What a day.

It started off rather productively, with three loads of "tricky" laundry completed, and two stubborn stains destroyed. I felt like the hottest housewife ever. 

Then I was trading fast and furious emails with a certain respected .org which is flying me out to a very special conference in FL for a week.  I needed to nail down logistics, they needed to redo my travel arrangements and we were just tying up otherwise loose ends.  Because Panda had the MacBookAir today, I had to use my ancient iBook G4...which takes 2-3x as long to do anything, no joke.  Next thing I knew, it was 6pm.  Of course my evening can't go smoothly, this is me we're discussing, after all.  So a bit of utterly unwanted, unnecessary drama springs up from out of NOWHERE and leaves me numb and unhinged. I sincerely thought I'd lose a good friend over it-- and it was no one's fault.  It was just a mistake/assumption spun WAY OUT OF CONTROL.  I was terrified that whatever I did would only fuck things up-- there seemed like no way to fix it.  With much deep breathing, a therapeutic chocolate chip cookie from Panda and a few muttere prayers, crisis was averted-- but not before putting me in an ultra-stressful situation for 90 minutes.

But the night was still young!  And we had plans to meet guests from London, for drinks in Georgetown.  Charming, refined, sophisticated, right?  Wrong.  I mean, they and the drinks were.  One of the other elements of the evening, however, was not. 

While I initially tried to reach out to Panda's sister, such efforts failed.  She and he have a challenging relationship and she's...difficult. At one ugly point a few months ago, when they were having a nasty conversation, she said something like, "How old is your girlfiend anyway? 40?"  I froze.  Who knew the iPhone's volume and sound quality were so stellar?  I. Heard. Everything. 

Panda was concomitantly mortified and angry.  I walked away.  Yes, I'm older than him.  But not by any obscene number of years.  In fact, SHE has dated a younger guy who was-- get this-- the same age difference that Panda and I are at, but in some ways, it was worse, because the guy in question WAS A TEEN.  So that was a bit rich.  But I won't lie, it hurt.  I almost didn't date this perfect person, because I was worried about "the age thing".  I almost let doubt and insecurity rob me of the best, healthiest relationship I've ever been in.  So that shows you-- it's a delicate subject, a fragile spot.

And she stomped on it.

I was livid. "Don't do that," he said to her. "That's uncalled for. She's 33 and I've never said a word about the stellar people YOU bring home, despite having many, many opportunities to do so.  Don't you dare."

But the damage was done.

And tonight was the first night that I'd see her, face-to-face after her bullshit.  I was proud of myself-- I got ready calmly, looked extra cute, went down there, replied when spoken to, told a funny story about Panda and yoga at an appropriate moment...I was amazed.  Normally, I'd be a ball of anxiety.  I'd be so frustrated at not being able to call her shit out or so hurt at her nastiness, that it would cripple me.  But no.  I seemed fine.

Seemed.

It came later.  I got home at 11, and by 11:30, I had a vicious migraine.  I was nauseous and in excruciating pain.  I thought of canceling my trip this weekend, the trip I've been looking forward to FOR WEEKS.  That's how much my head hurt.  "How am I going to be able to stand up, let alone run around and engage in drunken shenanigans?"  It just didn't seem possible.  And then, I realized I was out of migraine meds.  I wanted to cry.

I feel better now, but at what cost?  It's FIVE FUCKING AM.  I am going to Kaiser tomorrow, but I had to delay my train to do that, so now I'm stressed out about everything.  And I still haven't packed yet, because I spent the last several hours lying down, curled up in a ball, whimpering.  Fan-fucking-tastic. 

I shouldn't have gone out tonight, but I know it's more than just that.  I know it's not sleeping properly for weeks, being unemployed, the evening's earlier drama (remember that?) AND my fabulously uncomfortable night out.  What a toxic cocktail to sip.  No wonder I got a migraine. :(  I just hope today hasn't ruined tomorrow, or this weekend.  I don't mind being miserable, but I do mind infecting my friends with bleakness.

Today, I experienced one of those rare moments when "Web 2.0" or whatever the fuck we're calling it this hour just dazzled the pants right off of me.  Of course a lack of pants facilitated this, but still.

If there's one thing writing for Sepia Mutiny has made me, it's PARANOID.  I'm always worried about using the wrong term, misspelling words or otherwise getting something wrong, because I'll hear about it within minutes from a reader or three who are just tickled to have proof that I'm an idiot. So I try and be careful, to the extant I can be.

But, I don't speak Hindi.  I know a little bit of Punjabi, but not that much.

I didn't know how to say "elephant".  This was important, because I wanted to gank a Tupac song's title for my post, but I needed it to rhyme.  I thought the word might be "hathi". I google defined it, and was given a wiki link, nothing more.  Hmmm.  On wiki, I saw tentative confirmation, but who trusts just wiki?? So I started to surf and the more I did, the more confusing it became.  So, I tweeted something about how at moments like this, I wished my Dad were still around and could anyone confirm that "hathi" means "elephant"? 

In minutes, I had over a dozen tweets, with alternate spellings, additional resources, double confirmations...everything.  I went from unsure to certain, in no time flat, because of the power of my hive. :)  It was mind-blowing to hit the "replies" tab, and see it refresh every few seconds with another response.  My followers are a phenomenal bunch.  And today, they helped me write the post I needed to, with the title I wanted, all along. :)  Behold, the power of Twitter, indeed.

- I spent over two hours writing a "25 things" post...but not as a note on Facebook. Not on my blog, either (duh...have you seen one 'round these parts? :)  No, I gave in to the meme on Sepia Mutiny, because I thought it would be more fun, useful and interesting to catalog a list of "facts, habits, goals" over there.  I've been pondering various "things" for weeks now, discarding most as I devise 25.  I keep coming back to our name, which is what we get asked about the most.  Predictably, several of the "25" are about our name OR the names we almost chose. 

- My new Hot Tools professional 2" barrel curling iron is no joke.  While I have to leave my regular Revlon "multi-heat setting" p.o.s. on for a good 15 minutes before using it, to make sure it's extra hot, the hottest setting on the 2" almost singed my hair.  I am in awe.  My hair is coarse.  Nothing breaks or affects it.  In Soviet Russia, hair breaks you!  No, seriously, I break elastic bands and barettes all the time.  Once, on a dare, in the 8th grade, we yanked a long piece of it, threaded a needle and stitched something. Granted, that was "virgin" hair.  I wasn't allowed to blow-dry or use anything heated; I also wasn't allowed to use any product.  Since I wasn't going to run around with coconut or jasmine oil on my head, this meant my hair looked like STRAW.  It isn't just coarse, it's extra dry and thick.  That's why it requires dangerous amounts of heat.  Finally, I have a curling iron which is dangerous!  My hair looks GREAT (except for the one section which got a wee bit singed, but we shall never speak of this again. Deal? Deal.)

- Note to self: tweeting about craving something highly random, like Ritz Crackers is suspect enough. Following up with ANOTHER tweet about an upset stomach is just pure stupidity, especially after mocking everyone for going THERE with the pregnancy suggestions.  Yeah.  I totally asked for it.

Today is my Mom's 49th 59th birthday.  Wow.  I just lost a decade.  I need to remember that it's 2009, not 1999.  My mom seems too young to be that old.  I know, we all say that about our parents, but seriously, she doesn't look like she's pushing 60 and she sure as hell doesn't act like it, either.  I mean, aren't people supposed to mellow in their old age?  I've mellowed considerably!  Yet she hasn't.  She's as feisty and sarcastic as ever. She does a good job of hiding her disappointment, too.  I know she thought she'd have grandchildren by now, as well as a more conventional elder daughter with a house in the suburbs, a mortgage and a car.  Yeah, I have none of those things.  Oh, well.  That's what you get, for being an unconventional Indian mom. The mango/jackfruit/(insert exotic fruit here) doesn't fall far from the tree.

::

Today is also special for another reason; it's the first time my oldest, most beloved best friend Eileen Perfume visited DC. She wasn't here because of me-- oh, no, she was here for the supreme court. She took the red eye on Monday, was busy all day and night Tuesday and finally had a free moment  for me today, on Wednesday.  I got to run in to her just before she went to the airport, for almost exactly an hour.  I was so happy to see her, I just kept telling her that, and that I loved her, and I couldn't believe she was here.  She made me giddy when she locked eyes with me and announced, "I LOVE DC."  Strong words coming from the LAist who currently lives with a view of the Golden Gate bridge (no, I'm not joking). She stared at me for a moment and then nodded.  "I get it.  I get exactly why you love it."  And then I knew, for the 1,000th time, why she was the best friend I'll ever have. 

"You may feel pulled towards SF, but resist.  You belong here.  I could even see myself here, if my life were a little different...".  And then she looked happy but wistful, as we both remembered that when we were 17, and signing each others' yearbooks, we thought we'd end up here.  "You could still come here," I said, softly. "I can't.  You know that.  Not anymore."  And at that moment, I realized that I had done the right thing by not moving back last year, not settling, not getting married yet, and not having children.  Heavy and cliched, but true.  I'm not ready to be wistful.

::

I was happy to see her husband and her little brother, J, too.  He might as well be my little brother.  I've known him since he was a few months old.  J's waiting to hear back from all the colleges he applied to, (mein gott, he's a graduating senior?? already?  he was in a stroller at OUR high school graduation) and I dragged Panda along, to meet my best friend (obv), but also so he could answer all manner of questions from not-so-little J, who applied to Panda's alma mater. 

Poor Panda was nervous about meeting one of the most important women in my life...and who could blame him?  After this, it's just Moms and Veen.  I've met his college friends, but no one from his hometown, no one like my E.  It's a big step.  I wasn't worried at all, though.  Panda is as adorable and sweet as his namesake. 

It's strange, having my worlds collide, like this.  E had never been to DC and she hadn't met Panda. Meanwhile, I've seen her twice back home in CA since I started dating him.  Now she's been to my "adopted" hometown and she's met him.  At home, I often feel like I've passed through some time warp, and I'm on a different planet, where things are 15 years behind...tonight, I kept looking across the lobby cocktail table, to my Panda, laughing with not-so-little J..and then I'd shift my gaze back to the giant, emerald-colored eyes of my best friend.  I am not 19.  This is not Northern California.  Smash.  Bang.  Pow.  I'm here, now.  It's so exhilarating and astonishing, it left me a little numb.