21 Rules to Verify in My 21st Year

Good morning. Anybody else’s head hurts? No, just me then.

I know this looks quite tame in comparison to things that would otherwise make your head pound and your stomach dis-involve itself with you. But this was Saturday night. This was when the love of my life came to my door looking like the fantastic gentleman that he is, told me how beautiful I looked, and drove me downtown to a restaurant he remembered me mentioning a year ago.

The place in the photograph above isn’t it – that’s Rose Patisserie on Yonge. He took me to the Pomegranate. It was phenomenal since, as those of you who know me well, know that I’ve become enamoured with Persian cuisine as much as I have with my boyfriend over the past 3 years. My aloo gheysi was sweet and tart and delicious, and his fesenjoon was great (although his aunt makes it better). Then, we went out for dessert and I (of course) stole his delicious black tea while simultaneously forcing my majoon on the poor boy. It was too sweet though – mind, remember this.

(In fact, the only reason I’m boring you with our delectable details is due to my shitty memory, so forgive me please.)

Sunday (Bloody Sunday) is where things got messy.

Of course, it was Easter, which all in all to my family means the end of Lent. Nobody partook in lent except for my father, but we were all somehow fasting despite that.

Anyway, my parents had invited all of their friends to celebrate meat. And Jesus’ awakening or re-alivening or something. But mostly meat, as far as I (and our dinner table) was concerned. I also invited along some of my friends at random. I thought there wouldn’t be enough food to go around if I invited more, but oh, how wrong I was. I probably could have invited Canada’s army for dinner and still have had leftovers. (I don’t know whether this says more about the size of Canada’s army or our unending love of food).

The evening started out nice and humble – everyone came just late enough for my mom to finish primping (although I had my hands in a bucket’o'pork). Hello’s, how are you’s, etcetera. We poured the wine, the whiskey, the vodka. Everyone was proper nice to each other (despite the conundrum of both my friends and my parents friends and my grandfather being there at the same time), which, to be honest, I was kind of expecting. Everyone’s old enough to handle themselves by now.

Except me, obviously. I’m only 21.

But I’m a nice, mature 21. Kind of-ish. Most of the time, anyway. Ok, rarely – but I am when it counts!

The point is here that in my drunken sleep of this night past, I’ve stumbled upon a fantastic idea to document my 21st year. A re-learning process of sorts. Because I’m smart, but I’m still dumb quite often – enough to be 21 legitimately, I think.

What I’ve decided is this: over the course of the upcoming year, I’m going to write 21 little tales about the most important things that I already know, but hope to reaffirm, in the desire that this time they’ll stay learned.

I think tomorrow is a great as time as any to start with the lesson I learned last night:

You can’t outrun the lessons you’ve learned. (Alternate title: Drinking strengths and weaknesses are DNA’s fault, not yours.)

Always yours, A

PS. Paya, please don’t ever leave me to fend for myself.

PPS. Thank you everyone for last night, again – I MUST have done something right in a past life.

drought and march

Sometimes there is an abundance of things to say,  but not many to write.

Rawrrrr, darling.

Things you talk about with other people, are concerned with, but just are not that exciting – and not particularly something you need to ever remember from the future.  Ie. I got a new cell phone last night, but nobody cares.

What you DO care about is that while I was reading texts from last night, last night, I heard this eerie scratching sort of noise at my window.  And, it’s like 11 pm, I’m tired and it’s dark out – really dark.  So, if I were a lesser thoughtful human being, I would start freaking out.  However, when the meow-ing started I kind of caught my brain up with what was going on.  Therefore, last night I became Arina, Cat Rescuer.  Yes, Mr. Fluffy loves me now.  Lots and lots.

What else happened yesterday? I started reading Song of Solomon by Toni Morrisson.  It’s an amazing book so far; really hard to put down (I wonder why they gave it the nobel prize…)  It brings you into a whole new level of character reading.  I’ve never read anything like it.

Plus I love that there’s a young boy there named Guitar and that he’s friends with a boy called Macon “Milkman” Dead.  What up, cool names.

My friend also put up pictures from the 80′s party we had a few weeks ago at a friends place.  Don’t you simply adore my sequined dress,belted/shoulder padded jacket, hair, and bling?! I know I do. And did.

What else… yesterday… this past week… I got an A+ on a professional writing paper.  I was SO excited, I cannot begin to explain.  Especially when that A+ is accompanied by comments like “You have really excelled in this course,”  ”Your writing is improving dramatically,” “You really know how to use language to your advantage,” etc.  I am just tooting my own horn here, but where else to do it if not on my blog.  Even my English prof after reading my paper was like “You have potential – I can see it in your essay that you write creatively as well.” WHADDUP. HOW COULD HE SEE THAT. 6TH SENSE, SERIOUSLY. OR, Writer’s Intuition..

Another thing is that Excalibur published another one of my poems… but they “fixed” it?  They changed a whole LINE.  Seriously? SERIOUSLY.  And a word! They added a word to my poetry.

Now, okay.  Listen closely.  I don’t give a flying fuck how the real world works, and I can even come to some kind of understanding with the editing process of a large newspaper, whether it be on campus or “real”, that the editors have some sort of influence and power to change what is written to their standards/their audience/their newspaper.  And I can even understand why my piece on the Youth Slam was altered (which is why I’ve been debating even putting it up here, since it really didn’t even come out to sound like my piece,) BUT the understanding goes straight out the window of a 40 storey building when you start changing shit in my poems.  The arts editor even wrote back to me when I questioned her on the article, and said they give poets more “creative license” and don’t change anything in their work, and yet, here we are.

I go in to class on Wednesday (my favourite day), have my coffee, my strawberry yoghurt, my newspapers.  While everyone is settling down I scan the headlines, look through the paper, and then I see it – Poetry Corner – Doves, Arina Kharlamova.  Hm… wait WHAT? That’s me!  Now, if you read my blog, you’ll know that I posted this poem a while back… and they have printed it.  Altered.  So, I read it in my head, and something about the rhythm of it seemed off. So I go, and check on my blog to see if it matched up. AND IT DON’T MATCH UP, SON.

So tomorrow I’m basically following my mother’s advice: writing a strong worded letter to the editor as to why I will not submit any more work to Excalibur because of these issues.  I mean, Emily Dickinson didn’t publish her work after she sent it out once and got it returned with corrections on it.   And it’s not about thinking your work is perfect – I think all of my poetry can be revised and rewritten and retouched until they’re nothing but eraser marks on a page, but the point is that when I send in something to share with the public, to be published, I send it in because it is what I wrote, precisely.  And accidents like changing words can’t just happen in a big newspaper without proper notice to the writer.  Poetry is especially tricky, but you can’t chalk it up to not knowing either.

So there. That was the semi-sad disappointment of the week.  All in all that’s not so bad is it?

Heeeeeey-aaa!

Especially with this picture in the mix.

-Arina

so here’s the deal

I WANT A PUPPY.

I WANT TO EAT YOU, LITTLE FURRY BALL OF CUTENESS.

Helloooo, I am edible. RUB MY BELLY.

Preferably, that one.  Seriously.  My boyfriend’s friend just got 2, and I just don’t see how that’s fair when last time I checked I had 0.  2 is more than 0, and that I didn’t need my grade 5 math to tell me.  Seriously.. there is no way that 0 of those wonderfully adorable little mammals is better than 2 of them. Except there is less pee on my floor.  BUT STILL. It’s little pee.  Like, little mini droppings of happiness.  Like, you don’t get upset when your fish pees in the aquarium, do you? No.  (Do fish pee?)  You don’t get upset when a CareBear© shits rainbows, do you? NO. Exactly.  This dog is like a fucking Chocolate-covered happiness-inducing bag of laughing gas with fur.  AND IT IS SO CUTE, it just snuggles up into you and falls asleep on it’s back with its belly all up and cute and shit and you just rub it and they STRETCH, which is even CUTER.

In other news, I went to an 80′s themed party last night at said dog-owners house and it was pimp, but I currently am not in the possession of any photos from the night, because it is the day after and clearly everyone is at school/not on the internet and therefore I cannot get them. I DO, however, have this little gem (ie I spent an hour waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up and decided “what better way to waste my time!?” than do this.)

I am an 80s gangster. What do you call people like that?

So, well.  I hope your day is now both cuter and more weird.  It could make sense that it would be both, given the pictures in this post.  Don’t you just feel like posting pictures somedays? Really though?

As for the puppies, I have wanted a dog for my entire life. YES it is a big commitment and CLEARLY my parents have shown that they do not trust me with it, and will never, and are NOT willing to help me with it, but that’s okay.  I am perfectly happy taking care of this myself.  I have a job, I have a friend who is a dog lover (in case I need to go somewhere etc) and I can do it.  Plus my parents will fall in love with it because it is OHSO tiny. I swear. I promise.  It is my mission.

*TWILIGHT ZONE* TOOODOOODOOODOOO…….

I don’t know why I did that.  Was that a tv show? I don’t even know.  Who cares. Most importantly, I haven’t updated in several days because sometimes I am either always working or always writing shit (ie. essays, not incredibly genius works of art) and therefore that leads to a drain in creative capacity for writing anything else.

However, today I brought you puppies, so shut your mouth.  I’m going to go look at puppies tonight with my boyfriend (because he will get me one, I know he will, eventually) and IF MY PARENTS ARE READING THIS – tough cookies.

Puppiespuppiespuppies!

Okay, I should probably go to class now.  Hmm…. I’m already at school and everything!

Love you all, fellow internet compatriots,
Arina

Do I need a catch-phrase?

I’ve been thinking about that ever since I started this blog.  All good, well-known blogs have not necessarily catch-phrases, but main themes.  What is my theme? What will get people to read me and relate to me? Maybe I’m getting caught up in other people again, but the point of this is to get my writing out there, right?  And if I have a subject that people can relate to, or laugh about or even hate.. that would help.

• YORKU COMMUTER?  That’s kind of lame.
• Canada thinks you suck? – Or What’s Wrong with Oh-Canada. But that should really be a blog written by my boyfriend, not me.  I mean, I really love this country despite that people here are brainwashed tv-holics with attitude problems as well as hedonistic and non-relational tendencies.  I really love this place!
• Communism’s take on Canada -Ctoc.  That could be kind of cool, except that would make me research the shit out of topics every freaking day before I could ever be happy with my posts.  It would be like having essays to write for fun.  And I don’t know if I’m crazy enough to venture there, although it IS a great idea.
• The Truth about Russians?  I don’t really know that many Russians… apart from family and family friends.  I never went to school with any (except when I took dance classes… waltz, ballroom, etc – like all good Russian girls).  I barely even read Russians – I am still waiting for time and patience to pursue War and Peace and Dostoevsky and everyone else too.  Nursery rhymes that I grew up with don’t count (except that, well they’re really not nursery rhymes but in fact poems the length of entire books, kind of like The Illiad, but whatever).  I would only be able to tell you the truth about me… and I’m pretty sure that’s not too out there.
• Russianadian: why communism spit me out and The Queen (or her estranged cousin) took me in.  That sounds like a good name for a memoir but I’m nowhere near the age where I could be writing a biography of auto proportions.  I haven’t even really DONE anything yet except “be me”, you know, because that’s such a bloody accomplishment.
• Poor Little Middle-Class Girl In Every Respect but One: I is a foreigner, so I am above you.  I think that would grate on people’s nerves but partially, that is the way I think, selfish, rude, or deluded as it may be.  Well, I’m not above you, per se, but I feel like because I’m from a different part of the world I can get out of this entertainment obsessed nation scot-free!  I don’t know whether this is true or not, and I’m sure I am a hypocrite on many accounts, but the thing is that I at least realize how stupid the way I’m living is, and the way people living here are (sometimes! I don’t generalize, obviously).  I’m kind of Horatian in that way though (woohoo I am already using my English class knowledge for self-important uses!), because I think that people CAN get better, I just think it’s easier to move to Europe.  WHICH REMINDS ME: My favourite tombstone – Oscar Wilde in France somewhere wrote, “I don’t mind Nature, but I prefer chairs.” Deep, romantic sigh.
• I’m out.  Anyone out there have any ideas? I guess it’s hard to give ideas when you have absolutely no ideas as to who the person is, but it’d be nice to hear something regardless.  In fact, a COMMENT would be nice.  Is anyone at all reading this?  Might this as well be the private journal I keep on my bedside table and glue rose petals into?  For some reason I get the feeling that Sebastien (my macbook) wouldn’t take too well to rose petals being glued onto the screen.  Truth is, you probably wouldn’t even see it.  How sad.  But nobody would see it anyway because nobody reads this goddamn blog.  Goddamnit.

One last thing that I would like to bring up today is that I am kind of a lover of old people.  And I don’t mean sexually, although if you like that, good for you! Down with ageism and non-saggy pussies and all that!  But onto what I actually meant to say, which was that I get along really well with old people, which is why I love the bar I work at so much – it’s like an old-people galore!  They are nice and when I do nice shit for them they thank me!  Even on the bus, how many times have I given up my seat!?  Millions.  Okay, well, not millions but LOTS.  Nobody else does! I don’t know why.  I guess the U.S.S.R. did teach us something legitimate, apart from the fact that you should protect your rogue missiles instead of scattering them over areas that might very soon become their own countries and inherit said missiles.  We learned that lesson, for shizzle.

Today I study.  Tonight I party.  Even painted my nails (not really evenly, but I tried, I’m sure my boyfriend will appreciate the effort!)

Next time : Sergery Lazarov…. mmmm cuter than Beckham. And sings! And is Russian.  (Thought I should throw that in there, in case you’re STUPID.)

Ciao. Arina.

we’re gonna go till they kick us out

I’m SO epically psyched up for my party tonight that it’s hard to sit still and get everything done at the same time.  I still kind of need to buy EVERYTHING. But I like last minute shopping.  Mmm…

I’m getting together people for my annual christmastime dinner bash.  Except this time it’s not a potluck.  Maybe I’ll do it again next year but I was just pooped last time and it just took a LOT of effort co-ordinating everything.  And I do it once a year specifically because it is that hard.  This should be a bit easier.  We’re just going to order pizza or something.

Anyway, before all of that happens I need to eat and finish my rhetoric assignment, because otherwise the day will fail. Lol.

You think tequila and vodka are okay? It should be enough. ICE. I should get ice.

Okay okay food. Focus.  F fffff…. I’ll let you finish that one.

Ciao. Arina.

PS. Tik tok – Ke$ha?  Pimping psyching-up track.  Otherwise kind of whorey and shallow.

MAD EDIT:

So, people are kind of gay. The only person that ended up coming was one of my old friends Aamir and we had a good bottle of tequila to ourselves, with Paya of course.  It was a little too much for me.

I can’t even put into words how FREAKING disappointed I am.  People are really retarded.  When I make promises to be somewhere, unless I’m ILL I always go.

I guess people didn’t learn the same sort of courtesy. Whatever.  I’m just going to stop expecting shit.  What a waste of my time and money.