apropos of anything

I wore a sari to wedding today (it’s like 20-something years old (if not older) from my mother’s collection that she never wears, but everything old is new again, so I’m like yay, fashion extravaganza!!) and remember when I said tighter is better? I have a red line going around my waist to mark where I tied my petticoat, and I honestly cannot tell you what hurts more at the moment, my waist or my feet that have been crammed into unfamiliar heels all evening.

I just spent the last thirty minutes calling people to figure out whether there is a wedding tonight. Actually, not so much WHETHER there’s a wedding tonight (because this summer, the safe answer to that question is yes, there is a wedding tonight) as WHERE the wedding is tonight.

I’ve confirmed what I already figured (yes, there is a wedding tonight) and am waiting on a return phone call as to where.

Next begin the crucial deliberations: OH MY GOD WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR?

I’ve had several posts in my head over the last week, but I haven’t actually written any of them out to completion, partly because of work and partly because of carpal tunnel and partly because I’ve simply haven’t had time to write things down lately.

I had a piece half written about World Refugee Day and the exclusive interview Angelina Jolie, superstar extraordinaire, UNCHR Goodwill Ambassador, and new mom, offered Anderson Cooper, except that happened almost a week ago, and I haven’t watched it yet. The original airing I missed because the Mavs/Heat game was on (and as an aside, I’m so disappointed by the outcome of that game) and mostly because I don’t want to be up as late as the show was going to run. I figured I’d catch it in more manageable doses, at a more manageable time, the next day, or some other time whenever it was repackaged as a CNN Presents piece.

But I believe Anderson Cooper when he says the focus of the interview will be on African refugees because I don’t think Angelina Jolie would do it any other way. It’s actually the reason I’m even planning on watching a celebrity interview because I don’t really care how much hair Shiloh has on her head, or what color her eyes are, but I do care about the message Angelina Jolie is trying to spread.

Cat as Cat and Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in the classic movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Thursday, Heather and I went to see Breakfast at Tiffany’s at Screen on the Green. It was my first time back at SotG since The Sound of Music with Aisha and Sadia a few years ago. Some things are still the same as they were then, but the high-backed chairs have gotten better even if the smoking hasn’t. Also, Heather and I arrived later than normal, so we got a spot on the hill rather than right smack up in the front. I think I actually prefer the hill now that I’ve done both.

I had never before seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, despite having it on my list for a while now. I loved it, even though I kept wanting to tell Fred (or Paul, but like Holly, I can only call him Fred) that he couldn’t keep fixing Holly’s problems, that he couldn’t keep taking care of her and making it all better because she had to do those things for herself. I know things were different in the sixties, which is why I can accept it in a movie, but I know if I saw the same thing in a film set in modern times, I’d be pretty upset. As it is, the movie was beautiful and romantic and classic and all of that, but it also made my heart hurt just a little.

Friday was a lot of back and forth to the Georgia Aquarium for corporate-type, work-related things. They bused us over in the morning, but Carlos and I decided to walk back because we apparently need to have our heads examined. It was so hot and muggy that even the short five-minute walk left us sweat, so of course that meant I worried the entire rest of the day that I smelled. When it was time to go again, the sky had clouded over and there were actual drops of rain, so it wasn’t quite so bad going or coming, and I did love both opportunities to see the fish (hi, whale sharks, and we missed you, Gasper!) without smacking somebody in the face. Oh, and there was ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.

Saturday, I had an engagement party. (My entire office finds no end of amusement in how many engagement parties and weddings I attend, especially as they usually coincide with some upgrade or another that we’ve got scheduled.) I decided at the last minute not to wear the clothes I’d had set aside for weeks and doing a sari instead, which meant first I had to find a sari that had a blouse in my size, and then I had to go to the fabric store to find matching material for a scarf, and then I had to do it all over again when the store didn’t have the right material in the right color. Now, looking back, I wish I’d gone with a shalwar kameez after all.

I think I’m off saris for a while. Actually, I’ve been off saris for a while already, but on Saturday I thought perhaps I was ready to end that streak, and it turns out I’m not, really. I’m just having the hardest time finding blouses and scarves to go with all of my mother’s fancy saris, and my fancy saris that I brought back, blouses sewn, from India are too fancy for just any event. It would help if I had a reliable tailor to make blouses for me in Atlanta. I do have a reliable tailor — an awesome reliable tailor I recommend to everyone who needs alterations or whole outfits made — but that particular shop is American, and for sari blouses, I need somebody Indian. Not desi — Indian. They know their way around a shalwar, but Pakistanis just cannot make good sari blouses.

Landon Donovan after the U.S. lost to Ghana in the 2006 World Cup

In between, I have been watching a lot of the World Cup, the American games in particular. The match against Ghana was painful, especially towards the end as it became more and more obvious that we were not going to get the win we needed to advance to the quarterfinals even though Italy was holding up their end by beating the Czechs. And I know a team that only scores one goal in four matches doesn’t really deserve to advance, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t roll my eyes as the Ghana team flopped all over the pitch on Thursday. The stretcher team got a nice workout, running back and forth onto the field every time yet another Ghana player lay moaning on the ground.

But no, I’m not bitter.

Really, I’m not. We probably should have won that game, but if we wanted to advance, we should have shown up against the Czechs in the first place.

If you want bitter, get me started on the Braves this season. Or, for all our sakes, don’t.

Y’all, I just did three wedding receptions in three cities in three days. I am so tired my contacts are sticking to my eyeballs, and I didn’t even do any of the driving. I’ve never seen Clockwork Orange, but at this exact moment, I’m not averse to using toothpicks to prop my eyelids open. (Of course, if I ever see the movie, this post might one day make me recoil in horror, and then I can write another post about how stupid we are at twenty-six.)

This would really be better as a blog-in-pictures, if only the pictures were available to me. Some are; I’ll try to update as I get more. I’m not posting any photos of the brides or grooms, though.

At the Marriott on Pleasant Hill, right before the Saturday wedding. My brothers are wearing yellow pants in honor of the groom, who loves his own yellow pants and wears them ALL THE TIME. I am doing that photo thing I do when I’m uncomfortable with myself and not ready for the picture. Also, my clothes look blue when really they are purple.

The Saturday reception was at the Global Mall (it’s not just a mall, it’s a venue!) in Atlanta, and that was the only one where we had any shoe-stealing. We all know the shoe-stealing is the best part. This time, the two entourages played tug-of-war with the right shoe until finally the groom’s sister, her hands covered in scratches, grabbed it away and handed it to her friend… who casually held it in the direction of the groom, allowing someone from the bridal party to snatch it and go running across the reception hall, people from the groom’s side hot in pursuit.

Meanwhile, the groom took off his left shoe and passed it to my brother, who smuggled it out to his friend. Said friend waltzed into the hall five minutes later, waving the shoe as though it were the right shoe and thereby deflating the entire bride’s side as they assumed the shoe had been stolen right out from under them. And then we let them figure it out and steal the left shoe too. We were not good at this whole shoe-keeping thing.

Eventually they settled on $300 for the right shoe, which broke in the process, I think. And then we all went home. At two a.m.

Mansoor, our mother, and me at the reception hall on Sunday. Now that I see the pictures, I am wondering why nobody, not even my mother, told me my hijab was slipping on one side.

The wedding on Sunday was in Greensboro, North Carolina, so we woke up early-ish that morning to drive the six hours it would take us to get there, and then we hurriedly dressed (under hotel lighting even!) so we would be on time, and then we did wedding stuff. Some of us were lucky enough to participate from the Outcast Table in the corner, where we silently wept over our missing seat covers and wondered just how long it would take one of the kids to tip the ice sculpture onto themselves. Also whether the ice was so cold it would stick to their skin if they did.

Mansoor, me, and Aasif at the Savannah Rapids Pavilion at the beginning of the valima reception on Monday. You can’t really tell from the small picture, but I am making a face in this photo… I have a knack for missing the photog’s timing.

We girls took advantage of the bride and groom’s photo session on the other end of the deck to have a photo session of our own.

Monday’s reception was the most entertaining, I think. Valimas tends to be less formal, more jokey, especially where the bride and groom are concerned. Also, I like the Savannah Rapids Pavilion better than the Global Mall. The Monday night thing killed us, though, as we had to drive back to Atlanta the same night, which meant Mansoor and I didn’t get home until almost two in the morning, which meant we were pushing three before we got to sleep.

Tonight I have to go home and figure out what’s for dinner. Currently in my refrigerator there is leftover pineapple-mango upside down cake (but only a sliver), leftover banana caramel cake (from Mansoor’s birthday last week) with the not-at-all-sweet mascarpone frosting (partly Martha, I think, and partly I probably didn’t use enough confectioner’s sugar as I was racing to finish the cake before he got home from work), and leftover blackberry roulade (Martha totally redeemed herself) that I made for Saturday’s pre-wedding tea guests since I couldn’t exactly serve them only leftover birthday cake with not-sweet frosting. That’s a lot of cake, but not much “real” food.

How non-sequitor that was of me. I really am tired.

Happy anniversary to Dan and AM, Aisha and Kashif, Mukhlis and Megan.

Who knew the July 4 weekend was such a popular wedding date?

A picture from the wedding in Ft. Lauderdale:

The bride and groom posing after dinner. Aren’t they cute?

And if you’re very nice, I’ll post the pic that Shaheen likes so much.

The “ish” because it wasn’t the wedding so much as our final destination (also known as “home”) that was doing its best monsoon impression. Because of the vigorous typhoon sweeping over Atlanta, we were stuck in the not-so-lovely Ft. Lauderdale airport until such time as the Hartsfield ground crew deemed it safe for us to get the hell out of there.

It was the second time this year I’ve found myself stranded in an airport, but in comparison with the last time, this was like a day at the spa. It was climate-controlled!

We didn’t push back from the gate until well after midnight. We didn’t land in Atlanta until sometime after two in the morning. And then, the chaos! I am not sure if the cleaning crew quits after 11 p.m., or if there were just an extraordinary number of people in Terminal A, but trash was overflowing out of every bin in the entire terminal. Meanwhile, in baggage claim, so many flights were being assigned to each carousel, with every carousel being utilized, that there was a line just to claim bags, most of which were squished under two other rows of bags. The reissue line to the Delta ticket counter had wrapped twice around the North Terminal baggage claim.

I took Shaheen home because we didn’t want Ghaffar to have to pack up the baby and come down to the airport at such a crazy hour. Then, because I am paranoid and hate going home late to an empty house, I spent the night at Shaheen’s, finally getting to sleep sometime around four in the morning.

I know this post is supposed to be about the wedding — which was lovely, except for when the waitstaff stole my cake; if it’s sitting in front of me, but I haven’t taken a bite because there are no forks in front of me, rather than taking my cake away, it would be nice if you could bring me a fork — but I haven’t the coherence of mind to do it properly. Soon, though. I’ll at least post a few pictures.

I finally got a copy of Aasif’s pictures from Sumaiya’s wedding. They are far and away the best pictures out of our amateur bunch. So, without further ado, a selection of his pictures (from the valima only as I’m still filtering through the ones from the actual wedding day) that I thought y’all might like to see:

Sumaiya and Dave surrounded by Sumaiya’s brothers and our uncle Sami.

Me in profile, with my cousin Rashaad in the background.

My cousin Adnaan and my father. This one’s for Ken and Ivan.

My mother. Aasif gets fancy with the black and white here.

The photographer himself, with the bride. I think I took this picture; notice the obvious difference in quality.

Aamir, Adnaan, and me. Aamir is notorious for making faces in pictures just because he can.

No pictures of Mansoor in this set, and obviously I didn’t post everything. I think there’s about 400 plus pictures when you add in everyone’s pictures, plus not everyone wants their image posted online for all and sundry to see. So. That’s all for now, folks.

The camera was on LSD, but aren’t we pretty girls?

Sumaiya and me

I’m trying to track down the other (good) copy of this picture…