User Profile

My legal name is *&%@$#, but many of my cracked friends refer to me as Z, which, pronounced in legit English, is Zed. They refer to me as such because my name is on the ethnic side and apparently needs to be shortened. They forget about my last name completely, because it sounds simple and is simple, but is always assumed to be difficult. My mother dubs me “that one.” Not because I am Barack Obama, but because she always forgets which of her daughters I am. The fact that I have a good six inches and five years over my second sister is negligible and wont to be ignored when pondering which child I am. I do not particularly care, except when my mother calls me by the name of my dog or by my father’s name. I do not look like my father does currently; I look like he did when he was in college, which, I suppose, says something, because I am of similar age. My dog, however, I bear no resemblance to. Except both of our hair—in his case, fur—is very dark. My dog is an idiot. And this is okay, because he is extremely cute and squishy, and cuteness and squishyness allow for some leeway in the intelligence department. I, on the other hand, am ridiculously intelligent. I got a 20 on my IB Physics midterm last year. That takes skill. And I also am fantastic at biology. I spent a few hours laughing because in the middle of drawing uteruses and vaginas, I realised that the female reproductive system looks like a moose’s head. Speaking of moose, how about that Canada? Love it. Love it hard. Wish I could’ve taken my buddy Malgorzata there. But she got deported and sent back to Poland. Apparently she had overstayed her visa and was illegal in these fifty U.S. of A. I was very disappointed. You don’t live until you stuff yourself silly with poutine. I myself have lived several times. Poutine is fantastic and the indigestion it gives me is even more fantastic. Thinking about indigestion makes me think about politics. Have I mentioned I want to be a dictator? I really do; ever since I was a kid. I would totally kill (no pun intended) to be head of a mafia family, too. Except I’m not Italian. At all. But that’s okay, because I am Persian and the lovely thosewerepearls is Greek and there is a godly history teacher in our high school that is Italian and is most definitely a member of some creeper mafia that’s hiding out on Long Island. So, it’ll all work out. He can be our condescending consigliere and check our total phail. We’ll be the first multi-cultural Mediterranean mafia and we’ll kick ass. And we’ll totally ignore the fact that the English teacher we want to drag into our family business is Irish. He can be Hagen. It’ll work.