half past nomad

I rather enjoy chalking up unique personal experiences. Like pebbles on the sand beach, we each pick them up. Like the time I had a cheese pizza with biryani. Or going downhill on a bike with no brakes, accepting my fate as the wall came looming at me. Or the time my brother punched me and I passed out. I should also mention now that one of them stabbed in me in the leg with a giant pencil once and broke off the lead leaving it inside me. Or the time I had you convinced, as a joke, that you were barely a woman, lacking all femininity which drove you to call your boyfriend up at once and beg to be reminded that you were sexy. The problem was, even he agreed with me; some people can never be anything but extremely cute.

Or how about that time when you took photos of me pushing that giant blown up duck outside Walmart. Or when we sang along john mayer in high squeaky voices just because we could. I recall vividly that time when you called me up after I fixed your pc, complaining boisterously that the webcam was no longer working; you hadn’t plugged it in yet. How about that time when I dressed up Maryam in three different clothes at the same time because I was too tired to take any of them off.

Or how about last night, when the fire alarm went off, and I rushed out of the building, grabbing only my notebook and my newly renewed passport, heart pounding, blood thrumming as I waited for the cops to show up. How about when they were inside, checking it out, I turned on the notebook under the midnight dark skies, and started playing the music video for Outlandish’s Aicha. How about the car that passed me by, quite amused by the scene of me, a cop car and a notebook resting on the trunk playing the video as I chilled out there, grooving.

How about that.

It’s good to be back home.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 11th, 2003 at 1:02 pm and is filed under General Lee.