Even better than E=MC^2....

I think I've stumbled upon a hypothesis that's so intriguing, it warrants a blog post to see if there's any validity to my theory.  I'm no Einstein, mind you...but this equation might rock your world in an even more tangible way (especially if you're a single lady...)  Are you ready for this?  The equation that will blow your mind??

Sweet tooth = Sweet guy.

Okay, so it's not scientific...but any theory has to start somewhere, right?  As many of you know, I'm lucky enough to have one of the nicest, most thoughtful, and sensitive husbands around.  What you may not know about him, however, is the fact that he would literally trade all solid foods for a lifetime if you let him eat ice cream for the rest of his life instead.  His love of ice cream is so deep, he uses it as a measuring stick for how much he loves or doesn't love things.  For example, he loves me more but our cat, Chai, less.  That's intense.  So how did I connect the dots? 

I'm going to warn you that I'm about to make a lot of generalizations that may offend you, but as George Clooney once said "I stereotype, because it's faster."  Here it goes... 

Women like sweets.  Women are more sensitive than men.  Men tend to like savory more than sweet.  Men are less sensitive than women.  Therefore, men who like sweets are somehow more in touch with their feminine sides than men who do not. 

Okay, so it's a stretch. 

We went to dinner with a couple of friends over the weekend.  It was kind of hilarious because we were ordering dessert (my husband is always stoked about dessert.)  We ordered a giant cookie that was topped with ice cream.  Me, my husband, and my friend Cec all went to dig in.  Her husband said, "Eh, I don't really like sweets."  I gave Cec this look which basically said "Oh...sorry your husband isn't as nice as mine."  She looked confused.  I explained my theory.  At this point, she starts laughing maniacally and her husband basically said "she's laughing because it's true.  I'm definitely not as nice as Sid."  Then he said what I was struggling to find words to say.  He said, "Ya know, you're probably right.  There's probably something to that theory.  I mean, I never once saw a guy eating an ice cream cone or a giant muffin and thought 'hmmm, that guy is a dick.'  Makes sense"

Maybe guys that eat sweets are happier because sweets kick off their endorphins and endorphins make people happy.  I really don't know, but I challenge anyone to tell me about a guy who loves sweets but isn't a super nice guy.

700 calories a DAY?...Won't I pass out or die??!!!

You may or may not be aware of the fact that I have a condition called PCOS.  To make a long story short, my body and hormones are all messed up.  The only way to fix this is to lose weight.  One of the symptoms of PCOS is that it's difficult to lose weight.  Talk about a vicious cycle...

In a prior post, I mentioned that my new doctor is basically awesome.  She specializes in PCOS and referred me to this other guy who specializes in weight loss when there are chemical/hormonal/metabolic factors at play.  I went to my first appointment last night and left feeling terrified and extremely hopeful all at once.  In order to achieve the kind of weight loss necessary, they're going to put me on a...Get this...700 calorie diet.  No, dear readers...not 700 calories a meal...700 calories for the whole day!

To put this into perspective, that's about the amount of calories in 2 plain 3oz. chicken breasts and a few veggies.  Clearly this is not enough to sustain a normal human being.  I almost passed out when I was told this.  I believe my exact words were "700 calories a day?  How do you not die?"  Under normal circumstances, a diet should be no lower than 1200 calories a day without medical supervision. 

That's where the good Doctor comes into the picture.  I have to do extensive lab work once every few weeks to make sure my body is reacting okay.  I also need to have an EKG done every time I lose 10 pounds to make sure my heart is dealing with rapid weight loss sufficiently.  They say if I do what they tell me, I will lose an average of 10 pounds a week.  This seems like a lot and it wasn't until I was told that I burn 1599 calories a day by just existing, that I understood how it was possible.  Literally, I burn almost 1600 calories at rest by breathing in and out.  It doesn't include walking, digesting, eating, chewing, typing, moving, blinking, etc. 

So this is what I have to do:  I won't be able to drink alcohol. (If you ask MG, that's like asking her not to breathe.)  I can only eat the food that they give me.  Basically I'll be consuming 100-150 calories every 2 to 3 hours while I'm awake.  In the mean time, if I find it too difficult to deal with after the first week, they're willing to prescribe me medication that will actually make it so that I have no desire to eat and certainly don't feel hungry. 

When I resigned from my last job, I worked out twice a day pretty much every day for 4 months and was on Weight Watchers and counting everything I ate and I only lost 17 pounds.  They're saying I'll hit that easily in 2 weeks.  That blows my mind.  Clearly this won't be "easy" but it's definitely exciting.  I'm worried about what kind of affect it'll have on my social life.  I mean, my idea of a night out is either going out to eat or going to a movie or going to the bar.  The movie is still doable...but I guess I'll be smuggling in a protein meal replacement shake.  Neat. 

The plan kicks into gear on 4/12/10.  This gives me enough time to get all the lab work done beforehand.  Until then, I'm pretending that I'm a prisoner on death row...headed for the gas chamber.  Every meal is a little like my last meal in some regard.  After the 12th, I'm hoping that the fact that I'm paying for all this out of pocket, coupled with the fact that I'll see results so quickly, will be enough to keep me motivated and on the straight and narrow.

That said, I have awesome friends and family who I know will be there to support me and help me through what I'm sure will be a difficult step in my road to a healthier me.  I wonder if my calorie intake and the number of rage blackouts I have are inversely related. 

Let's hope not!

It's called "Work"... NOT "Super Happy Fun Time"

There are a lot of definitions for work.  Note the negative tone in most of them.  I don't know about you, but I don't think happy thoughts when I hear words like, "Exertion", "Labor", or "Toil"...

I always tell myself that they call it "Work" for a reason.  It's not called "Super Happy Fun Time".  Seems pretty obvious, right?  Maybe not.

Last night, during a monthly dinner with my KC girls, I heard the question or was asked the question "How's work going?" more than once.  I probably heard it about half a dozen times, in fact. The response was one of the following combinations:

• "Eh.  It pays the bills."
• "It's okay.  I probably wouldn't do it if I didn't need the money."
• "Whatever."
• "I hope I get laid off so I can just get unemployment."

It made me sad.  We spend the majority of our waking hours in what's usually a pretty lame work environment.  It's typically filled with bad carpet, 80's works of art, and cubicles as far as the eye can see.  I used to be really passionate about what I did for a living.  I used to feel like I was lucky that I got to do something I like, and felt that I was good at.  So why all of a sudden all the apathy?  I've thought about this a lot, people.  I wish I had something really concrete to share with you.  Some of it is probably that I've become much more crochety in my old age.  Some of it is that the work I'm doing feels like I've taken a huge step backwards.  I couldn't leave you with such a big question to ponder without giving you some of my concrete reasons for hating the whole concept of "Work".

• Vacation Time: The US culture has a whacky concept of what's an acceptable amount of time for vacation.  Come on, people.  Let's face it: when you go on vacation, it's not like the work magically ceases and you come back with a fresh clean slate.  It piles up and waits for you, and most likely causes you to work a great deal, either before or after you go on said vacation.  So really, the company squeezes the same amount of output from you...but feels that it needs to impose its authority over you by limiting your days off to an unreasonable number...like say, 10.
• Unreasonable Authority: I don't like being told what to do. I mean, I really don't like it. Ask my mom...she'll tell you all about it.
• Politics: I especially don't like politics. I can handle any amount and type of work; Crappy work, boring work, busy work, challenging work, inefficient work, even. What I can not handle is politics. People drama literally feels like it's sucking my soul out from my eyeballs. (Read: Not pleasant)
• Alarm Clocks: I don't like waking up early. Who does, really?
• Disrespect:  Like I've said before, I'm fairly confident that I'm really good at my job.  Not only that, but I have more experience and a wider range of experience than your average bear.  That said, there's nothing I can't deal with more than disrespect.  Listen Mr. Socially-Inept Developer Man: Yes, I realize you have either mild Autism or Aspergers, but that does not excuse you treating me as though I'm some incompetent bafoon who just pushes pixels all day and makes things pretty.  Yes, you may have some prowess in coding...and good for you, I won't challenge you in your domain of expertise.  However, you should know that if you try to challenge me in my domain of expertise, you better be prepared to have your arms ripped off and be beaten with them.  Nuff said.

So that's my rant for the day.  Thanks for tuning in...

Snowpocalypse 2010 (AKA Snowmageddon 2010 or Snowicane 2010)

Life isn't fair.  I'm supposed to be on a plane right now.  A plane headed to NYC so I could celebrate a multitude of birthdays.  That of two of my best friends, my sister-in-law and my one and only godson's very first birthday.  Why am I not on a plane right now, you ask?  Because on the East Coast, they cancel flights when there's a slight breeze or someone violently sneezes nearby.

This is what my itinerary included for the weekend, had a snow storm NOT ruined my life:

• Land at 11pm tonight, stay at my best friend's place and stay up till an unreasonable hour and wake up at the butt-crack of dawn when my adorable godson wakes up.
• Go to lunch with my ex-CEO's father on Friday afternoon. He's basically my favorite guy over 65 on the planet and for some strange reason, he thinks I'm entertaining (or as he calls it, "odd") so he makes time for me whenever I'm in town.  When I left NYC, he gave me the gift of a 300BC Western Asiatic Copper Spear from his personal art collection with a note that said not to stab anyone with it.  How cool is he? 
• Celebrate my awesome Sister-in-laws birthday at my husband's parents house on Friday night.  Birthday fiestas in Fair Lawn, NJ always include pizza slices the size of my head and carvel ice cream cake.  Who doesn't love that?
• Meeting up with one of my other dearest friends from MI who was flying to NYC to celebrate her birthday
• Mani/Pedis on Saturday, dinner with a gaggle of folks, and a joint birthday party for my sissy-in-law and dear friend from MI at one of the coolest places in NYC.  Yes, and we were getting bottle service.  For the top reasons that's cool, see this post...
• My one and only godson's one and only very 1st birthday party. This one REALLY breaks my heart.  I was so sure I'd get to go and he'd start walking this weekend.  This is the reason I bought my ticket 3 months ago.  I'm hoping he holds off on walking till I get to see him in March.  How badass would that be?  I'm also hoping that he knows how to say my name by then...  I have high hopes for that kid :)

This is what I'll be doing instead:

• Converting Oxygen to Carbon Dioxide.
• Returning some boots that don't fit.
• Laundry.
• Cleaning.

Yeah, you'd be bitter if you were me too.  Stupid effing snow storm!!!  Grrrrrr!

The Unit (commonly referred to as Mom and Dad)

I'm extremely close to my parents. Sure, I felt like they were comparable to some of the most notorious dictators of our time when I was in my angsty teen years, but really, who didn't feel that way at some point in their tumultous teens? After I went to college, there was a distinct change in the way they treated me. Suddenly, they weren't subscribing to their typical "helicopter" parenting style, in which they were all up in my grill about pretty much everything. One weekend I came home from college, and as usual, I wanted to meet up with all my old high school friends. Rather than demand I be home by the time the street lights came on, my dad simply asked, "Are you coming home tonight?"

I couldn't believe my ears. I'm sorry,what? Am I coming home tonight? Is not coming home an option? When I looked at him incredulously, he elegantly stated, "Well Arti, we certainly can't tell you what to do when you're away at college and we can't keep an eye on you there...Why bother here. I mean, we just have to sit back and hope that we did a decent enough job as parents and hope we don't end up disappointed..." Well said, I think. But something about the way he said it and the fact that all of a sudden I was a grown up...it resonated with me. All of a sudden, they were trusting me. It felt a little bit like the apocalypse...only slightly less scary. My parents have high expectations so not disappointing them isn't as easy as one might think. That was a lot of pressure at the time, people.

Needless to say, I think I did an alright job in avoiding major disappointments. Over the years, I've enjoyed the rewards of having two of the funniest indivudals as parents. I mean, I don't even think they know how hilarious they are. They're epically funny without the slightest bit of effort. Some people have heard me lament about how I'm missing the parenting gene. The more I think about it, the more I think it's less that than it is the terrifying prospect of living up to their standard of parenting. They're really a tough act to follow...

I sometimes take for granted that my parents are going to be around forever. I've already realized that it's parallel to an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. An ostrich does that when it feels threatened because it thinks "Hmm, something scary is happening. Maybe if I stick my head in the sand and I can't see it...it doesn't exist." Unfortunately, this ostrich has had its head yanked out of the sand twice; first when my mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer*, and once again right after New Years.

Today, dear readers, I blog from the side of a hospital bed in Dearborn, MI. My dad has an unusual stress test, which led the doctors to do some sort of weird ink-in-the-veins** 3D scan of his heart. This too, was inconclusive... so today they did a catheterization to figure out if it was something more serious. Here's the good news: It's not.

Regardless, even the thought of ever losing either parent is enough to send my blood pressure into the stratosphere. So, for now, this ostrich is goin' under again. But before I go, I just really had to share some gems from my dad that he said right before they took him into the procedure room (please note that he was loopy on Xanex)

Today is Ash Wednesday...therefore there are a smattering of medical professionals here that have the ash cross on their foreheads, including the lady wheeling him around. I went in to wish him good luck and tell him I love him. He looks at me with his glassy eyes and a goofy grin and asks "Arti, do you know that that is?" Please picture him repeatedly making the sign of the cross on his forehead in a crazy fashion. So I told him that, Yes, I did know what it was. So he said, "ARTI...DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS???" Still frantically making the sign of the cross. I told him again that I did. He starts laughing maniacally and says "Good. Me too."

He then proceeded to ask me if I was friends with the Internet.

The nurse asked him if he was wearing any jewelery. At this point, he gets a goofy look on his face again and says, "No jewelery...just the family jewels."

True story, you can't make this shit up.

*She's totally in remission now and healthier than ever. P.S. never watch "The Family Stone" if you're dealing with a mother diagnosed with Breast Cancer. It will ruin your life.

**Yes, this is a completely accepted medical term. I'm Indian so I'm practically a doctor anyway.

It's a LOVE marriage!!

In honor of the impending Valentine's day holiday and the 5-year marker of when I met the love of my life, I thought it was fitting to dedicate a post to him. For those of you who know and love Sid, you know that he's pretty much the nicest guy to ever walk the planet. Yes, he comes in a menacing package...but really, as cliche as it sounds, he's a big brown teddy bear.

The title of this post might seem odd to most people.  Allow me to explain... 

I'm Indian.  My parents are Indian.  They have an arranged marriage.  Most Indian people of a certain age have an arranged marriage.  The concept of finding love... REAL love...and actually being allowed to marry them in non-dramatic, Bollywood movie-inspired fashion is like a mythical creature...a unicorn, if you will. In fact, I recall when my mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer in 2006, I wanted to cancel my wedding all together, rather than postponing it.  We were getting married in Vegas anyway...there was no reason for additional stress when my mom was using all her strength to battle Cancer.  When I brought up the prospect of cancelling the big Indian wedding, my dad said, "Arti, are you CRAZY?!  You will have a LOVE marriage...we need to CELEBRATE!  It's a rare and beautiful thing..." 

It really is...

In a serendipitous twist of fate, Sudhir and I came into contact 5 years ago.  I was in the midst of my man-hating phase because I'd been dissed by a plethora men.  My parents were convinced that I was a lesbian, or as my dad referred to it: "One of those Ellen Chicks".  The story of how Sudhir and I met is long and convoluded, but the Cliff's Notes version is as follows:

Girl lives in KC | Girl meets Boy who lives in NJ on internet | Girl flies out to meet boy | Girl and Boy have a perfectly splendid evening including dinner & theatre | Girl and Boy decide they are better off as friends | Boy introduces Girl to his Brother* | Girl and Brother live happily ever after.

Our courtship was brief by most people's standards.  We started talking 2/15/05.  We met in person the first time 3/23/05, he proposed 9/16/05.  SG would have you believe that the velocity at which our relationship progressed was "cultural".  I disagree.  I think that when you know, you know.  Even some friends that were concerned that I was rushing into things...they ended up eating their words after spending any substantial amount of time with him.  Case in point: SG dropped me off at the airport in KC when I was flying out to NYC to meet Sid for the very first time.  This is an actual conversation:

Me:  *hugging SG and leaving a brown faceprint on her beautiful cream colored coat*  Sarah, I really think I'm gonna marry this one.  I just know it...
SG: Simmer down, psycho...why don't you wait till you're at least in the same room for the first time.

And now, SG is one of Sid's biggest fans.  It's hard not to love the guy...it really is.

Every girl has a checklist in their head of qualities that they think the man of their dreams should posess.  Ladies, listen up: Love isn't about checking items off a checklist.  You could take a man, give him all those qualities...but if it's not there, it's not there...You simply can't force it.

Sudhir has crossed off items on a checklist that I would have never even thought to construct.  He's the man who makes me laugh till I cry, and will tolerate me crying till I laugh. He puts up with more than any man should, honestly. He thinks that my annoying quirks are cute. He tolerates my OCD about symmetry, my shopping addiction, my inability to let him use vocabulary incorrectly, and my stubborn nature.  He doesn't push me to talk when I've had a bad day.  He's happy to sit in silence and just watch TV that he's probably horrified to be watching (think Golden Girls Marathon) He loves, without question, the people that I love.  He makes them his...he makes the effort...he's thoughtful and kind.

I often wonder how I got so lucky.  There are probably a lot of women on God's green earth who are more deserving of the treasure that is Sudhir.  But...he picked me.  I'll never understand why, but as my mom would say, "I probably did something really good in my last lifetime..."
 
I love you, babe.

*I will most likely never be able to repay my now brother-in-law for hooking us up. Although, I suppose if he needs a kidney and I'm a match, that might even the score a little.

A shot of truth serum...(Veritaserum)

I like to give my friend's birthday celebrations fun festival-themed names like mine...therefore, in 2004, when I met SG, her birthday quickly became dubbed "Sarah-thon".  Our birthdays have typically been celebrated together, but this year, we took a departure and had separate festivities, only a short 7 days apart.  First, let me start by saying that it's clear to me that I'm too old to have two bingers in one week.  Second of all, we must hit that threshold at 31, because at 29, SG clearly has not hit it as of yet.  She did us all proud by getting obliterated two weekends in a row.  God bless youth.

Given that pretty much the same group of people gathered for both occasions (sans the NYC cousins...we missed you though!), we started to spot a trend...  SG likes to "be honest" when she's drunk.  Maybe we all get a little looser with what we say when intoxicated...the part that struck me the most was the fear with which people anticipated said honesty.  It was almost like "Uh oh, maybe it's time for a bathroom break...SG looks like she's about to come over and give me a shot of truth serum..."  Almost like it was tantamount to getting the H1N1 vaccine or something.

Don't get me wrong, nothing she said to anyone was really mean OR upsetting.  In fact, every single comment she made to anyone was out a genuine concern for that person's well being.  SG is one of the most caring people I know, so I wouldn't expect anything less.  What it all boiled down to for me is that it's odd how friends who clearly love each other don't feel comfortable enough talking about that stuff completely sober on a Tuesday.  Under those circumstances, the same thing would be deemed "a heart-to-heart". 

As friends, it's obvious we care about one another.  Maybe something about adding social lubricant makes the intrusion more tolerable, or we feel that people will forgive us for what we say.  I like to operate under the assumption that people will forgive me for being blunt, because they know that I'm only saying what I'm saying because I care.  Maybe that's why I didn't get a shot of the truth serum either night. If I'm blunt with someone, they feel at ease being blunt with me. It's called reciprocity :)

Actual conversation between SG and JE as SG delivered a shot of the truth serum and JE dished it back:
SG: I think you need to get a babysitter more often and let us babysit Ben.
JE:  Well, I think you should be nicer to your mom.

So there.