Sca-Sca-Atter Brained

This post is a little scatterbrained especially since my mind is in 9275839 different places at the moment.

I’ve been thinking about Organic alot and that’s only because I’ve been spending time on it everyday, so yeah you get the connection. I was in class today and I noticed something in my professor that I hadn’t realized before -she genuinely loves this stuff. I find Orgo interesting, but certainly can’t see myself even thinking about it after my MCAT if I don’t ever have to, but since I filled in my notes before class I noticed her behaviorism and so on. Firstly I think she’s adorable in a little-lady-with-the-big-brain kind of way and she’s super nice. Although the class is dead silent in a coma, she’s retains her enthusiasm for teaching Organic Chem. More power to ya, Dr. Brainy (that’s not her real name, but it wouldn’t be inaccurate if it was)

I’ve resolved to, inshaAllah, stay away from coffee although the most I ever consume is two cups a week. But dang namit, Einstein Bros. just has such good coffee for such a good price. They’re going to run this poor college student (me) down.

Remember the cult I’m apart of? Well every time it’s study-or-die time I NEEEEED a cinnamon roll. It’s the strangest thing because when I fight the craving I begin to smell it everywhere -Do you smell that? Mmmmm, cinah-mon-roool. You mean the trash can?…Gah-ross – so I end up getting the “gourmet” ones from the vending machine. I guess gourmet comes convenient now.

 Oh! I was so excited this morning in my Political Science class because my hunch was finally confirmed today. Ya see, there’s this one girl who never smiles, never turns her head, never expresses any sort of expression in class and I don’t know why, but when I first saw her, I though she was pregnant although there wasn’t anything to really allude to that assumption. Then today I saw her walking to class, which would be the first time I saw her out of a seat and so as she walked by it was a no brainer. Punky chick is knocked up and showing. Like a maniac I started smiling reeeaaaally hard and got excited for her although I didn’t know her name or anything about her for that matter. So in the bathroom stall I mumbled to myself “I knew it I knew it I knew it!……WOWOWOOWOWOOWOWOWOW she has a beh-beh in her belly and sits two seats away from me!” When I got back to class, like a stalker I couldn’t stop starring at her belly for ten minutes. Ah, how luck she is.

I am in the deepest pile of poop for an upcoming exam. It’s the exam for that Al Maghrib class I took a while back and literally an entire notebook of about 200 pages to memorize (hah!) in a day and a half.

I hope my grade is atleast two digits long.

 

I’m NOT Your Baby, Punk

If there’s one thing that makes me roll my eyes in disgust and rage is pick up lines (unless they’re from the man I married).

Here’s what happened.

I was walking through the face wash aisle at Walmart because, well, I ran out when I saw a guy on the other end of the aisle. I didn’t mind at first until I noticed he was coming right up to me, so I turned around and walked in the other direction into the open area of the store. I stopped for a second to think about where I wanted to head to next when he come up from around me to deliberately cross infront of me (you following along?) and I know it was deliberate because he looked right at my face as he walked by and said “How you doin’ baby?” with a smirk.

UUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I wasn’t looking at him, infact I intentionally stared in the opposite direction and ignored his stupid remark, but I feel dirty. And violated. And angry.

I know I don’t have the power to control what people say or think, but when this sort of thing happens, I really feel like I was trespassed upon.

I remembered when I started wearing hijab and the different attitude/manners people displayed towards me. Men would hold doors open even if I was clearly half way down the hall and let’s say there’s a group of girls walking in front of some guys. If the guys said something to them or whistled, they didn’t make a peep when I walked by. Infact they would smile and nod their heads in a respectful manner. SubhanAllah the power, respect, beauty, and wisdom behind hijab. I wasn’t treated like some ornament or cheap eye candy. I received better treatment with the hijab than in my own experience prior to it.

So anyways, when something like the aforementioned instance happens, it drives me up the wall! Goodness. I don’t expect to be treated like a queen, heck I’m don’t even want to be noticed in the slightest bit, but I seriously do not invite or encourage pick up lines. And do you know what reeeeaaalllyy bothers me the most about this kind of thing? I was wearing jilbab/abaya and a full, not some flimsy, hijab. I even had a jacket this time. So obviously you can’t see anything in regards to my body; the only things visible were my face and hands. I don’t give anyone any kind of reason to stare at me yet this stupid guy makes his unnecessary comment.

Idiot.

I was enraged as I walked to the other end of the store and wished my husband was around to teach this punk a lesson. I so badly wanted to yell at him for even talking to me. Normally I don’t mind answering a question or helping someone, guy or girl, but he was seriously out of line. Don’t even try to tell me that he didn’t really do anything because even his words were violating aside from the fact that he was so close when he said it.

Yuck. What an butthead.

This is just one more reason for me to start walking around in full all black niqab where you can’t see anything but a shapeless, faceless, black ghost coming at you. At least I’d scare anyone from making a comment like that. Besides, you’d have to be super-stupid jerk to make a comment like the guy did at a niqabi.

I have a solution. I’m going to pepper spray the guy whenever that happens because I simply don’t like being hit on.

That should teach you, punk.

fuming through the ears,

amira

 

Stop It I’m Ticklish

I hope no one ever experiences what I so unfortunately experienced recently.

It happened in the kitchen. You see, our oven doubles as a storage place because Ethiopian women have more pots and pans than they’ll ever use in one lifetime. So we stuff the oven with “extras” when there’s no where else for them to go and empty it out to bake brownies or other delicious fatteners.

So I was bent over reloading the oven and trying to strategically put everything back into its place when my youngest sister came up behind me. I think she was trying to get my attention but was still starring at the T.V. and instead of tapping me like she thought she was doing she ended up tickling my butt.

It startled the heebee jeebees out of me because believe it or not you don’t really laugh when your butt is tickled. I jumped because I thought something crawled down my crack and she screamed because she’s just jumpy.

So I have been officially violated in the most awkward way. Everybody experiences the accidental butt brush or smack, but only I can say “My name is Amira and I have been butt tickled.”

still not laughing,
amira

 

GGOOAALL!

Everyone wants to be Mia Hamm when it comes to soccer (at least I do) and I had my chance this past Saturday at my friend’s graduation party. I came prepared to get a load of the great outdoors -most noted by my attire. Everyone showed up at the outdoor party in some kind of outfit or in an abaya. Me? I went looking like I was ready to do a Tae Bo workout. Sweatpants, sweater, running shoes, knee guards, arms bands, and a head band (okay maybe not the last three, but may as well have). I didn’t care that I looked like something out of 1994, I was ready to rumble, get down and dirty in the wet grass, and kick some soccer “donkey”.

Well our “team” included two friends and a 8 1/2 (you know how important that “1/2″ is to kids) year old because everyone else seemed too occupied with the benches and shaded patio. After showing off my useless kicks and corny tricks we decided to just kick some field points or something like that (can you tell I’m such a sporty chick).

Ah, it was finally my turn, my turn to shine. Of course I have to go after a friend that does magic tricks with her feet and a soccer ball. Yeah, amira you won’t look like an idiot after that neat-o thinga-ma-jig she did with her feet. You should stick with the basics (which I did).

I set the ball on a perfect spot on the ground, said bismillah and ran up to kick the ball. I imagined myself gracefully running and making the most powerful and amazing kick -ever. But the next thing I knew I was starring at the sky. On my back. In the mud.

Yes, I fell -more like slid half way across the whole dang park before the sheer weight of my butt meet the force of friction to stop me from slip n’ sliding into the lake. I got up and saw the mess I created. It looked like my butt threw up all over my sweatpants. Brown and green with a sprinkle of smushed grass. So pleasant. My hands were covered in mud and my sweatpants and sweater were ruined by mother earth.

Good news: I made the goal.
Bad news: I had grass in my crack.

I had to walk across the park and the patio (where the mass public was located) before getting to the restroom. I could feel my underwear get wetter with every step. Alhamdulilah I have such wonderful friends turned butt guards the whole trip to the ladies room. So there we were laughin‘ and dabbin‘ away at my buttocks.

Moral of the story: bring butt pads next time.

slip n’ slidin‘,
amira

 

Stomach Of Steel

Reader beware. There. That’s my fair warning.

Let me tell you how vile I am. Goodness gracious me why does this happen?

When I get hungry and postpone eating either one of two things happen. Either 1) I properly prepare something and eat like a civilized human being or 2) all civility goes out the window and I eat the first thing my eye catches without thinking.

In the last seven minutes I scarfed down two and a half cheese sticks, one and a half chicken tenders, cheese crackers, some fries, and a small (okay it wasn’t small, more like big) cup of apple sauce. All in less than 10 minutes.

Excuse me while I projectile vomit all over the house.

I should really say alhamdulilah at least the foods kind of match this time meaning you could find most of the items on a normal dinner menu. Normally my ravenous eating would entail something like an apple, some tuna, pudding, and then a bowl of cereal.

Yuck.

I actually thought about eating the perfectly ripe banana before I felt the gurgle of doom in my gastronal pouch. I knew I did something wrong during my blind eating fury..something very very wrong. And now my stomach was going to show me who’s boss. I had to sit down and stay clam before I made the mess that no one wants to clean up. You know, the one that’s redish in color or sometimes clear, but always with green or orange slimy chunks? The one that you feel crawl up your throat before the inevitable end. Sometimes you manage to swallow it (whewh what a close call) and other times it pushes through your teeth forcing you to feel it’s powerful gush of grossness.

Alhamulilah I was fine, but did amira learn her 1029743284th lesson -no. I could say yes, but I know it’ll happen again -probably in the near future.

eating champ of the world,
amira

 

Iron Chef Amira-ca

Yesterday I accomplished a new record for myself; truly a feat not meet by any of my past attempts.

Before I explain what happened you should know that I have a hardcore crush on food. It’s an intense passion sometimes and heck, I just love to eat!

So when I get hungry I can’t ignore it for too long. It starts calling my name like an evil whisper and I succumb to it’s powers.

Yesterday I realized that I had not eaten all day when the “supper bell” rang in my head and I became a monster on the prowl. Only there was nothing already prepared (i.e. leftovers). So I thought “Dang it, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

Cue the theme music.

I put on my apron (yeah I wear an apron and a seat belt in the backseat -better safe than sorry (or dead) ) and imaginary chef’s hat which I really want by the way.

I turned my face onto “mean look” mode. Arms crossed with large chopping knife in one hand, small butter knife in other….let’s rock n’ roll.

The clock starts and I ripe open the box of Fettuccine Alfredo and quickly get to work. I love to see the flame first ignite on the stove top and it only adds to my excitement as I add the ingredients in exaggerated gestures.

Pasta -check.
Milk – check.
Butter/Margarine -check.
Sauce mix -check.
Baby Shrimp (my added bonus) -check.
Chicken -NEGATIVE….we have a negative on the chicken, call for backup NOW!

Ah, tuna will do just fine.

Tuna -check.

Moving on to the sides I try to find vegetables, but it just wasn’t meant to be so I opted for whatever I could find. Which was nothing!

Option two – I find the mix for mashed potatoes so mashed potatoes it is!
Second flame is ignited and the mashed potatoes are a go.

Uh oh. I find a hidden box of Au Gratin which makes my mouth start to salivate (such a cheesy potato-y wonder) and for a split second I reconsider the mashed potatoes, but they’re already cooking. So we’re having two potato sides tonight -potato is a vegetable so I didn’t break any rules. Third stove top flame is ignited and ready to be my best friend for cooking the Au Gratin.

The kitchen is over flowing with tantalizing scents of cheese, potatoes (a hol’ lotta potatoe), and Fettuccine with tuna and baby shrimp. The pressure is definitely on as I check the clock. Holy-Shmoly! Only 9 minutes to dish my entree and sides.

I wipe an imaginary drop of sweat from my forehead and press on as I run about like a mad woman looking for the basil and pepper. Wait. Where’s the salt? I scream “Where the heck is the salt!” before I realize it is in my handy dandy apron pocket; it’s always there for me when I need it. But there’s no time for politeness with -Oh my Allah -5 minutes left!

In an incredible rush of adrenaline and pure hunger I managed to plate the food and even add a chef’s designer touch with a leaf of mint on top. Awh, how nice -I’m just trying to score extra point with the judges.

Now I’ll have you know that I was unanimously declared winner by the judges (the huz and two hungry mouths a.k.a. my sisters). So I walked proudly with cheese and potato oozing out of my mouth and my new reign as Iron Chef Amira.

Bon Appetit.

 

Long Live Vicks (Vapor Rub)

Guys, I think I just found my new favorite drug.

I woke up this morning with a raging fire in my throat and without a nose.

So I still had my nose but I may as well have been without it. It was like I had a jaw breaker in each nostril -completely stuffed (and not that yummy kind of stuffing from Thanksgiving, it was the other kind…that would be in your nose.)

I spent my day with a Breath Right nose strip expanding my nostrils to new limits. Sure my nose looked three times bigger than usual, but I got my oxygen and that’s all that matters. I could have literally shoved a jaw breaker in them with the strip pulling my nostrils so far apart.

Then I discovered a Chapped Stick (or small tampon) sized Vick’s Vapor Inhalant for “on the go”.

WOW

All I need is one sniff and I’m on a soothingly medicated high. Not to mention laughing like a madwoman because it tickles- wikles my nose.

I find myself thinking about it every minute. It’s a constant fight between good and evil.

“One more sniff, that’s all you need. C’mon Just one more”

“No!” “You can’t do this to yourself, you have to resist”

“But it feeeeeeeels soooo gooooooooood to have all of that levmetamfetamine in your nasal passage.”

Of course I give in and all is right with the world again.

Amira + Vick’s = Forever

-amira

 

Beauty Queen

This morning I woke up after a restful night’s sleep alhamdulilah. I was knocked out cold- something could have attacked me and I bet I would have still been snoring. I don’t snore though

Anyways I had to move my husband’s car so “S” could get out and I realized the car needed gas. So I went to Walmart for gas and Pillsbury cinnamon rolls (oh.mercy.me -I’m drooling again). You know what happens when I go to Walmart .

But I wasn’t exactly dressed presentably enough to be in public. I just ran out as soon as I woke up, yeah that means I hadn’t brushed my teeth or washed my face yet. I just threw on the essentials -hijab, something to cover me from my arms to my tushy, and shoes. You know how bobble heads have over sized bobbling…heads? Well imagine a hijabi with same oversized head, but no bobble. People who know my head of hair understand that completely.

So with an unmatching (to say the least) flimsy grey-purplish abaya, visible bright blue scrub bottoms, and a barely-holdin’-it-together hijab I went into the public domain. Oh and did I forget to mention that my face was still in default morning mode -scrunched and crooked.

It wasn’t exactly pretty, in fact it was not pretty. At all.

Alas today has to be the day that everyone greets me with the friendliest “Good morning”’s and “Have a great day Ma’am”. Everyone was so nice this morning. Why? Why am I completely ignored when I look presentable, but everyone is nice to me when I look worst than vomit?!

I just felt like grabbing the speaker.

“Attention Walmart shoppers and employees, I have a special announcement. I appreciate your kind gestures this morning, but I SWEAR I don’t look like this regularly!” “JUST GIVE ME ANOTHER CHAAAANCE!”

Are employees trained to be nicer to the rough-looking folks? I have never been treated so well, yet looked so bad. But that’s just my kind of luck.

Heh.

bobble head,
amira

P.S. And ooohhhh yeeeaaah, those cinnamon rolls were worth it. Extra frosting in all.

 

Muslim Idol Anyone?

I like to occasionally think of my self as a singer (yeah,right), but the only songs I’m good at are old classics from the fifties because I can yell with a tune or snap my fingers and speak while swaying with the saxophones.

Otherwise I might make your ears bleed. A lot.

Today my mom and I went to jummah really early to score the parking spot right in front of the sister’s entrance. So while getting ready to leave the care, my mom said something to me and I replied and then she said something like “You’re so foolish.”

I took “You’re so foolish” and sang my heart out as I was stepping out of the car. Let me tell you, I was so into my song making lyrics, various tones with gestures, and ugly faces. Allah knows why I continued doing all of that outside the privacy of my mom’s car.

Anywho, as I was coming around the car, there he was. The mid-twenties muslim brother starring right at me. You can’t imagine the sheer horror and embarrassment I felt. If I wasn’t literally frozen maybe I could have walked on like it was no big deal, but no, I’m amira and what I do instead is run back to the car making a nasty screeching sound.

While he’s still watching me.

Then I just sat in the car as quietly as I could as if the car’s windshields weren’t see through and he wasn’t still starring at me trying not to laugh.

My mom asked me what spooked me so badly and when I explained what just happened, she screamed with laughter and the only words I heard her say were “Like I said, you’re so foolish.”

rockin’ the mike,
amira

 

I Guess Home Is Where You Make It

Sometimes I wonder what people are thinking when they’re doing something unusual such as what I saw today during my ritualistic trip to Walmart.

I wish it wasn’t true, but I end up going to our neighborhood Walmart (you know they little green ones) 3-4 times a week sometimes. And the supercenter? Luckily I’m too lazy to drive three miles to the supercenter.

Anyhow, back to the story. I was minding my own business and studying for-dun dun dun- Organic when two big and hungry mouths realized they cooked the hotdogs, but didn’t have any buns. Being the super-duper sister I am, I decided to go out into the chilling cold and get some.

Hey, I’ll take frostbite as an excuse to stop the madness that is organic chemistry.

Alright so I was walking by the pharmacy when I saw something that really surprised me. The pharmacists were handing out drugs-FOR FREE!

Hah, you wish. Although when trying to stay awake during finals…drugs ..do..

I kid.

Instead, right in between the Pharmacy and the Depends aisle sat an old lady (oh, the irony!) on a makeshift stool out of 24-pack-coke packs and a “table” out of a large empty box. She was sitting there and reading her mail and old letters. Smiling and chuckling as she did so. Because you know, it’s completely normal to that sort of thing. In the middle of Walmart.

I saw her and did a double take before I believed my eyes. I looked around to make sure I was really in Walmart and not in this lady’s home.

No one noticed her.

I tilted my head and for a split second I wondered if I should say something, but realized that maybe if everyone else didn’t see her, neither did I. So I purchased the buns and got my buns (pun intended- hah) out of there asap.

i am not crazy,
amira