Friday, March 31, 2006

Over and Out.

A MUCH more fitting song .. ah I love Sam Cooke

" No, no, no.. I don't like this area.. look at that! is that a beer bottle?! no no no"
Leafing diligently through Apartment Guide, I contemplated sticking the pen I was using into my ear and through to my brain.
My dad and I were touring the suburbs looking for a place for me to call my own. So far we have managed to disagree on everything.

4 right turns later (a circle if you're confused):

"see.. now look at this area! this is safe!"

Now I was seriously considering pitching myself out the window and landing on that pen lodged in my ear.

The next day I decided to take my friend instead. Armed with our trusted guide, good music, and lots of snacks we hit the road... Ok so he hit the road and I ate.

After a few places I snubbed, we found ourselves in a lease office with Rose from the Golden Girls-- complete with those cat glasses and orange lipstick. Out her window I can see the apartments with wall-to-wall windows overlooking a sweet olympic pool. As she chatters on I'm already imagining myself laying out by the pool all day. When I snap back to the conversation I hear my friend telling her we're from Saudi. She screeches in delight (ya we were confused too.. ) and then tells us she has a couple from Saudi living in the building. She's the gossipy type, and goes on to disclose that the woman never takes off her burka and the husband has a beard yay(sp?) long. In my mind, my bathing suite suddenly changed into an abaya.. am I moving into the Hay2a building? She adds that she has a group of 10 saudi students just arriving..
Abort! Abort Mission! .. I eyed my pool nostalgically.. we were never given a chance buddy.

Last place had a sweet tennis court too..
"But you don't play tennis" My friend pointed out.
"I can start!"
"But you don't play tennis"
"... and ooh look there's four"
"But you don't play tennis"
"Get out of my car.."


My family's being so supportive.. I'm surprised.

My grandparents and the Grand Dames aren't too happy about it. I've been here three years and collectively they've called me perhaps twice.. now they're calling every other day. If I hear "YOU are a muslim woman!", "We are saudi!" (who the hell is "we"?!), "ish yigoolo il nas 3alaiky", or my favorite--"inty jannaity!?" one more time, I'm chucking my membership to the Oppress and Depress Guild at the old Kahuna himself.

So I guess I'm free-- Surprisingly anticlimactic.

Not to honk my own horn.. but I deserve it with all that I've put up with, and it's about fuckin time.

That being said... "toot toot".

In the wise words of an sms sent by a friend from the other side of the world at 2 a.m:
"Ka2inno abooki kan m2assir 3a saya3tik ... yalla wali i3zimeeeeny".

| 7 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Saturday, March 25, 2006

The Way I See It... #1 and #2

st#1:
I may only live once, But I can dance with my lemon juice at a grocery store on a Saturday at 7 a.m. to Barry Manilow's Copa Cabana* every week.


#2:
"A Grande non-fat, extra caramel, but in the cup and not on top, no foam, and extra hot Macchiato please"

Quit mangling my name jackasses.
It's almost automatic. I like my coffee perfect to start my day.
After picking it up at the bar I take my usual seat.. (so usual in fact, that an acquaintance I ran into asked if I had moved since he last saw me there 2 weeks ago).
An indian fellow wearing oversized sunglasses reminiscent of another decade is at the register placing his order with a queue behind him that reached the door.


"I would ... please.... like... a ..... a ... mocha.. yes.. a mocha"

"What size sir?"

He pauses in thought.
You could almost see the line of people groaning and mentally urging him to get on with it.

" ... a small.... no... no... a large... but please... make .. extra.. extra ... "

By now the place has gone quiet as everyone listens expectantly.. we're all at the edge of our seats-- say it .. say it!

"please.. make it ... extraa....aaah.... extra delicious!"

Practically the whole place bursts into laughter.

He picks up his mocha, sits on a stool and looks quite complacent sipping on his "extra-delicious" mocha like a happy oversized child.


.. I envy such simplicity.

Update-- HOLY SHIT he turned out to be arab.. haha. Yil3an abu il 7a'6! lets hope he doesn't blog ay? heh.








*Her name was LOLA.. she was a shoow girl.. with yellow ribbons in her hair.. aand a dress cut down to there--something something- the copa, copa cabaaaanaaa
....
if you know how the song ends, you'll see the irony of it all.

| 12 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Thursday, March 23, 2006

On Ariella, Pity Coin, and Shakespearean Beauty..

My apologies for the lack of substance lately folks.. I've edited it out.

My vacation is great. Destination changed last minute mandating an airport camp-out. In the end, I exchanged nights of unsupervised inebriated partying for quiet days all by my lonesome-- nearly-- frying my already tan skin on the beach, exploring the area on foot, frolicking aimlessly, and pretty much being left to my own devices.

I met a most fascinating Swedish fellow, a gay Arab couple, and a Kiwi couple that insist on calling me Ariella.
The third day I woke up after dawn, took my guitar that I had grabbed from home on a whim down to the walk, and sprawled on the deserted sidewalk tuning it and trying to remember old pieces when someone walked by and dropped me a quarter... I contemplated throwing it back at him, and decided to make it my lucky coin instead. How's that for Zen ..

Nursing a throbbing headache on the fourth day, I decided to trudge down to the local coffee shop for some methylxanthine. I settled down on a couch with my newest prized possessions-- The Crimson Petal and the White and Harem.

Sitting at the counter preying on a slightly unsuspecting young barista was a middle-aged man, fully inducted into the mid-life crisis phase by the look of the Porsche key chain he made a point of jingling every five minutes. She had an interesting look and disposition to her. Twenty minutes later, a squealing leggy bottle blonde saunters over and greets our now Mr. Heph. He deserts conversation with the barista and ends up leaving with the blonde without so much as an acknowledgment of his former interesting companion.

Fool.

The allure of beauty is in its subtlety. Its serenity is tempting.. tauntingly out of reach.
It alters not, when alteration it finds..

Ok, so maybe that was Love and I'm suffering from vacation endorphins, but clearly Shakespeare wasn't privy to the entertaining exchanges of this day and age...

| 10 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Pucker up!

I am easily amused. Especially by myself... seriously.

I was sitting in Biochemistry lecture this afternoon.. this class.. dear god, it's torture. I go in there wide-awake and two seconds after the professor starts I'm already nodding off. I'm convinced the man exhales sleeping gas. As my friend commented .. bring two pillows, your pillow will need a pillow.

Today he's explaining the structure of nucleic acids and how the sugar backbone is puckered. Meaning that it's bent.. but who cares.. I thought it was the funniest thing I've ever heard.. and he says it practically every two minutes.
Next thing I know, I find myself puckering up everytime he says pucker. Seriously. Forget taking notes or the midterm on friday.. I was making sure I catch every pucker he utters.
Fifteen minutes into my routine, my friend Kyle sitting next to me notices and looks at me like I've gone crazy. Eventually he catches on and starts doing it too..

Unfortunately for him, I'm just as easily demused (yes I made that word up). My new source of amusement was this big guy that just got out of the army a year ago following my random whim. Heh.. just the thought of it makes me laugh. I mean he spent years jumping out of planes, sleeping in ditches, and wading through crocodile-inhabited streams by the Panama Canal... and here he was puckering up his lips like some school girl.

The professor looks up just as Kyle was executing a perfectly plump one, and stops mid-sentence. My friend turns about 3 bright shades before quickly pretending that he had smelt something bad.

Ah.. I nearly fell off my chair.

Anyhow, it's almost St.Patrick's day.. and like Scarlett O'Hara says, everyone's Irish on St.Patrick's. This lass sure needs the luck of the irish.
Spring break's coming up soon... I'm off to some sandy dunes, sunny skies, and sparkling beaches. Miss me, ok?

Oh and project Make MCAT My Bitch is Underway. Can I get a Hell Ya?


P.S-- Thanks for filling it out guys. Sorry I'm not getting back to comments. Oh and JS, you're a sweetheart. Thanks.

| 3 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Sunday, March 12, 2006

On Personality Flaws...

I saw this in another blogger's post and found it interesting.

What you do is:

From a list of adjectives, you pick what you think "represents my significant weaknesses, however slight". I've already picked what I think are mine, and there's a grid that incorporates everyone's answers as well as my own to give me an Arena, a Façade, and a Blindspot.

It's not as complicated as I made it sound. Just pick 6 adjectives, be honest, and I appreciate it.

I'll post the results.

Click Here.

| 2 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Monday, March 06, 2006

No [wo]Man Land..

My days are monotonous. My mind is atrophying.

Alas.. I decided to take a day off.

I surrendered to a 2 week nicotine craving.

There are these cigarettes... ah, celestial!
With every drag they leave a distinctly sweet taste on your lips. mm.. yummy. A friend told me about a Cigar Shop that carries them. So I drove over, parked my car, and walked around the scenic town looking for the place.

I found it in a little cozy crook. Inside, a middle aged man was helping an older constipated (Well I wouldn't know.. but you should've seen the way he looked.. a cross between Dr.Watson and Mr.Darcy) gentleman with an outrageously priced cigar selection. A younger man came to help me and as he went to find my lovelies I stood around admiring the intricacies of the place. Aside from the dark, smoke infested interior and antiquated cherry wood theme, there was some sort of of hidden room behind a few cases. I could hear the rumbling laughter of middle aged men with an Irish tinge and could imagine them sitting around as if it was the 1920s with their cigars and suits.

My imagination stream was truncated by the snips of conversation that seeped through:

"Were you at the pub last night? ohhh so many [my university's name] girls were there.. I didn't know WHAT to do with [obscene refrence to his --I bet below average-- member]"

"Ohhhh I missed it, those girls can sure treat a man"

"[chortle that grated on my nerves].. Richard asked me if I had seen this one girl before, and I said to him.. No, but I've seen her BEE-hind"

Now I know what it feels like when a man walks in on an elaborate discussion of monthly cycles. As I'm picking out a pretty holder, the middle aged man that was helping Mr.Watsy earlier hurries out from the back and whispers:

"You'll have to excuse them.. this goes on every day.. it has nothing to do with you"

I smile and nod, what was I to say?.. he gets more flustered and lodges the proverbial shoe.

"Not that we wouldn't talk about you.. they'll do that right after you leave "

The young man helping me shoves the shop's pretentious bag with my purchases at me, urging me to leave.

Once safely outside of the flagrant testosterone hubbub, I sat on a bench and enjoyed the light headedness that comes with a new cigarette ... resigning myself to never understanding either worlds.


P.S The Nat Shermans were worth it though.

| 8 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Amici, diem perdidi

Acta est fabula ...

| 10 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|