Saturday, August 27, 2011


When I was in Boston, I'd keep all my receipts and about once a month, I'd sit down and sort through them and enter them into my spreadsheet and see if everything balances and hits budget. I had an envelope for every type of receipt: furniture, groceries, eating out, household, clothing, gifts, etc. They were all neatly organized, placed in the bottom drawer of one of our nightstands.

Sometimes, i'd get lazy. I'd have a stack of receipts sitting hidden in my closet and it would take me months before I look through them, which is probably how I just came across a giant envelope of unsorted receipts stemming from the last accountable date of...a year ago.

Rather than just tossing everything out at once, I masochistically sat down and looked at each individual receipts before placing them in the recycling pile. Oh, this one is from Chicago, this from New Orleans, this from the airport before the family trip to Yosemite. Not to mention all the Walgreens, Starbucks, Stop and Shop, Margaritas, Qdoba, and Quiznos receipts. I can look at each one of the itemized receipts and still recall all the events associated with them.

One of the Stop and Shop receipts showed a bunch of fruits. I hate fruits; I never eat them. I remember that night when we went to Stop and Shop and he said he wanted to make fruit salad, in an attempt to be healthier. I protested. He promised he'd break the cantaloupes and melons, wash the grapes, and cut the pineapple--yes, even the pineapple. I was dubious. "Come on, you're just going to let those fruits sit there and rot and forget about cutting them." I was half-wrong. Two giant containers of fruits sat in our fridge, half of which rotted and eventually went into the garbage. It was a good attempt, nonetheless.

The only receipt I allowed myself to save from this giant pile is one of the many that were from Walgreens. On the particular receipt there was a nailpolish, a top coat, an illuminator, an eyeliner sharpner, and snickers ice cream. I don't remember what day or what month that receipt is from (although if i look more closely i can find out), but I recall that day being cold and I was bored at home and it was dark. So we took a walk to the walgreens downstairs, just to check it out, for the millionth time. I remember spending soooo long in there picking out make up on sale while he waited for me in the other aisles, and then feeling guilty about buying make up. So he offered to pay. I remember we walked home hand in hand and for some reasons we sat in the lobby in front of the TV and I remember telling him how happy I was and how it was one of my favourite days.

Getting rid of these receipts makes me wonder what footprints I left in Boston. If these receipts are gone, is there going to be any proof that I had a life there? Sure there are documents like my TN Visa, and my banking papers...but what about about the proofs of my day-to-day there and how i spent my time? In five years, when there are no more little relics and momentos that creep up out of the left field, will the last couple of years feel like another life altogether that I can no longer remember?

Does the past ever matter for our future?

One day, when I again must filter through all the paperworks I manage to horde over the years, I might come across this receipt again and realize that I no longer have a place for it. But for now, I guess it will stay buried among the pay stubs, the credit card bills, and tax papers.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Cat Diairies

Today for the first time Rumi sat on my lap today for the first time while I worked.

Today for the first time he also pooped on the floor next to the litter box, and for the third time puked out yellow blobs that used to be my hairband which he is always stealthily stealing from me.

I vacuum three times a day to get rid of cat clay and cat hair on my floor.
My couches are also studded with cat claw marks.
I hate having to keep my bathroom and bedroom door closed all the time.
Scooping out cat poop makes me sick.

I don't think i'm ready for kids.

What floor do you live on?

I went downstairs to check my mail and got into the elevator going back up with two girls and guy in there. While hitting the button for my floor, I noticed that higher floor buttons were lit, and assumed that I was going to be the first one getting out of the elevator.

Elevator door opens and I get out of the elevator and so does the guy. I tell him that this is my floor, and he turns around and, this is 3, and as the elevator door closed, the two girls in the elevator also tells me that it's 3. Too late. The guy goes back into his unit happily and i am left to press the up button for the elevator, grumbling to myself about how those girls should have held the elevator door for me.

Luckily, the next elevator comes almost immediately, and as i exited on my floor, I hear giggling coming from my hall way. The two girls that were in the elevator got out on my floor, thinking it was their floor and tried to put their key in my door, as they lived in the same unit but on higher floors.

We had a good laugh.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011


“In an environment where you can have so many choices, you own the outcome in a way that you wouldn’t have, had the choices not existed. If reduction didn’t exist, women wouldn’t worry that by not reducing, they’re at fault for making life more difficult for their existing kids. In an odd way, having more choices actually places a much greater burden on women, because we become the creators of our circumstance, whereas, before, we were the recipients of them. I’m not saying we should have less choices; I’m saying choices are not always as liberating and empowering as we hope they will be.”

Saturday, August 6, 2011

still learning

apparently the oven racks are supposed to come out when you use self-cleaning mode for the oven.