Oh my goodigoodigoodness. I have been totally absent from this blog for over a month.
I have a good reason, though.
Because of a conversation with the Arts editor for my school's newspaper, I have started a blog chronicling my attempts at being domestic (IE, learning to cook). Here it is.
Other than the new activities I have created for myself, I'm not doing too much. I am, however, continuing to feel less stressed than usual. I guess it really is all about mind over matter - or whatever the phrase is.
On another note, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROOMMATE!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
My Grandmere And Poppy.
My father's parents are two of the most amazing people I have ever had the privilege of encountering.
My Grandmere is a very petite French woman who refuses to be in public without her very very high heels. She is normally seen with a Sonia Rykiel top and black pants, and of course her very very high, very very French heels. Until very recently, she was always fully made up with emerald green eyeshadow, lipstick and blush (in her words, rouge). Her hair, before she stopped paying as much attention to it, was always a ridiculous shade of dark burgundy. As I've made pretty clear so far, she is very French. Interestingly enough, however, she was born and raised in Marrakech, Morocco. But she'd never let you know it. As far as anyone outside of the family knows, she's from Lyon. It sounds pretty weird, but it's one of the reasons I love my Grandmere. She turns her nose up at anything that is too American or Eastern European (including my Poppy's family's religious customs). She is also extremely loving, and will constantly tell me in Arabic that she would die for me.
My Poppy is very American, comparatively. He hails from Braddock, Pennsylvania, and refers to DC as "Warshington." In his working days, he was a professor of Anthropology at various universities on the East Coast. He has an almost full head of white hair, which is finally thinning after 89 years of life. He is incredibly smart and well-spoken. Sometimes he says things that probably shouldn't be said, but this is mostly due to the whole losing-one's-inhibitions-as-one-ages thing. He is pretty pessimistic by nature, but is in constant praise of me and his other granddaughters.
My Grandmere and Poppy met while Poppy was serving in World War II. Grandmere was a nurse. Poppy walked into her dressing room while she was getting ready for the Red Cross dance they were both attending. Poppy took her back to America, and they got married. Strangely enough, Grandmere didn't know Poppy's real name was Milton until very close to, if not on, their wedding day. Poppy always went by Jack, which was a shortening of his last name, Jacobs. Sixty-odd years later, they're still crazy in love.
My Grandmere and Poppy bicker all the time, especially since he's been in rehabilitation after one too many falls. She doesn't understand how hard it is for him to try to get better. She thinks she can take care of him herself, but it's an impossible task for one person. Even through all the conflict, my Grandmere and Poppy love each other very, very much.
And we love them, too.
My Grandmere is a very petite French woman who refuses to be in public without her very very high heels. She is normally seen with a Sonia Rykiel top and black pants, and of course her very very high, very very French heels. Until very recently, she was always fully made up with emerald green eyeshadow, lipstick and blush (in her words, rouge). Her hair, before she stopped paying as much attention to it, was always a ridiculous shade of dark burgundy. As I've made pretty clear so far, she is very French. Interestingly enough, however, she was born and raised in Marrakech, Morocco. But she'd never let you know it. As far as anyone outside of the family knows, she's from Lyon. It sounds pretty weird, but it's one of the reasons I love my Grandmere. She turns her nose up at anything that is too American or Eastern European (including my Poppy's family's religious customs). She is also extremely loving, and will constantly tell me in Arabic that she would die for me.
My Poppy is very American, comparatively. He hails from Braddock, Pennsylvania, and refers to DC as "Warshington." In his working days, he was a professor of Anthropology at various universities on the East Coast. He has an almost full head of white hair, which is finally thinning after 89 years of life. He is incredibly smart and well-spoken. Sometimes he says things that probably shouldn't be said, but this is mostly due to the whole losing-one's-inhibitions-as-one-ages thing. He is pretty pessimistic by nature, but is in constant praise of me and his other granddaughters.
My Grandmere and Poppy met while Poppy was serving in World War II. Grandmere was a nurse. Poppy walked into her dressing room while she was getting ready for the Red Cross dance they were both attending. Poppy took her back to America, and they got married. Strangely enough, Grandmere didn't know Poppy's real name was Milton until very close to, if not on, their wedding day. Poppy always went by Jack, which was a shortening of his last name, Jacobs. Sixty-odd years later, they're still crazy in love.
My Grandmere and Poppy bicker all the time, especially since he's been in rehabilitation after one too many falls. She doesn't understand how hard it is for him to try to get better. She thinks she can take care of him herself, but it's an impossible task for one person. Even through all the conflict, my Grandmere and Poppy love each other very, very much.
And we love them, too.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Relax - Take It Easy.
I don't think it's any surprise to any of my readers (reader, really) that I have severe anxiety. My brain likes to grab at anything that even remotely resembles an issue and hang onto it for as long as possible. Even if nothing is actually wrong, my brain will go over the past few hours, days, weeks and find something to be anxious about. I feel anxious before I can even find something to be anxious about. It's like the age old question: Which came first, the anxiety or the conflict?
Recently, I've been feeling slightly more calm (KNOCK ON WOOD). It's exhilarating! Go through my posts and I challenge you to find ONE that states something such as this. This is good news!
It's a little bothersome that it took me so long to feel at peace. However, better late than never.
I've finally come to realize that a) things aren't that serious, b) there's no point in freaking out unless there is an actual reason to, and c) life's too short to worry all the time.
Don't worry, be happy.
Recently, I've been feeling slightly more calm (KNOCK ON WOOD). It's exhilarating! Go through my posts and I challenge you to find ONE that states something such as this. This is good news!
It's a little bothersome that it took me so long to feel at peace. However, better late than never.
I've finally come to realize that a) things aren't that serious, b) there's no point in freaking out unless there is an actual reason to, and c) life's too short to worry all the time.
Don't worry, be happy.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
SENIIIOOOORRRSSSS.
Here we go again. Senior year.
While being a senior in college is certainly different from being a senior in high school, I still can't help but take a trip down memory lane.
I feel that same restless feeling that I felt when I was in high school - Basically, "WHY THE FUCK AM I STILL HERE??"
One monumental difference is that the actual end of schooling might be in sight. After senior year of high school, the next step was, without question, college. While high school was over, school itself was not. After college, the future is uncertain. It's equal parts exciting and ridiculously intimidating. I'd like to say I'm going straight to grad school, but as I've come to learn in recent weeks, my ideal after college plans might be slightly too grandiose. Grad school + New York City apartment + pursuing an acting career = breaking the bank. So what's a girl to do?
My number one desire for post college life is living in New York. I hope more than anything that my other wishes and dreams will have a chance to come into fruition, but until then, looking forward to moving to the city of my dreams is enough for me.
Let's just hope senioritis doesn't get the best of me.
While being a senior in college is certainly different from being a senior in high school, I still can't help but take a trip down memory lane.
I feel that same restless feeling that I felt when I was in high school - Basically, "WHY THE FUCK AM I STILL HERE??"
One monumental difference is that the actual end of schooling might be in sight. After senior year of high school, the next step was, without question, college. While high school was over, school itself was not. After college, the future is uncertain. It's equal parts exciting and ridiculously intimidating. I'd like to say I'm going straight to grad school, but as I've come to learn in recent weeks, my ideal after college plans might be slightly too grandiose. Grad school + New York City apartment + pursuing an acting career = breaking the bank. So what's a girl to do?
My number one desire for post college life is living in New York. I hope more than anything that my other wishes and dreams will have a chance to come into fruition, but until then, looking forward to moving to the city of my dreams is enough for me.
Let's just hope senioritis doesn't get the best of me.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sarah Does Florence, Part 2
Buon Giorno, ragazzi!
I am currently in an internet cafe on Via Ghibellina, right near my school. This particular internet cafe (the first one I have gone to in Florence) smells like B.O. Non mi piace. After I leave here, I have to take cash out to pay for my accomodations. Unfortunately, European ATMs (Bancomat) seem to hate my card. They protest every time I attempt to take cash out. Non va bene.
This previous weekend was full of activity. On Friday, the big excursion was going to a night club near the Firenze Santa Maria Novella train station. It was extremely not fun. They claimed the first drink was free but they did not inform us that there was a cover charge. So I ended up paying £23 for two drinks. And it took forever getting there. And then we got separated and one of my roommates was forced to take a taxi alone while the other ended up passing out in the bathroom and spending the night at the house of one of the bouncers. Strano.
On Saturday, some of my roommates and I went to Siena, which was bellissima. Lots of fabulous shops and cobble stone streets. On Sunday, we went to Cinque Terre. TOO MUCH WALKING. But ridiculously beautiful.
I am sad that my time here will be so short.
To be continued...
I am currently in an internet cafe on Via Ghibellina, right near my school. This particular internet cafe (the first one I have gone to in Florence) smells like B.O. Non mi piace. After I leave here, I have to take cash out to pay for my accomodations. Unfortunately, European ATMs (Bancomat) seem to hate my card. They protest every time I attempt to take cash out. Non va bene.
This previous weekend was full of activity. On Friday, the big excursion was going to a night club near the Firenze Santa Maria Novella train station. It was extremely not fun. They claimed the first drink was free but they did not inform us that there was a cover charge. So I ended up paying £23 for two drinks. And it took forever getting there. And then we got separated and one of my roommates was forced to take a taxi alone while the other ended up passing out in the bathroom and spending the night at the house of one of the bouncers. Strano.
On Saturday, some of my roommates and I went to Siena, which was bellissima. Lots of fabulous shops and cobble stone streets. On Sunday, we went to Cinque Terre. TOO MUCH WALKING. But ridiculously beautiful.
I am sad that my time here will be so short.
To be continued...
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Sarah Does Florence, Part 1
I'm in Italy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It is so amazing here. Molto bellissimo. Mi piace molto.
I take four hours of Italian a day, which hurts my brain. But I am learning it "piano a piano" (slowly). The architecture is incredible. Almost every night I've been here (three so far) I have made a point of walking into "il centro" and trying out the local Italian fare (well, drinks).
I'm using the computer of mia amica rusa, so I can't write much. I will be back soon with more updates!
To be continued...
It is so amazing here. Molto bellissimo. Mi piace molto.
I take four hours of Italian a day, which hurts my brain. But I am learning it "piano a piano" (slowly). The architecture is incredible. Almost every night I've been here (three so far) I have made a point of walking into "il centro" and trying out the local Italian fare (well, drinks).
I'm using the computer of mia amica rusa, so I can't write much. I will be back soon with more updates!
To be continued...
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
When In Rome...
Well, Florence, really. But I think this title is appropriate enough.
On Saturday, I will fly into Pisa, Italy. I will take a forty five minute taxi/bus/car service to Florence, where I will spend the next three weeks learning the Italian language. I haven't really felt excited until now, when it's only a few days away. I guess it just hadn't sunk in. But now, oh man, I am excited beyond words.
What I most look forward to is walking through the streets and passing by incredible architecture and local dives that serve Napolitan pizza and Peronis. I've always imagined that Italy and I will click really well. Italy's probably my future husband.
If any of my loyal readers (Hi, Becky!) would like to follow my Italian journey, stay tuned for the multi-segment saga I have tentatively named Sarah Does Florence (see what I did there?).
On Saturday, I will fly into Pisa, Italy. I will take a forty five minute taxi/bus/car service to Florence, where I will spend the next three weeks learning the Italian language. I haven't really felt excited until now, when it's only a few days away. I guess it just hadn't sunk in. But now, oh man, I am excited beyond words.
What I most look forward to is walking through the streets and passing by incredible architecture and local dives that serve Napolitan pizza and Peronis. I've always imagined that Italy and I will click really well. Italy's probably my future husband.
If any of my loyal readers (Hi, Becky!) would like to follow my Italian journey, stay tuned for the multi-segment saga I have tentatively named Sarah Does Florence (see what I did there?).
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