500. I AM OFF COFFEE

I get to the Ritz and for a moment I stop to think well, this must be “how the other half live” – a half that I will never be a part of, which is fine. I don't need tons of money, I just want to be comfortable and not stress over paying the rent every month. Luckily I feel like I fit in here, I am wearing a cute outfit, brown skirt, hot pink silk shell and a pale pink cardigan and since it is still nice enough to wear sandals, I did!

But It is just stunning how much money some people have. I mean I am going to gym for free to save $100 this month. And based on this place, should be interesting what we spend on breakfast. I kinda hope I can afford it. I mean, I spend $70 a week on groceries.

The last time Bhaiya stayed here, his family was here, and their suite was bigger than my one bedroom Heights apartment. Hell the bathroom in the suite was almost the size of my old apartment. I pace across the lobby a few times before sitting down in an oversized leather chair. It is almost too deep for me to sit in, because I slide back towards the seat back, my feet barely touch the floor. Ah, the joys of being 5’-2¾” tall. Good thing I have these heels on, otherwise I would not graze the marble below me. I sit there for several minutes. I mean yes, Indians are notorious for being tardy. It has been some time since I have seen Bhaiya – but I remember him to be punctual. Or am I making that up because I admire him and cannot find fault with him?

After ten minutes, I wonder if I am being blown off. I expect it from dates, but not family – so I text him to let him know I am in the lobby. Immediately he texts back that he is grabbing his sweater and coming down.

A few minutes later, my mind has wandered off so I don’t recognize Bhaiya until he is about 10 feet in front of me. I don’t realize that it is him, because he is gaunt and sallow looking. This is not say he was a huge, rotund man. Bhaiya has always been very fit and fat conscious. Growing up on several occasions he has politely pointed out that Dad’s side of the family has a propensity of being overweight and that I might want to steer clear of heading down the path to fatness.

But the man that stands before is very slim, not trim. It is almost stunning how ghostlike he looks. “Bhaiya?” I ask as I rise to my feet. “Hey, Desi Girl, how are you?” he asks and he gives me a hug.  “I am good – but what about you?  Where did you wither away to?” I ask. I am little worried that he will tell me is sick, he has that sickly look to him. What could he have? Cancer? A brain disease? What could have brought this on? He actually laughs at my comment and says, “I gave up coffee and only drink green tea.” Whaaaaaa? Green tea did this to him? While this is better than a nefarious disease, my mind goes back to “I gave up coffee” – what a horrendous thing to admit! “Why? Would you give up coffee? You were a bigger Starbucks addict than I am,” I say. “For my health. I feel so much better now that I am off coffee,” he replies. My brain cannot comprehend what he is saying. “Shall we eat?" he asks.

“Sure,” I reply and pray that he has not gone crazy and orders wheat germ and flax for breakfast.

499. YOU CAN CALL ME CHEAP, YOU CAN CALL ME FRUGAL, BUT I ONLY HAVE A LIMITED AMOUNT OF SPENDING DOLLARS A MONTH AND I CALL MYSELF A THRIFTY SURVIVOR

The following morning I lace up my sneaks and lock the apartment door. As I bound down the stairs, hot pink water bottle in hand, I think about the upsides to working for your family. No one says anything when you take two extra days of vacation. And when you own the joint like Dad does you cannot get fired. You can take some liberties with expenses. Not so liberal like buy a condo in Aspen, but enough to where you can buy nice pens and fun notepads.

I pop out of the building and head east to York Avenue. On the weekends, the City is so peaceful at 7:00 am. There are some downsides to working with your family, like working with everyone you are related to. And our business has really been a feast or famine game. When we are busy, we cannot keep up with the workload, the 1990s was proof of this. We went months without billing clients. But then the 2000s were the opposite, we would send invoices for $500. You are the last one to get paid when money is lean and you get stuck doing all the unpleasant jobs like trying to concoct ways to capture the bat, Bruce Wayne (yes we named him) that lived in the basement. Suffering through three days of no toilet when the building’s sewer line disconnected from the City line in the middle of January. Shoveling snow from the parking lot and shop vac-ing water one year when Spring came too fast and too early and flooded the basement.

And forget about taking a sick day. I had perfect attendance from first grade to senior year. Clearly I don’t get sick. In fact I have been sick about three times in my life. Twice was from food poisoning. That was dreadful. The first day you feel you are dying and the second day you wish you were dead.The other time we thought I had pneumonia. Turns out it was a really super bad flu.

I get to the gym and wait for the front desk attendant to review my guest pass. Once she finds is satisfactory, she nods her head and lets me in. When I moved to New York, I was making a Minneapolis salary. Luckily I don’t really spend money. I don’t have a gigantic television. I have a small flat screen that Meera gave me and since I live in 312 square feet I can lay in bed or sit at my desk and watch it just fine. I don’t have a car (I mean I have one in Minnesota but trust me it is almost free to have that thing there, the insurance is $90 a month on an SUV).

I don’t go on vacations. I visit my parents three times a year, and while Minneapolis-St. Paul for some reason is an ungodly expensive airport to fly into, I don’t spend anything when I get there. Unless of course I shop, it is afterall Minnesota, Mall Rat Heaven. So yes, my recreational spending does go into my clothes, shoes and handbags, but again – I live in 312 square feet there is only so much a girl can have. Oh and books, yes, books. I do have an extensive collection of books.

But it is the little things that add up. When I lived in the Heights (which really was only three weeks ago, but feels like forever ago) I went to the Planet Fitness in the Bronx. It was $10 a month and I could walk there, I'd cut through Fort Tryon Park and then head across the Broadway Bridge.

Now that I live on the Upper East Side, I need to find a gym and -- man oh man --- are they expensive! I mean probably not if I earned a New York salary living in New York. And of course, since I am a mighty fan of the discount and don’t believe in full price (I can count the number of things I have paid full-price for) I am in search of a deal for my gym membership. So until I find that deal, I am going to utilize the free gym memberships advertized in the paper until I find what I am looking for.

498. MEET ME AT THE RITZ

Later that night I am on the computer working, preparing an informational packet for Town and Country’s washing and drying needs. My phone rings and I reach for it. It is an out of area number. I debate a couple of rings before picking up, “Hello?” I ask. “Desi Girl? Hi – it’s Bhaiya calling from Asia,” he says. This is my cousin brother, real brother to Bangalore Cousin. I have not talked to him in awhile, a year maybe.

He is married, with kids and lives in Asia. Of the nine cousins on my mother’s side of the family he is hands down the most successful. He used to be with a big Wall Street firm until he started his own company – I presume Bhaiya's company to be some sort of investment, hedge fund, something or other. When he started the company with his partner it was worth half a billion dollars, now it is worth $2 billion. The thing about him I most admired was that despite being so successful and living the Indian Mastercard commercial, 3 houses scattered across the globe, 2 twin daughters, 1 fair and slim wife, unlimited success, priceless – he never acted like a pompous ass.They say money changes people, he seems to be one who does not fit the mold.

“Hi, Bhaiya, how are you?” I ask. “I am good, really fine, I am in New York,” he says. “Like right now?” I ask and for some reason look at my watch. Town and Country spends a lot of his time seeking investors, as does Bhaiya, and I have always wondered if they have come across one another in private circles. But I have never wanted to ask either of them if they knew one another. I don't have many areas in my life where there is separation of church and state. 

“Yes, in New York, right now,” he says and laughs. The last time he was here was right before my birthday and was presenting to investors. He stayed at the Waldorf Astoria and we met for lunch at Sushi Ann. After lunch he needed to go to Saks Fifth Avenue, which was luckily around the corner. As we walked to the store he said his wife said he should buy me a perfume for my birthday and he pulled out $5 and handed it to me. I didn’t say anything, because it is the thought that matters, but this was barely enough to by a large skim latte at Starbucks. He must have realized it too because he then supplemented the perfume funding with a $50 bill.

“Can you meet me for breakfast tomorrow? I am staying at the Ritz Carlton,” he says. “Sure. I know where that it is,” I reply. “Great, how about 10 am?” he suggests. “Perfect,” I reply. I can then hit the gym first.

497. WHAT TYPE IS HE?

"What does this guy do for a living?” Desi Brother asks. I have just finished going over the washer and dryer dimensions and specifications. “He owns a company,” I reply and smack my lips. I have been eating potato chips and need to get salt off my lips. “What kind of company?” he asks. “I don’t know – some sort of tech company. I have considered the fact that he deals drugs, but he isn’t the type,” I reply. “What type is he?” Desi Brother asks.

Now this is a most interesting question. Town and Country strikes me as the type of person who is traditional, in that he has some 1960s ideas about women, but wants a freak in the bedroom. Sometimes I think this is why he is single. I am guessing based on nothing substantial than reliving conversations with him, that he wants a woman to take care of him, like his mother, so probably a desi girl (this is not to say an old fashioned woman is not non-desi) – but an old fashioned girl is probably a prude – and I can say this with some authority – I, Desi Girl, being a prude and all.

And I am not a prude because of some ethical or moral objection to sex. I just think sex means more than television shows like General Hospital and Gossip Girl depict. And frankly, this is one area of my life where I know what I am worth.

496. SLOW BUT SURELY POSTING

All -

Apologies for the longest delay - I have been offline for several days. I am 6 posts behind, two from last week, and 4 (well at this 5) from this week. Don't worry I am coming back online with more reading!

xo
DG

495. DO YOU GET SICK OF THESE STAIRS?

I get inside Town and Country’s house and he says, “So the next thing you will need to research is washer and dryers,” he says. I nod my head; this seems like a very normal people request. Except I don’t think Town and Country is normal, I do really think he is part vampire. He does not seem to rest, or sleep, or exercise or engage in fun. Maybe he’s a robot and not a vampire.

And I envision no scenario where this man washes his own Calvin Kleins.

Yes, yes, perhaps he will have his cleaning lady to this. But still, while I do not think Town and Country is as inept as Charlie Sheen’s character on Two and a Half Men, I don’t see him separating the whites from the darks.

We head for the stairs and I pause. “What is it?” he says. “The stairs are done,” I say. They are no longer slats of criss-crossing wood that I fear falling through. He nods. “Yes that was one of the last things the Contractor completed,” he says. “What does that mean?” I ask as we begin climbing the four flights of steps. “I don’t know if he will work out,” Town and Country replies. You know, sometimes, in life you get signs; well this is one of them. I choose to ignore it. This man cannot keep an architect or a contractor. Not good signs about Town and Country.

Once at the top of the stairs, Town and Country opens a closet in the hallway between two bedrooms. “So what do you think?” he says. “About what?”  I ask. “The closet,” he says. “It’s nice,” I reply. He shakes his head. “For the washer and dryer,” he mutters. Oh really? I’m a mind reader now? I mean why would I think THIS is where he wants the washer and dryer? First of all it is on the FOURTH floor, most people put this in the basement or near the kitchen these days. Next, where is he going to hook up water for the washer and then venting for the dryer? “You may have to go ventless,” I say and pull a tape measure out of my purse.

“Okay,” he replies. I want to ask him if he understands what I am suggesting, but a part of me is like, it is not my job to teach him, my job is to get him appliances. I measure the space, and while I don’t know for fact, I think he will have to go stacked. “Okay – so I need to take these dimensions home and call a supplier or two to see will work in here, sound okay?” I ask. Several seconds elapse. I turn around to look at him and he stands there very still, very unsettling. Like he either wants to kiss me over throw me over the railing – neither options are appealing to me.

“What?” I demand. “Nothing…nothing,” he says.  “Fine, then,” I reply. “Let me email you later with options.” “Okay,” he says and we walk down the stairs. It strikes me that my entire new apartment building is probably only a teeny bit bigger than his brownstone. We get to the front door and as I leave I turn and say, “So do you ever get sick of all these stairs?” “Only when I leave my wallet in the bedroom and am ready to go out the door.”

494. IS IT BEST TO BE RATIONAL WITH SOMETHING IRRATIONAL?

I get to Town and Country’s house and ring the bell. I hear him coming towards the door, I presume him to be wearing his black shoes of which he has seven pairs. I get it, he has a 3,000 square foot brownstone in NYC, so he’s got space to put stuff. The other day he told me he had his assistant buy him seven pairs of pants (the same pants, not sure in different colors, but the same pants) from Banana Republic or J. Crew – one of those stores. So there is a part of me that thinks he is an obsessive collector.

While there is nothing wrong with seven pairs of pants – he just seems like he gets an idea in his head and it just sticks and not much can be done to unstick it.

He opens the door smiles and says, “Hello,” he says in that sexy sexy sexy voice.  Ugh. I kinda wish I understood how and why attraction works like this for me. I mean Manhattan is FILLED with men and interestingly enough, women who know how to turn off their feelings. The Manhattan women interest me most particularly. They seem to have this killer instinct and hone in what they want --- which is generally an attractive, tall, Ivy League educated investment banker, of which New York is overflowing with. I don’t mean to judge, but these women seem to want a lifestyle not necessarily love, which is their prerogative.  I just wish I could turn my feelings off in the same way when I meet a man who I clearly am over the moon for. Especially when he clearly is nowhere near the moon with me.  

I mean, do you have to be calculated in romance? Is this why arranged marriages work? Because they start with no emotion, so they are practical and logical from the onset. It is best to be rational, with something irrational like love?

“Are you going to come in?” Town and Country asks, slightly amused. “Where is your head today?” he asks. Now that is indeed a great question.One I should immediately find the answer to.