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

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

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.

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

RUSTICI?

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

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.
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the quandaries of a self-diagnosed hypochondriac

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.