New York, Thursday, September 15
Can't wait for weekend when I am planning to clean my house (clean working
space is conducive to work) and get started on this self-help diary, both
writing and doing. Like for example I am going to quit smoking (And I don't
just mean switching to menthols this time!) and start on an exercise regimen.
Going to sleep early and waking up at 6 with rising sun. Switch to decaf.
Give away to charity all my clothes that have never been worn and just clutter
up some space (shopping accidents). So excited I can't wait.
Manny called to go out. Manny is short for Manijeh, my best friend since
we were kids. Putting aside her personality for a moment, Manny is a real
sight to see, though she will knock you unconscious if you ever try to give
her a compliment. She is my physical ideal, a kind of Iranian Superwoman
that I can never emulate: Tall, thin (no unsightly bulges in hip area unlike
me "sigh"), long auburn straight hair (where the hell does she
have the nerve to have perfectly straight hair?) and bee-stung lips (natural):
She could be a model. But what she does for a living is public relations
for the hippest, hardest to get into nightclubs, restaurants and other dens
for the idle rich in the City. Her real aspiration however is to be a singer.
She has been a bit more successful at it than me in my endeavour to be the
next Reese Witherspoon. That is because she has some talent, which has helped
her land some gigs in various Village nightspots. Just her and her guitar.
I have been to those shows and the men just flock to her though she couldn't
give a flying... well... you know. I on the other hand have the dubious
distinction of getting catcalls from Hispanic construction workers, which
is one reason I hate summer in the City. I guess they go for those Middle-Eastern
curves I have inherited from MY gene pool.
Manny called to hook up that night and go to Sling Nightclub, this new
client of her firm. As usual top-notch, very exclusive etc. I tried to stick
to my guns and be a good girl:
-- "No I can't Manny Joon, and it is all your fault! Your diary
is forcing me to better myself."
Manny just laughed and gave me her favorite retort when I am being "looss":
-- "Boroooooo bAAAAbAAAAAA..."
She exclaimed quite cheerfully, and then went on to paint a juicy picture
of all the excitement the place had in store for us. Slowly, my resistance
was weakening and I offered the flimsy question:
-- "Well why can't we go on a Friday when we don't have work the
next day, just like normal people?"
Manny had a derisive chuckle:
-- "That is precisely why we ought to go tonight instead. Friday
is for all the average Joes. Tonight is for the Beautiful People."
I sighed and played with the phone chord, while keeping a look-out for
Grolpy the Nosy Grump. Oprah Winfrey or Sling? Self-Help or Vodka Gimlets?
Then Manny displayed her last card:
-- "Naz khAnoom, I have it from very good authority that you know
whoooo is going to show up there tonight."
I was indignant and did not take it to my surface (be rooye khodam nayAvordam):
-- "What are you talking about Manny jAn?"
-- "(Snort) Don't 'Manny jAn' me you little twerp. You know full
well I am talking about... Peerooz."
That's it, I was angry. I shouted at her:
-- "All the more reason why this is a bad idea!"
And hung up. When I looked up Grolpy was staring me in front of my desk.
I offered a bright smile:
-- "Immigration Officer on the line wanted to stall one of my files."
Of course he didn't buy it but he also didn't take it to his surface.
(Must be the Iranian culture rubbing off)
Am so angry at Manny for even mentioning that jerk Peerooz's name! If
I never saw him again, it would be too soon! Sigh. I guess as part of my
self-help therapy I should vent a little bit about this gruesome character
in here. So who is Peerooz? Well he is a walking cliche: A cell-carrying,
GQ-dressing, Beemer driving, moneybags-rich totally gorgeous Iranian guy
I met at some gallery thing with Manny six months ago. She introduced us
(She knew a friend of a friend etc.) Anyways that evening, he wouldn't leave
my side, chatting about this and that, making some mean-spirited but absolutely
witty comments about both the people and the art on display. I just love
sarcasm, it turns me on like green bills do other women so I was immediately
attracted to him, even though he is a typically arrogant Wall Street trader
and Iranian Playboy to boot!
Later on I found out he asked Manny for my number and I got a tingle
of excitement (the first after Ross and four years of an endless string
of weirdo blind dates and porky khAsstegArs). I waited and waited for him
to call me. One day, two days. until finally after the first week, I decided
he was the biggest jerk in the world and when he DID eventually call I would
wash him and put him aside (beshooramesh bezAram kenAr). But he never EVER
called. And when I bumped into him at various events organized by mutual
friends, he was always charming and polite but never alluded to having my
Of course, this only made me fall harder in total Lust-Crush with him
and I even stooped so low as to ask Manny to invite him for my little birthday
bash (in a very cajjjj off-hand way of course) and he said he would try
to come but never made it. That was around the time I went off on my little
tequila rampage and... But you already know THAT story.
So needless to say, the fact that he is going to show up at Sling or
Dling-Dling or whatever that nightclub is called, is NO incentive for me
to go there. He is out of my system for good.
Got home and going to do some preliminary cleaning out of my closet.
Oohh I wonder if I still fit in that Nicole Miller?
Called Manny up.
-- "Soooo... If I WERE to come to this shin-dig, what would be the
-- "(snort) I 'll pick you up at 11."
Well, this will be like my last night of debauchery and I will get on
with the self-help bestseller right away... As soon as I diss Peerooz in
my little black number. Eat your heart out jerk!