8.31.2002

every now and then i crave fast food... and today was one of those days... so i went to mcdonalds and got a happy meal... i couldn't take the food home cause my mom would kill me [she hates it when i eat junk food]... and i didn't wanna drive around in my car eating... i wanted to chump on my cheeseburger and down my coke in peace and enjoy... so i drove around and found a spot in the shade and parked the car... what do u know? i parked right in front of a gym! but i didn't feel like moving again... the smell of fries was killing me... i had to dig in... [damn, i'd asked for a hot wheel and they gave me a barbie... reminded me of the time when i went to buy a guitar with my male friend (mc gooz to be exact) and the guy who was selling kept talking to mc gooz instead of me, even though i was playing the guitar right in front of his face... i kept asking him questions and he kept looking at mc gooz when answering! so i guess because i was a girl i got a barbie today even though i'd asked for a hot wheel!]... so i start to eat and one by one these buffed people come out of the gym, power bar in hand, sipping on bottled water, looking at me like i'm some sort of a freak cause i'm having fries! one of them stared at me for quite a long time [i don't know whether it was out of envy or disgust]... i didn't give up though... with the tremendous amount of guilt that i was feeling i finished the whole happy meal and stared right back... i ate like there was no tomorrow... finished the coke too... it was so good... then i started the car, flipped off the gym and drove home full and happy... no care in the world...
this blog just presented itself to me... she's mad as hell and she can't take it anymore [i once tried to freeze myself to death... it doesn't work... also forget about over the counter sleeping pills]...

i'll call her "avocado"

8.28.2002

a conversation between me and the russian guy at work who barely speaks english and has aksed me out about 20 times so far:

setting: i'm edge-binding 20 sets of drawings that are 60 pages each with a really bad stapler...

russian guy: let me help u
me: i don't need help
russian guy: no let me help u
me: I DON'T NEED HELP
russian guy: this is not a woman's job
me: I DON'T NEED HELP
russian guy: american women! too independent!
me: I FREAKING DON'T NEED ANY HELP
russian guy: i don't agree with u

8.27.2002

i keep finding these weblogs that i like... khob chikA konam?!!!
as u get older u realize that ALL people are hypocrites.
i'm down with a HORRIFYING cold and the cold is down with me!
it seems that i'm constantly being taught... it's enough... i don't wanna learn anymore... i wanna use what i've learned so far...
floating..........
...................floating.........
............................................floating.............

no shore???

8.25.2002

The School Bag

Little did I know that the plaid school bag was going to have a life of its own. We bought it the night before my first day of school. I'm an only child and my mother being overprotective never enrolled me in kindergarten or pre-school. So the first day of school equaled the first day of first grade, elementary. And elementary it was. I didn’t know what to expect and was shocked to see Shahram Malekzadeh crying in the middle of the schoolyard yelling that he didn't want to stay. He had an Afro and was kind of chubby with a round face and hooked nose. He became our music teacher’s pet later on--the only student to get up and dance “baba-karam” in front of the whole class.

To tell you the truth, I don’t remember much of the first day of school and Shahram Malekzadeh was just the obvious. There was so much to take in and a huge amount to get used to. The only interaction I had with kids previous to that day was with Sepideh Banibashar--our neighbor’s daughter. She was an only child too. Parents permitting, we played together every now and then. I was also the first grandchild on my mother’s side of the family, so there were no kids around to hang out with. My father’s side? The adults didn’t even interact.

The night we went to buy the school bag, there were so many to choose from. Of course, the bag was my mom’s choice as with everything else in my life. Somehow, I could never get what I wanted and was always told to be thankful. And I knew that once I got something, it had to last me for a long time. So whatever it was I had to live with. As for the bag... I wanted buckles and snaps, I got zippers. I liked multiple compartments, the bag only had one. I wanted it in a solid color, it was plaid. I wanted leather or pleather, I got soft fabric. Anything that could go wrong with my bag did. So on the first day of school, on top of being lost and lonely, I had bag-envy. And, of course, there were so few bags like mine. The rest of the kids all had bags I wanted. I had a bag I didn’t want. I was self-conscious about my bag already. The same with my lunchbox in 4th grade, tennis shoes in junior high, and tight pants in high school. But those are different stories.
due to popular demand (ok... one demand only really), i made a farsi weblog

8.21.2002

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..........heaven ------------ floating ------------ hell.............
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not having a purpose is a big problem

8.20.2002

have u ever fell in love in ur dreams?
after a very strange dream, i woke up this morning with an incredible yearning to get my tongue pierced! something i would not consider in my conscious hours... but in that certain state of half-mindedness, it seemed like a brilliant idea!

8.18.2002

my hands are shaking
my hands are shaking
...
my heart's pounding
my heart's pounding
it's pounding
pounding
pounding

8.17.2002

losing my religion
trying to keep up with you and him and her and them and the world in general

and i don't know if i can do it
oh no i've said too much
i haven't said enough
i cried on thursday and decided not to give a rat's ass on friday.
lots of ants at home... lots of ants at work...

do u think if i accidentally took an ant home from work (u know... while it's crawling on me, considering i won't squish it on the way), it would get along with the ones at home?!

8.13.2002

if u haven't heard eminem's 'cleanin out my closet' yet, do so... and then tell me what u thought... i don't think i've ever heard anything so artistically intense and so hair raisingly good and honest... can u empathize?
somebody had done a search on google that led to my weblog... the search was "how to get rid of mourning doves"... why would anyone wanna do that?! that brought me so down...
ladies, dead-loyal bachelor available, please send resumes here
sorry about that!

8.12.2002

they have plans for me.

8.11.2002

"u want me to stop treating u like a student? then stop seeking my approval." [the serious dr. peter benton yelling sternly at carter in an episode of ER]

"u're not the one i was supposed to end up with!" [drew barrymore yelling at the guy who got her pregnant and therefore she had to marry in 'riding in cars with boys']

"mA kojAyeem dar in bahreh tafakkor, to kojA" [no idea who said it or i would give'em credit... although he/she/it has given himself/herself/itself a lot of credit already!]
check this out ladies... i guess it could be an interesting place down the road...

8.10.2002

The Rock Garden

The dirty little boy with a shaved head submerged both hands under the water, caught a gold fish and swallowed it whole. I saw the fish struggle before he lowered his hand to his mouth, holding his face up to the sun. I didn’t react. He was trying to be cool for a city girl. I was 7 or 8 and a tomboy, always acting like things don’t surprise me. I have no idea what city it was in, this “bAgheh sangi” we were visiting--apparently the creation of a madman. It must have been down south somewhere cause it was hot and humid--nothing green.

Rocks hung from wood structures--all sizes--small rocks, large rocks. They were planted into the sand--these rock trees. Rock leaves everywhere. Heavy like a burden of guilt. Heavy like a madman’s mind--or a genius. Other people were with us but I’m not sure who they were. Was it my dad’s friend whom I had peed on once as a child? Was it the guy who looked perverted?

(In Tehran, I once caught a father stroking his grown daughter’s thigh as she slept in his arms late at night at a party. Others were present too but didn’t see it or didn’t want to see it. Or maybe it was normal.)

The shadows were long--our shadows mixed with the shadows of the rock trees. It was hot and my shoes were open-toed. The sweat pushed my feet forward and my toes extended passed the front edges of the shoes. That was always the case. I had large feet for an Iranian girl and I was always made fun of. Not by strangers--by family members. Especially mom and dad. They said my feet were the size of a baby’s coffin--“ghabreh bacheh.”

When I grew older and the decisions weren't entirely my mom's, I stopped wearing open-toed shoes. For years. Many years. But they say that with age you become more comfortable with yourself. So eventually I started wearing open-toed sandals. But always with nail polish because my mom thought it was ugly without. Comes to think of it, it wasn’t because I was comfortable with myself. It was because I met a guy whom I liked and he thought sandals were sexy.
i had a dream about my best friend last night--we were eating a huge "noon barbari" together that was shoved into a second purse she was carrying just for the bread!!!
i can almost swear that the president of the company i work at said to me yesterday: "u're very tempting"

what the hell does that mean coming from a 74 year old man with a wife half his age and a 10 year old son?!?!!!!!!!

but he mumbles when he talks so i'm not sure... please let me be wrong... he winks at me a lot though! help!

8.09.2002

leave it to a persian girl to know all about bras!
really quickly... before i go to work... hypothetically speaking... let's say someday... somewhere... u were to perform a cover song for an audience... what would the song be?

8.08.2002

hmm... i forgot... what was the other thing i was gonna write here?!
her: the date was great... he's good looking, smart, funny, considerate, educated, an emergency room surgeon... but he has really small hands... so i don't know...

me: well... that's a good thing... it's good for the profession... cause the smaller the hands, the smaller the incision... u know... if he had big hands he would have to make a bigger incision in the patient... that wouldn't be good... he needs the small hands for the intricate stuff... think of it that way...

her: that's horrible!

me: but it's probably true...

8.04.2002

hey u not-so-normal people: watch "amelie"

just her face is worth watching the movie...
do u think "normal" people have weblogs?
"we've never had any attractive girls working here... they have always been either fat or old..."

just another statement qualifying that EVERYthing is relative!!!
i think that concludes my san diego memoirs... miss u best friend...
everything she said, i said wow, i have to write that in my weblog... i have to make these words permanent... but now that i think back, i can't remember half of them... i should had written them down... i should had, but we were always too busy to look for a pen...
"u know how they say someone fought for her/his life? can u imagine piercing somebody with a knife in defense?!"

"damn..."

"i think i would feel bad... i would just give up... i won't be able to get myself to do it... i'm one of those people who's just gonna think it's not worth fighting for..."

"i always feel that i'm too weak to defend myself if i'm attacked..."

"so u would if u could? i wouldn't... i would feel bad and say i'm gonna die anyway, so i might as well give up now..."

"god, ur logic is just like my sister's..."

"well, u never know how u would respond in a fight/flight situation... i may act differently... like let's say they tie u up and drop u in the river... u know how some people would try and break lose? i would probably think there's no point... it's not gonna happen... i should just breathe the water in and let go..."

"jesus!"

"yeah... i probably would..."

"aahhh, don't go back... i'm so sad..."

"yeah... me too..."

8.01.2002

on the last day of the trip as i'm getting ready to dig into a piece of my well-done saffaronned cornish hen kabob my cell phone rings... i answer... it's my mom: "are u coming back tonight?" she asks harshly... like i've missed an important date... i say yes... "click" she hangs up... no "bye"... no nothing...

i call back... ring ring... no answer

call again... ring ring... no answer

call again and again... maybe another 10 times... no answer...

i call her cell another 10 times... no answer

i call my dad's cell... no answer

i leave a message at my dad's work for him to call me...

centuries pass...

my head goes round and round... is everything ok? is everyone ok? were there any accidents? was the police there? was i supposed to do something that i didn't? i was pretty sure i told them i'll be in san diego for 5 days... is everything ok? is everyone ok?





finally the phone rings... it's my dad... "maybe she's lonely" he says... maybe she's lonely... maybe she's lonely... maybe she's lonely... she's lonely...

i'm mad as hell... my head hurts... i wanna break the phone... my day is ruined... my whole trip is ruined... what about all the days that i was lonely? WHAT ABOUT ALL THE DAYS THAT I WAS LONELY? ha?
it was strange being among so many iranians at the first persian summer festival... i felt out of place and yet i felt at home... i don't like our generation... i sort of like the generation after us better--the teenagers that grew up here... they were having so much fun... and it just fit them...

every time we left our seats we had to come back and fight for them even though all the seats were assigned... we even had to show our tickets again and again to people who were taking our seats to prove that those were our seats! sometimes i get culture-shocked by my own culture!

some people didn't care... they were dancing and bouncing and shaking their behinds and the flab on their arms like there was no tomorrow... some people were serious and didn't even once get out of their seats... one couple didn't move until shahrAm shabpareh took the stage... then the guy got up and started singing: vAy vAy... vAy vAy vAy vAy... areh vAy vAy... vAy vAy vAy vAy... but he was saying "why" instead of vAy... i guess he wasn't persian afterall... i guess that explained his long hair that he played with a lot and the leather pants... we were observers more than anything, shocked at people's behaviors and their confidence in some cases...

through out the whole concert we had a medium-sized relatively hanging ass shaking right in front of us... it belonged to a young girl... she didn't care that her ass was in our face... she kept shaking it and shaking it... i'd never seen an ass shake so much... side to side... up and down... it was very interesting... we were mesmerized by it for quite some time...

we saw so many sizes and shapes and colors... after the concert we were quite content with our bodies, our minds and our level of enthusiasm for things surrounding us...