23 minutes.

Ok,

I'll address the obvious: it has been a while

but if you calculate all of the hours in the week I spend

attempting to learn everything about Islam,

dreaming of Marx,

trying to figure out the exact difference between a Baptist and a Methodist,

contemplating my life's goal

(to be an elementary school teacher and then a lady baker)

and waiting on line for my egg white omelet twice a day

(complete with tomatoes, onions, and American cheese)

I have approximately

23 minutes of spare time

and now that 23 minutes belongs to Sleeping Venus

I also promise more posts, because I miss my roommate

she'll be Tanzania bound in a few weeks

and while she worries about covering up her bodacious body

as to not start any riots, getting malaria, and finding herself

I'll be across the ocean

and my biggest problem is probably trying to figure out

which religion is right for me (it's really been a problem),

and how I'm going to manage to get on the packed shuttle to the mall

every Saturday

thus, I have remind her that life has its menial ups and downs

my favorite up: learning that Oreos and soy milk

are the absolute best study snack

Fun fact: Oreos float

Chips Ahoy may sink to the bottom of your cup

to become a delightful mushy mess,

but Oreos just chill

and wait for you to finish up that last sentence of your essay

so you could enjoy 'em

I need some Oreos right about now

I just had to breakout the graphing calculator for my psych assignment,

you know the Texas Instruments TI-83

that most of us attending liberal arts colleges

haven't touched in a hot minute

mine is covered in Hello Kitty and My Little Pony stickers,

it makes me wish I was still 15.

Savor it While it Lasts

Vassar is fast approaching

and my days of working an internship and a job will soon be over

so will be the days of restaurant hopping in Hell's Kitchen,

hanging out in Chipotle on those sweltering hundred degree days,

just for the refillable soda with the lemon twist

real ice cream cones will be long gone, and I'll be stuck eating fro-yo from wafer cones

my dog won't wander in to my room late at night

air conditioning will be a thing of the past

so I have to bask in the things I love, for the next three weeks

My devotion to Cafe Bustelo & Pilon will never falter,

Spanish coffee all day everyday, con leche and lots of sugar

just the way my mom makes it every single morning

heating the milk in a separate pot, it becomes my job to make sure it doesn't boil over

and boy, that sure is a lot of responsibility

I appreciate our cabinet shelves, lined with assorted Goya products so much more now

my mom & Goya really make magic together

The best thing is being able to travel to any continent,

from the comfort of the East Village

First Avenue takes me to India, with all the lights

and celebration of a festival

not to mention deliciously addictive cheese naan

(think a match made in grill cheese-Desi fusion heaven)

At work I can revel in both Japanese & Afghan cuisine
Even Ukraine isn't out of reach, I gotta love authentic pierogies

even though I think at Vassar they do them pretty well,

my roommate would always look forward to pierogie night

the one night of the month she would decide to emerge from

the cave that was our room, and when she didn't

I would smuggle ziplock bags and tupperwares of them

so she could freeze them and have real dinner (ie not cereal) for days

she's the one thing that I don't have while I'm at home,

and I miss her & her Midwestern charm

but most of all, I miss her stressed out habit

of making turbans out of scarfs

she'd don them at night, while struggling with chemistry chapters

My (few) days of being a home-cook were awesome

I'll have to give that up in the communal dorm kitchens

which frequently are missing key things, like spatulas

I'll have to trade in the tastes of my childhood

I remember sitting in small Puerto Rican restaurants

waiting on my pernil & tostones, sipping Coco Rico coconut soda,

light and refreshing

Kola Champagne to accompany my rice & beans,

its not the same having Diet Coke out of soda machines

The last thing I must savor in these last 3 weeks

are beautiful mountains of ice cream

my heart breaks at the thought of being without the creamy goodness.

MAX, my Italian love

Long time no blog eh?

I've been soaking up my last days of being home

in the wonderful city,

trying to distract myself from the fate that awaits me in Poughkeepsie

long nights in the library reading while half asleep,

shopping being limited to 3 hours on the weekend after enduring a 

sweaty, obnoxious shuttle ride 

vending machines with Swedish Fish but no Sour Patch Kids 

(which should constitute a crime)

gross clumps of hair in the shower drain

frigid toilet seats that give me a surprisingly unpleasant jolt in the mornings

(people just love to leave the bathroom windows open)

but amongst those other nightmares that bring me

oodles of gloom

is the watered down pasta sauce that sadly coats the 

spaghetti, penne and all other things Italian

You know what I realized in college?

how much I love spaghetti, it was always one of those things I took for granted

never realizing the joy that those noodles could bring to my heart 

when slurped and enjoyed with plenty of thick, tasty sauce

spaghetti is so simple, so classic, so key to life honestly

that the college dining experience can 

massacre something so simply delicious

is beyond me, it is an utter shame

so as I enjoyed my first plate of spaghetti and meatless meatballs

I was elated, transported to another world of pizza and mama's pasta sauce

but that wasn't enough for me, I love my mother, but she is not Italian

I need some of nonna's cooking to satisfy my Italian cravings

the cravings my roommate knows much about

because instead of counting sheep at night, we talk about food until we are drowsy

best cure for restlessness, ever

anyway, the only way to satisfy, and possibly perpetuate 

[perpetuate is such a Vassar word, ew]

my craving for Italian was to visit the best Italian restaurant I know

MAX, on 4th and Avenue B, otherwise known as heaven

which the Zagat gave a 22 for  food, 15 for decor, and 16 for service

boo! I say to the 22 & 15!

for the dark rustic ambiance of the place takes me to another world

as does the food, after ordering Caprese & 

homemade gnocchi with tomato sauce, basil & mozzarella

I was set, ready for some sweet Italian loving

loving that I definitely cannot find at Vassar

the fresh mozzarella, tomato & basil were out of this world

and made me wish I was Italian for a few seconds...maybe a few minutes

so that I could have a fresh, moist little lump of mozzarella inhabiting my fridge at all times

then, the gnocchi came and I was instantly transported to a world of Vespas & gelato

a deep bowl of tiny potato love pockets in thick sauce, 

& cheese that was so melty and stretchy

I'm salivating just reliving the experience

those gnocchi made the gnocchi at Vassar look like fat maggots swimming in dirty red water

that sounds really gross actually...

anyhow, I love the Jersey Shore and everything

but the true Italian essence was in New York City, sitting in my bowl drowning in cheese.

This is exactly what I would look like if I was Italian, it's just uncanny.

Tip of the Day # 2 [The Cure All]

There is only one thing that I believe contains magical, unsurmountable power:

Vicks VapoRub

maybe it's because I'm Puerto Rican

and Vicks is equivalent with the Windex of the Greeks

but it truly is an elixir, a cure all, 

a mystical gel cream wonder-doer potion

some may say an even godly gift

my only suggestion it to throw out the safety label

forget that it says "do not put in nostrils"

you should, it is the cure to any runny nose

as my roommate found out yesterday as she was

attacked with fingers coated in the otherworldly substance

it truly

burns so good

not only for illness, Vicks can help cure unattractive growths

put some on pimples,

I learned that from my mom

zip, zap, zoom and they are gone

it helps with muscle aches 

and all that other good stuff

this is an obvious attempt to get in touch with my roots

while escaping sickness

lets call this "cultural procrastination"

but really, most of all,

the smell of Vicks makes me miss my mom.

Tip of the Day #1

Today my roommate asked me my opinion on "French tipped nails"

unless you work in an office:

sad pinstriped collar shirts

knee length skirts

 kitten heeled shoes

all the saddest stuff at Ann Taylor

my answer is no.

Friends don't let friends get French manicures.