WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN LOST

2011-01-31T13:42:00.002-05:00

Heading to Paree in a few hours.

I'll be blogging on rannaisinfrance.blogspot.com while I'm there.

:)

Packing Shmacking

2011-01-28T13:10:00.000-05:00

You know what's annoying? Packing. Packing's annoying. I don't enjoy packing--trying to fit the things I *need* into suitcases--making sure that the weight is under 51 pounds (that's not as easy as it may sound...although, when I write it out, it sure seems like a lot)--asking myself incessantly "do you want this, Ranna, or do you need this?"--convincing myself that that shirt that I always promise to wear, is not going to be worn, and then putting it back into my closet.
So, I start to pack, and then I end up just...not. Finally just now, I think I finalized that I was for sure going to take, and so I'm about to start fitting everything into my suitcases (2).
OH, here's another thing. Did you know that airlines charge for the second luggage now? YEAH. Yeah. How annoying is that? 50 dollars for a second luggage for international flights. Monsieur Rene tells me they charge for the first luggage if it's domestic. Um, excuse me, but why? Well I mean, I know why if I think about it, but c'mon, that's so annoying!
Whatever, stop complaining, right? Right.

You know what's funny? The clothes that are left in my closet. Those things that I didn't even bother to consider taking with myself. And now I'm sitting here looking at the UGLY pink faux-cashmere sweater I bought at "New York and Company" five years ago (yeah...that just got more and more random as I kept explaining) and wondering why I don't give that sweater away. You want it?

You know what this is? This is me procrastinating. This is me thinking about things that don't really matter, so I don't have to think about the two open suitcases in front of me. Why don't I just do it? I'm reading this book that says instead of not doing something, just do it. Which, when I write it out like this, seems so easy, right? But I find myself pushing things off until the very last second. I don't know why I do it to myself, but I am the queen procrastinator.

I think I just gave myself the incentive I needed to start packing. I just thought, "if I know it, then why don't I just try to fight it?" And so now I'm going to fight it. Ok. Get ready. Get set. GO.

Coll-edge

2011-01-24T10:56:00.001-05:00

I'm at George Mason with my sister today, it's Sally's first day at this school and I'm showing her the ropes. Driving to school I had to keep asking her, ARE YOU CONCENTRATING? Walking to her class too. Sal, are you concentrating? This is how you get to your class. This is how you get to Jazzmans.
Passing on the tricks I've learned along the way.

Anyway, now I'm just sitting on campus waiting for Sissy to get out of her class so we can go to her other class, and there is a line from Dewberry Hall past Jazzmans and it's all international students. Only, they're all Arabs and ITS THE MOST intriguing/annoying thing. Intriguing (that took me like 8 times to try to spell) because I just wonder where they're all from, what they're doing here, how they are feeling being in a new place. what are they doing at George Mason is the biggest question.
Annoying because I want to talk to them but im shyyyyyyyy.

Also, I'm restarting my rannaisinfrance.blogspot.com blog, and I want to give it a new look, so I'm trying to figure out the HTML coding so that I can fix it up a bit and it's just irritating. But I have all day, so I will triumph

What I want right now:

Tearjerkers

2011-01-16T14:54:00.003-05:00

My Turn
-Titanic (can't help it)
-Toy Story 2 (when she's singing about the girl not loving her anymore. omg so sad)
-Love Actually
-Marley and Me
-Up (the beginning)
-Hotel Rwanda
-Into the Wild
-The Truman Show
-A Walk to Remember (sad, but true)
-Forrest Gump (Justin Timberlake is SO right. That part ALWAYS gets me. Also, the end, when he's sending him on the bus to go to school. soooo sad)
-The Stepmom
-ET
-Bogus
-Moulin Rouge
-Selena
-FOX AND THE HOUND
-The Color of Paradise
-La Vie en Rose
-My Girl (so right)
-The Freedom Writers
-Literally any movie where a mom or a dad dies and leaves the child orphaned and alone, I'll probably tear up

There are probably a dozen more, and Salma might be able to help me out more. What other movies?

the next minute some secretary’s running you over with a lawn mower

2011-01-14T00:13:00.000-05:00

I was having an email conversation with my friend Michelle Spinei about this blogger (click the link to go to her blog) today. Her name is Tavi Gevinson and she's 13 years old. HOWEVER, she's super uber dooper famous within the fashion community as being one of the leading fashion bloggers of our time. She started her blog when she was 10 (I think) and since then has become this gigantic sensation. Not only does she relay her thoughts about what is going on in the world of fashion, BUT she acts as muse to a plethora of fashion designers all over.

I've been looking at her blog recently (last two days, but I came across it here and there before) and at first, apart from the fact that she's a 13 year old famous fashion blogger, I couldn't understand what made her so sensational. But then I realized that what she does is pretty cool. I mean, going through her blog up to like...September, I noticed that she puts up her inspirations, and from there comes up with her own style. That's sort of cool, right? Like, right now, she's inspired by Valley of the Dolls meets Drew Barrymore from Never Been Kissed. And she puts together mood boards with pictures and knick knacks she finds in thrift stores to really bring her style together.

While her style is strange (even for my standards) I think it's genius what she has managed to do and how she has managed to do it at such a young age.

Michelle said that it takes dedication. Tavi blogs every single day about different things. If I want to be a world wide sensation, I have to do that too. Although, looking back on my blogs, I remembered that it was exactly last year this time when I decided that my new years resolution was to become a famous blogger....oops. Resolution, fail! I should try to get that title in 2011.

For now, here are some images that are inspiring me for my next photo shoot. I just haven't chosen a model.

Stay tuned for the actual photoshoot. Although, I'm putting in a lot of thought for this one, so it might take a bit for it to get realized. I'm shooting high :)

Bellatrix and Narcissus

2011-01-06T23:42:00.002-05:00

When Salma, my sister, and I were younger we would fight a lot. I'm talking, hair pulling, pinching, shoving, the works. She would twist her face into a terrifying monsteresque one and pinch me so hard that she shook. And I would retaliate by attempting to do the same, but I used to (slash, still do sometimes) bite my nails, so I would never be able to really dig my fingernails into her skin, like she did to me.
Actually, one of my favorite stories to share is the one where I first show the two scars on my arm, and then tell people that, actually, it was Salma who did that to me...with her toenails.
Yes. We were fighting on the bed one day, and she scratched me so hard with her toenails, that to this day I still have two scars on my arms. Best day.
In her defense, one time, I took my jacket and I swung it at her with such force, and at such an angle, that the zipper cut into her forehead and blood started to gush out. I'm pretty sure I thought I had just killed my sister when blood started to pour down her face. But she didn't even need stitches. And SHE doesn't have the scar...so besides the fact that I told you, there is no proof that such a thing ever happened.

Salma says that I spent my youth not physically abusing her, like she did to me, but emotionally abusing her with hurtful words. But that's only because I honestly could not handle the beating up thing. Whenever Salma would start to hit me or something, I'd start to run around the house, and she'd run after me. But the situation would always be so funny that I would start to laugh hysterically, which made Salma even more upset and she would run even faster, prompting me to both run faster, and laugh harder. Good times.

When we got older, our torture methods changed a little bit. She would come into my room and refuse to get out. So I would respond by going into her room and taking my pants off and threatening to rub my butt on her sheets. But she would retaliate by pulling her own pants down and threatening to rub her butt on my bed. But then we would realize that really there was no point to what we were doing because when it came down to it, we both were just standing in each others rooms with our pants half down, and our butts exposed. So...that quickly turned old. Although, I admit, that there have been times in the not so past that this has occurred again...

She also used to do this really annoying thing where she would come into my room and refuse to get out. So I would try to push her out and she wouldn't move. So then, I would start to scream "GET OUT OF MY ROOM!!!!" and she would say "ok ok but don't touch me." But then, she would INCH her way out of the room, which made me even more mad because it took forever, so I would push her, and she would pretend that it was the strongest push, and she would RUN into the closest wall and start to scream, "MOMMMMMYYYYYY RANNNA JUST PUSHED ME INTO THE WALL!!!" And I would scream back, "OH MY GOD MOM I DIDN'T EVEN PUSH HER THAT HARD SHE JUST RAN HERSELF INTO THE WALL!!!!" And she would laugh quietly while my mom would tell me that pushing is so dangerous what if Sal fell down the stairs...even if we were nowhere near the stairs. It was (is) annoying

These days we don't fight very much. In fact, our relationship has turned so smooth, that I do things to instigate fighting. Just to keep things fresh. For instance, I'll walk into her room and grab her Tweety. And Sal is really sensitive when it comes to Tweety. So that may start a brawl. Or, the other day Salma was just sitting there minding her own business and I decided to keep pulling her hair. And actually, she let me pull her hair a few times before she realized that, "wait a minute, Ranna is pulling my hair!" And she responded by pulling my hair SO HARD. It wasn't cool.

OR. Sal made up this game where she pulls down my pants when I'm least expecting it. And then we decided that we practice under the guidelines of just warfare, so we made up some rules. 1. You can't pull the other's pants down right after your pants have been pulled down 2. You can't pull the other's pants down if the other person is expecting it.
Only, I'm NEVER expecting it, and Salma is ALWAYS expecting it. So whenever I even get close to her, even if Im not even thinking about pulling her pants down, she yells "I'M EXPECTING IT! IM EXPECTING IT!"
The worst is when I'm going up the stairs, these days I literally have to RUN up the stairs, because I know if I don't, 100% Salma is going to be right behind me pulling my pants down. So, I run up the stairs while simultaneously holding on to the waist of my pants so that even if she attempts to pull them down, she can't.
Whenever it happens, my mom makes a comment like, "girls this is so unladylike." And then Sal and I both look at her like, who are we, Eliza Doolittle after Henry Higgins fixed her up? Since when have we done anything that fit under the "ladylike" category?

Why did we (do we) fight? I don't know, I guess it's a form of getting the other's attention. Even if we're being annoying, at least we have contact with the other. In its own way, fighting with each other brought us closer together, I suppose.

And in the end, sis is a cool sis.

My Boys Love 'Em Some Dessert

2011-01-04T13:58:00.000-05:00

Can you stand under my umbrella?

2011-01-02T14:28:00.000-05:00

I died in the boys bathroom at Hogwarts

2010-12-29T00:16:00.000-05:00

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.

Thanks a lot, king says I, in a manner well-bred

2010-12-19T13:53:00.001-05:00

But all I want is 'enry 'iggins 'ead

The Reason Why Rainy Days Aren't My Favorite Days

2010-11-16T09:38:00.002-05:00

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.

2010-11-16T00:26:00.000-05:00

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.

Card Time

2010-11-05T23:47:00.000-04:00

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.

It's Tradition

2010-11-01T00:52:00.000-04:00

various thoughts

2010-10-06T00:19:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2010-09-20T16:04:00.000-04:00

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.

Imma let you finish, but....

2010-09-12T22:59:00.000-04:00

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.

I suck

2010-08-30T23:47:00.001-04:00

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

the messages people send to each other

2010-08-24T17:11:00.000-04:00

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

2010-08-21T09:34:00.000-04:00

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

funny message

2010-08-17T10:59:00.000-04:00

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

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

2010-08-12T18:15:00.000-04:00

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:

Funny Note of the day

2010-08-03T14:16:00.000-04:00

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

MOOSHMOOSHAK POWER

2010-08-03T00:27:00.001-04:00

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.

poland is close to russia

2010-08-02T14:28:00.001-04:00

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.

short post short post come and get it

2010-07-27T22:37:00.000-04:00

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.

Rule #1: The Customer Is Always Right

2010-07-24T20:21:00.000-04:00

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.

Funny Notes from the Flower Shop

2010-07-20T11:17:00.000-04:00

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

what it means to be 22

2010-07-15T01:30:00.000-04:00

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.

testing testing 1 2 3

2010-07-14T00:08:00.001-04:00

MARIONETTE

2010-07-12T17:28:00.000-04:00

something about the bugs made it the worst idea

2010-07-07T23:30:00.000-04:00

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:

funny messages

2010-07-06T10:05:00.001-04:00

"Just because it's Tuesday. Love you. Mr. Good"

Same guy, two separate orders. Cards reading, "I just felt like it."

"I wish you a great new age. I wish that we stay together for forever!! I LOVE YOU!!! I wanna be loved by you and I love you until we die. Love, D." (this guy ordered the arrangement from Turkey)

the most beautiful children on the face of this planet

2010-07-05T09:09:00.001-04:00

water for chocolate

2010-07-03T23:31:00.000-04:00

A majority of my time spent thinking revolves around this wild fascination I have with retracing the memories I have anywhere from yesterday to five years ago, and I think about what I would do if I consciously could go back in time into "past ranna" but with the knowledge that I had already lived these events and with the knowledge I have today about what occurred during the events. I think about ways in which I could...I don't want to use the word manipulate because I feel like it has a negative connotation, but it's the most fitting...let me think of a better word...hold on...maneuver? The way in which I could maneuver the situation to work out more preferably, perhaps, or just differently than it originally had the first time. Why? Well, I've come to think that I really have a big problem with this abyss we call "the future." I don't like the uneasiness I feel about my future right now: what's to become? I don't like living without a sense of purpose, and recently I have felt as though I'm being tossed into this black hole.

I know that all you Eckhart Tolle fans are reading this and shaking your heads in stark disappointment. I've let you down with this confession. I understand this. But I really have tried! I promise! But sometimes I just think that maybe I don't have enough self control to remain completely in the present. It's very difficult for me to think about each breath that take. It's very difficult for me to do something without thinking about why I'm doing it, and what the end result will be. I have spent time trying to remain conscious of every move that I make: when extending your arm to reach for something, think of your extended arm moving in the air as it reaches for the object, do not think about taking the object, do not think about what you will do with the object upon capturing it in your hand, feel the heaviness of each movement, like your arm is moving through water, pushing through the current.

But it's very difficult for me to continue thinking like this over a long period of time. So, I end up thinking about what I'm doing in my life, what I'm doing in the next three months, why I have to do something now in order to achieve something in six months. Each time these thoughts occur, I break a sweat, my chest starts to tighten and I like to occupy myself by doing something that requires no thinking. For example, watching, "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit," or putting my headphones on and dancing crazily in my room. It's the only way I can get my mind off of these thoughts that have really taken over and are sweeping the energy out from my body.

Thinking about the past in the way I described to you makes me feel almost as if I would be doing something devilish. I would know people before they knew me. I would know details about them before they had the chance to tell me. I would be able to live events over knowing how they turned out the first time, and changing them to see how they would be able to change. It could be like those mystery novels we read as children: "if Bob travels into the jungle to slay the lion turn to page 46. If Bob goes home to his family for dinner turn to page 49."

But, I'm sure I've mentioned to you more than once that the Economist magazine once wrote an editorial about a book that said that clairvoyance was actually the only impossible thing in life. They said that time travel would be possible one day, which makes me really happy. But clairvoyance? Sorry charlie. Not going to happen. Until then I have my imagination, I suppose. And I'm so sorry to all my Tolle fans that I find thinking about tampering with the past so much fun. I'll try not to....starting tomorrow.

Exploration # 52

2010-06-28T17:38:00.000-04:00

I took a water sample from the fountain in the flower shop, a water sample from one of the vases with flowers, and mixed them with these gelatin like ball things that we use to decorate flower arrangements that had been hanging out in water in the heat all weekend. I put all of the samples into a clear glass container and I covered it and placed it by a window. Just to see if anything is going to grow. I'm sort of hoping to see a parasite or something by the end of the summer. Or mayyybbeee the microbes are slowly going to mutate into humans!!! Then it's bye bye God, hello Darwin. Can't wait.

that was SO hetero normative

2010-06-28T00:25:00.000-04:00

Danica Radoshevich has been a friend of ours (Salma, Ranna, Neela, Bardia, Rene, Genevieve, Nazy, Sanjar, Parsa, Aria, and others) since Salma was 7, and I was 9. The first memory I have of Dani is one day when she came over for a playdate with Salma, and I was OBSESSED with cutting out pictures of models from magazines and using them as faux paperdolls, because randomly paperdolls were super expensive, and my mom would only buy the books for me sometimes, because after I [carefully] cut out all of the paper doll outfits, I would play with them for a little bit before I would get a little bit bored and slowly the pieces of the outfits would get lost. Now that I think about it, I had this amazing "Gone With the Wind" collection and it took me like a week to get all of those giant Scarlett O'Hara dresses cut out. That paperdoll set lasted a while actually. So did the Christian Dior paperdoll book that Genevieve gave me. Mostly because my mom didn't let me cut out the dolls for a really long time. Because just like she knew what would happen with our Barbies* she knew what happened to my paperdolls.

Wow. I just totally segued into another story completely. Back to Dani. So anyway, I was cutting out the models from the magazines and just doing my own thing. I thought I was so cool as the older sister, playing with my paper people, having a good time. And Dani's like, "oh hey, can I join you?" And I like grudgingly gave her one of the uglier models, one of the ones who was standing really strangely. Like, in the picture, she was probably standing normally, but the cutout was just proportionally wrong to all the other paper people, and she was just the outcast cutoff. So I gave her that one, and she started to play with me, and the next thing I know, she's like looking into the doorknob screaming, "ICEBERG AHEAD! ICEBERG AHEAD!" And i'm like, "Woah woah woah, WHEN DID THIS BECOME THE TITANIC??!" But then...somehow, from there, I decided Dani was going to be my best friend.

And best friend she remained. We lived really close by while we were growing up. We'd always hang out at each others houses. Summers were spent together, going to the YMCA pool, bothering our babysitter Evie, playing cops and robbers at night. Our parents were friends too. Our dads randomly loved each other, and our mothers would spend time complaining about the eccentricities of our fathers. Salma spent more time with Dani, of course, because they were classmates, the same age, the same height. Randomly they were "shoe sisters" because one time they bought matching shoes at Target. Also, they had this Mario and Luigi sketch they would do because Dani had this ancient game for Nintendo 64, and her and Salma would always play it. Anyway, Salma would be Mario, and Dani would be Luigi, and they would go around doing this really funny run, and I ALWAYS wanted to join, but Salma was all, "No, it's just for two people." And I was like, "But I can be Princess Peach." And Salma would be all, "No, thats not how the game works." And they would keep doing their thing.

Dani knew everything about us and understood us completely and perfectly. Even this weekend while she was here, she still after not living near each other for the last six years, she totally just got us. We laugh at the same things, we get annoyed at the same things. It just complete honesty and comfort. It's awesome is what it is.

She came from New York, where she's doing an internship in Brooklyn, to visit for the weekend. We took her to Eastern Market and she bought a bag. We went to this Cajun restaurant around there and watched the "Ghana-US" game. Everyone in there hated us because Salma was loud and obnoxious and every time Ghana would do something good, and everyone would yell, "No! No! No!" Salma would yell, "YEAHHH GHANNNAA!!!" She said she had to make up for the lack of support Ghana was getting. So Dani and I sat there, watching the game, but getting more entertained by Salma's enthusiasm over her team. We were scared to see what would have happened had Ghana lost. So good thing we saw a victory there. Otherwise we would have seen a very scary Salma.

Dani's super cool these days because she goes to Grinnell which is in Iowa, and she studies studio art. She's working at a print shop this summer and she throws around words and phrases like, "ableist," and "hetero normative." I love it. She's so articulate and manages to get her points across so well using the most brilliant vocabulary ever. But then, in the midst of discussing something with my mother (who thinks of Dani as her third daughter), she'll be like, "do you guys remember that time we all goozed (cus DUH she knows that word)?" and then we'll all go and replay that story over and over again. No. Not by goozing. Jeez. We just do the sound effects. Haha, that makes it so much better, right? Right.

It was so completely normal to have her here with us this weekend. All these years Sal and I have lived in Virginia, we always bring Dani up. We always say, "if Dani was here, she would do this," or "If Dani was here, we could go here..." But alas, we only get to see Dandan like once a year. It's ok though, because we decided that one day we're all going to live near each other again.

Right, guys? When we start our "SaDaRa" band and sing "O-Town" songs. And Michael Kramer (whose name is actually Michael Fraiser) can be our manager and hire us a choreographer because we really don't know how to dance. And then Dani can pretend the soccer ball is actually Kevin from the Backstreet Boys head, and Ruth can make moussaka, while Zhivoin complains about Bill Clinton and jokes around with Bardia. :)

Found Words

2010-06-24T11:48:00.000-04:00

I read in the paper the other day that scientists have discovered the meaning of life.*

What was it?

I forget.

* Conversation borrowed from Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle

Flower talk

2010-06-21T16:54:00.000-04:00

As many of you know, I work at a flower shop these days. My aunt, Maryam's, shop. I do a little bit of this and that, but part of my job requires that I address the cards that are sent with the arrangements. Whenever I take an order, I have to ask if they would like a message on a card, if they do, then I listen to them tell me what they want written. Most of the time, they are simple, "I love you's" or, "Our thoughts are with you..." But sometimes the messages people send are really funny. Here is a collection of some of those messages. I thought I would share.

" Thank you              Your Baby's Daddy

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.......       Vincenzo

From an admirer       --Admirer

Happy Birthday dad!      Your favorite daughter

When I see the sunlight in the morning, taste the breeze in the afternoon, watch the stars dance across the sky every night, I thank them all. My heart beats for thee, Jessie Leigh!       Zozo

Good luck and good health, if you're not, its your own damn fault

Colleen, here is to DANCING IN THE RAIN!!! Love, Your Bear

You know, the Communists just used women as a substitute proletariat where necessary so they could equate support for women's liberation with fidelity to the regime. "

It's funny and slightly awkward at the same time because I feel like some of the messages are meant to be so intimate, but as the middleman between the sender and the reciever, it's our job to read them and document them onto the cards, without us, the messages would only remain verbal. Is it bad that I'm posting this as a blog entry? Am I totally taking away from their privacy? I mean, they're funny!!!

I've decided on the no shame approach to this. I'll keep posting these as the months progress. Hopefully you're just as entertained as I am.

Love, Ranna

you cant disapparate on hogwarts grounds (story of my life)

2010-06-16T23:17:00.000-04:00

It's not fair. I'm supposed to be sleeping. I'm sooooo tired. I was supposed to close my eyes and fall asleep. Instead, thoughts are taking over my body. They're creeping over me and making me have restless leg and arm syndrome. I can feel them infesting me at full force. I just want to sleep. Instead. Instead, I'm looking up ticket prices. It's what I do when I don't have anything else to do. I look up ticket prices. I try to find the best deals, and I try to rationalize purchasing tickets to far off exotic locations. Yesterday it was Spain. Just now, I checked ticket prices to Copenhagen, hoping they would be cheap enough for next week so that Salma and I could go to Roskilde again.....yeah right. It's depressing to see the thousand dollars pop out on the page and know that no matter how badly I want to go, its a little impossible right now. Plus, I have to keep telling myself: Short term satisfactions? Or long term ones? I prefer the long term ones. That's why I'm working like this. That's why I'm saving all of my money.
Still, its doesn't mean its not depressing to see ticket prices that are so unbelievably expensive.
And then, to make matters worse (...maybe I'm a masochist that I keep doing this) I checked ticket prices from inside EU. So I looked up prices from Paris to Barcelona, Barcelona to Copenhagen. It's ridiculous how cheap they are. It makes me wish I could just disapparate to Europe and take advantage of their ticket prices. Then again, if I could disapparate then I wouldnt have to worry about ticket prices.
And I sure as hell wouldnt be here tonight....

Ring Around the Nosey

2010-06-16T00:20:00.001-04:00

You know how certain smells can evoke strong emotional reactions? This is because the human body houses these things called olfactory receptors. These receptors are directly connected to the limbic system, which controls our emotions. So, lets say you walk outside in the morning after it's rained and you breath in and get a whiff of the wet grass. By the time you correctly name the smell, as in, "wet grass," the scent has already been activated in the limbic system and this triggers a stronger emotional response.

In my time alone sometimes I think about the five senses we have as human beings and I try to rate them. Which one is the most important to me? Which one can't I live without? I've ended this self-discussion by coming to the conclusion that sight and hearing are the two most important senses for me. In their own rights, I cannot distinguish which is more important than the other. From there, I think I rank smell as third, touch as fourth, and taste as fifth. I think. Although, I still argue with myself because taste may be just as important as smell. Also, I think without touch I would go crazy. Then again, maybe ranking the senses shouldn't be brought to discussion. Maybe we take them and understand that each one is as important and valuable as the next.

But anyway, back to olfactory receptors. Mine must be strong because I associate some smells so strongly with certain sentiments and scenarios (alliteration much?). For instance, where I work now, with my Ameh Maryam at her flower shop, I work with this woman named Britta. Britta wears a perfume that caught my attention from the very first day I began to work at the shop. For the life of me, I couldn't remember how I knew this perfume, but whenever she walked past me I was reminded of Colorado and that feeling I felt when Shannon Saufley came to my house to say goodbye and whispered into my ear, "I'm going to miss you so much," kept flashing through my head. And then, *BAM* today Britta walked past me and all of a sudden I knew where I knew that perfume. It was Abercrombie and Fitch's "8" and Katie Rodman began to wear it in the 9th grade. I used to love how it smelled. But more than that, it began to remind me of 9th and 10th grade when I used to go over to Sarah Hayes-Davis' house to watch the OC and Katie Rodman would come over looking like she had just walked out of an Abercrombie advertisement, fall down onto the couch next to me, and we would watch Ryan and Marissa's saga and eat sour candy, the smell of her perfume slowly washing over me.

And then there are smells that come and go and I'm left wishing they had lasted longer. For instance, sometimes, in certain buildings, I'm reminded of the smell of Ramin and Rassah's house. I don't know how many of you are familiar with that smell, but it's very distinct. I can't describe it for you either, it is what it is. And it's another comforting smell for me because a couple years ago I used to love going over to their house, and I always felt very at home there. I get reminded of going into Rassah's room and each time thinking, "holy crap, and I thought I had a lot of clothes." Sitting on her bed and sifting through her art. Or going down to the basement to see a half-naked Ramin dancing in front of his mirror, making that typical, "ints, ints, ints, ints, ints," sound (please tell me you know what I'm talking about).

Scents make me feel nostalgic more than anything else. Most of the time they are a reminder of what was, and perhaps no longer is. However, the ones I love the most are those that give me comfort. The comfort of knowing what they represent and that something beautiful once existed that contained the scent.
Freesia. Genevieve's old apartment with the awesome basement. The one she invited all my friends to come and have a sleepover in after the 5th grade Shakespeare play.
Nivea hand cream. My grandmother.
Zlatan. Paris.
Nap Champa Incenses. Camping at Laama Foundation in the summertime with my dad, sister and Genevieve. Baba and Genevieve would go off and have silent meditation retreats, or go to the sweat lodges, and Salma and I would have to keep ourselves entertained for long periods of time. Sometimes we would swing on the wooden swing we were always scared was going to break. Sometimes, we would play four square (we made so many friends that year. Remember, Sal?). Other times, we would play 20 Questions for hours on end. Only, we had an unlimited amount of questions. And each time it started:
Player 1: Is it a boy?
Player 2: Yes.
Player 1: Is it a girl?
Player 2: No.
Player 1: Is he pushy?
Player 2: Yes.
We never knew where "Is he/she pushy?" came from, but we continue to ask it till this day. And Sal and I know that there are certain people we have to choose at least one time during the games: Rosie O'Donnell, Celine Dion, and Kate Winslet. Why? That's just what we came up with. My, how we could keep ourselves occupied...

So you see, I'm glad I have a nose to smell with. I'm glad I can identify smells with these memories, or the feelings with which I associate the memories. I'm glad that even though there is a deep longing for some of them to return to me, I know I will always have my good ole' olfactory receptors to make sure I never forget them.

Remember, Remember the 3rd of June

2010-06-03T21:50:00.000-04:00

2010-05-30T22:33:00.000-04:00

I came home from Paris to a sick mother. A mother who, usually, takes care of most things around the house, but for the time being, is not able to. These past couple days at home, we've all been working together to take care of her and keep the house running. Yesterday we had guests. Mom asked me to go the grocery store, buy some stuff, and make dinner. And make dinner, I did. I made a spaghetti that beat all other spaghettis. I mean, it was so delicious, I cried. You cried?
The first time we made love, I cried?
YOU CRIED?

Sorry. I got sidetracked. So yeah. Best spaghetti which totally boosted my confidence about cooking because everyone was like, oh ranna, all hail ranna, ranna's cooking is so good, you cry.

Then today, we were having guests again, and I decided to make salad olivieh. I don't know why this food in particular. For the past couple of days I've really been craving it and since no one else was going to make it, the only way I was going to get some was if I made it myself.
So. I needed to get a recipe and in my head I thought, "Who makes the best salad olivieh?"
And of course, the answer is Lida, Yasna's mom. I mean, I don't even know how the salad olivieh tastes like that. Because it is the most AMAZING FOOD IN THE WORLD! I crave it all the time.
But then I thought, I should just call someone in the United States, you know, because I was sitting downstairs drinking coffee at the time. And so I thought, ok second best person who makes salad olivieh?
Mammany?
And Salma was like, ding ding ding NAZY.
Which sort of infuriated my mother because she was like, "PAS MAN CHIII?" Because my mom sort of has this complex about us talking about other people's home cooking being better than hers, and she always feels like she has to defend her cooking, even though she really cooks well, and we love her cooking, but you know, salad olivieh, khoresht bademjoon, things like that...other people make them a little better. A LITTLE. A tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny bit better.

SO anyyyywayyy, then I called Nazy, got directions, and spent the NEXT SIX HOURS making salad olivieh. Let me tell you something, it was really hard because I had to boil 8374 different things, cut everything up, make sure the mayo concoction didn't overpower the other flavors. It was hard.

BUT. IT WAS A SUCCESS.

Nazy said that it beat a lot of other salad oliviehs. I mean. I don't know about that. I think I used the wrong pickles. BUT. It was good. It was really good. And tomorrow it's only going to be better.

But. Um. Lida Joon, if you're reading this....I would LOVE your recipe for salad olivieh. KthanksBye.

different peoples reactions

NEW PLAN

2010-05-28T14:36:00.000-04:00

YOU GUYS--New plan. Yasna is going to design a website for me and it's going to be great! BUT I need everyone's help. Ready. What we have to do is get my views per day up to like 20,000 (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA a girl can dream) and then I'll be a famous blogger. SOOOO spread the word.

don't call my name

2010-05-27T04:48:00.000-04:00

I think Paris was both the best idea and the worst idea. The best idea because I had the absolute time of my life. The worst, because now all I can think about is when I'm going to come back. For good.

The thing is, there are very few things that I'm sure about in my life. I find myself going back and forth from option to option and I'm constantly scared about the future. Because it's scary. But when I come to Paris, all of a sudden, everything makes complete sense. Anything that I may have been juggling in my head seems to go away and I'm left with the perfect answers.

People ask me why I love this city so much. I don't know. I love the little streets, the grand boulevards, the grocery stores, the markets. I love riding bus #47 because it hits all the best places. I love walking from line 11 to line 7 in Chatelet because you don't have to walk very far, they're on the same side. I love the woman in front of the Centre Pompidou playing the strange instrument she doesn't actually know how to play. I love being recognized by the man who works at Parvis and Yasna's husband at the mosque. It makes my day that they know us. I love eating pates avec aubergines at Marion's house, listening to Lakme or Serge Gainsbourg and laughing about n'importe quoi. I love thinking about my future here. Having an apartment, going to work with the metro, having kids who speak French and have that impeccable French style.

I can't seem to move past the idea that I belong here. Because I really believe that I belong here. I believe that everyone has a niche, and Paris is mine. I don't know if I can explain to you the happiness I felt being back here. It was so amazing, and so normal at the same time. I mean, it felt as if I didn't leave for a year. That I was just continuing my life from the moment I said goodbye to Marion at her apartment, and then starting right back there.

And now, sitting at the airport, waiting for my flight, I'm just so sad. In fact, I'm crying. I'm sitting here, at the airport, in front of all these people, typing this blog and crying, and I can't seem to stop crying. I know I have to go back and finish school, I know that there are things that I still need to do, I know I know I know. I know. I KNOW.
But I'm left with this longing. This tugging in the back of my head that keeps asking, "why are you going back? This is where you belong. Stay. Stay. Don't go. Don't go. Bemoon. Naro." And I want to listen to that voice SO BADLY. So badly.

But I can't. So I'll just cry. And leave you with this depressing blog entry.

2010-05-08T20:07:00.001-04:00

and i bought a ticket to go to paris. i leave wednesday night for two weeks. im so excited

RUSTICI?

2010-05-08T17:40:00.000-04:00

I've had Professor Rustici three times now. And each semester, apart from being obsessed with his class, I'm obsessed with Rustici's wardrobe. Why? Well, the first semester I had him, he was a really bad dresser. He would always wear suits, but he'd wear brown pants, with a green jacket, a beige shirt, and then RANDOMLY black shoes. And I was always like, whyyy are you wearing black shoes right now? And I would spend a lot of time in class looking at his shoes. And I ask myself how I get A's in his class...hmm.

So anyway, this year, well, last semester and this one, he's become a better dresser. Like I noticed when I got back from France that he had better looking suits and he matched his pants and shoes and oh, he got a cool new briefcase (I think it's new. In any case, it's nice). So then this semester, he started letting his hair grow out longer a little, and I always noticed because usually he has the same sort of cut, but now it's a little longer in the back. It's cool.

But guys. The weirdest thing. Today when I went to take my final, he was wearing JEANS. It was the STRANGEST SIGHT OF MY LIFE!! I mean, just the fact that he was wearing a jacket, with jeans and loafers, and his hair was longer. He looked like a really cool guy. I don't know. I just love Professor Rustici. I mean, Im not like those weird Rustici-ites who follow him around and take each one of the classes he offers, but still, he's like an uncle to me. I don't know. I just really feel like, "akhey, Professor Rustici...he's wearing the jeans." :)

I'm going to miss him, I think. And the jeans.

gravity is falling

2010-05-07T18:19:00.001-04:00

I made myself a goat cheese "loghmeh," (I'll translate as a small bite, a little sandwich) and went outside because the weather is nice. I wanted to lie down on the hammock for a while. Stella came outside with me. I think she was following me because I had food. But I don't like to think that's the only reason Stella followed me. I want to believe that she follows me because she loves me. Sometimes it comforts me to know that Stella loves me. I will continue to think this.
I went outside, Stella followed me. Licking the crumbs as they fell from the sandwich. Then a rabbit ran into the bush next to me. Stella and I both saw it. Stella began to search for it. I stood there and ate my sandwich and watched her. Part of me hoped she wouldn't catch the poor rabbit. Part of me wondered what I would do if she did catch it. So I watched her and ate my sandwich. Then I started to think about Alice in Wonderland and how she fell down the rabbit hole. I started to wonder what rabbit holes actually look like. I wanted to fall down a rabbit hole too. But, alas, my imagination couldn't take me that far in that particular moment. So I just stood there. Chewing. Chewing and watching.
Then the rabbit ran out of the bush into the next door neighbor's yard. Stella didn't see the rabbit run. She continued to sniff and dig through the bush. I saw it run. I yelled at Stella. "Stella! It ran away! The rabbit ran away! You'd have to go into the neighbor's yard to find it but you're not allowed over there." Then I realized Stella probably had no clue what I was saying and I felt a little stupid saying all of this to her. And my sandwich was done which was a little sad.
So I looked around and wondered what I should do. Stella still couldn't take the hint that the rabbit had fled. So I just stood there. Watching Stella. Thinking.
Thinking thinking thinking thinking thinking.
   f
   a

   ll


   i

n
   g

the quandaries of a self-diagnosed hypochondriac

2010-05-02T12:22:00.001-04:00

Headache, lethargy, muscle pain. Oh man, all signs of Lyme disease. When the thought reaches my head, I just can't seem to move past anything else other than "I HAVE TO GO TO THE DOCTOR OTHERWISE I MIGHT DIE."
It's no matter that my headache is probably coming from allergies, I'm tired because I slept late the night before, and I have muscle pains because of working out. No no. It's all because I actually have lyme disease and I'm the only one who realizes the severity of this claim. I'm the only one who has to spend sleepless nights thinking about how I will lose the ability to move my limbs. That I'm the only one who seriously thinks I have lyme disease...

This is just another episode of Ranna's life as a hypochondriac. Each day I seem to come up with new things that may be wrong with me. One day it's a bump on my arm...thats not actually a bump in the opinions of others...but really! I feel it! It's there! Another day I spot a..spot...on my left leg. It's new. OH MY GOD I HAVE MELANOMA! I rush down to tell my mother, who looks at me, laughs and says, "Ran, STOP stressing yourself out!"
"BUT MOM, I MIGHT HAVE CANCER."
"Boro gomsho, Ranna. It looks like a broken capillary."

DING DING DING DING DING (ALARM SOUNDS)

A BROKEN CAPILLARY ON MY LEG!! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WILL THIS LEAD TO A BLOOD CLOT IN MY HEAD??? AM I GOING TO HAVE A STROKE!!!!!?!?!

The thing is, I can't help it. I can't control these thoughts. They're the first ones that pop into my head when I see something, or I feel something, and when the thought gets to my head, I can't help but to rush upstairs to my computer and WebMD what it may be. And somehow, I always think the worst possible scenario. It's never a common cold, in my opinion, its....MENINGITIS.

Which OMG you guys, is probably the scariest thing in my opinion. One time, in 10th grade, I had to write a research paper on meningitis, and since then, I've been TERRIFIED that I would get it one day. It's actually one of the biggest reasons I decided to stay home for college. This is so sad, I know. I know that you guys are thinking, "Ranna is such an idiot." But I SERIOUSLY believed that if I lived in a dorm I would contract meningitis and die. AND DIE.

I've come to realize that I'm a pretty anxious person. I mean, I stress myself out over nonexistent things, and I really don't understand why I do it. I cause so much unnecessary stress for myself by thinking that I'm sick all the time. Why do I do this? And now everyone is convinced that this is why I contracted shingles.

The POWER OF THOUGHT. I thought myself into shingles. I stressed myself out so much about being sick, about coming down with meningitis, or believing I had melanoma, that I in turn, caused myself to become sick.

What should I do about this? I really don't know. It's so psychological that I think, "how can I learn to control something that I really can't control?" After the initial thought I have to keep telling myself to calm the f down.

But I cant.

Because after the initial thought, I'm always consumed with the thought that I have a life-threatening illness and that I have to go home WebMD my symptoms and find a cure AS FAST AS POSSIBLE.

If you don't believe me, come check it out. WebMD is on my list of bookmarked pages.

So sad. I know.

no shirt, no shoes, no problem

2010-04-28T10:46:00.002-04:00

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

2010-04-26T14:19:00.000-04:00

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

2010-04-21T22:58:00.000-04:00

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?

2010-04-20T16:10:00.000-04:00

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?)

2010-04-19T19:01:00.001-04:00

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

2010-04-15T18:56:00.000-04:00

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

2010-04-11T14:49:00.000-04:00

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.

2010-04-05T23:05:00.002-04:00

i feel so lame, originally uploaded by jessiegamarra.

2010-04-05T22:26:00.004-04:00

, originally uploaded by Mandee Rae.

2010-04-01T22:50:00.001-04:00

Balloons, originally uploaded by †elevision.

2010-04-01T22:43:00.001-04:00

Cheese Fries, originally uploaded by PredictorX.

Ranna's World: THE WEDDING

2010-03-28T14:33:00.000-04:00

2010-03-28T13:01:00.001-04:00

148/365 Light against its being, originally uploaded by Bluebirdbaby.

2010-03-25T04:48:00.001-04:00

pinapple, originally uploaded by On a meadow, lea.

2010-03-25T04:35:00.001-04:00

Professor Farnsworth, originally uploaded by Neil Leonard.

lost: the morning after

2010-03-20T22:01:00.002-04:00

The Girls

NEDA

MINA

NAVA

2010-03-18T23:13:00.001-04:00

Norooz 7, originally uploaded by firooz_t.

2010-03-18T23:10:00.001-04:00

Girls, originally uploaded by Osvaldo_Zoom.

2010-03-18T23:09:00.001-04:00

Summer Romance, originally uploaded by Osvaldo_Zoom.

Ode to Baham

2010-03-18T22:56:00.000-04:00

Today I was at Baham, and we were all hanging out outside and just lying around in the sun and for a second I forgot that it was my life.

I started to think that it was the summer and we were at Baham and that's why everyone was there. I imagined the summer days when it gets hot out and so Yasi goes into the pool, and slowly we all go to the pool area, only Salma and I don't have our bathing suits so I dip my legs into the pool and Salma may just jump in, and then Daei Hessam brings us watermelon and we sit by the pool eating watermelon.
And then we hang out and lounge around in Neda's room for a while until Baham dinner, only it's so hot out and we're all tired from being outside by the pool all day so we call asleep on Neda's floor, or Neda's bed, until the phone rings and they're calling us to come and eat dinner.
And Daie Hessam has just made his most delicious hamburgers and all the kids get their food, and we all go to the table outside and we all start to talk and laugh. Mina makes fun of Sara or Neda, Neda starts to scream, Yasi and Pegah start to laugh. Payam stays quiet until all of a sudden he says something hilarious. I laugh at everything everyone says, and Mina and Salma bother each other.
And then after dinner, since we don't have to go home since it's summer and we dont have school, we go to Kentlands and have ice cream. OR we go to SmoothieKing because Sara has coupons for free smoothies. And then we come back to Baham and we all go and throw ourselves on Sara and Neda's couches and start to watch a movie. Except half way during the movie, Pegah goes home, Yasi, Neda, and I fall asleep, and Salma and Sara are left to watch the movie.
And then the next day we wake up and go to Crepes a Gogo.

Um. Can we do this, this year for my birthday? That would be great. Oh Baham, how I love thee.

In my head, ON MY HEAD

2010-03-17T09:46:00.002-04:00

Some more issues about my skin.

Let's just talk about the fact that I seem to have developed a slight case of ACNE on my face. I kid you not. I've never had a problem with pimples. Ok sure, one here, one there, on the occasion, but never like this before. I wake up each morning with a new zit on my face; typically, it's on my forehead or chin. I don't know what to do. I wash it every morning and every night with Lazlo "Dead Sea mud." It's the best. Really. Erno Lazlo is why I didn't have acne while I was going through puberty. I thought he would help this time, but it's not getting any better. My face just looks SO BAD, and I hate it because it makes me SSOOO self conscious, but I don't want to hide it under mounds of makeup because I don't want to further block the pores on my face.

My mom says its the stress. So now I'm stressed about destressing myself which totally defeats the purpose of trying to destress if I don't know how to destress. You know what's stressing me out the most? The fact that I don't even know what I'm REALLY stressed about. Sure, ok, that list I wrote out last time, but I mean, you guys know me, I'm relaxed, it's chill. I never stress out SO MUCH that I get shingles or zits. So what is it? I don't know. I just want these zits to go away. I just want my face to be clear again. I'm so upset.

Last night my uncle was like, "Ohhh you have shingles? Yeah I can see it" And he pointed to my face. And I was like, OMG THAT IS SO EMBARRASSING.

Which, ok, in hindsight, that's pretty funny. In fact, I'm sitting here laughing, but at that moment I was not amused.

What should I do? I wish I could just zap them away. ZAP.

because it's my blog and i can post these pictures if i want to

2010-03-16T13:14:00.000-04:00

SHINGLES

2010-03-15T18:58:00.000-04:00

It's sad because I feel like the only time I update this blog these days is to complain about something. I don't want it to become one of those boring venting emo blogs, but oh my god, you guys, something so funny is happening....well, funny in a really not funny sort of way. Idk, you guys can be the judge of its hilarity.

Sooooooooooooo, last week right when my pelvis started to not hurt anymore, my back started to really hurt, like, really badly. It was the lower back and I just thought it was because I've been working out and lifting weights and building muscles and using muscles that I haven't used for a while, so I wasnt really worried. Only, I was in A LOT of pain. At night, I would sit on my bed, ice my back, and fill up on Advil. One night I even took a muscle relaxer, but nothing was helping. It was weird too because it only really hurt when I sat down or lay down to sleep, so I haven't been sleeping well this entire week. When I exercised or moved around, it would make it feel a lot better, and for a little bit afterwards I would think, "Oh good, it's feeling better, I'm opening up the muscles. This is good." But then, at night, it would start to bother me again.
So anyway, fast forward one week and you're left with last night. Last night, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and I was standing there brushing brushing brushing, and I happened to feel a little bump on my back and I turned around, and it looked like something had bit me. I didn't really think too much about it, I just thought that because I had taken my posters down from the walls and I had gotten those posters from Paris, maybe they had little things crawling over them which totally and completely grossed me out to the point where I contemplated throwing them out....but, I think I'm overreacting. I'll just store the posters away somewhere....
So, I forgot about it because it wasn't itching or anything and went to bed, but last night, my back was just hurting me so much, and I couldn't sleep until like 5 in the morning. I couldn't find a comfortable way to lay on my bed so I wouldn't be hurt.
This morning was like any other morning, I woke up, got ready and went to school. But, after my first class, I was walking back to the Johnson Center, and I realized that every time my bag hit my back as I was walking, a very certain and specific area of my back would start to hurt. So I went to the bathroom, lifted up my shirt, and lo and behold, there was a rash about the size of my fist on the lower part of my back. I was like, "Shoooottttt....either I have bed bugs, or this is something else." Now, let me tell you something:
SKIN. SKIN GROSSES ME OUT. I hate skin. I hate dry skin, I think it's the grossest thing in the world. I hate it when I have abnormalities, like zits, or ewwww last year, I burned my hand and I had this weird elephant skin thing on my hand for a while that GROSSED ME OUT SO MUCH. I just can't stand it. And rashes, they just make me think about what could have possibly been around me to make me get a rash. So there I was, at school. getting all stressed out, wondering why weird things like this have been happening to me lately, and I called my mom and told her.
She was like, "Why are you getting the strangest maladies these days?'
And I was all, "RIGGHHHTTTT?!?!!?!? What UP?"
Then I went and WebMd'ed myself, and I was getting so grossed out because EW YOU GUYS, SOME SKIN AILMENTS ARE SO GROSS IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY. And I just thought, "if I get something like this, I will legit just...I don't even know...be really really really sad and grossed out at myself and not leave my room and rub cream on myself until it goes away!"
So after my class, my mom called and she was like, "I got you a doctors appointment, come on."
So I went to the doctors and OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I HAVE SHINGLES. I HAVE SHINGLES.

WHO GETS SHINGLES??!?!?!?! WHYYYYY MEEEEEEEEE??

And my back just hurts so much and like, my right thigh sort of hurts. Like, as I was driving home, it was hurting me to break or put pressure on the gas. And I have to take anti viral medication and also thing...Vicodin...only wait, I can't take Vicodin because....because it has codeine in it? I don't know.

Be gholeh my dad, "Now THAT is random." And I'm all, "YEAH IT IS!!!"

My aunt and my mom say its because I'm stressed out and I need to destress my life. What's stressing me out?
--The 8 million papers I have to write this semester
--Registering for summer classes to make sure I graduate
--I have overdue library books
--What am I doing next year?
--Where can I find a job?
--Finding a dress for the wedding
--Losing weight
--Exercising
--OH, the fact that I thought I had ovarian cancer last week
--Why can't I just go to Paris?
--WHAT DO I WANT TO DO WITH MY LIFE?

But I didn't really think these were really stressful things to be stressed about. I mean, I've always had these things on my mind. I think what it was was the ovarian cancer, Pelvic FIASCO of 2010.

OK. Life is a mixed bag. I just happen to be filling it with all sorts of not so nice stuff lately. It's OK, spring cleaning will take care of that. Mhhhmmmm.

Pikes Peak or Bust

2010-03-13T14:56:00.000-05:00

So....Spring break was a bust. I didn't even do anything and my room is in this tragic crisis state because I decided to take all of my posters down and rearrange my closet at exactly the same time last night...and then I took a muscle relaxer and couldnt keep my eyes open...oops.
It was funny actually, I was skyping with Yasna at like 11 pm our time (because oh yeah, didn't you know, Yasna and Nivin don't sleep at night anymore..which is really handy because they've entertained me from like 8 to midnight ever night this week :) and she was telling me a story and she kept asking, "Are you awake?" because I literally couldn't keep my eyes open. So yeah, my room is SO messy right now and I just think about how I have to go home from work and clean my room and it's just not what I want to do. I wish I was a wizard so that I could flick my wand and have my room rearrange itself.
I took my posters down because it was so cluttered in my room and I wanted to simplify my space; but I also want to put pictures up everwhere and maybe (mayyybeee) I want to paint my closet door and shelves.
Just why is it raining?
And also, why does everyone else have spring break THIS week. It's sort of debby downer, because no one was off this week and times never seemed to coincide. So sad.

This was the most pointless post ever.

HAPPY 100 POSTS!

2010-03-10T16:25:00.003-05:00

things i find i like to look at

2010-03-09T23:20:00.000-05:00

bahar

2010-03-07T11:33:00.000-05:00

Today I woke up to the sound of birds chirping. I woke up feeling excited and happy. Spring is just around the corner and right now it's flirting with me a little bit-- the temperatures rising slowly, the sun beating down a little stronger, the ice and snow melting, gray is being replaced with green.
I can't wait to look outside my window and see leaves on the trees and flower buds springing up from the ground.
Really. I can't wait.

Today I'm going to start sabzing sabzeh; already I think we are a little bit late with this. We were supposed to do it on 1 March, right? But, hopefully they will spring up quickly. I cant wait to go and buy sombol. There is nothing like the smell of sombol to remind me of spring and warmth and norooz and greatness.

Also, my mother is in the IKEA mood. I think I will go with her and maybe pick out a new duvet cover. And some aat-ashgaal to help pass the time.

100% you can sit here!

2010-03-03T21:40:00.002-05:00

Today Rosa came to Mason to "study," WHICH apparently for Rosa means pretending to listen while Ranna tries to explain the supply and demand graph. And then Rosa goes, "OH OH! I have the perfect game! Let's try to guess each person's nationality as they walk in through the door!!!"
And Ranna's like, "ZAHREH MAR ROSA! Please try to listen to what I'm saying about shortages and surpluses.."
"OK OK I going, let's concentrate. Let's do this. OH OH OH LOOK! ANOTHER ARAB!!!"
At which point Ranna sort of gives up.

"And then I saw Mia Kim running into the house..."

2010-03-02T15:26:00.000-05:00

We had a surprise birthday party for my grandmother's 70th on Sunday. These are a few of my favorite pictures.

A Conversation Between Two Ladies

2010-03-02T15:16:00.004-05:00

Yasna comme Odalisque

2010-02-26T12:49:00.001-05:00

Before and after. Yasna?

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

2010-02-24T21:51:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-23T10:21:00.001-05:00

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)

2010-02-22T21:38:00.000-05:00

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....

2010-02-21T16:58:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-19T16:38:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-17T01:34:00.001-05:00

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?

2010-02-16T14:48:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-15T15:37:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-14T13:37:00.003-05:00

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?

2010-02-12T17:53:00.000-05:00

blood bank

2010-02-11T17:49:00.001-05:00

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

2010-02-10T00:21:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-09T20:17:00.000-05:00

For Yasna, forever ago.

2010-02-08T21:10:00.003-05:00

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.

2010-02-06T22:43:00.001-05:00

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)

2010-02-05T23:46:00.002-05:00

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*

2010-02-03T21:45:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-03T14:04:00.001-05:00

i need a new computer.

thoughts?

these boots were made for fallin'

2010-02-02T23:16:00.001-05:00

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

2010-02-01T23:29:00.001-05:00

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