De-taching Parts

If you could change one physical thing about yourself, what would it be? Surely, you’ve been asked that question in your life time, as have I. Do I have a choice of more than one thing? This might take a while. The trouble is, I don’t think I’ve ever been at a point in my life, when I have felt 100 or at least 90 percent good about my physical appearance. I know, I know. This applies to most people, but sometimes I wonder if I will ever get to a point in my life when I look in the mirror before going out or staying in and say, you know what? I like this. I like me. It’s not perfect, but it’s where I want everything to be.

I’m not holding my breath.

So when I think to myself, if I could change anything about my physical appearance, I have an entire list ready, but for this post’s sake, I won’t bore you with my self-conscious whining for too long.

• skin - I am now 24-years-old. That’s 10 years older than 14, meaning my skin SHOULD have cleared up by now and when I wake up in the morning, I should be able to look at myself calmly and go pour myself tea, not let out a ghastly scream that confirms the worst: a big juicy pimple, making himself comfortable on the side of my face. I have unnecessary acne. It’s the kind that doesn’t even make sense at all. It’s just there one day for no explained reason and it’s telling me, “I am going to ruin your life - this might take up to a week or more, please, get comfortable and make sure you turn your self-confidence down a notch.” When I brought up the issue with my then-doctor, who, by the way, had a brain made of the cotton balls she kept in a jar in the examination room, she brushed it off as completely normal, comparing herself to me. “Look,” she said, pointing to her chin, “I’m in my 40s and I have acne too. It’s fine! Let me just prescribe you some medication.” I wanted to yell and say, but you don’t understand, NO ONE and I mean NO ONE my age that I know has arbitrary acne like I do. You just really don’t get it! But I resisted this urge and instead took her prescription down to the pharmacy, only to find out that I paid $26 for a tube of benzoyl peroxide, when I could have just bought it from the market myself for about $5. Useless, utterly useless. They let anyone pass through medical school these days, don’t they?

• weight - Oh, how cliche of me, I know. Look, it’s not that I’m particularly big. I’m not. But when you’re as short as I am, a few added pounds look like 10. Trust. And it’s not like my weight is distributed evenly over my body, oh noooo. It decides to reside in my hips and thighs and make my life a living hell in the process. I’ve tried to get rid of it before, but nothing has worked for me. Mostly because I lack the motivation and energy to go through with it. If I want to lose weight, I’ll probably have to abandon all other areas of my life and go on a show like the Biggest Loser or something like it, because you know what? Food is good. I’ll get to it though, one day.

• nose - The only thing I need to put here is that I’m Armenian, and perhaps like other cultures, we are notorious for and have notorious noses. It’s not as bad as it could be, but I’d just like it to be nipped in the bud a bit. Just a little. Please? Just a tiny bit from the bottom. Pretty please? I guess it makes me unique. Whatever.

• height - Hello, my name is Liana and I am short. Yes that’s right, my dreams of being a contestant on Tyra “Smile With Your Eyes” Banks’ “America’s Next Top Super Model” were shattered when I was conceived.  To be honest, I don’t mind being short all that much. I can fit into small spaces easily. Once I crawled under a steel fence at school to retrieve backpacks that my friends and I had left inside when we had wandered outside to get some food. They coined me “Mighty Mouse.” I hate that my shortness shows SO MUCH when I’m standing next to tall people. I’m only asking for a couple of inches, I’m not greedy. But you better believe, that if I was tall enough, I would definitely try my hand out at modeling. Fierce.

What parts would you like to reattach?

Cumpleañoz Feliz

I turned 24-years-old yesterday. It was a strange feeling waking up in the morning, with a slight lump in my throat. Turning 23 was much better, in fact, in my opinion it’s the perfect age. You’re over 21, so you don’t have any real laws against you, yet you’re still considered “young.”

It was like any other day really, except I got treated to a lunch outing, card and cupcakes at work - that was nice and unexpected and really made my day bearable and lovely. When I came home, there was a cake waiting for me, a gift from my sister, in addition to the fact that she wallpapered my entire door with the dazzling Edward Cullen. I’m bordering on psychotic, I know.

I was going to write about what I accomplished this year, but I’d rather do that for my New Year’s post. I don’t like to count my accomplishments by age, doing them by year is much better and it doesn’t remind you that there are millions of people in the world being more productive than you, while they’re younger than you.

It’s hard to believe that I’ve lived for 24 years. It’s harder to believe where my life would be right now if my family hadn’t moved to the U.S. If I had stayed in Tehran, as I was in the photo above. It’s still harder to think about what my life is going to be, that’s honestly the hardest part. I thought I knew, but I have no idea. We like to think so, but we’re not always the controller of our destinies.

More than anything, what I’d like for my birthday is to share it with my grandpa. I wish he could have seen what I’ve become, what my sister and cousins have become. I miss him immensely and would have liked to share so many moments of my life with him. Sometimes I remember him and realize what a passionate man he was. I think I might have gotten my passion from him. When he would sit near the dining room table and speak about Armenia, his motherland, his home, his love, his eyes would well up with tears. I used to laugh it off and tell him to stop, but almost 15 years later, I understand. I completely understand.

Here’s to another year. I hope it will be better.

Winding Down

This four day  weekend was truly sent from above to make my life better. Thanksgiving was wonderful, the crazed shopping in the early hours of the morning was insane, seeing Twilight again was amazing (I feel like an idiot, but I don’t care) and just spending time at home was the best medicine. I am so tired of not being able to do what I want to do and if this weekend had come any later, I would probably have had a nervous breakdown.

As you’ve noticed, I have been posting every day this month, as part of NanoBloPoMo, otherwise known as National Blog Posting Month. It was an interesting journey. I don’t know how I did it, what with everything else on my plate, but it was overall great. At times I felt like giving up, because I didn’t feel like I was contributing anything useful to the World Wide Web, but I stuck with it, and here we are on the last day. I urge anyone who has a blog to try it, you might write about things you never expected to because of the mandatory everyday posting.

Tomorrow, life starts again and needless to say, I’m not too thrilled. There’s still so much left to do and not enough time to do it in like the craft projects I have to finish, the articles I have to write, the pitches I have to submit, the graduate schools I might apply for and the Christmas decorations I have to put up.

I better stop writing here and get to them.

Snow White

Orange Cardamom Muffins

Introducing Orange Cardamom Muffins. They’re a “wintery” type of concoction, but not by too many ingredients. The cardamom gives it a good kick without being too overpowering and the orange introduces your palate to a taste of what’s coming in future months.

A member of the ginger family of spices, cardamom is known to improve digestion and is most commonly used in Indian and Asian cooking and baking. In fact, Web India gives cardamom the prestigious title of “Queen of all spices.” While you may be a bit wary of putting a “spice” in a muffin, rest assured that cardamom is commonly used in sweet treats and is more like ginger than you think.

Ingredients:

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 ½ tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp ground cardamom
½ cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
zest and juice of 2 oranges
2 large eggs
2/3 cup yogurt
1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

2. In a large bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda and ground cardamom. Set aside.

3. Using an electric mixer, cream the butter, sugar and orange zest together until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, orange juice and yogurt and mix on low speed until the ingredients are well combined. Then fold over the flour mixture in by hand, making sure not to over-mix.

4. Divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups and bake for 15 to 18 minutes.

Makes 10 to 12 muffins.

Adapted from “Good Cooking’s Delicious Desserts.”

I’m Sad That It’s Going Away

I

love

the rain.

But you already knew that.

Gloomy Greatness

Today I was in an unusually good mood, far from my scowls and confusion I’m usually faced with these days. It was almost euphoric, today. Perhaps it was because I knew that we would be closing down the office four hours too soon, to get a head start on Thanksgiving. Maybe it was because I was looking forward to finishing up the second Twilight book, “New Moon,” tonight (more on this in the future). One thing was for certain - the weather had an enormous amount of responsibility for my jovial mood. I heard the rain break through last night while I was driving and as God is my witness, it was incredible. I even saw the lightning. Los Angeles is beautiful when it rains. The smog and fog filled sky looks almost breathtaking, like some Apocalyptic painting no one was ever meant to see.

I smiled all the way home.

When I left work today, the weather wasn’t any different and I was enjoying every single minute of it, knowing full well that in an instant, it would disappear and the sun would pierce through again, ruining my rendezvous with the rain. I wasn’t as excited about the freeway as I was about the rain, I’m sure you’ve guessed. It was clogged with cars in every which way and I had no choice but to suffer through it all. I took comfort in the fact that I wasn’t exactly heading home, but to Whole Foods to buy some Quorn “Turkey” Roast for myself for tomorrow’s festivities. I can’t believe it has been almost a year that a piece of meat hasn’t touched my lips. Of course, because I still eat fish, I’m not a vegetarian in the true sense of the word, a bit like Edward Cullen I suppose. I don’t like talking about it when people ask me why I don’t eat meat. The idea of having to explain to them my thoughts on the matter are almost unbearable and definitely awkward and painful. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone pescetarian. I didn’t eat meat for about 10 months a little less than two years ago, but when Thanksgiving came around, I caved in. Once I tasted it, there was no point not eating it again on a regular basis.

I was taking a different route this year though. I didn’t have a particular interest in eating turkey, the smell of it repulsed me a bit, so the Quorn brand of faux-turkey was my next best option.

While I tried to make progress on the freeway, the rain suddenly turned violent and vicious and unleashed a three minute wrath of hail on everyone. I was enjoying myself, but remembered back to documentaries I had watched on the Discovery channel about golf-sized hail balls leaving cars looking like Swiss cheese. I had to remind myself that this was Los Angeles, and we had earthquakes and fires, not tornadoes and killer hail.

The parking lot of Whole Foods was an absolute nightmare. I had never seen it that bad before. Parking attendants were directing traffic and people were pulling in and out with carts. I eventually found a space and quickly got myself inside, focused on finding my Quorn Thanksgiving dinner. Inside was worse than outside. I was turning claustrophobic and had to take a dive in the hair care isle to stop myself from leaving without finding anything. No one else seemed slightly annoyed by the fact that there were so many people around. Maybe it’s me, I wondered. I found my Quorn and picked up some low-carb bread as well as some Ginger Peach tea from Republic of Tea - a treat to myself.

When I left, the rain had started coming down hard, so I ran to my car, but my paper bag was soaking wet. As I settled in my car, the smell of wet wood descended around me from the bag and forced me to open a window. My next order of business of getting the third Twilight book before I finished the second one, in an attempt to satiate my appetite when I finished. That search turned up fruitless, as the only version they had was a hardcover version, and I wasn’t in any mood in shelling out $20 for my guilty pleasure unhealthy obsession for a clumsy, accident-prone girl and her dazzling, vampire boyfriend. Sorry Stephenie Meyer, I had to draw the line somewhere.

When I walked out of the bookstore, it was drizzling. I pulled my umbrella out and propped it up. I hadn’t been walking in the rain for so long. It was beautiful. The gloomy skies, the wet ground, the silence of the entire city. I walked back to my car, disappointed, knowing full well that I could order on Amazon but the wait would be excruciating.

I got home and literally devoured the second book, and didn’t rest until I was done. This whole “Twilight” thing has turned me into a raging lunatic and I really don’t know how to stop. Mostly, I’m left wondering, “Why is this happening to me!” I have my theories I guess, but discussing them makes me sound crazier than I am now, so I’ll stop.

I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I have some intense baking to do in the morning, as well tidying up and then entertaining at night. I have my hopes set on traveling out to a J.Crew outlet for their “Hurray-For-The-Holidays” sale which starts at midnight tomorrow night. I know it sounds insane, especially since it’s Thanksgiving, but you don’t understand. No, you really don’t. It’s 50 percent off clearance, plus an additional 30 to 50 percent off regular stuff. It’s going to be fun little road trip for the three of us, including my sister and Nat, since it’s about 60 miles from my house. I’m afraid that our trip might be like that one episode of “Friends,” where Monica recruits Rachel and Phoebe to go wedding dress shopping with her and they have to communicate with whistles.

Crawling to Bed

I should be sleeping, seeing as to I have to make it to work at a reasonable time tomorrow, but my mind is racing after finishing the first of four books in the Twilight series. Yes I am a dork. No, I do not care. I was thinking back to when I started this blog in 2006 and looking at how far I’ve come, not only in terms of my subject matter and topics, but in terms of myself. I can’t believe it’s been two years. Sometimes I ask myself why I have this space to myself. Why do I write here? What prompted me to create a website? It would be easy and also a lie if I said it was just a more convenient way to write down my thoughts, instead of transcribing them in a notebook by hand. In some ways, that’s true, but obviously I wanted more. And yet today, I really don’t know my goal for this little web space I have. Is it just to write down my thoughts? Is it a release for me, an experiment in writing, or am I writing for someone, whoever that may be? Do I have an audience? I don’t even know for sure if anyone really is reading what I write, or why they would want to. But I guess it doesn’t matter. Sometimes I wish my blog was well-known and visited, sometimes I wish I could write in private so no one would have to see. I can’t seem to figure this place out, or the direction I want to take it in, but I suppose that’s a running theme in my life at the moment: confusion.

Sometimes I give myself rigid restraints on what to write about and how - and then I remember that this is just a personal blog and there are no rules and I can write about whatever I want, however I want. Maybe that’s the beauty of this place though, I can swing whichever way I want, without even thinking. One day I could be talking about situations in my life and the next day, I could be declaring my love for all things Paula Deen and then talking about my enormous hate for Ugg boots after. It’s really refreshing, have a space I can fill up with anything I want.

Yes, I should be sleeping. It’s almost 1 a.m, but this is a perfect opportunity to write. The house is completely quiet and dark, with the only light coming from my laptop. Henry is fast asleep, instead of flinging around his toys and our shoes in the living room and because I’ve spent the majority of my day so listless in a cubicle, my mind is awake and racing and conjuring up topics to write about and ideas to get to. This is unfair really, almost torture. Why aren’t there more hours in the day, more days in the week? Most importantly, when will I finish the second book from the Twilight series. I am slowly being recruited into the League of Morons because of you, Stephenie Meyer.

I better get to bed before I pick up the book to read and never go to sleep.

Many, Many Questions

She looked at the time, which was peering at her in muted gray block letters in her car’s dashboard. She was sure she wouldn’t make it. Once again, traffic, her arch nemesis, had reared its ugly head, like it did every morning. Her thoughts were scattered, and as she looked ahead, into the endless sea of cars, she gave up.

“I’ll get there, when I get there,” she sighed.

While she moved an inch, she thought of all the places she’d rather be. In bed perhaps, having a long, drawn out breakfast. At her typewriter, which she hadn’t used in at least a year. The ribbon didn’t work, but that didn’t matter. Replacing it was just another opportunity to be anywhere but where she was headed to.

At least the weather was partially on her side, she thought, as she couldn’t see the emblazoned Los Angeles sun anywhere to be found. The gray skies, the rain, the gloominess of it all…it felt like home to her.  Maybe it reflected how she felt on the inside, but she didn’t think that was necessarily a bad thing.

The traffic began to clear up, and although she breathed a sigh of relief, she was secretly wishing it would have gotten so bad, and it would have made her so frustrated, that she would have just turned around and gone home to bury her face in her pillow and unmade bed.

As she thought about driving, she came to the realization that her life was spent in small, confined spaces, which she likened to boxes. She was in a box in her room. She left that box to go to her portable box, her car. After a while there, she reached another box, her cubicle, where she spent hours working and subsequently dreaming that she wasn’t working. Not working in the real sense of the word, anyway. She wanted to work, but the passion was missing, a common ingredient that’s lacking from the workforce. And there she was, one box in a million on an endless pavement of cement travelling to another box.

She was surprised how quickly she managed to reach her exit. Still late, but only by minutes. The streets were empty, with people at least. The cars however, as usual, were plenty. She rounded the corner, skimmed past a car that was blocking both lanes, and made it to the parking structure in one smooth swoop. The elevator ride was only 30 seconds, but it felt like hours. Her thoughts had started racing back and forth again, and she was afraid that the neurons firing inside would somehow find their way to manifest themselves on the outside, by lack of coordination, an unusual flushed face, or some other embarrassing ailment.

When she made it to the meeting room, her nerves calmed down. Another stressful situation dodged, she thought. She took out her notebook, lifted the pen tucked behind her ear and began writing anything just to take her mind off the situation. Most days she would just trace her name over and over again on paper, trying to see how different one signature would be from the next. As people shuffled in, and the presentation began, she tried to concentrate. Goals, priorities, performance, acquisitions. The words circled around her head and popped like bubbles.

Her efforts to keep her thoughts on what was contained in the room remained fruitless. It was then, that when she looked up across the table, outside that she couldn’t believe her eyes. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. In fact, it was a common site in this part of town, but this time, it looked so inviting, so new, so refreshing.

It was sparkling, beckoning her to escape her box. Stretched out for miles, the blue glistening waves of the ocean, against the palm trees felt like an escape. She might have been exagerrating, but she felt like she was in prison. In a office supply, grey, computer-meeting room prison.

She looked away and back down to her notebook. Furiously jotting, the racing thoughts came back. One minute she knew what she wanted out of life, the next minute, she felt like nothing made sense. Except boxes. Boxes surrounded her. And as she sat there, she knew that she would figure it out. The question was when?

A Weekend Full of Twilight

In an interesting turn of events last night, I went to see the film “Twilight,” which as I’m sure you all know, is the silver screen version of the best-selling books by Stephenie Meyer. I was waiting until I had finished the first book, but when I cracked it open and read the first 20 pages, I wasn’t very inspired to keep reading a 500 or so page book, so I put it down. I came to to the conclusion last night though, that if I was waiting to finish the first book in a four book series before I saw the film, I probably would not end up seeing it before it came out on DVD.

So I went, I saw, I conquered. My verdict? Well, where do I begin? On one hand, after attending movie screenings comprised of journalists for the last year, I had forgotten what a “real” movie experience was like so to speak, and that included all the annoyances that accompanied seeing a film with people who were seeing it for nothing more than entertainment value, as opposed to writing about it. If it wasn’t the overly immature row of boys in the back ( who had been dragged to the film by a female friend), it was the woman who sat directly in front of me with a humongous afro. Note to movie-goers, the movie theatre is not your personal living room. Sit down, shutup, turn your cell phone off and for God’s sake, if your hair is on a stairway to heaven, pull it back or sit in the back. Your choice.

After quite a few irritations, the movie began and I really did not have expectations that swung one way or the other. Based on the few pages that I had read, I really felt like I was going to be quite sarcastic about it all, and for the first half of the film, I was. The dialogue wasn’t that great, the interactions between supporting characters and certain scenes were completely laughable (a glistening Edward looking like more like a Swarovski model than a vampire), when they were clearly not meant to be. These small details, although oblivious perhaps to a long time teenage fan, were standing out to me, and I suppose I can credit that to the movie reviews I’ve done. I had built up tolerance for overlooking certain things. But as the film progressed, and the relationship between Bella and Edward became more apparent and intense, I was drawn in, so much so that if you look at my desktop now, as embarrassing it is to admit, it’s wallpaper from the movie featuring Edward.

By the time it ended, I was wrapped up in the film. From the gorgeous scenery of Washington - which by the way, is looking more and more like my kind of state because of its green qualities and frequent gray days and rain, to Robert Pattinson and the entire Cullen family, it would be safe to say that I enjoyed the film, at least the second half immensely.

As time has passed, there have been a few things on my mind regarding the film, the author and the entire genre of vampire love stories.

I think part of the reason I really enjoyed the film and have spent more than half of my Sunday reading the book is because as silly it is to say, vampire stories intrigue me (and the rest of the country as well, apparently). If you ask any of my friends, I was completely obsessed with “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “Angel” throughout junior high and high school. I never missed an episode, had official books that correlated to the television series and collected photos in a memory book of scenes from the show and the actors who portrayed all of my favorite characters. When Buffy sent Angel to hell, I cried. When they told of his origins, I watched more intensely than before. When they consummated their relationship, my life became complete. I followed up my vampire obsession with “Blade,” “Queen of the Damned,” “Interview With the Vampire” and “Dracula.” When I was in my freshman year of college, I used my break time between classes to scour the video catalogue in the library and ended up watching “Nosferatu” alone, on the second floor, with humongous earphones on.

It was glorious.

Vampires and films about them have always been a part of many cultures worldwide. What it is about them that fascinates us so much? Or fascinates teenage girls, who are longing for an impossible love story, so much? It’s amazing how the idea of vampires are so intertwined with sexuality. The obsession with them wont end anytime soon.

For Stephenie Meyer, she was just in the right place at the right time. I kept wondering how it was possible for a 30-something housewife from Utah to dream, write and get a publishing deal for a book in the span of six months, when I was sitting here, lulling over how I would even begin to think of something original and eloquent that a publishing house or literary agent would be inclined to like and Stephenie Meyer comes along and defies all odds and now she’s a bonafide author and millionaire. It just baffles me. She really was in the right place at the right time. There was a wide open space left for her, after Buffy wrapped up, for her to descent and continue the vampire genre. Anne Rice had been quiet for some time as well and as far as I know, no other vampire movies were in the works. The only other vampire-themed work I can think currently is the “True Blood” television series based on the books by Charlaine Harris. “True Blood” is doing immensely well on HBO, and they probably have this sudden resurgence of interest in vampires and “Twilight” to thank.

As of now, I’m halfway finished with the “Twilight.” I imagine I’ll be done with it in a couple of days, at the rate I’m going. Although not in any way a literary masterpiece, it’s a good read, a good read that I’ve totally been sucked into.