Two Headed Witch

In case any of you are wondering ( I flatter myself), as of 12:13 pm, we're still ok and haven't been evacuated. If you know me at all, you know I'm practically hysterical and have done the only things I can do in times like these: packed up some bags, folded my rugs and cooked a Persian lunch in case it's the last meal we have in our home. I realize this sounds crazy, but today I don't think I care.

The reporters are covering every lick of this fire, and I'm not sure if it's good to be this informed or nerve wrecking. What started as two fires in the Harris area and in Witch Creek, have expanded to seven named fires in less than 24 hours. One reporter said, "The Witch Fire now has two heads..." They keep saying how this fire is much, much worse--worse than anything they have seen. They cannot even start combating the fires because of the weather conditions--it is 0% contained and spreading so quickly that the best they can do is evacuate neighborhoods and hope there aren't fatalities. Yippeee.

During the 2003 fires that came all the way to the I-15, I sat cross legged in our apartment and wrote the first draft of what would become my thesis. Today, I'm willing myself to sit still and write, because it is the only think that will stop me from losing my mind completely. When my brother called, I was close to tears and couldn't believe his calm (thank God for him and M). But then again, he isn't inhaling ashes and smoke, wondering if his happy little home will go up in smoke.

Strangely, all of this kind of reminds me of when we had returned to Iran during the bombings of Tehran. I can only imagine the anxiety my parents lived through as they tried to act normal and live life, never sure of when all they had worked for would be destroyed. I remember my mom calmly cooking with the emergency sirens screaming and the military's defenses rat-tat-tatting in the background; all of us huddled in the glassless hallway. She acted calm, but in hindsight, I know she was clinging onto the only ritual that would bring calm to all of us.

I guess no matter how hard I try, I'm still her daughter--just less calm (if that's even possible).

UPDATE: We have been evacuated and are staying with a friend. I have no idea what will happen, but we are safe.

It's Not a Tumor

If you've read some of my previous posts, you may have gleaned that I I'm not a big fan of the medical community. Actually, I don't mind them in general, I just don't think they like me. Why else would they pull my nails, not give me prescriptions to medicines that could prevent later problems and yell at me after we got hit by an 18 wheeler? (Yes, I will tell those fun, fun stories soon)

But today, I kind of don't mind them so much.

I have had a headache for about a month now. Not most of the time, not after certain activities--non-stop headache that is just pissing me off and making me less angelic than I normally am. Sometimes it's worse, there is the straining/pinching feeling that comes and goes, but generally speaking, I have been in pain for a while. Which is why I finally went to see my doctor who listened, nodded and finally said I should get an MRI.

In light of some of my past experiences, I do not take well to the idea of getting an MRI, mostly because they're looking for things that do not belong in my head. Also, I'm ridiculously claustrophobic. So while I waited for the appointment setting lady to get back to me with time, date and instructions, I thought of all of the horrible things an MRI could find. Swelling? Runaway fluids? Inflammation? TUMORS?!? DEAR GOD WHAT IF THERE ARE TUMORS?!?! I know I'm hideous as a bald person, which is just adding insult to the TUMOR that may be growing in my head. I'm not old enough to have tumors, but then again young people get tumors in their brains all the time. I'm not ashamed to say I was close to tears before the nice lady asked me if I preferred a 5 o'clock or 7 o'clock appointment...

Since I didn't hear back from the doctor's office, I called today and they promised to call me back. The nurse (I'm assuming it was a nurse) called later in the afternoon, right after I got off a particularly unpleasant business call.

"Hello, GWCH? Yes, this is Mandy from Dr. W's office. I just wanted to give you the results from your MRI--it's clear, there's nothing in there."

"Excuse me? How can there not be anything in my head?"

"Oh! Ha ha ha! I didn't mean it like that. I meant there wasn't anything of concern in your head. Except for a thickness in your sinuses which is causing discomfort and pressure. I know a lot of people worry there are tumors when they go in for MRIs--but it's just your sinuses."

To recap: my head (still) hurts, I am having a very bad spell at work, and the Loud Tube of Horror (MRI) proved that there is nothing in my head (to worry about).

Now I can go back to my regularly scheduled neuroticism.

On the Occasion of the Big Day

Happy Birthday, from the Girl With Curious Hair--to the Man with the Perfect Laugh.

This Message Brought to You by Ro-jelli-O

I was bored out of my mind today and went to hide in one of the 'secure' rooms, where Ro-Jelli-O (my co-worker) was already hiding. I looked at him and said, "I'm going nuts. Blahbitty blahbitty blah blah."

To which he responded by asking, "Are you going to put that on your bloggity blog?"

Yes I am. So HAH!

Said the Moth to the Flame

I'm still thinking of going to LA to tell a story. The theme is "Blunders", and I think this will be the story I will tell:

The second day of my freshman year, I went to class starting with my 8am Chemistry class. I had my pens, hi-liters, notebooks and text books--all of which I carried on my back like an overloaded snail. By three o'clock, I was feeling good about myself, cautiously optimistic as I walked into my biology lecture hall, along with about 200 other students. It was mostly an introduction session listing the professors, the TAs and the resources available to anal retentive pre-med freshmen. At the end of the lecture, Dr. H mentioned that the lecture notes would be available as tutorials at the brand new computer center down the hall.

I went to the brand new computer center, to find an empty room with rows of computers and a harried man untangling wires as he balanced some books on his lap. I went to him, introduced myself and whispered, "I've never used a computer before. Could you help me?"

I'm not sure why I started whispering, but it seemed to annoy him. "Just pick up the mouse and play around with it a little. You'll figure it out."

I stood there looking at him, and then looking around the room. I wasn't sure why I would have to play with a mouse.

"Ha ha, I guess they got away. Good thing, since I don't like mice! How do I get started on the computer again?"

I'm pretty sure if someone had this conversation with you, with an American accent and a perfectly straight face--you'd think they're being a smart ass. He did, and it seemed to annoy him more.

"Listen, I don't have time for your jokes. Just sit at a computer and click the mouse. You'll figure it out."

I sat in front of a computer at the end of one of the rows, pretty sure I'd break it and get expelled from university during the first week of classes. Then I'd have to move back to Iran, listen to all the jokes of how I couldn't even stay in a university in America--where any bum can get in...I was about to cry. I was timidly hitting random keys and NOT reading the recommended tutorials, when suddenly a page popped up asking my name.

I looked around, and saw Angry Guy paging through one of the books. He was right, it wouldn't let me do anything to break it, the computer was helping me!

"Excuse me, should I be answering the questions?"

"Yeah, you're fine."

So I carefully entered my full name. I also provided my detailed address, class schedule and student status when asked. But the next two questions practically made me jump out of my chair.

"Are you Iranian?"

"Yes."

"Haaleh shoma chetoreh?"

"OH MY GOD! The computer is speaking to me in FARSI!"

Angry Guy couldn't ignore me any more, "What are you talking about? Computers don't talk. Someone at another computer station is chatting with you."

"But it spoke to me in FARSI! No one around here speaks Farsi."

And that's when a couple of Iranian looking guys jumped up from behind a computer in the furthest corner of the room, "It's us! We're Iranian! Sallam!!"

I couldn't collect my things fast enough. I was grabbing my notebook and pens, trying to get away as fast as I could, when they came over and tried to talk. One was a short guy with overly gelled hair and clothes that didn't fit him well. The other was a tall, lanky guy, too easy in his skin and a huge smile on his face. He was mighty proud of himself.

"Want to grab dinner? Do you have any friends? How long have you been in the States?"

I didn't answer any of the questions, just called out, "I'm sorry, I have to go. Bye," as I tried to run far, far away. As I ran, I looked over my shoulder to make sure they weren't following me. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered, considering how I had given them my dorm name, address and room number. "They won't look for me. I'll never see them again. They'll forget about this. They're guys, they won't tell anyone."

I was wrong, again. I saw them twice a day, every other day in my biology and chemistry classes for two semesters. Had I not been running away from them so quickly, I would have recognized the short guy as the overly zealous guy in my chemistry lab. They were premed, always with a pack of competitive Iranian premed students who eventually learned about what had happened. They only strengthened my resolve to avoid the Iranians on campus like the plague.

That didn't happen either. The tall lanky guy was determined to befriend me. He was a patient fellow; he stopped trying to talk to me for almost two semesters, but eventually his niceness got me talk to him. We studied together, hung out, exchanged emails when he moved away and spent long hours talking about life, family and dreams.

I'm glad he didn't give up, because today he's one of my dearest friends.

Cooking The Night Away

I have so many thoughts going through my head right now. How could I not?

Ahmadinejad came by and caused a ruckus, and everyone is asking my opinion--so I'll eventually have to opine. Please note, I do not know him personally, but because I am from Iran and am interested in politics, I am asked my opinion ALL THE TIME. The same way our European friends ask me to explain George W. Bush. I'm not sure what I have done to have to explain two politicians, but it must have been awful. I'll provide you with some thoughts eventually.

I was stood up by a not one, not two--but THREE internet/email friends in one month. Do I offend? You can't all hate me yet, you barely know me. This is all enough to make a girl feel unpopular. Sigh.

My brothers were here, for less than 48 hours. And yet, I could write a novella about that fun, fun experience.

But all of that will come a bit later. I have spent the last three hours cooking--which is always fun. We will spend the week feasting on two quiches (one Greek and another onion-mushroom), a big pot of Aash, a huge pot of biryani and a little hummus to snack on. I even managed to go jogging in the middle of all this prepping and cooking.

NOW will you come over?

What I love about the medical community: A Haiku of Frustration

Blank looks, befuddled
"Have you tried this med yet?"
Maybe MRI