Day Five: I think that people are the greatest fun

Spending time alone really allows one to find out who their true friends are. These are things I have discovered:
My boss is in my top five best friends. She cooks for me and berates me for my bad choices in men. She is my Marrakesh Claire.
I have gone back and forth on this one but have decided that a phone company cannot count as a friend, even if they call/ text more in one week than any other friends have in one month. Am still borderline on this one, since they often give me free things like cell phone minutes and "points."
My sister's boyfriend is both my roommate and and my best friend, and though he is rather forced into the latter two roles, he doesn't seem to mind if it keeps sis merry. He also feeds me and berates me for my bad choices in men. We will call him my Marrakesh Thomas, except he is more fun than Thomas because he actually gives us his passwords instead of us having to sneak on his email/ phone/ facebook.
The other day I criticized the man that owns the school-supply-stand-cum-butcher-cum-phone-credit-store and brashly proclaimed that he was not part of my clique. Since he reproached the drunk crazy man that was trying to hug me yesterday and wildly gestured for me to scram, he's in the in crowd now.
Our friends Samuel and Caitlin got a puppy. #2, #3, and #4, in no respective order.
Finally, I have picked a best friend. I was similarly undecided on this one, since I think if you are paying someone to drive you around, you can be skeptical about your status as friend or just client. But Omar, my taxi driver and #1 really proved himself this week when he took me out to lunch at the most dude of all men cafés in the factory district. Ground beef, bread, tea, piece of paper for napkin. Just a couple of friends hanging out (where perhaps no other white girl has ever gone before). Over lunch he told me that my sickness (terrible reaction to Moroccan "antibiotics") was caused by not doing sports and not eating enough Kefta (ground beef). Okay. Omar is a former Moroccan boxing champion, an excellent dining companion, and a real lifestyle mentor.

Love,
Megan Marion

Day Four

Well, Denny, I cooked again. Tonight I started with a yogurt salad- I was told that it would kill the antibiotics that are killing me and I'm a believer- consisting of yogurt and cucumber. Then Kel told me how to cook garlic, so I did and burnt it, also while boiling green beans. I never give up on anything (oh, except cities, jobs and boyfriends), so I retried the garlic, got stressed that it would burn again so threw in the tomatoes and eggplant (I was making pasta sauce), put the pasta to boil, burnt my tongue trying the green beans, didn't know what to do with them so threw them into the pan with the tomatoes and eggplant, because pasta sauce can have green beans, added a ton of hot sauce then just put the whole pot of pasta in the pan. Then I ate a huge bowl of choc choc chip ice cream to make the memory of it all go away.

I think I will start smoking again so I can have something to do while cooking.

Ever Adoring,
Megan Marion

Have you seen mother, baby

Mother learned how to comment. TOOOOO cute.


"Anonymous said...

honey... i am so proud of your marketing and cooking skills. i hope that you poste them on your bros blog so that we might all share in your culinary delights. kachmara mama"

On my own, pretending you're beeeside me

Dear Dennis,

In the absense of Jules and Pascal, I have become a vrai chef. Last night I prepared couscous with a stir-fry sauce. Tonight I made pasta with a stir-fry sauce. With my not so modest addition of Moroccan Chili Spices, they both taste exactly the same.

Love,
Cosette

Worth the walk

Hobbies

Dear Denny,

Mom and Dad are in France and I have the house to myself for a week! Unsure of what to do with my new found freedom this afternoon, I decided to write to you and then head to the market. We have a lovely little vegetable stand near our house and while I wouldn't say it is my favorite social activity, it certainly ranks near the top of the list. It is about a ten minute walk and I always bring along my diskman to tune out the commentary from the men driving by on scooters and because I have to pass by a high school (I think you are familiar with my perhaps irrational fear of high school students). When I get there, I am warmly greeted by one of three men that tends to the stand. There is also a guy that works in the adjoining market who I am familiar with, but I suspect he makes fun of me in Arabic when I turn around, so he is not so much a part of my social clique. First, I pick the most colorful and beautiful veggies. I always buy a cucumber and an eggplant, the latter because I feel a strange pressure from my pals that my meal wouldn't be complete sans it. I don't really like eggplant and I always fuck up when I am trying to cook it, but you have to make sacrifices in the name of friendship. I will never buy over ten of anything because I use the excursion to show of my Arabic and I only know how to count to ten. I believe Pascal, who is already confused by my near obsession for vegetables and Kit Kats, is totally dumbfounded by my extended outings and the resulting overflowing refrigerator.

Well, Denny, I must go pick up my market excursion outfit, so this is goodbye.

Lovingly,

Megan Marion

Q and A

Dear Den,

It has arrived. Finally. We went to the video store last night and in the corner, standing out like a vampire that is exposed to sunlight, was Twilight. With roommate #3 outta town, Jules and I settled in like two 7th graders watching Titanic for the 400th time (sleeping bags, diet cokes, kit kats, and the remote control so we could pause and analyze every five minutes). I didn't realize how diverse the high school is! Will Charley have romance with the waitress at their reg cafe? Arent Mike Newton and Jessica casted perfectly?

Well in honor of my viewing, and of Smocks very own Kelley Culp's entering into the world, and of Alex Ghez viewing the fil three times, I will post the short interview conducted by les soeurs not long ago:

Tim Riggins or Edward Cullan?
Taylor Kitsch or Robert Pattinson?
Would you rather have a boyfriend who can fly or the captain of the football team in a place where football means everything?
Which do you appreciate more: Riggins long locks or Edward's piercing eyes?
Would you rather go to first with Edward, but know that he would be there watching you sleep all night, or home run with Riggs, knowing that he would leave you for a Christian the next day?
Drunk/broody or blood hungry/broody?
Who would win in a fight?
Who would look better beat up?
BONUS QUESTION:
Coach Taylor Edward C.'s adopted father, the doctor?

For the sake of her privacy, I will post my first set of responses from an anonymous fan (clue: older sister of my best friend, style guru, Greek and ultimately a Riggs fan).

...That being said my lust for teenage lust would have easily led me to say Edward Cullen, circa Christmas time.

However, the cold weather and comfort of my couch (and living with my sister) drew me to FNL. Riggins makes my heart swoon. He blows Jordan Catalano out of the water and he is, as we speak, my screen saver. My boyfriend even told me I could cheat on him with Rigs! Not really true, he actually said he would dump me....AND in response, I said I would actually dump him for not letting me make out with Tim Riggins.

Edward is super hot and rich which is awesome. I bet he is a really good kisser and let's face it, vampires are SUPER hot. However, there is something even more animalistacally hot about Tim Riggins!!! And he is funny!

So gals, to conclude, "CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS CAN'T LOSE"

Thougths Denny?
mimi

A hair by any other name.

Hey D.

So, “The Great Fig Debacle” (stay with me, it is slightly complicated):

Megs and I had lunch at Pascal’s restaurant on Saturday afternoon. We each ordered salads and everything was fine and dandy till we spotted the longest, darkest, rattiest clump of dreaded, foul hair, drenched in a piece of lettuce in Meg’s salad. The waiter approached and noticed the ghastly sight and quickly apologized and removed the salad. We wanted to make sure he knew that we were not fussy girls and would never tell Pascal about the hair and gave him this sort of easy breezy wink. We were on his team.

Salad #2 was delivered to Megan. In it, we found a small piece of hair that was attached to a fig. Pascal joined us at this moment and noticed that we were examining the hair. He proclaimed that it was indeed the hair of a human and returned it to the waiter. Moments later, Pascal’s brother joined us and Pascal grumbled something to him about the hair in our Salad #2. His brother whispered in French under his breath, “well, it was a fig hair and the girls just don’t understand that.” P-skizz then totally threw us under the bus and agreed with his brother that it was clearly a fig hair and we just “don’t understand.” “Pascal, I can understand what you are saying in French and just because we don’t cook often does not mean I don’t know what a fig hair is,” I exclaimed bitterly.

We proceeded to explain that it was possible – even likely – that the hair in Salad #2 was a fig hair, but there was no conceivable way that the hair in S#1 was anything but the hair from a long and dark haired human being. Pascal and his brother repeated in a very condescending way, “you girls just don’t understand that figs have little pieces of hair and that was all you saw.” At this point, we became incensed and called the waiter over to back our story up. He arrived with three other waiters and the host who all explained to us that what we saw was nothing but a fig hair.

Now, not only were my annoying boyfriend and his brother speaking to us like stupid little girls who don’t know the diff between a fig hair and a nasty clump of human hair, but also, the waiters have completely turned against us and are pretending like Salad #1 (which only a select few people saw) never existed! By now, I was nearly shouting at Pascal and we had definitively and swiftly gone from being the non-fussy, cool as cucumber customers who don’t rat on the waiters, to two, wildly out of control and prissy girls who don’t even know what a fig hair is.

It ended with us storming out of the restaurant and Pascal coming home and apologizing to me that I was, “so very upset about a simple fig hair in your salad.” I had to walk around the block several times before returning and telling him that if we hoped to maintain a relationship, we would never again speak of the fig incident.

Eek,
Julia

Julia, Megan, Pascal and Dexter Foltran. One happy family.

Salut mon cherie,

Oh geez, we have really been busy little bees in the last few weeks but have much exciting news to report. First and foremost, le grand frere des soeurs miserables, Thomas Michael Kelly III, proposed marriage to la belle et charmant Kelley Culp last week, under a Moroccan desert sunset. Most fortuitously for la famille Kelly, she accepted (insert Kelley Kelly joke here).

Our Barthhhhhelona groupie adventure was a real jam-packed, grand slam of a time. We zipped through the Picasso Museum, bought awesome euro sunglasses on Los Ramblos, ate scrumptious tapas up the wazoo, purchased portable coffee, ogled at the super crazy Gaudi buildings, and enjoyed one rather star-struck night of romping around town with the fetching boys of Jogger.

We returned to Marrakech and spent a week living in the Medina with the newly engaged couple and our sweet Mamma. Now, renting a riad in the medina is a marvelous thing to do but renting a riad that neighbors a huge mosque in the Medina can be an uneasy nighttime experience. The 4:30 AM call to prayer that is projected from loud speakers in the mosque, was a very alarming and dramatic wake up and made for several nights of pretty nutty and skittish sleep.

La famille left us a few days ago and Megos and I are back to the ol’ grind. We’re currently in a very precarious situation with my boyfriend and his entire restaurant, in fact. I'm still pretty hot and bothered about it, which going forward we shall refer to as “The Great Fig Debacle,” but once I cool my jets a bit, I’ll fill you in.

For now, Saint Denis, just know that I adore and miss you.

MWAH.
Julia

PS. Den, we have a new pet turtle named Dexter. After a long observation period this morning, we simply cannot figure out if he's a supremely cunning little guy or dumb as rocks. I've consulted the web and found a forum addressing this subject. This is a question posted from another turtle lover:

"I've only had my turt a bit over a month now, so still getting used to behaviour and habits etc. The main reason I'm asking is my turt bit my girlfriend on the nose today. Now my ultimate question is, was this deliberate or accidental do you think?"

Den, have you ever had a turt and do you know anything about turt-intel?

Barthelona

My dear puce,

Back from our 48 hours of intense backpacking in Barcelona. It was lovely. My upcoming move to New York may need to be postponed for a year eating Tapas and drinking cheap wine. I tried to convince Amir that it was indeed a good idea to leave behind LA and try Barcelona avec moi, where him and Jonathan's band already has something of a cult following, but he was not entirely persuaded.


I had meatballs, ham, fish, salami, steak, lamb, steak and eggs, crab, and rum coffee.

Thomas and Kelley arrived ce matin, jetlagged and ready for the sun. We are throwing a grand fête for them at Kechmara tonight. I imagine I will be peer pressured to take a shot of tequila that I will secretly spit into an empty beer bottle.

Chubby,
Megan

my most favorite thing to come from the wolf sanctuary

and tom kelly knows how to scan!

Reverting to four year olds, again and again

Les soeurs are in Casablanca. My intention was to go button and ribbon hunting, while my sister tackled the one guide book cultural institution in the city (the Jewish Museum, of course!)

Alas, armed with our oversized parapluie (uie, uie uie), we hit the streets determined to not let the cold air and rain stop us. It did, and we are back at our hotel and on the Internet.

In other far more serious news, we developed a new game to try to make the train ride go by faster today.. To imagine different friends news to sitting on whoopie cushions. That was funny for a little while.

Love,
MM