It's best not to touch the Meaghan unless the Meaghan touches your first.

06.08.08 1101 So back to the day after the bar, and it’s Sobie’s birthday. During the day, a few of us piled in Burak’s friend’s car and drove the the bazaar, where we power-shopped and thanked Burak over and over for his staunch bartering skills, not to mention his Turkish fluency. It made me happy to think of everyone back home again, and I laughed at some ridiculous things there.

Since this was our day off, we had slept most of the day, and after the bazaar in the evening, we tried to go out to Pakistani (Sobie’s Pakistani, and it was her birthday) food, but we couldn’t find the place, but there was an Indian place around the corner, so we settled. I had, what was it...something with cheese, of course, and peas, aloo paneer? No…gobi paneer? Argh, I forget the word for peas… Nevertheless, it was delicious, and I had a mango lassi with it, which was totally worth it because it was made from scratch and was fantastic. Burak came, even though we couldn’t find him when we were leaving, but he was randomly walking back on the street, then he said that he’d meet us at Pakistani, then he found us right as we were walking from the address at which there was no Pakistani. O, luck. He was his touchy-feely self, and I think that there might be a whole entry about how I don’t think that my stubborn, independent self could ever date a Turk, because they are all the time buying and paying and doing and holding and carrying things for you, and that, multiplied exponentially by the hand-holding and arm-arounding, drives me absolutely right up the wall with frustration.

Anywho, early night, came home, tried to get some sleep but failed because I somehow managed to do nothing with these nights in Turkey but still get no sleep. Maybe I was down in the first floor kitchen talking with people again, or maybe Gözde and I got to talking like we tended to.