If you want to make friends, you have to talk to strangers.

       I have arrived after hours of driving, fueled mostly by coffee. I started out the trip feeling full of enthusiasm and a sense that I was entering into a new stage of adulthood by moving someplace less familiar and taking a risk. I am a independent,  I thought. I am an adult. I am...heading towards Ohio?! 
       Yes, such feelings were short-lived as I continually got lost and, at times, became overwhelmed by a desire for my mom to be in the car with me so that she could take over the driving and I could sleep. Mostly I just wanted to sleep, though some company would have been nice. Alas, my only driving companion was my coffee plant that I have somehow managed to keep alive since December. Also-my mom has been so busy lately with cooking gigs that I've hardly gotten to talk with her, which has been sad and has added to my feeling that I am entering into adulthood, 2.0.
        I haven't been completely without family, however, as I was so blessed as to stay with my grandmother a few days ago. She made many well-intentioned attempts to increase my BMI and I was sent on the road with many cookies. I also saw my aunt while staying at my grandma's and she told me that "it's very brave of [me] to be moving somewhere where you don't really know anyone. That's a scary thing to do!" I think she was trying to be encouraging, but instead I just felt kind of stupid, though undeterred.
       I will write more later, I'm sure, about the interesting things I encounter while living down here. So far, my observations have mostly consisted of aggressive driving and large baptist churches. Let the fun begin.
 

Open letter to my roommate

Dear roommate-for-whom-I-might-break-the-law,

            I know that we were friends before you moved in, but I was still pretty nervous. I've had a number of mortifying housing situations and was scared that you would turn out to be crazy. You are crazy, but by that I mean crazy-awesome. You are, as it turns out, the best thing since sprouted whole grain bread. You are the coolest thing since Ben & Jerry's. You are so awesome that you have driven me to think of a list of ways that I might kidnap you so that when it comes time for me to move, you are in the back of my car, next to my keyboard. Unfortunately, I have yet to come up with a plan of action that I think would succeed and besides that I think it's probably illegal or something, hence the part about breaking the law. I know I'd be violating your autonomy in some major way and I don't think I could bring myself to do that. I just want you to know that, out of my love for you, I have thought about it. Often.

             Anyhow. I'd like to thank you for putting up with a few things that might have been slightly, if not extremely, irritating:

•  I've posted several facebook statuses about things that you've said and I've never even asked for permission. You should know that I only do this because you are awesome and the world needs to know; posting a facebook status is about as close as I can get to announcing something to the entire world. 
• I know I'm a morning person and I sometimes clatter whilst baking in the kitchen pre-sunrise or else shout a chipper greeting at you as soon as you emerge from your room. I just wanted to put some joy into your mornings and I'm sorry if this ever had the opposite effect. 
•  I realize that you're not much of a "hugger", so thanks for all those times you let me hug you when I was having a bad day. Or more recently, as I've been forcing long embraces every time I think about the fact that we will soon be parting.
• Lastly, I'm sorry for that month where I blasted the Tarzan soundtrack from my room almost every day. It's just that one day last fall, I realized that Phil Collins was life-changing. I couldn't stop listening to it, which I'm sure you remember well. I hope that you will always think of me when you listen to Phil Collins as I will always think you whenever I hear this. I also hope that, one day, you experience the joy of Phil Collins.

               Although we will be going separate ways in less than a month, you will always be in my heart, and yes, yes I did steal that line from Tarzan. But I meant it 100%. I am sad, but I know that we'll keep in touch. If you do not keep in touch, I will send you a skull in the mail. OK. It will most likely be a poorly-drawn picture of a skull, but it will look threatening and will be accompanied by a really sappy poem. So keep in touch, ok?

You are the apple to my peanut butter, or something like that, and I love you.

N

         

      

Video of the week

This song did not strike me the first time I heard it, but like most songs I become I obsessed with, I fell in love with it several listens later. The video is pretty cool as well.

Is this real life?

            Since my mom is a chef I grew up spending a lot of time in various grocery and produce stores. It didn't take long before I was familiar with the layout of each store and my mom was able to send me out to find paprika or garlic or whatever it was that she needed. It only took until I was 15 for all of the creepers in these stores to notice my existence. It wasn't a constant thing, but I started to notice men staring at me sometimes. I thought I was imagining things, but one day a man in the produce store approached my mom. "Is that your daughter?" He indicated towards me and smiled. "Yes," my mom said. "That's my daughter." "She is very beautiful," he said and nodded in my direction. I suppose that if, maybe every once in a while, a friend wanted to tell me I was beautiful, that would be cool. Somehow though, when a complete stranger decides to tell my mom that he's attracted to me, I have an urge to immediately cover myself with a potato sack. Whenever things like this happen to me, I always question what I'm wearing. To my dismay, however, I am usually not in a dress or wearing any makeup at all. So naturally, wearing a potato sack is the first idea that comes to mind.
             I guess that nothing like this had happened to me for a while, so I was feeling pretty safe, pretty invisible. I was driving by Goodwill and I decided to stop in to look at books.  I just wanted to look at books. I had only been standing in the aisle for about 10 seconds when the man next to me started talking to me. He wasn't saying anything rude, so I talked to him a little bit, hoping that the conversation would soon be cut short.  I would give quick replies and turn away from him, angling myself so that I was facing the books so as to cut off the conversation. He kept talking, however, and proceeded to tell me everything about his family that I never wanted to know. I continued to smile, because I could only think of one escape response. "Hi...I, uh, I have to go ignore you now." I didn't think that I could say this, so I stared at the books while continuing the awkward small talk. Apparently he must have thought we really bonded over our shared preference for warmer weather, so he asked me for my number. All I could think was, is this really happening right now? "Um...no. No, I don't really give out my number to strangers." He said that he understood, but then he proceeded to ask me out on a date. I stood for a second and waited for something intelligent to come to mind, but instead I continued to stutter."Uh. I, uh...No!! Uh, no." He continued to ask me, even saying please over and over. I told him that I really didn't know him at all and wouldn't feel comfortable giving him my number, which is when he told me the location of each of his family members. I'm not entirely sure why he thought this would help. Was he expecting this to change my mind? "Hold up. Your uncle lives in New York? This changes everything." I said 'no' once again. He then told me that he wanted to be "more than friends." "But, we're not friends," I was quick to point out. In the middle of Goodwill, for crying out loud. I told him that I would say "hi" if I ever saw him again and fled the store.
            He looked hopeful at this, so I'm pretty sure that I said the wrong things. I just wasn't sure how to get out of it without literally running away. It's not as though the situation seemed drastic enough for me start yelling or to use pepper spray or something. I didn't have pepper spray with me and I also wondered if I could get into trouble for spraying someone just because he asked me for my number. Is that allowed? If it is, it certainly seems drastic. Could I get reported for something like that?
            Officer: "So...tell me what happened."
            Me: "Well, he started telling me about his dad and I was like whoa! T.M.I., man!"
          
            I don't really know, but all of this only serves to confirm my fear that I attract only creepers.

            PS-If my mom or any of my mom's friends are reading this-do not fear! Although I am hoping that there will not be a next time where I am bothered by such a creepster, I have thoughts of alternative plans of action.
            Alternative plan #1: Next time I will be sure to cause an upheaval and bolt out of the building at the first hello, shoving everything in sight out of my way. I think I'd yell 'fire' on the way out. Oh, wait, except I think that's illegal.
            Alternative plan #2: I will bring a real or else imagined boyfriend with me and keep him close in all public places, sort of like a bodyguard. Of course, this would mean that I would have to bribe a friend or else become a social butterfly immediately so as to persuade someone. There's also the fact that I don't really want anyone to follow me around in public 24/7, which brings me to my final plan.
            Alternative plan #3: I will obtain and save a number from the next creeper and give it out whenever any other creepers decide to ask for my number. This way, they can creep on each other.

An Open letter to my 1st grade teacher

Dear Mrs. Akard,

         I am writing you because I wanted to clear the air. It's been such a long time since I was in the first grade and I realize that you might actually be retired from teaching by now. Even if you are still teaching, you probably don't remember me, and I'm sure that you don't remember the incident. I was standing in line to turn something in and I accidentally bumped and/or stepped on the girl who was standing in front of me. Said girl cried out and tattled on me. I'm not even sure if I realized that I'd come into contact with said girl, because I've always been a dreamer and chances are I had been zoned out for ages, picturing myself flying beside Peter Pan in Never Land or something. When the tattle girl cried out, it must have snapped me out of my daydream, though I'm sure I was confused about exactly what was going on.  I didn't know what I'd done when you confronted me about the incident and asked what should have been a simple question. "Naomi, did you do that on purpose or on accident?" Well, everything would have been fine, except that I didn't know what the word 'accident' meant and I was too shy to ask. I stood, silently, and thought about which one sounded worse. This six-year-old version of me decided that obviously 'accident' sounded much, much worse. I announced that I had done it on purpose. I felt pretty triumphant about my conclusion, that is, until it got me into trouble at school and at home, dammit.
       I just wanted you to know that I didn't push or step on or whatever the heck miss tattle accused me of doing. I was only guilty of ignorance, and for that I blame my parents. (Though I should take some credit for my lack of attentiveness in school. Yeah, sorry about that.)
            On another note, I was wondering if you've ever considered changing your  last name. You may or may not have realized that it bears a strong resemblance to the word 'acorn'. When I was in your class, my dad constantly referred to you as Mrs. Acorn. This infuriated me at the time and I used to argue with him on an almost daily basis. My dad found my indignation to be quite amusing, which only fueled his teasing. He was even more amused when, years later, I seriously referred to you as Mrs. Acorn in a conversation. I had forgotten your actual name. That being said, I think you should consider changing your name to Mrs. Acorn. I think it would suit you and it's much more fun to say.

Sincerely,
the ignorant daydreamer

           PS-I would like to say a special thanks for the scissors. I don't know how they came
into my possession, but for years, I had a purple pair of scissors that said 'Mrs. Akard' in
black on the handle. One would be tempted to say that I took them on purpose, but I'm guessing it was an accident. Maybe.

On being a tactless mess

            My younger brother and I talk on the phone fairly frequently. In some of our recent conversations, he has taken to mentioning at least one really embarrassing thing that I did when I was growing up. He never mentions these stories vindictively at all and we're both able to laugh about them, but I realized something a few months ago as he was recalling a very special Christmas. The unwrapping seemed to be over until I found a box with my name on the tag. I brought the box into the corner and silently, eagerly unwrapped it to reveal a TV. I immediately let out a squeal of delight which was cut short when my grandmother announced that this present was not intended for me; I had misread the tag. I don't think that anyone laughed about it at the time. Instead awkward silence ensued and I laid low for the rest of that Christmas. As my brother was fondly retelling this Christmas catastrophe, I tried and failed to think of an embarrassing story about him. I've been trying for weeks to think of something, anything, stupid or rash that he did when he was little, but I'm still drawing a blank. He's far more subdued in his temperament, while I've become more and more willing to throw myself out there, despite the risks. Both temperaments have their advantages and both have their downfalls. I think that my boldness has also been accompanied by a certain form of tactlessness.
            Luckily, I've been too shy for most of my life to cause too much damage. I didn't have many guy friends before college; I was too introverted to initiate many conversations and when I did speak, I was far too blunt. I remember being chided, and rightly so, when I was in high school for telling someone, to his face, that I did not like him.
          The summer before my senior year of high school,  my family decided to host a foreign exchange student for three weeks. When friends and neighbors found out it was going to be a guy right around my age, they teased me relentlessly about falling in love with this French boy. "No," I said. "You don't understand. That's definitely not going to happen." I was assured and re-assured that yes, this was naturally what was going to happen. What actually happened, of course, was that Hakim and I fought almost constantly the entire time. When he cheated at cards, I was quick to call him out on it; when he claimed that french fries were indeed French, I was eager to explain that they were actually Belgian. I think I caused my mom minor stress when I wrestled him over a pen for five minutes in our family room. My mom was on the phone at the time and I can still remember her eyes bulging as she snapped her fingers at me, but I was determined to retrieve my pen.
            While my temperament has caused moments of sheer idiocy as described above, I hope that it has not caused only terrible things. I think that it also means I pursue my friendships and interests with a certain vigor. I try to encourage the people I love whenever I can. Usually this encouragement takes the form of baked goods, forced hugs, laconic statements, or absurd notes. I don't know how encouraging these things turn out to be, but if you've experienced them before, this was me trying to love you. (Did it work?)
           I have since stopped wrestling over pens and frequently announcing my dislike of strangers, but I'm still not sure that I've gained much where matters of discretion are concerned. I could probably learn a lot from my brother.
        

          Also-I would like to apologize to anyone whom I have offended due to my tactlessness with a special emphasis on Hakim and that boy from high school. I would like to note that by 'anyone', I pretty much mean anyone I've talked to for more than 15 minutes.
    

An Open letter to my mom.

Dear Mother-of-all-Baked-Goods,


              Although I once wrote you the apology to end all apologies, I'm pretty sure that you lost it and do not remember said note. I know this note was real and it said something like this: "Mom, I'm sorry for all the bad things I've ever done and all of the bad things I will ever do." I guess I just decided that if I could make up for all my crap in one note, it would make things more efficient and save some paper. Since you didn't remember this note the last time I mentioned it,  I'm now going to have to apologize specifically about some stuff. There's obviously a multitude of offenses I could mention, but I'm only going to cover three things.

             1.) First and foremost, I'd like to let you know that you are indeed beautiful on the outside and the inside. I'm saying this because it's true and also to make up for the poorly thought out card that I once wrote you for Mother's Day. I know you remember this one with my classic line: "Just remember that it's not what's on the outside that counts, but what's on the inside and you've got a lot of that!" I mean...I was trying to be nice. I was just too young and stupid to realize how insulting that might have sounded out loud. Luckily, you have a great sense of humor. Bravo, Mom.

             2.)  I would also like to apologize for all the grief I gave you whenever you asked me to clean my room. I'm pretty sure that not once did I clean my room without a struggle and by that I mean an argument. "Naomi, please clean your room." "Why? It's just going to get messy again! I don't want to clean my room and if we keep the door closed all of the time, then no one will ever see it."Mom repeats request. "I won't leave my stuff out here, but I don't think that I should have to clean my room!...( continues ranting and 5 minutes later) I don't want to clean my room unless you can give me good reasons as to why I should clean my room!"Again, I'm sorry. I should've just shut up and cleaned my room. I'm sure it would have saved lots of time and dust bunnies. It's too bad you can't see my actual room right now, because it's covered in clothes it's the cleanest thing since that bald, muscular man in the tile commercials. Yeah, I'm giving him a run for his money.

            3.) I'm sorry for the annual alphabetical names lists I made until the age of twelve. It was quite rude of me to make these lists which contained all the names I'd rather have been given and then present them to you, as though I expected you to change my name on the spot. Ok, maybe that was ultimately what I was going for, but it never worked, so I should have stopped making the lists. I'll admit that things always became pretty tricky by the time I made it to WXYZ.  I think I always had to pick Xena and Yolanda, even though everyone knows that Naomi is so obviously the best option in such scenarios. I'm really really sorry that when, for the umpteenth time, I presented you with another of these ghastly lists at the age of eleven, I made you cry. I remember you begging me to never show you these lists again. I shouted back that I wouldn't, but  that I promised to change my name when I turned eighteen. Admittedly, I continued to make these lists in my room for another year  or so, until I made a revelatory discover. If you spell Naomi backwards, you get 'I moan'. This changed everything for me. I just wish I would have figured this out much sooner.

       I cannot write you an entire note that consists solely of apologies, therefore I must include a few thank-yous. They will not be adequate, but they will be sincere.

           1.) Thanks for the flexible hips!

          2.) Thanks for turning my childhood in a sous chef training session. I'm not
sure if that was intentional or not, but now I know how to zest a lemon along with
a multitude of other things which may or may not impress my friends. I now find myself
increasingly alarmed whenever I talk about food, because I realize that I am starting
to sound like you, when it comes to food at least. That's not a bad thing I suppose.
I would also have you know that I brag about you all the time.

         3.) Thank you for your generosity. Thank you for making me share with my brother when I didn't want to and for instilling a love of sharing baked goods deep within me. Yes, for this, all of my friends should also thank you. I know that you and dad have sacrificed so much for me and I hope to be able to give back, not as a repayment, but out of gratitude. I love you more than muffins and more than key lime pie.

Your-most-favorite-daughter,
Naomi