The Why Not Me? File

I have worked in New York for the past (2016 - 2012 = 4) 4 years, and I have yet to see a celebrity casually hanging out with his kids, on an awkward first date, buying shoes, or pushing my mom out of the way in an airport because his friend was pregnant and my mom was "crowding her space."

Yes, all of those sightings have happened... for my friends and family members. But not me. Why not me?

I have purposefully chosen the title of this blog because it's the title of Mindy Kaling's new book, "Why Not Me?" (I guess including the title there was unnecessary.) I feel a kinship with Mindy; we're so alike. Except for in minor ways, like our race, age, fame, career, net worth, height, and the fact that she gets to cast a suite of beautiful men to star alongside her in "The Mindy Project." But other than that, we're basically the same. I mean, we both posted on Instagram about ice skating last week, and I hardly ever go on Instagram. If you don't think that's a telling sign, then you better put on your glasses or stop driving.

My friends tell me it's a good thing I haven't seen a celebrity out in New York because I would only embarrass myself. First of all, I ask Nick Lachey to sign my name tag ONE TIME because I was the only girl not to bring a poster of him to "Good Morning America," and I'm labeled as embarrassing to all celebrities. I mean, I was 12, and quite frankly, I was trying to play it cool. That's what my older cousins' magazines told me to do, after all. Secondly, I would not embarrass myself; I don't even sweat! It just doesn’t happen. Ok, it happens when I play tennis. And when I play soccer. And when I bowl. And sometimes when I sleep. Ok, fine, I sweat a lot.

Not only am I without celebrity sightings, they seem to actually go out of their way to avoid me. My cousin saw Adam Levine and Ryan Gosling outside of her store, and after she called, I couldn't get there in time to see them. Carson Daily lives down the street from me with his family, and whenever I look inside his windows, he's not there. Mindy was in my co-working space, on the same floor as me - let me reiterate for emphasis: on the same floor as me - and I had no idea. How could that be? She is not a quiet womn...

She also showed up at my cousin's store, the Intermix in SoHo, and Daniellah saw her! Mindy purchased a pair of shoes, and Daniellah purposefully left one out of the box so Mindy would have to come back. She didn't come back which means she's rather hobble around with one shoe then see Daniellah again, and now I can never even achieve my dream of inviting Mindy to Shabbat dinner.

I suspect this all started when I was 8 years old. I ordered two autographs from Johnny Depp and Chad Michael Murray online (I must've somehow known to set the bar low), and two autographs arrived at my door in the same pen color... and in the same handwriting. The seller told me that Johnny and Chad were at the same celebrity convention, and I was desperate enough to believe him. Now knowing my luck in this category, I'm starting to have doubts...

To make myself feel better, after getting back from California, I would tell people I saw Cher's dog-walker (a.k.a a random woman walking a dog) and Tom Cruise's son (does he even have a son?).

In fact, the closest I got to a celebrity sighting was last night, when the Madison Square Garden Jumbotron announced that Liam Neeson was somewhere here, watching the Rangers game.

See him? Me neither.

Moral of the story? I won't feel validated until I meet a celebrity. Good thing there's one in my family: the famous international architect, Alex Tehranian. (Although how famous could he be if he's asking for a shoutout on my blog?) (Love you, Alex!)

The "Ice Skating Is Not All It's Cracked Up To Be - Pun Intended" File

Everyone needs an outlet to blow off steam after work. At work, I'm always focused: except maybe when I go to the bathroom to look in the mirror, watch the security footage with building staff, make coffee then throw it out and get Starbucks... what was I saying? Oh right: I'm always focused. But sometimes I need to just unwind after work, and take my mind off of a rough week. Which is why Mike and I decided to go ice skating this past Friday: we thought it was going to be super romantic...

It was not. But I won't decide that for you: instead, I'll paint you a picture of our date. We made our way to the ice skating rink, and waited on a 20-minute line. I know what you're thinking: 20 minutes to star gaze or stare into each other's eyes - how romantic. First off, it's NYC: there are no stars. And 20 minutes is entirely too long to stare into someone's eyes - or else they start to look like an alien.

After getting inside, we rented our boots and the staff suggested we put our shoes in a locker for an extra $8.00. We're not allowed to hold them while we ice skate (I asked), so we didn't have much of a choice. If you're thinking this is a ripoff, it's not! You can save that money if you simply bring your own lock. To our utter embarrassment, we did not bring our own locks - and I'll never forgive myself for that miss.

One of my ice skates was missing a hook to weave my shoelace around. Worried about my ankle, I look over and see that Mike's ice skate was missing all of the hooks except two. He didn't even need a shoelace. I made a mental note for next time: personal locks and ice skates needed.

We smiled, knowing we were both facing danger together, held hands and wobbled over to the ice. It was in the midst of being cleaned, so we waited another half hour. I used this time to try to jump over the seats with my boots like I saw other people doing: to make sure I would be up to par on the ice. I also used this time to eavesdrop on the pair behind us and try to figure out if they were a couple. Unfortunately, I couldn't crack the case. But if I were to guess, they were on a first date. Aw, they were basking in the same romance as us!

We got onto the ice, and let me just warn you right now: ice skating is NOT like riding a bicycle. Well, maybe it would be, if one of your wheels didn't have shoelaces. Our boots were really loose, and to balance, I held my hands out like I was flying. The ice was packed, so needless to say, I accidentally hit a few people. But, as I've always said, it's every man for himself in the rink.

But it wasn't the people who couldn't skate that got in my way. It was the people who could. You couldn't believe how many people were showing off on that ice. There were people twirling, people zigzagging, people doing flips... And they would just zip by you, like you weren't even there with your hands out, flying. To get a break, Mike and I would stop every so often at the wall, so we could try to recapture the romance of it all. The romance was hard to recapture when you had ice guards yelling at you to keep skating and ice viewers sitting next to the ice, awkwardly staring at you like you were part of a play. Well, I was not playing. This was serious business.

After four times around (I counted), Mike asked if my ankle was hurting and I used that as an excuse to fly out of there. In the end, I had a great time looking inadequate if front of my boyfriend - and he's still with me. I guess it is romantic, after all.

*Blogger's Note: Writing this was truly cathartic, and I'm considering re-naming my blog to, "Because this is cheaper than therapy."

Other names I'm considering are:

• Attempting the think before you speak fad
• "They say" is not a credible source, mom
• I may look confident, but I have no idea where I'm going
• Friends tell you the truth. Better friends lie
• My phone auto-corrects "I am" to "BMW," and other reasons I know I'm Persian
• The Hangover, Part 4

The Grey File

Wow, I haven't come across this blog in a while. Why return? In hopes to further my career. I won't lie to my loyal fans. On that note, my second motivation to return: after checking in here to reminisce on my college days, I found this blog has received almost 4K views. Who - in the world - is reading about my adventures to Burger King or about me getting yelled at by a 4'5" girl? Seriously, one post is solely about me getting bulled by a 4'5" girl...

To catch you up on the important aspects of my life (in no significant order):

1. I'm a Sr. Copywriter and Content Manager at a company I'm a partner in: [L]earned Media. (I also accept freelance work.) (Who put that there?)

2. I am still very close to my family, and now that number is even bigger. My cousin, Delilah, is married, and the rest of us almost all have significant others. Which brings me to number 3:

3.  I have a significant other. I know what you're thinking: after reading my past blog posts, how did this happen? Well first of all, you're a jerk for thinking that! Secondly, his name is Mike Martorella, he's great and blah blah, I've told you all about him, mom.

This is us. (I certainly did not choose the most flattering picture of the both of us, and how dare you for implying that.)

4. Mike and I have a dog together. And if you're one of the (too) many people who say that Mike has a dog that he let's me play with, I resent that! This is our clown:

And, you guessed it, this post is mainly going to be about Chompers! (Her actual name is Grey, but maybe if enough people start calling her Chompers, Mike will let me name her that.) At first, I was super into the idea. I wanted a dog ever since Tootsie, my adored previous dog, passed away. Many people think Mike got a dog for me - but after I see the way he acts with Grey, I'm fairly certain that is not true. I understand what a third wheel is now.

But after we rescued Grey from the North Shore Animal Shelter, I started having rescuer's remorse. If you're like me and are thinking, but how romantic is it to have a puppy with your boyfriend?!, get ready for a big surprise: this 5-month-old 28-pound puppy is a lot of responsibility. No - a lot. If you're a young couple thinking about getting a dog, let me enlighten you: it is work. 

After a full 12 hours of "getting used to her," I started resenting this puppy. She was getting a lot of attention from Mike. No - a lot. I mean, how dare she. You are not the only one that likes to snuggle, Grey. I started thinking that she tricked me at the Shelter because she wouldn't get off of my lap, pretending she was interested in me. Well, she's smart - I'll give her that. And what if we wanted to go to dinner? Grey just had to come. What a little whiner. I was not jealous. I was just fiercely protective of my relationship with Mike that she was clearly infringing upon.

(Evidence of her trickery.)

But now, after watching her pick fights with Great Danes, chase down pigeons, jump on every stranger she meets, and her admirable unwavering love of construction tape, I absolutely adore here.

She's adorable,

playful,

strong-willed,

and she craves human contact. When she is chewing one of her toys, she has to play with it in our laps. And when she spends a lot of time in one of our laps, she will switch to the other to give us equal attention.

In sum, it probably isn't the best idea to get a dog if you have been dating someone for 6 months (at the time). But if you do, you may end up with a lovable nut like this...

The Where Oh Where in the World is BK? File

Hi all! (If the number is even plural.)


I haven't blogged in a while, but I had extra motivation this time. Not only do I love blogging, but the only form of interaction Nicole Ciabocci and I have is when I blog - she won't communicate with me otherwise. So here's to you, Ciabocci. 

Well kids (projecting what I wish was true of me right now), the inevitable has happened: I am out in the real world. I currently hold an entry-level position with JWT, one of the biggest marketing agencies in NYC, and my #1 choice in agencies. I mean it's cool, but not as awesome as school was.
Down to the point of this post: 

There is no Burger King near my office. A sad truth I'm still trying to come to terms with. Aside from Chipotle, Burger King's my ketchup (get it? my jam- but ketchup is on a burger? Well there you go: if you were wondering if I've gotten funnier, the answer is no.)

I had a lunch break at work today, and used iPhone Maps to find the nearest BK. Maps said it was a 13-minute walk, located on 50th and 5th. Except although that's what it said, the map showed 50th and 6th (for the non-New Yorkers, this means 6th Avenue and 50th Street). I was confused, and checked out both locations, wobbling nearly a mile in my heels (no, not my orthopedic platforms that girls always make fun of me for wearing, telling me I look like a mom. Well, news for you guys- you're right. My mom owns them, too).

Back to the point; I was truly, truly disappointed when there was no such BK. All I wanted was a Whopper, Fries and a Diet Coke. And all I still want right now is a Whopper, Fries and a Diet Coke. The silver lining of my 2-mile adventure? Walking up and down the same two avenues brought entertainment and amused giggles from the Falafel stand men. A few too many giggles, if you ask me.

So what now? I guess I'm sticking to Subway, Chipotle and Potbellies. If this changes, I'll be sure to let you know.

The Investigation File

On Saturday night, my cell phone, keys, wallet, credit cards, insurance card, driver's license and blood donor card were stolen at a bar (needless to say the most important of which was the blood donor card). To comfort myself later that night, Alyssa and I went to get PDR Pizza - she paid. (I had an urge to put an @ in front of Alyssa just now. Thanks, Twitter.)

The next morning, I got up at 8 a.m. (this never happens) because I was so nervous. I called my credit card companies, and they informed me that my credit cards were used at Qdoba, Taco Shop and Badger Cab around 3 a.m. the night it was stolen. I learned three important pieces of information regarding the crooks.

1. They were hungry.

2. They were not classy.

3. They were stupid.

Sure, you look at me and think, "who is this fragile, delicate, sweet little girl?" (I'm kidding. Unless you do, then thank you.) But the fools messed with the wrong girl - a Persian girl whose dad is in the Persian Mafia. Ok, not really; but he did give me tips on how to investigate on my own, racing against the police.

Of course, this was after Benny drove me to the police station to file a report. We went into the first building that housed the central police station and tried to figure out how to get to the Sheriff's office. Apparently, the Sheriff is not the person you go to. We got directed to Building No. 2: The City Council building. It was locked, but the homeless men told us how to get through a side door. We went in to see that everything was shut down and gated. I spotted a man, in ordinary clothes, walking through the deserted building. Assuming from the way he walked, with swagger, that he worked in this building, I told him of my dilemma. Turns out, he did work in that building - I know, I should give the CSI a hand ;). (I'm not sure who I'm flirting with when I wink at a mass audience.)

He told us to call the non-emergency line. I took his suggestion, and filed a report. Well, Benny did, and he asked for my number so the police could call me with questions regarding my stolen phone. Smooth, Benjamin. I learned another three important lessons...

1. Homeless people can be very helpful.

2. Don't let Benny talk to the police.

3. Judging by the vacancy of both buildings, crime stops on weekends.

Now I called my dad and started my own investigation...

The first thing I did was track my phone through iCloud and found out that it was on Johnson Street. It looked like it was right on the corner of the Lucky Building - in the Administration Center. Well, it couldn't be in there, so it was either in an apartment in that building or outside on the sidewalk. Naturally, I dragged Alyssa along (she was pretty excited to be in an episode of Cops), and we searched the entire sidewalk, bushes, and the garbage can. Yes, we looked in the garbage can and yes, we garnered a few stares. My phone meant a lot to me. We didn't find it.

The second thing we did is go to the Taco Shop and explained the situation to the manager, who happened to know exactly who we were talking about - he thought it was fishy two guys were using a girl's credit card. Apparently, the perp said I was his girlfriend. I learned two very important lessons..

1. Signing the credit card means nothing.

2. I have a boyfriend.

Luckily, when I asked if they had security footage, the manager said yes and offered to send me a screenshot. My next move was calling Badger Cab. I explained the situation and asked if I gave them my credit card info, would they be able to track the cab that used it and disclose where they dropped off the perps? The Badger Cabbie said yes, but only to the police.

So, what's my next move going to be? Well, I'm going to call the police, give them the screenshot, have them call Badger Cab, relay my cc info, and then get the address of my, um, boyfriend.

Picture and address. The criminals are going to do a dime. (Ok, probably not. But that expression really fits in with my Cops theme.)

Shout-Outs:

Alyssa: For sharing her keys, phone and wallet with me the past couple of days, and for cooking me dinner while I pretended to help.

Erica: For coming with me to the bank. And for somehow knowing how to read gas code in the car manual so we could figure out how to fill Benny's car up.

Benny: For lending me his car, and for trying to help me track down the Po-Po.

My parents: For not disowning me.

Two last lessons:

1. Not having a phone is actually refreshing, albeit inconvenient.

2. I'm dumping my boyfriend.

Meeting the Cast File

So, a few days ago (ok, four months ago), I said I'd write a blog post about abroad, including pictures and funny stories (but drawing from past experiences, I'm probably the only one that thinks they're funny). Let me first introduce you to some of the errrday gang. (Side note: I may be using this post as an excuse to relive abroad since I'm missing it at the moment). (Yes I like parentheses - sue me, this isn't one of my Journalism classes.)

Key Players:

The Guidos (and Calvin: Honorary Guido)

Following (in the post and literally throughout Rome): The Guido Groupies

My closest friends:

Lily: My travel partner through Israel, London, Venice, Naples, Pompeii, Florence and Rome. What she learned?

"Alex you snore like a freight train and move around all night like you're doing gymnastics. I'm moving into the other room. AND GIVE ME YOUR BLACKBERRY! I can't deal with your constant typing all night!"

Claudia: "Just sending you my daily text...I drooled on JP's arm while napping with him the other day...oops."

Jackie, a.k.a "Nugget": "What should we get for dinner? Chicken nuggets from the guy down the street who gives us free wine and fish tempora? Or how about burgers? Paninis?"

#AmericanizedAndProud

Our broader group of friends was a bit larger...

My roommates: You won't see a collective picture of us: all six of us were not always in agreement with one another.

ALESSANDRO, my beloved Italian teacher.
Alessandro: "Do you ever stop laughing, Alexandra? Is there an off switch?"

And this is where we hung out every night before going out: "Catari 11 Unidinci".

"Undici" means "11" in Italian, but Tyler always said "11 Undici" when stating his address because he thought they were both part of the name of his street, making him repetitive and redundant.

I never really knew what went on here...

Ever...

Ok,  I'll spare you and cut it off here. Stay tuned for some entertaining stories in my next post.

The America... 'Nuff said file

Hey kidlets (a new cute phrase I think we should start saying). I know it's probably not cute to you because my taste seems to vary from everyone else's. I'm reminded of this by my "friends" every time I put on an outfit. I mean, why people have a problem with snakeskin jeggings, acid wash jeans and Ed Hardy shoes is beyond me.

Anywho, right now, I am back from Roma, Puerto Rico and Atlantic city, settled down at my internship in New York City. Before I started (which happened to be yesterday), I tried to explain to people what the company did. After my cousins made countless fun of me because all I was doing was quoting the website verbatim, I decided a new way to let people know: Opensky.com. Boom.

It was great seeing my family after so long. They came over for Shabbat dinner and my cousin, Alex, brought to our attention that they found a new sign and now everyone's sign is changed. So, I'm no longer a Gemini, but a Taurus. I'm not big in Astrology, but this piece of information caused mayhem amongst us.

"Does this mean my personality changed?" I asked.

His brother Raffi declared, "Thats why I never won the lottery! I was picking the wrong numbers every time." And then followed up with, "No wonder I never pick the right girl." Which reminds us of our second cousin, Michelle, who only dates people with her sign. I wonder if this means that she will break up with her fiance.

Then all of us played a game of Clue in the kitchen. And by all of us, I mean all of my cousins except me. They discounted me because I was on the phone for five minutes and wouldn't let me jump back in. I don’t mean to point any fingers, but Zac Miller, this is your fault. To say I wasn't jealous just wouldn't be true. The game was taking forever and, finally, Raffi said, "I think it was Raffi in the kitchen with a pen." We all start cracking up. "Who did he kill?" I asked. "Himself" he said. 

I have to say, it feels so good to be back in America, where people aren't laughing at my Italian and where I am not living in an apartment decorated for the Powderpuff girls. I actually have a shower sans butterflies on the floor - and I can move around in it. 

I have to run. As my Italian friend, Dario, says, “Ciao Ciao for now!” In my next blog post, I will post some pictures from abroad: mainly so I can relive my experience. Ciao!

"Goodbye Alexandra Vojdany, Hello Fabulous"

Yes, this title is a Lizzie McGuire reference, in case you caught on (which you definitely did. I know every one of you loves that movie and it's not just, um, me).

Ciao amici! ("Hello friends!" By the time I get home, I'll be able to speak a whole 10-word sentence. I should credit that to Justin Miller, since he's the one who has faith in me to do so.) Sorry it's been a while, but I'll paint you a picture of how I get Internet, since my apartment is where the Internet goes to die:

I sit at a table in a bar two streets away from l'apartamento (booyah some more Italian for you), and order a Coke (ok fine, Joel, a Diet Coke). Then I pull out my laptop and pink headphones while crowds of people gather around me drinking and watching sports. Sometimes, I even whip out my landline foot-long magic jack phone. When it gets loud and I'm Skyping, you may find me yelling into the computer. People stare. Then, when my Internet dies, I take out my converter and charger, and plug it into an outlet, while holding it in place with my foot since the converter is too heavy to stay in the outlet on its own. So, sorry Nicole Ciabocci (my number 1, and maybe only, fan) that this took so long to write.

Anyway, life here is incredible. It is so carefree and stress-free. My two-day-per-week class schedule is really working out for me. Abroad, class doesn't get in the way of your education (the hands-on education). And the weather in Rome is finally getting hot. Let me tell you about my day yesterday: I woke up at noon (no class on Wednesdays) and grabbed a panini (I have one every day. I'm over Italian food. Except for supplis. And gelatoes and crepes. And pizza if it's thick-crusted. And lasagna. Ok fine, I'm not over Italian food). I then went to meet my friend at school, so we could lay out in Piazza Navona (a square with famous monuments, statues and fountains). Then I had a mojito in the Square with friends before I went to the salon to get my hair cut - which, let me tell you, is really fun to do in Italy when you're freaking out about your hair and there is a HUGE language barrier that needs to be overcome. The guy kept laughing at me because I made him cut my hair centimeter by centimeter until he reached the length I liked. After that, I went to the school, discovered I got the internship I really wanted and wrote the outline for my research paper. Then I went to dinner, had red wine and a free shot, and went out on the town.

I've been doing a lot of traveling, mostly within Italy. So far, I've been to Florence, London, Sienna, Pisa, Rome, Capri, Naples and Pompeii with my program and Barcelona with a few friends. Tomorrow, I leave for spring break and head to Amsterdam, Barca again, Paris and Budapest. (I dont know why I'm so excited for Budapest. The only thing I know about it is that Owen Wilson and Eddie Murphy went there in the movie, "I Spy.")

Capri is my favorite place in Italy by far. It's beautiful, and I went boating on a private boat with my friends. Naples is my least favorite place; it's sketchy and dirty (at least the part we went to). Fun fact: the mafia owns the trash company in Naples and if businesses don't pay them, they don't pick up the trash, which is why the streets are so dirty.

In Pompeii, we got to climb Mount Vesuvius which was cool. It was so steep, I literally ran down the volcano - involuntarily. On the bus down the lower half, my friend Drew was trying to sleep on my lap and suddenly sits up and exclaims, "What the hell is going on? He's driving like an asshole." I proceeded to tell him we were driving down the volcano, and he calmed down. "Oh. I was gonna say..."

The people in my program are amazing. The girls are chill and the guys are cool. The five guys I hang out with the most are walked-out-of-Jersey-shore Guidos. Ok, only one of them is Italian. But they all act and look like Guidos. Are you surprised? I do own a pair of snakeskin jeggings...

One of the cooler things I've done is go to the Treve Fountain at 4 a.m. after hanging out at the Irish bar all of the people in my program love for some reason.

A funny thing that happened was getting offered a ride home from an Italian in this bar, asking me if I wanted to drive. Let's think about this...

1. I've been drinking.

2. We're in Italy: there are no rules to the road and I don't even know how to be a pedestrian in this country.

3. The car was stick-shift.

No, thank you.

Alright guys, I have to finish packing for Spring Break. Miss you all. I'll have my BBM ;).

Shoutout: Benny, I love you and your cute BBMs. And I can't wait until you come to New York (I'm holding you to your word this time).

First week in Roma

Hey again! Come va? Bene? Anchio! (Check it: I know some Italian.)

Well guys, after my orientation in Florence, and side trips to Venice, Sienna, Pisa and London, I finally landed in Rome last week (landed in the figurative sense - we didn’t fly).

Let me paint you a little picture of my apartment: I share it with five girls-many of whom are very cool, one almost got us evicted on the third day. Two people per bedroom. One bedroom has two beds pushed together, one bedroom has four separate twin beds (only two of which have mattresses) and one bedroom has one double bed haha - no, but seriously, one bed. So Lily and I offer to take that bedroom because we know each other, we like to shnuggle, and it wouldn’t be awkward. Well, man does Lily regret that decision.

I have a little cold so I apparently snore like a “freight train” and move around like “I’m doing gymnastics” in the bed. This, in turn, bothers me, because I’m scared for my life if I make one little move in the bed. She tends to get irritable in the AM. I figured out the solution to our problem: I need to get Lily drunk before we go to bed.

Continuing: my apartment is decorated by three older women. This translates to hearts, butterflies and cupcakes everywhere. No, really - everywhere. The knobs on the kitchen drawers are little cupcakes, and heart-shaped pillows and butterfly wallpaper fills this apartment. The decorations are really cute, but are they sturdy? No, the shelf fell off the kitchen wall yesterday and the mirror fell off of the bathroom wall a few days ago. I actually found the silver lining on that one: I really like this clothes store but their dressing room doesn’t have a mirror, so it’s hard to buy anything. Portable giant mirror. Problem solved.

Can we talk about the lack of drying machines in Roman apartments? You know what that means? Clothing lines run across our rooms, which are hard to avoid in the middle of the night when it’s pitch black. Speaking from experience.

But Rome is actually amazing. We live in Campo di Fiori, thanks to Benny Ginsberg! (Not actually, but Benny asked me to give him the first shout-out in the next blog. It’s actually thanks to Gail Gutman!) This is the hip, trendy center of Rome where all of the international bars are and where all of these monuments and ruins remain. We live in walking distance from the Coliseum and Pantheon (or as my friend Jackie refers to it, the Panthenon. I keep having to remind her that the Pantheon and Parthenon did not have a baby), and I actually pass ruins on my way to run errands, which is amazing!

I have class two days a week (Tuesdays and Thursdays) and a lot of them are on-site - which means, if we’re learning about a certain type of architecture or art, we visit a site and view it firsthand as the professor lectures. We went into a first century church for class on Tuesday, which was pretty cool. I felt like Xena the Princess Warrior down there. But actually, I did. And we went on a field trip to Tiboli today and saw the villa of an emperor and another villa, where a portion of the Lizzie McGuire Movie was filmed. Do you think Persian Princesses can rent out villas?

I also learned something really interesting on that field trip: in the olden Roman days, it was common for older men (like in their 30’s to 40’s) to have relationships with younger boys (like in their early teens).

Alright, I gotta get ready and continue the search for Paolo. Talk to you guys soon!

Orientation abroad

So it has officially been two weeks since I left the U.S., although nothing really seems official: it feels more like a haze. So much has happened already and it is still only orientation, so I’m pretty exhausted. And you know me (which I hope you do and aren’t just creeping on my blog. Although, that would actually be cool. Stalkers are welcome). What was I saying? Oh yeah, you know me: I’m obnoxiously loud and energetic, so it takes a lot for me to be exhausted.

So here’s a rundown - an extremely abridged rundown. (I know you’re wondering “is that possible?” because my stories tend to be detailed down to how many minutes it took me to eat a gelato -around three, if you’re wondering - but I’ll try.)

So I left the U.S. at 6 p.m. on Jan. 25th and arrived at 6 a.m. on Jan. 26th in Heathrow (the International London Airport for all of you less cultured people. Just joking!). I didn’t sleep on the flight. I had an entire row of four seats to myself, and while everyone was watching movies, I was laying down, thinking, “suckers, they’re all going to be tired when we get there.” Well, in about two hours, I was the only person awake on the flight - the entire time.

When we got to the hotel, they told us that the rooms wouldn’t be ready until 3 p.m., so we were left to explore London on our own. I fell asleep in the luggage room downstairs. The next day, we had a tour and our tour guide was a Harry Potter enthusiast-I now know which bridge the Deatheaters fought on and where Luna Lovegood auditions took place (who, by the way, my tour guide thought they did an excellent job of casting). After that, were left on our own for the rest of the day. My newfound friends and I decided to explore London (a.k.a we found a Fish and Chips restaurant).

Later that night, we went to an ice bar. It was pretty cool because I got to wear an Eskimo suit and chew my glass. We then went to a bar called Strawberry Moon. The English men are respectful: they only stare at you. Italians? Different story. But I’ll get to that later.

So we had to wake up at 5:45 a.m. for our flight to Pisa the next morning and then had an hour bus right from Pisa to Florence. Can I just suggest something to the British Airways personnel? PLEASE HAVE MORE THAN ONE PERSON CHECKING IN 139 PEOPLE.

Florence has been amazing- ridiculous double deck clubs, a beautiful city with a beautiful river, amazing gelato, nice restaurants (fine, I’ve only been to two, because when I find something I like, I stick to it), Italian accents everywhere and really cool kids on my program. Oh, and the hotel we are staying at for our two-week orientation in Florence is off the hook! Two things: blackout curtains and a heated bar where the towels are kept, so they’re always hot. The only things I care about in an apartment: bath and beds. Check.

Ok now for the Italian men. Let me just preface this by saying that a policeman (so sexy - definition of "Italian Stallion") came to talk to us and said that the national sport of Italy is “women.” And then he said, Italian guys will touch you and catcall you on the street but this is not sexual harassment, they are only “playing with you.” Um, ok policeman. He then said “they will try to use free cocaine to get you back to their apartment - but NOTHING is free.” Hahahah yes cocaine would definitely do the trick for me. Not.

Anyway, back to the boys at the clubs: how about you DON’T physically harass - okay, I’m sorry - “play with me.” In American clubs, you tell the boys to go away and they do. In Italy, not so much. They come back. With friends. It IS the national sport and all, so I understand. I literally resorted to smacking them and mocking their accent.
An Italian guy: “wherea you goinnn?”
Me: “Toa thee bathroooom, eh?”
Not going to lie, it’s kind of fun.

And the guys on my trip aren’t much better. They’re actually worse. Because they pretend to save you and then make their move. And I’m like “you’re not even Italian, get away!”

Italian classes started and it’s four hours a day from 9 a.m. -130 p.m., with a half hour break and a 15-minute break. It’s long, but I’m learning so much. I feel fluent - until, you know, I step out on the street and no one understands what I'm trying to say.

In the past two weeks, I went on excursions to Pisa, Venice and Sienna, climbed the Duomo (the wrong way down - which isn’t easy to do on a narrow staircase when out-of-breath people are climbing up) and went on a tour to see Michelangelo’s David. It was a very cultural experience. My friend Lily Dicker (yes, that’s her real name, but I guess I shouldn't be talking) and I were scheming how to sneak in and out of a gelateria while the tour guide was talking on our way to the museum. Then when we got there, we ditched the group, saw the David and left. In and out in five minutes. But we did get the gelato. Score.

I now have two more days in Florence, which is sad because I feel like I live here. BUT, I go to Rome on Saturday and get my apartment, which is very exciting! I made a close group of friends and we’re spread out around the city but we’ll make it work.
Shout-out to Lily, Hannah, Courtney, Jamie, Kim and Kelsey. (What would my blog be without the shout-outs?)

LOVE AND MISS YOU ALL tutti i giorni (everyday)!! Yes, I learned another phrase!

When in Rome File (Well, when in N.Y...I'm not in Rome yet)

Ciao! Se tutti va? Yeah, I just made that up; I don't speak Italian. BUT, that will change as I travel Rome (hopefully on the back of some Italian guy's moped) very soon.

What made me go to Rome, you ask? Well the Lizzie McGuire Movie for one. So don't be surprised if I suddenly become a famous popstar, at first posing as a double for another famous popstar. I'm joking (kind of), but why not Rome? Gelatos, cobble-stone streets, Italians (they're so friendly), an amazing city with a rich history and, um, i guess the art is important.

My goals thus far are:

1. Learn more than three words of Italian (ciao, Paolo, and bicciere, which means cup). So far, I can say,"Hey Paolo, cup?" Or, "Paolo, hey! Cup?" Or, "Hey, cup! Paolo!" All three will get me very far. I guess the only place I can go is a restaurant. I just hope I have a waiter named Paolo.

2. Eat a ton of gelato.

3. Travel. A lot. Maybe do cool things like zip-lining down Switzerland mountains, unless I cry and demand they take me down first.

4. Have a guy serenade me in Italian, again. I almost drove off the road the first time (the guy in the passenger seat was Italian), so I will make sure not to be operating a vehicle this time.

5. Visit a museum (I have a feeling Jonah would kick my ass if I didn't say something art-related).

6. Other cool stuff.

Yep, I'm ready. I hope Rome is too. (That was cheesier than it sounded in my head.)

Shout-out to Brad:I was talking to him as I was writing this and thought he deserved the first shout-out. And shout-out to his roommate who is having girl problems. And shout-out to Adam because he would most likely feel guilty for making fun of my shout-outs if I gave him one.

CIAO, PAOLO! BICCIERE.

The California File

So, since I've been getting notifications on my wall asking when I'm planning to update my blog, here it goes...

First, I would like to say, can you believe that? I thought I was the only one who reads this thing. My mom doesn't even read it anymore. Maybe someone will find this and my blog will be bought and then I'll get paid to write it. The possibilities are endless. I mean, let's face it: it IS really content-rich.

No, but seriously, I actually do have stuff of significance to write about this time because I did just go abroad to Hawaii. Well, fine, it was to California. But with a little bit of imagination, it could be Hawaii. There are beaches, mountains, surfing, palm trees, tourist traps, sand, people, a sky...

The trip started off with a 5 1/2-hour plane ride. Since the flight left at 10 a.m. (way too early in my book), I asked the stewardess for a blanket, curled up in a ball underneath the blanket and fell asleep. I looked like I was in an igloo. 

After arriving in California at 1:30 p.m., I call Jacqui and this is how the conversation went:

Me: "Hey Jacqui!"

Jacqui: "You landed? Crap MOM I told you we should have left. No, I TOLD you."

Me: "Jacqui, it's ok. Don't worry about it!"

Jacqui: "Are you still on the plane?"

Me: "Nope, I'm at baggage claim."

Jacqui: "You're not even on the plane?! MOM she's not even on the plane! I told you we should have left. We're coming right now! Sorry!"

So, I waited outside in the beautiful weather. Jacqui's house was so nice. I'm talking hot tubs. We did a lot, including go to the donkey farm where the donkey that the Shrek donkey was based off of lived. I'm pretty much famous now by association.

We also went to Santa Cruz to go to the beach, boardwalk and rides. This was an adventure. This is also where I found out that Jacqui drives like a grandma. Seriously. I asked her if I should call my friend while I was sitting in the passenger seat and she reacted as though I was crazy. "We'll call when we get to the beach. I need to focus on the road!"

We got to the amusement park and Jacqui wanted to go on this ride called "Fireball." I'm all for amusement parks, but I do NOT do scary rides. And let me tell you, this one looked CRAZY, flipping all over the place. But Jacqui's been on it before and she assured me it's not scary and it doesn't go upside down. And not to mention, this 5 year-old girl who was eavesdropping on our conversation looked at me and said, "it's not scary." Rather rudely, if you asked me. 

Two seconds later, I'm a bajillion feet in the air, staring at the ground. My sunglasses had flown off to who knows where (most likely the other side of the amusement park) and Jacqui is screaming in my ear saying, "AHHHHH I forgot it went upside down AHHHHHH." SURE Jacqui, SURE.

It was around this time that I figured it was best to leave Jacqui and head to Southern California to see my buds, Amy and Jonah.

Amy lives on top of a mountain, so imagine swimming at her house and looking out at the view. It was incredible. We went to Malibu beach, Hollywood, and she took me on a tour of Calabasas where I pet miniature horses. We went to a park where celebs like to hang out and I totally saw Cher's dogwalker (a.k.a a random woman walking a dog) and Tom Cruise's son (does he even have a son?).

We then went to L.A. and Jonah took us to Beverly Hills and Venice Beach and to my favorite new restaurant, "Diddy Reese," where they served fresh cookies, and made you ice cream sandwiches for $1.50. The guy who worked there is the only guy in the world who thought I was funny. I liked him.

Then we went on the Jimmy Kimmel show (well, I mean as part of the audience. Not onstage. But with my blog being as popular as it is, who knows). We thought Ice Cube was going to be on it, but it turned out Drew Barrymore was on it! And Jimmy Kimmel. It was fun times.

On the flight back, the woman sitting next to me did everything I did. She ordered the food I ordered, the drink I ordered and when I started cooing to the baby in front of us, she did it too. And I'm not talking coincidentally ordering the same thing: she asked me what it was I got, and then ordered it. Weird.

Overall, great trip!

The Mifflin file

So Mifflin was fun - I hear.

I didn't exactly make it to Mifflin. Here's the rundown:

I woke up at 7:00 a.m, the earliest my roommate has ever seen me awake. Did you know the sun came out before noon?

Em Eaton blasted Justin Bieber as we got ready (an excellent start to the day). I went down to Lauren's room around 7:30 a.m. to meet Lauren, Jacqui, Jacqui's friend Danielle, and Nicole. They made mimosas and were drinking champagne. But I'm a Mifflin amateur and wasn't feeling up to grimacing through mixed drink after mixed drink, so I opted for four shots of vodka and chased them with lemonade. Mistake number one.

I then went to Alyssa's apartment where she was making french toast for a bunch of us. I sat on her couch staring at a music video that I couldn't understand. It was a guy singing but the music video showed the same girl with different guys throughout the whole thing. I couldn't put it together. Who was the guy singing? (The four shots weren't helping me to understand.) We then headed to ZBT because I couldn't take it anymore...

Well, my friends, I may or may not have started a beer fight. All I know is that I was drenched in beer and was throwing it at the guys. This was after I got peer pressured into a keg stand (22 seconds) and a beer bong (my first one!).

My friends Nicole and Jacqui said they were socializing and all of a sudden turn around and see me drenched in beer and were like, "what the hell?!"

Nicole: "Did you jump in the keg?"

I went into ZBT and attempted to dry off with Curren's towel. I tried to take it out of ZBT with me but he wasn't having that. A little while and one lost sandal later, I went back to AXO where my friends insisted I change. I snuggled up in Lauren's bed and was out like electricity after a thunderstorm (I have a midterm in weather in climate on Tuesday, so now I can pawn this off as studying).

Anyway, five hours later, at 5 p.m, I woke up, confused as to why I was in my bed and not on Mifflin. Furthermore, I missed a call from my housefellow from last year :(.  I called Alyssa, and we planned to meet for dinner (my lunch) on State Street. I was still not sober while I tried to find her. It took some time, but eventually I found her.

After, I went back to her apartment to nap and all of a sudden, I look at Alyssa's ankle and it's the size of a basketball. She apparently fell down the stairs and it's now sprained, Jacqui, Nicole and Lauren came over and we chilled as I held ice to Alyssa's ankle and went on an Advil hunt around her apartment.

Overall, great time (from what I was awake for), and congrats to Lauren who didn't fall, Nicole who didn't run away or lose anything, and to Jacqui and Nicole for almost getting arrested but managing not to.

The Series of Unfortunate Events File

For those of you who don't know, I ventured to Europe over spring break with my roommate. This was no ordinary trip and when I say it was Eurotrip-esq, I am in no way exaggerating. So, get out some popcorn, some m&ms, maybe a misous and brace yourself for a long post.

Before the trip even began, in the "planning" stages (a.k.a the "eh, whatever happens happens" stages), I gave my roomie and traveling companion, Emily Eaton, the responsibility of choosing the third country to visit. I had already chosen London and Paris (yes, I'm aware these aren't countries) to visit my dear friends Emily Eckhous, Zac Miller, Jonah Braun and Jon Richman. Eaton wrote "Luxembourg" on my FB wall (that's "Facebook," mom and dad), and I enthusiastically responded, "Yes," without really knowing anything about it. Our first mistake.

Em attempted booking the train ticket from Paris to Luxembourg, and failed because it wouldn't get to us on time. We considered having them mailed to Jonah and Jon's apartment in Paris, but the site refused. No biggie, we thought. We'll decide in London with the help of my aunts. (I have family in London and Paris - our LIFESAVERS and reasons we weren't selling our clothes for money, a hairdryer and a place of residence on the street).

My aunt Rozy had asked me to bring her some cigarettes from Duty Free. I called my parents and they told me to buy some for my aunt Yvonne, as well. Persians and their cigs. I'm joking, I don't think there's a correlation. Anyway, as I pay for the eight cartons of cigarettes and two massive packs of m&ms that a sumo wrestler would consume, I received a dirty look from a woman perusing Duty Free. Oh boy, I thought. She definintely thinks these are for me. And she definitely thinks I'm 14 years old.

But I forgot about that a second later when the woman behind the counter told me I get a free purse for the amount of money I spent buying their entire cigarette inventory (eight cartons of cigarettes = 80 packs).

Side note: Em is watching a woman give birth on TV right now because the German game show she was watching ended.

Emily and I discovered that our seats on the plane were not together. We scouted out our travel buddies, and Emily spotted a boy. "I hope one of us sits next to him. He looks agreeable," she said. Who does she end up sitting next to? The boy! "I got this," I said.

"Hi, do you mind changing seats with my friend?" I asked.

"No problem." Now I felt bad.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, it's ok."

"Really? Because I don't want to make you do anything," I say. I was about to pull out the "On a scale from 1-10, how comfortable are you with changing seats?" when he cut me off and said "really, it's ok."

I started stuffing the cigarettes in my new purse when I saw a woman behind me giving me a dirty look. Not again. Em noticed and says loudly, "Alex, you really should stop chain-smoking." Seriously, Em? "These aren't for me," I felt the need to "casually" say aloud once, twice, five times, so the woman would stop grilling me.

14 hours later, we arrived at my aunt's townhouse where we planned to stay until Zac got home and called. My aunt said my cousin from Boston was visiting and not to wake him. Well then it was a bad idea telling me. I bolted up the stairs and barged in on him.

I told him our dilemna and he laughed in our faces as the word "Luxembourg" came out of my mouth. He told us to choose another location, let us nap for six hours and then took us out in the city. Emily announced that two of her three goals in London is to ride the double-decker bus and take a picture inside of a phonebooth.

It hit me that we didn't know where Zac lived. Miraculously, we ended up outside of his door five hours later. Zac was shocked. "I can't believe you ended up outside of my door. I literally gave you no directions." We're clearly meant to be world travelers.

Our cabbie was a sweetheart and we decided to join forces when Emily and I get out of college. I will be the journalist, he, the detective and Emily, the psychic. I don't know how that last part was decided and I'm concerned for my future if it ends up that way.

Side note: I'm planning on being in the Guiness Book of World Records with the length of this blog. If you're still there, I'm impressed :).

I caught up with Zac and it was really good seeing him. As three strangers walked in his door, he informed us that they were there visiting his roommate who was in Whales for the next few days. Zac took us to a pub and we left the next afternoon.

We made it to the chunnel five minutes before it's supposed to leave and couldn't get through. The woman working there gave us a sideways glance. Ok, I don't really know what a sideways glance looks like, but she looked at us as if we had five heads and said, "you must be here a half hour ahead of time, not five minutes." Oh. Right. (Emily claims she knew this). The lady directed us towards the ticket exchange and we got free tickets for a train that leaves an hour later.

One lasagna and three bottles of free wine later, I was out and the train took us to Paris. We checked into the hostel and Jonah, Jon, Curren and Emily met us there an hour later and took us to dinner. After dinner, they took us on a long walk passed 10 crepe stands. The cobble-stoned streets were beautiful. We get to a jazz bar and chill (a.k.a I spill Jonah's drink).

We spent the next day with Emily Eckhous and friends. We went to Notre Dame, the Jewish Quarter and the Louvre, and then an American bar with music trivia later that night.

The next day, I woke up early (10 a.m.) to say bye to Emily Eckhous. Yes, I got lost and she was staying two streets away from me in the Latin Quarter of Paris. But I'm giving myself some leeway because I was in Paris. Emily Eaton got yelled at because the hostel closed from 11 a.m. - 4 p.m., and she was still sleeping at noon. So, we "rushed out" and went to the Arc de Triumph.

Jonah invited us to his and Jon's apartment that night for the second Passover seder. They did an excellent job. It was really nice. We told them we wanted to take a boat ride along the Seine (a river) and they told us not to do it. The next day, we woke up early, took the metro to Notre Dame, walked along the Seine, took the boat ride, and saw a bunch of famous things (though, I'm not exactly sure what).

That night we went Salsa dancing with Jonah, Jon, Curren and friends. We got off the metro and I asked this girl for directions to "Barrio Latino." She points us in the direction and told us she was going there also. I had a feeling this was Vanessa, Jonah and Jon's friend. Turns out, it was and I created a plan where we would walk in together and tell them we've been friends since childhood. Yeah, they didn't fall for it.

They asked us, "so what did you do today? You took a ride on the Siene." Bugger. (They say this in England.) Jonah, Curren and these randoms taught me how to salsa dance (or what the randoms thought was salsa. I'm pretty sure they were just groping me), and I taught them a few moves I made up but could pass for salsa, I'm sure. I said my good-bye's at the end of the night and got into a cab, where I left my phone.

I was phone-less. Emily was phone-less. My aunt's apartment building was locked with a code we didn't know. It was 2 a.m. We had six Euros on us. No matter (they also say this in England), I would just find someone with a cell phone and call my mom to call my aunt to let us in the building. Well, we couldn't find someone who spoke English and had two men basically tell us we'd be sleeping on the street. While Emily was making plans to rent a hotel room, I found someone who let me call the U.S.

The next day, we walked five miles and saw Musee Rodin (where "The Thinker" is), walked along the Champs-Elysees (apparently the most famous street in the world) and went to the Eiffel Tower. I was pooped and slept until 1:30 p.m. the next day. We then took the chunnel back to London and actually made it on time (not going say it was because I left Emily in charge this time). All I'm going to say is that the entire time we were in London, our phone was off by an hour (not going say this is why we missed the crossing of the guards).

And now we're back! And I'm exhausted.

The Story File

You guys will never believe what happened to me.

So, it started out as an average day in Madison, W.I.: cows, cheese, snow, nothing out of the ordinary. The chain of events started when my phone broke. This wasn't like the last time where it "broke" and I was freaking out and telling everyone, and then I charged it. My phone legitimately would not turn on and it was fully charged. I decided to take a trip to the Apple store.

I was on a time crunch, so I immediately called a cab. I had an hour and a half before a meeting with the Journalism advisor. The cab company said they would take 15 minutes to get to the AX house (the O got stolen. I have a theory it was Myles because he's the only guy in Madison who could reach the top of the house). The cab took 25 minutes. I was freaking.

The driver strikes up a conversation with me about the weather and somehow brings up that he used to drive in NYC and once drove George Clooney to a hotel. So naturally, I ask if he has George's autograph on him and if he would give it to me. Surprisingly, he didn't. But he DID have a novel George was reading and left in the cab, with his markings in it. It also just so happened that he brought it to the union cab office center place to show one of his coworkers that day because a conversation about GC had come up the day before. Ridiculous, I know.

The cab driver and I got to talking for a while. He kept laughing with me (it was actually at me but I'll pretend like it was with me) and said I was a pretty charming girl. So, I obviously took this opportunity to ask if he can be my driver on the way home and pick me up at exactly 4:30. I also asked if he could go to the union cab office center place and get the novel. He said if he has no one else to drive, he would.

I now had 40 minutes to fix my phone and get to the Journalism office. I run into the mall and fall on my face in the crowded food court, where maybe 150 people start clapping. The woman behind the Chocolate Shoppe stand/booth/whatever you call the "restaurants" in the food court said she would give me free ice cream because I was so embarrassed. Sweet girl. Anyway, I take my ice cream and happily make my way to the Apple store. As I walk in, I swing my arm into an iTouch stand and the iTouch falls out of the case onto the floor and breaks.

An employee approaches me and gives me the option to pay for it or to pay for the cost of fixing it, so I start to cry. He felt bad so he said he would fix my phone for free if it was not a big problem. Well, my friends, he held the power button and lock button at the same time which is the "force turn on" button, and my phone turned on. I was now crying of happiness and decided to celebrate and got another ice cream. I had 20 minutes to get home so I run outside and the cab wasn't there. I called union cab and they said Stan (the cab driver) was on his way.

10 minutes later, Stan arrives and I'm flustered. Stan asks me what's wrong and I start venting about the fact that I had to pay for an iTouch that I didn't want to buy and and that I had to make it to a Journalism meeting in 10 minutes and I couldn't be late. Stan said, "I have something to cheer you up," and whips out the novel. Can you guys believe George Clooney was reading "Up in the Air?" I would think that he knew the plot line.

I was distracted from my anxiety with this golden treasure. What happens then? The cab putters and Stan pulls to the side. Stan turns around and looks apologetic. "What's wrong, Stan?" I ask. "The car battery died," he informs me. Well let me tell you, I was not happy with Stan. I start crying again and he felt so bad that he did not make me pay, called another cab, and GAVE ME THE NOVEL TO KEEP. Yes, friends. I own George's novel with his little markings in the margins.

The cab shows up relatively quickly since we were not that far, but I was 15 minutes late. I run into the building and see that the Journalism office is closed and locked. BUGGER. So I go home, turn on the computer, and check my email. I see that I have a notification from Schwoch (the Journalism advisor). "Can't make it to the meeting, Alex. Something came up. I'm sorry but I have to postpone."

And then pigs flew.

The Bully File

You know you go to UW-Madison when a 4' 5" girl (I may be exaggerating, yet who am I to talk?) comes into your room and yells at you because you’re not out at 9:45 p.m.

Nicole (or as I like to call her, Nicky, because she hates it): “You’re a nancy!”

Me: “Whyyy?”

Nicky: “Look at you right now. It’s Friday night at 9:45. You’re under the covers. Motionless. Talking about diet coke.* Your retainer is right here. I’m surprised it’s not in your mouth.”

Listen, Nicole (responding now with what I couldn’t think of back then - 2 minutes ago), I'M TIRED. I know, it s great comeback - it DID take me a couple of minutes to think of it.

So, in retrospect, it probably didn’t help that I was laughing so hard that I immediately took my computer out and started blogging what she said. 
“Blogging. Now we’re having fun!” she said - pretty sarcastically, if you ask me. Which by the way, is interesting, considering she actually has "The Voj Files" bookmarked on her computer.

Well, guys, I did end up going out. Being bullied around by someone that size is not fun. I would know. We’re a feisty species.

I want to add a side note: Did you know that Facebook chat doesn’t recognize the word Facebook? Pretty weird, huh?

Oh, and shout-out to Emily Kesner, love ya girl. Adam don’t make fun of me. Speaking of whom, Adam, I miss you! Find out when I can come to Duke.

*I may have a diet coke addiction problem.

The My Big Fat Persian/Israeli Family File

As you all know, or should know, I’m Persian. My dad is the head of the Persian Mafia (so don’t mess), and my whole family is a bunch of Persians. Now, I’ll admit, I don’t know the language. I know some words, phrases and numbers 1-10, so I string them all together so people think I’m fluent. For example, if someone asks me to speak Farsii (which is the Persian language), I will say something like “man haile, cherah aziat miconi, choobi, yak doe se.” This means “I like why are you bothering me okay one two three.” And they’ll be impressed. Of course it’s not written like that. Farsii doesn’t use the English alphabet, but I am trying to make a point.

I was joking about my dad being the head of the Persian mafia by the way - or was I?

What Persian men do on Friday nights..or at least the men in my family

Anyway, what inspired that little rant is that I went home for the weekend for my second cousin’s wedding. So, not only were all my first cousins home, but my second cousins from Israel and California, and some of my family that lives in Canada. A little background:I have eight first cousins on my mom’s side, four of whom I’m really close to and see around twice a week when I’m home. They’re all a little older than me, aged somewhere in between 21-and 24-years-old. They, along with my brother and I, are referred to by our aunts, uncles and parents as the “Six Pack.” We’re cool, I know. Anyway, I’m kind of like the black sheep of the six of us, as I get made fun of by them ALL THE TIME. I kind of see a pattern between them and everyone else in my life. But, it’s ok. If I got embarrassed easily, I would never leave my room.

To show you what I deal with, I’ll explain how they went to town on my blog. All weekend.

Adam (my brother) mocking my blog: “Hey guys! Why do you read my blog? Shout-out to Aaron for being so cool. Today I went to the cafeteria. Shout out to Jeremy who’s reading this on a different schedule. I went to class. Shout out to Emily who is in Sevilla. I hope you’re having a great time. Speaking of time, there was a time when I saw Aaron today. Shout-out to Aaron again!”

Delilah (my cousin) mocking my blog: “Today, my friend got a fake ID. Instead of telling me he got a fake ID, he said “Chika Chika Yeah.” I laughed. I would have thought it was funny with one chika but he threw in two chika’s for good measure.”

Alex (my cousin): “When you wrote in your last post ‘I don’t know why you guys read my blog?’ I was thinking ‘I don’t know why, either.’”

So, yeah. That’s what I deal with. This happened on the way to THE city (yes, THE city- and im not talking about Chicago), where my cousins, brother and I were going to have dinner together and then meet up with my Israeli second cousins at a lounge for drinks. In retrospect (and at the time), we realized it’s not the best idea to wing where you’re going to go to dinner in NYC on a Saturday night. Not only that, but we all wanted different types of food. So to decide, we first all tried to vote on what type of food we wanted. Yeah, that didn’t work. Then we told my cousin Delilah who lives in the city to throw out names of restuarants around where we were. She buckled under the pressure. Adam called Maxi, a sports bar, to figure out if we could get a table. They said “we do not have a table available” and Adam responded with “when will you do have a table available?”

After dinner, we headed to the lounge. After Daniellah’s 14th attempt to parallel park, we went inside and I had the best time. I hadn’t seen my second cousins in a while and it was good times. I miss and love them, and couldn’t wait for the wedding.

At the wedding ceremony, I was reminded of the last wedding of their’s we went to, when they played live music, song after song, and my cousin Daniellah and I were getting antsy. As the sixth song starts playing, Dani goes “this is track 6 out of 19. This song is called ‘Why?’ or in Farsii ‘Cherah?”

Dancing, drinking, taking the camera away from my mom, it was a lot of fun. Oh, and interesting people; this waiter came up to me and Delilah and said, "So i hear this is a pretty crazy party" and when my cousin responded with "I don't think I know what you mean," he said "sex, drugs." Nope, definitely didnt know what he meant. But I'm pretty sure he was the one lighting it up, not us.

I’m happy I went home and miss them all already.