"Networking"

My "aunt" (aka really close family friend) is retiring this week from some government agency. She had invited my parents to her retirement party/dinner/gathering. When she found out I would be in town this weekend, she extended the invite. I asked my dad what the dress code was and he said "casual."

Well, thankfully I dressed to impress (read: have not done any of the piles of travel laundry and was left with nice clothes) because by "casual" my dad meant "Banana Republic store mannequin casual." This one woman had this absolutely gorgeous necklace on and I kept staring at it and it was awkward because every time she looked over I was obviously staring at her chest. I finally went and introduced myself and explained that I was in love with her necklace. She said she makes jewelry in her spare time. In the kiln. That she had apparently custom built into her house. And then she and my "aunt" had this obscenely long conversation about their retirement plans. Like how they are going to be masseuses.

They were talking about this one massage parlor where the guy did all these different kinds of "massages." He combines different techniques. I didn't ask if one of the techniques was "exotic" because (a) ew and (b) the woman already thought I was a creeper for eyeing her age-defying bosom. Hm. I really hope she never reads this blog.

Also this weekend:

My sister and I went to visit our grandparents. I am pretty sure my grandma thinks I'm some big drug dealer that has to travel the country to buy/sell my delicious commodity. Which is better than my grandpa, who didn't have his glasses on when I first came in. He thought I was my cousin. Who is a boy.

My grandma told me I looked taller. Then my sister hugged her and my grandma said, "Oh God, your arm is so thick. You've gotten fat." The inside joke is that every time she sees Vicky, without fail, she makes a reference to how she's gotten fatter. As Vicky puts it, "According to grandma, I'm the size of a whale now."

My dad likes to try to defend the fat comments.

D: You know, in different cultures, different things have different meanings.
V: What other meaning for "fat" is there?
D: She's not saying you're fat. Just... there are a lot of Chinese people who are... (at this point, he is motioning with his hands and making a skinny person outline)
V: So it's ok because I'm not really "fat," just "fat" compared to other Chinese people?
D: No, no. In Chinese... she's just saying you're healthy.
V: That's the polite way of saying "fat."
D: Healthy, she just likes to tell you how healthy you look.
V: Right. God forbid she ever has to think of another "compliment." At least she hasn't started calling me ugly yet.

Obviously, I found the whole thing hilarious. Until later when my mother pointed out that my jacket makes me look pregnant.

"No, really. You should thank you. I'm your mother and I'm the only one who will be honest with you. Those people who tell you that you look nice are lying. You look pregnant."

All I do is eat

It's sad, but completely true. Big's friend from Miami, who is also going to the same New York school as she is (but for business instead of medicine), met us for lunch. We went to Manhattan Diner, which is the place with the utterly melt-in-your-mouth, incredibly light and rich and creamy cheesecake. Clearly, we know what was on my mind.

He got one of the day's specials, a roast beef sandwich.

Big got two eggs over easy and the whole wheat waffle with bananas and strawberries. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get a picture of the waffle before it was stripped of it's delicious accompaniments.


It wasn't as light as the pumpkin waffle from Sarabeth's, probably because of the whole wheat batter. The pumpkin waffle had it's own flavor and was so distinct, it didn't need anything else. The whole wheat waffle was everything a waffle should be, but a little heavier. It soaked up the syrup and butter without transitioning to the gross soggy stage. It was almost like eating a delicious piece of cake (or the texture of it, at least).

I ordered the Athenian omelette (only because I couldn't make up my mind and panicked at the last possible second). It was an outstanding choice. Eggs with spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, and feta. It came with a side of potatoes and toast. The potatoes were basically hash browns, and delicious. Shredded potato fried on a flat griddle (I am assuming that's what it's called). The outside was crispy and brown, but my fork broke through it to fluffy potatoes beneath. I like my potatoes a little more done (aka burnt), but it wasn't bad.

The omelette was fluffy with tons of veggies. Every bite had a mixture of veggies. I couldn't really taste or see the feta, which is hard considering feta is such a strong flavor. It wasn't as outstanding as the omelettes I get at the Blue Moon.

When we left, I got a piece of cheesecake to go.

Hours later, as I stood in the dark in Big's kitchen, shoveling cheesecake into my mouth and trying to will myself to put it back in the fridge, I realized that New York may not be the best place for me to take my shrinking bank account and my RAPIDLY expanding waistline.