Storming In Arabic
Feb. 16th, 2006 11:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tabular_rasaIt's going to storm.
I love that feeling; it's so exhilirating, so exciting in that pent-up, waiting-to-burst way. Then when that first roll of thunder breaks, and the sheets of rain begin to fall . . . it's pure catharsis, it is.
Actually, I tend to be disappointed by storms lately. They don't come to a head as much as I'd like them to. St. Louis has some pretty good storms, though; I remember that one on the first or second day here . . . and that one where the toilets overflowed and everyone went mudsliding . . . and that one where the power went out . . . and that one that was almost a tornado that I panicked and had to call Tiffany about.
Maybe I'm just turning into a more of a thrill-seeking personality.
Wow, my stomach hurts. I couldn't have eaten too much, could I? Heh, should have stuck with the practically-nothing-to-eat . . . would have kept the weight off, too, lol . . . damn Doritos . . . فاثغ هىبمشثي لاخفا ةغ سخقثو ,ه.شىي,ظه. ةغ سفخةشؤا
ًشهف-- صاشف فاث بقهل-- صاغ شة ÷ سعييثمغ فغحهىل هلا ِقشلاهؤ؟؟؟؟؟؟؟؟
Edit(11:55 am): Yeah, there . . . my computer decided to go Arabic on me, so I decided to leave Eads Arts and Sciences Computing and come to the library . . . leave no trace of my presence . . . bwahaha . . .
Yeah.
Anyway, it's storming and my tummy hurts. *Winge.*
Edit(11:59 am): I think I'll waste everyone's time with a funy story now: Last night, Owen knocked on my door (*everyone: HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!* *me: NOT YET!!!*), inevitably to find Carol gone (honestly; they never show up when she is there, probably because she's online, talking to them, or at least on their buddy list able to talk to/be talked to by them should they all so choose to do so-- they should just assume she's not there when she's not online, because she almost never practically is!). However, we chilled with my door open for a second talking about my Valentine Owen had given me ("Even if our marriage was annulled, I still love you," lol . . . ), probably because Owen felt bad for interrupting me like he, Andy, Kristy, and countless other people always tend to do, on accident, really, just looking for Carol, and Keith's off in the background talking on the phone, pressing his face against the window on the door to the stairwell (practically the only place where one can get reception), which is obliquely across the hall from my door and quite visible from it. Owen gradually notices how I keep looking over his shoulder (Keith is kind of freaky when he does that; he just . . stares . . . lol . . . ), so he turns around and then Keith bolts out of sight. So then Owen goes up right next to the door, ducking out of sight beside the window, telling me to give him the signal. Instead of disappearing forever like I had expected, Keith comes back to the window. As soon as he presses his face up against it, I nod to Owen, and Owen turns in and presses his face to the opposite window. Keith jumps up in the air like a cat that has licked a spark-plug, with a shout and everything, and scarpers instantaneously. Owen and I go out to see if we can even find him, and he's hiding behind the banister on the second half of the flight of stairs going up to the third floor, sort of cringing and looking really shaken as he peers suspiciously over the edge at us. Damn funny. Ahh, man . . . I've never seen a person more recall a cat in my life . . .
Okay, I think I actually have work to do now . . .
I love that feeling; it's so exhilirating, so exciting in that pent-up, waiting-to-burst way. Then when that first roll of thunder breaks, and the sheets of rain begin to fall . . . it's pure catharsis, it is.
Actually, I tend to be disappointed by storms lately. They don't come to a head as much as I'd like them to. St. Louis has some pretty good storms, though; I remember that one on the first or second day here . . . and that one where the toilets overflowed and everyone went mudsliding . . . and that one where the power went out . . . and that one that was almost a tornado that I panicked and had to call Tiffany about.
Maybe I'm just turning into a more of a thrill-seeking personality.
Wow, my stomach hurts. I couldn't have eaten too much, could I? Heh, should have stuck with the practically-nothing-to-eat . . . would have kept the weight off, too, lol . . . damn Doritos . . . فاثغ هىبمشثي لاخفا ةغ سخقثو ,ه.شىي,ظه. ةغ سفخةشؤا
ًشهف-- صاشف فاث بقهل-- صاغ شة ÷ سعييثمغ فغحهىل هلا ِقشلاهؤ؟؟؟؟؟؟؟؟
Edit(11:55 am): Yeah, there . . . my computer decided to go Arabic on me, so I decided to leave Eads Arts and Sciences Computing and come to the library . . . leave no trace of my presence . . . bwahaha . . .
Yeah.
Anyway, it's storming and my tummy hurts. *Winge.*
Edit(11:59 am): I think I'll waste everyone's time with a funy story now: Last night, Owen knocked on my door (*everyone: HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!* *me: NOT YET!!!*), inevitably to find Carol gone (honestly; they never show up when she is there, probably because she's online, talking to them, or at least on their buddy list able to talk to/be talked to by them should they all so choose to do so-- they should just assume she's not there when she's not online, because she almost never practically is!). However, we chilled with my door open for a second talking about my Valentine Owen had given me ("Even if our marriage was annulled, I still love you," lol . . . ), probably because Owen felt bad for interrupting me like he, Andy, Kristy, and countless other people always tend to do, on accident, really, just looking for Carol, and Keith's off in the background talking on the phone, pressing his face against the window on the door to the stairwell (practically the only place where one can get reception), which is obliquely across the hall from my door and quite visible from it. Owen gradually notices how I keep looking over his shoulder (Keith is kind of freaky when he does that; he just . . stares . . . lol . . . ), so he turns around and then Keith bolts out of sight. So then Owen goes up right next to the door, ducking out of sight beside the window, telling me to give him the signal. Instead of disappearing forever like I had expected, Keith comes back to the window. As soon as he presses his face up against it, I nod to Owen, and Owen turns in and presses his face to the opposite window. Keith jumps up in the air like a cat that has licked a spark-plug, with a shout and everything, and scarpers instantaneously. Owen and I go out to see if we can even find him, and he's hiding behind the banister on the second half of the flight of stairs going up to the third floor, sort of cringing and looking really shaken as he peers suspiciously over the edge at us. Damn funny. Ahh, man . . . I've never seen a person more recall a cat in my life . . .
Okay, I think I actually have work to do now . . .
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-16 09:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-16 09:59 am (UTC)It also types it backwards, which is cool . . .
no subject
Date: 2006-02-16 10:27 am (UTC)That's hysterical. Even the reaction is catlike, cringing and looking shaken, hahaha.
Random Arabic?