Happy Eid Mubarak

For those of you familiar with the term "Eid Mubarak", you can see why saying "Happy Eid Mubarak" is tantamount to "Happy Merry Christmas." That's what mandals texted me today. Mandals is the freelance still photographer who I have gone out on two dates with. What's white on the outside but brown on the inside? Mandals. He's a white boy who lives in Jackson Heights and loves all things South Asian. I'd elaborate but would end up exposing myself.

Anyway, Eid Mubarak, everyone! Hooray, Ramadan is over! 30 days of fasting from sunrise to sunset during the holy month of Ramadan observed by Muslims. Not all Muslims. Not me. For me, Ramadan is like a month of being Catholic, abstaining and indulging while feeling guilty the entire time, it's exhausting! Finally, I can go back to feeling guilty about eating not because of God but because of the carbs that are turning my 20-something waistline into a "mom pouch." It's bad enough I've been accused of dressing like a soccer mom on the weekends but to have the slight protrusion characterized by women who have given birth, adds insult to injury.

My sister accused me of dressing like a mom. This was about six years ago and, as a result of the upbraiding, I ceremoniously destroyed my Ann Taylor card. OK, so it was overdrawn, details.. Then I went to the opposite extreme and started shopping at Bebe and that was a page from a fashion victim's diary. (Note to self: if it's lace and spandex, it's not for you.) One $100 leather bolero later, I had learned my lesson. OK, one leather bolero and two sequins tops later, I had learned my lesson. Oh, speaking of fashion fatalities, can we observe a moment of silence for the death of the low-rise jeans?! Hallelujah!

I found out that my younger sister has a blog but she wouldn't let me look at it. She said if anyone who knew her read it, she couldn't allow her readers the unfettered access into her world. My sister is BRILLIANT. She makes me feel like a dumb blonde. Anyway, it got me thinking about the amount of trust I've instilled in my girlfriends who are privy to this blog. So at the risk of sounding self-important, please feel free to share but do NOT disclose my true identity. Cool. I suddenly feel like a super hero. Only I have no secret powers. Just a secret blog.

I'm currently out west covering a high-profile case involving a sex offender. Sorry, alleged sex offender. Hot printer guy has not emailed or texted which doesn't surprise me because he was in Upstate NY all weekend for a wedding and got back to work today. Why am I making excuses for him? He's lame, I'm out of his league and far too sophisticated to be bothered by men who don't have the wisdom to see my value. Why won't he call? Focker.