find the moldovian

Its kind of like waldo, except, well with me. Which one do you think I am in this picture? Maybe there will be prizes. Just maybe. [click here for enlargement]

So i am in the library. I am back at Brandeis. I deliberately ran into the apartment, dropped off my stuff and then ran over to the library with my books, just so no one can ask, "So, how was your weekend?" And what should be a 5 minute catch up would turn into an hour discussion over the drama that transpired while i was gone.

Liz had called me on Friday night at 1am, all frantic about how we are all horrible friends. Her words are still clinging to my ears and echo so loud and clear. How can she say such things?

Apparently, there was miscommunication once again and she was left alone on a friday night. Ditched, would probably be what she would have used. And I understand her. But i also know that, in this world, we all gotta fend for ourselves. Its good to depend on your friends, but you cant always depend on them to consistently make you happy. You gotta know how to make yourself happy. And I think Liz has yet to learn that.

Anyhow.

She did call this afternoon and asked if i was alive. I have yet to see her.

Ugh. I really hate drama. And Im definitely skipping plenty of parts in this drama, mainly because Id rather just not think about it.

My mom told me a funny story at breakfast today:

When she and dad were driving back from Vermont, they got a bit lost on the highway. They didnt know where the Mass Turnpike was. And it was turning evening, and naturally traffic halted them. What did my mom do? She rolled down the window to ask the car next to hers, for directions. Meanwhile, Im sure my dad was yelling at her to pull down the window. Only crazy people yell out the window in the middle of traffic. Crazy people who want to get hurt. My mom didnt care. She was lost, and damnit, she was going to get directions.

The car next to hers, was thumping with loud music but the driver noticed my mom’s yelling and flailing nonetheless. He turned off the music and rolled down the windows to hear her.

"Excuse me, how do i get to the Mass Turnpike?" she asked ever so politely.

And in response she got, "What language do you speak?" My mom has a thick accent and there is no ridding of it. She told him, "Russian."

"Well, let me explain to you in russian," he said perfectly in russian. (!!!!)

"Oh he was such a nice young man," my mom said at the breakfast table. "He gave such perfect directions, we didnt get lost."

Take home message: The Russians are everywhere!!!

My dad drove me back to Brandeis today. He told me how mom needs an operation. I sat quietly and listened. I wanted to know more but of course parents always protect you from such information. My dad hasnt been at the doctor’s in years. Actually, i dont know if he has ever been to the doctor in America. He likes to diagnose himself. He diagnosed himself as having diabetes. My mom thinks he’s crazy. Anyhow. I asked why he wont just go to the doctor already. "One sick person is enough," my dad said simply and i knew that I couldnt convince him otherwise. He’s a very stubborn man.

Tonight is the Tibetan speaker. I’ll write about it tomorrow, im sure. As for now, I am sitting in the orange room with plenty of computers and students are talking in whispers, and i hear them through the headphones. I am listening to Kino, and I wish i could tell you how wonderful this music is. And Im snuggled in my brand new fuzzy scarf that has balls at the end, and i know youre jealous. It is the cutest scarf that is warm and soft with cashmere. My mom bought it for me. She loves me lots. And soon I will close this window and learn about sonifcation and make too many flash cards and and and…