:: Purposeful Death Overhead ::

so i spent the day running between errands and trying to have fun at Jill's house...

our stupid dryer is broken so i had to throw stuff into/and out of a landromat in the middle of nowhere, then drive over to Jill's for a 2 hour session of DDR, back to my house to check on my grandfather (who old....really really old) and can't do much of anything for himself, and then to the mall w/ Jill to pick out a present for Josh.

Oh ya...and somewhere in the middle of this, I got my eyebrows waxed. OW! though not as bad as last time....the sad thing is, its not like a male would notice it...you know? We women spend so much time putting on this eyeliner or eyeshadow or shaving and waxing and god knows what else for a guy that'll look at you once and tell you you look great before leading you into a dark club where they can't really distinguish you apart from the other forty million sweaty people in the crowded area. Oh, and if your > 21 ( of course only those people) go to a club and have drinks, there comes a point where it doesn't really even matter what you wore....you look great through those rose tinted glasses.

A random/ kinda weird moment happened yesterday:

Emily and I were driving to Bethesda to go thrifting, so we're waiting at a light on 355. So this spanish guy in the next car over begins waving to me. Thinking he wants directions, i roll down the window, and look at him quizzically. He asks me, "is your name Alina?" Me: "um...yeah *look at Emily* He then says "I'm Marco, i knew you when you were 3....say hi to your dad for me" Then the light changes, and we speed off..." Later that day, i ask my dad who marco is. Apparently they lived in the apt. across from us when we lived at Yale place near College Gardens. That was where the family lived when we first moved to America from Eastern Europe. ( That of course lasted like 6 months, after which we couldn't put up with the constant fighting.) Anyway, i used to come over to their house and eat ice cream....they were really nice....I was 4 1/2, not 3, but our family hasn't seen them/spoken to them since I was 5. And our neighbor recognizes me 13 and 1/2 years later at a stoplight. That's just weird. I guess people don't change that much, but I was 5! I couldn't recognize someone if they had been five in my last memory....

Does that mean I look 5?
What a small world after all.

:: Alina 10:49 PM Comments: Post a Comment