I know no one cares, but I want to be super productive beginning this weekend. I am turning a new leaf!

• From now on, when I manage to read 2 whole pages in my Contracts textbook, I will refrain from treating myself to a 45 minute break/cookies/raw cookie dough/hour-long phone or gchat convo with friend/fun videos on collegehumor.com or the Onion News Network/two hour visit to the girls’ upstairs. Nope. I will congratulate myself with a pat on the back and some UCC Section 2-207 analysis.
• Instead of starting my writing assignment for Lawyering Process 7 hours before it’s due and thereby precluding any possibility of obtaining feedback from the TA’s or the professor and ensuring that my rule synthesis will bear traces of those peculiar grammatical errors one can only make when drugged at 3 in the morning, I will write up a draft for it three days before it is due. THREE DAYS. CMON!!
• Between Friday and Sunday, I will wake up, get dressed and be ready to face the world before 11AM. Because I keep waking up at 2PM and then sitting down to catch up on my emails and check on the news and Facebook-stalk people from the 7th grade and then it’s 6PM and, oh, time for dinner! NO MORE.
• I will clean my apartment and assemble all my un-assembled furniture this weekend and try to keep it in a somewhat presentable state. I mean, just so I don’t have to run to the bathroom in a panic and gather up all the dirty laundry off the ground whenever someone dares to pee when they visit.

I had other goals but I’ve forgotten them already. Anyway, now all two of you are my witnesses!

I will keep you posted.

PS: Speaking of witnesses, I was a witness at the Mock Trial competition two nights ago and… dis-aster. I’m pretty sure I screwed up my attorneys because I didn’t study my deposition well enough and was super freaked out during the questioning. As in I answered simple questions like, “Can you please state your name?” with some wide-eyed brow-crinkling and plenty of “uhhhh…”‘s and “um”‘s. Yup. Marry me.

PPS: My landlord thinks I stole his ladder. I’ll explain at some point.

I’m reading my Contracts textbook and getting chot poti all over it, but I don’t even care because I am EATING.

I’m also holding an ice pack to my upper lip. I was bit by a mosquito while I slept, apparently, and it is now extremely swollen and I look kind of scary. Thanks, animal kingdom. I’m really hoping the swelling goes down before I have to see people. My mother is avoiding my eye and peering at the lip-monster whenever she thinks I’m not looking. I just took some Benadryl, which was probably a bad idea for studying because I think it’s the drowsy formula. It’s okay,  as long as I am drugged somehow.

I would post a picture if I didn’t want to pretend this never happened. Maybe I shouldn’t be blogging about this.

Anyway, a merry Eid to you all!

While I spent a good portion of my bus ride mentally planning a study schedule for my stay so that I don’t fail as a result of this trip, it was just when we entered Manhattan that I found myself peering at the scenes we passed while making our way downtown. And it made me feel sad and happy and weird and then I realized that I was humming Starlight by Muse out loud (kind of an awesome subconscious choice lyrically, since I totally wish I could hold this place) and that that was probably why I kept catching the girl sitting across the aisle from me giving me odd looks. Whatever, that didn’t stop me.

I love this city. And I love watching people rushing for no reason and I miss being a part of the hubbub. And it also really warmed my heart to spot groups of men amidst the crowd putting on their kufis and heading into the little basement mosques for jummah.

Anyway, all these uncomfortable thoughts came to a halt when we drove past 133rd (or 132nd, I couldn’t tell) street and 7th avenue, where I noticed a store called “Balkissa” that purports to sell (in huge letters on its storefront) both underwear and, seriously, muslim oil. I have no effing idea what that means, but I’m hoping it was a sex shop.

Y’all can rest assured though that I’ve actually been pretty content with the experience so far–my peers are awesome and I’ve made some great friends and there is totally an active sense of community and social life, which is something I was concerned about before moving up. And I didn’t quite realize how lucky I got with my apartment until last night when some kids checked it out and raved about how spacious it was compared to their box-like rooms, which made me feel weirdly guilty and like I should be offering them small lots of space in my living room to compensate for their living situations. I have issues.

Anyway, back to criminal law.

I just moved to Hartford to start law school and I’m completely terrified. I don’t know how much time I’ll have to waste (though I’ll probably waste plenty) and I’m really unhappy because I can no longer loll around on the couch for hours, roll a bit of clay out while watching 6 hours of Battlestar Galactica (awesome show, go watch please) before finally calling it a day, satisfied that I have been quite productive.

So far I’ve spent way too much of my time improving my apartment and salivating over all the recipes I’d like to try but can’t because I’m fasting (Ramadan Kareem, by the way!) and not enough on studying. I’m off to start my first assignment readings, which I should have started last week but didn’t because I fail.

Will keep you updated! Wish me luck!

PS: I am in love with Garfunkel and Oates. Check out their videos on Youtube, they totally made my days last week. I especially love “Self Esteem,” “Pregnant Women Are Smug,” and “Silver Lining.“

I think the highlight of this topper for me was making the glasses. I hope all my clients are myopic! And if they’re not, I might just depict them with a pair of sleek shades on. I’m sure they would love it.

The usual.

Back view.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sweet.

That’s right, the eye exam. The one where choice 1 and choice 2 are indistinguishable. Where, just when you settle on a pattern so you can sound like you know what you’re doing (odd numbers for me), they throw you slide #8, which looks eerily like slide #1… no wait, maybe #6? But that’s just you guessing frantically because THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME.

I took one such exam this morning before I ordered new glasses, which was kind of exciting because I picked frames for the first time in 7 (yes, seven) years! I had no idea what to look for because I am not trendy and don’t really care. The last time I had a strong opinion on frames, I was eight and wanted them LARGE, thick, and as pink as possible. This was after the Gold and Blingin’ Frames of ’95. Anyway, I purchased squarish brown frames and I fear they may be totally unattractive, but it doesn’t matter because no one in law school cares about looking good. Yay!

Exam #2 was horrific because  it invoked some unhappy memories and I proved myself unable to answer the most basic questions.  How am I supposed to remember which eye got lasered two years ago when I was having some sort of retina-falling-off-my-eye issue that I can’t actually explain? I’m sorry my memory of the procedure is overshadowed by the trauma of having to ask some loitering hoodlums to help me cross the street post-lasering (since my dilated eyes were blinded by the glaring sunlight) on my way to the train station, where I slowly and squintily made my way into a subway car and hoped that I’d get home? No one ever asks about the suffering. Also, apparently “squintily” is a word.

After I recovered from all that hard work, I continued retouching cousin-topper and finished making what may be the tiniest glasses ever. It took at least half an hour, because small things are evil. As are wires. Look:

Smooth, sleek.

You’re supposed to photograph tiny things next to coins. For good luck, probably.

Sittin’ pretty. On my laptop. Rebel.

I wonder if I’ve broken a world record for smallest glasses? They don’t have lenses so probably not. Maybe I can fool the folks at Guinness into thinking that some tiny bits tape stuck over the rectangle parts are actually prescription lenses. Whatever, it doesn’t matter because I didn’t get into this business for the fame or the glory.  I just want to help people… and I’m just happy that mini-cousin can see again.

He is a God. He is Indian, but I am pretending that he is Bengali to better suit my fantasies. And no, he is not offended! Gosh.

I watched Kaushik compete this evening in the 2006 Food Network Sugar Showdown, where he exhibited exquisite skill in sugar sculpting and I was blown away by his flawless sugar-blowing and just bursting with excitement when he won the challenge! And ten grand! (For our children.) It’s amazing because I know he will teach me his skills and he’d probably be awesome at glass-blowing, which is totally my favorite ancient art.

He’s also competed in the Food Network Pastry Daredevils Challenge and he is currently the Head Pastry Chef at the JW Marriot Desert Ridge Resort in Phoenix, where I will definitely be “vacationing” during winter break.

Such steady, careful hands!

I get ridiculously excited when anyone ethnic shows up on FN but unfortunately it’s usually a competitor on Challenge, Iron Chef America, Throwdown, or CHOPPED, and not the star of a show. It’s not often that you see South Asian chefs on television and it’s especially heartening when the chef doesn’t limit him/herself to cooking curry. Don’t get me wrong–I think it would be a tremendous step to have a network tv program devoted to some kind of South Asian, Middle Eastern, or African cuisine (I can name three Food Network shows devoted to Italian cooking just off the top of my head and I don’t really like that).  I’m mostly referring to cases like the embarrassing Nipa from Season 4 of The Next Food Network Star, who cooked exclusively Indian-inspired dishes throughout the challenges and seemed lost  whenever asked to use ingredients that didn’t mesh with your standard curry spice mix.

Okay, I just had to share that.

First, I made some veggie samosas from scratch, which I’ve been meaning to try for months. The filling I made was delicious, but the dough was really sticky and I decided to be “healthy” by baking instead of frying, which resulted in dumplings that were reminiscent of old curry wrapped in cardboard and my samosas mostly looked undercooked and pasty. At first I was angry with myself for trying to be creative but now it’s all okay because after I complained to wdotc about the ugly samosas, he decided to be an Ugly Samosa for Halloween and just look at how creativity begets creativity!

The filling was potato, carrots and peas sauteed in onion with some garlic, salt, cumin, garam masala, a tiny bit of chili powder and some fresh cilantro.

I had to take a break then to water my parents’ plants. I avoided doing this the first two days that they were gone because if I can survive a few days without food, the plants should be able to too, right? Well, plants are wusses. On Saturday I saw lots of yellowing leaves and the soil looked really dry and a lighter brown than was normal, which meant I’d have to buckle down and water. It was embarrassing because I haven’t done this chore since I was 10, back when C-star and I would go down there and deliver, but mostly just play with the fancy nozzle and “mist” each other with the hose and skip and laugh all the way there and back.

Needless to say, there was no skipping or laughing this time, though I was completely soaked by the end of it ’cause I don’t know how to hold a hose properly and I had to avoid my neighbors’ gaze after I yelped hysterically because there was a huge slug on my leg that turned out to be a leaf. I was less soaked today, but I did have some dirt on my cheek when I got back, because apparently standing next to a plant does that to me.

Anyway, watering the plants was confusing because I couldn’t tell if some of the plants were my parent’s veggies or just weeds so I just tried to hit everything. I delivered nourishment without discrimination… sustenance without borders! While I was done putting an end to plant-hunger, I thought about how it’s actually really difficult to garden and how on Desperate Housewives, the Solis’s hire John as their gardener but John is a junior in high school and why, when you are as loaded as Gabe and Carlos, would you hire a 17 year old to garden when you could hire a professional?  And after John quits, they hire his roommate who is also in high school. Who do they think they’re fooling! Why didn’t they call him “the lawn mower”? It would have made for a great schoolyard-bully nickname too, just like “Terminator”. Being threatened by a kid called “The Gardener” is just confusing, whereas thinking that the “The LAWN Mower” was about to crush you would be terrifying. (or arousing)

I was really upset at this point, so I made pesto pizza. I used this focaccia recipe for the pizza dough and after it baked in the oven for about 10 minutes, I pulled it out and topped it with this pesto sauce, some sliced tomatoes, and some cubed fresh mozzarella. It was really delish.

It was oblong.

I’ve spent the last week trying to be productive and getting into gear for law school. This involved looking up apartments, delighting over just how frugally I can live next year, and dreaming of having a room of my own. Except by “room” I mean “apartment” but I just wanted to throw in a reference right there. Sorry for being a loser.

Anyway, I think now that my list of errands is dwindling and I will soon be back to waking up to the vast horizon of boredom and emptiness that is a summer day for me,  I am ready to figurine again. I’ll start slow–by not doing anything like actual figurining. But here are some pictures of First Customer Topper:

I made his tie too short, but am I supposed to know how long a man’s tie should be on a tux? Because seriously, read the rest of this blog.

Okay, also please note the white cardboard underneath the topper. I’m totally not delivering you a cake topper that I first scraped around on concrete and then smeared with topsoil from our garden before finishing off with a healthy dip in some dirty bathwater (some people call this varnishing). Keyword: NOT. Clean topper, guaranteed!

Back view.

I know this looks worse than when your favorite 3-year-old tries to wrap a present, but please keep in mind that it was secure. And I think it arrived in one piece. So hah!

Okay, so those are up. When I gain the strength to repaint my cousin-topper, those pics will be posted.

Good night!

—————-

We had some company earlier and I had to clean my room. This meant shoving things into the closet mostly, but it also involved making my bed, which is something I never do (stop judging, it’s completely pointless and you know it). Anyway, I don’t attempt to make my bed look good and my parents always settle with arranging a pile of pillows on one end of the mattress, a heap of blanket on the other, and then stretching the sheet over the lumps to create a hills-and-valley (or a two-dead-bodies-covered-in-a-sheet, if that’s a better visual) sort of scene. I don’t blame them because they grew up in Bangladesh and people don’t have blankets or extra pillows there and I’m pretty sure everyone just sleeps on banana leaves and mangoes and cuddles with a monkey. I’m sorry, I don’t actually hate my people. I decided to make my bed hotel-style tonight, though, and it was immaculate for a full three hours before I crawled in and destroyed it, which is why (listen up, kids) you should never bother making your bed.

But just in case you do, this is what I did:

These patterns are not on my real-life bedding. I swear.

Is this how you people do it? No, don’t answer that. I don’t care because it is a huge effing waste of time. But it looks good and was a strangely satisfying experience and I might even do it again tomorrow! I hate myself.

In other (sad) news, C-star is back in Texy now! She left on Wednesday and now I have to readjust my routine to nothingness minus a companion. I’m even bleepin’ making my stupid bed now. It’s gonna be tuff, y’all.