pumpkin milkshake: first good food from dining hall EVER
Nic and Stef do my hair and makeup before each belly dance performance because I have no fine motor skillz. They use awesome, bright gold eyeshadow, which you cannot see. If you were wondering, my hands are near my face because I was finger-dancing to Baado-san's emocapella. Please pretend I didn't have to spray my skirt with Lysol because I haven't washed it yet...
The girls forgot to switch to motion mode, so the photos from Arab Culture Night are pretty bad. Link to the music video for the song that we danced to. L-R: Alana, Me, Abra
The girls made me pose immediately after we finished because they knew there were no good un-posed ones. Ignore the fact that my arms look weird and that I appear possessed.
Three packages arrived in the mail for me today, one of them being my shirts from No Sweat Apparel. I held the navy blue, long-sleeved shirt up in front of my torso for Stef, thinking if it would be too long. "It'll fit better once you try it on," she falsely assured me. The shirt was more of a tunic-heck, a dress-that went down to the middle of my thighs. If only I had white boots and a belt, I could have saved it as a Go-Go Girl costume for next Halloween. After examining the packing materials, I realized that No Sweat has a distribution center right down the street in Waltham, and so The AdventureTM commenced as we hopped into the car.
I'd forgotten my glasses on my desk in the room, making everything slightly blurrier than it should be. As we drove out of campus, I screeched, thinking the movement I'd seen in front of us had been a rabbit. Stef slammed on the breaks, only to determine that we'd run over a pile of leaves. Once we found Felton Street, we parked the car and wandered around, trying to find Number 14. (At this point we determined that I can now do two accents instead of just one: pirate and French.) I saw a sign for building 15 and building 13, and wondered aloud how the entrance for another building could be squished into such a small space before realizing that the odd-numbered addresses are on the other side of the street. Once inside, I failed at English ("Where is youse guys' factories located?") as I tried to insist that I wanted to return the ill-fitting shirt. The man seemed so disappointed to lose a sale that he offered me my pick of anything in the stockroom after I repeatedly asked for a return, so I eventually felt guilty enough that I selected a short-sleeved shirt (that I do not need because it is cold in Massachusetts!), smiled and left. The End (I promised I would post this).