This content has moved.

Read: Bedbug Diary: Part IV»

This content has moved.

Read: Bedbug Diary: Part III»

This content has moved.

Read: Bedbug Diary: Part II»

This content has moved.

Read: Bedbug Diary: Part I»

* Smit and I had an interesting ride on the subway tonight.

This content has moved.

Read: Bite Me!»

It was a little before 1am, and I was on my knees at the Hammerstein Ballroom. I was getting nervous. A few seconds ago, I’d seen a girl with tears running down her face, writing in her journal. To my left, in the crowd of devotees, a woman was hugging her knees, and every 30 seconds or so she’d fold into her lap and start sobbing.

I’m a big cryer. Am I about to burst into tears like these people? What is going to happen to me?

The man kneeling in front of me shuffled forward and I followed. We’d all been waiting hours for this moment. I could see Amma much better now that I was so close. She looked just like the pictures I’d seen: an Indian woman dressed in white, with a gold nose ring, a smile on her face and a soft welcoming bosom. She was hugging people, and many of their shoulders shook as they weeped.

This is what I came for, what I was so curious to experience. I’m about to find out what all this fuss is.

A man in white pajama put his hand on my shoulder, to pause me. A couple approached Amma, on their knees, and she took them into her arms. She rocked them back and forth. They stood up to leave, and I was quickly moved in front of Amma. It was my turn.

She’s known for her hugs. They say she’s hugged over 21 million people around the world. She adheres to no religion, but spreads a message of unconditional love. I can get into that. Earlier, through a translator, she spoke about how people’s love has become so pointed. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” She said we need to be love.

The Indian music coming from the stage, played with instruments I couldn’t name, began to escalate, and people began clapping and raising their hands.

I put my hands on the sides of Amma’s chair, as per instructions. She’d already hugged more than 600 people that night. I don’t even know how many she’d embraced that morning. Do not hug Amma, let her hug you, they had said. Her soft hands pulled me into her, and I rested my head on her shoulder. She took my chin and moved it to the right, so I was resting on her chest. She rocked me back and forth and mumbled something into my ear. I wish I knew what she was saying, but it was in her own language. She smelled like fresh flowers and her body was warm.

Before I knew it, she let me go, and another person scooted in front of her for their hug. I was moved away by some of her devotees. They gave me a candy wrapped in rose petals.

As I walked through a crowd of people that were gathered at her feet, a light smile came to my face. Not a fat, goofy grin or a hearty laugh, just an easy smile.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to be feeling, but the only word I could think of was light. I hadn’t been enlightened, I hadn’t been reduced to tears. I hadn’t had a spiritual awakening, I hadn’t been freed of my worries.

I’d just been hugged by someone who loved me.

I’ve stained my hair, I’ve stained my floor, I’ve stained my esteem.

I’ve made so many stupid decisions lately, it makes my heart race and wonder how to undo them. I make some more decisions, trying to correct, and stain it all worse. It’s all the wrong color, it’s not what I want. I try to make it better, and end up making it all muddled, smudged. Ugly.

I wish I could take it back. I thought some of my decisions would magically make it all better. But one decision opens the doors to others, and I don’t like making decisions. There are too many and I can’t see straight. I’m making them all on my own, not consulting anyone. I have no one to consult. I have to make my choices myself.

I can’t just start over. I have to work with what I’ve got. But I don’t like what I’ve got and I don't know where to go from here. I thought I was taking a shortcut, and ended up lost.

My stomach is aching and my head is spinning and my heart won’t slow down. And how can I make any smart decisions like this?

I'm a freaking mess. And I'm not just talking about my hair.

When I found out there was a bill moving through Congress to reinstate the draft, I got pretty upset.  I decided to write to my congressman, Joseph Crowley (D-NY), about it.

Today, I got a great response. Even though I have no doubt it's a standard note that his staff sends out on this issue, it's still a thoughful letter and I'm happy to have gotten a reply.

From: write2joecrowley@mail.house.gov
Sent: Tuesday, July 20, 2004
To: C
Subj: Message from Congressman Crowley

Thank you for contacting me to express your concern for the reactivation of the "selective service" draft. I appreciate hearing from you on this important issue.

The Pentagon has recently initiated the process to reinstate the military draft that was abandoned more then 30 years ago. The draft would consist of recruiting personnel with special computer and foreign language skills. While Defense Secretary Rumsfeld said that he would not ask Congress to initiate the draft, we must also remember a number of other statements made by him and other senior level Bush Administration officials that were later determined to not be true.

In response to reports of a return to the draft, the Universal National Service Act (H.R. 163) was introduced in Congress. The bill would declare that it is the obligation of every U.S. citizen, and every other person residing in the United States, between the ages of 18 and 26 to perform a two-year period of national service, unless exempted, either as a member of an active or reserve component of the armed forces or in a civilian capacity that promotes national defense. Introduced by Representative Charles Rangel of Harlem, a veteran himself, H.R. 163 was introduced to make more of a statement then actual policy.

Rep Rangel, who opposed the war, is angered by those draft dodgers and chicken hawks who are among the first to argue for greater US military involvement in conflicts, while at the same time working hard to keep themselves, their families and their rich contributors from going to war. In fact, both President Bush and Vice President Cheney have no war record to speak of, and the facts behind Mr. Bush's war time service are still mirky with a real possibility that he committed dereliction of duty.

I believe that a draft will not be initiated in the near future to deal with the situation in Iraq, but if one is, exemptions should not be made to the politically connected as they were in Vietnam, which created a class of chicken hawks like George W. Bush and Dick Cheney who view war in terms of military games and not real life consequences.

Currently, this legislation has been referred to the House Committee on Armed Services. Although, I am not a member of this Committee, I will continue to monitor this bill very closely.

Thank you for your message. Feel free to contact me in the future regarding this or any other issue of importance to you.

Until a few years ago, I hadn't been too interested in politics or current events, beyond reading the newspaper. But now I'm much more interested. I don't claim to know very much about it, so I try to stay inquisitive and ask lots of questions. And in the last few months, I've contacted my senators and congressman a couple of times on various issues I feel strongly about.

This note from Crowley has made me feel encouraged. Aside from casting my ballots in elections, I didn't know how to feel a part of our democratic system.

You can bet I'm going to continue to send notes and make calls.

* If you'd like to contact your representatives, use these links: House | Senate

Though my parents live half-a-continent away, I do have a lot of family members in the metro area. (Mom and her sibs are Queens natives.) Lots of cousins live nearby. One of my closest (agewise, not geographically) called me today.

"I want to marry Amy," Josh said.

I whooped and said congratulations! I like Amy. A lot. I'd be excited to have her as part of my family. They've only been dating for about six months, but they've been friends since high school. I met Amy in March. She has her nose pierced. She inspired me to follow through on something I'd been thinking about for nine months. Very cool chick.

"Does your mom know?" I asked.
"No, not yet."

Good to know. I won't tell my mom, then, because she'd tell his mom. And that's not how she should find out. She can flip out when he tells her. And she will flip out. She's never liked any of Josh's girlfriends, and I doubt Amy is an exception.

"I'm going to propose when we go to Nantucket in August."
"Cute!"
"Maybe I should wait till I get there to get the ring," he said laughing.

Josh and Amy aren't wealthy, by any means. He's getting by (aren't we all?), and I don't imagine he has a lot to spend on a ring. Not that it matters. (I'm not big on expensive jewelry or the importance some people place on it.)

But Amy's family? They've got dough. Lots of it.

"Ha ha ha, maybe if I go to Nantucket and show her mom and aunt what I want to get Amy, they'll say, 'Oh that's too small! Here's a few thousand more to get something bigger.'" We both laughed.

"Actually, I need help buying the ring. Will you go diamond shopping with me?" he asked.

I'm so touched! That's such a sweet thing to ask. Plus, you know I love an adventure. Stay tuned.

I treated myself to a Taco Bell lunch. I came home with a taco and nachos (fine, two tacos and two nachos). I had borrowed some DVDs from the library and turned on the TV to pop one in. My TV was tuned to Fox, Cardinals vs. the Cubs at Busch Staduim, my hometown team and a classic rivalry!

And my favorite ballpark munchie? Nachos!

I don't usually watch baseball on TV, but I sat down and watched the Cards take an early lead, dipping my chips into the hot cheesy sauce.

Doug and I once had an argument about which was a better baseball town, New York or St. Louis. To him, it was obvious that New York is better for baseball. Not one, but two teams with rabid fans. The fans in The Lou are fantastic, and I told him that there was one thing that St. Louis was far better at than New York: sportsmanship.

And today was no exception. Chicago is a five-hour drive from St. Louis and a lot of fans came to see this showdown. In a full stadium, Cubs fans began cheering, "Go Cubs!"

How did the St. Louis fans respond? Booing? "Cubs Suck!"? No way. Not their style. The chants began to alternate: "Go Cubs! "Go Cards!" "Go Cubs! "Go Cards!"

That town can be mighty classy when it wants to be.

* [deleted]

* This guy. For having never been up close and personal, I know an awful lot about this man's balls. And great to see everyone at the BABB! Link love to: the fashionably late and always awesome Mike, cute-as-ever Matt, Brian (one of the few I'll gladly let do the pick-me-up-off-the-ground hug), my doll Ari, my good ol' buddy Fish, glowing-with-love Krissa, gonna-hate-to-see-her-go Dahl, pinball-loving Sam, dragged-himself-from-the-books Doug, charming Stephanie, one my first-ever blogging friends Ken, nice to meet Steve, almost didn't recognize her in the new glasses Bob, ever-smitten Deb, Alex (he's blogging again!), great to see Kambri, lovely to meet Daniella and can't-wait-to-see-her-again Jahna D'Lish!

* A man who is HIV+. He's an inspiring person. And as familiar as I feel with HIV, from all I've seen on the news, TV, movies and more over the last 20 years, I think he's the first person I've ever met that I knew had HIV.

* Can I mention the hot Australians again?

I’d tell you about how tired I am right now, but after today, I’d feel like an ass for saying I’m tired—even though I did only get two hours of sleep last night. (I’ve been stricken with insomnia all week long.)

Why feel like an ass? Because I closely watched five men and one woman relay swim all the way around Manhattan! I think they should be more tired than I am!

It was the best Saturday I’ve had in a long time.

I was a race official on a boat in the marathon, and it was a blast. We were on a 33-footer captained by a Paul Newman lookalike. (If I’ve never gushed to you how much I love Paul Newman, just wait. I will.) Salt-and-pepper hair and piercing blue eyes. And a foreign, tattooed girlfriend who didn't speak all day. So, no flirting with Paul Newman. At least, not too much. No matter; there were other fish in this boat.

The team I monitored was full of hot Australians in Speedos!

OK, they weren’t all Australian. There was Chris, an Aussie living in Singapore; Mike, a Brit living in Australia; Robin, an Aussie living in Hong Kong; Edgar, a Brazilian who greased himself up with Vaseline before jumping in the water; and Gareth, a Kiwi living in Australia (and whose name constantly reminded me of this Gareth).

Did I mention they were all hot? And practically naked?

Oh, what a view! And that was just inside the boat!

Mike freestyled past the UN; Xanic (sha-neek') swam beside three large cruise ships, each topped with a curly blue waterslide; I waved to Dahlia and Sam, who were just a few boats behind us, monitoring a single swimmer doing all 28 miles himself; and Chris dove in just after we spotted a condom float by.

My job was to be impartial, and I did my job well. But when I wasn’t being The Man, I was cheering my face off for these cool people. Or just lounging on the deck in my bikini, flirting and dipping my toes in the water.

The team all parted ways tonight. They're all flying off to their respective homes within the next 48 hours. I had a little bit of a crush on Chris by the end of the day. He gave me a kiss and said, “See you next year.” I wouldn’t miss it. Rawr!

It was a really long day. I left the house at 5am and just got back from the after-party a little while ago. I still don’t have my land legs back, and as I sit here typing, I feel like I’m swaying back and forth on the choppy waters of the East, Harlem, and Hudson Rivers. Maybe it’ll even rock me to sleep.

I think I’ll be getting by far the best night’s rest I’ve had in days.

As long as visions of hot Australians don’t keep me awake.

* Great pics of the day from Dahl (Sorry, no pics of my hottie swimmers)

You were really hot in A Streetcar Named Desire.

I hope you got a spiritual offer you couldn't refuse.

[CNN]

I was having trouble finding something clean to wear to work. A few days ago, in my frustration and sleeplessness, I rearranged the furniture in my room. Three times. And I still couldn’t get to sleep! In all that shuffling around of large bookcases, the renewed chair and more, I made a little bit of a mess. And I don’t even like the new furniture orientation.

Where was I? Oh, finding clean clothes amid said mess. I found a pair of jeans in the bottom of a drawer, folded really well, a dead giveaway that I hadn’t worn them in a long time. I didn’t recognize these jeans. But I’d clearly had interest in them at some point because they’d been hemmed. (All my pants have to be hemmed. If you’ve never met me, I’m what Mickey Rooney would call short.)

I pulled on the mystery jeans. They fit nicely, and looked good with the butter-colored shirt I’d found in the back of the closet. How could I have forgotten about such a cool pair of jeans?

I went into the bathroom and stood on the rim of the bathtub to get a look at myself in the mirror above the sink. I’ve got to get a full-length mirror one of these days. Wow, these jeans are really low-riding. … Oh my gosh, I remember these jeans!

I’d put them away at least a year ago. I’d been wearing them, but didn’t really like how they looked when summer came and the shirts got smaller. I was one of those girls wearing low-slung jeans with a side order of love handles. Into the bottom drawer they went.

Smash cut to a month and a half ago when the comments began. “You look great! Have you lost weight?” Have I? “You can tell, even in your face.” Was it chubby? “You’ve definitely lost weight. How did you do it?” Healthier habits and patience, my dear. My parents fawned over me even more than usual on my visit home a month ago, gushing about how I looked. I blushed and said thanks.

I don’t own a scale and there’s the issue of the aforementioned nonexistent full-length mirror, so I don’t have much to go by. But there’s a scale in my bathroom in my hometown. I weigh myself about twice a year. When I was there in May, I stepped on. Off and on again. Off and on again. I couldn’t believe it! I shouted to downstairs. “Mom! I’ve lost more than 10 lb!”

A new pair of jeans and boosted self-esteem: the breakfast of champions.