Streets of New York

The City of Bagels

A different kind of business

Today's piece of happiness on top of the not-so intelligent news of New York!

* * * * * * * * * *

A man with a deep slow voice called the office today ...

"Hello! Would you be able to check on two companies for me in the Czech Republic?"

I immediately assumed that I had a business person on the other side, wanting to verify some company with whom he is negotiating some kind of a deal ... Contrary to the other million times when I get the same request, this time it wasn't a glass/bead or beer company, but two dating agencies! He is not planning to import/export to/from the CZland - he is planning to marry.
(On the second thought - this may be importing!)

Under normal circumstances I am the biggest supporter pretty much of any kind of dating and encourage my single friends to try all the following methods: online dating, speed dating, blind dating, setting them up with friends or friends of friends or friends of friends of friends or whomever I know. Even advertising in Time Out is a good idea or the good old method of being picked up at a bar. Nevertheless, the whole idea of a person calling a country that it's name he can not pronounce and inquiring about the "stock" as you would about a merchandise .. I I I I I I I I I I I I I don't know ... Even I maybe a little conservative for that.

This man sparked a curiosity in me. What makes him believe, that if during his 50 years (judging by his voice) walking on American soil he did not find THE ONE, he will succeed during a week? or 10 days? that he will spend in Prague?

Then I read the article below (copied in its exact form) from one of the agency's website and understood where his confidence steams from ...

* * * * * * * *
Finding a Czech wife

Every day we meet men from various parts of the world who are looking for a wife, a women for life, in the countries of Eastern Europe.
They are often tired and even disgusted by the manner the women in their home country behave. That is why they have begun to search their bride in Eastern Europe. We have many times heard quite unbelievable stories and experience of men, our customers, with women from Western Europe and the USA. Stories of how women in their countries are mostly after money, their car, house, and property. It has become a standard that women spend a lot of money for plastic surgeries, in cosmetic salons, psychoanalysts etc.

Example: “John from the USA told us about his experience. The women he knows in his home country do not cook at all, they buy ready-made food or go out to a restaurant to eat. Someone else has to take care of cleaning up, John has never seen such a woman washing dishes or cleaning up the household, and still it is he who works and brings money home.”

We are always surprised to hear stories like that although we have heard them many times. Such behavior is not common in the Czech Republic. With your decision to go for a Czech bride, you may have taken the best first step for your happy life. Czech women are brought up in the traditional way, they are not so emancipated and influenced by feminism. A Czech wife is usually caring, loving, sincere, and faithful. They like it to be caressed and taken care of by you, and in reward they will take care of you and give you love. If you are looking for a partner, bride or woman for life, we will be very glad to help you in this quest. Just select one of our programs and register! And leave the rest up to us...

* * * * * * * *

The article speaks for itself. I am enlighteneded! The only thing that I still wonder about is why a friend of mine - a Slovak wife, who cooks, does not eat ready-made food, washes dishes, cleans, never had plastic surgery, is loving caring, sincere and faithful and is uninfluenced by feminism sent me this joke:

80% of all women do not get married, due to the realization that for 60 grams of ham it's not worth to raise a whole pig.

10 reasons WHY you should divorce

Congrats to the soon-to-be job divorcee and top cheerleader for team Elvi: NOA!
MAZEL TOV!



My job is like a bad marriage. Here are the warning signs that you're also in one of these ... (some of the 10 reasons can be better related to the marriage issue than others .. it's up to your imagination ;)

1. The task that took you 5 minutes (because you were so excited and eager) when you got the job takes you now an hour and a half with your best efforts. You're glad that you got it done at all!

2. You hate or can't stand or just about tolerate half of the people you work with.

3. You are able to identify the last person using the bathroom facilities simply by entering it.

4. You can tell who got laid the night before by the mood they're in. (In your best interest you'd like to be encouraging towards option A. Some people would need this mood elevator more than others!)

5. You don't have to ask about dirty secrets of anyone anymore. Others instinctively offer them to tell you. You're still naive enough to think that they do not know about you ...

6. You figured out by now that marketing the amount of work you have or the terrible cold that you caught pays back with loads of pretend sympathy and at least one day off work.

7. Satisfaction sets in from work well-done when you can answer to your client the following: "I am so sorry Sir, we can not provide such services. Maybe you should try XYZ instead"
"You're very welcome"
"Sure, if you are unable to find anything I will gladly re-direct you somewhere else but here. You're very welcome! Have a great day!"

8. You're planning an event, invited 200 people, but can draft up an RSVP list of the 50 that will show up (including the individuals that were not invited but will show up).

9. The highlight of your day is lunch time, which you plan possibly at 9AM.

10. You've learned to avoid close under-arms encounters with those not using an anti-perspirant (NAPs).
Like when you're sitting by the desk and the NAP approaches - You: Jump up and offer your seat rather than trying to hold your breath until turning into the color blue. When NAP declines to sit, you insist!

11. You spend your working day making up the 10 reasons why your job is like a bad marriage ...

Central Park late Fall pictures

Thanksgiving ...

This year more than ever .. I have so many people to thank to ... I probably could not list them all, therefore to you all: THANK YOU!

Chemoland

Chemoland is very similar to Disneyland .. you go on a ride expecting your stomach upside down and inside out, not knowing which corner hides another elevated path or a dragon behind and hope that whatever happens you don't a) throw up on the person next to you
b) enjoy the ride (at least a little bit) and c) at the end you say it was worth all that wait in the line.

Knowing my body (more like not knowing my body) I was cocky enough to think that I will do just fine, maybe 2 days feeling under the weather as many say it happens and youppieeee skipping through the treatments till the end of February ...

I open my eyes in the morning hoping that I will be fine, but already sitting up I feel my stomach tumbling, my mouth tastes like I haven't brushed for 2 months and my head spins - the chemicals react. The bathroom seems far away walking straight up and so I crouch ... shower .. no relief ... dress up .... I wear mini skirts and high heels just to get some dignity back ... with my luck I live 4 blocks from work and so I don't have to put up with the smelly crowd ... I stay for a half day, because writing a single email I feel like passing out ...

The only thing I can still do without any difficulty is sleep ... I've slept more in this single week than in months! I wish I could hibernate for a season, while going through this "Insurance Policy" as my doctor calls it and wake up like Sleeping Beauty ... Rosy cheeks, healthy, long beautiful hair included with my prince aside ... I haven't lost a single hair yet ... it happens day 14-16 after the treatment, but I decided not to watch my hair going in strands, so I will have it shaved ... next Thursday

What is strange - I am nauseous and yet I can still eat and have a huge appetite!
Once, during my high school years, longing for an extra day off school I went to the doctor's office and claimed:
" Ohhh I have a stomach ache, I threw up, my head spins, I am nauseous and could not bear to sit through the day ... "
the doctor then asked me "Have you had any breakfast?"
"Yes, bread with butter and jam, a hot chocolate and an apple ... "
and she said " Do you have an exam today? ... "

(So there, it's possible!)

I am feeling better now .. my mouth is full of various sores (a bi-product of the chemo again) and I feel like I've been eating cotton balls, but otherwise I am ok .. until Friday again ....

MIA

Sorry for not answering emails and phone calls .. I still feel the same :(

One nauseating weekend

So, how am I today?
Yukkkkk
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr
Fujjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
Just like that!

The toilet bowl sucked me inside this morning while going peepeee, tumbled me three times in the bowl, spat me back, smiled at me and as a cheeky monkey said: Have a daaarn good day!

I get nauseous every 10 minutes to no relief; I get better every 15 minutes, start to organize my letters, but by the time I'd actually finish I leave it a mess ...
I pick up the phone with my cheery voice and 5 minutes later ask the person on the other line whom I CALLED to mercy me and hang up, because I'll throw up .... In this attempt I get back to the toilet bowl, I look at him ...
"Just jokin " ... I walk away ... Everything stays inside and starts all over again ...

... My head spins, body aches, I am hungry, but not hungry; I am sick, but not sick, my senses react wildly. Even the beautiful flowers or Geoffrey's coffee mouth smell - direct me towards the toilet bowl, but I refuse!
He'll only smile at me and send me right back to my nauseaus state! ...
He'll just tip his lid and say "Have a good day! "

The F*&*(&cker!

P.S. The flowers are on the balcony, what do I do with Geoffrey? :o)

Seven more to go!

The fact that I reached for the first thing in my closet at 8 AM, put it on and did not change five times afterwards points to the following fact:

I was not thrilled to go to my first chemo session!

In this unexcited stage, I completely forgot about Chemo Guy, who's been waiting neglected at the very same spot on the old typewriter, where I took a portrait of him on Wednesday. I was previously told that the pregnancy test (necessary to start chemo) came back inconclusive and that I'd have to have another test this morning. Having hatched my multiple eggs on Thursday and the consequent ban on physical activity connected to the issue at stake makes me believe, that unless I became a Mother Mary overnight I can not be pregnant. In this thought I phantomed about selling my new Mother Mary pictures as me on e-bay and cashing out .. chiching, chiching, chiching .... ; However, later on of course I was informed that I am no replica of Mary and that this false positive came from the drugs still lingering around my body.

"EEeeeeeelvieeeraaa"
The nurse from the lab sang my name in soprano as she was getting ready to slaughter her first victim. A black lady, in her mid fifties, with energy level hardly equal to what I produce at work on any given day and a cheery smile showed me to my seat.

"Here! Squeeze this!" she handed me a gray foam brain, while still pre-occupied with her needles, vials and band-aids.

"It's kind of hard to get my veins! They roll ... Just a warning!:)"

"And what exactly do you want me to do? (She asked in a high pitched voice)
.
.
.
.
Catch 'em?"

I burst out laughing and completely missed the pinch. She is good!

"Weell, we better get acquinted quickly, as I'll be seeing you quite a bit!
Maaaa naaame is Pearl, and III aaam a vampire here! "

"Nice to meet you Pearl, my name is Ellvaaaaayyyyra and I am a vampire too!"

As far as I recall, this was THE FIRST time in my life that I pronounced my name the way it never should be articulated - EEEEllvaaaayra. All this just to proove vampire Pearl that I have a claim to vampireseness too! EEEllvaaayyraa! Not only was "I" on a TV show in the 70'S(?), the two of us shopped at the same place for our wigs. The place, where Gwen made her a whitch with a broom black style, while he is in the process to create the blond and sexy, new ME!

Vampire Pearl made my day and everyone I met afterwards just contributed to this notion! It is almost hard to believe that you can not find the insensitive needle nazi here, the one that I've met so many times before!

* * *

Dr. Mo is not the "warm and fuzzy" kind, as described by Sloan patients terminology, yet I am liking her tremendously. You'll never hear a phony "Hello, how are you?" from her .. well, as far as today goes, not even a "Hello" YET ...
She seems extremely knowledgeable, matter of factly, intelligent and phlegmatically caring (Provided you're tuned in to the same wavelength and pick up on it)! The fact, that she reminds me of my X college professor hero of Psychology - Dr. Johnson also stands on her side. Dr. Johnson's classes always reassured my choice of major - Psychology; Dr. Mo reassures my choice of agents .... 007 :)

The medical exam itself is not a big deal. By now I am used to various doctors poking their fingers into my armpits, thus eventually relieving my crotch from this duty! Shaving is still a bit of a mystery. The scar after the lymph node removal is a weird one that I am unable to manage weeding out so far. The last time I was this embarrassed about having armpit hair was shortly after moving to London from X Czechoslovakia.

I started dating my first international boyfriend, Ilhan from Turkey who after about three dates bluntly pointed out with his French/Turkish/British accent:
"You know, you should really start shaving! I am a lad and I shave!"

"WOW!"

OK, so I may not know about the trend of shaving. Why are you holding it against me? Is it my fault?

You see, our Eastern European Communist beauty magazines did not teach us about the "5 best ways to get a guy to your bed" or "top 15 ways to know he is really into you" or "3 ways you can get him to buy you diamond earrings" or "7 secrets to go hairless", however I clearly recall that the slut of my high school class called Sylvia (she does not speak English, so it's OK to write it here :) mentioned something about guys who shave their armpits and are gay?
Which, of course is fine with me as long as he is not actually dating ME!

* * *

CC, my counselor stopped by to my pleasant surprise! She is the one who taught me at the beginning how to deal with my scary emotions and the internet savvy living inside ...

(Sometime in September ... )

"CC, I am sorry to call you! I am just worried... "
"Why? What have you been doing?"
"Well, I am reading .... "
"I am reading theee theeee The Internet ... "
"Grrrrrrrrrr .. (I can almost see CC's face turning into the angry look ... the kind that you find among emoticons under "frown" or the "rolling eyes")
"And WHY ARE YOU READING THE INTERNET???"
"Didn't I tell you what the only helpful literature to you at this stage is? "
(I am almost weeping ... )
"I, III , IIII think you did, Pe - -ople magazine? Sniff sniff "
"Paris Hilton's new dog? JLo's desire for kids? Britney Spears and her useless hubby? and Jude Law's sex affair? Donald Trump's new tupee?"

CC! Thanks! The dog, JLo's kids, Brit and Kev, Jude Sexy bastard Law?
THEY helped!
..... another satisfied cancer patient customer ....


While talking to CC I informed her about my new deal! Every time I get a treatment, I get a present! According to my fine calculations, that makes 8 presents for every chemo!
I wish it really was A present per A hair lost, but I try to be understanding and supportive to my environment, so I keep this idea a secret. Additionally, there is always a danger that Gee may outsmart me and start gifting gift-wrapped peas with a bow for every hair ...

A few hours later I had three injections of red liquid, a bag of saline and another bag of 007 down my veins. No nausea so far, nothing - just that shopper inside is knocking to be let loose ....

CC mentioned that a woman in a similar situation was getting a pair of earrings after every treatment, but I thought to start off with a pair of knitted gloves that I spotted at Urban Outfitters the other day and work my way up to maybe a beautiful dress by February from Vic Secret? ...

It was an inspirational day for Gee ... gift #1 is pictured above ...

At the end of the day, I really don't mind using those ugly gloves for $5 off the street vendor that I bought 3 years ago!

Women are from Venus and Men are from somewhere else ...

Somewhere Else VS Venus

"Who ate my ice-cream?"
"Who slept in my bed?"
"Who messed up the pile of t-shirts in the closet?"
"Who left the dirty dishes in the sink?"
"Who left puddles of water in the shower?"
"Whose clothes are all over the bedroom floor?"

I precisely know, how Snow White felt when she realized that someone ate her poridge and messed up her bed! I live in a very similar relationship!
(How lucky that I only have to deal with one man and not seven like poor Snowie had to .. ). Having perceived other couples, we belong to the norm - we bicker and fight and make up and start all over again.

"Who ate my ice-cream?"
We go shopping.
He buys the super size low fat, low calories peppermint chocolate chip ice cream!
I buy the single pint Hagen Daaz strawberry!
He eats his in 2 days.
I would like to eat mine over a two weeks period, but by the time I actually get to it it's gone!
Who ate my full-fat ice-cream????

"Who slept in my bed?"
I looove the crispy white sheets and even when the freshness of them is gone, I tuck right and left on it pulling the sheet, straightening it with my hands, making sure that the bed is symmetrically, aesthetically and fashionably corresponding to those in Martha Stewart's magazine.
* * *
He'll toss the duvet over the bed thus hiding the creasing sheet underneath and throws two pillows on top of it - job done in two seconds!

(Illustrative picture taken by the author about two days ago! Picture one was the bed "made" - according to HIM!)

"Who messed up the pile of t-shirts in the closet?"
First, I carefully build little chimneys of t-shirts and sweaters in the closets that please the eye. Should I need to/want to wear one that is not on the top, I methodically lift the top layer, carefully pulling out a shirt, thus placing the rest on top!
* * *
He: will grab the one that suits his mood (not the clothes) dragging the one at the bottom. Now the chimney lies in ruins of a battle field - the closet.


"Who left the dirty dishes in the sink?"
Well, it certainly wasn't me ;)


"Who left puddles of water in the shower?"
and "Why is the shower curtain pulled to the left and not to the right?"
(Where it actually makes sense .... )
"Why can you not dry yourself while standing inside the tub, but like a rubber duckie on TV have to walk across the entire apartment with dripping water all over?"

"Whose clothes are all over the bedroom floor?"
Can you guess?

P.S. I love you, my man :)

Introducing Chemo Guy

The coolest guy on the blok! Chemo GUY! (Not to be mistaken with a character from Sponge Bob! They are very similar indeed!)

The one thing I have not been looking forward to is chemo! I knew the day would come, but now it's closer than ever! Friday at 9:15 I will walk in, as usual to the clinic and have my body subjected to a chemical rape thus willingly surrendering to whatever the 007 agent does to my body.

Those that know what is about to come are suspiciously nice to me these days and look at me with sad puppy eyes, thus conveying their compassion, which is the one thing I need the least - not the compassion, the puppy eyes!
Wooof woooof!

Can everyone start acting like it's a treatment and not a death row????

I know it's hard to comprehend if you've never had to go through this or never knew anyone who had done it - I haven't done it myself before either and with all honesty never wished for this experience to come my way, despite of the fact that I am a firm believer that most things in life should be tried at least once.

This should not be the time for sorrow and pity!
It should be the time when you make THE fiesta and I come to enjoy the party without bringing the kegs of beer or wine and not feel guilty about it!
You guessed it! I want to be spoiled rotten :) ..
Or can you please look somewhere else? Woof Wooof

* * *

I will have two people with me on Friday - The Men of the YEAR (Geoff) and Chemo guy! G is my bed sharer and Chemo guy is this skinny, frail looking sexless creature (Dennis thought he was a calamari) that listens to the name "Chemo Guy". CG is a present of Dr. Ross, who not having a clue about the connection that I will have with him, brought CG to the hospital as a gift.
The name is derived mostly by his bold head that reminds me of what mine will look like in about two weeks! Gwen (my wig's hairdresser, who can't wait to cut off my ever growing brown roots) agreed to buzz my hair off on December 1th!

Another big date coming this way!

My romantic gateway

There are two things about New York City that I love the most
A. Living here
B. Getting the heck away from here

Given the fact that option A is a daily reality, I could not contain my excitement to take a romantic weekend trip somewhere (option B) - anywhere, where there is no noise, no rush, only a few people around, where you see the stars at night and can spot Orion's belt even if you never paid attention during the astrology lesson at school and where you still hear the rooster in the morning going cooocoooroookkoooooo as the raising sun reaches the horizon.

Wishing is great, but what happens if you get more than you bargained for?

"Romantic" had to be crossed out from the wish list no later than about 100 miles north from New York, when my phone rang and Dr. Egg, who firstly congratulated me on the record amount of eggs produced, reminded me of a prohibition of not getting too cosy with my other half for the following two weeks (just to describe the action in the least descriptive manner).
I am lucky I didn't end up getting the exclusive romance package offered by the B&B: Super sized room with extra spring mattress, jacuzzi, bubble bath, a bottle of champagne, a camcorder and a value pack of Trojans.

On the other hand, I did book the ROSE room as a direct revenge to Geoffrey's flower phobia. He hates flowers (or anything that reminds him of flowers, like the three dots next to each other, as mentioned in my previous post), unless they are live in a vase. He won't tolerate them on any print that is in our apartment or clothing and that is the end of it. As any other self-respectable woman, I normally get my way either way, but not the flower print - that I've never been successful at - YET!

Joy! Our room over compensated for my goal! We slept on a bed of roses, peed and showered among roses and eventually smelled of nothing else but roses!

New York City spoils you like no other city in terms of choices - restaurants, entertainment, shopping, education - you name it - we've got it!
New York State is whole different story!

I knew we were driving off the map, when I spotted an Antique store across the street
"We Buy Guns"
Antique guns?
Used guns?
Are guns like cars?
The more you use them the more they depreciate in value?
Kill one dear you loose $50 off the value, kill a person and now it's on e-bay?

* * *

It's hard to describe the beauty of the Finger Lakes when all you perceive while driving are MacDonalds, Burger Kings, Wall Marts and an Applebees here and there.

As an attempt to do the only thing available in this part of the world, we decided to visit Wall- Mart. I have only heard of this humongous chain store in regards to immigration disputes and about the Wall Mart-owning family members, who rank among the top 10 riches people in the US following Billie Gates, of course.

From the look of the store it was obvious that this wealth is not a common denominator for the shoppers spending their pennies here. Kenny Chesney and his gang of country singers CD's was heavily advertised at the entrance. The shopper inside me, did not even get a tickle of my fancy as I walked through isles of polyester tops, shapeless pants, white turtle necks with Christmas bows all over, flannel pj's, hunting gear, fishing rods and Barbie imitation dollhouses, eventually arriving at the section of handicrafts.

The first exciting isle!
I found bra paddings!
You would never have thought!
Until now, my bra was like a magicians hat. I played a few Copperfield tricks to entertain my friends while casting the spell "Abraka Daaabraaa" and pulling out the occasional sock, handkerchief, scarf and other various items from behind my blouse.
(No white rabbits! Even I, am unable to pull this trick without being caught or with my "luck" to get bitten!)

* * * * *

Back at our B&B, we found out that the house used to be a haunted house, which was reconstructed by its new owners - Gary and Rose. The inn keepers proudly presented us with a newspaper article that compares the Sutherland House B&B to the set of the movie Psycho! This fact did comfort me at all top ut it mildly ...

"I am glad I have not seen the Blair Which!
I won't look at the mirror for a fear of seeing someone else gawking at me from behind and Honey! we better leave all the lights on and please check under the bed before I fall asleep and wake up to a ghost tickling my feet!"

* * * *

Gary, a man in his fifties, with white sneakers and carrot cut jeans seemed friendly and helpful -explaining every bit of the history of the area, which is only long enough that even I can remember. He spoke with a slight drawl and I was just about to ask where his accent was from when I recalled a story that happend to me a few months ago:

A friend of mine and myself were sitting behind a bar sipping our cosmopolitans when a guy hunting for a new object for a night approached us. He leaned over, introduced himself and asked the most unusual question, the one, that only a true suit and tie New Yorker may ask in the first second of meeting another person: "So, what do you guys do?"

The noise level was raising with the alcohol level of the present guests of the place and so desperate to enliven our conversation that was not leading towards his apartment let alone his bed I asked: "I detect an accent, where is it from?"

Coldly, nonchalantly he immediately asnwered:
"Daaarling! It's you who has an accent! NOT ME!"

Oh Of couuurse! You're British! ... And that was the end of this conversation ...

Just for the record I admit, I do have an accent whatever the mixture of Czech-Slovak-Hungarian may sound like - "KnedloveprozeloWITHbryndzovehaluskyANDgulas"

... still not finished :( ...

Weekend away - The Finger Lakes, NY

Here are a few pictures from the trip ... more in writing tomorrow!

BREAKING NEWS!

Youppieee! I hatched today! With 23 eggs extracted from my ovaries I am planning to run for a listing in the Guiness Book of Records!

Tomorrow it's off to a well deserved trip to the Finger Lakes, so that I collect energy for chemo starting next week!

A day in the life of LV

beep beep beep BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Ok, ok! I am up!
I reached over to press the white button on the alarm clock and with extra effort crawled out of bed. Passing by the mirror I caught an unpleasant glimpse of my creased face, kitchen-broom hairdo and scurried towards the bathroom.

I've been living at this penthouse on Madison Avenue just over a month and no longer do I miss the one bedroom mouse infested pad I used to have in the Oh so unfashionable part of Queens. The luxury of five rooms with high ceilings, marble fireplaces surrounded by mirrors that reflect the gold and orange flames of the burning wood at night is still somewhat new to me.

I've been a clothes and bags and shoes whore since the approximate age of 5 and so having two walk-in closets feels like a fantasy.

Leeet's see what to wear today ...

It's cold today ... I'll go with Winter white MaxMara pants, a Gucci light brown satin blouse and some bling bling with gold! That's it!
High heels, off-white long coat with glamorous fur collar to match (No, not real fur! ... I can not be seen in my mink coat these days.
It would be sacrilegious if I take into consideration my clients that may all be animal rights activists - it's the fashion these days! I could not do it for personal reasons either - Misa who kills even their mice with the biggest love and care would not forgive this one!

Hurry up Elv! You're running late!
I use self-reinforcement to beat the ticking clock.
Charles has been waiting for me in front of the building for more than half an hour. (I'll give him a generous Christmas bonus!)

"Good morning! How are you today Miss Vida?"
"A bit sleepy, but good! Thank you Charles!
Will have another trip today! I have to be in Soho at 1 pm for a meeting!"

He greets me with ever charming politeness as he swings the door open wide with his black leather driver gloves. Stepping inside the car I simultaneously switch on my cell phone, expecting the nokia to go crazy with buzzing messages after last night's party at the Waldorf Astoria.

Warm, singie, ssssss ssss and a bit too fuzzy voice:
"Hi Elvi! This is Ed. It was nissssssce meecsting you. As I mensztioned last night, I am emailing yoyou the information about the fasshion writer we had talked about. She is faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabolous! I hope it works out and gimme a buzz when the deal is sealed! See you later daarling.
Gotta goooooo! Byeeeyyyeeyeeeeee"

Strict, short, impersonal and a bit panicky voice:
"Elv? Hi! This is Janet! We have a problem with that fashion shoot scheduled for Friday! We may have to find an emergency story to run! Will explain later! Get back to me ASAP! Thaaanks!

Kissing my butt voice:
"Hello Ms. Vida, my name is Rob Marve and I am calling from Kenneth Cole. We would love to invite you to our annual Christmas Party this December 16th at the Rockefeller Center. I've already mailed you the information, but wanted to extend this invitation on a more personal level. I am looking forward to seeing you there!"

So many years in this business and I still get excited about going to work! I am looking forward to every single day as I picture myself looking through the newest fashion trends, meeting with writers, designers and company reps promoting their beauty products!

Clothes/Image - such a seemingly superficial business, yet you ask any woman how they feel in a beautifully matching outfit that turns heads of WOMEN (and men of course, but that is secondary!) VS. clothes that they randomly decided on the last minute and no-one notices at all, and the satisfation results will be undoubtedly in a favor of group one!

If I wasn't a fashion editor, I 'd be a travel writer. Too bad I had to give up extensive traveling when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, otherwise I'd be working for the National Geographic and trotting the globe non-stop!

If I wasn't a travel writer, I'd be a tango dancer (See? Marina did it! - links!),
a salsa queen and a samba slave ...

"Excuse me! Where is the bathroom?"

"Charles! I need to go to that meeting in Soho ... "

"Miss, miss! Excuse me! Do you know where the bathrooms are?"

"Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarles?!"

"EEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeexcuuuuuuuuuseeee meee????!!!!!!!!!!"

I see but I don't observe, I listen but I don't hear!

I am not wearing my off-white coat and I am not sitting in a leather chair of the 35th floor on Fifth Avenue!

As a matter of fact, I am sitting bored at the lobby of the UN building supposedly registering participants for a seminar at the auditorium.
They've all arrived! No-one is coming any longer. At just about this time most of the attendees are already falling asleep in their too comfortable chairs listening to monotonous voices mumbling something about doing business with the UN ... right ear in, left ear out. Even the pro-active listeners are sneaking out to grab a cup of coffee - proven to help improving pain and suffering of falling eyelids.

"Ohh .... Maaam!
The bathroom is down the stairs, next to the coffee shop!
The tours are straight ahead on the left!
I do not know where the UNDP conference is, but I do know that YOU! YOU! YOu! just brought me back to reality and guess what? I DO NOT LIKE IT!"

Warning:
Reality can utterly spoil your life or at least your day! It happened to me!

Autumn in New York

Pictures taken during my lunch break at the UN.
Full coverage of these "exciting" two days will hopefully follow manana!
(If I have any energy left! Also, my final hatching is scheduled for Thursday!)

BY THE WAY ...
CAN YOU GUYS START VOTING ON MY BRAND NEW POLL?
Or else - I'll make tomato juice with spinach and sprouts instead of lemonade!
(Scroll down and look right!)
Thank You :)
XOX

Xtreme Makeover Pig Edition

before and after

Disclaimer: Don't kill the messenger! I only took the pictures and ate what was already dead :)

Goooosh! Do I hate these early morning doctor's office visits or what?
Same shit different day - lots of women waiting to have their blood drawn and get acquainted VERY closely with a different doctor day by day. The term "He knows me inside out" was coined right at this office on the third floor of Cornell University, room 340.

I show off my growing follicles and come back the next day.

Can't wait to give birth to these little 1.5 cm marbles that I've been hatching for the past week and a half. We will name all of them, but not just yet!
Amigo Radio suggested not to bother with name picking now and rely on the principles of simplicity: A, B, C, D, E, F, G.

As I am sitting in my blood chair (synonym of an electric chair with a slight difference - they don't ask you for last wishes here) I look on the nurse's board and see a check list of diseases that the attendats should not forget. Many of them are just regular sounding illnesses like ... Blogitis IhateThis ... but then my eyes focus on this: "Maple Syrup Urine Disease".
I am NOT joking!
MAPLE SYRUP URINE DISEASE!
The description provokes a riot in all my senses.
It starts with the odor of piss in the New York subway,
passes through the cracks under the staircase,
finds the homeless guy with one tooth, a New York coffee cup and the Daily News in his hands, then comes the Sunday brunch pancakes and landing in Maple Syrupland - Vermont.
What a beautiful visualization on my part!
Maybe that is the whole idea behind the name .... When the nurse asks you what your complaint is just say "I think I have the Alaskan Salmon Yeast Infection" or "Doctor, the Baskin Robbins Diarrhea Jamoca Almond Fudge is making me queasy" .... No-one will bother you for the exact description!

Speaking of food: since this diagnosis, my friends, acquintances and random McDonnalds loving people came out of woodwork each week with a different vegetable or a diet that had been proven to work and cured someone somewhere somehow from cancer.

"You should eat beets!"
"One apple a day and lots of carrots"
"Steamed broccoli!"
"Soy is good for youDon'trinkmilkWhitemeatonly!Nomeatatall!Forget offee!"

Listening to Radka's advice I first loaded our fridge with beets, but that almost got myself a heart attack as all my bodily fluids turned into purple beet juice.

Following another advice I started eating salmon like there was no tomorrow. Two weeks later they said on the news that it was carcinogenic!

Next I tried Soy! Jane luv from England was delighted to make me a yummy soy chilly. I just found out ! - soy has estrogen and my cancer freakin Harry loves estrogen. "Ohhh Goooddd, I nearly killed you!!!" sighted Jane on the phone as I informed her of her rights to remain silent and the privilidge to get a lawyer ;)

I do like broccoli, carrots, apples and beets, beans and the rest, but there is nothing like prosciutto! My diet last January in Argentina consisted of this savory kind of meat for breakfast, lunch and dinner! I'd order a prosciutto sandwich - no bread, no nothing but the salty, smoky, cured red meat from I don't care which part of the pig.
(I do not mean to offend anyone, however as an illustration I did add the before and after picture of the process).

So now, I am back on the "diet" and trying to eat everything organic - like apples without stickers and meals without flavor.

Geoff's parents just asked us this weekend what we wanted from their trip to Costco (For those that do not know what Costco is: a store where you shop for a whole army, spend half your salary and buy random items in bulk -like 15 carrot peelers (because they cost only a dollar a piece) or 2 boxes of 250piece/box Christmas cookies that will last you for the next 5 consecutive years (because you can take them to the office or if worse comes worse give it out as presents)!

"Can you please buy us organic tomatoes, organic apples, organic peppers, organic beans in a can, toilet paper, organic onions, organic pasta, organic eggs" we begged in a hope of freebies from the parents ....

"Sure, just ask Elvi, if she wants me to rake the yard for Organic toilet paper!"

"OOOor .... can she compromise and use the store brand? "

Rage

Mickey just called ... our very good friend, one of my most loyal cheerleaders was mugged by someone on Long Island. A guy who could not hurt a fly even if he wanted to - sincere, warm-hearted and loving!

I can't sleep ...

He got hit twice with a baseball bat to his head and is in a hospital ... I may as well give up on making that F8787in' lemonade ... The "things happen for a reason" theory is out of the window also ... I hope he'll be fine ...
I am not sure which God I believe in, or whom to ask for a "favor" but I pray ...

* * *

Just heard the news .. Saurabh is fine! They did an MRI of the brain and said it may have actually helped him (baaad joke! :). The hospital visit apparently took 6 hours, 5 of which was waiting for the nurse to discharge him ... Some aspects of health care in the US aren't very different from Eastern Europe. The muggers/drugies left with a suitcase of $20 in cash!!! (Not enough for a bag of marijuana - maybe a loaf of bread and a jar of organic jam?)

* * *
Take 5 lemons .....

Weekend blues

Union Square Market
this Saturday morning ...

* * * * *
Running is not my thing. Even though it's Marathon weekend I find it hard to get excited about watching sweaty people running the streets of New York in a hope of some sort of psychological pleasure - the one that is foreign to me in this shape and form.
I do not run to catch the bus, I do not run to be the first one on line and I do not run for pleasure. I don't get sweaty unless I am rewarded by the highest feeling of contentment! (e.x.: sauna ;o) . . .
Therefore, I walk!
I take life slowly, enjoying every single step at the time, watching the masses as they squeeze into the crammed subway car unable to wait for another train, as they impatiently honk the horn in a failing attempt to move traffic or wave to a waiter for the food that is a minute too late.
It seems that in New York (and not only here) everyone is running their private marathon against time.

Watching the TV today, I saw a lady from England running the Marathon, who told the reporter that she had breast cancer 14 years ago. With my undivided attention I was glued to the TV set as her lips moved and my mind played the happy end to her story from the second it caught my interest ...

" The cancer spread to my bones and I will probably die soon. I am running to raise money to find a cure for other people. I do not have too long to live .. "

All this with a smirk on her face and a strange coldness .... FACTS ...
.
.
.

F
A
C
T
S
.
.
.

This wasn't supposed to end this way!
What happened to my inspirational story for a day?

I tasted salt in my mouth and wetness on my cheeks as the first tears in about three weeks rolled down my face.

Wasn't I told? Didn't I read that 5 years post-cancer one may consider themselves cured? She is dying and she is running!
LIFE = NO GUARANTEES!

Maybe I should run too?!
Maybe I should pick up the pace and make a mad dash for life.
The life that I though I have been enjoying fully already, but, but, but
.... I never ran ...
I could wake up in the morning, run downstairs to the gym, have a quick exercise on the treadmill (or maybe hop over to the Central Park - it's only a few blocks away), put on my high-heels and sprint off to the office, jog to lunch, dash over to the doctor's office to swiftly summarize my fears, concerns and phobias regarding what else but cancer; scurry home and cook up a microwave meal in 5 minutes, make a quick call and call it a day?
.
.
.
And maybe I should not run!
Maybe I should carry on taking those slow steps towards each day as I watch the world go by!

Breeeaaatthhh In, Breaaaaaaaaaaaaath Out!

Maybe I should wake up as I have been - late, comfortable, stretching every minute in a bed, spoiling myself with the warmth of the duvet covers; make my oatmeal on a stove, not in a microwave - because it tastes better this way; stroll past all the doormen on Park Avenue who know me by the walk and say hello with the biggest smile; maybe I should plan my perfect lunch with Oli at 9 am and get excited about taking a walk to the steps of the Metropolitan Museum, eating on a bench right in front of this magnificent building while staring at tourists with xtra zoom Japanese cameras; maybe I should keep taking loooong time at the doctor's office ignoring her beeper that calls for the conversation's end, go off track from my fears to what I will do next summer when I can eventually travel and make plans to have a wedding, babies in the future, take salsa classes and go to a club and shake my boobs like never before; maybe I'll come home and cook a magnificent three course meal instead of pasta with tomato sauce from a bottle and make million phone calls as I please ....
Maybe I shouldn't change anything I have done so far ...

I didn't ask for it, I didn't want it, I didn't cause it!

I shouldn't run!

Breaaaaaaaaaaaaaaath in, breaaaaaaaaaaaaath out!

Just (can't) do it ...

I took this picture the other day from our balcony ...

* * * * *

"You are a brave girl" I've heard many times during this process. I have indeed drank liquids, lay in scanning machines listening to ears screeching noises and spread my legs more times in the past one month than ever before, but I've never had to hurt myself intentionally before!

The drug came in a reusable blue make-up bag with an injection pen and about 8 pieces of one centimeter long needles. The booklet carefully explains the technique of pinching the skin and plunging the terrifying needle into the skin through the layers of tissue, but does not mention panic or anxiety attacks or what to do with them. I heroically prepared for the operation in the comfort of our bathroom. As a preppy drug addict would do only I lined up all the instruments in a search for the perfect spot to indice pain to my white as it gets skin.

I cleaned the desired area of my upper-outer thigh, lifted my arm with clear intentions to get this thing done aaaaaaaaaaand hesitated; I lifted it again and pulled away, I pinched my skin so hard I wasn't sure whether my arm is the source of the pain or the cells beneath my clutching fingers, where my leg was turning into a palette of all shades of red and purple.

"Geooffreeeyyyyyyy .... please do it ."

"Ok, do it now, I am not looking"

"You missed it!"
"Now, now!"
"Noooo Don't do it!"
"Auuuuch you're going to sneak one on me ... Promise you tell me!
"Ok, I'll let you do it this time"
"No, you shouldn't do it !"

" I'll do it!"
"I can't do it ... "
"Auuuuuuu! It hurts!" ..... "Oh .. you didn't even touch me?"
"Now, I'll really really do it ... "
"Let's call Oli, she said she'd do it ... "
"Let's try in a bedroom, standing up, sitting down, lying on my stomach, in the living room, on the sofa, I'll look! I won't look! Don't look!"

This single shot provoked me to try more positions than listed in the Kama Sutra!

"Let's try music, I'll talk on the phone, I'll stare at the wall, sing a song, recite a poem, cook dinner while you do it ... " Given the fact that the two of us have difficulties hanging a picture straight on the wall, I am not sure whether we should even attempt to do any other kind of DIY (Do-It-Yourself) projects, such as this one.

"I just really wish there was someone in a uniform who could administer this liquid into me" .... "Honey, if you'd like I can call the doorman! His uniform would surely do the trick!"

(By the way! Doorman! I made friends with Cesar - I think that is his name. Apparently my costume was the best on Halloween. Assuming he counted all the 500 children between the ages of 1 to 7 that dressed up in the building I should have won at least some candy corn or a free shot from a nurse?!)

One hour later ....

Geoff is exhausted lying in the bedroom.

Jen, who came for a visit can't listen to me either. No fuss, she is getting up from the sofa while targeting me with her eyes - sitting on the covered toilet seat I am exhausted from my own non-sense ...

She is grabbing the weapon and is heading for me ....

(The last time I saw a similar face expression was on Tony Montana in Scarface)

I'd love to run, but we live in a one bedroom in Manhattan. The space underneath the bed is filled with boxes, the closets overflowing with clothes, the cabinets are way too small .... She sits on me crushing my pelvic bone and before I could screaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam ..............

.....it is OVER ...

* * * * *
By the next day I am a self proclaimed hero ... Misa, the lucky winner gets to administer it to me in a Wiennese restaurant opposite the BAM between two apricot pancakes and Shakespeare's Winter's Tale. We run for the bathroom.
I know girls always go in two's, but this is a one per person only bathroom stall right next to the crowded bar and when I pull Misa inside we both wonder about the thoughts of the half drunk MBA type suit/tie clientele staring at us. Only 20 minutes thou the play shall begun and so with shaking hands I am unpacking my baby making kit, screwing on the needle and handing nurse Misa the injection. She is a brave girl! Never done it before, but never say never and she is stabbing the needle with a precision of an expert into my flash.

We exit with a successful smile and wonder whether the imagination of those behind the bar went much further than our innocent encounter with a needle and some follisten ...

* * * * *

"Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.".
(Hamlet Act II, Scene II)

The not-so secret lives of BEES

"Honey bees can be easily reared, are adaptable to many
climates and to laboratory conditions, and have complex social life"

Nurse Betty asked the Queen bee and the Drone bee to report to the Mount Sinai hospital on the Upper East side the second day of her honey vomiting day. (I took the freedom to omit the important role of the worker bees, as this task remains equally divided between the Queen and the Drone bee in this relationship - unlike in any other respectable beehives in Manhattan, where most of the chores are done by the worker bees indeed ...)

As soon as the Queen bee entered the registration room she could smell the free flowing estrogen wax excreted by other Queens, who were buzzing with desperation to reproduce. The rest of the Drone bees were sitting loyally beside their Queens - seemingly willing and prepared to act on a half bu(zz).

"The queen is the only sexually productive female and thus is the mother of all drones, workers, and future queens."

Our Queen signed in, as previously instructed on a pink sheet and waited for her name to be called - while in disgust from the fact that she was forced to wait in such an overcrowded beehive. Then came the hummm and the couple flew into the back room, where another 6 worker bee nurses drained blood from the veins of their 6 piece prey. Our worker bee was Jennifer - an Asian honeybee with gentle touch and many private questions. She shamelessly inquired the Drone about the quality of his beeswax - necessary for reproduction. She also asked whether he had received the results of testing from the beeslab.
The Queen bee and the Drone bee became furious - this experience itself is out of their caste, let alone airing their dirty wax in front of other clans.

You see, Drones posses honey sack and the beeswax secreting gland which are important parts in the reproduction process.

Jennifer nursebee proceeded to show various sizes of injections, which are necessary in this artificial reproduction process. Mistake! While looking at various needle sizes the Queen was gasping for air (as one would expect a dignity would do) and firmly announced the reluctance to self-induce any kind of needle pain to herself! Her pouting lips turned away from the conversation as she was planning her escape route home, followed by strawberry cheesecake! The Drone was paying full attention to Jennifer, while the Queen was on the defensive getting ready to sting back any attempt of reversed stinging!

The worst, however was just around the corner! Bees sonogram! Queen bees are Queens for a reason! Queen bees give birth, make the hive a hive, and keep the Drones happy. They also have to endure pain and humiliation that no Drone in the world would be able to do!

"Drones are stingless, defenseless, and unable to feed themselves. Their function is to mate with new Queens"

Like what? Like taking a half meter stick and having it poked inside ... Most Drones imagine that two fingers up the middle of their royal two-cheeks on their back side is the worst procedure a BeesDoc could do!

NOPE!

This IS! Normally, our Queen bee is pretty accustomed to this process ... she know that no Queen bee can ever sit close enough on that funny looking chair and the DocBee will ALWAYS! call: "Closer, a bit clooooooser, ... aanddd a little bit closer" Until the ass of her Excellency is half dangling off the chair and her private parts are lookin' at the DocBees eyebrows ... This time around though, Queen bee was so nervous that she had forgotten to remove her Victoria's beeswax underwear and was subsequently embarrased by having to flutter her naked beesbutt in full display ...

BeesDoc's sonograsm lead to a fruitful ending: above the average production of potential little bees - specifically 12-13! Maybe we'll get a discount? ...