Remembering
Souflee Saturday

Raeleen, Fathima, me - enjoying brunch in the Cliffs

We've been best friends for eight years now, and I'm so so lucky that she stuck with me even in the middle of all that high school drama. I don't even know how to verbalize the fact that I'm in constant awe because of her.

I was driving down the Garden State Parkway on my way to work and I witnessed a flight of birds in the sky as they changed their course, unexpectedly but expectedly, as if I had known. I saw a flash of their underwing during the quick turn. It couldn't have been more than a second, but I saw, right away, how light their underwing feathers were compared to the rest of the upperwing. In that split moment, each bird became an individual entity to me. And I imagined them to be a deck of cards, falling in the air, flipping this way and that revealing two sides: the uniform design shared by the standard pack and the underside, the character, the side that sets you apart from the rest. Your underwing, which I suppose is your vulnerable side, but also your powerful side - because it's where your true self really resides.

Fathima, honestly, is the only person in my life who is always trying to get me stretch my arms to show off that underwing. I mean, I get a lot of support from family and friends, but the only person who's not afraid of challenging me is her. If you are ever lucky enough to have a friend like that, then hold on to that person for dear life.

And I guess I'm sad to admit that I don't really have the same kind of relationship with Raeleen. We've been friends just as long, but our falling out a few years ago has led me to become a little wary of getting too close to her again. She really is a wonderful person: loyal, honest, caring... but I guess I feel as though I don't really know her anymore. I know that it's all the more reason to get to know her again. I just need some time really, to come to that conclusion when I feel good and ready. In the meantime, she's an awesome shopping buddy. Always finds the best deals!

Hannah's Birthday


I would be exhausted if I relayed every single moment of absurdity that I experience when I am around these girls. So I put a limit to the list:
Why NYC should be afraid of us:

• We carry a distinct ghetto walk that, I'm afraid, the world is not ready for yet. Especially Felecia's. Exposing commoners too early to this life changing walk could mean the end of human existence as we know it. Step. Knee bend. Step. Hat tip. "Yo baby, what's good?"
• We have mastered the art of getting special treatment from Indian restaurant owners. Iggy is the master of coercing victims into giving her a bowl of soup, and Hoda can get hot tea for free with a blink of an eye. That kind of power over curry is quite dangerous. Especially when middle aged Indian men in suits say "Yes. yes. Come. Yes Yes." Hmnn, that sounds somewhat dirty.
• We cannot help our superhuman strength, especially when it comes to revolving subway doors. Iggy almost got chopped into equal horizontal slices, because extreme caution was not used when utilizing this superstrength power. Beware.
• The spoon is our weapon. If you, or someone you know, has ever been spoon-fed, you should take this person to the clinic, as that person has been exposed to an extremely deadly string of the "Open Wide" virus.
• We can stop rainfall. Really. While this may not be threatening, the very fact that we have the power to stop rain, also implies that we can start it. So say goodbye to your dirt free new Converses.

In other words, I had an awesome time hanging out with Hannah on her birthday.

Craving
Ice cream. And strawberries, coated by warm, melted, chocolate.
D. And his smile.

Anticipating
Thanksgiving with my obnoxiously huge family. Someone's bound to break or spill something. Usually it's me.

The weekend!

Wondering
Why I always get harrassed. Sunday marked the third time that I've been harrassed by some strange guy. The first time, I got fondled on the bus. I don't even want to recall it. The second time, my ass got rubbed up by some dude in an overly packed 6 train. And this Sunday, some old guy approached me, stood not more than 2 inches away from my face, and told me he'd take care of me. He then walked away and made some inappropiate motions with his hand. I guess this is why D's little "Maybe I'm asking to get fucked around" comment really hit me hard. Because it wasn't the first time that I felt helpless. And it's really not funny.

People always wonder why it is that victims don't just fight back or run. Honestly, when you're in the moment of an attack, whether it be physical, emotional, verbal, sexual, you become paralyzed. In your head, you repeat the game plan, the things you're supposed to be doing instead of just standing there confused and helpless. But all you really can do is stand there and be confused and helpess, because you are still trying to cope with the very absurd fact that its actually happening to you.

Then after the moment, after you finally react, you guilt trip yourself into believing that it was your fault. You didn't act soon enough. You were asking for it. Maybe you were standing a certain way. Or wearing something inappropiate. Either way, the real villain never gets his share, his share being the whole entire freaking pie, of the blame! I'm rambling. The point is that now I know it was never my fault. Maybe my slow reaction time is due to the fact, that as women, we are made to think we are somehow responsible when a guy is forceful. Too bad that now I don't buy into any of that crap! Watch out. Next time I'm completely ready to knee you in the balls.

Dreading
The end of my grace period. There's nothing that will strap you down to reality like the repayment of your college loans. Oh, to be a student and carefree. "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" *Super points if you can tell me where that line is from.

Itching
To go clubbing. I need to bring sexy back. Who's down?

Labels: Weekly Tidings