Pita, mmmm...

This is my last post before I come home for Christmas. AH! I have a lot to talk about before I go. *Also, some of these paragraphs were written on different days, so the time scale is a little wiggity wack, but it's aight.*

Yesterday, for the first time, I got to float around in the air uncontrollably for 60 seconds. Twice. Yes, I went indoor skydiving, which is really a deceptive name for it. There was no diving involved, nor parachutes and harnesses. I just fell face-first off of a little platform into a little round chamber, below which was a giant steel net and a giant wind generator. As soon as I fell into the chamber, the air would catch the flappy extraness of my loose flying-suit and I would take to the air like a flying squirrel. And, actually, for my first flight I felt quite like a flying squirrel. It was nearly impossible to focus on my arms and legs with the powerful gusts pushing on every centimeter of my suit; I could just feel my disembodied head trying (and probably failing) not to look too stupid in front of the 14 other faces watching me as my cheeks rippled back and I forced a smile just to keep my mouth still. Also, I faceplanted into the wall, hard. Then came attempt number two. After landing, I had the chance to watch everyone else fly again and I noticed that the most successful flying happened when people looked like a tacky superhero. So, for my second flight, I pretended I was Superman, shooting off to the far corners of the globe to save humanity or something; ...it was incredible! After a highly successful mission of outspeeding airplanes and beating up bad guys, I landed back in the queue and knew that I had saved the world.


...


On the exact opposite side of the emotional spectrum: You know those dreams where you feel like you were abducted by aliens? And then you wake up and you know the aliens are still watching you? And you try desperately to forget the dream because the aliens can read your mind and if they find out you know too much they will activate their deadly trap against you? Yeah, I had one of those last night. And before I woke up I was in a kind of half-dream state for a while, so I could feel myself lying on my bed but it was burning and there were bright lights everywhere. When I woke up fully at 2:36am (or 2:56) I crawled to the opposite side of my bed and sang the Sailor Moon theme song in my head to try to calm down, all the while almost in tears expecting a hand to punch through the wall or my roommate to become possessed by them and turn against me.


Two nights ago I was walking back to Sama Tower from the Downtown Campus and Yannick showed me the BEST PITA BREAD PLACE EVER (wow, Yannick, you keep coming up in my blog. This is really just a coincidence, I promise I am not stalking you; well it's not entirely coincidence--you just happen to know all the awesomest things about Abu Dhabi). Ho my god, and it's only one dirham for the hugest slab of bread you've ever witnessed. And because Yannick goes there so often the owners let him cut in line because he only orders one piece while everyone else is ordering like freaking dozens of pieces for the best parties ever (presumably).



My final request from the spirits of the desert of Abu Dhabi before I leave for home next week is that I will be able to get in enough Christmas shopping amidst my cascade of essays and exams.
Yallah shukran bye!

There and back again, again.

I'm writing this from a hotel in New York City, waiting out an intense layover, and for the second time this year I travelled during the daylight savings time shift. Hello, ten-hour time difference between my two homes!

The last DST shift was in March (I can never remember which one is turning DST "on" and which one is turning it "off") during my NYU Abu Dhabi Candidate Weekend. Back then my biggest issues were trying to pronounce my roommate's name (Ahmed, not Aaaahhhhsscchcchscja-med) and figuring out if the guy doing the hotel wake up call was speaking English or Arabic. I still don't know, to this day. Anyway, now I have to worry about arranging my own flights and ground transportation, eww. Guess that means I'm...I'm...I'm an...adult...!!!? It had to happen eventually. Egh.

And I hate this traveling. When I arrived last Thursday night at the Abu Dhabi bus station, I was frantic, standing for 30 minutes in a miles-long line moving the speed of a glacier before I realized that it was the line for Sharjah, not Dubai. I was already thinking of ways to tell my mom that I wouldn't make it home, or, at best, to explain why I had to spend $100 on the two-hour taxi ride to the Dubai airport, but instead I grabbed a seat just in time on the last very comfortable and very cheap bus bound for my destination.

All nervousness aside, this week has been super. I saw pretty much everybody I've ever met in existence. All the humans. All of them! (sort of X-Men 2 reference, yeees?)

It's also been magnificent not having to worry about homework, even though I have a buttload to do when I get back. And as I've been telling people all week, I realize now how separate my two worlds are: life doesn't stop in Abu Dhabi when I'm gone, nor did it stop back in Minnesota. Definitely did not. I feel like when I get back to my dorm room, my life will, somehow, have been reset and I'll have to introduce myself to everyone all over again. Please remember me, UAE.

Randomization

Topics for today's blog:  Halloween, Veganism, and Belly Fat.

Let's start with Veganism.  Have I ever mentioned I once was a hipster/still kind of am?  But not really.  But maybe. I just don't like admitting it.  Maybe.  Nonetheless.  I saw my cousin for the second time in like .. 8 years.  Perhaps longer.  He took me to get tea.  His name is Max and he reminds me of Michael Cera.  It is creepy.  They have the same hair/eyes/basic facial structure, and the same voice.  Very creepy, man.  We talked about life and I brought up that I once tried being vegan, but PETA ticked me off so I stopped.  Peta still ticks me off.  I MEAN COME ON, PETA!  VEGETARIAN PORN!?  Anyways.  He told me .. some things that made me even more mad.  I feel so betrayed.  The video I watched on their website didn't even happen in the US...  You have no idea what I am even talking about.  ...  Sorry. ... I drank a bubble tea latte,  it tasted like a liquidized cookie with gooey balls at the bottom.  Yum?

HALLOWEEN!  I was a ghostbuster. .. Who ya gunna call?  Molly.  Cause I was a ghostbuster.  I went to the Cat Girl's college and party hopped with her.  I missed that woman.  I'd post other pictures of us, but I think you get the gist of how awkward we are when we get together.  True love, right there.  Through thick and thin.  So here is a little tid-bit of what happened that night:  I accidentally molested a poor adorable Asian boy dressed as a priest.  Yup.  Forgive me, Bible Boobs, it was very dark outside, and you were in black and standing next to the black railing.  It was an honest mistake.  I also I met a boy who was dressed as a ghostbuster as well.  Pretty sure he was very upset with me, and I saw him everywhere that whole night.  Might have had to do with the fact that I faceplanted into him on the bus.  There was nothing to hold on to,  could have happened to anyone.  I also met another boy who looked EXACTLY like Michael Jackson, before he went all creepy.  That boy had everything down to the short pants.  I love Michael Jackson, with a fiery passion.  Pretty sure that boy was creeped out by my love of his costume.  Oh well, not the only guy I frightened that night.  Dang it.

Lastly, Belly Fat.  I have gained some serious weight since I came to college.  So much food.  So.  Much.  Food.  Alright, so I am (was) a skinny white girl, if you couldn't tell, and for the first time in my life my stomach has started to move.  It is the strangest feeling in the entire world.  ENTIRE WORLD.  I have never felt this before and it is just so .. bizarre.  Don't get me wrong, I know a lot of girls stomachs move when they walk, but it's normal because they have a figure!  Boobs and hips and the works.  Like what a normal girl would have.  But I, sadly, have none of these.  I am a wonderful stick, who now has a tummy.  Curses.

CONNOR COMES HOME TOMORROW.  I miss that boy.  I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HIM.  We will take lots of pictures, don't you worry.  And play lots of games.  And eat lots of food.  And tell lots of stories. And I will give him lots of gifts.  And stroke his curly blonde hair.  And there will be so much love in the air that children will cry.

...and we're crazy.

FINALLY the Abu Dhabi Film Festival is over.
I entered it with great anticipation for the exciting, interesting people I would meet around every corner. Not celebrities, but just people from exotic lands with strange life stories. Yeah, right. The first new person I met was a woman who I never really got the name of. All I know is she is from Cameroon and she is studying film in Abu Dhabi...for some reason. And did I mention that she's crazy? Oh yeah, she is. I was partnered with her during my first volunteer shift at the Filmmaker booth. What a night-- our job was to wait for a filmmaker to arrive, say, "Hello, who is your liaison?", and then summon that liaison by telephone or by walking around aimlessly. A tree could do this job as well as we could. And on top of that, during the entire four-hour long shift not a SINGLE filmmaker arrived. Here is a sample of the 1,500-word record of my thoughts that I typed on my phone during the four hours to occupy myself:

"Arab lady over there is speaking German now. She also speaks English, Arabic, Italian, and French; this is all I know about her. She is my role model. CCL [Crazy Cameroon Lady] is taking pictures of herself. She just said, "Oh God, I'm so crazy". Yes, I knew it. Sprichst du Deutsch? Wahrscheinlich sprichst du besser Deutsch als ich."

Day 2 of volunteering wasn't SO bad. I was partnered with Yannick, a fellow NYUAD student, and he had much more interesting things to talk about than CCL, like Esperanto and crazy college life. If you happen to be reading this, Yannick, thanks so much! Third day I was paired with Nikhil, from India. Another not very eventful day, except that I had a conversation with a British filmmaker who said she couldn't tell where I was from by my accent because it was so "gentle" (which I took as a very nice compliment). Briefly I thought that my accent might actually be changing here but now I realize it only happens when I spend a lot of time with non-American-accented people, like Nikhil. Maybe after four years these accents will accumulate to mar my perfect Minnesotan one. SMILEY FACE. Day 4 passed with no eventfulness, bringing a gloomy end to my time with the ADFF. Will I do it again next year? Only if I need to bring home another 6,000 words of delusional stream-of-conscious rambling.

Glitter on the Floor

I swear, I am going to experience all of the stereotypical "college experiences" before I even get through my first semester here.

Two weeks, clubbing, drinking, partying.

Let me put this in perspective. Just think of the movie Tangled - cutest movie alive. .. well .. it's not really alive, but you understand. I am the real life version of Rapunzel (bless you), minus the obnoxiously long hair, and creepy family situation. In high school I was locked in a tower of band kids, not doing anything out of the comfort zone. Our parties included Apples to Apples, frisbee, ice cream, the works. When I finally escaped from my tower, I felt the grass, the dirt. Holy buckets, I felt the grass, the dirt.

Clubbing: My roommates and I thought it would be fun to go out and go dancing and "have a good time". (I'm going to use code names, it'll make me feel cooler. My short roommate, who recently moved out, so she's not really my roommate anymore.. oh well, she shall be named Myrtle. My tall, still roommate, roommate shall be named Richardson). Myrtle has gone clubbing before and drove us to her favorite. Which happened to be the only club she's ever been to. We pulled up to this .. place. A bunch of sweaty old men were standing outside, with a cop for a bouncer. After we passed the intimidating officer we had to pay ten dollars to get in to the old house (just as a heads up, don't ever spend ten dollars to go to a club. that's a bad sign). I'll save you the sob story of creepy men attempting to dance with me. It was scary as .. a scary place. It felt like a middle school dance with drunk 30 year old men and chubby women in minimal clothing. Never again.

Partying: I baby sat Richardson.

Drinking: Nobody warned me how awful it would burn my nose. It is also very easy to trick drunk people. And very amusing. "I love you, Molly!" "No, I love Molly!" "I love Molly most!" Why thank you, Richardson, Giraffe, and Conformist (Giraffe and Conformist are my new party friends .. yay). But not all bad things came out of that night. I met some really nice girls. We bonded through our hipsterness. I sure hope you know what a Hipster is. I might have to make a whole new post about that, though. They are usually wearing Toms and scarves. That will get you through to my next post, yes? Yes.

I miss Connor.

Band kid party. Quelf. My tower. Molly, Anders, Connor. And the creeper ginger in the back is Tony.

Insidious

College is messed up.

It takes you away from your familiar home, friendly faces, encouraging peers, and throws you in this hole of "unknown."* You never know what is around the corner. Sometime's it's so much fun, then other times it is just creepy. Like the movie Insidious. Creepiest movie I have seen in a long time. I found myself screaming "NOT THE BABY!" one too many times.

..you know what. That was a bad analogy. College is nothing like the movie Insidious. That movie was just plain creepy.

Sometimes I wonder if my unknown is the wrong unknown. How does one know if their unknown is the right one? College is messed up in the way that it gives you so many choices. Let's face it, in high school, you don't get choices. You do your homework, you get good grades, you sleep, you eat, you do what you are told.* In college, you could make the choice to walk to some guy's apartment at midnight and watch a movie and wind up staying all night freaking out with your roommate about how messed up it is. Or you could go back to your room and do your homework. You could keep in touch with friends from high school, or ignore them all together and focus on the new ones. The strange thing is, there is a middle ground too when it comes to choices. I think that is the hardest thing about college. Making these choices for myself, jumping into the blackness and hoping they are the right choices.

Now that you sat through a long and philosophical rant on my life - HERE'S A FUNNY PICTURE.

This is real. It is located right outside my dorm. So yes, you can get your hair cut while listening to crazy drunk people singing '80's love songs. Maybe I'll see you there one day. However, I'll be the one singing, and Condor will be getting his hair cut. Not sure how you fit into this picture.

Fin.

(*this might only occur in my crazy-white-girl-middle-class life.)

"Aw, Mom, please. I know all that democracy jazz. They're still hoods."

Connor's First Month in Abu Dhabi Comes to a Close

Prologue: In which I am sick.
Three nights ago I sensed a suspicious tickle on my uvula, which evolved overnight into a coat of barbed wire wrapped around my entire throat. It's been difficult to sleep the past three nights, or even take a nap during the day, constantly waking up with my mouth hanging open and snot migrating through my nasal passages. The worst of the illness seems to have gone away today though, possibly due in part to the two apples, one box of fruit juice, and three bottles of water I've been consuming every day since I got here. Yay, immune system!

Chapter One: Russian Seasons
Last night the Russian Seasons Ballet performed at Emirates Palace, and I got to see it! I had never been to a ballet performance before, so I had not much of an idea of what to expect. I am pleased to say that the show was beautiful beyond anything I could have expected!

So, it was basically split into four "acts", I guess I could call them. The first was your traditional ballet routine-- rows of tall, brunettes spinning and kicking and floating in white tutus and tights, vaguely familiar classical music playing in the background, and one central male character over whom the two main women were dance-fighting. BUT, that was just Act I.

Act II started in total darkness and drawn curtains, following the bows from Act I's performers and a brief announcement about the White and Black Pearl Queens. From my side of the stage I saw a human shape carrying a large hoop through the side door onto center stage. The audience erupted in applause as soon as most of us noticed its arrival, but the theater quickly silenced once lights dimly illuminated the figure: A woman, covered entirely in glossy, white spandex standing in the middle of the stage. Her tight outfit flared vastly outward at the bottom like a lone stalagmite trying to imitate a dress. And by entirely covered, I mean entirely. Not an inch of skin was visible. Her skull was fitted with two shiny, black ovals where her eyes should have been, and in each hand she carried a colorless, paper-fan-esque, webbed...thing. Sort of like a duck foot. This outfit, worn by who was quite obviously the White Pearl Queen, would put Lady Gaga to shame. She danced to the thunderous music with animal fluidity, crouching low around the wide base of her pearl dress, shaking her fins like a dilophosaurus, and standing straight and rigid to give the appearance of a deadly spike sticking out of the ground. But, of course, that was only one of the Pearl Queens. After she finished her dance to raucous applause, it was the Black Pearl Queen's turn.

The Black Pearl Queen arrived on stage the same way that the White Pearl Queen had, and when the lights came on dimly once more, we laid eyes on a more sinister version of the uncanny queen we had just witnessed. She was wearing a glossy black dress identical to her counterpart's, and in each hand she held two large, coal-black pearls reflecting an ominous purple light. Her skull was of a similar sheen, and, most mysterious of all, a fifth pearl protruded from her navel, such that when she held one hand on her chest and the other hand on top of her head, she appeared to be only a string of six pearls flying around of their own accord. Her dance included all manner of alien undulations and powerful hand thrusts, concluding to greater applause than even the White Pearl Queen.

Despite the sheer fantasy and beauty of Act II, Act III was my favorite of the night. If Act I was old, classical ballet, and Act II was futuristic, post-modern ballet, then Acts III and IV were the fusion of both the previous plus a little bit extra. Their themes were very Middle-eastern and central-Asian, with costumes reminiscent of the sort of garb you would see in Aladdin, but in many cases updated with modern colors like lime greens and deep pinks, as well as stripes of silver rhinestones. The dances in III were all solos and duets involving a more-than-beautiful male and female pair dressed in sky blue. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever seen better looking humans, and they were made ten times more beautiful by their elegant outfits and floating dance style. Act IV finished off the night with crazy large group numbers, more elegant costumes and plenty of high-jumping dances.

Epilogue: Films
I guess I should probably explain at some point what the title of this post means. It's a quote from Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds! And I just thought it was funny...
Speaking of movies, I will be volunteering at the Abu Dhabi Film Festival next month! The only reason I haven't chosen my shifts yet is that I have been putting off making a CV, which is required for most of the cooool positions where you get to help organize things and make sure the important people get to where they need to be. The other positions are mostly dealing with the masses-- handing out fliers, seating people and whatnot. But as Anna Rosa told me, those jobs are probably a lot better for getting to know the REAL people of Abu Dhabi, not just the visitors and wealthy people and Film Festival staff.

Anyway, Abu Dhabi has a lot of nice things that I love, but what it doesn't have is snow, rain, clouds, rainbows, butterflies, my family, Lady Gaga, or Amy Winehouse. I still have a lot to discover.

Hot & Dangerous

You know those people who you've met only by proxy, once or twice or seven times, who you just have to meet for real? The people who simply ooze hip and chill, who seem to have all of the friends that you wish you had and do all of the things you're not brave enough to try?

Not many of those people exist in everyday life, but I have had the pleasure of meeting several of them, one of whom is a lovely woman named Molly Schlieff. When we met, for real, in high school marching band two years ago, I realized that Molly wasn't all about hip and chill, that she had passions for art, community, and life in all its forms. Coolness comes in trends, but life is the longest thing you ever do (thank you, Dwight Schrute).

Now as we enthusiastically begin our college careers on opposite ends of the planet-- I, Connor, in the farthest place I know from home, Abu Dhabi, UAE; and Molly back in the Motherland of Minnesota, USA-- I believe we find ourselves closer than ever before, and so have decided to share our experiences in this blog about anything. Life will be dangerous and life will be hot.

That ... Blonde Kid

Don't worry, you'll fit right in.

Name's Molly. I am a girl. I have a blonde friend.

Too bad I didn't know he existed until two years ago.

We decided to start blogging on a whim. I had a dream about it. Dream ideas are the best. Hope you like it.

Want to know how we met? I joined marching band the summer going into my junior year of high school. eew, marching band... I played the french horn in concert band and so I was stuck with playing the mellophone. What is a mellophone, you might ask? I didn't know either, don't worry. Here's a nifty picture I stole off the internet to help you succeed in life! *click me!* It's pretty much a big trumpet, but sounds prettier. Heh. Anyways, I walked into my first day of marching band and I didn't know anybody. pfft, what a loser... I was directed to go sit with three kids, all who were playing this same weird spit machine as me - also known as the mellophone. I was told that "the blonde kid" was my "Section Leader" whatever that was supposed to mean. I introduced myself as Molly, and he said his name is Connor. Then he made me wear a crown.

Fin.