Yasna comme Odalisque

Before and after.  Yasna?

I will hold you so tightly and carefully when I see you again. Like crystal. Or an atom bomb.

I've literally been writing and erasing this blog post for aboutttttt 28 minutes now, and what I really want to say fits in a single statement. 

I'll be your friend if you make me laugh. 

Fin

PS.

1. I want a smoothie 

2. I'm craving another photo shoot.  I have an idea.  I just need a model.  Neda?  

3. I have another doctor's appointment.  So unnecessary.  

4. I love reading Harry Potter out loud with a British accent 

5. Why is Ellen Degeneres so funny? 

6. I need to clean my room, badjoori 

7. I want new curtains and wouldn't mind a new duvet.  

Norooz Oomadeh

OK WAIT--25 days until NOROOZ?  Really?  That's SO EXCITING.  I never knew.  

No I mean, I knew.  But I didn't know it was so soon.  Woooow.  We're going to sabz sabzeh next week, then??!?!??!?!

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

BASTANI NEMIKHAM (popsicle-am ye jooreh bastanieh)

I'm writing a paper for one of my classes about free speech in the blogosphere.  I chose to write about this because the other day I had an issue that dealt with free speech with this specific blog.

I found myself yelling at my mother, "I HAVE THE RIGHT TO FREE SPEECH." 

And she yelled back, "I HAVE THE RIGHT TO TAKE YOUR COMPUTER AWAY!" 

She won.  

But it got me thinking about free speech on the internet and how far we can go with what we say as bloggers.  I mean, for me, this is used as a sort of interactive diary.  I tell you guys what's on my mind, and I take pride in what I write, even though I totally and completely know that I'm not world famous, and the Dalai Lama doesn't care about what I have to say.  But still, I write knowing that people are going to read it.  And there are times when I censor myself in what I say because I usually know when to draw the line.

Although, tonight I was going to write about the awkwardness of giving urine samples.  I was THIS close.  You guys should be happy I didn't.  

Still, as bloggers, we have so much freedom to say ANYTHING we want without having to answer to anyone face-to-face about what we say, which makes it so much easier to say the things that you want; I mean, I wont write about something if I know that the next day I'm going to get pummeled on my way to class.  It gives us access to stay raw and true.  

I like that.  

I'm a firm believer that there should not be a double standard when it comes to free speech.  We have it, and that's that.  When people talk about slander, and hateful remarks, or discriminatory remarks, yeah that really really sucks.  And I know it would totally suck and hurt my feelings if someone was saying things about me somewhere, but at the same time, I can't let that take away from the integrity of free speech.  If it doesn't take away from my other rights, then really, I have just as much ability to come right back and say what I feel.  I think that freedom of speech can be used interchangeably with freedom of thought.  We can say what we think.  It's as easy as that.  

We're so blessed to have the ability to say what we want without limitation or censorship.  It's something that a lot of times, I think we take for granted.  

So when my mom and I were fighting, I didn't know how to get it past her that this was MY blog, this is a place where I can say what I went, when I want, however I want, without having to answer or apologize for my thoughts.  

After the argument I stormed off to my room, so angry, and thought, "Ugh, I should just call my mother Khamenei and get it over with..." 

But then I calmed down (don't worry madar, I CALMED DOWN!) and I realized that since I have the power to choose what I write and leave out in my blogs, if I really am making my mother uncomfortable with something, then I'll take it out, but only because she's my mother.  And even people who hate their mothers love their mothers*.  So I transferred my anger into intrigue and began to write this paper.  

Do you guys still want me to tell you about the awkwardness of giving urine samples**?  I totally will, just holler.  

*This is a line from the movie, "French Kiss."  I am in no way, shape, or form, implying that I hate my mother.  I just wanted to be funny.  MIKHASTAM YE KAREH FUNNY BOKONAM! 

**I had to go to the doctor today b/c we thought maybe it was more than just your average pelvic ligament strain.  I'm worried I'll have to go to the doctor again tomorrow.  I HATE DOCTORS AND HOSPITALS AND MEDICINE AND SICKNESS.  

I was just making eggs when....

One day a girl woke up after a fun night with her friends and decided to go into the kitchen to make some breakfast.  Everything was fine and dandy, but as she was standing near the stove making eggs for everyone she suddenly felt a pain in her lower pelvic area that did not feel very normal.  "Hmmmm...." she thought, what could this mean?
She didn't think too much of it and went to sit down to eat.  Just as she sat down, all of the sudden, the pain became much too much to handle.  It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing her in her lower stomach.  Sharp and shooting and it was getting worse as every second passed.
"Something is not right,"  she told her friends as she got up to go to the bathroom.
Her friends were unaware as she climbed upstairs, practically buckling over from the severe pain and collapsed on the bed, clutching her stomach, hoping to alleviate the pain by putting pressure on top of it.  Nothing seemed to help.
After a few minutes, one of her friends came upstairs and saw the girl on the bed, looking like she'd seen better days.
"Uhhh, are you ok?"
"I think I'm going to die.  WebMD this for me."
WebMD brought up several options for what may have been going on and none of them seemed promising for the girls future.
"I'm not going to be able to have children.  What if I have cervical cancer?"
Already a hypochondriac to being with, seeing all the strange names on the computer screen were not helping to ease the panic that was quickly building up.
Her friends and sister did not seem to understand that perhaps their friend was actually feeling pain and continued to make fun of her, calling her a "drama queen,"  telling her that there was a place waiting for her in Hollywood.
Very funny guys.  Thanks for being so sensitive...not.
Her friend's mother came upstairs and started to ask questions about the pain.
"Maybe you're ovulating."
"Oh jeez," the girl thought, "Women have to deal with so many unnecessary pains. Since when does it hurt to ovulate?"
"I can assure you," the mother said with a slight grin on her face, "that you're not going to die.  Here, I'll even write something down and sign it for you.  You need to relax.  We tend to become overwhelmed when we are in pain and quickly come up with the worst case scenarios.  Just keep taking deep breaths and relax.  Do you want someone to massage it for you?"
"Welllll....It's sort of in an awkward spot...."
"Ok, well then massage it yourself.  And remember to breath."
The girl waited on the bed as her sister called her mother and asked her to come and pick them up from their friends house.  Of course, their mother jumped into the car faster than you can say, "Irritable Bowel Syndrome," and was at the house in a flash.
"Your aunt says you've pulled a ligament."
"I've pulled a ligament?........??????  In my pelvis?!!!"
"You need to just rest, put heat on it, take a bath.  You're going to be ok."
"But...but...but...how did this even happen?"
How this happened to the girl will always remain a mystery.  Apparently there is a pulled ligament in the girl's pelvic area that needs to heal in the next week.  Apparently there is nothing she can do.  Apparently she just needs to sit here, in pain, and "rest."
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  This is so unnecessary.

you can hustle if you bustle

GUYS, something so funny.

My dad got me a membership at his gym, Lifetime Fitness, hollaaa, and yesterday he got me a session with a personal trainer.  Well, technically, sessions.  But, yesterday was the first time.  And let me tell you something: now I know what it feels like to really work out.

I think I died a little bit.

So, first while we were warming up he was just like, "so what do you want to get out of this?  do you have any goals?"  And I was like, weelllll now that you menttionnnnn itttttt...I wouldn't mind looking really good for my cousin's wedding at the end of March.  And he was like, "OK, end of march?  Yeah we can make that happen but it's going to be really intense."

And I thought, hah!  How intense can this be?  Oh em gee I thought he'd never leave (name that movie).  For an hour we were doing strength and conditioning, back to back, weights, different jumping around things, planks.  I've never actually sweat that much during a workout...during hot yoga, of course, but never during an actual workout workout.
He kept my heart rate going super fast the entire time and he pushed me to my limit.  At one point, my arms and legs felt like jello and he was like, come on, now you're doing this.

Uhhhhhhh.......

Afterwards, I went into the dressing room and I took off all of my clothes, wrapped a towel around me, and then all of a sudden I was like, shootsters, I'm going to fall.  So I had to sit down, and I put my head between my legs.  This woman came up to me, and she was like, "miss, are you alright?"
And I was like NO I FEEL LIKE IM GOING TO DIE.  Only I just looked at her and smiled.

And today.  TODAY I CANT MOVE.  My whole body is just sore.  It hurts me to sit down.  Yes.  My butt even hurts.  And I'm just wondering how long this pain is going to last because I have another session with him on sunday, and he said it's going to keep staying intense.  YAY!

It's ok.  My dad texted me today and said, "no pain, no gain."  And I guess he's right.  I have to remember our mission.  Keep going.  PUSH YOURSELF.  YOU CAN DO IT.  COME ON.  HUSTLE.

the hedon

Today Raha and I were talking about the connectivity of pleasure and pain; how with one, comes the other.  Our conversation began when I mentioned I had been reading a new blog, "I Wrote This For You," and how reading it made my heart break a little bit more each time.  She asked me why I continued to read it if it made me feel like that, and I didn't have an answer.  Why do I wake up each morning and check that blog before all others to make sure that he has updated with his poetic words of romance and despair?  I'm not sure.
Raha said it was the same for her when she listened to some music.  Certain songs made her feel lighthearted, a little bit sadder, melancholy I think would be the right word to use in this context.  Yet, she continues to listen to these songs.  I do the same thing.  There are some nights when all I CAN listen to are songs that make me feel sad.  Why is this?
Does this mean I'm a masochist?  Do I enjoy pain?  Does it in turn bring me pleasure?  Maybe.  This may very well be the case.
As you can see, I have no clear answers to these questions.  I think our overall conclusion was that in the end, we prefer to feel pain rather than feel nothing.  I do not want to feel numb.  If I do not feel, then I have no reason to remain here.  What is left?
We live our lives hoping to be happy.  Maybe happiness does not actually exist.  Perhaps when one reaches a point where he is "happy," he has merely given up on trying to become HAPPIER.  Maybe we shouldn't strive for happiness, when really what we should be working toward are feelings of joy.  Pure, completely unabashed moments when everything looks a little bit brighter, you smile a little bit wider, you breath easier.
And maybe that's exactly why pain exists.  Maybe we put ourselves through feeling pain so that we can appreciate the pleasure that is granted to us.  We can't become gluttonous and hoard our pleasure, it must comes to us in small doses.
I never want to feel numb.  This is my life, why would I want to walk through my days without experiencing different sentiments.  This is all I have, my life.  And if feeling pain comes with being alive, then I will take that pain, because to feel pain will give me a heightened sense of pleasure.
And didn't you know that I am a hedon.  I am, you know.

May the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows.  Namaste.

laptop, laptop, where for art though, laptop?

did you guys know that i got a new macbook pro?  i did.

just last week, my dad, grandpa and i went into the apple store and i picked out my shiny brand spanking new 13 inch laptop.  i love it.  i had forgotten what it was like to have a nice computer, what it was like to pull out a laptop without having to carry around an extra keyboard, or having to constantly worry about running out of battery after 10 minutes.  the screen is so nice and...luminous.

i love it.  today i took it to school, and im just basking in the pleasure of sitting in starbucks, drinking a coffee (not to close to the laptop though, i keep it on the other table so as not to risk spillage over keyboard), and typing this blog.

although, starbucks just started to play, "don't stop believen'" and i hate this song.  it reminds me of when i got my keloid* (MINAJAVID!!).  so that could always be changed, but other than that, im in complete bliss.

thank you father for buying this for me.  i really appreciate it.  its so fast, and i dont have to worry about my computer crashing while im writing one of my 283774 papers.  sigh.  life is good.


*Two summers ago at Salma's graduation party, we were all dancing, and "Don't Stop Believin'" started to play and we were all linked and swaying when MinaJavid decided to do one of her dance moves, jump up into the air, spin around, all while her skirt flew up.  It was soooo funny to me.  SO FUNNY.  In that moment, that was the most hilarious thing that could have ever happened.  I mean, no one else was laughing as loudly or as ferociously as I was, and I buckled over, and hit my lower lip to the edge of a misplaced chair, thus, cutting myself and developing a little scar below my lip that never quite healed.  You can barely see it, but sometimes it hurts.  so whenever Journey starts to play, my scar starts to tingle a little.  Journey is to my scar, what Voldemort's intense thoughts and emotions are to Harry Potter's scar.  Too bad mine isnt shaped like a lighting bolt.  Actually, not to bad.  That would really suck.

Quote of the...whatever

Taken from William Easterly's book, The Elusive Quest for Growth:

"On March 6, 1957, the Gold Coast, a small British colony, became the first nation of sub-Saharan Africa to gain its independence.  It renamed itself Ghana.  Delegations from both sides of the iron curtain, including from Moscow and Washington, vied to be the first to extend loans and technical assistance to the new nation.  Vice President Richard Nixon led the American delegation.  According to one source, Nixon asked a group of black journalists, "What does it feel like to be free?"  "We don't know," they replied, "we're from Alabama." " 

Go Richard Nixon 

No Wedding Necessary

My cousin Sara is getting married in about a month, and those people who talk to me on a regular basis know that this wedding is become the stress factor of my life.  Why? 

1. The Dress--Formal dresses and I don't get along.  It's not like I have something against dresses.  Not at all.  In fact, on a hot summers day, I love slipping on a dress and lounging around peacefully.  It's when we get into the "Evening Dress" category when I start to feel a little nauseous.  I hate the dress designs, I hate that they have sequins and bows, I hate that they're all made with uncomfortable fabrics, and I HATE HATE HATE that you have to try on a million dresses before you find the right one.  I like to go into a store, find something I like, buy it, and walk out.  The trying on thing, and me, we don't really get along.  

2. The Guest List--I like family get togethers, I do.  I enjoy seeing them and hanging out.  But it's when those secondary people get invited, where I get really uncomfortable.  For instance, my grandma has this friend (who shall remain nameless) whose prerogative is to make me feel bad about my hair.  It's her goal in life.  Each time she sees me she goes (in farsi of course) "Ranna, you're hair looks so much better than the last time I saw you!  But you know, if you just straightened it, you could get the frizz out, and it wouldn't be so big!"  Yes, I AM AWARE!  I have lived with this hair for the majority of my life (if you would like to know the entire history of Ranna's hair, just ask my mom, it's her favorite story to tell).  I don't need to have (insert name here) tell me that my hair would be less curly/frizzy/big if it was straight.  But I have curly hair, so sue me.  So I don't like these random people I only see here and there but have to converse with like I actually like them. 

3. The Wedding CONCEPT--I don't want to get married.  I think that marriage is unnecessary.  But I know, that there are those people who need that extra affirmation in their lives of knowing that a slip of paper binds them legally to their spouse and that they receive special privileges because of it.  I get it.  It's the wedding I don't understand.  

Now, I don't want to seem hypocritical, so let me state that growing up, the wedding seemed like the most awesome thing in the world.  Ava and I would spend hours upon hours planning our weddings, writing our guest lists, designing our dresses.  It was like our favorite pastime.  But, for a few years now, I've grown less and less starstruck by the concept.  It's just such a waste of money that could be used to, go travel, buy furniture, go travel, buy dishes.  I'm saying, take the money you would spend on the wedding and take an amazing honeymoon instead.  OR, furnish your house with all kinds of cool furniture and buy cool plates from Crate and Barrel or Williams and Sonoma. 

Spending SO much money for one night, on things like a $1000 dress, or a party hall, or..or hair and makeup (which, in my opinion, you can TOTALLY do yourself), it's so frivolous and unnecessary.  Ke chi besheh?  Really?  So what?  What happens after you have this wedding?  It's very egotistic, if you ask me.  Parading around in a white dress (which half the time shouldn't even be white…if you know what I'm saying…mhhhmmmmmm), so that everyone will know that you have achieved the "ultimate goal" in life, "yay, congrats, you're married."

IM NOT A CYNIC OF LOVE.  I love love.  I'm the biggest romantic EVER.  I know that some people will read this and go, "but Ranna, a wedding is a celebration of love!" And to them I say, "WHY DOES EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHER HAVE TO BE INVOLVED IN YOUR CELEBRATION??!!  Why not have a party with your closest friends and tell everyone, "We're in love people, and it's the best thing in the world!  And we just want to share this amazing feeling with you guys 'cause we love you too and there's just so much love here and love love love love love!"" (how the hell do I punctuate that last sentence?)

I know the wedding has nothing to do with me.  And I'm not trying to make this about myself.  But I can't help to think about these things when I think about the upcoming nuptials, and the thoughts start to roll, and then I have to remind myself that it's what they want to do, and that I should be happy for them.  And I am.  I'm really happy for them.  And I wish them all the best.  But I would wish them all the best, anyway, even without the wedding.  Even if they wanted to just live together and make beautiful babies.  I would still give them all my love and support.

PS--the picture is by this awesome photographer, Max Wagner, who specializes in weddings and portraitures.  Take a look at his website, here

neda, will you be my valentine?

blood bank

we need to appreciate life a little bit more.  who knows?  one day you may be walking in the mall, browsing the new spring collections when all of a sudden, you have a heart attack.  and your life will pass by before your eyes and you'll be forced to question everything you would have done if....you should have done but....you could have done instead of...
these days, we have very few certainties, and while we are conscious of this fact, we do very little to make up for it.  instead we check our watches and say, "maybe tomorrow."
what about today?

Free Villy

My parents got a divorce when I was five (I think) which made Salma three.  We were so young, I don't think we really understood what was going on.  Plus, our parents handled it so well and made the transition so...unnoticeable, that really, it never became an issue for us.  We weren't those kids who had to suffer through divorce drama and get messed up in the head because of all the strife their parents put them through.  No no.  None of that for us.  It was good.

When my dad moved out, he got a townhouse near a park called, "Garden of the Gods."  The rocks are red and beautiful, and from a distance it looks majestic.  Truly a garden for the gods.  The townhouse was nice and spacious.  Two levels.  The first level, the master bedroom, bathroom, a random living room type thing, and the kitchen.  The lower level, a huge room we called the living room, and an extra bedroom.

The bedroom was intended for us, Salma and I, to sleep whenever we went over to our dad's house.  But, we never made through the nights in that bedroom.  Sometime during the night, we would wake up, go upstairs into our dad's bedroom, and sleep there.  So after a couple months, I think the bedroom downstairs sort of became a storage room for random things my dad never used.  

I don't remember if our mom dropped us off at our dad's house, or if my dad picked us up.  I mean, most of the time Baba was at our house anyway, so I'm pretty sure he would just take us over there.  The first weekend he lived there we went and bought him a HUGE television, one of those huge screens, you know?  And Salma and I just thought it was the coolest television set.  He didn't have a lot of furniture.  A futon couch thing, a yellow chair, a little table that sat close to the floor.  I close my eyes now and I can see the way the room was shaped.  The window at the end, overlooking the park with the white sand.  Right?  Or am I confusing it with our other house?

After a while, we had ritualized the nights we spent over at dad's place.  We would go over to his house, and he would either make REALLY spicy spaghetti with salad shirazi, chicken noodle soup, or sometimes he would make rice and...chicken?  Only his rice was always too salty, or a little burnt.  So, our favorite became the spaghetti.  He would put so much pepper into it, and we would struggle our way through each plate, but it was sooooo delicious.  My mouth waters just thinking about it.

We would sit at the little table on the lower level, by the television set and watch tv while we ate dinner.  Our movie selection was as follows:
--Indian in the Attic
--Free Willy
--It Takes Two

My dad also had "Pulp Fiction", which we weren't allowed to watch EVER.  Even though I was always curious because Uma Thurman looks so scandalous on the cover.  And he also had, "Sports Illustrated:Swimsuit Edition 1992"...or something like that.  Salma and I would always look at the cover and start giggling as we hid it beneath all the other movies so that my dad wouldn't know we were looking at it.

Most of the time, we watched "It Takes Two."  Or "Indian in the Attic."  Those were our two favorites.  But the nights we watched, "Free Willy,"  maannnn afterwards, we couldn't get Salma to shut up.  BECAUSE:
At the end of "Free Willy," there was this advertisement for dolphin adoptions.  And it would give a bunch of information on how to adopt dolphins, and it was always Salma's DREAM to be able to adopt a dolphin, only you had to be 18 years old.  But Salma was OBSESSED (this was pre-Selena, so she still wasn't asking why Selena had to die)*.   Each time she would meet someone who was 18 years old or older, Salma would say, "OH.  DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN ADOPT A DOLPHIN?"  And the kids would go, "uhhhhh....noo.."
But Salma would get so excited.  Because they could realize the dream that she couldn't.  For them, it was possible.  She would ALWAYS talk about how she couldn't wait until she turned 18 so that she could adopt one.  The funny thing is, I don't even know why, because it's not like Salma was particularly interested in dolphins, or showed any interest in underwater creatures in general.  In fact, she didn't even like "Free Willy" that much.  BUT, this dolphin thing stuck.

When I turned 18, the first thing she said to me was, "Oh, Ran, now you can adopt a dolphin."  And yet, when she turned 18 herself, she didn't adopt one?  Por que, Salmanca?

Why didn't we?  I don't know.  Never really thought we could do it anymore.

Except tonight, ladies and gentlemen, Salma found the link to a website offering to let us adopt a dolphin.  It's only 25 dollars, and we can be the proud adopted parents of one dolphin.  So I think tomorrow we're going to do that.  Yes.  I think tomorrow we are going to adopt a dolphin.  

Why?  BECAUSE WE'RE 18 AND DID YOU KNOW THAT WHEN YOU'RE 18 YOU CAN ADOPT A DOLPHIN?

Get on it, folks.





*I may have mentioned it before, but when Salma watched "Selena" for the first time, it really affected her life in a really negative way.  She would go around asking people, "But why did Yolanda have to kill Selena?"  And my mother would curse my dad for letting us watch the movie at such a young age.  Salma would ALWAYS sing the Selena songs, and when the rest of us tried to sing (rest of us=me) she would scream, "BUT I AM SELENA!"  She would literally have nightmares and wake up because she was so tormented by Yolanda killing Selena after being so nice to her.  Bichareh, woor woor.

winter must be cold for those with no warm memories

For Yasna, forever ago.

dear yasna,

i hope that when you read this, you've woken up from a deep and restful slumber.  that you feel refreshed and happy, and ready to take on the new day.  i'm sorry that when you went to bed you weren't feeling great, and im sorry that i couldn't be there.

remember i tried making you laugh by telling you the little stories about paris?  sometimes when im upset its what i do to make myself feel better.  i tell myself stories of things that happened in paris, be they completely stupid and small.  they always make me feel better.

sometimes i go over in my head, the first day of class when we walked into madame amsellem's room and she was talking to you for some odd reason, and i thought, oh she must be a great student if madame amsellem is just talking to her in french like that.  and i was sort of scared to come and talk to you because i thought, shoot, her french is going to be at this intensely great level, and im going to stutter and sputter.  because engar na engar you were iranian, or spoke english or anything, whhaatttt?

and sometimes i think about when we went to all the asian grocery stores to buy a rice cooker because your aunt was coming into town and she would get so angry if you didn't have a rice cooker.  only, she only gave you 20 euros, so we couldn't buy one.  because randomly rice cookers are expensive?  and i didn't know anything about your family back then.  i didn't know that guilda probably wouldnt get so angry if you didnt buy a rice cooker.  to me, it was so important to find one.  remember thats when we decided to get the class together for a party?

and then there are days that i think about the halloween party.  how everyone was so timid, and charlotte freaked out about getting to my house so early.  except back then we hadnt come up with charlotte.  remember that night, by the way?  we were "paralyzed."  and at the halloween party i thought, this girl thinks she knows everything.  but i got really worried that i had offended you when you stomped outside to smoke your cigarette.

i even think about those days in november when i was cold and sick, and you would call me to ask me to go out, and i would say no its too cold.  until finally you would force me to come out with you guys, and even those nights i had fun.  with marrcooo and edward.  remember edward?
remember we used to pretend we were from adelaide and have long conversations walking from madame amsellem's class through jardin de luxembourg to phonetics about living in adelaide.  how our families were powerful.  and edward would just play along all the time.  because he was great.  remember that?

and of course, after christmas vacation the memories become more defined in my head.  the protest, holding that girls hand out of complete fear, you calming me down, telling me we werent going to die.

remember charlotte's birthday at social club?  when she fell down on the floor and yelled, "YOU GUYS ARE MY BEST FRIENDS!"

going to the moose for the first time with marion, arash, thom, thomas, charlotte, sarah, you and me.  arash rapping for us.  remember that corner we used to stand?  why away from everyone?  and you started rapping the "country rap" from that one cartoon?  the moose.  remember the moose, yasna?
"Why do ya'll always want to go to the moose?"  because we ALWAYS had fun there.

Thom's party.  You dancing with that guy in your orange jacket and the hat.  All of a sudden, I stop talking to Arash, look up, and see Yasna getting lifted up by this male model and thrown around.

Marion moving in.  Us living together.  Drinking the disgusting clementine margaritas that only you finished.  Blowing up the inflatable mattress.  Remember that night I gave you guys my keys, and went to the grocery store.  You guys had to beep me back into my apartment, and when I walked in, Marion was in the bathroom straightening her hair and putting on makeup, and you were ghashang ghashang sitting at the desk, eating a clementine?  watching pushing daisies with your legs on the desk.  I couldnt stop laughing, but internally I was at complete peace because I was so happy that you guys were there and that I had found a family.

When Marion moved out.  That was sort of sad, remember?  You, Char, me, going up the metro, down the metro, up the stairs, down the stairs, a million times.  Remember we didn't take line 14 so we had to make 8 million stops.  And finally we got there and Marion was so thankful that we had brought her all of the suitcases?  Only she didn't know Charlotte that well, yet...she was embarrassed.  Remember?

The Micho Doll, making it, writing down all of our ideas while we stood in front of Starbucks, waiting for the bus for 25 minutes.  And going home and finding those paper stacks and making the doll.  We were so proud of our handy work.  All that tape, all that paper.  And taking it into the metro.  I was so proud that we had made such nice art.  Taking it to the bridge.  Everyone else was so embarrassed.  Me playing the music, while you made the speech.  Drinking champagne at noon.  It wasnt real life, Yasna.  We lived a fantasy life, didn't we?

Walking to Cafe Parvis every single day.  Self service.  AGHA WE KNOW.  Remember the Iranian couple?  And we pretended to call my mom and you talked to her in Farsi just to get a reaction.  Only how embarrassing was it when my mom actually called?  And then you would walk me to yoga, go to my house, wait for me to come home, and then we'd go out with everyone.  That was so nice of you to walk me there everyday.  Especially when you didn't even have school yourself.  Remember how wonderful it was when you didn't have to go to work anymore?  Cus then we didn't have to separate at 3 in the afternoon, even though you started working at 5...it will always be a mystery to me why you had to leave so early those days.

Those weeks leading up to when you left.  Getting strep throat (not as bad as yours in Roskilde, but still, pretty bad.  I sort of wish you would have looked down my throat to see if it was like yours, but whatever, next time, right?).  Your "suprise" party.  Too bad the Danish girl totally gave it away.  "I'm going to try to come to your party?"
"My party?"
"shhhhhhhh..."
"What?"
"Welll, it was sort of supposed to be a surprise."

I don't want to get into when you left.  That was hard.  I'll keep it at the good stuff, the light stuff.  Us rolling the suitcases down the metro, Sara was having so much fun.  Remember?  "You're not my best friend in Paris, you're my best friend in the world."

Remember all of that Yasna?  Paris?  Sometimes I think, Ranna you think about it too much, let it go.  But then when think that, I get scared that one of the memories I have might disappear, so I relive it in my head, over and over.  It's like this amazing story that I want to remember to tell my kids.  It was so surreal and amazing that I can't believe that it actually happened.  But I'm really glad it did, because sometimes, when you're upset, I can whip these stories out in hopes that they may make you feel better.

So....cafe parvis, tomorrow?  Come get me from class, we'll walk down together.  Down Saint Michel, over the Seine, past that weird golden statue I never figured out, past the place you bought your cigarette, through the street you always questioned, "are you sure we're going the right way?"  and across from the Centre Pompidou.

I love you.

Ranna

To you.

I don't want you to be scared that you are going to be alone for the rest of your life and that you will never find someone with whom you can share you life.  There are so many people in this world, and you will find someone worthy of your presence.  I know that right now, without that one person, your life may seem unfulfilled, but there are so many things that remain.  So many paths left unexplored, so many doors kept closed...locked...bolted.  WHY?   You have the keys to open them.  SO OPEN THEM!  Don't think that this is how it's going to be for the rest of your life.  You're SO young.  This is the perfect time to go and explore, learn, and DISCOVER!!

We're not burdened by the same pressures of our parents and grandparents--we have time to mold our lives into the perfect picture, into what we want it to be, without having to worry about how it is supposed to be.

Don't settle for mediocrity.  Think about what you're doing and examine all of your options.  You are able to do so much, don't throw it all away and regret your decision once it is too late.  Think about all the things in this world that are so much better.

I know that you think that he is "the one."  I know you think that no one else will love you like he loves you.  And I know that this scares you.  I know that you want MORE but you're scared to go and look for it.  Don't be scared.  Please don't be scared.  It's there.  It's right there.  You have to be open to it.  You have to stand and wait with your arms spread out and your eyes closed and when you least expect it, it will HIT you.  BAM!
And then you will know that it is right.  Then you will know that it was what was always missing.  What you were terrified you would never find.  But there it is.

Don't let that opportunity go.  Please.  I can't sit here and watch you turn into a prune.

One Word Answers (the product of cabin fever? perhaps)

First thing that comes to your mind: 


Your Cell Phone: Red
Your Hair: Curly
Your Mother: Sleeping
Your Father: Vacation 
Your Favorite Food: Eggplant
Your Dream Last Night: Long
Your Favorite Drink: Cold 
Your Dream/Goal: Happy 
What room are you in?: Bedroom
Your Hobby: Drawing 
Your Fear: VOMIT
Where do you see yourself in six years?: Elsewhere 
Where were you last night?: Bed 
Something that you aren't: Ready
Muffins?: Blueberry 
Wish List Item: Laptop 
Where did you grow up?: Neverneverland 
Last thing you did: Address
What are you wearing?: Pajamas 
Your TV: Overused 
Your Pets: MEAN 
Friends: Distant 
Your Life: Beginning 
Your Mood: Meh
Missing Someone: Always 
Vehicle: Unnecessary! 
Something you aren't wearing: Bra 
Your Favorite Store: Amazon.com
Your Favorite Color: Black 
When was the last time you laughed?: Tonight 
Last time you cried?: Monday 
Your Best Friend: Laughter 
One place you go to over and over again: Starbucks 
Facebook: Addict 
Favorite Place to Eat: HOME 

f-ing dominique*

A recent conversation between me and my laptop:  

Computer, what is your problem?  Why are you dying?  


Because you have treated me badly.


I've treated you badly??? What have I EVER done to you?  


You really want me to tell you?


Apart from spilling olive oil and lemon juice on you ONCE you've been cared for.** 


Ranna, you've lugged me around to school every year for the last four years.  You throw me around, I've traveled from country to country, been slammed around.  You've overloaded me with documents, pictures and unnecessary programs.  I can't take it anymore.  I'm old.  I'm ready to retire.  


But...But...with all your imperfections I STILL LOVE YOU!  


I love you too.  But I'm done.  I'm spent.  I'm through.  


Computer, don't leave meeeeeeeeeeee.  Computer, where you goingggggggggg???  


Crash.  


It's gone.  It's really gone.  Come on.  Come back!!!  I NEED YOU!  I NEED YOU!!  COMPUTTERRRRRRRRRRRR.  


Silence.  




*Dominique is a girl that Yasna knows in Florence.  I don't know Dominique.  Bichareh might be a nice person, but my two most commonly used expressions these days are, "Oh Dominique," or "F-ing Dominique."  Don't ask me why but every time something happens, out of exasperation, it's the first thing that slips out of my mouth.  


**If you read my other blog, "Les Reveries d'une Flaneuse," I have a post under October 2008 or something describing the situation with the salad dressing and the CLA VI ER (keyboard) 

HELP

i need a new computer.


thoughts?

these boots were made for fallin'

I've taken to not checking what the weather is going to be like and dressing for all sorts of occasions. Sometimes, it doesn't work out.  Like when I wear a sweater and Uggs and it's warm out so I spend the entire day sweating.  Or like the other day when I just put on a tshirt and a light jacket and it was like the COLDEST DAY OF THE YEAR.
I don't check the weather because I find that they never seem to calculate correctly and we end up experiencing completely different weather than was originally forecasted.  So, I just like to make very clear assertions.  For instance, when it's raining, I go, "It's raining."  Or when it's snowing I'll say, "It's snowing."
The only time I will EVER forecast the weather is when the sky is red at night.  Red sky=snow.  It's a fact.

So today, I was like, "I'm going to look like a human being and actually wear suitable clothing."  This included my favorite pair of brown boots.  My Paris boots.  The boots I refuse to ever give away.  I'm just waiting for something to happen to them so that I can take them to a shoe repairman and say, "FIX THEM NOW!!!!"

But there's a problem with these boots.  Yes there is.  They have absolutely NO traction.  None whatsoever.  So the moment it gets a little wet or something, I slip and slide alllll over the place.  In Paris, I fell like 347 times while wearing them.  For instance, on Thanksgiving last year, I fell down and I couldn't leave my house because my knee was so swollen.  That is not something to be thankful for (dont end sentences with prepositions).

Today, of course, was no exception.  Of course.  Just my luck, right?  I put on the shoes, left the house and everything was fine.

And then God said, "LET IT SNOW."  And snow it did.

I had to go to class right when it was starting, and the entire time, all I could think was, "Oh man, oh man.  I'm going to go outside, fall, hurt my butt, and THEN what am I going to do?"  I was just sitting and waiting for the moment of doom to arrive.

When class was finally over, the sun had gone down, and it was sort of really snowing.  I started to make my way to the car, but I decided to be very strategic about the way I was doing things.
I realized that if I put the heel of my shoe down before the rest, then it would lower my chances of falling, and if i distributed my weight, so that I was leaning forward a little bit that would also lower my chances.

So there I was, inching my way to my car, heel, toe, heel toe, heel toe, lean forward, lean forward, ok take it easy, just a little bit more.  I was SO concentrated.

Then all of a sudden this girl from my class catches up to me.  Now this gal, I don't know her name or anything about her, but she seems REALLY cool.  She's someone who I want to become friends with, but like, we sit on opposite ends of the room, but she always says really funny things during class.  We've only talked a couple times.   Her celebrity lookalike would be the girl from Twilight.  The main one.
She catches up to me and goes, "Hey are you alright?"
And I'm all, "Yeah, I just don't want to fall."
And she's like, "I got you.  is that why you're walking like that?"
So I start laughing and explain to her about the heel-toe thing and also the weight distribution.
And she looks at me for a second and goes, "You have fun with that..."  and like, quickens her speed.

So I was there, left alone, walking strangely, hoping not to fall, and feeling like a complete loser.  At least I didn't fall?  Right?  Is that what you're thinking?  Yeah, I'm thinking the same thing.  At least I didn't fall.

I'm counting on a snow day for real tomorrow, though.  I mean, that awkwardness should have at least granted me a snow day, fo real.

Namaste.

Post Script

I feel sort of stupid doing this, but I'll just go ahead and stay honest and real with you guys.  On January 1, 2010, I was writing in my journal about new years resolutions and what I wanted mine to be.  Now, usually I don't really think about it, because it's always like, "hahaha who ACTUALLY follows those?"  But I was like, OK, what do I REALLY want this year?  And what I really really want...well, if you take a look at the links I've listed on the right side of this page, you'll see that there are several of my favorite blogs.  Some of them are my friends, but there are some "famous" ones.  Garance Dore, the sartorialist, DOOCE (my fave du jour).

I would like to be like them.  I keep thinking, how can I make this blog something special?  Garance and the sartorialist go jet setting and take pictures of amazing people in amazing clothes all around the world, and Dooce is famous for being one of the first big "professional" bloggers of her time, plus shes an ex mormon, so she has that.

I don't jet set.  And I'm not really an ex anything that is particularly interesting.  But I try.  I try to entertain my readers with stories.  I put myself out there.  Sometimes I think, do I really want people to know this?  But I mean, why not?  Right?

SOOO, by January 1, 2011, I would like to have turned my blog into, "something special."  Something that will keep readers coming back for more.  Something that will have Heather Armstrong of Dooce call me up and say, "Yo waddup Ranna, wanna grab some coffee?  I'll bring my kids!"  Or have Garance Dore call me and say, "Salut Ranna, I am sooooooo sorry for not answering your email about being my assistant.  What can I do to make it up to you?"  And I'll go, "Uhhh too late Garance, I've moved on to bigger and better things.  I'm working for Heather Armstrong now!"  And she'll go, "MON DIEU!  PUTAIN!  What have I done??"  And then I say, "I REALLY hope you and your amazing Hermes Birkin bag have an extraordinary life together.  CIAO!"

Moving on.  There's an option to become a "follower" of this blog.  It's really easy.  If you have a google account, you can just press the button and VOILA! You're following me, and I hope that slowly one person turns into two turns into 62...but it starts with that first step.  And if you read this and think, "uhh its so weird that I read Ranna's blog."  PLEASE DONT THINK THAT.  I've had a few people come up to me and be like, "I feel like such a stalker," and I'm all, "DUDES ITS LIKE MY BIGGEST GOAL IN LIFE (after wanting to become arab) TO HAVE PEOPLE READ MY BLOG!"  And they kind of get taken aback and go, "ok so we'll keep reading it."  And then I'm like, "AND BECOME MY FOLLOWER!!!"  And they're like, "who are you, charles manson??"  And so I stop harassing them.

Please start to follow this blog.  I promise I'm not crazy like Charles.  Ok, I'm a little crazy, but in a Luna Lovegood sort of way.  I can only realize my new years resolution with YOUR help.

Thank you for your time and consideration in this matter.  I hope to hear from you soon.

Regards,

Ranna Saeedi
G--5---94

F F F F F F F F F

Winter is just tough on the skin, and the hair, and the moods.  Question of the century:  Why does Groundhog Day exist?  Does anyone even have a legitimate answer for the question.  The only reason I can think of is to make people feel bad about having to endure another, what is it?  6 weeks of winter?!

Either way there's going to 6 weeks of winter.  No matter how they phrase what the groundhog sees or doesn't see.  I mean, what the f?  What the f is a groundhog?

If you didn't know, you will know now that I HATE FEBRUARY!!   I hate it.  It's my least favorite month.  I've hated it since I was little. Let me tell you why.  A month to month analysis of why every other month of the year is amazing EXCEPT FOR F-ING FEBRUARY!

March--Norooz, obv.
April--13bedar (MY FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR.)  Plus, the weather starts to get warmer.
May--End of school!!
June--Beginning of summer!!!
July--MY BIRTHDAY
August--the continuation of summer, with chances of transitioning to "deep summer" mode.  Or rather, wake up, hang out, watch tv, go outside, tan, eat a popsicle, go to the pool, come home, lounge around, barbeque, hang out, sleep.  I really like to call it the, "What day of the week is it again?" mode.
September--Start of school (but what will happen next year, I do not know....hmmm)
October--Fall weather+halloween (pie and candy at nazy's house)
November--Thanksgiving, Obv.
December--Christmas, Shabeh Yalda
January--New Years, plus you're still excited about starting those resolutions, beginning a new year, a fresh clean start.  Plus, I always like getting used to writing out the new date.  2010. Nice!
FEBRUARY--NOTHING!!!!  THERE IS NOTHING I LIKE ABOUT FEBRUARY!  IT SUCKS.  ITS COLD AND GRAY AND GROUNDHOG DAY IS STUPID AND IT SNOWS AND THEN IT RAINS SO ITS SLUSHY AND I FALL DOWN AND THEN I HURT MY LEG AND MY INSURANCE GOES UP.  (maybe.)

In any case, I can't wait for this month to be over.  No wonder there are only 28 days in February.  Maybe I'm not alone in my extreme sentiments about the month.

Wala Ala Balo

OK SO.  This afternoon I was on my computer, doing nothing in particular, probably watching another episode of "Sex and the City," cus, ummmm I'm hooked since last week.  I don't know why, really.  The show is...not the best.  But, I'm addicted to Carrie's wardrobe, and I find myself looking forward to the next episode just to see what she wears.  
Like for instance (before I get into the real purpose of this post) today in Season 4 Episode 11, Carrie and Samantha were just walking down 5th Avenue, minding their own beeswax, talking about one sexual position after another,  and meanwhile Carrie's sporting this blinggggg gold Allah chain, and I'm like, "uhhhhhhh is that allowed??"  but, it's totally allowed in Carrie's world.  She can wear anything, anytime, and look totally hot while she's wearing it.  I'm envious, to say the least.  So despite the lackluster dialogue that takes place among those women, you'll see me tuning in to Itunes for the remainder of the seasons.  


Back to my original plan.  


It's really interesting how many people we know without really thinking about how we know them until all of a sudden their presence in our lives becomes handy.  Like for instance, this afternoon.
I'm watching "Sex and the City" when I remembered that Rosa Rad hadn't sent me my "arabic-word-of-the-day" recently.  


Last semester, Rosa started messaging different Arabic words everyday, and we would have fun pretending that we knew how to speak fluently (Rosa's reading this right now going, "PRETENDING????").  So, by the end of the semester, I had a random collection of words that really had nothing to do with one another and that I couldn't really put together in a cohesive way.  So, I randomly would say things like, "ahlan wa sahlan ya rosa, i like to drink shaay eat dajaaj and enti sahiba!"  That means, "hi rosa, I like to drink tea, eat chick and you are my friend."  

Only, that's what that means to me and Rosa.  See, when I tried to "speak" Arabic to my Arab friends, they all looked at me like I was crazy.  And then I would look at them, laugh, and start singing, "Enta hayaattiii, enta habbiiiibbbiii" and then they would start laughing. 


So, I asked her to send me my word, and meanwhile, I organized all the words she had sent me into a nice word document.  And then I wrote out a message for my friend, Nivin, and posted it on her facebook wall comprised of everything I "knew" how to say in Arabic.  It said, 

"ahlan wa sahlan ya nivin, ana ismii Ranna. kifak, hayati? ana bekhair. ana fila3n saeedah. leemadha? leeana enti jameela. ana askon fi al-walayat al-motahidah al-amrikiyah fi washington dc. naam. anjaat! habibti, enti taalibah. kayfah? enti fi al-maktabah kol yown! fila3n? aynah, sahiba? ana oheb dajaaj, haleeb, shay wa lahm. naam naam. OK, la a3rif."

This literally translates into, "Hi Nivin.  My name is Ranna.  What's up?  I am fine.  I am very happy.  Why?  Because you are pretty good looking.  I live in the United States of American in Washington DC.  Yes.  Really!  You are a student.  How?  You are in the library every day!  Truly?  Where, my friend?  I like chicken, milk, tea, and meat.   Yes, yes.  OK, I'm sorry." 


I thought it was pretty funny.  I laughed.  So did Rosa. 


But then Nivin wrote back.  And she wrote:   "

rana saeedi 2nti wa7deh khalsa 3al akheer . wlaik shou mshan??? hahhaha 7abait 7abaaaaaaait"

And that's when I was like, "hold up, whaaaaattttttt?"  I write to you about how I like chicken, and all of a sudden, you're busting out with your straight thuggin Syrian slang talk?  Ummm have you no mercy??? 
So here's where it got tricky. 


I gchatted Rosa and was like, "homegirl, you have to help a sister out.  What does this mean?"  
And she was like, "Uhhhh I fail, Ranna, I have no idea."  
So we tried to decipher it word for word, but that didn't work because 1. I get all my words from Rosa 2. Rosa didn't know those words.  So we were like, what to do, what to do, what to do??  


Meanwhile, lil Miss Palindrome (Nivin, get it? It's a palidrome.  So cool, right?  if only my name was Rannar) sends me another comment, " bs 7loueh mnaik ya rana ;) 3ateeha 3arabi min 3andik ;)"  as if one comment isnt enough....


So Rosa and I are like, OK we know a lot of people, lets just ASK SOMEONE!  not as easy as it sounds.  Turns out, we know quite a few Arabs  but 1.Most of them werent on gmail chat or facebook chat when we really needed them 2. the ones that were, weren't our number one choices.  
But.  We had to.  We had to know what these things meant!  Oh, by the way, I'm using, "we" because it really was "we,"  I mean, Rosa is my partner in matters relating to Arabic language and culture.  She sends me daily texts about her encounters with Arabs, only bringing us one step closer to our main goal in life...to become Arabs. 


So, I asked this Palestinian girl I rarely ever talk to and she was like, "oh it means...."  I dont even remember because IT DIDNT MAKE ANY SENSE!  And Rosa asked this Syrian guy who was like, "basically she's calling Ranna crazy."  


Which made us laugh....but that's not all.  Rosa, ladies and gents, made a friend tonight, this Syrian guy, Adam?  Was that his name?  Adam reads Rosa's blog (AND SO SHOULD YOU), and he's like, "yo Rosa, I'm hella entertained by your blog," so Rosa TOTALLY loses sight of the problem at hand (the translation) and starts to talk to her new friend about OTHER THINGS NOT PERTAINING TO THIS.  


And then we gave up.  But not before I asked my other Syrian friend, who lives in Syria.  WHO IS IN SYRIA RIGHT NOW, haha, what it meant.  And she still gave me this answer that I didn't quite understand, but at least I got the gist of it?  


  What I really wanted to put across with this post is that it's funny how we meet all of these people and a lot of the time we don't even think about knowing them.  I mean, it's so easy these days to meet someone for an instant, hop onto facebook and "friend" them, without thinking about it, and we will remain friends until the day one of us decides, "ok, who is this person, and why am i his friend?"  whereby we will "de-friend" them.  It's sad, really.
  I felt bad asking those people tonight for the translation.  In a way, I really felt like a user and an abuser.  I mean, I literally was like, "Hiiiiiii (insert name here) how are you?  Could you do my a favor?  Do you think you could translate this for me?"  And then right when they gave me their answer I was all, "OK SEE YA!"  But it had to be done.  
But then, is that what all these networking sites are all about?  I mean, are we allowed to friend people with whom we're not very close, just for the purpose of having them in our lives JUST IN CASE we have to translate Arabic into English?  Maybe I shouldn't have gone through that defriending spree a couple months ago...hmmm.....


Well, in any case, I'm still waiting to actually figure out what she meant by those messages, but, it's not all bad, I did help rekindle Rosa's friendship with Adam.  I hope they're happy speaking Arabic with one another, while I'm left wondering what the hell, "3ateeha 3arabi min 3andik ;)" means.  


Just kidding, Roses, you know its all love here.  Behebbak, habibti.  Shokran, Afwan.  


ma'asalamaa (goodbye)