I heart my mimosa.

No, not the drink.*
The plant. Better known (to me, at least) as touch-me-not. For those of you who may not be familiar with this plant, it has sensitive leaves which fold together when you touch them. The leaves also close at night and reopen in the morning.

This plant grows plentifully in Kerala in south India and it has been my favorite since childhood, because I love to touch the leaves and watch them close. (Obviously, I am easily amused.) So when I saw it for sale at a local exotic plant store, I decided to buy it. I was a bit nervous about its chances for survival considering the lack of sunlight here (and the 15 € price tag). But it is doing well thus far. So we shall see.

An afterthought: It is Friday evening and I am blogging about a plant.*

* unfortunately

O' sailor, why'd you do it (so not a political rant)

2 nights ago I dreamt that I was being pursued by some scary-looking authorities of some sort. The details are a bit convoluted when reviewed in the daylight, but I recall being in a large room at a seminar type gathering, when 2-4 of these uniformed authorities removed me to question me about what seemed like a financial extortion matter. I'm not too sure about the story line. I am sure that this dream subject was spawned from President Bush's recent signing of new legislation allowing "more vigorous" interrogation of suspected terrorists. (story here)
Between the Bush administration and the war in Iraq, people don't need more reasons to be mad at the US. Can't we all just get along?

It goes without saying that many people (of all nationalities) have some disdain for the US' current leadership and policies (myself included). I love the United States with all its imperfections. I mean, it is where a lot of my family and most things that I hold dear reside. It is where I have spent the majority of my life. It is my home. Still there are things about the US that make me ashamed, angry, and disappointed; there are even more things that bring me joy. The beauty of the US is found in the freedom to agree or disagree and express these feelings to anyone who will listen. Still looking from the outside in, I see why many groups dislike American culture. Oui, je suis américaine, but wait, because I don't end there... Not all of us fit the ugly - self-centered - disrespectful - overindulgent - wasteful - loud - garrulous - know-it-all - arrogant American stereotypic mold. There is so much to miss if one is guided by preconceptions, so I try not to approach situations on the defense expecting to be hated. And when I stop to think about it, I realize that the vast majority of people have greeted me with nothing but kindness, acceptance, and maybe sometimes a bit of curiosity (all of which arguably may have nothing at all to do with my nationality). But when someone meets me and finds out that I am American and their immediate question is "Are you republican?" or "Did you vote for Bush?" I will answer amicably (and yes, this has happened), because I hope that they will take the time to get to know me for all the things that I am.

Really though, how can they not love me? I'm so darn cute.

if you're happy and you know it

Let me post an update before you people start with the death threats.

I see possibilities.
I see beginnings. I see endings.
It is what's in between that eludes my grasp.

Surprisingly, I am okay with that. In fact, better than okay. Way better.
I am not consumed by anxiety resulting from the uncertainties of my life. Instead, I find myself in love with the power that change commands. I am giving personal meaning to the affirmation "You can be anything you want to be."

Now I'm ready for whatever’s meant to be...
~ Sway

Where is the love?

Ya'll ain't right.

And you know who you are. So don't even sit there all smug looking around the room, thinking 'who me?' Because you know I am talking about you.
So maybe I have a reputation of being a bit, let's say distracted or maybe even dazed. So what? "Just cause I'm blind, don't mean I'm dumb." Not that I'm blind, but you get my drift. That Dave Chappelle is too funny. "It might be doo doo!"
Anyway, back to my point, I'm not stupid. I too can read between the lines and notice patterns. I can put 1 and 1 together to create 2. So let's explore my findings together.
Why are all the comments to me always along these lines:
Leela, you are (mos def / indeed) special.
You are (such a hot / a very hot / the hottest) mess.
You have issues (and/or problems).
TIme to refill the meds Leela. (Okay yeah, I made that one up, but I'm sure someone was thinking it.)
Leela, have you been drinking AGAIN?
Must I continue...
I mean even the comments that I leave on other blogs solicit these same types of comments in return.
Oh! And another thing, why am I always on the bottom of all the friends' blogs links lists? Miss Jackson and Mr. Gbajabiamila. Alphabetical my ass. This is supposed to be a blogging circle of love.
Just for the record, I am NOT always confused, as some would like to believe.
And yes, I have been drinking. Champagne bitches.

It might be doo doo!

Last night I dreamt (among other things) that I walked into my bathroom and saw unflushed poop in the toilet. Simply a still image: toilet + poop. No surrounding action.
I woke up this morning, turned on my computer, went to the bathroom and there it was. Weird.
(Note for clarification: The girls stay the night on Wednesdays and share the bathroom with me. So I’m assuming that one of them must have forgotten to flush.)
Naturally, I wondered if this was an implication for the atmosphere of the rest of my day.

First day of class and I was untroubled by the expected anxieties. Will the other kids like me? What if I don’t know any of the answers? Oh what to wear? Distress that seemed so juvenile. So far away.

And rightfully so, because today was far from crappy.
My accomplishments of the day:
- went to class (on time without getting lost)
- understood the teacher and the material
- participated in class
- socialized with my classmates
- bought the books for class
- went to Starbucks
- telephoned my mother
- carried myself with newfound confidence and a familiar smile

Dream interpreted: When someone leaves sh*t in your toilet, flush it. Move on.

off of your melody

Yes, it is public knowledge that your girl is quite enamored with Mr. Justin Timberlake. Okay maybe it is a bit beyond that. Anyway, I absolutely love his new CD. I even bought the actual CD from the store. I went to 3 stores that were sold out before finally purchasing it from Fry’s in San Francisco. (You know how serious this is, because I never actually buy CDs. But for Justin, I went legit.) His voice has me stalking internet sites trying to find out upcoming concert tour dates. Because you know when Justin comes to Paris, I have to be there. I mean it would rude of me to not be there, seeing as how I was his muse and all.

I know you see it…
{scene: hovering near the bar in the club around 1:23 AM, swirling a straw inside a half-full glass of vodka cranberry talking with 3 girlfriends, while Nicole sings “Come to me, I can be, what you need”, she feels someone watching her}

(glances over her shoulder, her eyes dart around the room landing on Justin, she does a double take panning her eyes up and down his frame, then returns to conversation with friends)

I know you see me looking, girl go on and act right
A little closer, let me see you in the spotlight

(rolls eyes with a barely audible chuckle and allows Justin to pull her aside to whisper in her ear)

Now turn around and let me see just what ya curved like

(smiles as he proceeds to take her hand, lifting her arm in the air as she does a twirl)

Go grab your friends and y'all can come to the back, oh-oh

(beckons to girlfriends and follows as Justin leads her by the hand)

Why don't you take a sip upon this champagne

(accepts glass of champagne) Thank you. (clinks glass with friends before taking a sip)

Relax, take your coat off, and let me get your name

(leans back on sofa, crosses legs, runs tongue across lips) My name is Leela.

I love that hour-glass shape you got upon that frame

What is it to you? (she whispers in his ear suggestively)

I like the way you talk your game we might be one in the same

(smiles coyly) Maybe you’re right. (takes another sip)

Now I know you got a buzz off that alcohol

(smiles with glass to lips)

I got a house that can entertain all of y'all

(shrugs at girlfriends) We’ll see.

Maybe later on I'll give you a phone call
I'm 'bout to slide out, but I'll get back at ya, oh-oh

(applies lip gloss while feigning disinterest)

And when I call don't give me the run-around
I ain't gonna have you tryin' to play me like a silly clown

Don’t worry, that’s not my style. Like I said, we’ll see.

Don't second guess it, girl
There ain't nothin' to think about
'Cause you got me feigning, but girl you don't hear me
Little lady...

Oh Justin, I’m listening.

better than a stick in the eye

I have renewed my distaste for coughing, which has been my longstanding #1 most-hated bodily function. That is until my trip to India this summer, where it was downgraded to the #2 position, for reasons I am certain you have no desire to imagine. Anyway, coughing is back in the #1 spot, because it really is the worst.

That overwhelming urge to cough takes hold of my throat and it does not matter how hard I try, because I cannot control it and I feel helpless. I am never able to estimate whether it will result in a single cough or the dreaded coughing fit. Continually coughing makes my throat feel very dry and sore, which results in more coughing and increased pain. Still I have no choice except to cough until my body has had enough.

Coughing is so disruptive and it always commences at the wrong moments (although there really are no right moments, maybe just less wrong) –
during exams in an otherwise quiet room,
dinner conversations (where I was forced to excuse myself yesterday multiple times),
and peaceful sleep (thankfully, that was not the case last night since before bed I drank herbal tea with honey and un peu de rhum, which put me right to sleep).

Especially loathed is the dry cough, because it seems entirely useless. (I accept that it is removing irritants from my air passages, but that does not lend it more credence in my book.) At least with a productive cough, I feel like my body is expelling phlegm and helping me regain health. But that stupid barking cough carries the sound of extreme sickness. You know that you make a special effort to avoid people who sound like they are hacking up a lung. I know I do.

Coughing spreads a lot of germs. To minimize this I cough into the crevice of my elbow, which is still sort of coughing into the air. But it is better than coughing into your hands or even worse into the free air. Still I hate feeling like I am contaminating everything that I come in contact with.

So yes, I would rather be afflicted with a runny nose, headache, or even (gasp) loose motions. I hate coughing that much.
Thank goodness for cough suppressants.

day 8

For the past couple of days, I have been feeling a bit out of sorts. Which may be in part due to the sore throat/congestion/coughing illness that I have been struggling to defeat (and/or the meds). But nonetheless, I have been feeling like:
I am so far away from everything,
I am running from who knows what,
I am searching for something that I can't name.
Although I cannot see the master plan, I am reveling in this crazy existence and allowing it to mold me.

Thank you Ms. Fiona Apple.

I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face

Oh, mister, wait until you see
What I'm gonna be

I've got a plan, a demand and it just began
And if you're right, you'll agree

Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me

Bonne Anniversaire

I guess that since it is my birthday and all, I am expected to post something fabulous about myself or how I have grown over the past year or something else equally insightful.
Hmm…
Will you settle for what I ate for dinner?
Okay. Well, Madame and I ate at le restaurant Georges in the Centre Pompidou, where we had the most dazzling view overlooking Paris at night. The ambiance was very modern and exclusive. Equalling in appeal was the presentation of the food. I had the tomate mozzarella, which consisted of tomatoes with mozzarella cheese, garnished with basil, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. Then for dessert I had the cheese cake with fromage blanc sorbet. You know how I adore desserts and this one was delicious.
So happy birthday to me and to the start of an extraordinary new year!

What's in a name?

So here I am, not even for 24 hours yet and suddenly I am plagued by feelings of loneliness. To be expected? Of course.

But it is not a logical longing, where I am able to articulate what I am missing. (For instance, today I really miss Omar and his singing...) No this is quite different and much deeper. It is an intense feeling of desolation. I have no idea what triggered this emotional upheaval. What I do know is that I need to do something about it. Fast.

Feeling restless and completely alone in the world, I proceed to wander around the city. But being surrounded by all of the movement of Paris does not alleviate my loneliness or my agitated mind.
I pray: please Lord, take this feeling away from me. Help me find comfort and inner strength.
I continue walking, still hoping and praying that the real world will distract me from the commotion in my head. But the more I walk, the more I feel like I don’t belong.
God, I put my faith in you. Do not let me feel so alone.

Shortly thereafter, a boy approaches me and before I know it, he is escorting me around, pointing out landmarks and showing me fancy shops. His behavior is a bit peculiar and then it hits me, he is drunk.
You sent me a lush.
Ah well. At this point, I welcome any kind of outside interaction. Besides, I am starting to get rid of some of the nonsense that has replaced the reason in my thoughts.
Thank you God.
I am feeling better. Up until the point where he starts singing about needing to go to the toilet, which turns into him urinating in the street. I try to walk away inconspicuously in hopes of not being associated with this drunken boy. However, my escape plan is foiled as he catches up with me momentarily and says:
Wait. I forgot to ask you something. What is your name?
Leela.
Oh, I like that name. My name is Philippe.
I chuckle to myself and glance toward the sky with a smile.
You got jokes.

an open letter

Inspired by the numerous open letters of my fellow bloggers, I chose to follow in their spirit of indirect candor.

To the detached-looking outdoor residents of San Francisco:

Excuse me. What are you on? Are you high? Faded? Fucked up? Or whatever the term of actualization may be for your particular substance of choice. Because the way you are walking/talking/behaving is completely unstable and leads me to assume that you did not Just Say No.

And what is that smell? It is like a potpourri of all kinds of body odors, in which the undertones of stale urine and underarm sweatiness are always clearly discernable. *gag* Let's leave that alone.

Despite what it may sound, my intention is not to judge you. I am merely trying to gain a better understanding of your mind set so that when you speak to me I know how to respond appropriately. Since you insist on talking to me. Help me help you.

How should I respond to:
- Ya’ll don’t have to kill me, because I’m going to kill myself.
- Don’t act like you don’t hear it. I know you hear it. You can’t ignore it. (It = the voices in YOUR head? Because, no I don’t hear it.)
- I see your blue underwear. (So what, okay! The waist in my pants is a little big. You don’t have to announce it for the world. *sniff*)
- Do you want a dollar? Just smoke it, man. (Wait, you are offering me money?)
Because my first reaction is going to be to quicken the pace of my walk while reciting a couple Our Fathers and a quick Hail Mary.

I mean, what happened to the normal ramblings of the people on the streets of Chicago and Denver.
- Can you spare some change?
- Hey sexy.
- Do you know that Jesus died for you?
I am accustomed to these remarks. I know how to handle them.

Then I realized that whether I acknowledge you or not, you keep talking. And the more you talk, the less I understand. Wait, why are you following me down the street? Hail Mary, full of grace...

In conclusion, do not mistake my silence for arrogance. Or confuse my unwillingness to look you in the eyes with ego. I ignore you not because I am stuck up or pompous.
Truth is I’m scared.

If you say, "I'm always yours"

Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please
I can act like a star, I can....

Z's & G's

It's a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. The sun is shining in all it glory. You are driving down the highway peacefully singing along with Justin. Dirty babe... Wait, you are distracted by what you see. 1, 2, 3...more than 30 of the mostly the same type of car speed by you on the opposite side of the road.
What the hell is going on?
It's a car run.
A what?
Let me explain. So, there are car clubs for people in the Bay Area who drive Nissan 350Z's or Infiniti G35's. They meet up and drive to different places together to hang out, talk, and admire each others cars. This particular run happens to be to Monterey.
These people have too much time on their hands.
You are probably right.

As I sit in the passenger seat of Jameel's G35 watching the world through my window, I pray for my safety.

By far the best part of the trip was when I got a chance to visit my favorite squirrels in Pebble Beach. They are incredibly friendly and will not hesitate to come right up to you. Because although there is a clearly posted sign instructing visitors not feed the animals, it is quite obvious that it goes mainly ignored.

Her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

In case you were wondering

1. I LOVE peanut butter m&m's. Is that enough to explain why I have single handedly eaten 3 of the Halloween edition bags of these candies since I have returned to the States? It surely does not explain why I have eaten a whole bag today and nothing else. In my defense, that melt in your goodness bekons to me without remorse. Chocolate and peanut butter, each ingredient a stand alone taste delight, are even better when paired together. Yum.

2. She's a big one. A mighty big one. Ahhh! That song has been controlling my thoughts for days now. I know that it is completely inappropriate to sing in pulic, but try as I might I cannot seem to control it. Those lyrics dance around in my head and then flow from my mouth at all the wrong times. Thanks a lot Jade! And let's not forget to thank Flavor Flav for creating this ingenious combination of harmonious words. What can I say about Flavor of Love? I despise the ignorance that show portrays. Yet I am drawn to watch it, like watching a car crash with womens' dignity and worth going down in flames. Ring the alarm. Is this what American culture has come to? Flavor Flav has some serious nerve talking about anyone, specifically Like Dat, like that anyway, because he is no prize (and that is me being nice...oh hell, why start now. He looks like a burnt shriveled up raisin. And he behaves like a dirty old man. Bottom line: he disgusts me.) What is wrong with these people? She's a big one. A mighty big one. Look at how this is junk is influencing me. What is wrong with me!

3. Forever 21 is a great place to shop if you are in the mood to really look through their merchandise. Their stores are always organized so haphazardly. I suppose that they are going for that chaotic feel, because every Forever 21 store I have ever been in has been like that. It can be frustrating if you do not have the patience and/or time to sort through everything. Yesterday I was in the mood and I ended up finding some cute stuff with Jade's help.

4. The exfoliator Modern Friction from Origins is fabulous. It really works well to improve the texture and tone of my skin, preserving my sexy. Definitely worth the money. Note: Avoid the eye area. The sales woman wasn't playing, it really burns!

Happy Birthday!

girls, food, style (?)...what else could one wish for.

(no comment)

Lately I've been feeling like a complete waste of space.
But I guess things could be worse.

A sign that Colorado may want to make their GED requirements a bit more stringent:

{scene: chatting with an old friend on a warm summer evening, mid August, sitting outside my home in Grand Junction}

moi: Well, I will be leaving early next month for Paris.
old friend: Oh, cool. You know, I still haven't been on a plane yet.
moi (with a look of feigned disbelief): Really? Wow.
old friend: Yeah, but maybe I will come over to visit you in Spain.
moi: Ummm...right. (pause) Paris is in France.

I'm moody.

I cried this afternoon.
I laid with my face in a pillow and I cried.

I cried tears of despair.
Desiring to relive mistakes of the past.
Wishing that I was not constantly haunted by the ghosts of lost memories.
I accept what is done and over with. I accept what is out of my control. Let go already.

I cried tears of anxiety.
Afraid of the unknown and the uncontrollable.
Paralyzed by fear of failure.
It is time for me to stop questioning my worth.
I am powerful and capable of accomplishing all that I set out to do.

I cried tears of joy.
I put my faith in God.
No point on dwelling on long gone events of the past.
Or being apprehensive about what has yet to happen.
Because right now, in this moment, everything is perfect.

Head in the Clouds

Am I slow? Or do I prefer to dwell in denial?
Why did it take me so long to realize that I was leaving...

Leaving everything familiar and comfortable to me. Leaving the world I know behind in hopes of creating a better me. Why don't I feel the gravity of this situation? I don't know.

I see what is going on around me, but I feel s e p a r a t e d from it all. Nevertheless I go along with the motions. I fold clothes to pack into my suitcases and organize the books I want to take along. I attempt to gauge exactly what I will need to sustain myself for the following 9 months. I'm leaving. I think it, but I don't exactly feel it the way I would hope.

I have been expecting this move for months, why doesn't it seem real to me anymore? Is it resistance to change? No. I mean, I'm moving to find the new cheese. Waiting for the feeling, I continue going along with the motions. It will come to me in time. I reassure myself. This is normal...right? Upon arriving in Toronto, my dad and I fill out cards making our departure from the US official. No, not yet.

Sleep. Eat. Watch Nacho Libre. Sleep. Sitting on the plane on the final leg of the flight feeling like I'm going on "just another trip", I give up on feeling anything more. Stop over thinking it. Live it. I'm gazing out the window just as the plane touches down on the runway at Charles de Gaulle airport; the French guy seated behind me yells out "Paris!" and it finally hits me.

Contemplation often makes life miserable. We should act more, think less, and stop watching ourselves live.
~ Chamfort

Season of Change

The end of summer vacation consistently brings change.
Back to school. Moving. New clothes.
Old friends. New friends. Exchanging of summer memories.
The carefree ease of long summer days is replaced with structure and schedule.
But never without the promises of renewal and growth.
So as I wave goodbye to summer, I embrace the changes that are coming my way.

Continuity gives us roots; change gives us branches, letting us stretch and grow and reach new heights.
~ Pauline R. Kezer