Dear Baji,


Love, Lil Baji, Pandi, and the rest of the crew


buon giorno, bambino bloggerinos! writing to you from sunny sorrento on the amalfi coast. gorgeous weather, spectacular views, but crappy pizza. naples is where pizza supposedly originated but this is no good. the pizza in rome was much better. you will be happy to hear that we have been enjoying anywhere from two scoops (trademark) to seven scoops of gelato per day. profumo di sorrento gets an A. tutti frutti gets a D. hope you are all well! ciao!

Signora Baji
Sorrento Information Terminal


bon jour, mon petite bloggeuers! i'm attempting to write on an incredibly busticated, teeny tiny (isn't every thing in france?) sony vaio right now whilst balancing the laptop on my knees and sitting on a balcony that overlooks saint germain and a buncha parisians smokin' they ciggies, tossin' back they cafe cremes, and not scoopin' up after they puppies' poops. all's well here. great weather, great walking tours, and great location. off to italy tomorrow! miss youze guyz!!!

Madame Baji
directly above the metro mabillon
saint germain, paris


I'm off to fabulous France, swanky Switzerland, and, Inshallah, Italy! See ya, suckers!

Oh, one more thing. While I'm away, I'm relying on you lovely bloggers and blurkers to click on my story "Far East Coast China" so I can win the travelogue contest. Forward to your friends, relatives, and enemies. And feel free to comment (preferably favorably, but I'll take anything) if you make it through the whole story. Okay. That is all. Ummmm . . . See ya, suckers!!!

New Computer
Dining Room of New House, DC


"Age Ain't Nothing But a Number"
On Looking Old and On Being Young. Guest Blog by my baby cousin, Oz.

There was this girl who recently started working here. (She's since been "let go.") Well, on the first day she and I ate lunch together, as I was her boss. (Imagine that!) So it's just the two of us at the table and we're struggling to make awkward conversation. We have very little in common aside from the fact that we work together. She asks me how I like it here, blah, blah, blah. She asks me if I'm married and if I have any kids. I say, "no," only to realize that these are two separate questions and so I say "no kids either," as seamlessly as possible.

She says, "huh, that surpises me."

Now I'm intrigued. What does she mean by that? "Oh, why does that surprise you?"

"I don't know. I just thought you'd be married."

I see where this is going. Married... by now... is what she really means.

"How old do you think I am? Really, I won't be offended. I'm just curious what you think."

I can hear the rusty gears of diplomacy turning in her head as she gazes at the ceiling. "Um... thrity five?"

I'm crushed.


"Thirty," she says, sounding more uncertain.




"Twenty-eight?" The gears have grinded to a complete halt.

"I'm twenty-four."

"Really, you seem so mature," as they once again start to turn. "I'd never have guessed!"

Now I wasn't lying that I wouldn't be offended. Indeed, I asked for it. And it wasn't the first time that I've been mistaken for being much older. I do dress a bit "snappy" at work, as I was told just yesterday. I like to think that my professionalism contributes also. It's more likely that this girl hadn't interacted with very many people my age who wore ties and spoke polysyllabically. (She was from a very rural area). And in truth, I don't mind it. Most people with whom I work are older than I am. I don't mind being thought of as older if it in any way serves to ward off my ideas and "authority" being marginalized.


We went for dessert at Fourth Street after the reception. Lil Oz was not yet 21 so he was honest and said that he didn't have an ID, but that he was just going for dessert. The guy asked if Omar was his dad, to which Lil Oz replied, "Oh no, that's my older brother."

"Oh, he's not your dad?"

"No, he's my brother."

"Because if he was your dad, you can go in with your dad. that's okay"


"Oh yeah," Lil Oz says, as the guy looks at him with a grin while he's already walked through the checkpoint.

Bechara... so naive!


Well, gang, recapping this weekend's events is quite an undertaking. So many people to thank, so many activities to recount, so many funny moments, touching moments, crazy hectic madness moments to share. Scratch that. Not "so many"; "too many." Apologies, but snippets are the best I can do right now.

Wednesday: Clarksville Fish with the grandparents on the deck in the backyard. You know what I'm talking about Chai, H-Bid, Izbot, LB, Broheem, Chan (man, I got a big fat bloggin' family!).

Thursday: Groom arrives and we have a Mayun at our dear friends house that evening. I sat still for four hours while master mehndi artist Basherunissa decorated my hands and my feet with intricate, delicate, arabesque designs. Food from Shalimar piled high on everyone's plates and piled low on my lap as LB tried to feed me. Note the "tried" choice of words. (psst - just teasing, LB. You are the best and everyone else is the worst).

Friday: Three hours spent at the airport to greet the out-of-town guests while my incredibly hard-working, wonderful, creative family (especially Literaunty) transformed a simple white tent into the glorious, glittery, flowery Mehndi Party Central. That night, with fresh daisies and marigolds circling my neck, with energetic dancers and enthusiastic singers at my feet, and with dazzling candle lights and swirling colors and beaming smiles filling my eyes, I spent my last few hours as "regular Baji" with my family and friends.

Saturday: Nikkah Time! My loving, supportive, amazing parents sat to my left as the Imam read the khutbah and announced to the witnesses and guests that the loving, funny, intelligent man sitting to my right was now my husband. My better half. My old man. My ball and chain. Call me "Mrs. Baji"!

Saturday Night: Wedding reception was held at the Brown Hotel in Louisville. My aunt, who owns a beauty salon in Islamabad, was gracious and accommodating and acceded to my wishes to have very light make-up on my face. My LB fixed my hair up so I could leave it down. I managed not to trip a single time whilst loping around in my trailing lengha which my grandparents gave me and my aunts designed and brought for me from Pakistan; it was fairy-tale pretty (I had not laid eyes upon it until two days before) and, thankfully, was a perfect fit (I had not tried it on until two days before). I've told some of you this already, but it bears repeating. Thanks to my parents, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins and friends who did all of the hard-work, took on all of the planning, and pulled off all of the parties, all that was left for me was pure joy. Unlike many brides, I actually had a great time at my own wedding. Apparently, I have won the title to "the most relaxed bride ever".

Sunday: Brunch at my generous, guest-loving parents' house for the stragglers who managed to get up in the afternoon and attend. After naps for some, shopping for some, and playing chauffeur for some, we opened some prezzies, watched the wedding videos, and called the weekend a success. Thanks for attending and sticking around until the bitter end, Amaal and Upyernoz!

Wanna see more pix? The price of admission is YOU sending ME a pix of yourself first. Ok, kids. Gotta run. My soul mate wants to use the computer now. ;)
Happy Birthday, darling Dadiji! Here's your present.

Happy Birthday, dearest Chai! Here's your present.


Beeeeeep. We're sorry. The Baji you are trying to reach is temporarily out of service.* Please click back and try again. Thank you.**

*(and by "temporarily out of service" we mean "buried under a mountain of cardboard boxes, completely covered in static-clingy styrofoam peanuts, and mummified in miles of wrapping paper".)

**(and to thank you for your understanding, please enjoy this preview pix of Baji getting mehndified and join us in congratulating Mrs. Bness on her Nikkah as well.)


doot de doot doot doot de doot . . .
wedding a success stop
family and friends all around stop
love and prayers all around stop
food and presents all around stop
deets to come stop
occupy yourselves with my "Far East Coast China" travelogue until then stop
xoxo, mrs. baj