Skip to the end for the part where you come in
December 07, 2004
[If you�re in a rush, or don�t care, then skip the part where I gush about my brother, and go to the end of this entry for instructions about the 'interactive' (in a sense) photo essay.]
My brother was in the door but five minutes before my dad started picking a fight with him over the fact that he needs to grow up. My brother�s response? Something along the lines of, �Dad, I�m eighteen.� Hah. Can�t argue with that logic. Honestly, I love my family. They�re totally insane, making me seem (somewhat) normal in their midst.
It�s been great having my brother back. There is new energy in the house. There is NOISE and LIFE, as he comes sauntering in talking about how he was at my 30-year-old cousin�s Middle Eastern restaurant in Cleveland and three white boys tried to step to the muscle-bound Palestinian and regular patron standing outside talking to his wife on the cell phone saying to him, �Niggah! Niggah! Arab-ass Niggah! Why don�t you go back to where you came from!� At which point muscle-bound Palestinian man got off the phone with his wife, and told the scrawny-ass Eminem wannabe that he didn�t wanna mess. And white boy, who was obviously not in his right mind, gets out of his car (BAD MOVE!) and tugs at Palestinian�s collar (WORSE MOVE!) and well�Palestinian starts wailing on the poor boy, and all the Arab men inside my cousin�s restaurant (brother included) come rushing out to see what�s going on and finally manage to pull Palestinian off little Em but not before he�s bloody and his two friends in the car have locked the car doors pretending not to see what is going on. And anyway, as my brother said, �What the fuck was he thinking? Does he not know anything about Arab men? In groups?�
Except the punk-ass little Em�s got their revenge�as little Em and his friends drove off, one of the guys stuck his hand out the window and cocked like he was pulling a trigger, and then later the three boys came back and stood at the window of my cousin�s restaurant looking in, at which point someone yelled �DOWN!� and all the men inside got on the floor cause they figured those boys were going to open fire, but they just ended up running off down the street.
It was later discovered that the little Em�s got their revenge by busting the windows of the cars parked in my cousin�s restaurant�s parking lot, my brother�s car (which was actually my uncle�s wife�s car) included. So of course, the rest of the night was spent filing a police report.
And this is just one night in the life of my brother. Yes, sometimes he gets himself into stupid situations, but I swear to god he has the luck of a cat. And I�m sure other stories will unfold as the days go by.
My bro brought back all sorts of goodies too. Honestly, this is one of the things I love about my brother�he plays like he doesn�t care, but there is not a single thing that we asked him to bring back if he could that he didn�t bring back. It�s not about the things themselves, it�s the fact that even though we asked him for a bunch of stuff at the very last minute he got everything, even the black shirt that I�ve been living without for a year that I was sure was lost. And my perfume which I�ve been living without for a few months now ever since it ran out and which honestly must be made especially for me as it puts me in a good mood instantly. Along with the American Dreams season 1 DVD that I ordered from Amazon, and Control Room which BK gifted to me, and which I�ve been dying to see since it came out in the US to rave reviews. Yay Egyptian-American women film-makers. [Thanks BK! I totally wasn�t expecting that. You�re the best!] He also brought me back a very late birthday gift�seasons one and two of Six Feet Under. My brother hates that show, and we always used to fight about watching it whenever it was on (usually, honestly, I lost), so he said got me the first two seasons because he knew he�d been a pain in the ass about almost never letting me watch it. Though it�s like a back-handed compliment, I thought it was pretty sweet.
By the way, someone also mysteriously sent me a book over the summer. No card. No explanation. It�s some book about evolution�I can�t think who would send that to me. Hmm�it�s actually kind of cultish.
SO�my brother is back. I�m happy. I�m done with the masters work though still waiting for results. I feel oddly empty. There is no excitement, and I wonder after 24 years of having my life geared towards education, what does one do when they are no longer in school? I sort of feel like those soldiers who get out of the army and go into a depression. The whole time I was in it, I was dreaming about being done, but now that I�m pretty much out of it, I don�t know what to do without that feeling of guilt hanging over my head, directing my every move. I�m even not as excited about work anymore and I�m realizing that maybe I loved it before because it was a legitimate escape with having to deal with my academic life. Hmm.
Anyway, in an attempt to give myself something to do I�m going to steal an idea from one of my favorite bloggers and announce the you-tell-me-what-you-want-to-see photo essay. The way it works is, you guys leave me a comment or send me an email of things in my life that you�d like to see photos of and I�ll try to fulfill your requests and post those pictures here. When �Leah� did this people requested things like a picture of her favorite place to sit and think, or a picture of her bookshelves. Anyway, aside from posting pictures of body parts, I�m game for anything you want to see. So, um, please make me feel like there is something you want to see, and don�t make me have to make shit up.
TOODLES!