29 December, 2010

I died in the boys bathroom at Hogwarts

I've been wanting to write, I really have, I promise.  I get on the computer and try to come up with something to say and my mind is a blank.  Which is ironic because pretty much the other 23 hours 55 minutes that I don't try to write, my mind is going a mile a minute.
It doesn't stop.  It just goes on and on and on like the energizer bunny, until I literally beg myself to stop thinking just for a second.  Just for a millisecond I wish all of the internal noise would just shut off so that I would be able to sleep the night through without waking up in panic.
Why do I do this to myself is the real question?  Why do I freak myself out and make myself sick.  I've become the most anxious and neurotic person in the span of a year.  I remember when I started college, I was proud that I could remain carefree and relaxed despite the situation.  Nothing was a big deal.  Happy go lucky.  Now, everything is a big deal.  The more I try to run from everything and push things away the more I get stuck underneath it.  And I've been pushed deeper and deeper down down down down down.  I'm becoming fossilized.
Quite literally the only time that I was able to stop thinking for a little while was the other day when I detangled rolls of yarn all morning and afternoon.  I just sat there, detangling yarn and rerolling them into balls.  And when I was finished, I was sad that there wasn't more.  So that I could focus on detangling yarn instead of untangling my life.
I want to be able to sleep until noon and wake up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, without having woken up 8 million trillion times during the night thinking thinking thinking.  ALWAYS thinking.  Nonstop.
I wish I could be that carefree person once again.
I wish my face would stop breaking out.
I wish I could look people in the eyes when they talk to me and ask how I'm doing.
I wish that I didn't wish these things and instead I wished for more important things that actually helped other people instead of myself.
Then again, I wish so many things.  In fact, I would basically be like Jafar from Aladdin and make the genie just grant a million wishes for me instead of just having three.  Then again, did Jafar have unlimited wishes?  I don't remember.  In any case.

In any case, that's why I haven't written.  If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. I'm just negative nancy.  A debbie downer.  moaning myrtle.

I am moaning myrtle.

19 December, 2010

16 November, 2010

The Reason Why Rainy Days Aren't My Favorite Days

1. You can never find the right umbrella.  For instance, I can't find my green umbrella that I always keep in my car.  Instead, I dig through my trunk to find an umbrella I didn't even know existed.  Upon opening it and stepping outside, I find that there is a hole and that water leaks through.  Not a very efficient umbrella.  Also, when I come to close it and step inside the library, I find that it refuses to close.  Everytime I push it down, it pops right back up and splays open.  I look around to see if anyone is watching this ridiculous event take place.  No.  Everyone else is safely inside, dry.

2. Puddles.  Everywhere.  Puddles everywhere=wet shoes, wet jeans.  One of the worst things about Uggs, despite their comfort level, is the fact that they soak through so easily.  So, the second my foot steps into that puddle, I feel the rush of water hitting my feet and sending a chill up my body.  At least since they're boots they keep my jeans dry.  That's one of my pet peeves.  Wet jeans.  Gross.

3. The only thing that I really would like to do on rainy days is a) sleep b) lie around doing nothing c)drink tea d) wear comfy thick socks e) watch Glee f) NOT study for my Bio exams g)have so much fun doing those things.

In conclusion, the only reason people say that they like rainy days is because they equate to lazy days.  However, if one has things to do on a rainy day and those things involve walking outside, then rainy days are not even close to being enjoyable.  My point is: I should have stayed home today.

I wish my life was Glee Club.

Yesterday I started to watch Glee.  Out of boredom...but mostly procrastination, I suppose.  I found the first episode and started to play it, and by the 5th episode (yes, I watched that many...plus maybe 4 more) I was hooked.  From the what seems at first glance to be a cheesy plot but upon closer review you see it actually says a lot more, to the singing, to the dancing, to Rachel, Quinn, Puck, Finn and the boy in the wheelchair...I could go on, but I wont.  From the computer screen to my heart.  I love it.

Today I was sitting in my lab humming "Stop in the Name of Love," when I looked up and said to one of my lab partners (funny story, her last name is Saeedi too, how weird is that?) "Wouldn't it be great if our lives were like Glee?"
She looked at me and laughed and said, "Yeah but my voice sucks."
Well so does mine.
My other lab partner looked at me and said, "My boyfriend laughs at me when I sing, so I only sing when I'm alone."

And I started to think how funny it was that in Glee they glorify differences among the students.  To be in Glee, there is something about you that is different, that doesn't fit into the realms of "normal society."  But here, in our world, we would be the outcasts in a Glee-ian society.  I know I wouldn't fit in if I couldn't hit that high F note, or if I can't tell the difference whether my voice is coming out sharp or flat.

I guess I just have to keep singing to myself and pretend that I can break into song in response to any situation.  Pretend shpretend.

Aint nothing gonna break my stride, aint nothing gonna slow me down.  No no.  I've got to keep on moving.  I can sing if I want to, I can leave my friends behind.  Its my life, and it's now or never, I aint gonna live forever, I just wanna sing while I'm alive.

05 November, 2010

Card Time

Today I wrote a card out:

"Will you marry me?
-Yes?
-No?
-Maybe?
Love, Will "

I felt like I was imposing on someone's life.  At the same time, I'm so curious to know what the response was.

Yesterday I wrote a card out:

"If I was a dog or a cat, I would pray that you were my owners."

It's sweet in a really "I like to be dominated" sort of way.

06 October, 2010

various thoughts

Every day I think, what can I write about on this blog?  And every day I come up with the answer: nothing in my life is interesting enough to write about.

I don't want to bore you with my moaning and groaning, and LITERALLY I don't really do anything except go to school and work.  Yani, it's ridiculous how often I'm NOT at home these days and I'm just working on school work or work work.

When I get home at night, even if I really want to, I can barely muster enough energy to get up and leave the house again.  I just go into my room and lie down on my bed and most of the time (if I'm lucky enough to be home by that time) I'll fall asleep around 9:30.  I'll tell you, it makes the days fly by to be busy, I can hardly believe it myself when I realize we're almost entering the second week of October already.  Jee whiz.

Some interesting things going on in my life right now?

1. My mom is on a juicing binge and she juices whatever she can get her hands on.  I enjoy nicely fresh squeezed orange pear grapefruit pineapple juice in the mornings.  She has juice all the time.  Apparently juice flushes out all the toxins in your body.  It's pretty tasty.  I like this new phase of her life.

2. I dissected a fetal pig today.  After I got over the overall "OMG THIS IS A PIG" that lasted about like 20 seconds, I would say, it was actually super interesting to dissect it.  I had to like, break the jaw and the ribs and stuff.  I felt like Bones on...Bones.

3. I'm obsessed with my Political Islam class and I want to be Professor Mandaville when I grow up.

4. My left foot sort of hurts.

5. When did this become a list of all the thoughts I'm having in my head?  In this case, I cant believe its already midnight.  Only 7 more hours until I have to wake up to get ready for work.

I should sleep.  Im so tired, I cant concentrate enough to write a cohesive, interesting blog entry.  Man, I really need to get out more.

Tomorrow.  Im just too comfortable right now.

Good night.

20 September, 2010

"Death will overtake you no matter where you may be, even inside high towers"(Q 4:77-78)

Working at the flower shop, I see my fair share of extreme feelings from both ends of the "feeling spectrum."  There are those who come in, overjoyed at the prospect of the grandiose wedding in the works.  Others walk into the shop slumped over, mourning the loss of a close friend, or a loved one.  I sit here and watch them as they walk into the store, I watch them as they decide what they would like to order, I listen as they tell me their stories. 
Last week, we started getting orders into the store for a young woman who passed away last weekend.  What started with one order, turned into twelve all of a sudden, and somewhere along the line, I got way too emotionally attached the entire event.  I googled the name of the girl, and I read about her, and it became personal.  It was not just another order for a funeral arrangement.  Here was a real life person, someone who had written books, who had spent her life learning about Middle Eastern Art, someone who I would want to be friends with, in another time and place. 

I started to think about death.  One day you're visiting Istanbul thinking you've got your entire life ahead of you, and the next thing you know, there's a tree on top of you, and you're entire life passes before your eyes. 

I'm not ready to die.  I don't want to die yet, and the more I think about it, the more I'm scared that I AM going to die, and there's nothing that I can do to stop it.  Yes, of course, we learn that everyone has a time, that when it's your time, it's your time.  I know death is inevitable.  Of course I know this.  But still, I want to try to push off the one thing in life that's certain.  I don't want it to come my way.  Not yet.  I haven't done anything with my life yet.  There's so much that I'm planning, the wheels in my head are turning, I can almost see it happening, but then there's this looming prospect that tomorrow I might wake up and it might be the last day that I wake up.  Who knows, even? 

I know that this is a "khodah nakoneh," sort of a thing to say.  But if there really is a khodah, then I can firmly assert that he already has his plan mapped out for all of us, and khodah nakoneh, well...khodah mikoneh.  There's nothing that will stop Him. 

Everyone knows that they're going to die, but I wonder when people actually start to think about it.  When older people come into the store, I wonder if they think about dying a lot.  Like, does it freak them out to know that there is a short time limit for the amount of time they're going to be here?  Or have they come to accept it?  But when you're young, like me, I don't think I have to accept it yet.  And I don't want to accept it.  I don't want to accept that theres a short time limit on my life. 

There's so much that people don't do, that they really want to do, but maybe they think they have time to do it later.  But, if we keep pushing off the things that we want, then one day, we're going to be lying there, taking our last breath, and wondering why the hell we didn't do those things when we had the chance. 

I can't let that happen.

12 September, 2010

Imma let you finish, but....

Sooo... I really didn't mean to do it.  In fact, when I walked into Best Buy today, I was so set on getting a simple phone, no gadgets, no data plan, no nothing.  Just a simple phone I could use...since really...I don't have the best track record with ever USING my phone.

But then, when we got closer and closer to the selection of phones, my eyes started to drift over all of the possibilities.  Oh the options!  I got carried away, I must say.  Plus, with Monsieur Rene by my side, I was not held back in my temptations to purchase a smart phone since he so badly wants one himself.

We left Best Buy and headed to the AT&T store where we were greeted by a wait of about 30 minutes.  Oopss.  That gave us plenty of time to cruse and peruse the store looking at all of the phones.  I kept going back to the iPhone (can you see where this is going?).  It was so pretty, it was so cool!  I HAD to have it.  Once it was our turn, there was no question in my mind that I about to purchase an iPhone.  I had to keep calm, cool, and collected, because who knew, you know?  There are always weird loopholes and restrictions when dealing with phone companies.  But, we kept running and running and running, and no one was stopping me from getting my hands on the iPhone 4.

So, this afternoon at approximately 3:56, I became the proud new owner of the iPhone 4.  I've been playing with it since I got it and I can already tell that it's 100% more a toy than it is a phone...for me at least.  But, I love it.  I know that I in no way shape or phone actually NEEDED to iPhone (but really, who does?) but when my fingers began to graze over it's shiny touch screen, it was love at first sight.  How did I ever live without it?  I'll cherish it forever.

Ahhhh, the joys of the good life.  Kanye would be proud.  

30 August, 2010

I suck

I really do suck at blog writing these days.  But I kid you not, nothing worth writing about has really taken place for quite some time.

Tomorrow my last semester (I swear this time it's true, I even filed my intent to graduate!) begins and I'm just in the weirdest mood.  It doesn't feel like I should be going back to George Mason.  I sort of became familiarized with this 'keep on moving' lifestyle I developed over the summer so it's really going to be weird to be at Mason during the day just hanging out waiting for my next class to start.

When you begin your career as a student in a university you're so young.  18!  18 and we're expected to decide what we want to study that will direct us in what we aim to do with the rest of our lives.  That's so young.  How can anyone be sure what they really want to do with their lives at such a young age.  And then, once we 'pick a major' we lose so much flexibility in our decision making.  all of a sudden, if you decide that what you've studied for the last four years doesn't quite suit you, you're labeled as someone who changes her mind too frequently.  And then!  What's more!  People put so much pressure on what it is that we've studied during our years as undergraduates.  "Oh!  Wow!  Economics!  That's great!  What a great major!"  Yes.  It is.  But what if I actually learned more material I consider to be of value for the rest of my life in other classes.  No one gives a rats ass about those classes.  As long as I have a piece of paper saying I got my bachelor of arts in Economics, everything will be set.

Now, I can see the finish line.  I'm almost there, but part of me almost wishes I could redo my years at George Mason, that I could choose a field of study that was more multi-dimensional, that didn't box human beings into rational-minded self serving individuals.  I wish I could have studied human interactions, cultures, conflicts, real life.

I mean, maybe Ayn Rand had it right, you know?  Maybe she had reason.  But that reason isn't real life! I don't really know what I'm supposed to do with anything that I learned these years.  I feel like I came out of George Mason with a pile of information making me critical of most people around me and what their aims actually are.  I came out thinking that empathy may not actually exist.  That there is no such thing as the proletariat.  That there actually is an "I" in team.  Well.  Well, I don't like it.  In fact, I hate it. I'm so over it.  Go away.  Go away Glenn Beck.  Go away Tea Party.  You guys terrify me.  You're not real.  You're robots.  I hate you.

Bye.


PS.  Excuse the mumbo jumbo.  I guess I have a lot on my mind

24 August, 2010

the messages people send to each other

"Happy Birthday, boo!  Here are some beautiful tulips for someone with two beautiful lips.  I love you."

21 August, 2010

There is an infinite number of good things, which we all agree are highly desirable as well as possible, but of which we cannot hope to achieve more than a few within our lifetime, or which we can hope to achieve only very imprefectly.  It is the frustration of his amibtions in his own field which makes the specialist revolt against the existing order.  We all find it difficult to bear to see things left undone which everybody must admit are both desirable and possible.
FA Hayek, The Road to Serfdom

17 August, 2010

funny message

"Baby, you are my queen and I am your ASS.  Te amo mucho, baby"

12 August, 2010

Happy birthday to Ya(sna)! Happy birthday to Ya(sna)! Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!

Dear Swedie,

Today for your birthday I wish I could give you one of these:

But alas, I will have to resort to giving you one of these:
Which tooottttaaaallllyyyyyyyy isnt the same, I know. 

 But it sure is better than being in the middle of this: 























I hope you get a bunch of neat stuff.  Like this:


You have the chance to learn more about this: 
















And maybe you'll even have the opportunity to visit him (emphasis being on the city where he currently resides):















I love you miss thang.  Now make a wish and blow these out:

03 August, 2010

Funny Note of the day

'HAHA!  You're OLD!  Happy birthday, Sis.  Not long before you're a a pensioner" 

MOOSHMOOSHAK POWER

My friend Marion is turning [insert her age here because she doesn't like to tell people how old she is].  She's in the south of France and I miss her so much.  Soooooo much.  I wish I could be in France to celebrate her real birthday with her this year.  But it's ok.  When we're in the same place at the same time, we'll choose a day to celebrate her birthday.  Right Raison?  Right.

It was really luck that brought Marion into my life, I think.  Luck placed her apartment right next to mine in that fateful fall in Paris.  We had some amazing times in those apartments.  From the first time that we hung out and went to the Louvre.  Marion explained her philosophies on life, explained the meaning of her tattoo, and told me she was baptized...which was actually me misunderstanding what she was saying.  So strange.  Most of my time knowing her I believed her to be Catholic.  Anyway.  I was so excited to be in the company of someone so smart, who spoke with conviction, who made an effort to extend a friendship to me.
Then when we started to invite each other over for dinner at night.  The first time, I made, what was supposed to be Iranian polo, and "khoresht bademjoon."  Haha, yeah right.  But at least it tasted alright?  And then Marion would make pasta with aubergines, or traditional southern cuisine.  We would eat dinner, and then wonder what we should do.  So, Marion would let me flip through her dvds and we would choose one to watch.  Our favorite, of course, was L'Auberge Espagnole.  As we sat there and watched, we said, "one day, we're going to have a group of friends like this."  We sat there, watched the movie, and smiled.
We bonded those months over the annoying dog in our apartment complex.  Mim's dog, Angel.  We bonded over the loud loud loud music the girl above us would play all the time.  Marion yelled at the girl who lived in that apartment for throwing her cigarette butts down onto, what I considered, my garden.  It was like, since she was French, she protected me from what I could not protect myself.

We were roommates for a while.  She moved her things into my apartment and would apologize every day for having her things there.  "MARION!"  I would yell, "Do you see me USING that part of the apartment?!"  Nooooo.  And we would make dinner and eat together.  Or make disgusting drinks with left over alcohol, ice, and clementines, which we wouldn't be able to drink.
And in the mornings, Marion would wake up earlier than us (us, because at this point Yasna was living there too) and she would get ready in my TINY TINY TINY MINISCULE little bathroom, and eat her cereal in there too.  Her cereal with the chocolate that smelled like paint but Marion and Yasna loved it so much.
And at night we would come back home, and sometimes she would ask (no not sometimes, ONCE) me to braid her hair, and I would wonder why she couldn't just braid her own hair.  And she would think that I didn't love her anymore because I wouldn't braid her hair or make her pizza.  Except, no one needs to eat frozen pizza late at night when they should actually be going to bed.  Right?
And we would spend time blowing up Yasna's matelas.  And Marion would tell me, "NO. NOT MAT-E-LAS, MATLA" and I would forget each time how to pronounce the word.
Oh the times that passed in that apartment.
Oh the times that passed that year.
Marion would get mad at us daily for never being on time to any place.  She would always get there before us, and have to wait.  And we would apologize and apologize.  But the next day we would be late again.
And she was always there to give us advice.  What to do.  What NOT to do.  And I would listen to her telling me and wonder how it was she became so learned at such a young age.  And I would try to follow her advice.  Only sometimes it just wouldn't work.  And she would raise her eyebrow at me.

The times we couldn't understand each other.
Marion: Oh, I'm so hungry, I just want something to heaattt
Ranna: Here.  Punch this computer box
Marion: I WANT SOMETHING TO EAT.
Ranna: Ohhhhhh eaaaaaaatttttttt

Marion: Je suis contrariée
Yasna/Courtney: What is that?
Marion: Ranna, c'est quoi, contrariée en anglais?
Ranna: Oh, she has her period.
Marion: NO I DONT!!!!

Marion: How do you say 'Christmas tree' in English?
Ranna: In english?  Christmas tree?

Marion: Ranna, give me what you're using to wash your dishes.
Ranna: It's right there!
Ranna hands over plastic bottle of what is assumed to be dishwashing liquid
Marion: RANNA, THIS IS TOILET BOWL CLEANER
Ranna and Marion fall on floor laughing

GOD.  I know I'm forgetting so much.  I'm forgetting SO MUCH!  I don't want to forget.  I was supposed to always remember.  Alas, I must wait to build new memories with her.

Marion's life is not always easy.  Far from it, in fact.  And if there was a way to possibly cushion the blows life throws, I would cushion hers without asking any questions.  I think of every person I know in this world, she deserves the highest level of happiness.
I know that the world is working in her favor a little bit more recently, in the last few months, and I hope that everything only continues to get better.

Marion, pretend that we're all there, the family, sitting around the table, a cake in front of you with candles for you to blow.  Pretend we're all singing "Happy Birthday" to you in all of our different languages.  Pretend that there is champagne spilling from our glasses, and that after we cut the cake we're going to go to your favorite place....BANANA :)

Je t'aime, mooshmooshak.  I love you with all of my heart and not an ounce less.

Here is to all the memories we've built, and all the ones I know we are going to build in the future.

02 August, 2010

poland is close to russia

It's not that I necessarily mind the driver Maryam has at the shop.  His name is Konstantine.  He's Russian.  He's a really nice older man.  He and his wife moved from Russia about 6 years ago; there, he was an accomplished conductor of an orchestra, here, he delivers flowers.  Most of the time he comes and goes and its not a problem.  Most of the time, I just hand him the delivery confirmation sheets and his directions and off he goes.  Most of the time he amuses me with the manner in which he speaks. 
But sometimes. 
SOMETIMES he just gets on my nerves. 
Like when I've been too busy to make his delivery confirmation sheet and I start to do it right as he comes in.  Then, he stands by my side as I'm looking up directions and making the forms and he stares at me and then the computer screen and then at me and then at the computer screen.  But then, what's more.  Yes, there's more.  He starts to tap his fingers on the counter in impatience.  Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.  And I start getting distracted and I start to make spelling mistakes which takes more time which makes him even more impatient.  Finally, I hand them over and he struts away, looking annoyed. 
Something else that gets on my nerves?  Oh yeah.  The fact that he wont listen to anyone but Maryam about certain things.  Sometimes when I'm on the phone with another customer he calls and says...no SCREAMS, "YES HELLO IS KONSTANTINE.  ASK MISS MARYAM PLEASE IF I LEAVE BY DOOR THE FLOWERS." 
To which I reply, "YES KONSTANTINE IS OK IF YOU LEAVE ON DOOR."
Which prompts the response of, "NO ASK MISS MARYAM IF OK IF I LEAVE ON DOOR."
After which, I put the phone on my chest, wait about 7 seconds, then reply, " YES KONSTANTINE, MISS MARYAM SAYS YES IS OK." 
Thank you.  You're welcome.  GOODBYE. 

I have had to learn to speak in a way that he understands what I'm saying.  For instance, I have to shorten my sentences to the point where I still tell him what I need to tell him, but with the least words possible.  Otherwise, he FEIGNS comprehension, but really, it's going right over his head.
"KONSTANTINE, TAKE FLOWERS TO HOUSE, COME BACK, TAKE BOXES TRASH"
Also, he always says, "Youre welcome." Before I've had the chance to say, "Thank you."
He hands me back the delivery confirmation sheets and says, "Yes, you're welcome."  And then runs off again and leaves me sitting there yelling "thank you" to his back. 
He calls his clipboard his desk.  "YES. I LEAVE DESK HERE.  I HAVE TO MY PAPERS ON IT.  YES.  YES.  I COME BACK." 

But then.  But then I think about the life he left behind in Russia.  I think about who he was there, and who he is here.  I think about the thoughts running through his head as he delivers the flowers.  If he ever regrets moving to the United States.  I wonder if I get on his nerves. 
So then I'm nice to him.  

Yes.  Konstantine.  Is Ok.

27 July, 2010

short post short post come and get it

haha randomly there's a teleflora advertisement on my blog?  that's so funny and coincidental.

my day was quite entertaining actually.  earlier in the afternoon an older man walked into the store and headed straight for the refrigerator.  when i approached him to ask what he wanted, he said he was looking for a simple vased arrangement.  typically, my next questions would be about price and type of flower.  price didn't matter he said, he was interested in buying roses.  i asked him what color he wanted and he was  unsure.  "there are so many colors you have."  this is true.  the earlier you come in during the week the more flowers we have.
so i asked for whom the flowers were intended.
"my wife.  well, sort of.  my soon to be ex-wife.  we're in the process of getting a divorce.  i'm hoping the roses will convince her otherwise."
in my head i was screaming at him, "you imbecile!!! you expect your wife to rethink divorce after you give her a flower arrangement??!!  sentimental value only goes so far!"
instead i smiled at him, said, "that's nice of you.  i'd go for a mixed color arrangement."
sold.
he left the store waving and saying, "make it nice.  my marriage depends on you."  so much pressure.  so little incentive.

fast forward a few hours, i was getting ready to leave the shop when a younger guy, about my age, walks in looking exasperated.  "i need to get roses for my girlfriend....actually...are roses ok?  she's not talking to me right now. in fact, i really don't think she'll ever talk to me ever again, but i can try, right?  i'll get a dozen roses in a vase.  that maay do it."
uhhhh, what the hell did you do?
"i only have 50 dollars on my bank card. so.....also, do you have some sort of "im sorry for being such a jerk card?"
as a matter of fact...we do!
on the card he wrote, "I'm sorry!  Give me one last chance!"
"I need these flowers to be delivered," he said, "if she tries to give them back to you, don't take them.  if she breaks the vase in front of you, get out of the way."
the three others and i were standing there a little surprised at how bluntly he was speaking about her anger, entertained by the pain he was feeling, and a little curious about what he could have possibly done.  still, we did not get any answers.
as he left, he said, "if this works, and she forgives me, i'm coming back tomorrow and buying everything in the store."
yeah right.  1. he spent all of his money today buying 12 roses. 2. he'll totally forget about us if she makes up with him 3. yeah right she's going to forgive him after she receives a little vase with flowers.

my dad says i lack any sentimental quality.

24 July, 2010

Rule #1: The Customer Is Always Right

I don't mean to boast (well, maybe a little...) but I very rarely make mistakes at work.  At any job, really.  Since I started my first job at Aeropostale (you can laugh) when I was 16 years old until now at Maryam Flowers, I just don't make mistakes.  During my time working at the clinic, I would see other people make appointments incorrectly, give people the wrong information, etc etc. But me?  Nope.  Never :)

OK.  In other people's defense, I guess I can say that part of the reason I never give people wrong information is because I say whatever I want with so much confidence that people rarely know that I'm bullshitting my way through a conversation.  But I mean, how is anyone supposed to know so many details about laser hair removal...or flowers.  So, in their defense, they may be more virtuous in their work ethic, but I'm way more efficient in mine.

So, I was quite surprised earlier today when I was confronted over the phone by a disgruntled customer.  Not, not disgruntled, IRATE.  Before I even finished my warm answer on the phone of, "Maryam Flowers how can I help you?" the woman was already yelling at me.  At first I grew panicked.  I didn't know whether it was my fault that she was yelling, or whether "miss grumpy-pants" had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed.  But after I listened to her screaming from the other end of the telephone, I realized that it was in fact, not me, who had made the error, but her capricious demands about the flower arrangement she had ordered had confused her and she was just taking her confusion out on me.  An innocent bystander.  A victim of unnecessary belligerence, if I do say so myself.

Still, I was quite thrown off guard as she was yelling at me and ended up trying to compromise a situation in which she would hang up, a happier customer.  She did end up getting what she wanted.  But only because I really really really wanted her to stop yelling so I could hang up the phone and start laughing.  From the other side of the window separating the front of the store from the workroom in the back, I could see Maryam, Heather, Victoria, and Mersad, looking at me with confused looks on their faces, wondering what I was doing holding the phone about a meter away from my ear, holding back giggles that were building up in my throat.

Finally, when I hung up the phone and explained the story, Maryam said that it happens, that people sometimes forget what they had ordered and demand that their order be changed.  I assured her that this was not mere forgetfulness but complete CRAZINESS.  The woman was deranged.  It happens.  I get crazies calling me all the time at work.  By now, I'm used to it.

But, it WAS the first time a customer ever yelled at me.  I have to say that in retrospect, it was quite thrilling to be put into that situation and coming out of it with complete control of my emotions, and not crying my eyes out because my feelings were hurt.  In fact, I look forward to the day someone tries to belittle me again at work by thinking they're right and I'm wrong.

Rationally speaking, people pay money for services because the cost of doing it themselves would be much higher than if they go through a middleman, in this case, a florist, to fulfill their needs.  Moreover, as the florist, clearly we know more about professionalism, efficiency, and overall knowledges of flowers, than say, the average person on the street.  Unless of course they were biologists with an expertise in plant life.  So, the only rational conclusion is that the customer is very rarely ever right.  Probably, they're actually most times incorrect in anything that they argue about.

20 July, 2010

Funny Notes from the Flower Shop

Happy Birthday my Dearest, Schmoopiest DaDa!  Love, Your Guy

15 July, 2010

what it means to be 22

I always thought that by this age I'd have my life more figured out.  I thought that once you reached 18, you were automatically an adult despite the circumstances.  How very wrong I was.  Today, now, at this age, I'm still fighting for entitlement, independence, adulthood.  Slowly, I see it trickling into my life, but no where as fast as I expected it would.  I never thought that I would be so lost at 22.  Just last year my life was more figured out than it is now.  I had a plan, and I thought I would be sticking to it.  And then, it's as if my life was turned upside down, and my plans went down the rabbit hole, and I became Alice, tumbling down attempting to catch them before everything hit the bottom.  Before I hit the bottom.  Now, I'm sort of hoping that I do hit the bottom, so I can continue on to have an adventure in Wonderland, meet the Queen of Hearts, paint some roses red, then reenter reality with a newfound sense of what I want in my life.

How does it feel to be 22?  More or less the same as feeling 20, or 21.  But now, there's that imminent sense of "holy crap, I just seem to be growing older.  I really need to figure this shit out."  You know that feeling?  The feeling that it's never going to be last year, I'm never going to be 21 again.  In fact, the numbers are just going to go up up up, and the next thing I know I'm going to be turning 42, and then what?! And then what?  Theres an added pressure with growing older.  The questions are going to start popping up more and more, "What are your plans?  When are you going to settle down?  Find that husband?  Have those kids?" And I'm going to have to politely smile and say, "I guess we'll see," while secretly pulling an Avada Kedavra curse on them in my head.  Secretly.

But you know what, f this.  Screw all the negative things I keep writing on this blog.  You know what?  This isn't me.  I'm not supposed to be this negative yucky mean girl who's isolated herself from all the humans in her life.  I'm not supposed to be this nervous wreck who constantly worries, who constantly torments herself with thoughts of tomorrow.  I was never like this before, and quite frankly, I despise that I am like this now.

So.  What does it mean to be 22?  Well, for starters I'm going to fix everything that I f-ed up as 21.  I'm going to pick up the pieces of my life and really go for the things that I want.  So it takes a little bit to discover what those things are, but I have all year, right?  And hopefully, next year this time, I'll be typing a blog like this from the comfort of my home in the New Jersey suburbs with my husband Ralph, and a 2 month old on my shoulder.

Haha.  Just kidding.  Yeah right, like that's ever going to happen.

12 July, 2010

07 July, 2010

something about the bugs made it the worst idea

I've been watching "Six Feet Under" recently, and the mom, "Ruth Connor," is a really interesting character, but one of the things that makes her the most interesting is her sense of style.  While at the beginning I thought of her style as outdated and frumpy, as the season continued I came to realize I had a sort of fascination with her high waisted washed-denim and her collared shirts.  It reminds me of a 1970's version of "Little House of the Prairie."  The last few days, I've become more and more obsessed with the way she dresses and today at AvaNava's house, I convinced Ava to put on her mom's dress from the 1980's and prance around the garden for me.  Except, I didn't take into account the 100 degree weather or the relentless mosquitoes.  I got in a few shots, but I think that about 5 minutes after we were outside both of us were sweaty and COVERED in bites.  Even now, typing this, I feel the itching on my legs.  I'm afraid to check to see how many I actually got.  I want to continue playing this "Little House of the Prairie" meets Sonny and Cher look again and in a more extensive form.  Until then, enjoy these: