no shirt, no shoes, no problem

Today when I came down the stairs to drink my coffee my mom laughed at me for wearing the things that I wear.  I don't know.  In this banal environment I live in where everyone looks the same and dresses the same and talks the same and walks the same, it's nice to add a little...we'll call it, color...to my daily life.  It's not like I wear anything too extraordinarily out there, but I mean, I pair things that normal people probably wouldn't pair....and ok, so sometimes I get "looks," but F you, I don't care.  Who are you even to give me that look-over?

Welllll actually that's not true.  I guess I do that too sometimes, but the difference is that I'm ADMIRING what the person looks like.  So maybe I should just think that those people are admiring me too.  And that will just add to my self-involved mentality that keeps springing up lately.  

So anyway, I'll continue to dress the way that I do despite my mother having something to say LITERALLY EVERY DAY.  I've come to the conclusion that she says things purely to say things.  Which leads me to the conclusion that in this sense, my mother is like many mothers of the world who do the same thing to their daughters.  And from this I further conclude that in the event that I have a daughter I will never say anything about what she chooses to wear.

I feel that what people wear is a form of creative expression just like anything else that may be.  Maybe I need to wear these things because its the only way that I feel like I wont be swallowed by the mediocrity that is Northern Virginia.  

Spango Bango

So I'm at my grandparent's house right now and I'm lying down on the couch for a quick "chort," or nap.  My head is pounding, which I'm blaming on the weather today: rainy.  Something to do with the air pressure levels or something, I always get headaches when it rains.  So I'm here, and my grandparents, dad, and uncle are in the kitchen.  My uncle just got his US citizenship and he's talking to them about the sort of questions that they asked him during his interview.  All sorts of things ranging from what the capital of Virginia is, to the definition of amendment.  While he got them all right, he says he was nervous that they were going to ask him what the US national anthem is, and he was like, "man che bedoonam...?"  (what do I know?)
My dad replies, "Star Spangled Banner."
And my grandmother, not hearing, or not listening, who knows, says, "Spango Bango?"
"Areh Mamman, Spango Bango..."

Hahahahaha.  How they keep me entertained.

BEDDINGE HÅVET

I'm surprised I never blogged about this before because it's something that I always think about.  My bed.  I have a really comfortable bed.  Like, abnormally comfortable in my opinion.  When I lie down on my bed there is no where else I would rather be.  It's comfy and cushiony and I'm quite happy to call it mine.

Ok, so imagine my bed.  And then imagine a bed like 1029 times more comfortable than that.  That was my bed in Paris.  It wasn't as much a bed, as it was a futon.  It was one of those things that turned into a couch during the day and then we would flip it out and turn it back into a bed at night.  That bed was amazinggg.  I miss it every day I am not there.

For a while now, I have been urging my mom to take me to IKEA and buy me the same kind of bed I had in Paris.  We keep meaning to go, but never seem to be able to coordinate times that fit both our schedules. Every few days I think, "Oh, if I could, I would do this to my room, and this, and buy this bed, and move this couch, and paint it this color..."  but it never happens.  Instead I am left with my old, albeit, extremely comfortable bed.

Then a couple weeks ago my bed sort of broke.  Well.  It didn't break.  I'm not quite sure what happened to it.  We were just lying in bed, I think Salma, Yasna and I, and all of a sudden we hear this craack.  And the bed now leans a little bit to the side.  In fact, so much so that I've recently taken to sleeping on the other side of the bed.  The side that was never ventured upon until quite recently.

I'm going to use the leaning bed as an excuse to go to IKEA someday soon.  Actually, I'm going to see if they sell it online.  Man.  It was the most comfortable bed in the world.  I'll never forget the nights I spent  slumbering upon it.

funfetti cupcakes?

I've been in this really really really weird mood today.  Like sort of in a bad mood, but I wouldn't really define it as bad, more like, searching for comfort but not being able to find it so stuck in this uncomfortable "WHAT SHOULD I DO" limbo land.

It started this morning when my mom randomly decided to use our bathroom at 6:45 in the morning.  WHY MOTHER?  WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?  I woke up to the sound of my bathroom door closing and wasn't able to go back to sleep.  At 8:30 I got out of bed and realized that all I wanted to do was make pancakes.  Not to eat them or anything.  Just to make them.

So I made pancakes.  They were ok.  

Then I went to school.  Then at school I didn't want to be at school.  I was like, bajshdjakhsfkfsdkf this is stupid I don't want to sit around for my stupid religion class where we DONT EVEN DO ANYTHING.  Seriously.  All I really wanted to do was go outside and pick flowers and dry them. 

Yesterday, I went over to my grandparents house, and my grandmother and I talked about art projects I could do with dried flowers.  And since then all I really want to do is dry flowers.  So.  I was like, why am I sitting here in agony? 

So I left school, then I decided to go look for POM ice tea because I've been craving it for a few days.  So I went to Giant.  Then I realized that I really wanted to make cupcakes.  So I bought some Funfetti cake mix and I came home and I made cupcakes.  

Then Salma came home and asked me why I was acting so weird.  I was like, "uhhh why am I acting weird?"  And she was like, "It's so uncharacteristic of you to bake."

And I realized that it really is.  She's the baker.  But, I dont know.  I guess what I liked about baking is that I followed a set of instructions and I finished them.  Easy come easy go.  I didn't have to think for a little bit.  

What's wrong with me right now?  I feel like.  I feel like everything I want to do right now is impossible.  And I'm just tired of having to wait. 

Eyjafjallajokull (TEST: who can pronounce this?)

Volcanoes scare the crap out of me.  When I was younger I was obsessed with those, "Chicken Soup for Your Soul," books, and there was a "Teen" one that I would read all the time.  But I mean, why did I read it?  I have no idea.  It was dark and depressing and made me feel bad about my life.  Still.  It got a good cry out of me and sometimes people just need a good cry.
Anyway.  There was one story about this boy who went to Hawaii with his class, and they went hiking on this active volcano or something, and his best friend fell somewhere, like inside the volcano or something but they managed to pull him out but he suffered like 873 degree burns, but was alive but like, it was the most terrible story and he just sounded so sad, but it was SO SCARY to read about this boy being flung into the volcano and having to pull himself out.  Man.

So every since then volcanoes have just been the scariest thing for me.  I don't know, just the eruption, and not knowing when they're going to erupt and the lava flowing down this mountain.  It's terrifying.

But, the eruptions in Iceland have definitely caught my attention.  So much so that during the day I sit and google "volcano eruptions" while I should be doing other things.  And I spend hours looking at pictures of eruptions.  Why?  I don't know.  So that when I come face to face with an erupting volcano I wont be surprised about what's going on.  And I'll know to run away.

Junior HIGH

You know what makes me so happy?  What makes me so happy is that I never ever ever have to relive my days as a seventh grader.  I think that seventh grade was perhaps the worst year of my life.  Or, adolescence, preteen years in general.  Those were tough.
Let me tell you why.

In seventh grade, my mom told me that it was impossible for me to wash my hair and that the only way we could fix this was if I got a boy haircut.  She told me it would suit me so well and that I would finally be able to wash my hair.  I was like, "MOM, I can wash my hair!!!!" But she was convinced, and she took me to the hairdresser who BUTCHERED my hair.  I kid you not.  I looked TERRIBLE.  Plus, besides having this retarded looking haircut, I had braces on my teeth and I was about a foot taller than anyone around me.  Not fun.  The boys started to call me Elvis, Salma called me Mickey Mouse.  And, when we went to Paris that year I was IN LOVE with Justin Timberlake and I was convinced that the moment I met JT he would instantly fall in love with me.  So I walked down the streets of Paris listening to the *Nsync album on repeat.  And one time, I saw this boy who looked like Justin Timberlake and I thought, finally this is my chance, only then I looked at myself and remembered that I was being compared to Elvis and Mickey Mouse and I didn't make a move.  Because I TOTALLY would have otherwise.  Totally.  Duh.

Then, all of a sudden, people turn mean in junior high.  It's like, in elementary school everyone is friends with everyone else, and we all play on the playground and run around and have fun and work together and go to space camp, and then all of a sudden, in seventh grade, you're thrown into a school with a bunch of people you dont know, there are already cliques, then the cool girl cliques all join together to make one giant cool girl clique and then the rest of us are left to sulk and worry about our braces and our short hair.  And boys are mean to girls, and girls try to flirt with boys, but boys are just mean, so then self confidences are shattered and there are always those really annoying loud obnoxious boys that do things in class that get the entire class in trouble (maaaaniiii that was you).  Not fun.

Yesterday, I was walking onto campus, and I was holding on to a Super H Mart bag with my lunch (zereshk polo) inside of it, and I was just thinking, THANK GOD, I don't have a weird complex about what kind of lunch I take to school anymore, because people just stop caring about what other people do.  Or thank god that I can just sit at a table on my own and not have to worry about being called "the loser" or "the weird loner girl."  Well.  Or maybe people say it and I just don't care anymore.  Because literally, I just dont care.

And then that makes me think, well maybe it was because I had to hold my own in seventh grade and defend myself against all the mean bullies who made fun of my hair and my braces and my height and the hair on my arms that make me not care anymore because I figure, I'll have friends who don't care about what I'm like and I can say whatever I want and dress however I want, and they'll just love me and I'll just love them.

But still.  Seventh grade sucked.

mesh tool

its like an imaginary thing that yasna was here.  its like, first she wasnt, then all of a sudden she was, and now she's not again.  it was like the joining of two perfect worlds for a little bit of time.  my world here with everyone i love so much, and yasna from the other world.  they meshed wonderfully.  everyone just loved everyone else and it was perfect.

i just wish it could always be like that.  maybe one day.  maybe.

i feel so lame, originally uploaded by jessiegamarra.

, originally uploaded by Mandee Rae.

Balloons, originally uploaded by †elevision.

Cheese Fries, originally uploaded by PredictorX.