JUST A REMINDER:

I'm still here. My wireless router and--resultingly--my laptop may not be, but I am. I understand that it would take only a couple of minutes to order that bloody Airport online, so yes, I'm in a blogger prison that I've built for myself. And, seriously, yah, when did I become such a slacker?

I refuse to validate the above conjecture with an answer but what I can do for you, my readers, my friends, is update you on the latest happenings in mi vida, as uneventful as they may be:

*static cling continues to plague my existence;

*Wonder of wonders, I'm still with that crazy Canadian commenter;

*Wonder of wonders, the crazy cute Canadian commenter still finds me charming and lovely and not crazy;

*Vegetarian's Paradise II and it's sister restaurant Red Bamboo have reclaimed their rightful shared spot as the Nerddd's fave restaurants;

*I've recently realized that the Foo Fighters might be one of my favorite bands of all time (go ahead, naysayers, judge me, for I'm willing to be judged for Dave Grohl);

*I've also recently realized my love for Siggi's skyr yogurt and it completes me;

*We are 16 days away from my 29th birthday! Let's hope it's better than my 28th birthday was!;

*We are three days away from MP's (previously identified in this post as that "crazy Canadian commenter" and the "crazy cute Canadian commenter") 32nd birthday!

WHAT ELSE IS NEW?

Of course Texans continue to favor the Republican front-runner.

LINKS

My blogging has been spotty, I know but, rest assured, it's not because I don't love you guys or have become a slacker. The truth of the matter, as you already know, is that my wireless router followed the bright light to the other side and I am so outraged over the cost of the Airport that I can't bring myself to physically click on the "add to cart" button to make the purchase.

How long it will take for me to get over my consumer outrage, only time will tell. In the meantime, don't be miffed kittens. My love for you is as vast as the internet.

CONSIDERING VALENTINE'S DAY

Most of my readers know that I've long been a passionate detractor of Valentine's Day. And yet, I've spent the past couple of weeks mulling over this most bogus of holidays. Why? Well, for once, February 14th does not find me alone. Should I reconsider my hateful position on a day that does nothing more than promote love and those disgusting albeit charming little candy hearts? What came first: my hatred for this offensive commercial exploitation and perversion of an entirely overrated emotion or (I'll just say it) the fact that I was one of those girls in my all-girls high school, who resorted to grumbling about commercial exploitation and overrated emotions when we saw the secretary's office overflowing with bouquets of flowers delivered by horny teenage boyfriends because we secretly wanted to have horny teenage boyfriends? Most importantly, does having a boyfriend mean that I must sell-out to Hallmark and become just another Cupid drone?

The answer is hell no!
Thinking deeply about Valentine's Day has helped me recognize that my hatred for the day is genuine, ardent, and deep. Though I may love love (as well as flowers), I certainly don't have any love lost for Cupid and his exhibitionism. Get a room, you jerk, and a pair of pants won't kill you!

WHAT WAS IT WITH ROUND TABLES YESTERDAY?

Exactly how the final fifteen minutes of a very long work meeting became a discussion about MP and me is still a mystery. Yesterday, my colleague BS summarized for a round table of eight persons the chain of events that lead to my blog romance.

Exactly why MP maintains his calm and stays with me after constant interrogation by the South Asian mafia (aka, my family) also remains a mystery. Last night, my amma asked on behalf of our round table of six persons (three of whom were relatives meeting MP for the first time), when MP planned on making an honest woman of me and kindly reminded him that my birthday is next month (and, you know, who doesn't like a nice surprise on her birthday).

GRAB: Socio-Anatomical Blunders and the Nerddd

Remember that time when I inadvertently grabbed a man's crotch in order to keep my balance (I'm still recovering from that unexpected reach-out-and-touch-someone moment)?

Well, the socio-anatomical blunders are alive and well, readers. They are alive and well.

Just the other day, I was seeing someone out of my office. He stopped abruptly in the doorway. Because he stopped so abruptly, I was suddenly directly behind my. Intending to shake my hand good-meeting and goodbye, he turned with his right hand held out. Because I was standing so close to him, he shook my left boob instead.

We were mortified.

The end.

ALLERGIES!: The Nerddd Has a Close Encounter

The allergy saga continues, dear kittens! I had a bit of a reaction to my weekly allergy shots this morning. My allergist took me to her exam room, where I had two anti-histamines, one epinephrine shot, five steriod pills, and one capful of liquid Zyrtec. When my throat started to get worse after the Zyrtec, my allergist recommended that I go to the emergency room if things didn't get any better in a few minutes. To top it all off, the epinephrine made me feel like I was hopped up on ten cups of coffee, so in addition to coughing, clearing my throat, and imagining my funeral, I was shaky and fluttery.

But, don't fret my lovelies. All is well now. Here I am.

Yours,

The Nerddd

BRIDEZILLA

MP: I think I'll be very hands-off when it comes to the wedding. What do we care, right? I mean, aren't weddings really just meant to make parents and extended relatives happy.

Nerddd: Speak for yourself, Canadian.

(moment of silence during which MP gulps)

MP: You're gonna be a bridezilla, aren't you?

BUSY

So, I leave you with the following question on this Super Tuesday (and I'm just going to assume that all of my readers are Democrats):

Barack or Hillary?

SUPERBOWL

Eli Manning and the New York Giants: amazing!
Olestra : not amazing.

A BLAST FROM THE PAST: The Nerddd at 10

It's the summer of 1990 and the Nerddd and her older brother are arguing over something silly, like the the remote control or credit for making "miyagi" synonymous for "cool" (it caught on in the Nerddd's household, anyway...ahem) in the '80s or inventing Khanjitsu (a brand of martial arts incorporating household items like throw cushions and spatulas; our Nerddd is no longer too proud to admit that her brother was the genius behind the discipline).

The Nerddd grumbles. She hurls out her grievances for anyone---including her brother, who's already, rather obliviously, watching television---who will listen. She stomps her feet and turns red with rage. "But, I want [the remote control; credit for coining the word "miyagi"; inventing Khanjitsu]," she rages. But her brother isn't listening, so to get his attention she finally resorts to calling out, "Ammmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaa!"

Our Nerddd's brother turns to look at what all the fuss is about. He's still, very clearly, uninterested in anything his little sister has to say because, as far as he's concerned, he was born having won this argument. Of course, this further angers the Nerddd and so she gives into her fury and flips him the bird.

The result however, of the flipped bird, is not the one she'd desired, for her brother dissolves into laughter. And although she wants to ask, "What? What?!" (because, frankly, she's confused), she shakes her hand and adds a "Take that!" for emphasis, hoping that that will do the trick but it only makes her brother laugh harder. So, she remains standing with the bird flipped, uttering exclamations as she struggles to make him take her seriously.

Her brother finally asks between laughs, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't know," the Nerddd replies, now very unsure of herself. "Showing you the finger. Why?"

"Oh no, nothing," her brother says, returning to the television.

"Tell me," she demands, her finger still raised up in the air.

"Nothing," he repeats and suddenly serious, he adds, "that's not a nice thing to do, Sabila."

The Nerddd folds down her pinky finger, brings her hand down to her side and concedes defeat.

MEAT

The misery that is proving to be this morning was exacerbated by the following heartbreaking video. Meet your meat.

THIS MORNING...

...I made it official: I hate winter. Yes, it's true. I've held winter in the highest regards for as long as I can remember; you may even say it was my favorite season. This past winter, however, has seen a significant decline in my resistance to the cold--which, may or may not have something to do with my inability to dress in weather-appropriate layers--and, so, I reiterate loud and clear enough for everyone to hear: Enough winter. Enough.

...while buying coffee, I saw a man diligently scraping off layers of buttercream frosting from his cupcake. I bit my lip and fought the urge to tell him that taking the frosting off of his morning cupcake wouldn't change the fact that he was having a cupcake for breakfast.

...even though I was standing within reasonable distance of the door open button, I only made the lamest show of reaching for it as a poor woman, weighed down by bags, ran frantically for the elevator. I had no intentions of opening the door for her, probably because I'm mostly impatient and always in a mad rush. I absolutely don't feel the guilt gnawing away at my innards.

VALENTINE

Now that February is almost upon us and even though I'm firmly ensconced in a relationship, I thought I'd state for the record that I remain steadfastly opposed to that farce of a holiday known as Valentine's Day. The multi-billion dollar card companies will continue to rake in their billions, a majority of the world's population will be left desperately sad and disappointed, and love will, for yet another year, be reduced to red and pink hearts, chocolates, and Hallmark.

Thanks but no thanks.

AHEM and LINKSYS, YOU BASTARD

Okay, I admit that rereading the post below made me vomit in my mouth just a little--which was ill--but, mostly, it made me smile, so I was able to ignore the gross vomiting bit.

In other news, Linksys has finally breathed its last miserable breath. It was a useless, waste of a wireless router while it lived and will certainly be remembered as a two-bit, worthless, and miserable excuse for technology during those rare instances when it is remembered. I highly, highly, highly discourage anyone from wasting their $49.95 on this piece of crap.

I now have to look into buying an Airport, which is what I should've done in the first place seeing that I'm all about Apple.

MP: The Reasons He's Swell

1) He carries my ginormous bag for me whenever we're together;
2) he tells me arrêt (stop in French) whenever I, like the girl that I am, bitch about having put on weight;
3) he serenades me with songs from his punk-Canadian youth;
4) he calls my parents amma and abu;
5) he tells me that mine are the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen;
6) he confessed to having a list of restaurants that he wanted to take me to within our first month together;
7) he thinks I'm beautiful just the way I am;
8) he read my blog for a year before we met;
9) he finds my neuroses charming;
10) he will carry my bag and my coat without complaining while I shop;
11) he will tell me when something I try on in a store looks like ass;
12) he's such an unwaveringly loyal friend to his friends;
13) he finds NYC winters balmy and while I'm shivering in my multiple layers of clothing, he walks alongside me sans gloves, hat, or scarf with his coat unbuttoned;
14) he was a good sport and answered all of my open letter queries when we first met on my blog;
15) when I commented "I think you like me" on our first date, he replied, "Like you? I adore you";
16) he loves literature;
17) he is the best listener I've ever met;
18) he's happy to spend the day with my family;
19) while I'm braindead on anything less than seven hours of sleep or anytime after 11PM, MP's work schedule often demands that he function on three hours of sleep...plus, he's always ready to go out and mingle afterwards...AMAZING!;
20) he's one of the most intelligent people I know yet he's so unassuming about it;
21) I don't think I've ever met anyone as laid back and zen.



more tk

A BLAST FROM THE PAST: 6.5 years ago

It's July 9th, 2001, our Nerddd's first day in the post-college, real world. She's feeling great: psyched and confident. She wants to get this show going but has to get through orientation first and has to force herself to remain seated as the HR person prates on about sexual harassment, vacation days, benefits...you know, the ushe.

When one of her orientation classmates turns to her during a break and asks, "So, hey, what department are you going to be in?" and our Nerddd, her eyes wide and perplexed, replies "I have NO idea."

Dear Women Who Insist on Commuting in Their Heels: An Open Letter

Dear Women Who Insist on Commuting in Their Heels:

I'm sorry but I hate you. I realize it's your prerogative to wear high-ass heels wherever the hell you want to but New Yorkers are walking 10% faster than a decade ago and, honestly, if you can't keep up in your Jimmy Choo knockoffs, then don't bother wearing them on the streets of Manhattan. I don't care how tall or well put together you look as you teeter painfully in front of me. No one gives a crap. What New Yorkers do care about is being stuck on a staircase behind your dumb, vain ass, as the trains we were hoping to catch slowly slip away.

You are self-centered and, clearly, you're also a fool for compromising your entire musculoskeletal health. You've messed with my schedule way too many times, you Imelda-freakin'-Marcos of Gotham. A couple of years ago, I watched one of your spike-heeled sisters tumble on a I-stow-my-lovely-heels-in-my-handbag-and-walk-in-sensible-flats-because-I'm-not-a-wanker lady. Bastards. All of you. Forget terrorists. We should be reporting sightings of you on the subway.

Yes, I also happen to be a I-stow-my-lovely-heels-in-my-handbag-and-walk-in-sensible-flats-because-I'm-not-a-wanker lady. However, I confess that several years ago, I also terrorized Manhattanites with my naivete: I wore all varieties of heels during my commutes. Stilettos, three-inch pumps, those crazy platforms that were all the rage in the early 2000s...you name it, I wore it. I'm telling you this because if I could change, so can you. There is hope, you Carrie Bradshaws. There is hope.

Yours,

The Nerddd

ps: The carrot post below was in no way intended to be pornographic. Now that it has entered that realm of smut, um, well, apologies for offending those of you with delicate sensibilities and you're welcome to my readers who are all viva la pornografia.

GIANT CARROTS!

Forgive me readers for I have sinned. It's been four days since my last blog post.

I'm tired and a bit uninspired so, for the moment, I leave you with GIANT CARROTS. You read right! GIANT CARROTS! Look at the size of these root vegetables.



No, your eyes aren't fooling you! The upside down pic above (upside down because my computer refuses to save changes once I rotate the damned image) is of the GIANT CARROTS I found in China Town. I've propped them next to a can of diet Mountain Dw to give you an idea of how big they are. It's astounding! The carrot to the right (to the left once the damned image is rightside up) stands twelve inches tall, while the carrot to the left (the right, the RIGHT!) towers above the five inch tall can of soda with a height of thirteen inches. THAT'S THIRTEEN INCHES, READERS!

SHOCKING!

Here are the GIANT CARROTS at a different angle:



Look at those circumferences, ladies and gentlemen! Staggering! At 8.5 inches wide, the carrot to the right measures slightly less than the nine inch circumference of the soda bottle. But, get ready for this boys and girls: the carrot to the right matches our soda can inch for inch! AMAZING!

Chinatown: it's where the genetically freakish carrots live.

Awesome!

CRAZY CABBIES

MP and I are standing on a street cornern last night, on the lookout for a cab that will take me to the train that will then take me home. I'm shivering in the cold and a little annoyed that this usually cab-busy corner is desolate. Finally, we spot a cab stopping abruptly across the intersection. A patron steps out. The cab is now available except it's not moving. MP and I both raise our arms in the universal I-need-a-cab sign but this guy is still just parked in the middle of the street as cars honk angrily and go around him.

We wait an entire minute before he moves, only to have him drive right past us, stop, and reverse, his tires screeching. I say goodbye to MP and jump into the cab, which reeks of cigarettes. It smells like the cabbie has rubbed himself down with cigarette ash. I tell him where I want to go and he starts driving, not any more or less erratically than your regular cabbie and I settle in for the eight minute ride.

First sign that my cabbie's crazy: he hits the car door lock button every few seconds. Second sign that my cabbie's crazy: he's mumbling to himself. But, hey, I'm a city girl. I've had my share of encounters with the strung out, the clinically insane, and those Meat Packing District wankers (shudder). Sure, I've never been chauffered around but who hasn't met a strange cabbie in his or her travels in the city, right? So, I stay in the cab and, pretty soon, am introduced to the third sign that my cabbie is crazy: we're driving down the street when, out of nowhere, he swerves and pulls up to the curb. Trying to remain calm, cool, collected, I ask him what he's doing and he says he's letting the other cabs drive past him. I don't see other cabs.

We drive on.

Fourth sign that my cabbie's crazy: he tells me that he doesn't know where I want to go, so I tell him where I want to go again. Half talking to me but mostly mumbling, he says that the location is off the map. I give him a landmark that's across the street from my destination. He starts mumbling about how he visited the landmark two years ago but who knows what the city could've done to said landmark in two years' time. They could have razed it and put up condos in its place, million dollar condos, MILLION DOLLAR CONDOS. But the landmark is the biggest of his kind, he tells me and the voices in his head. New Jersey surely doesn't have such landmarks.

Afraid for my life now and paralyzed by fear as my crazy cabbie starts telling me that he doesn't want to drive into the median--I don't see any medians and take this as the fifth sign that my cabbie's crazy--I call MP and tell him that he should stay on the phone with me. He asks if my cabbie's annoying me and I tell him not exactly. He asks if he's driving erratically and I say, um, a little. He asks if he's crazy and I say yes. MP says that I should get out of the cab and I tell him---frankly, I don't remember what I tell him. In the meantime, my crazy cabbie is still driving erratically, still hitting the door lock buttons obsessively, and still mumbling semi-incoherently, now about the Brooklyn Bridge and the street that I want to go to not being on the map. He throws back a book and a pen to me and tells me to circle the landmark in a book that seems to list these particular landmarks. This is clearly sign six that my cabbie's crazy. I circle the landmark and return the book to him. He starts mumbling again about the street not being on the map anymore. Then, as he's driving, he hits the car door lock button again, half turns around in the driver's seat to hold a map up to me and explain to me that we're no longer on the map. I tell him that we are. He tells me that no, he has to take me to the Brooklyn Bridge.

And that's the seventh and possibly most frightening sign that my cabbie's crazy. I tell him to pull over, that I'd like to get out of the cab. He argues that no, walking to my destination from where we are will take me longer than an hour. I know, for a fact, that it won't take me that long--this is sign eight of his craziness--so I tell him again to pull over. He tells me that he has to take me to the Brooklyn Bridge, that the walk is too long, I shouldn't get off here. I tell him that it's okay, that I'll just take the subway. But there are no trains around here, he says (there are two subway entrances in sight). I demand that he stop the cab. He stops the cab. I throw money at him and he shakes his head like I'm making such a big mistake. I get out of the cab, shaking.

I walk to the train with MP on the phone with me the entire time. I walk down the street, crying, because, dude, my cabbie was crazy.

Of course, in my terror, I totally failed to note down his medallion number so this crazy cabbie is still out there somewhere on the streets of Manhattan. Shudder.

FIBER ONE: A Follow-Up or I Wish I Knew How to Quit You

Dear Fiber One cereal:

I craved you all day yesterday and then all night and, despite what I said in my previous post, I will have you for breakfast this morning. Rest assured, I will never combine you with other cereals in the hopes of shaking things up or making breakfast more exciting. Who needs change? You make healthy delicious and you keep me regular. That's good enough for me. Yes, somedays I wish I knew how to quit you but I'm now beginning to realize that this is a lifelong affair and I'd be lost without you.

Yours,
The Nerddd

ps: Do you think you can convince your people to make me your offical spokesperson or, at least, give me a lifetime supply of you. It only makes sense, seeing that I'm your biggest fan and all. And a lifetime supply would really help this lifelong affair. I'm just saying.

pps: Can I borrow a $10?

FIBER ONE

Okay, so I won't lie. I'm getting kind of sick of Fiber One cereal. I have been eating it almost every morning for close to two years (have I mentioned that I'm a creature of routine?). The thought of eating Fiber One again this morning bothered me so much that I combined one serving of the cereal with half a serving of Cheerios. The result: not earth shattering delicious but just okay.

Now, as much as I'd love to experiment with new breakfast cereals and, perhaps even eventually adopt a brand new breakfast menu, I don't think any other brand out there matches the fiber content in one serving of Fiber One (14 grams in one serving and 28grams in my daily double serving! That's a minor miracle in the food sciences, as far as I'm concerned, folks!). MP happens to be a fan of the Kashi cereals, all varieties of which have way too much sugar and way not enough fiber, as far as I'm concerned. And, have you seen the image on the box of Good Friends? It features two random, old people: a lady who looks like she's just stepped off the set of an 80s sitcom and a Mexican/Native American dude who doesn't inspire me much to eat the cereal.

I get constipated by just looking at the box.

Anyway, any super high fiber (and delicious!) cereal alternatives to Fiber One would be much appreciated.

Taste, I realize should never be a parenthetical.

BAD KIDS

I spent the day at my cousin's house yesterday. He and his wife have four children: two daughters, aged 6 and 4-years-old and twin boys, who will hit the terrible twos next month. As migrainie-inducing as their task sounds, my cousins have been blessed with the loveliest, most sweetest little children in the world. They rarely bother their parents--the boys' most serious transgression is somehow pulling apart the cupboard child safety locks, lugging out pots and pans, while chanting "patheela" (which I've just discovered is Urdu for "cooking pot").

So, there I am. The kids are angelic and I'm having a great time coloring with them (I satisfy all of my pent-up coloring cravings at my cousin's place...I'm attaching a pic of my extaordinary effort of staying within the lines (all I really need to know I learned in kindergarten, after all)).

Enter guests to our little party. Guests have two children: a 6-year-old daughter and a not-yet-5-year old son, who we'll call Satan-spawn. Holy crap, that kid was BAD. And, holy shit, his parents DID NOT discipline him at all. He relished in not only beating up the twins, but then detailing to his mother exactly how he'd hit each of them. He yanked their toys out of their hands and attempted to pull cakes and open bottles of soft drinks off the dining table. During one of these attempts, I held up a stern finger to him and said, "NO. Don't you dare stick your finger in the cake! That's gross," and he started hurling obscenities at me at the top of his lungs ("STUPID, DON'T DARE TALK TO ME!!!! YOU STUPID STUUUUUPID!" hurled out of the mouth of a not-yet-5-year-old sounds like the worst of swear words.

Satan spawn proceeded to kick and punch me.

Yes, I was kicked and then punched in the general thigh region by a not-yet-5-year-old.

Oh, I was pissed off. Squatting down to eye level I asked Satan spawn through gritted teeth if he kicked and punched his mother, told him that he was a bad, bad boy and that he should be ashamed of himself. He just folded his arms across his chest, mustered up a sinister I'm-a-future-delinquent-and-bully-and-will-possibly-be-arrested-for-battery look and skulked away.

It took all of my willpower to restrain myself from giving the mother a lecture on the difference between naughty kids and downright disturbing behavior in kids.

Ugh.

HAIKU: THE RETURN OF INSOMNIA

How I'd love to be
in the arms of Morpheus;
too bad he's a tease.

*see more insomnia-inspired haikus here.

UGH

UGH is the word for today, kittens. Since I haven't had a second to post until just now--and, literally, all I have are a few scattered seconds--I leave you to first ponder and then advise me about which is a better gift (of love, really) for your Nerddd to accept:

1) tickets to the MLB All-Star game at Yankees Stadium this July or
2) super pricey combo of shoes and/or handbags (of my choice, of course)

I've pretty much made up my mind but am curious to hear back from you about which of the two alternatives you think would be better suited for moi.

Gracias.

Yours,
The Nerddd

COMMUTING or DUDE NEEDS TO BRUSH UP ON HIS PICK-UP SKILLS

Random guy: Hey...what are you reading?
Nerddd: The New Yorker.
Random guy: Can I have your number?
Nerddd: Um, no (returns to reading The New Yorker).
Random guy: I have a subscription.
Nerddd: (eyes opposite end of car)
Random guy: We can read it together.
Nerddd: Sorry, that isn't necessary. My boyfriend and I read it aloud to each other every weekend.

(silence)

Random guy: You have beautiful eyes. Are you sure I can't just have your number?
Nerddd: (bolts to the opposite end of the car)

There are three lessons to be learned from this true-life event:

1) the potentially insane man looks pretty damned average;
2) luckily, the potentially insane man makes for a hapless Don Juan;
3) reading favorite selections to your signficant other is probably lovely and I'm sure that MP and I will do so as soon as we start that book club we've been talking about for ages.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY READERS (assholes and non-assholes alike)

My dear readers:

I started my blog on a whim two and a half years ago. The intended audience was family members and friends, who had always taken a shine to my writing. I had no idea that someday the large majority of my readership would be comprised of strangers but that is what has happened.

Now, I'm grateful for the readers I have (read any one of the comments to my posts and you'll see how impassioned they are) but there's been an increasing amount of truly offensive, hurtful, and insulting comments left by anonymous parties (talk about taking impassioned to a whole other level. Losers), who have taken it upon themselves to criticize the life that I'm leading (the single most active offender(s), by the way, is a reader from Montreal). I'm not sure I want to subject myself to this kind of nonsensical abuse any longer and am contemplating creating a private blog that only my friends and family can access.

I don't know what I'll end up deciding to do but I'm sorry that grown-ass, literate adults choose to spend their time abusing strangers, who intended to do nothing more than entertain. It's a sad shame. Goddamn punks.

Yours,
The Nerddd

THE NERDDD-EBRITY or WAIT, WHA??!

So, on Friday night, as MP and I approach the music club/restaurant/bar where his friend's band is performing, I notice a family--mom, dad, two little girls--sitting at a window table, staring at me. They look so happy to see me (we're talking joyous here, folks) that I look behind myself several times in order to confirm that their joy is, in fact, directed towards me. As we approach closer to the restaurant, the little girls actually start waving at me. Clearly, they're not turned off at all by the quizzical expression on my face. They're beaming. The entire family's beaming!

Of course, MP totally misses this display of unadulterated adoration and I suspect the source of their love for me will have to remain a mystery.

NIGHTMARE!

*Returning from work...

Amma: How was work?
Nerddd (whining): I HAAATE work.
Amma: Why? What happened?
Nerddd (on the verge of tears): It's just so...boring. I was ready to start gnawing on my desk.
Amma: What are you going to do?
Nerddd (covering her face): I don't knooow!
Amma: You shouldn't have quit your job? Why did you quit your job?
Nerddd: I don't know what I was thinking!
Amma: Have they replaced your position yet? Maybe you can interview for it??

Nerddd runs to a calendar, looks at it to find that she quit just before the holiday and muffles a sob of relief.

Nerddd (turning to amma hopefully): I quit right before the holidays amma! They probably aren't going to start interviewing people until the new year, right? I'll have to give my bosses a call!
Amma: I still say you shouldn't have quit in the first place.
Nerddd (wrining her hands): Oh, amma, what if they've replaced me already? What if they've replaced me already?! I have no idea WHAT I was thinking.
Amma: Clearly, you weren't thinking at all.
Nerddd begins to sob: I made a mistake!

Luckily, I wake with a start.
It was only a dream.
And, yes, I'm a dork.

MEETING THE MPs...

The MPs are lovely and, with our first meeting going so well, my frayed nerves have finally settled down by the time we get to the end of our meal. I'm so relieved that I can feel myself beaming. I throw my head back and laugh easily. I hold MP's hand. This is wonderful, I think to myself. THIS IS WONDERFUL!

And then we have dessert.

Dessert is a rice pancake drenched in a sticky sweet red bean sauce.
It's chewy. Chewy being one of my favorite consistencies, I chew and chew happily... that is until I'm chewing on my temporary crown.

My heart drops into my lap. The recently-calmed nerves threaten to sputter again. My palm becomes damp in MP's hand and the rice cake is a lump in my throat.

With a tight-lipped smile frozen on my face, I, ever so gracefully (and pretty damned miraculously), spit the temporary crown out of the corner of my mouth and drop it into my coat pocket.

No one notices.
Disaster averted.
Phew.

THE NEW YEAR

Amma has always said that the way one spends new year's eve is how he or she will spend the upcoming year. For this reason, I always make it a point to ring in the new year at home with my folks.

CNN's New Year's Eve show was hosted by Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin and the news ticker on the bottom of the screen featured special messages from people to their loved ones. As is the case with such things, several of the messages were marriage proposals. A little while after the third such proposal danced by, amma turned to me:

"[MP] could've proposed to you on this CNN ticker! Oh, if only he'd known! He should've known!"

I love you amma! You're the funniest, most charming, generous, loving, selfless, smart, and adorable person I know. Sabahat, Shafaat, and I are the luckiest people in the world to have a mother like you. Happy, happy, happy birthday amma! May this year bring you nothing but joy, health, and happiness!

And, of course, a happy new year to my kittens.
Regular blog postings will resume tomorrow, lovelies.

BENAZIR BHUTTO

Some people agreed with her politics, while others didn't, but none can deny that Benazir Bhutto was one of the most charismatic leaders of our time. May Allah grant her family the peace that she was unable to bring to her nation. This is a sad day for Pakistan.

HOLIDAY

Dear All My Kittens:

Apologies for being negligent in my responsibilities as your blogger-nerd. Yes, I was ill of late with a stomach bug that socked me on Thursday night and lingered until Sunday. This one was a whopper, indeed. But, I'm cured now, praise be to Gatorade and saltines! The sushi dinner I had last night was a blissful reminder of how one should be thankful for proper gastrointestinal functionings .

A ho ho ho to all of my Christmas-ing readers out there. I Christmas-ed by running eight miles in the morning, doing the laundry, paying my bills, playing Resident Evil (I'm afraid the game was just a tad bit too frightening for moi!) and Rayman on my brother's Wii, and then having a merry and festive dinner of Chik'n Grill with a side of chopped bell peppers (YUMMY). I made a to-do list for tomorrow, am now blogging, will follow this up with reading some more of the fantastic first book in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, THE GOLDEN COMPASS and will try to be asleep by 10PM.

Oh, the holidays!

By the way, kittens, some exciting news! I'm having dinner with MP's family on New Year's Eve! I'm all a flutter over it! Eek is the word!

Off to reading now and here's to a glorious tomorrow for the lot of you.

Clearly, I'm in a mood.

Love and cheer,
SABILA

HAPPY HOLIDAYS or I'M DOWN WITH THE STOMACH BA HUMBUG

Yes, kittens, it's that time of year again: Eid, Hannukah, Christmas, and Sabila's stomach bug are all upon us. I hope you are surrounded by love, family, and food (just thinking about food makes me dry heave, but I'm sure it's different for those people who don't get a stomac bug every freakin' December) during this season of celebration. Me, I'm going back to sleep and hoping that the diarrhea and vomiting that have been schoolin' me for the past twelve or so hours subsides so that I can drink some Gatorade and rehydrate.

Love you guys.

DEAR MADLIBBIN' PARASAILER: An Open Letter

Dear Madlibbin' Parasailer:

I can't believe that it's only been two months since that time that I--so absolutely racked with a case of the first-date-with-a-guy-I-picked-up-in-open-letters-on-my-blog jitters--showed up at Morimoto half an hour early in order to hop around the ladies' room and psyche myself up. In spite of all the hopping around and pep talks to myself in the dimly lit (and definitely not conducive to reapplying makeup) bathroom, I couldn't help but reply to your genial greeting with a frantic, "I'm so nervous right now, I think I'm going to vomit," as I waved my flushed face with my hand and took measured breaths in order to ward off an anxiety attack.

There were interjections of "OMG! I'm so nervous," throughout our meal, a "You're having a good time, aren't you?" as we finished course five or, maybe it was six, and, of course, the (polite) reach for the bill when it arrived was followed by "I'm so glad you're paying because it's really a turnoff when guys don't pay for dinner."

Clearly, I had a most terrible case of verbal diarrhea.

Yet, here we are, celebrating two monts together. Picking you up in open letters on my blog was the best thing I've ever done. I'm so thankful that you're my guy.

Yours,
The Nerddd

AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HOME VIDEOS

The Khan family has been watching and loving America's Funniest Home Videos from the show's earliest days on ABC with that loveable douche of funny Bob Saget (his comedy routines are way more edgy than any syndicated episode of Full House--or AFHV, for that matter--would lead you to believe!) through its bumpy years when Daisy Fuentes and that dude from VH1 hosted to this day with Tom What's-His-Face in the captain's helm (while I may not always remember the dude's name, he is, hands down, the funniest host the 2nd longest-running entertainment program on ABC has had).

So, the other day, amma and I are watching the latest $100,000 championship show, which I've DVR'd from the previous week (I don't need to be judged, yo. I'm way edgy. You don't know me). During a particularly funny (and touching!) musical montage of wedding proposals (from over the decades--you should see the mullets on some of the future brides and grooms! Hair-raising stuff, I tell you!), amma turns to me with a very thoughtful look on her face and says, "Someone needs to share these videos with MP."

Oh, AFHV! Full of inspiration and hope for ammas across the country!

PIMPLE PROTEST or THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN TO ME

I almost never break out.

As a matter of fact, I have pretty amazing skin, if I may say so myself.

I was the only teenager I knew who did not succumb to that pimple pandemic that seems to sweep the frenzy of hormones known as adolescence. I was only peripherally aware of the plight of girls volunteering to pop each other's pimples back in the '90s--a practice, which I later discovered, is more prevalent than I'd ever imagined (gasp!). Today, while other women cake their faces with concealer and foundation, I remain lucky enough to not need excessive amounts of makeup (I don't even own foundation).

Yet, even in spite of the overall wonderfulness of my (radiant...ahem...) skin, I, too, sometimes fall victim to the occasional zit (note, I said I almost never break out). And, trust you me, when that single zit alights on my face, it has its own freakin' spotlight, talent agent, and singing contract. The bitch is loud and angry and is telling me that it's not going anywhere. For instance, the one that is sitting its ass on my left cheek right now, is telling me that we're part of the same place, we're part of the same time, we both share the same blood, we both have the same mind, and that it's stayin', it's stayin', and I, and I, I'm gonna looooove it.

Just for the record, the crazy bitch has yet to convince me to love it. All it's really convinced me, during these handful of times it's found its way to my face is to ignore it, because popping it would be way too messy.

So, like an aerial shot of a penguin, lying flat on its face on an expanse of otherwise pristine Antarctic snow, my pimple's pretty goddamned conspicuous. I tried to conceal it from MP this weekend with with strategic hand-, hair-, scarf-, and giant purse-placements but the attention-whore wanted to get its fifteen minutes in with my boyfriend and it sure did.

He told me it was lovely.
I suspect he was lying.

Let's hope this loud-ass zit goes quiet before I meet MP's family, otherwise I may even stoop to asking him to pop it!
I jest! Of course I'd never ask my boyfriend, or anyone else for that matter to pop my pimple...not just yet, anyway...ahem ahem ahem.

SWEAT A COLD?

Didn't I read somewhere that one should sweat out a cold and that running 8-10 miles while in the semi-grips of a stuffy nose and sore throat is a good idea? I'm off for what I'll try to make a long run. It feels like a long run kind of day.

Update: Success is mine. I ran a nearly effortless 8 miles even in the throes of a cold and it felt damned wonderful.

MP's FAMILY

Dear Kittens,

Once again, I'm in desperate need of your guidance.

I'm meeting MP's lovely parents and older sister at the very end of this month and I want to buy them a "hello-I'm-the-Nerddd-and-how-are-you" gift, except I don't even know where to begin. I'm a very bad gift-giver. As a matter of fact, when it comes to giving gifts, I'm much like a man: clueless (I don't mean to generalize here. I'm sure that plenty of my male readers are awesome givers of gifts!).

The first time he met them, MP was kind enough to gift my parents with a lovely flower arrangement from Takashimaya. We cooed over it for days. I would, of course, like to present the MP family with something similarly coo-worthy; yet, it has to be something that they can easily take with them on their flight home. Should I gift each member of the family or only MP's mom? What, oh what, will be good enough for the family that raised a man as stunningly wonderful as my MP? Oh, I'm so confused!

Your assistance would be much appreciated, darlings. Thanks!

Yours,
The Nerddd

WORK-RELATED

If someone told me six years ago, when I--wide eyed with an English lit diploma clutched in my hand--first started working, that I'd someday find myself in my boss's office, flipping through a Playboy with him, I would've said, "You so crazy!"

Yesterday, I found myself in my boss's office, flipping through a Playboy with him.

I love my job.

OH SNAP!

"That's a really bad habit, Sabila," my brother comments each and every time I throw a piece of gum into my mouth and proceed to snap, crackle, and pop it with zero concern for the auditory peace of the folks in my vicinity.

Yes, I have mostly impeccable manners in public places.
Yes, these mostly impeccable manners are greatly compromised when someone offers an apres-dinner chew or when I fish out a stick of gum and a good book for entertainment during my commute.
Yes, some of my companions are shocked, dismayed, and galled upon experiencing the Nerddd snapping on a wad of gum.

No, I can't put my gum-snapping ways to rest. Gum played a significant role in my childhood and I have vivid memories of those days long ago, when a young Nerddd discovered the mysteries of chewing gum. I can pinpoint the moment: I was four or five years old and had spent the day running errands with my father in Manhattan--a day, which was, of itself, fantastic because it was just me and abu. We were heading back home on the PATH during rush hour, comfortably crammed into our seats, when a melodic symphony of pop-pop-pop caught my attention. It was coming from a large African American woman sitting across from us and I was held spellbound. What the woman was doing was the chewing gum equivalent of popping bubblewrap and, at that moment, I knew I wanted to learn how to snap gum.

The problem, however, was that I didn't even know how to blow bubbles with gum. So, that same week, I enlisted my mom's friend, B, to teach me. It must've been summer, though I'm not sure, but we were out on my balcony when she taught me. Pulling up a chair directly across from me, she demonstrated how to manipulate a wad of gum with my tongue until it was flat enough to push out and blow air into. And once I knew that, readers, snapping just as (some would argue) melodically became a habit that I just can't quit.

I'm a gum snapper. I will always be a gum snapper. People on the train will stare at me, annoyed, until my personal soundtrack fades into the background, right along with the sounds of the wheels on the track. My brother will always proclaim that I need to correct this horrible habit of mine. But, rest assured, I will always chew gum. I will always make sure that I catch pockets of air in my gum and I will always snap, snap, snap.

I'm a gum snapper.

OPEN FORUM

The number of comments I usually receive on my blog have been steadily declining ever since I activated Blogger's comments moderation option. To counteract this, I, for this single post, open the floor--as well as my blog--to all reader-commenters (and honestly, I won't have the time to moderate every single comment that comes in today).
Just fyi, kittens.

Here's the topic,

Interracial/interfaith marriages: is love really enough?

Let's get it on (and I don't mean that in a sexy way at all. Ahem)!

CRACK HIPS

Today, my dear readers, I share with you the gift of cracking your misaligned-and-as-a-result-injury-prone-hips back into place. Back in physical therapy, when my physical therapist wasn't myofascially releasing my ass, he'd make me lie on my back with my knees bent and feet flat on the table, and stick his forearm between my knees. I was to squeeze my knees together until we heard a crack (that would be my hips cracking, not his forearms).

Now, I would try to repeat this exercise with one of those smaller stability balls, as my physical therapist instructed, but I just didn't feel like the resultant crack was an effective crack. So, recently, I decided to try something new. I put a 4 kg medicine ball--with which I myofacially release, among many other parts of my body, my ass--on the exercise mat at the gym. I kneeled on the mat, with my knees on either side of the medicine ball, and then proceeded to squeeze. Almost immediately, I heard a series of satisfying little cracks! Like music to my ears, my hip was realigned and all was well. All was well.

So, if you, my friends, are suffering from the blight of misaligned hips, crack them back into place with this little exercise and, trust me, you'll be well on your way to running miles and miles and miles like I do.

NERDDDY LOVE*

Staring into each other's eyes over candlelit vegetarian Korean food

MP: I'm so lucky to have found you.
Nerddd: Are you kidding me? I'm lucky to have found you!
MP: No, no. With you by my side, it is I who has emerged victorious.
Nerddd: Well, I would've probably hurled myself out of a window if I hadn't found you.
MP: I'm luckier. Trust me.
Nerddd: Seriously...out-of-the-window. I'm the lucky one.
MP: Okay, okay. Let's just say that we're both equally lucky to have found one another.
Nerddd: Agreed.
MP: (groaning) I can't believe we've become that couple.

Staring into each other's eyes over Middle Eastern food

MP: I missed you so much since the last time I saw you.
Nerddd: I missed you more!
MP: That's just unlikely, my dear!
Nerddd: I missed you so much more--
MP: No, I missed you more.
Nerddd: I thought about you all day yesterday MP.
MP: I think about you all day, everday. Welcome to my world.
Nerddd: I suspect that anyone who'd have the (mis)fortune of witnessing this exchange would need a barf bag and several insulin shots...that being said, I missed you more.

*Please note that while this isn't an exact transcription of the more sentimental conversations that MP and I have, it certainly captures their essence and makes me sigh excessively.

PHISHING and FLASHING: A Tale of MySpace Identity Theft

My MySpace friends received the following comment from me for approval this past weekend:

OMG YOU GOTTA SEE THE PICS FROM THIS CLUB I WENT TO.. SHE FLASHED HER TITTIESS TO EVERYONE AGAIN AND WE GOT PICS.

Hate to break it to you guys but this comment didn't come from me, a fact that should've been apparent to all of my MySpace friends. Firstly, a club isn't my weekend venue of choice, mainly because of my sensory integration disorder.

Secondly, I'm a chick. Some chick flashing her tittiess at a club isn't a very noteworthy event in my book, mainly because I'm straight but also because, goddamit, I have my own tittiess. I flash myself with my own tittiess every single day. I also see an abundance of tittiess at the gym on a daily basis. So, guess what? I don't care about tittiess. Tittiess interest me about as much as arms and chins do. Trust me. There isn't a titty in the world that would have me scrambling for my phone at a club and forwarding pics of it to my MySpace friends.

So, in closing, if you, my MySpace friend, ever receive a MySpace message from me about clubs and/or tittiess, rest assured that it's merely a phishing imposter pretending to be your Nerddd.

Bizarre and Awesome: Google Searches and Our Nerddd

I'm somewhat surprised--perhaps even a little shocked--that none of my readers who responded to the post below found my blog by doing a random Google search for, say, "dirty Madlibs," "spinsterhood," or "aunty toilet stalls."

Surely, this can't be true...surely?

Speaking of dirty Madlibs, and my place in the vaunted Google search result for dirty Madlibs, I'm happy to report that I've made it, kittens! Revenge of the Nerddd is search result numero uno when one searches for dirty madlibs in quotes! This is a monumental occasion, a couple of years in the making (I've just designated this blog post a no judgement zone, so please keep all opinions to yourself. Ahem). A couple of posers somehow beat me out when the dirty madlibs is without quotes but ask me if I care! Everyone I know knows how to make their searches more effective and that's by putting your search terms in quotes!!!!! BOOYAA, POSERS!

Ahem.

I also happen to be Google search result #310 for "parallel parking (poor souls who think they're actually going to learn anything about driving/parking on my blog, I apologize in advance), #21 on Yahoo for "spinsterhood," (why this makes me proud is a question to be pondered on a different day) and (drum roll please) #4 on Google for "aunty toilet stall" (yeah, I didn't make that one up. I wonder how many pervs have found the blog doing that particular search).

Bizarre but also kind of awesome.

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE, ANYWAY?

Dear Kittens,

Now that I know the serendipities that eventually led MP to my blog, I turn my attention to you. Yes, you. I was having lunch with a friend yesterday, when she asked me how the hell people find my blog. I explained to her that I actively pimp Nerddd on the baba-jillion networking sites I'm on and that, surely, word of mouth plays a part in blog discoveries. But, who knows? Perhaps some of you found my blog in the same random manner that MP did. Or maybe it was through networking site number 1,000,001.

I don't care how you did it, just tell me so that I can satisfy my own curiousity.

And, seriously, who are you guys, anyway? Introductions would be much appreciated (if you feel comfortable doing that sort of thing).

To the haters out there, rest assured, comment moderation is alive and well.

Yours,
The Nerddd

WHY I LOVE MY FAMILY

I told amma about the recent online harassment I've been getting for dating someone who is neither South Asian nor Muslim and warned her that I'll probably receive criticism from a handful of more conservative relatives when they find out about MP. She squared her shoulders fiercely and declared, "Whoever has something to say can say it to me. Let's see who wants to talk to me about my daughter."

My brothers, on the verge of kicking some anonymous ass, made me swear that I will direct anyone who gives me any shit for being in an interracial relationship to them.

Abu is pleased that MP calls him abu (though it sounds like "a-booo" when he says it, which is adorable) and that I've finally found a genuinely nice guy. My father is old school and would destroy anyone who had anything negative to say about his family.

I am blessed.

I'M STILL ON THE MARKET...

...for effin' galoshes.

It's an effin' rainy morning in effin' New York City.
I nearly effin' fell on my effin' face stepping off the effin' train and onto the effin' platform. Can you even effin' imagine what would've happened to my perpetually effin' busted hip had I taken a spill on the effin' station platform during morning rush hour? It wouldn't have been pretty, my friends. I would've probably just gone home.

But at least I had the lovely umbrella that MP gave me on our first date (look closely at the comments section here to see of which umbrella I speak. He also gifted me with the water bottle. Sigh), and almost as soon as I opened it against the world, I felt better. I could take on any Monday morning the city had to hurl at me, rain drenched or not. So, with my soaking bags pressed against me, my steps a little more tentative than usual, I made my way towards coffee, that sweet nectar of Monday mornings everywhere.

I ordered a small, light with skim milk and two Equals*. And as I gripped onto my sweet savior coffee with one hand and tried to open my sweet savior umbrella with the other, all while carrying a backpack and a handbag, I spilled Monday morning nectar on my coat.

And, as much as I love both, I cursed the effin' umbrella and I cursed the effin' coffee (I also cursed the effin' rain, my effin' bags, my effin' no-traction-in-the-effin'-rain-walking-shoes, my effin' lack of effin' galoshes, and effin' Monday mornings) before managing to open the umbrella and walking to work.

Here's to days that aren't effin' Mondays.

*OMG, this woman next to me ordered a medium coffee with skim milk and 7 effin' Splendas!!! That's like 14 teaspoons of effin' sugar!!! I wanted to shake her a little but to each her own, I suppose.

FUCK!

MODERATE

Enough! I refuse to watch my blog become a soapbox for backward, bigoted, misogynistic louts! I’m going to continue blogging about my relationship with MP, so deal with it. Yes, MP isn’t South Asian (newsflash, he isn't ghora either!) or Muslim but he treats me with more respect than any one of you narrow-minded idiots will ever be able to muster in an entire lifetime, so GET THE HELL OVER IT. If you halfwit cowards can’t deal with my newfound romance but continue to read my blog anyway, that’s really not my problem! If reading about my happiness is causing you such great affliction, STOP READING MY BLOG. Blogs aren't meant to be distressing! Maybe you just weren't meant to read this blog. Sad, I know, but not everyone can be a kitten.

Like I said, I’m going to continue posting about my romance because it’s a damned good love story that unfolded on this blog. However, I AM going to start moderating comments again. Clearly, some of my readers aren’t mature enough to be left unsupervised.

Happy Thanksgiving to my kittens who aren’t bigoted, backward, and misogynistic! The rest of you, just close your eyes and try to hit the back button away from this page before you pop a vessel or get your panties in a twist.

AND THEY MEET

MP came to Jersey City last night. He carried a beautiful flower arrangement from Takashimaya and wore the green sweater I gave him on the occasion of our one month anniversary on Monday. I greeted him outside the restaurant with a nod. My father welcomed him with his classic I-don't-give-a-shit-whether-or-not-you-try-to-impress-me poker face; my mother said hello with her dazzling million-watt smile and her aggressive charm. Even before we sat down, amma presented MP with a handsomely packaged handsome tie, which, I should add, she picked out without any of my assistance.

We sat down. Abu asked MP about his job, his family, the country from which his family hails, as well as the country that he calls home. Amma encouraged him to eat from the breadbasket because "You just got in from work and must be starving." Slowly, my anxiety about the hammer falling--ie, my father asking MP super awkward questions--dissipated. I enjoyed my swordfish steak. I relished in the fact that my MP was slowly winning my father over with his stories and clinching my mother's love for him. He cooks! He's traveled the world! He's a brilliant biologist turned brilliant lawyer! He's making my father laugh! He's making me so happy!

But then my father asked me a question that I didn't expect would become awkward but, oh, it most certainly did.

How did you two meet?

I stumbled over the following words: blog, comments, random, ES, kismet. I might have thrown happenstance into the mix.

MP chalked it up to two words: book recommendation.

And then the awkwardness continued. My father asked the question about faith but MP's answer satisfied him. Abu then threw out the kicker:

What are your plans?

I covered my mouth with my hand and looked away, giggling a little in my anxiousness.

What are your plans? he asked again and said that he was an old fashioned guy, who didn't believe in excessive dating.

MP said if abu was asking whether or not we intend to get married, the answer is yes. Neither of us have a timetable, he explained, but our intentions are of the union-for-life kind.

And that was as far as the grilling went. To be honest with you, I expected more grilling but abu later told me that he didn't think any additional interrogation was necessary because MP won him over so completely from the get-go.

At one point, as MP leaned over the side of the table to reveal the lovely bouquet he'd bought for my lovely parents, my lovely mother nodded vigorously, her lovely eyes as wide as her lovely smile.

Approval was confirmed.

"He's a boy of outstanding character!" amma declared later. Abu seconded that with a less effusive nod and mumble.

"He'll keep you very happy!" amma added and my abu seconded.

"Oh, he seems so kind and just so genuinely nice!" my amma said. Abu nodded earnestly.

He's won them over, our miracle worker. And me, I'm relieved. I'm utterly relieved.

O M G

MP's meeting the parents (that's both amma and abu) for dinner tomorrow night.

How We First Met: Mongolia, Parasailing, Cruise Ships and Broken Showers

Here is my MP's post. Enjoy.

My discovery of the Nerddd's blog was a result of a seemingly random, yet interconnected set of happenstances that involved Mongolia, parasailing, cruise ships and broken showers.

Here is the sequence:

1. In the winter of 2004, after having to completed law school a semester early, I went on a five month around-the-world-pre-bar-trip, including a jaunt along the Trans-Siberian railroad through Mongolia.

2. A few months later, in the summer of 2004, after writing the New York bar, I decided that I would spend some quality time with my sister in Toronto in the interim before beginning my new job in Manhattan.

3. Whilst in Toronto, I attended the house party of my friends P. and L., whereupon, by chance, one of L.'s sister's friends, G, stopped by for about 15 minutes to take a shower (as her shower had broken down just days before). I spoke to her for all of 4-5 minutes, mentioning in passing my travels.

4. Fast forward to summer 2006 - I received a random email from L. (who was interning in New Delhi at the time) asking me whether or not I remembered the chance encounter with her sister's showering friend G, and if so, whether G. could pick my brain for advice on traveling through Mongolia. Apparently, she was in the midst of her own around the world trip, was at the time heading to Mongolia and had remembered our brief five minute conversation. I, of course, obliged.

5. I emailed G. to give her some thoughts, but also sheepishly admitted that as I had traveled to Mongolia in the winter when it was prohibitively cold, I didn't have too much to offer in the way of sightseeing tips. I then suggested that if she happened by any one of China, Tibet, Vietnam, Thailand etc. during her trip, that I could probably be of more use.

6. She wrote back a few weeks later asking for advice on Tibet. I give her a long dissertation, apologized again for not being terribly useful on Mongolia and then randomly asked her how she enjoyed her travels there.

7. During that time, my parents were thinking about going on a cruise and had tasked me with doing some initial research. Originally we were targeting the Caribbean and I was researching shore-excursions/activities and came across parasailing.

8. Almost at the very moment I did a Google search on parasailing, I got an email response back from G. thanking me for the Tibet advice, and letting me know that she had a great time in Mongolia and gave me the link to her blog. She then mentioned that she had found excellent travel advice by doing a search on Blogger for Mongolia. Reading about the direct experiences of others gave her great ideas about her own trips and she suggested that I use that as a resource the next time I was planning a trip. As I had never read a blog before, I followed the link and read through her stories of travels through India, Kashmir, Afghanistan, Russia and Turkey. After reading her blog, given that just minutes before, I had google-searched "parasailing," I spontaneously did a blogger search for "parasailing.”

9. Also by happenstance, the Nerddd had just recently completed the entry "The Nerd and her BFF Parasail" as it happened to be the fourth hit on that list (sorted by date). I had read through the first hit, and didn't think much of it. Before parting from the search page, I randomly clicked on the Nerddd's link, found it delightful, then read through her original set of entries and admired her love of Ken Burns, William Faulkner and ee cummings, among others, and then in an out of character move, spontaneously bookmarked it as a favorite, and the rest is history.

10. As an aside, I have not done a Blogger search since, I have not bookmarked another blog as a favorite since, my family never ended up cruising to the Caribbean and I've never dirty madlibbed either.

So, in brief, the road to my meeting the Nerddd was contingent upon a chance encounter four years ago, an email out of the blue based on my (supposed) knowledge of Mongolia, the temporal intersection of my discovering blogging at the same time my parents were asking for research on cruises and the Nerddd having blogged about parasailing, combined with easy access to a blogger search function which no longer appears to be available.

Kismet, it seems, is alive and well.

HEY MOM, DAD: MEET MP!

To all the naysayers out there who think that MP is a fictitious character on this blog, bugger off, please. Anyone who knows me in real life knows that he's the real deal. Five people who are very dear to me have already met him and most of them wholeheartedly approve (MP and I randomly ran into the fifth dear as he walked his dog on the streets of the West Village last night. It was so gloriously random. I recognized my friend's dog--who's looking super svelte these days, by the way--and blurted out my friend's name! Luckily, it was said friend, who looked a bit shell shocked to see us standing before him. In any case, I don't know whether he was in MP's company long enough to actually give me a thumbs up but we so must discuss later!).

The brothers loved him. My mother already loves him. Since most of the family is on board, we're going to break the news of MP being the real deal to my father (gulp) today. I gulp because MP isn't of South Asian and Muslim heritage. I should give my dad, who happens to be a very intelligent, openminded, and progressive person, the benefit of the doubt but I'm pretty worried. In any case, if all goes well, MP will be sitting down to dinner with the Khan clan next Sunday.

I promise I'll keep you posted, kittens.

HEY MP, MEET THE BROTHERS or T minus 1

That's right folks. MP is meeting my two big brother tomorrow. Gulp.

GUEST BLOGGER

My Dear Kittens,

Let's take a vote.
How would you like it if we had a guest blogger on Revengeofthenerddd.blogspot.com?
How would you like it if the guest blogger was the one and only MP?
How would you like to find out exactly how our (my) MP stumbled upon my blog for the very first time over a year ago (trust me dears, it's a lovely tale of serendipity)?

Let me know.

Yours,
The Nerddd

ps: MP, dear, I know we haven't had a prior discussion about this and I hope you don't mind yet another very public shout out but I think your side of the "how-we-got-together" story could make for a delightfully romantic blog post.

pps: Did I take it a little too far? Because, seriously, I sometimes don't have that internal filter when it comes to blogging. Ahem.

CREDIT CARD CONFUSION

I was recently notified in a letter from my credit card company that I had something like a million airline miles. Unfortunately, they weren't the three trillion I would need for actual airline tickets (lying, scummy bastards!) but seeing that I couldn't roll them over into next year (stingy, cruel bastards), I could "purchase" magazine subscriptions with my points. And so I chose about eight magazines from the selection I was given only to receive yet another note about a week later informing me that one of my magazine choices--Lucky-- was no longer available and that I'd have to choose from one of the following publications:

Black Enterprise
Golf For Women
Out
Teen Vogue
The Advocate

Clearly, my credit card company seems to be under the impression that I'm a black lesbian executive, who plays golf and has a teenage daughter.

Clearly, I need to divorce myself from my credit card company.

If anyone's interested in knowing, I chose to go with Teen Vogue. Ahem.

NIGHTMARES AND MY BF

My nightmare:

We have two hours until the cruise ship departs but my brothers are insisting that I give them more time to play videogames. I stress too much and, really, there's no way the ship's going to leave without us. I stomp my feet and protest a little but finally give in. While waiting for them, I do a mental inventory of everything I've packed away for our seven night cruise and realize with a heavy heart that I haven't packed enough clothes because I've seemingly ballooned to 500 lbs and many of my clothes no longer fit me. I have tons of tent- and table cloth-like parcels of ridiculously patterned fabrics that I'm hoping will cover my girth but I know that these aren't appropriate for the two formal nights on the cruise. Which only means one thing! I must run out to the mall and find something fancy to wear. Suddenly, I find myself lost and wandering in a London supermall (now I don’t know if London even has supermalls but I know instinctively in my dream that I am definitely in London and that I'm lost). In a panic over the very real prospect of a) not finding a dress and b) being late for the cruise, I suddenly have to pee. When I do finallyfind the ladies' room, I become stuck in a toilet stall and nearly break the door as I manage to somehow squeeze out. A plus size girl I know in real life is sitting on a chair by the sink. She says, "I don't know what to tell you. They're gonna have to start making bathrooms for girls our size."

I start to explain to her that I'm not really her size but, luckily, I wake up in my bed, relieved that I'm not going on a cruise and am, instead, spending the day with MP.

My bf:

Later in the day, when I tell MP about my dream, he laughs and says, "Sabila, if you ever find yourself 500 lbs and trapped in a bathroom stall, give me a call. I'll bring the butter and jack you out."

Sigh.

NO SHOW MONDAY

Apologies for not posting today kittens. I was experiencing major technical difficulties. More TK tomorrow but in the meantime, you all should read what my bff Rachel had to say in the below post's comments section about MP. It's rather nice and all true. Sigh.

so i met MP the other night and made the following observations:

1. his knowledge of properly taking a dump in the woods and surviving 17 days without showering is impressive.

2. he can survive 3 cackling women.

3. he can take my ball busting....and give in right back. (always a plus)

4. he kind enough not to be openly terrified of my driving skills. (niiiiice)

5. he's a patient man. (damn bastards at the restaurant kept on making mistakes with is order)

6. most importantly, he was good to our sabila. he continued to hold her hand even though his other hand would've made eating his nachos a bit easier....aaawww.

so, overall, i'd say so far so good. however, my final decision hinges on his karaoke skills.

MP - your NIN skills better rock! i'm expecting a kick ass performance and a faux-hawk. i'll be soooo disappointed otherwise...

rachel

BREAKING NEWS!

MP, the bf, might be able to join the bffs and me for dinner tonight in the JC, NJ! I'm atwitter with joy!

HIVES AND OUR NERDDD

Do you guys remember when I broke into hives during the same weekend that Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released? Even after making an appointment with an allergist, I joked to my friends that the hives must have been a psychosomatic reaction to my being in a state of panic over the whereabouts of my Amazon.com-ordered copy of the book. Of course, after months of allergy testing, which revealed that I was allergic to many things, yes, but nothing that should have caused the breakout that I experienced, I started to suspect that, perhaps, they were caused by stress.

Anyway, fast forward to this week. A friend recently gave me some troubling news--no worries, it's nothing that directly effects me. Afterwards, my heart was aflutter, my head hurt, and, surprise, a couple of hives daintly alighted on my cheek! It would appear, dear readers, that your Nerddd, in addition to having allergies that would make any nerd proud, has a psychosomatic disorder!

Awesome.

AMMA ON DATING

Saturday, 10/20/07, 1 day after my first date with MP:

Nerddd: ...oh, amma, it was all SO lovely...sigh...
Amma: So, when will he propose to you?
Nerddd: AMMA! We've been out once!
Amma: Well, how many more times does he need to go out with you before he proposes?
Nerddd: I'm walking away now.

Sunday, 10/28/07, 1 hour after my second date with MP:

Amma: How did it go?
Nerddd: Oh, amma, he's so LOVELY.
Amma: Did he say anything?
Nerddd: ...um, about what?
Amma: About marriage!
Nerddd: We're not having this conversation.

Tuesday, 10/30/07, 2 days after my second date with MP:

Amma: Wow, look at these beautiful engagement rings in this DeBeers catalog I received in the mail!
Nerddd (reading)
Amma: Sabila...I think you'd like something like this...
Nerddd (still reading)
Amma: Don't you want to think about what kind of ring you want.
Nerddd: AMMA! Two dates! Two dates!
Amma: ...I'm just saying...oooh. Look at that one.

Tuesday, 11/06/07, 3 days after my third date with MP:

Amma: Wouldn't you say meeting him three times is quite enough?
Nerddd: Err, no.
Amma: Fine.
Amma (after a brief pause): Sabila.
Nerddd: Hmm?
Amma: Don't go to his apartment, okay?!
Nerddd: Amma! Can we not talk about this.
Amma: And if it's raining the next time you see him, don't take the umbrella that he bought you.
Nerddd: Well, why not?
Amma: You don't want him to think that you don't own any umbrellas of your own.
Nerddd (A SEETHING SILENCE)

THE CREST GLIDE: OH BABY

Thanks again for the array of comments to my newfound relationship. All of the comments are very heartfelt, albeit--at times--prejudice, ugly, and wholly wrong. But thanks anyway for your genuine interest.

Moving right along, let's discuss something a bit less incendiary: my new dental floss! The Crest Glide website asks its visitors to "Experience the Difference," and, trust you me, I've experienced that difference! The Crest Glide is soft on the gums (the floss I'd been using can probably slice fruits and vegetables), is soft on my fingers (like I said, my old floss slices things; it's practically a weapon), sliding it down to the roots of my teeth isn't an exercise in patience and bravery, and it leaves me with that "just-left-the-dentist's-office" feeling that even a good cleaning at my dentist's office doesn't give me anymore (what can I say? I'm jaded).

Talk abour life-changing meetings! Watch out MP, the Crest Glide and I are definitely forever.

SIGHS

Thanks to the well-wishers and naysayers alike, for the comments made in response to the post below about this Nerddd's unexpected and new romance. I'm still sighing. Frankly, the emotional significance of this most wondrous event is distracting (I can hardly focus on anything) and while I promise a more nerdddy post tomorrow, tonight I leave the floor open to you. So, hi. And, go ahead: questions, concerns, rants, raves, words of wisdom, fyi's, whatever.

DEAR K WHO STUMBLED UPON MY BLOG AND BECAME A LITTLE SMITTEN WITH ME: An Open Letter

Dear K, who stumbled upon my blog and became a little smitten with me:

I appreciate your comment on my post entitled "Sleeplessness, Static, and Sushi: London, Day 2." For those who haven't read the comment, the single-letter-monikered K reveals his like for me and proposes that we meet. The comment is detailed, heartfelt, and flattering and, I appreciate your boldness, K. That being said, MP feels like a keeper and, honestly, I'm not one to date around (hell, I'm not one to date at all!), while dating someone who feels like a keeper in order to make sure that the keeper is actually just that: a keeper. Follow me? As far as I know, MP and I are exclusive (MP? Ahem). Still, my dear K, I think you're pretty darned wonderful and props to you for laying it all out there.

Would you consider being screened for one of my gorgeous, brilliant, and witty female friends?

Let me know.

Yours,
The Nerddd

Dear Halloween

Dear Halloween,

Happy belated you. Ahem. I'm sorry I failed to acknowledge you in my post yesterday. If it makes you feel any better, you aren't the only holiday I forgot to give a shout out to on my blog: I also forgot all about my parents' 37th wedding anniversary on the 30th (the anniversary had a post all to itself last year as well!). It's not you Halloween. Trust me, just like my parents' wedding anniversary remains one of the most significant dates in my history, you remain one of my favorite holidays. It seems, however, that most holidays have now taken a back seat to Manada (well, really, they've taken a backseat to the Manadian B, known previously to my readers as MP), and if I'm in a burning building with you and the Manadian B and I can only save one of you, I'm sorry but I'm going with the Manadian. I mean, you're sweet and all but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do, right?

I'm hoping you understand and that we remain friends.

Yours,
The Nerddd

OH CANADA

Oh Canada, you great exporter of sweet, thoughtful, bright, kindhearted, and all-around amazing men, I now call you Manada because you, much like that great city of Menver, give all of us single-in-Manhattan-working-women hope. Thank you, Manada. Thank you.

LONDON

Dear all my kittens,

Apologies for being such a neglectful blogger of late. I was fully under London's spell during the past several days. While my first four days in Naked Chef land were spent at the mothership--the CBCs (for those of you who don't know, that's short for Care Bear Cousins) were as gregarious, intelligent, and fun as my colleagues here and I thoroughly enjoyed my time with them--I spent the final two days in London sightseeing with one of my favorite baby cousins. Fine, Amir's 23, towers over me, and laughs at me whenever I declare that I'm his baji (that's Urdu for older sister) but he'll always be a kid in my eyes. Westminster Abbey, London Bridge, the Swiss Re Building, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, the Tate Modern (and its crack!), we saw as much as the short amount of time I had permitted. Though I was unable to take a ride on the London Eye, I did end up taking about a dozen pics of it, plus the views from the mothership were more impressive than those offered by many other vantage points in the city.

My favorite moment(s) of the trip: it's a tie between riding the carousel with Amir in Covent Garden on Friday night and then spending most of the remaining night talking with him in my hotel room, both of us laughing until our stomachs hurt. I miss you kid!

My favorite English dish: I don't know why English food has a bad reputation throughout the world because I thoroughly enjoyed eating the traditional victuals offered in London. While everything--from the ubiquitous mash to the equally ubiquitous fish and chips, to the many varieties of savory pies--was splendid, my most favorite dish I ate was the previously blogged about treacle tart with clotted cream. My stomach's doing somersaults (these aren't necessarily somersaults of joy, mind you) just thinking about it. My cousin and I had high hopes of enjoying high tea at the swanky Savoy on Saturday, which were shattered by the fact that he was wearing jeans and sneakers. But no worries; our favorite Canadian, upon hearing that I couldn't partake of high tea in London, has asked me to join him for the late afternoon meal at the Ritz Carlton. Yes, he's dreamy.

My favorite London chain: Marks & Spencer. I could spend all day in any one of the shops. When, OH WHEN, will these United States be blessed with their own Marks & Spencer??!

My favorite London store: Fortnum & Mason was a feast for all of the senses. Talk about luxe!

My favorite London market: Burough Market, a food market through which Amir and I wandered on Saturday morning, sampling foods from around London.

My least favorite London moment: announcing that "I'm EVERYWHERE online!" during an intimate corporate dinner on Wednesday night. Yes, this might've also been one of the reasons why I felt unable to blog for the remainder of my stay. The thought of execs Googling me and finding this blog remains shudderingly disconcerting.

Needless to say, the tri-state area felt very uninspiring this morning.

SLEEPLESSNESS, STATIC, AND SUSHI: London, Day 2

It's a little past 8 in the evening and I'm sitting in my hotel room in my pajamas, feeling like a prat for not being out on the town but being too knackered to do much more than eat, blog, make a few phone calls, read, and sleep. I woke up this morning, thinking that it was surely 6AM and being disappointed when I realized that it was actually only 1AM. I ended up lying in bed for another two hours, fretting about being wide awake in the middle of the night, with not a bit of drowsiness to my name, before I finally and rather miraculously fell asleep again, only to wake up what felt like a split second later to my 6:30AM wake up call (I was both relieved and disappointed that the concierge hadn't forgotten about my wake up call like he'd done yesterday. I know, right??!).

It's been bloody parky out here in London these past couple of days--although I rather enjoy parky weather, I unfortunately failed to pack parky weather-appropriate outerwear for this trip--so I decided to wear a pair of black stockings with my mini dress and boots, only to be revisited by the maddeningly irritating spirit of static cling. Naturally, I'd failed to pack the dryer sheets that MP so thoughtfully gave me on Friday, so there I was, my skirt scaling my legs again with a staticky zeal that drove me insane.

I dialled the concierge and asked him if the hotel carried anti-static spray.
Excuse me? he asked.
Anti-static spray, I repeated.
Express checkout? he asked.
No, no, I said, tugging the hem of my skirt away from electrically charged stockings, AN-TI STA-TIC SPRAY. For static cling, you know? STA-TIC CLING.
EX-PRESS CHECK-OUT? he asked again, his voice carrying cautious optimism.
No, not express checkout! Static cling! Static cling! Like what happens when your clothes stick together? Static cling!
I was getting worked up and ready to go downstairs and volunteer myself as living evidence of static cling but he quickly muttered that he didn't understand (he must not wear stockings) and transfered me to a female attendant at the front desk.
Would you happen to have anti-static spray? I asked, sighing.
Express checkout? We do-- she started and I wondered why the bloody prats who bloody worked at this bloody hotel kept on bloody hearing "express check out" each time I bloody said "anti-static spray."
Anti-static spray. Like what you use when your clothes stick together because of static electricity--
Electricity problems?! Now I understand! You should call--
NO, NO! Static! STA-TIC!
Well, sorry, I don't think we have any of that.

I ended up walking to the drugstore next door, where a kindly female employee, who seemed to know a thing or two about static electricity told me that--get this--it had been years since she'd last seen a can of anti-static spray (what are the Brits doing right, is my question) in London but that I should spray the afflicted areas of my clothing with hairspray.

I sprayed my skirt and tights into a firm hold that even a determined gust of wind shouldn't have been able to move. But, alas, the skirt continued to climb the stockings until I, utterly defeated to nylon, stole to the ladies room and did away with them. Though freezing for the remainder of the day, I was relieved. I was relieved.

Finally, don't eat sushi in London. I bought what looked to be lovely rolls at a Japanese takeout place, was asked to pay extra for wasabi, soy sauce, and ginger and discovered while eating my dinner that the Brits seem to enjoy their sushi with the least possible amount of fish and a whole lot of rice.

This city, however, remains charming and I can't wait to explore it this weekend! Woohoo!

I'm exhausted.

COMMUTING, CAMARADERIE, AND CLOTTED CREAM: London Day 1 or a Part 2 to the Post Below

It's been an awfully long day here in London. Two of my American colleagues and I had to fight through the shockingly uncivilized commuting masses in the tube after work today--a journey that was made more difficult by the fact that the District Line was down. We stood on the platform, our eyes filled with the desperation only lost tourists can muster but, like the intrepid New Yorkers that we are, we figured out an alternate route home. After a long, exhausting, frustrating, circuitous journey that's likely bonded us for life, we found ourselves back at our less-than-stellar hotel. It should be noted that my heart, heavy with homesickness, longed for the familiarity (and relative spaciousness) of Manhattan's subway system (the tubes are NARROW. One male commuter became very familiar with my right boob and another with my colleague's butt. One can't help but press into random body parts in the cramped confines of the trains. Plus, no one by the doors likes to move. We almost suffocated a small child because her mother ordered her not to move away from the door as we tried to exit the blasted train and make our way to fresh air) during this journey.

Dinner tonight was a three course meal of buffola mozzarella and tomatoes, grilled swordfish with rocket mashed potatoes and string beans, and a delicious treacle pie with clotted cream. The treacle pie may very well have been one of the most delicious foods I've had in recent memory.

I am so so so grateful for my four other colleagues who have joined me in London. While we didn't know each other very well prior to this program, we've formed a camaraderie in the weeks leading up to our trip. It's comforting to experience a foreign city, which is just different enough to be a bit disorienting and overwhelming, with friends. And, in spite of the horrendous commute home today, our London colleagues are a delightful bunch and I can rather get used to the corporate mothership. London also remains a charming and whimsical city. I believe I should return here on my own to take in some of the lovely sights that surround us.

Well, that's it for now, my darlings. I'm off to sleep as I've got a busy day at work tomorrow! More TK.

Cheerio!
SABILA

LONDON, LONDON, LONDON!

Blogging live from London, kittens. The flight was, thankfully, uneventful, save for a few pockets of heart-stopping turbulence and the fact that as soon as we took off from JFK, a South Asian aunty moved from her middle row seat to sit next to men in the exit row (I was sure that she did so to talk up some single son, nephew, or next door neighbor of hers. This wasn't the case. Phew.). London is absolutely lovely, a great combination of history and modernity. Today is appropriately overcast and I've just returned from a delicious authentic British lunch of butternut squash soup and cabbage cheese (at least that's what I think it's called).

Anyway, must get back to work now. Will talk more later.

THE DATE

I have one word for you: TRANSFORMATIVE!

Actually, I've got some more words for you (ie, a most excellent story about sweet Canadians, nine course meals, umbrellas, bidets, and my nerves going haywire) but I'm way too tired to share at the moment. I promise I'll try to blog about it tomorrow night though.

Love you kittens.

The Nerddd

SHORT ON THE Ts: A Follow-Up

Remember when I mentioned feeling very zen about this date tonight.......?

Yah, well, I'm taking that back. I'm feeling rather sick to my stomach at the moment and these delicious chewable Rolaids aren't helping, people. I imagine this is how I will feel on the plane.

Deep breaths, positive thoughts, right? RIGHT???!!!
I'm freakin' out.
Where the HELL are my BFFs?! EFF!

SHORT ON THE T'S

Greetings from a super busy Nerddd, kittens!

Tonight's the night. Eeeeek, yes, but I'm also starting to feel very zen about this date! Let's hope that my sensory integration disorder decides that it doesn't like sushi and goes out for Italian, instead.

Plus, in less than 45 hours, I'll be boarding a jet plane headed for London. Eeeeek indeed and, in this case, I'm not feeling very zen, kittens. Let's hope (for the sake of the traveler sitting next to me on said flight) that I don't have a total meltdown during take-off. The slightly neurotic-about-flying tendencies love airplane food, apparently. Alas.