trouble (with stomping my foot on the floor and instructing with deep, authoritative voice to go and stay inside. Close the door in front of her, again and run back to the emergency stairs. Stay there until elevator hits our floor and peek back to make sure Maia who, of course, has opened the door again isn't letting in strangers but in fact our unexpected guests. I hear familiar voices and silently close the emergency exit stair door.
Knock on R's door with request to accept refugee status of mine. She accepts and I get to plomp myself on the couch with my book.
20 minutes later the phone rings.
Turns out, Dario and our guests thought I am in the bedroom with screaming baby (trying the cry-out method or something) until D finally goes to check why the baby is so unusually hysterical. Finds Maia by herself in bedroom with baby (on bed), applying lotion all over her little sister. Eyes and everything.
I drop everything and run downstairs.
Baby seems ok. Her hair is quite funky looking and her eyes a bit reddened and she still seems to be recovering from traumatic Maia-balming but otherwise all is fine.
Maia is crying on her time-out chair. Poor thing. Didn't mean bad but explains that she just wanted baby to be "all cleean and beauutiful".
I run down "things-not-to-do-with-the-baby" with her again and let her go.
So much for my pretend-I'm working on co-op board stuff with Rosa. Have to stay now and watch super-loud cops, america's most wanted and the apprentice, for tv-addicted hubby cannot and must not miss any show, never mind the fact that he's engaging in supposed social event ... visit at our place. but who am I to judge, right ;)

bad day anyone?

my bad days aren't your average bad days... they are usually a succession of unlucky accidents, which ultimately turn the day into a self-fulfilling prophecy, or so I theorize, for I just cannot believe the way things go when I have a "bad" day.
Generally, I am laughing out loud my mid-afternoon because the turn of things are just too ridiculous to be really happening.
Today...so far...a quick run-down on what's been happening.

wake up late. get kids ready for babysitter and school, respectively. by the time D is ready to leave the house (and take Maia with him to school), Maia has fully undressed herself again and sits happily on her bed announcing she isn't going. don't have time to argue. tell D to leave and I'll take her in. remind myself, not to forget family-day at her school today. go check flyer for event details. notice was supposed to make home-cooked dish as contribution to event. check fridge for any kind of left-overs not more than three days old. no luck. make mental note: throw out spaghetti from last week just sighted in back of fridge.
get on computer quickly to check workload and mail to give impression I'm starting early as opposed to real-time estimate of serious settlement in front of PC probably way past 11a.m.
have to get Maia to school, engage in family-event a bit, AND make it to 12 o'clock appointment I secured the day before at 57th St. super-haute-couture-can't-afford-services-but-have-giftcertificate-spa. (note: had left-over balance on gift-certificate dating back to pregnancy. $35.- remaining. looked through spa-booklet and realized have to add about 60.- to these $35 to be able to pay for any kind of service at this nyc upper east side place. would love to have booked "count-down to butter-massage" but can only afford "30.min.rapid.rub" <- actual names of bliss spa massages. decide I deserve...and actually need massage, for knot in my back is now the size of small state.)
Anyway, let me change this telegram-kinda writing style cause I'm losing track of the beginning of my sentences.
So, at 11 a.m. I shut down computer, realizing I'll be late if I don't get my butt out the house. Of course, it's too late now to get Maia to school and wait until she's ready to be peeled off my leg (still adjusting to preK), so I drop her off at the beloved babysitter instead.
Jump into the elevator, which goes up and down a couple of times first, before finally leaving me in the lobby. Run into Rosa, who has almost as many bags as I do (don't know why I have so many bags..let's see. handbag. plasticbag with stuff that doesn't fit in handbag. babybjoern baby carrier, which has been recalled and needs to be returned, outgoing mail, and a cup of coffee I dream of drinking at some point during this hectic morning - don't know at that point, of course, that I won't.) I manage to free up two fingers to help Rosa carry one of her bags. Pick super heavy and super-thin plastic bag which, with all the other things in my hands, I cannot keep off the floor. So, I make it down the hallway, bag semi-touching the floor but then it rips and all insides are now strewn in front of exit door. bag of sugar, mayonnaise, ketchup, etc. I try to find replacement bag in my car, Rosa urges me to get out already as not to miss appointment.
So, I am racing to the train-station. Planning to leave car somewhere parked around there. No parking. Alternate Side Parking rules in effect? ... Continue driving south to find parking along the way. Decide to get off very traffic-heavy Jerome Ave. and take a parallel route. Of course, I end up somewhere elevated, full of dead-ends ghetto-looking kind of area. See the 4 train at bottom of hill. Call D at office, to look up Alternate Side Parking rules, for I notice people have still not moved their cars. Dude pulls up next to me with music blasting SO loud, my van is vibrating and I cannot hear a thing Dario or even I am saying. Have to wait 'til ghetto-brotha moves. D announces "no ASP rules in effect today". Wish I had known earlier. Park car next to drug-dealer guy standing at top of stairs leading down to Jerome. Run down eight hundred steps to 176 St. station. Turns out the station I picked to enter subway is closed for very active, fire-sparks flying maintenance. Run back up eight hundred steps, now feeling like a thousand; creating new curse-word with every step I climb; drug-dealer guy actually makes me feel better by giving me sympathetic smile, but not good enough to hold up my cool, for when I then finally give up and call spa to cancel I am being reminded of policy and enforcement of policy that I still have to pay for full service. I break into tears and hang up. Mad at myself for crying about missed spa-date. Remind myself, crying about whole bunch of shit -> over-exhaustion. irony of me stressing to get to appointment for relaxation. 1/2 relaxation with 1 hour stressfull commute each way. wonder why I'm so stupid. want to call spa back and tell them that I'm no 5th-ave-got-too-much-money kinda costumer but will actually be quite hurt by losing 60.-, or in this case 100.- for a service I never actually received. What kind of costumer service is that? Isn't it the spa's sole function to get rid of the physical stress build-up in my life as opposed to adding to it?
Sit in my car wondering who I could call to calm me down. Want to call Rosa. Tell myself:
"don't you dare call Rosa...she has a son with leukemia who just got back from yet another stay at the hospital...she has a full-time job, is a single-mom and at the moment probably just as stressed as you are." boom. I'm back to reality. Stupid little problems of mine. Get over it.
"Don't see you crying when you receive $100 parking ticket" (although, I must say that's not true, ...if the day has been really bad I might crack at that moment of ticket issuance. $100 bucks is a LOT of money to be throwing around, dammit...I better be getting some kind of pleasure out of it).
So, I decide... let me just hop into the post-office and return that baby-bjoern carrier, which has been recalled by the manufacturer. had been contemplating for a while, whether I shouldn't just keep using it and save myself the hassle but then reminded myself that if Nayla does fall out I won't be able to live with the guilt. Parking meter swallows my quarter, but of course, doesn't show the receipt of money and keeps blinking "0:00" time left straight into my face. decide I won't take it up with the meter but do kick and punch it a couple of times, just in case. no luck. no "FAIL" annoucement, so it'll just continue appearing like an expired meter (mentally prepare for ticket).
At post-office I stand in line for 20 minutes and realize at last moment I don't know which address to send baby carrier to. Call company. automated message: "go to blah.blah.com and request self-addressed envelope. blah blah blah." Step out of line, which I have now been waiting on FOR NOTHING...like so many things during this morning.
Return home, now no time for lunch, for have wasted time driving around throwing fits, and such. Eat bowl of left-over chicken-rice with no chicken left inside. Dig for ketchup and BBQ sauce in fridge door to add some flavor. Maple Syrup glass bottle slides through shelf holder and shatters into a hundred pieces on my kitchen floor. Syrup and glass everywhere.
I give up. Day ... you have beaten me. I am going back to bed.
Of course, can't because have double-workload on me (-> colleague on 1-month wedding/honeymoon vacation) and need to sit my ass in front of computer already.
Clean up syrup and sit into office. Take a sip of cold, watered down morning coffee, eat ketchup rice and begin weeding through e-mail. 2 minutes later, Rosa knocks on my door to emergency baby-sit her 2-year old son. No problem, bring it on. ;)

should I be concerned?

Dario just left his computer on for three days to download a full version of Daddy Daycare...that corny movie with Eddie Murphy. If I recall correctly, it was a flop but apparently he has heard good critiques from his co-workers. "male co-workers?" I asked. "yes." ... - "well, let me tell you, that movie is not worth risking prosecution for illegally downloading media. actually it kinda sucked. if there is a male equivalent to chick-flicks ...this is it. are you willing to go to jail for this? you have two kids."
...would be kind of ironic, though ;)... I can imagine the dialogue with Maia.."mami, where is daddy?" - "oh, your father is in prison for downloading Daddy Daycare."

Another reason for concern has been his recent discovery of The Bee Gees (..wait how do you spell that?). So here he's driving down the street in his macho-ride... and one day he's blasting Reggaton with the windows rolled down and the next (when he closes his windows) it's Bee Gees - greatest hits.

He would probably kill me if he read this blog entry. ;) questioning his masculinity. then again...he doesn't really give a f what people think ... he loves playing with his friends' homophobia... The Dominican culture is such a macho culture, I suppose ... he gets a kick out of disturbing this. He ain't your typical Dominican, I guess. Although, with his potential f-buddy list on AIM I might just be the victim of a perfect deception.

los perros muerden - dogwarnings and my attempts to remain calm

ok. I've had it of media mind-polluted people warning me about my pitbull being together with my two young children. first of all, it doesn't matter what kind of dog one has, it is about the way the dog is raised. second, the fact that pitbulls can lock their jaw into one tight grip doesn't mean they will or do every time they bite or snap at anything. third, there are more people bitten by labradors and chihuahuas than there are people bitten by pitbulls. unfortuntately, a pit lashing out makes a much better story on the news than a chihuahua losing it. ;)
fact is, dogs are animals with innate instincts and that should never be forgotton when having them together with unpredictable little kids. however, I can tell you from my own observations that nothing in that department is just black and white, either.
Our dog, named Trouble (he already had his name when we got him as a month-old puppy. he is now seven.) learned how to deal with little children over the last few years .. and is still learning, actually. It has been an amazing process to watch. When we didn't have kids his whole facial expression would change when he was approached by a child, depending on the child's age. Most uncomfortable he seemed to be with toddlers. He seemed to sense that a) the adults were tense and watching his every move (so he would just sort of freeze) and b) this little human wasn't quite as easy to read as the grown ones. it was more like an animal.
the latter statement I can particuarily verify with the way boys act around Trouble. it's fascinating to watch. somehow they instinctively manage to demonstrate all kinds of agressive dog-behavior, which confuses Trouble. While the girls are either timid or straight-forward with Trouble, the 2-year old boys grunt and growl at him, try to mount him, or suddenly charge at him with growling sounds (if you have a dog, you probably know...basically, this whole behavior palette is quite similar to the typical dog-socializing-dance...i.e. those boys, sometimes without ever having seen a dog, demonstrate strikingly similar behavior as two male dogs show when they first meet...or when they socialize with other dogs, generally). This, I understand can be confusing to Trouble so I watch him around little boys quite closely. He behaves, however, I can see his excitement and alertness... his fur stands up and his facial expression is completely different than when dealing with a little girl.
Anyway, fact is, Trouble has come a long way. I remember when Maia (our older one) tried to climb on top of him as a baby and he growled, immediately chastised for this behavior by me, of course. Nowadays, Maia can step on him, climb, fall, trip over him and he won't even budge. She can pull his tail, his ears, pinch him, hug him however she wants, she can take his food away, his bone (!) and the latter is huge, for he would not give his bone to anyone before she was born...he's just happy someone is giving him attention, I suppose. Nayla is his new favorite... He's quite bold with her and just kisses her on the mouth whenever she is placed down on the floor somewhere, which he would have never dared to do in my presence with Maia (i.e. he knew her mouth was off-limits... no licking). Also, he has become protective over Maia.

anyway... I have to end my nature observatory log for today...gotta work.

things I hate about you and how clean is your house?

did some surfing tonight...channel surfing for a change...two shows that really boosted my mood: things I hate about you (on Bravo around 10pm) and How clean is your house? (on Lifetime sometime after the first show). the latter made me feel particularly good about the condition of my house. and I thought my house was a pig-sty ...woooaaahhh... what people live in is unbelievable. this one woman, you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her, was living with her puking cat and seemingly never has cleaned anything in her apt. ...ever. There was milk in her fridge from 2003. .... this must have been staged... it was absolutely disgusting. most scary was the fact that she wanted to clean up her house (or have it cleaned by those two ladies who are the show's hosts) so her asthmatic boyfriend could move in...or at least come over. ... what is the boyfriend thinking? that she's gonna change?? and what about that cat, whose litterbox never ever saw a litter shovel, which is the reason why it must have pooped on the woman's bed, btw. ....uuurhg. it was disgusting. ;)

and things i hate about you also made me feel good about my situation (that being the situation of being in a relationship... I just said being twice in a sentence..but am too lazy and too tired to look up any synonyms or work on a different syntax....also, now I said too twice in a sentence...arghh). anyway, ....anyone who thinks they are struggling with annoying habits of their partner should watch that show. it's jaw-dropping (is that a word??)...and it's funny.

preventing domestic violence

thank god nobody got shot tonight...
we were just hanging out at home.... when I hear loud arguing on the street. I try to get a glimpse of the noise-makers since it's been a while I've heard this kind of temperamentful fighting. The ghetto kind of arguing " fucking bitch this, fucking blah blah that...". A year ago, when we still lived on Morris Ave. I wouldn't have even looked up from whatever I was doing. In fact, one of the reasons we moved was the constant gunshots on our street. But this here is not the same kind of neighborhood. Unbelievable how much of a difference a few blocks can make.
Anyway, after a few minutes of those people arguing...well, mostly the guy cursing out the woman.... I hear my friend Rosie from upstairs screaming out the window at the top of her lungs: "HEY, take it inside people! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Talking like this in front of your child!" .... a few minutes later I'm on the phone with Rosie and the man goes at it again. this time he's even more heated and is about to explode. " I'm calling the cops right NOW!" screams Rosie in stereo. "gotta hang up", she tells me "i'm calling 911."
a few minutes pass. the couple must have made it off the streets and into a yard or something. Their voices are buffered in the neighboring house or yard now but I can hear him freaking out...he's throwing stuff or I'm not sure what...but it's beginning to sound really scary.
I look out the window and see the cops pull up in front of our building. I'm thinking: "oh, thank god, it's about to get ugly over there." but they don't even get out of the car or roll down a window and since they can't see or hear anything on the street they back up, turn around and leave. I can't believe it. At least get out of the car, people!
Anyway, this time I'm the one calling 911. Rosie has convinced me that this is our duty as neighbors, citizens (well, I'm not a citizen)...etc. whatever. Meanwhile, Dario has actually gotten up from his videogame and when he realizes I'm calling the cops again ...and I'm worried... he takes the phone from me as I am speaking to the operator and says " the guy has a gun. you better get over here now." - "... a gun? why do you say that?" I ask after he hangs up. "somebody who worked for the FBI once told me that's the only way to get things moving, really." ... and sure enough 2 minutes later... the psycho-guy is now walking back and forth between the neighbor's house and his SUV across the street, screaming at his girlfriend...that he'll be back or whatever...5 copcars and an undercover DT car pull up with screeching tires...my phone rings...one of them is actually calling me in the action asking me where the guy is...I point to the SUV across the street as the cops are looking up to my window for direction... how the hell do they know where I live, I wonder.... they spot the guy in rage and suddenly 6 cops have him surrounded and are narrowing in on him with their guns drawn telling him to get on the ground. A moment of frozen time for me...."oh my god, I hope he doesn't pull out his wallet or something" I think .... shit.... and all because Dario said he has a gun ... "he doesn't have a gun! he doesn't have a gun." I call into my cordless phone....immediately wondering if I should be saying the word gun at this moment to anyone of these officers in action....I'm not sure who I am talking to...i think it's one of the detectives.
Anyway, the guy drops to the ground in the middle of our otherwise quite traffic-heavy street, hands behind his head. they hand-cuff him and things begin to calm down. thank god.
i'm like an old lady with her nose glued to the window now... until the guy points up to my window and mentions me ...or Rosie calling. "oh great, he knows where we live now", I think, "time to renew our dog's obedience training." .... I feel bad because this could have ended bad...but I also feel good because this could have ended bad for someone else in this spiel (-> his girlfriend..or ex...i dunno). They let him go ... after some cursing and scolding... but this whole thing surely brought him back to reality from his ego-macho-I'm-gonna-kill-u kinda trip.
gotta go. baby crying.

a piece of happy

poor little maia looks like an abused child. they're gonna call social services on me first thing monday morning when I'm dropping her off at school (her first day). ... her nose is reindeer-rudolph-inflamed red and her upper lip is swollen. in addition to this she has rings under her eyes from having a bad night of interrupted sleep. I look similar minus the swollen lip but plus about 27 years.... so I really look like shit.
luckily I encountered a miracle today when my dear husband greeted me with a hot bath after my day running around. I just asked for it and I got it. the tension in the middle east pales in comparison to the one which had built up in my back over the past few weeks/months. needless to say, the bath was about the best thing he could have done to get "booty-points", as I like to call them.
I think he really needs to get laid. ... funny, the other day I discovered a new way of putting a little spark back into my sex-life. pretend we're not together anymore and we're not supposed to be doing this...blah blah....anyway worked on me like a charm ;) .... usually my head is wayy too full with all kinds of crap and I just cannot concentrate. While D is trying to "get his groove on" I'm thinking, "how much sleep is this taking away from my night? was that Maia I just heard suckling on her pacifier? oh shit, I forgot to put away the noodles. dammit do I have to do everything around here? get away from me. I hate you."

sleep? que es eso?

so, after just having mopped the house for a half hour because my dog is on a puking/pooping spree since this afternoon I am now semi-awake, wondering whether I should try to become one of those early risers. you know the ones that get up at 5 am and then have 4 or 5 hours more of the day than the average person. maybe if I were to get to bed before 2 am this would be a feasible task...
Anyway, the reason I woke up in the first place is because my older daughter must have done a back-flip out of her bed, for she actually cracked open her lip. poor thing and not only because of the bloody lip but also because she must have definitely inherited the clumsy gene I carry on my sleeve (as a non-native English speaker I am not really sure if I am allowed to use this phrase in such context. but you know what I mean). One has to understand that we are talking about a toddler bed... a bed only about 26 in. off the floor.... I don't know what she was doing but she managed to sort of jump over the blankets padding the floor next to her bed (she falls out of her bed a lot...sigh) ...

oh well. so here I am. 5.19am.
what the hell am I doing. I should be going back to bed.
my stomach hurts again... don't want to go to a doctor for this problem. afraid they might attach a name to my symptoms and then it's official (ulcer, hernia, gastritis, whatever ... just something that will mess with my mind and possibly add some psychosomatic crap to the equation).

today is sept. 11. ... it's been three years since the WTC tragedy ... nothing is worse than that... I'm not important.
should go catch some z-s. a very good friend of mine lost her brother and is holding a memorial sermon for him at her church tomorrow. must not miss this.

returning to school

well, returning to class is more like it since I am only taking one non-martriculated class this semester and have graduated 4 years ago. so, I already missed the first three classes (if I had a GPA to maintain, I'd be one grade down already in this country. obligatory attendance in college remains a mystery to me until this day, though, I have dutifully adhered to the policy during my college years here.)
anyway, so I am dragging my butt to class, wondering whether the professor has already dropped me for not showing up for the first three times (the first week I was on vacation and earlier this week I just forgot.... sigh...no comment here).
as I am walking down Shepard Hall heading for piano 101 or 201 or whatever, I wonder how I have managed to already have packed my bag so heavy. one would think I am carrying the damn piano around with me. I don't even have a book, yet... not even a syllabus... geez
In class, I assure the professor I have some knowledge of the instrument and play the one "impressive" bite of a piece I still remembered from 4 years of learning in high-school.
She is impressed indeed, until the moment she asks me to demonstrate some simple scales and I can't even find the damn C key (for the non-music majors this is like the center piece of the piano), let alone recite the rest of the octave.
I shrink into the bench I am sitting on.... "feel free to throw me into piano 1, please", I offer, "I'm just taking the class to get my kid into daycare here and I really am just happy to sit at a piano and practice scales again. "[note: one has to be a student at the college to have their kid in the childcare program.] "It's ok," she grunts and quickly explains how to do the scales. From the musical jargon I understand about one-10th and I try to copy her hand-movements mostly.
"I'm screwed", I think... "gotta remember to file for pass/fail option. when was the deadline? yesterday?" ...
oh well, graduated summa cum laude and then fail piano 1o1 ... that a woman.

cape cod vacation report

day one:
want to leave by 10 am. make it out the house by 2:30pm. get to cape cod 11p.m. (i.e. take 4 hours longer than mapquest predicted). swear to not do this ever again. then remember have to come back to nyc.
realize I shouldn't have let dario trick me into coming to cape cod without him. now stuck with all work of two little kids by myself. mom here but as guest mostly. cannot take more than an hour with two-year-old then cracks and has hysterical fit. realize where my patience (or the lack of it) is coming from.

day two:
enlist my mother for only a minute of toddler watch, while I help Rosa carry something upstairs. come back down. mom is making tea and maia is gone. I run outside. no maia. run to front of house (where street is) and catch last glimpse of maia disappearing in neighbor's yard carrying a basketball. I dart on street and break all currently existing olympic sprinting records to get maia from neighbor's yard. want to cry and stuff but can't. want to beat her but can't. don't know how to make her understand that such behavior is terrorizingly scary. maybe I should beat her after all so she'll remember. but can't. too happy and grateful that nothing happened.
mom feels guilty but doesn't know what to say. me neither. starting to get cured of my latest house hunger (i.e. no more desire for any suburbian life. begin to appreciate confinements of city apartment living.)

day three:
finally make it out the house and to the beach before sunset. it's kinda cold. bathing suit is put ad acta (probably for the better anyway. post-partum body view spared to poor onlookers).
maia collects seashells with grandma while I try to shield my 4-month old (nayla) from hurrican-like winds.
when leaving beach mom can't find her sandals. claims have cost her a hundred bucks. she's close to crying so I decide to swallow my comment that they look like "payless". damn ghetto cape cod bastards must have stolen shoes. ;) ... mom can't see humor in any of my comments. is close to panic. tell her that shoes have probably been carried up the hill to exit by someone thinking they've been lost. turns out to be true. mom relaxes. I make mistake to tell her that panic in her eyes about lost shoes has been more strikingly intense than panic when Maia got lost. meant it as joke but mom doesn't think it's funny. is offended.
exhausted. fall asleep at 9pm when putting down kids. get back up 11:30. everyone went to bed. go to 7-11 to full-fill bad cravings. pay 8 dollars for ice-cream i didn't want to pay $4 for earlier in day while shopping at normal-prized supermarket. don't give a shit. deserve it.

day four:
things begin to be a blur. need sleep and another parent in the house whom I can blame as responsible. maia now accomplished escape artist. all features of house which looked great on website before arrival have now turned into dearly hated toddler dangerzones (hot-tub in back, second floor deck, huge house, etc.). need food. no time to eat. have lived on oreo-cookies all day while the rest of the vacation troop (13 people) eat lobster for lunch and dinner.
contemplating about ways to keep track of 2-year old. seriously consider henna-tattoo on Maia "If lost, please call ...". Fantasize about implantation of GPS device in toddler. must come in handy when teenager, too. good investment. wonder if possible.
other alternatives: dog-collar thingy (electric fence?) .. too cruel? .... beeper thingy ...but not effective cause will only let me know when toddler moves further than 20 feet away... -> but where to??...so basically, is device that tells me kid is lost.

day five:
need vacation from vacation.
decide to take mom and kids to beach far away from all.
nice day. mom walks/dances with baby in snugli and Santana in ear up and down the shore. then waves to couple of sea-lions close by shore. I try not to look related to her. she calls me loudly (because headphones on) "Siiiiisi, wave to the sealions!!! Come on! They can see us!"
I pretend to be very involved with maia's sand-castle architecture (..... sand-castle desperately in need of both - architecture and involvement).
after beach we go to Provincetown. loving it although temperatures and winds call for immediate trip to sweater shop. explain to mom that P-town is eldorado of gay people. Mom didn't realize and begins to pay attention. entertaining to watch mom. ;)
eat seven dollar cheese sandwich. decide to skip the coke(save money) and go home for thirst quenching.

day six:
long night. when it's not the kids it's my too vivid imagination keeping me up. can't get over the fact that we're staying in an old schoolhouse (from 1800s). have made mistake of reading historical clippings framed in hallways. saw one picture of little kids with creepy looking eyes. beg not to read about any deaths in article next to picture. read about death of one child in front of school-house. struck by horse-carriage in 1846. school-house closed after that. .... sigh. won't sleep now for sure. ...what's that noise???
Adam (one of Rosa's kids) tells me plot of The Others. ... really didn't need to know that.
decide I want to go home now. maybe better for all of us.

day seven:
dario arrives. praise the lord. i get a day off! or something like it.
i get sick. spend day in bed. come out only in evening to look for some food and coffee. try to heat up old coffee in microwave. cup very hot. spill it all over my hand. in pain bang my ankle on open kitchen cabinet door. "first-aid" myself with anti-burn cream and such. return to bed.

day eight:
last day at beach. freezing but I'm making dario walk in sand with me. i'm having my romantic walk on the beach and that's that. Dario cuts himself on seashell. Maia climbs onto life-guard tower. ... and mom is dancing to Santana somewhere with baby wipped around by wind.
plan to leave cape no later than 8pm. make it out the house by 11pm. positive onlook: no holiday traffic now for sure and kids asleep (no stopping, no screaming, no hassle). going 80mph most of the way arrive in nyc 4 hours later. Maia awake. 3:15 am. Decides she wants to play with her "little people". too tired to argue. Maia goes to sleep 4 am. wakes up 11 am. consider this method for future use, when getting to bed late. just wake up maia in middle of night to play for while, so she'll sleep in the morning. Bad parenting anyone? .... Unfortunately, I still have to get up with baby at 7 a.m. Day flies by my deliriously tired self. Take afternoon nap. Leave house with kids at sunset to get at least a little bit of fresh air. Pick playground where something must have died a week ago in the neighbouring woods. Feel like puking most of time. Maia seems to not care. Have to drag her out after we (adults) cannot possibly take it any minute longer.

did someone slip extacy into my daughter's milk?

First of all, I admire all women who stay at home with young children and not go insane.
I think, I would have to be placed on suicide-watch if I had to do this (stay home with 2 young ones) all day, every day of the year.
I wonder, how 2-year-olds make it to their third birthday, at all. I mean, I can't expect every parent to be knowledgable, reasonable, well-read or somewhat controlled. Not that I am any or all of that but maybe some of it. How did toddlers survive in medievial times? How do they survive with someone who has no understanding of a child this age? ... I mean, at the moment, I just want to beat her all day and if I didn't know better I probably would. She is driving me up the wall and only a mother will understand. Now I FINALLY understand the outbursts of my mom. The few ones she had when I was around Maia's age and which I never forgot. A slap in the face, a time-out in the boiler-room, a good shaking in search for any sense in me. Don't get me wrong, these were exceptions to the rule ...I was actually raised laissez-faire (spelling?)...but I remember these moments like yesterday (although, this saying isn't to be taken literally, for I don't reallly remember what the hell I did yesterday).
Thus, I am being very careful (and very grown-up, although I don't want to be) to avoid any traumatic experiences for Maia. But I'm a ticking time-bomb so sooner or later, I'm going to give her that moment of shameful weakness of mine....where I tell her something mean or so... and she'll remember it forever.

harlem gospel for austrians

Today was a day so long I can't even see straight anymore. I've been up since 6 a.m., which is when my 2 year-old decided to begin her day of mischief. It wasn't even 8 a.m. yet and she had already stuck her hand into the toilet to fish for her bowel movements to check consistency, I suppose. Never mind the fact, that she had at this point already been dressed for church with the only church-qualifying clothes she owns. We're not really church-goers, in fact, I'm not even Christian (I was raised Islamic and would consider myself agnostic at the moment), however, my mother who is visiting from Austria wanted to see some gospel service in action, so today we became the only white people attending a beautiful sunday service at a baptist church in Harlem. It was really great and the gospel choir was fantastic. Thankfully, my mother decided not to dance to the music (as she told me later, she was afraid I would yell at her for such "embarrassing actions"), even though people at the service were quite living it. Shaking, dancing, singing, clapping, laughing, praising... ahh it was just great.
Of course, we were totally underdressed but Dario had warned me of that. "Black people go to church in suits" he said "soo, your tanktop skirt combination ain't cutting it."
Unfortunately I don't own any fancy clothes so it had to do. I put a cardigan on as not to look too slutty. Also, I made sure to carry the baby when I entered the church to divert attention away from my cheapy clothes.
In church I had a little epiphany.... as I was sitting realizing how good it felt to be spiritual and how little it mattered that I don't believe in the whole Jesus thing (i.e. seeing Jesus as God's son but rather as a prophet...as I was brought up) I thought about the possibility that all God really wants is for people to reach out for him. It doesn't really matter, through which church or which creed or which way ever, as long as you are reaching out to God. Even if you don't have a religion... and lead your life by morals and ethics everyone should know without a handbook... it doesn't matter. Just reach out...just find a way to connect.
And, I wondered, how is it that people still kill for this shit. God runs this shop called earth... who are we to decide who is right or wrong. Who are we to decide to take someone's life as punishment for whatever...
After the service I felt like I needed some of this spiritual stuff in my life more often. I felt good.

wasting time with online shopping

don't go to
craigslist.com, ebay.com, babycenter.com (if you have kids), and anything of the kind. unless you like spending money and time on the internet...which you probably do (the latter, at least) otherwise you wouldn't be reading this blog. you could be doing something much better at this very moment. just like I could. .... hmmmm.... ah, lemme get real... I don't have a life. my kids are sleeping and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm still in shock they're both out so I get leisure time panic which leads to me doing either
a) nothing or
b) surfing the web with no particular aim (which usually results in me spending money I do not have for things I do not really need or wasting precious me-time I most certainly don't have too much of at all...)
so, why am I still typing?
cause I'm an idiot. ... and I like to write...although, my grammar and vocabulary suggests differently.... but hey, I've got an excuse. I'm not from here ... (never mind that I've been here for 8 or so years...or the fact that I've gone to college here)....
I should start writing in German.
Wie geht's euch? Alles paletti? (wait...that last one was Italian... wasn't it?)
There was a time when I spoke/understood/etc. Italian, as well as French, Arabic, German, Spanish, Swiss dialects, Vorarlberger Dialect ;), ...dialect? or...dialeKt? I don't know.
now I don't speak anything except for crappy English and out-of-order German.
ok. I will shut up now to spare you any more pain since you seem to not be able to stop reading...
later... I hope I'll have more interesting material to write about next time I log on to my beloved blog.

toddlers. keeping you on the edge

Maia might only be two years old but she has the power to bring me to the edge like no other. It's always a different edge, though. Sometimes it's embarrassment, sometimes fear or sheer terror, sometimes frustration, and sometimes laughter that makes you wanna pee in your pants.

Yesterday it was the edge of fear for me.
We went to Wave Hill (nice little estate nearby open to the public) www.wavehill.org Anyway, we went up to the little fish pond. A very dark pond full of water-plants and gold-fish. Maia insisted on kneeling on the edge to dip her hands into the water. I figured, ok if I see her tumble I'll catch her. I'm prepared. Of course, Maia waited with her clumsy little self until I had my hands full, helping Dario with the baby. That very moment, in which D and I both were holding the baby, Maia fell head forward into the deep pond. My reaction was delayed, for I had to make sure D had the baby - only a fraction of a second but enough for Maia to be completely submerged in the black water and for me not being able to get a quick and good grip on her. Poor thing was under water for a good 10-15 seconds until I got her out. She took a moment to catch a breath and then broke into tears. My knees were bloody, for I had thrown myself to the ground with just a skirt on. Thankfully, I was able to make her laugh it off, although terror was thriving inside of me. All the what-ifs were twirling in around my head...
This is actually on of the big fears of mine...involving my kids, still so little. Pools, car-accidents, and for some reason...kid-nappings.
sigh.

Well, let me jot down a few funny episodes as not to depress myself...

we went to the pharmacy and as we are standing in line I explain to Maia that I need to get cream for Nayla's thrush. Maia looks at me with determination and explains at the top of her lungs. "Mami, I need to get cream, too!" She turns around bends over and points directly to her tush "...for my BUTTHOLE." ...
I was a bit in shock. Once again, I found myself confronted with the teachings of Dario to my little daughter. ...butthole... who says that?...

a worse anekdote to his teachings, however, is when we (Maia and I) went to the store a few days ago and as she is sitting in the shopping cart she lifts her behind halfway in the air and lets one rip so loud (and adult-sounding) that everyone around us just turned their heads in shock.
A frightening moment of silence....everyone thinking that was me.... me not being able to blame it on Maia, for that would sound childish and unbelievable .... and then, thank God, ...she calls out proudly : " MAMI, I passed GAS! :D"

the paranoia of the american people and other cultural differences

... hmm, ok so this is an observation as an outsider who has been pulled into the whole paranoia trip and only occasionally manages to come up for air and realize that she's been swimming with the current driven by the media. ... and I don't always speak about myself in the 3rd person ...it just seemed grammatically called for.... but, of course, I am too lazy to look this up ...also, I don't think you care.

anyway, so the paranoia thing is really something here. just watch the evening news. every night there is something else they come up with, which is bad for you. cigarrettes, coffee, drugs, ...geez .
.. ok, but seriously... I'm not sure if living in this country has made me more aware or more paranoid. I'd like to think more aware but that's quite an arrogant assumption especially in light of recent wartime propaganda caused paranoia. Orange alert here, red alert there, WMD possibly here, WMD possibly there... sigh....and all just for the sake of keeping "the great beast" in check (referal to the American general population by Alexander Hamilton - and no, I'm no great intellectual who reads lots of history books... I got this from the Chomsky book, I talked about in an earlier post).
Of course, the paranoia card is not only played in politics , it's equally present in anything concerning our health (first: disinfect your hands as much as possible. then: antibacterial soap is bad for you. first: eat lots of lettuce. then: lettuce is carzinogenic. ...etc. etc.) or our children. Especially first-time parents seem to be talked into a lot of shit they don't need or are alienating themselves from their peers in all sorts of ways...
the other day I was trying to sell a used electric breast-pump on my online mother-baby community group. My "ad" wasn't up for more than a day and already had someone found 3 articles on why not to use old breastpumps. After reading the article, I learned that this risk of infecting oneself with all kinds of crap even if using brand-new attachements is only a theoretical risk, for there are no actual documented cases of mothers or infants being infected with anything that way. Thank God, I wasn't the only one who replied to this with scepticism to this concern, which only shows not everyone (i.e. all americans) is (are) as paranoid as I thought.

But one thing I can say. The European mentality is very different that way.
I remember the days when I first came to the U.S. Germ consciousness was something rather far in the back of my head. For instance, I would have shared my drink with anyone who would have asked me. Today I can't sit or touch anything anymore without vividly imagining who peed, licked or vomited there last. It's ruining my life. aaaahhhh, the bliss of ignorance... ;)

Other things I would do in my not-quite-assimilated-yet phase:

• When I pulled out some gum or chips in the subway, I used to offer the people next to me as not to be rude by not asking.
• I once let a homeless dude sleep in my sleeping bag, while I was freezing my ass off spending the night at a Greyhound station (waiting for the first bus).
• I don't remember how many people I gave my last cent of the day because they got me with some sob story about them being stranded or whatever.
• I used to give one or two dollar-bills to every homeless person who would ask me for some change, even though I barely could afford my daily meals. I just thought it would be rude to give the man change only.
• While au-pairing in Philly, we (my girl-friend Anita and I) used to go out clubbing until the clubs closed at 2a.m. and then just ask someone in the club if we could crash at their place. Gosh...I hope my daughters will never read this... that was probably one of the most stupid things I have ever done, although we did meet a couple of really cool people. However, we did meet a bunch of shady people, as well. And I swear, one time we ended up in some mafia joint. We had solicited some Italian guy for a roof over our head for the night and he decided to take us to some other bar before heading home. He mumbled a code-word before getting into the place. Bathrooms were for cocaine administration only (I think, I was the only one actually using the bathroom), people at the bar with 8 pound gold-chains and sparkling gold-teeth. And hoochies everywhere your eye would turn to.
  

maybe I'll write down my au-pair experiences some other day. I should be working right now. need that damn money. ... I should read some more Thoreau. Just bought this new book with a collection of Henry David Thoreau's letters to a certain Mr. Blake. Maybe I get inspired and quit my job. ;) ... well, I guess, at this point I either explain or I send you somewhere for more info.
I'll do the latter. I'm lazy:
http://www.bradleypdean.com/seeker/

political clothing tags

A friend just e-mailed this to me..;)

bad pictures

i've come to the conclusion that some of the pictures I just posted (see below) look bad ... too much loss of color and detail....

sunday stroll through Greenwich Village

beauuuutiful afternoon

another stoop photo of me and jessie 

jessie & marta in front of a movie-poster 

father with trumpet (jazz in Washington Square Park) 

old man and wooden chief in front of tobacco shop 

passers-by discussing adult toy functionalities

me and Jessie (resting during a walk through Greenwich Village) 

talking to God with NY attitude

today, as I was walking a long way home around the reservoir, I was sending one of my already too rare prayers towards heaven... and after I was done I couldn't believe how much ghetto I had just packed in there...
here some paraphrased excerpts:
" yeah, hi, it's me. just wanted to say thank you for letting me off the hook today and giving me time off from my children. and ...ehm...of course, thank you so much for my children...I really really love them.... and please don't ever take any of my complaints seriously....especially the ones where I am at the utter end of my patience... ok? ... that's just the devil talking...or something of the like..."
[...]
"...And since I'm at it (praying, I mean), I should probably ask for world peace..but I doubt, that'll ever happen no matter how much I wish for it, right? ... Only way there will be peace on earth if there is a new beginning ..i.e. you destroy us all, or we destroy ourselves ...we're on a pretty good path for that.... why do we suck so much ass? (did I just say 'ass' in my prayer? I'm sorry God... please send me a sign when I've been living in this city for too long... ....
anyway, just in case.... I pray for world-peace."

[...]
"....also, could you please please please do me the favor and let me die BEFORE my children. Please. I don't think I could live if it where the other way around. ... "
[...]
"ok. so next time, I'll try this with a bit more "head bowed, respectful tone"-kinda way. ...it's this city, I'm telling you.
...sorry. ....and thank you so much. so far I've had a pretty good run and I'm very thankful for that...thank you thank you thank you. ... amen."

strange career choices

I just filed an application for the NYPD test. I didn't know they only give those admission-tests every 4 or 5 years, and since I've been playing with the thought of being a cop in NYC for a few years (to see what it's like and get to park whereever I need to) I figured, I better take that test.
It might take up to 4 years if and until they assign you.
After filing the application I wondered what the hell I'm doing. I'm no cop-material. I'm a pacifist and I don't think this is what it takes to make it in the NYPD. Also, I don't think the pay is too good. And I hate it when people lie or do wrong things when they KNOW it's wrong. All things of a day in the life of a cop, no? So, I suppose, to land this job I need to watch lots of DeNiro and Morgan Freeman movies and work on that bitch-gear I was talking about in an earlier post. I also need to get comfortable with the fact that there will be guns involved in my daily work-load. Guns that might be fired. At me. ...
ok. maybe I should just stick with using my camera to shoot. I really miss not being able to find the time for my photography projects anymore. Street-photography is my thing but
I can't just walk the streets (usually in the Bronx) with my two little children in tow.
sigh.
What is a woman to do?
Maybe I'm too old for a career change...after all I am turning 30 soon ...aaaaaaahhhhhhhhrgg