the power of four.

families are a slightly incredible cohort. you can probably relate.

they hold the ability to empower or erode. shield or abandon. enlighten or completely confuse.

and if your family is special like mine, they have the power to do all these things simultaneously.

their interconnectivity is quite brilliant. affectionate glances framing guilt. vocalized pride stemming from secret deception. a bit of codependency thrown in just to make sure you're still awake. love and belonging interlocked, laced together in a lumpy soft embrace.

my father, mother, brother and myself are a compelling bunch. and one stupid gushy blog will not do us justice. this also holds true for extended family, however it should be known the smaller group is arguably more entertaining than the larger one.

by the way, i decided it's best that grandmothers are not included in the extended family list. one. they are far too wily. and two. they have eaten more shit in their lifetime than i care to ever eat in mine. they therefore warrant distinction, and nothing ever general. each one rightfully exists in their perfectly crafted ecosystem of fantasy. and by ecosystem, i don't mean terrarium. something with a little more first class leg room and extra drawers for jewelry. one day i'll write down my memories of my grandmothers. you can then drink tea and cozy up, reading tales of my Jewish Bubba asking her 8 year old elizabeth what she wants for breakfast. my answer forever being french toast. smoking in the kitchen, she relays every detail of each conversation had over the past month. repeating and then she says to him so many times elizabeth grows up to be a story teller. doesn't every kid play 21 and shop at Bloomingdales? or if you need something with more of a bite, aloha. sit ocean side - drink something serious - and fantasize of my hot-legged-chinese-portuguese Tutu. her chapter lovingly named Have That Man Put Some Ice In My F*cking Wine, will make you vomit with laughter. 

warning: tutu makes other grandmothers blush. she lives in las vegas. she has Club A on auto pay.

in not so plain terms, my family hooks me. confuses me. loves me. keeps me on my toes. they are charged and aware. ready-to-not-take-your-ish. ready for a good laugh and great story. and above everything - above allllll the few great guarantees of this world - they are never. ever. boring. thank the prophets.

after weeks of searching for the perfect word to describe them, i still can't nail down the proper term. in surrender, all i have come up with is: power nap. because sometimes after spending a week, or a day, or a dinner, or maybe just a speaker phone conversation - you'll need one.

growing up, i memorized their individual frequencies. measured their collective output. spent the majority of my life, in two groups of three. things always seemed crystal clear.

Group 1) cindy + elizabeth + max = elizabeth giving max a hard time/food shopping
Group 2) artie + elizabeth +max = elizabeth giving max a hard time/food eating

the number three was easy. it was comfortable. it was rehearsed and expected. but four...four was mysterious. the yet-to-be-cracked algorithm.

artie + cindy + elizabeth +max = the unconstrained variable. 

i had often wondered what the unknown power of four would hold. not that i expected  Donna Reed Show utopia, but what type of family experiences the perfectly manicured lawn. or late night conversations in the kitchen over chocolate cake. dialing one number and reaching two people.

turns out, if you have introduced me to your family, i have most definitely stalked them for as long as possible. not to worry. i made a concerted effort to not be creepily noticeable. why would i want to go outside when i can stand in the kitchen and watch Gail passionately read the newspaper while Ron works at the computer, re-telling old jokes. she was totally unaware she ate all of the sesame seed snacks from the bowl on the counter. if you waited long enough, she would start to play the blue piano in the bedroom and sing a tune or two. who wants to meet up with friends, when i can sit in a chair and watch andi and danny cuddle on the perfect-cuddle-couch for hours. never getting up for anyone. there was no better place to be.

i blame it on my shower curtain pull back disorder. discovering rationale behind mock turtle necks and cruise ships. wall plate displays and chicken chachkes. guns and eighties hair. stories of old hollywood standards and soft-shoe. i have to know if it's pristine. if you only clean for company. if professional help should be called. or maybe no one gives a shit, and just leaves it all wide open.

but for right now, the investigation can rest. because for the first time in my life, i got the chance to experience the unimaginable. my first family vacation. ever.

prompted by the Berkeley college graduation of my brother, i have to admit i was a bit terrified. but then figured even if the trip was a complete bust, at least i had the opportunity to answer the question: Why are you going to California? with...


I'm going on vacation with my divorced parents.

words sweet as honey.

yes, i knew what was coming. and yes. some of it came. but there were other far more glorious moments i didn't anticipate.

it's a good feeling to be surprised. but being surprised as a jaded 30 year old, is even better. i grabbed ahold of memories i never thought would be mine. held tight. and floated above it all. watching my parents sit in the front seats of the car. max and i silently in the back, listening to artie and cindy family vacation conversation. mom saying how she keeps raw green beans in her purse to eat on the plane. dad laughing at mom for being ridiculous. mom laughing out loud because even though she knows she is ridiculous, my father is still far more ridiculous than everyone.

cut to the restaurant. we all sit down. together. dad and mom share salmon with asparagus. cindy can't eat her half because the kitchen basted it in sweet sugar devil sauce. another piece of salmon is ordered. the establishment makes the grievous error of charging $8 for replacement salmon. my parents riot. they tag team the restaurant manager over the erroneous $8 charge. someone gets bored and leaves to retrieve blood from a nearby rock. the argument gets heated. my father unknowingly addresses my mother, saying, hold on honey. i gleefully shit my pants. team Alinikoff wins the standoff. my exhausted mother unintentionally leaves her to-go half eaten free piece of salmon on the table. she laughs. my father hits it home with, it's the principle of the matter.

graduation day. my dad and i take pictures from the stands. my father uses his fancy camera. he lets my mom direct some shots. i ask for a thumbs up and take a picture. they both smile, give me thumbs up and say heeeyyyy.

celebration time. my dad's sf friends organize a last minute graduation dinner for max. my sweet father is excited to show off his kids. the dinner is held at the beautiful home of my father's first wife. all four of us arrive. i curse myself for not stealing more liquor bottles from the flight. during dinner, i talk to dad's first wife - seated across from me - while his second wife (my mother) sits next to me.

what's more awesome than being able to say Going on vacation with my divorced parents?

...Hanging out with my dad and his ex wives.

i'm blessed to know my experience lies somewhere between the Donna Reed Show and bat-shit-crazyville. we are humans after all. made up of unconscious gabs and loving embraces. a mess of boundless brilliance. talented artistry. and hilarious honesty.

with the humorous jaw line and humbling body hair swirls of arthur alinikoff, i am grateful. to the secretly sensitive cindy powers of observation, i promise to sit up straight to open my heart chakra. to my brother max, who really isn't impressed by anything unless he feels it in his heart. u are my doppelganger.

to all three of you. i love you.

things i never thought i would say...

my brother is 26.
my brother is a berekely graduate.
my brother is taller than me.
my brother is better looking than me.
my brother appears to have a small nose, but it is really big in pictures.
my brother has a bigger heart than you.
my brother grows a lot of facial hair.
my brother wears shirts that fit him.
my brother doesn't take a shower every day.
my brother still touches his nose when he laughs.
my brother got all the freckles.
my brother is going to be a great father.
my brother loves me more than anyone loves me.

 

i kees de muderrr.

to my momma,

thank you for teaching me how to laugh and enjoy all of life's little blessings.

you also showed me how to pose for the camera. thanks for that too.

i love you forever.

happy momma's day.

g.r.i.t.s.

 i am pining for my peoples.

i miss makeup-less faces. banana hair. and ache vulgarous.
foxy charm. sassafras. and unrelenting absurdity.
i miss magnetism. kindness. and mania.
morning glasses. ratty t-shirts. wal-mart granny panties.
i miss adorable confusion. and indigestion. and stupid stories.

i miss us not doing anything. together.
i miss dancing in an ugly kitchen.
i miss your heart.

cowlicks and shnozes

some people grow into to adulthood. others just grow into their noses and ears.




my brother and i are a strange pairing. we are close but not the type of closeness you would assume. scarily similar, but functioning at total opposite frequencies. we remain baffled by our connection, yet adore being eachother's true confidant. my brother gets me. he is my duck walk and chin twin. together we enjoy your inappropriateness. we will talk about you for years if you give us what we want. turns out there was a 4 for 1 special the day god divvyed up the funny bones. i keep mine in my nose, while max tries to hide his in the tuggy part of his dumbo flaps. i think they're on to max.

this photo was taken on picture day at the k-8 private school we attended in tennessee. Teddy Bear Portraits was the portrait professionals who came to school each year, and set up shop in the library. not only were they known for lighting up little faces for generations, but also for handing out plastic harmonica sized sparkly pink and blue hair brushes - complete with logo. for some reason the hired teddy bear guy in charge of this teddy bear operation felt it would be a bear-ific idea for us to take a sibling portrait. and for some reason, 14 years later Teddy Bear Portraits kept the name - Teddy Bear Portraits.

so yeah, the Alinikoff school picture pose.
i had seen professional family photos in friends' houses. they were typically along the stretch of the staircase wall, or propped up on a special corner table next to a bronze bowl of red sparkly plastic apples. i remember there weren't just professional school photos, but family group shots as well - all matted, framed at Joann's, and hung so everyone could behold the progressive portraiture of polo shirts and pearls. after all, guests should have something to look at as they make their way to the upstairs game room.
family portraits typically involved matching outfits and the family dog or 4x4. individual closeups were diffused, black and white, and very serious. the girls had golden straight hair and knew how to work a mascara wand. fancy portraits typically involved a rope swing and plantation-esque background - sans the slave quarters. the less fancy ones were from jcpenny with a choice of blue or green background. those were fun too.
[not-so-side note: it should be known there will never be a better high school graduation picture taker than the great photo prophet himself, gary moor. in high school, gary always delivered the goods. click on the senior girls section, aka people i knew from high school. a couple years before senior year, i remember a specific incident where gary had to give up the fluffy white bed as a session location for the young female graduates. generations of disappointment. lock up the effing nyquil.]
i was particularly fascinated when parents hung massive picture frames enclosing 13 little wallet sized slots, one for each school year k - 12. i wrestled with how they remembered to put in each picture for 13 years, diligently preserving each grade as a landmark occasion. i was concerned for these families, all this time spent preserving new haircut and sweater day. how tragic if they ever had to make the difficult choice of what to grab in case of a house fire. oops, forgot the dog- but made sure to save Misti's 16x16 shrine of this-is-why-braces-and-acutane-were-a-great-idea.

back to my teddy bear nightmare.
before we got started, a teacher eyed one of the freebee brushes. knowing anything but a yard rake would be permanently lost in my nest, i assured myself , 'but this is the way i always look', and said no thank you to her suggestion. glancing at max's cabeza de cowlick, i noted his breathless silence of there's-only-so-much-a-young-boy-can-take, and opted to go no brush for him as well. just get it over with. at least the picture would be saved by max's new shirt. i on the other hand, wore a uniform of unfortunate circumstance and floral print schmatta. i more than likely chose it the night before, firmly pondering its duality. not only was it the perfect pajama shirt, but once again proved the myth true - flat chested frizzy haired girls do have more fun.
teddy bear camera man stood my brother and i next to each other. i was told to sit while max stood at my side. with the skills of a bob ross tutorial, he took my head in his hands and gently tilted it to the right, placed my brother's hand on my shoulder, and said 'theeeerree you go, juuuust like that'. everyone in the library watched.
i became fixated on the fact that this was all a exercise in vanity. we both knew these pictures would never be ordered, never framed, never sent out to family members or put on refrigerators or desks at the office. still to this day, the only picture i have ever seen my mother display at work is a frameless black and white 8x10 reproduction of a 60s james taylor. recently i asked her if she ever considered putting up pictures of her kids. she replied that yes, it was probably a good idea to frame a picture of cleo the dachshund.
blinded by the flash of our awkward inadequacy, the photoshoot commenced, and this picture is all that is left. the most endearing part isn't max's dopy look, but the detail of his left arm tucked behind his back, slightly peeking out from behind. he is respectfully keeping his distance from the situation as a whole. his cowlicks breaking our cover, my nose poking you in the face.

momma's day

happy momma's day to my momma!

this past year, i have been fortunate to have many adventures with my momma gallivanting across oceans and continents. whether traveling by train or elephant or the bart, we have seen it all folks. and we have had a fa-bu-lous time:)

india.

nepal.

kauai.

san fran.

hendersonville.

i loooooooove you momma:)

primordial personas.

presently, i have moments of being so tightly wound i will either burst into tears or ignite into flames with your sweet glance of so how are you doing?. some of you have witnessed this already. for those of you who haven't, i apologize in advance.

in india, unplugging from our surroundings was necessary for anna and myself - but there were limited avenues available for mental escape. there was no eat,pray,love-ing it up in lucknow. sitting in silence in an ashram for 10 days may have been in the cards, but we were given the wrong deck. attending together, anna and i wouldn't have lasted 10 minutes anyway. with no money and no options, we unintentionally created our own way of taking a much needed mental-pause.

i wish i could tell you we found enlightenment by studying local indian cuisine, or painting the burnt sienna indian sunsets, or studying kundalini yoga with the yogi Bahjan himself. colossal fail on our part. sorry. all of those marvelous things seemed too complicated, too much energy and not enough escape. we are simple gals, southern raised, and we were probably too far gone to even care.

we chose to share a coke ya'll.

hey, a coke was about all we could get away with. it was economical, didn't draw too much attention, and didnt make us sick. it was our go-to upper, and quickly became our unspoken ritual. the fffftz!! of it opening. the cool carbonation. the primordial swig. the first one, the best one.

your eyes closed....the animals whispered....my body odor dissipated..........it was glorious. it was cold, it was sugar, it was fizzy, it was my high fructose security blanket.

screw 10 days of silence. with the brief primordial 10 second swig: stars were born, babies were conceived, your tax return doubled, and croissant was made of rolled oats and honey. everything but tunnel vision dried up and blew away. its' initial injection granted you your wish. the first taste was the best taste... spearing through all my ish and providing me with what i required. a friggin' moment to just be.

i had forgotten about this ritual until my recent trip home to hendersonville, tennessee. (lucknow and hendersonville are similar in the fact that they both molded my character, and were incredibly hot and smelly places to live...)

there are certain idiosyncrasies of the south which only make sense to those who have lived it. i had 2 hrs to kill at the memphis airport - just enough time for the smell of bacon wafting from gate B11 through X13 to fully permeate my clothes. in a daze, the restaurant hostess had to ask me twice if i wanted smoking or non. for a brief minute the plane ride had transported me back in time to memories of a former life. bacon and cigarettes was the smell of my next door neighbor Ida the grandmother. she used to give me mini story books about fairy tales. the waiter of the non smoking section called me sugar, and i ordered one egg scrambled with a side of hash browns since everything else involved gravy, ham, atherosclerosis, and my mother's warning. i paid attention when i saw a girl reading a novel as she waited for her flight. looked a little closer and realized the title of her book read The Last Song. what's better than a miley and bacon cigarette sandwich? being delayed an extra hour so i could watch a 60 year old woman named Missy talk about the wild time her and her 70 year old boyfriend were going to have while on vacay in mexico. she wore a spaghetti strapped midrift complete with a Southern Comfort logo...her white hooters shorts and tennis shoes were extra credit points. it was good and right to be home.

the older you get, the more you for-get. or maybe that's just my mother's experience. you become recycled in with rain and work and the city and your public transportation. and then one day, your good friend devon gundry decides marry a gorgeous woman by the name of golriz (one of THE loveliest human beings)...and you board a plane wearing your roomy dark washed jeans, sunglasses and a coffee headache. physically, i look the same as i did when i was 16. even though i have lived in seattle for 10 years (yikes), i like to think of myself as someone who hasn't changed...much. still the simple southern girl who enjoys her grits.

hendersonville is where i was raised -it's where they grew me. where i learned to pluck my eyebrows and was told to act like a lady. im still trying figure that second part out. as a teenager i wasn't schooled in personal style or sustainable architecture or even world geography. we may have 'forgotten' to cover african history, but i did know trinity city housed the great Jan Crouch. i also learned you should apply a wet wad of tobacco for a bee sting. oh, and the most important: The holy cracker barrel is where God brunches on sundays. he sits outside in the rocking chairs playing checkers with jesus. the prophet playoff is the 2nd sunday of every month.

no it wasn't new york, or la. it was better.

waffle house in lieu of starbucks. pintos and cheese was our old reliable for 75 cents in couch change. a night at the park was a good place for the perfect story. high school friends were honest with the best of intentions, they looked you in the eye and loved you, and trusted me to do the same for them. our friendships weren't based off of money or what someone wanted from me. they were based on the stuff they were supposed to be based on - connectivity, mutual respect, and a lot of laughter. even though i was a bahai - and even though many prayed for my salvation- they still love(d) me. and i still love them.

but if you want to know about my life before high school...what groomed me, who i answer(ed) to, who i am indebted to forever...look no further than my bahai community of the south. these are my mothers and my fathers. my sisters and bothers. these are the ones that took care of me, that loved me, that baby-sat me, took care of max and i when we were sick, fed me, clothed me, reprimanded me, and created the makings of my identity. it does take a village to raise a child, and when i see the incredible children this village has raised - i can only pray to find such a place to raise my own. sorry, i should say... it takes a village and one baby-sitter. 10-13 children is quite the load, and assembly meetings are once a month.

i have traveled, i have visited, i have experienced community in all forms. however i can honestly say, the others don't come close in comparison. i know you aren't supposed to say things like that - but it's true. and, yes, it's a pride thing - so i'm going to save you some time and let you know the search is off. it is imperative to understand the genius of my community is not simply as a result of one person or family in particular. it is a complicated tangled puzzle of mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles and children and grandchildren all fitted together perfectly. all artists and entertainers in one way or another, regardless of how much it was discouraged. if you drank the water, you were in. even if you left, or returned, or were a late settler, you know exactly what i am talking about. the wedding allowed for the birth of a phenomenal experience. for the first time in a long time, every piece was in place.

it was this blessed catalyst which enabled me to soak in my bahai community in its truest form. at it's finest. i was gifted the experience of watching the fruits of determined parents, love, companionship, humor, and genius in all forms - and was reminded of its breathtaking mastery to heal and nurture those who are swept away within it - whether it be for 5 days, 3 hours, or 15 minutes. i fell head over heals in love again with every.single.one.of them. even the ones that have continued on to watch over us.

i was surrounded by radiating love. pure and simple. and for the first time in a long time, i found myself in a safe place. a place where people love me for me, the person before all the life happened to her. the first friends. the best friends. my walls came down, i could unwind, and for a brief moment my heart could beat without restriction.

i'm eternally grateful for all of it. bacon smell included.

these are a few of my favorite things.

very soon...

we will see each other.

i heart my tutu and grandpa danny.

and they said it wasn't possible.

daddy and his art.

photo cred: mom

orgullosa

so here's a big news flash, my mom and dad are divorced:) and have been for some time.

like everything in life, growing up with divorced parents has its good parts and not so good parts.

good parts.

* at 17 you can get out of any speeding ticket - claiming you are rushing off for dad time.
* you belong to the elite my parents are divorced, so on some level, i am a closeted control freak club.
* you are intensely aware. of everyone's needs.

not so good parts.

*people were missed.
*a lot.

internally, i have worked out the not so good...the un-cohesiveness of it all. allowing myself to be comfortable with my experience. knowing that its all OK. not defining. not comparing myself to others (pointless comparisons are...pointless). im passed all of it. enough. im proud to say i can see the good - the good and the murky. and it is just that, murky goodness with lots of layers in between. my family. oh how i love and enjoy them.

lately i have enjoyed watching my parents' current relationship from afar. life after the kids are way gone. she's a petite lady from hawaii. he's a tall jew from pennsylvania. and after 28 years, they still live within a 7 mile radius of each other in hendersonville, tn. separate lives, surrounded by the wal-mart, taco bell, ford car dealerships and jesus.

my parents are two of the most similar - and at the same time - completely different people i have ever met. it is painfully confusing. simply looking at them, one would never imagine they lived in the same neighborhood, let alone hung out long enough to get married and have children. both share the same love for music, art, humor, food, and health. they desire the same things out of life. however, they are the perfect example of how sometimes people must travel totally opposite paths in order to reach their similar destinations.

individually, mom and dad have always enjoyed photography - and are both very talented at it.

for a while now, dad has made a big push towards exploring his talent as a photographer- he has done a lot to cultivate and develop his art. recently, he had the opportunity to show his photography in Nashville with other local artists. its an incredible feeling to know anyone (let alone a parent) is getting the recognition they deserve. like pumpkin pie, its heartwarming goodness. the kids were excited for daddy-o. the morning of, i spoke with him on the phone. he let me know all the pics were printed and hung, and of course criticized this and that...made sure i knew he was learning a lot by just seeing the set up of the more experienced. he told me he was all prepared and ready for the people. dad was sweetly nervous and charged. i was sad i couldn't have been there.

an hour or so after i spoke to dad. mom called...

Hey mom.

Heeeeeeey. What are you doing?

Getting ready for work. You?

Im driving to see your dad's showing.

Really? You're.....going?

Um, YES I'm GOING! I have known your father for a looong tiiimmme dear. I am the MOTHER of this chILdren...I can GO to his SHOW.

Wow...great! Well...can you take a picture of it for me? I want to see it!

Yeah, I'll call you - so you can talk to him.

No mom, im not in India - i just spoke with him. Just take a picture with your phone and send it to me, so I see how everything looks.

OoooKaY! I'm parked. Gotta go. LOVE YOU, BYE!

Bye mom!


30 minutes later i received an email of my picture. subject: your dad.
i became confused.


yep, ok, there's daddy. thanks.

Really Mom?? WHERE are the displayed photos? He's sitting drinking coffee - watching the TITANS game on his macbook?! Like, this couldn't have been any other day - you couldn't have taken ANY other photos to send me besides Dad sitting down, watching football?!

Weeellllll, this is what your father was doing - no one had arrived yet. You wanted a picture.

Good. Thanks Mom.

so special. my mother using her iPhone to capture, yet another important moment.........

i didn't realize how special this picture actually was until max and i received an email with an attached photo from dad the following day.

subject: at the show

Your mother came to see the show. It was very sweet of her to do that and I really appreciated it. She was so funny, trying to get her iPhone to take a pic. I finally handed her my camera...she's the one who took that pic for Facebook. Hope you guys are all good. It was great talking to the both of you yesterday. Thanks for your wonderful support. It helps more than you can know.

Daddy-o

AA

at least they both are on the same page.

murky goodness = similar ridiculousness.

:)

yeah, i'll eat that.

so it's been a while.

i should officially post and inform you that the rumors are true. 1 month and 4 days have passed since i landed in Seattle, and probably for the first time in my life - i am proud to be back on this side of the world. happy to be in the good ol' U.S.of A. relieved for a whole list of reasons, and sad for a list equal in length.

part of me feels as if india was one of those hallucinated melatonin induced dream sequences. like one morning i woke up and there was a goat playing the harmonica in my bathtub. i don't know how it happened, but it did, and it was real, and i got the pictures to prove it...but why dear God was there ever a goat? How was that ever my reality? Life is incredible. On the 15th I can be with a delhi belly cindy, on a moving train balancing ourselves in the toilet at 3 am - and at the same time - Nordstrom's Rack is having a sale. I have personal investments in both obviously.

my friend paul warned me about my return to this life. 'its like you've been through war elizabeth...its gonna take a while to get it together.' never has a statement been so true.

i miss lucknow. i miss the simplicity of it all. the truth behind living within your means, finding a connection with people not based on what they have, but who they are. working towards something you believe in, both in the professional and personal sense. the strange pride of managing your life with hot spit and a prayer. experiencing the outrageous-ness of monkeys and madmen and oiled braids, and loving every. darn. minute. but i aint gonna lie, i heart me a caesar salad, a strawberry lemonade and clean fingernails. i loved my work, but it is good to move on. i must be satisfied knowing it provided me with a deeper sense of humor, clarity, direction and motivation. its up to me to just accept the good...here's to accepting the good and moving in that direction.

the arrival.

as i exited the plane in chicago at 4:30am - i was greeted by my two besties: quite and clean. in a matter of 14 hours, overstimulation had ceased to exist, and i was gifted personal space, a self-forming line, and easy to read signs of what to do in the event of an emergency. it was a scene straight from the movie Babe, when only after knowing the secret sheep code could the herd understand Babe's requests, and in complete silence and without instruction, lead themselves through the obstacle course into the pen -to win the prize. i was that pig. i was that sheep. i won the grand prize. i stood muhaha-ing at all the aunties and uncles in the foreign entry cue - while i cruised by with my american 'chai is something you order from starbucks biiiittttcchhhes' comrades. customs was welcoming, i was overjoyed when the agent hit on me sans crotch dig, wink, or invasive energy - i let out a big 'aawwwwwww', as i was flattered. good to be home.

immediately, i bypassed baggage claim and found the nearest ladies room. i entered, stood with my eyes closed and took 5-7 deep breaths, frantically searching for some trace of filth....nothing....incredible. for the first time in six months i didn't have to hold my breath, or make a choice between stepping in liquid or liquid, or purposefully not wear my glasses to fuzzy up the situation. it was embarrassingly clean. tasteless air is underrated. there is no shame in the fact i love sitting down when i pee. it is euphoria knowing nothing can possibly attack you through the toilet-while you are seated. i celebrate the death of my internal conflict: the belief that using soap from the washroom somehow makes you less sanitary. like a good product of therapy, i felt safe and loved knowing i could lick the stall wall and not melt of dysentery four hours later. it's a gross truth and it was my reality.

seeing everyone.

being home and hugging everyone was wonderful. while gone, i was never really homesick for family and friends. from my end, there was no feeling of missing out. most of my friends are married or have kids - the days of going out dancing, vacationing, and relaxing are fading out. i knew people were living their lives, and they would still be doing so once i returned. on both sides of the globe our daily routines were monotonous, slowly completing what we have been trying to complete since we began. school. work. kids. sleep. bills. weekends. everyone's day - even mine - had these major headings, but constructed in different orders and colors. with the exception of not being able to make it home for the passing of a man who was a father figure throughout my life (Danny Seals), and the wedding of one of my best sisters (Courtney Gundry) - i felt confident with the distance. i missed my people. but it was good to leave, so i could be reminded of why i love them, why they love me, and why they are my people.

i haven't gone all out yet - eaten everything, seen everyone, pulled an all nighter dancing my heart away- but i've done enough to recognize that i have definitely returned to a new stage in my life and all the ridiculousness that ensues with new shiny stages.

a week or so after i got back Anna, Anisa and I were invited to a 16 year old birthday party for one of our friends in the Baha'i community. sweet 16 party, sounds easy enough right? who would have thought something so straight forward could actually give you the insight of what was to come. Anu's birthday was the persian tea, fingernail painting, place to be. her friends were adorable of course, but i was baffled how children (because that's what they are right?) can have such an intense sense of personal style and grown up sass to accompany such flavor. all i had at 16 was a lack of hair product and cleavage. well, welcome to the new generation. they have hair straighteners, and push-up bras. instead of dancing with the 'kids' in the other room - the 28 andnevertoolate club found ourselves sitting around the dining room table with the parents, discussing Obama's health care plan, politics, and intercultural marriage. my dream of sitting at the adult table had finally arrived, and i wasn't even employed. that night i had an epiphany. i had met Anu and her parents when she was 6. that's right. i have lived in Seattle for a decade. why does this make me feel old. that was more of a statement than a question.

later that week one of the girls friended me on facebook, which i accepted. as i snooped around her page, i clicked on her info to discover her birth year read 1990. my first thought was this had to be a mistake, there is no way a 10 year old could be on facebook, let alone want to friend ME?? and then i realized...it is almost 2010. I am almost 28. i have lower back problems and make the choice to buy and wear orthopedic shoes. i can identify flaxseed in a poopy diaper. i have spider veins. i like to drink hot water. a good nap sounds like a great plan. i watch Suze Orman and take notes. i don't care if she has a jacket addiction. i love her.

note: i will no longer befriend anyone on facebook whose birth year is pre- 1990. so if there are any of you out there reading this, please don't take it personally. also, if you are pre-1990 - some topics in this blog may be inappropriate and misleading about my character.

the plan of getting it together.

so, for my own sanity, i am definitely continuing to blog.

a while back, an episode of Clean Sweep on TLC made the point that we should respect and honor the things we cherish - and remove the things we don't. for example: keeping my home and possessions clean, donating clothes i don't use or need, removing the clutter and excess that hazes your ability to live your best life.

[yes. i am going to be 28. i fantasize about calling in on the Can I Afford it Segment on Suze's show. yes. I obsess about being that favorite guest assistant on Clean Sweep. i will make them cry damnit.]

i actually have come to see this outlet as something of value, something that organizes my thoughts and verbal outbursts, and reminds me of me. with the same immediate powers of the cinnabon center - it makes another day possible. the first part of my plan to get it all together.

cindy and artie, this does not mean that i will be correcting all grammar and spelling mistakes. i will never have it that together, sorry to disappoint. better look to max for that, he's the poet at Berkeley.

that's all i know for now.

yes please.