1) Not mattering, even in a tiny way. There were very high hopes for me when I was a child. I was supposed to be a genius, but the situation was such that everyone just sat back and watched and waited for me to blossom into something amazing and world-changing all on my own. Clearly, that hasn't happened.
2) Cheese, cheese and more cheese! Pesto! Tomatoes, either fresh or sundried. There's a place here that makes a pizza with a white garlic sauce, superthin layers of potato, bacon and cheese...it's like a breakfast pizza. Basically, I love anything that isn't onion or bird meat or fish. Onion spoils everything it touches, so far as I'm concerned.
3) Elevator at my office building, 1985. I was 19. I stepped in to go back upstairs after eating my lunch on a bench outside (it was a nice day) and there she was: tiny (maybe 5 feet), perfect dusky skin, giant green-gold eyes dominating a foxy little face with a pointed chin, and waist-length, wavy, caramel-colored hair with what I'm sure were natural blond streaks. Obviously at least partially of Indian (as in India) descent. She was in jeans and a checked blouse, very casual. My jaw dropped and I fell back against the elevator wall gaping at her. She smiled sweetly; she must have been used to such reactions. I tried to think of something I could say, but...I was 19. I wasn't yet capable of telling strange women that I found them beautiful.
I never saw her again, of course. She certainly went a long way toward helping me define my "type." Tiny girls, darker than me, with "strong" noses. Also solidified my fascination with all things Indian: gods, food, colors, yoga.
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Date: 2004-04-16 11:35 am (UTC)2) Cheese, cheese and more cheese! Pesto! Tomatoes, either fresh or sundried. There's a place here that makes a pizza with a white garlic sauce, superthin layers of potato, bacon and cheese...it's like a breakfast pizza. Basically, I love anything that isn't onion or bird meat or fish. Onion spoils everything it touches, so far as I'm concerned.
3) Elevator at my office building, 1985. I was 19. I stepped in to go back upstairs after eating my lunch on a bench outside (it was a nice day) and there she was: tiny (maybe 5 feet), perfect dusky skin, giant green-gold eyes dominating a foxy little face with a pointed chin, and waist-length, wavy, caramel-colored hair with what I'm sure were natural blond streaks. Obviously at least partially of Indian (as in India) descent. She was in jeans and a checked blouse, very casual. My jaw dropped and I fell back against the elevator wall gaping at her. She smiled sweetly; she must have been used to such reactions. I tried to think of something I could say, but...I was 19. I wasn't yet capable of telling strange women that I found them beautiful.
I never saw her again, of course. She certainly went a long way toward helping me define my "type." Tiny girls, darker than me, with "strong" noses. Also solidified my fascination with all things Indian: gods, food, colors, yoga.