I got reminded and the realisation couldn't have made me more happy...
I've been blogging for a lunar year. When the actual year anniversary passes, i think i might actually set off fireworks.
You may be wondering why this seemingly overreaction at my blog's anniversary...well...the truth was i never though i would last. :D Talk about lack of faith.
I was going to write a whole how i've changed since my first post, but, i'm going to leave that for the actual year anniversary.
I've got many many stories and stuff to tell, but for some reason I'm actually too busy to sit down and write them..*cough lie cough*. Fine... i screwed up my finger and had to have stitches, and now every letter i type brings a whole new meaning to the word 'pain'.
I would tell you how i cut my finger so badly, and it would probably make you choke with laughter, but of course I'm embarassed. =D No, really, shameless touta is actually embarrassed.
Where was I? oh yes, I was guilt tripping everyone ;) Perhaps I am being a bit melodramatic about the pain thing, but it does hurt to use, since it is my first finger, which is the most active member of my typing.
Its taking such a long time to type this.
I rediscovered how much I shudder at Karl Wolfe... I recently heard not one, but two of his 'songs' played loudly, and at that moment, I think a part of me died.
i didn't really understand what there was to dance too (the 'music' or lack of it), yet i was still subjugated to scary looking women barking at me to get up and dance, as they jumped around, bumping and knocking everything over.
I actually wished they were in abbayas, then at least their dancing may have looked graceful, covered by billowing black silky fabric. But no such luck, they all wore metallic tight dresses and shook their long excessively straight hair in a way that would embarrass any 'gypsy' (iraqi slang for slutty girls in music videos who shake to the music-i'll leave it to your imagination as to what they 'shake'. hehe actually its only their hair you one track minded people! :P).
I found refuge by walking outside and making calls. Unfortunalty i couldn't hear most of what was said - loud music, loud laughter, loud crying...there is honestly only two tones of speaking for iraqis: loud and louder.
Lesson of the Day- my silent smile and nod tactic backfired, as one woman shouted across the room to my mother - 'is your daughter deaf? she might be DYKLEXIC ya habeebti, get her tested', followed by her pinching my cheeks in a way that meant i walked around cursing violently in my head as the pinch stung for minutes after. I felt as if she had just announced i should be tested for a sexually transmitted disease, as pairs and pairs of eyes glanced at me quickly, and then looked away with the same lightening speed. And no, I wasn't imagining it.
I had to bite down my tongue pretty hard to stop myself from telling said lady it was her fault i couldnt hear anything (she arranged the seatings and made me sit next to a blasting speaker that was over half my height), and that being 'dyklexic' has nothing to do with deafness.
But in my head, the 'what i want to do scene' was brutally crushed by social etiquette, respect for elders, and generally an 'i give up' attitude.
Off to dream now..Good night. :)