Another thing that doesn't suit me.

I've been thinking about how silly it is that people dress up for things. Sometimes it's fun to dress up, and sometimes it makes you feel good and fresh, and sometimes you attract attention. I can understand that. Sometimes you are at a place where you are celebrating or mourning something, and you want to demonstrate your emotional solidarity to the situation by dressing accordingly. I can kind of understand that too.

But I cannot understand having to dress up in order to substantiate your credibility. Like, dressing up for a job interview, or while at the goddamn job itself. Maybe you should look clean and not too distracting, fine. But why have jackasses constructed this whole separate arena of "professional" attire, and if you don't wear it, you're "unprofessional"? Everyone knows that nobody pops out of the womb in a three-piece suit ; at the same time, everyone knows that anyone who can afford one can wear one and look just like any other capitalist bastard. I think that most people are probably smart enough to realize this, but they feel stuck. It's like, even if they know that dressing less stuffily won't in fact make them any less competent to work, they're not sure if other people will know that. Companies aren't sure if their partners and clients will know that, and they worry that even if their partners and clients do know it, they might still on a subliminal level be drawn to companies where people look more stuffy and hide natural things about them that people might subliminally or not-so-subliminally perceive as "unprofessional."

Why doesn't everyone just collude and put an end to this nonsense? I guess that would be silly. We need to think much bigger than affordable housing, a clean environment, and universal health care. These clothes and grooming mechanisms can cost a lot of money, and hence are really good for the economy! And you're working precisely so you can afford them, after all.

Milestone

Being a Desi and a feminist on top of that, it's amazing that this didn't happen before, but now I finally and unmistakably have a mustache! Hair is denying any added presence to my lonesome scalp, but is sprouting up quite generously above my lips. Pics to come, because now I also have a nice gold nosering to give that whole region some added flair.

I haven't worn a tampon in a long time, but tonight I'm going to WORK OUT IN A TAMPON for the first time. Mustache + tampon. Am I a real woman now, or what?

As my sister had observed, people of color are quite the novelty in Larkspur, which is where I lunched it up with my mom today. After we were seated, our server thanked us for coming. Then she asked if we had been to the restaurant before, and we said yes. Then she asked if we were coming for some special occasion. Then when she returned the credit card voucher she asked, "Is it pronounced Leena?" and said I was the first Leena she had met.

What gracious hosts this country has!!! It almost feels like home.

Gastric Fumes

Last night for dinner, I ate this. The entire freakin' pound. Packaged within five taco shells. (Actually it wasn't burger style crumbles, just regular ones whatever that means, but I couldn't find a proper pic.)

I originally intended to eat two, maybe three. But I ate so quickly that there was no time to digest or understand the extent to which I was satiated. So I opted for a fourth. I actually got full halfway through it, but I can't waste food.

Then I looked at the pan, and there were just a few crumbles left. I looked at the box of taco shells, and there was just one left. I thought, "Who wants to deal with storing leftovers? Plus, I'm going out to eat tomorrow, and then home to the Bay for the weekend. It's meant to be."

So I consumed it. And shat two times almost immediately after.

My plan today is to alternate green tea with bathroom for the next three hours. Because I'm going to the Sac Cheesecake Factory for dinner, and I plan to feast like a motherfucker.

It takes me such an unreasonable amount of time to fall asleep, even when i'm perfectly tired! Like how long is it supposed to take? Maybe up to half an hour? And fewer than ten minutes if you're actually tired? But i've been trying for over 90 minutes, I believe!

And then I'll have thoughts like, "I really hope I don't have to piss, because then I'll have to get up and then any possibility of sleep will be eradicated." And then because I'll have that thought, I'll IMMEDIATELY have to piss four gallons!

I know, whine whine whine, cry me a river!

OK, I'm going back to bed.

My Belly Goes Mmm

I had so much good food today, starting with breakfast at the drunken bateau and then a pot of Darjeeling tea and then yummy Naan N' Curry. All this gluttony has augmented the anguish of my mother, who can't seem to bear seeing me sit here contentedly fat and single as our family friends slowly get paired off with some highly educated chump or other. Whoever said money can't buy love is but a silly oaf, because from what I hear, allocating a good sum of one's disposable income away from feasting and into beautifying expenditures certifies a woman as a suitable commodity to be loved and cherished, just like a sparkling brand new luxury car. And like apples at the top of the tree!

I had no idea what these "black heads" were that my mom was so concerned about, so I had to look it up on Wikipedia. Damn those horny epidermis cells! My mom was stunned by my ignorance and asked what planet I had been living on. I don't know, but apparently not Venus! And certainly not Mars.

I'm telling mom the only sensible solution now until I get my ogre self into tip-top shape is to send off my bio-data, talking up my "child-bearing hips" and "wheatish complexion," along with photographs put through this process.