Tag Archives: creepy boyfriend obsession

I’m Going to California, and I May Not Come Back If the Grilled Cheese Truck is Good Enough

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I sing Phantom Planet’s “California” nearly every time my friends and I do karaoke. I’ve loved the song since 2002, long before it was the theme song to a stupid teen drama, long before teen dramas about California were a thing, and long before I met Kamran.

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be sharing a snackbox with him on our way to Orange County for 10 days of:

• In-N-Out burgers

• quality time with his family, which hopefully will include plenty of watching “Bonanza” and eating Persian dishes full of pomegranate and blackened pickled vegetables

• DISNEYLAND! with his friends Gary and Diana (but not their kids mwahahahaha)

• his friend Diana’s wedding, which I assume will not involve homemade moonshine, UNLIKE OTHER WEDDINGS I HAVE RECENTLY ATTENDED (god bless you, Ohio)

• trying out my Farsi on his parents (so far, I can say poop, pee, hungry, and thirsty, so obviously they will be impressed)

• hot dogs from Pink’s, where the line is apparently as long as it is here for Shake Shack

• Alberto’s carne asada burritos

• touring the San Juan Capistrano Mission (and reenacting scenes from The Birds using the Barbie my best friend bought for me)

• anything from Del Taco (because, come on, it translates to of the taco)

• a day-long tour of L.A. that includes Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles, the Santa Monica pier, maybe not going to the Chinese Theatre unless someone tells us we have to, and a very adult dinner with his uncle that will include quiet conversation

• generally being in Laguna and acting like a semi-retarded teenager

Obviously I’ll be singing “California” while we do every single one of these things, too. Look forward to the videos.

Why Life is So Great Right Now

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1) Last weekend, I was out all afternoon on the hottest day of the year, and Kamran texted me at one point to say that he thought the air conditioner had stopped working. I arrived at his apartment later with a couple of iced coffees just to make fun of him and his overactive imagination, but no, there was definitely warm air coming out of his vent. We spent the remainder of the night sitting perfectly still on the couch, afraid that moving would allow the sweat rivers dammed in our hair to unleash on our foreheads. It. Was. Miserable.

Way wore than the night we lost power in my apartment, because Kamran lives in a studio with windows on only one side of the room, so there’s no way to create a cross breeze unless you open the door. And I wouldn’t have been entirely opposed to propping the door if New Yorkers weren’t so infamously curious about other people’s habitats; you know every single person who walked by would’ve stopped dead to watch us gnawing on ice as we watched Manhunter.

I texted my best friend, Tracey, about it, and she suggested I fly to Ohio and enjoy her central air. I also considered going back to my own apartment, figuring that a single wall unit for all 900 square feet was better than nothing, but I didn’t want to leave Kamran alone with his take-home law school exams. We went to bed around midnight, but Kamran woke up at 2 a.m. feeling like he was having trouble breathing and thinking we’d need to go to a hotel, which made me EXCITED. But then he remembered a box fan hidden in the back of one of his closets and aimed it right at us so we could at least not die during the night.

Two days later–after his exams were all finished, of course–his landlord graciously had a guy come and install a brand new unit with a timer and remote control so we never have to leave the couch again.


2) You may think of me as some huge important chef thanks to my starring role in Julie & Julia and my wildly popular food blog, but the truth is that about the most I do is heat up some hotdogs for breakfast in Kamran’s convection oven. But his oven went out in March, and we kind of didn’t bother to do anything about it, which means I’ve been heating up my hotdogs in skillets.

Skillets.

But early this week, when the new air conditioner went in, the landlord also sent him a new microwave. A huge one, with a light underneath to illuminate the stovetop, and a vent on top to keep the apartment from smelling like pigparts.


3) Last night, I met Kamran to go shopping for toilet paper (romantic!), and as we were leaving Duane Reade (a pharmacy that got its start in NYC at the corner of Duane Street and Reade Street–clever!), I realized that it was my chance to buy my favourite generic lipgloss, which I’ve been without for several months now but have been too lazy to walk an extra block to the Duane Reade for because the CVS near his house is so much nicer. I forget sometimes that the littlest things can make such a huge difference to my happiness.


4) I’m in Ohio for the weekend for my stepsister’s wedding! This means I’m the only one of the five of us kids who isn’t married. Last time I was home, I told my grandmother that Kamran and I are going to California to visit his parents early next month, and she said, “Oooooh, are you going to pin him down while you’re there?” And I said, “Um, haven’t I done that already? We’ve been together almost four years now. The only thing we haven’t done is move in together.” She didn’t like that.



And you?

Kammy from the Block

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Kamran’s thinking about applying for a clerkship once he graduates from law school, which means he’d spend a year writing opinions for a judge. Seeing as he’s a genius with 800 degrees, I’m sure he’ll end up with a super-important judge, but he’s not convinced:

Kammy from the Block

By “scrappy immigrant”, he means “snobby Persian who was raised in Laguna Beach”. By “science background”, he means “B.S. in physics from Caltech, Master’s and Ph.D. in physics from Princeton”. By “night-school J.D.”, he means “working by day as a patent agent and letting his law firm pay for his J.D. by night”.

DO NOT BE FOOLED!

The only reason I mention this–besides the hilarity of Kamran thinking he’s a gangsta who made it off the streets–is that it means he might move me to someplace like Pasadena or Chicago or D.C.! The horror. What could there possibly be to blog about in those God-forsaken places?!

Haters Keep Hatin’

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The first time I saw Kamran’s apartment building, I’ll admit I was wooed. It looked like a castle on the outside and was filled with fresh flowers and gleaming chandeliers on the inside. One my friends recently said it seems like Harry Potter would live there.

After more than three years of visiting it, though, I’ve gotten used to it and its doormen, porters, and nice-men-who-pick-up-the-recycling-from-the-trash-room. Which is why I thought it was a pretty big deal when Kamran got an e-mail from the building saying they were going on strike if their union didn’t reach an agreement with the local apartment building owners.

But they did, and they didn’t go on strike, and I was a little offended by the piece in the New York Times about it:

A strike would have disrupted the daily routines of hundreds of thousands of middle-class residents from upper Broadway to Brownsville, as well as affluent owners of Park Avenue penthouses. Along with picket lines in front of many of their homes, they would be confronted with the loss of the people who sign for their packages, carry their luggage and let the pizza deliverers and dog walkers into the building.

I’m totally not wrong in thinking that’s written facetiously, right? MY DINNER AND PACKAGES ARE IMPORTANT!! Not the dogs, though.

Sitting on Your Head

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Sometimes I look through the folder on my hard drive full of things I intend to post here, and I find screenshots from chats with Kamran like this:

sitting on your head

WTF?

I had to Google image search it just to see if I’d ever posted it before, and while I didn’t find it, I did find something else, which I had to post on the new blog Tracey’s graciously sharing with me, because I apparently still don’t have enough of an online presence to suit myself.