I miss you, life

Well, hello, Internet. Fancy meeting you here. Right?! Because WHERE THE HECK HAS MY TIME GONE? It feels like I've been jumping from one catastrophe to the next, and I'm like, "There are three episodes of The Office queued up on my laptop, does it look like I have time for this?" But I digress.

Since Friday, I've been in a workshop that has left me with no time to do anything except listen to mind numbing filibusters (GRE word!) and get to know my car in the Biblical sense. I've also been going home past 10 pm every night. If you were standing next to me today, you may or may not have heard me hiss at the sun when I managed to leave before dusk.

The highlight of the this workshop has been chilling with the Grand Mufti (who is AWESOME), but there have been a few lows. These include having to hear the following:

• bibeline
• tob down
• vincinity (vicinity)
  
• bassion
  
• excepression
• unprofessionality
• verbing and wording
• backaging
• smoked salamon
• Where am I?

I'm not even kidding you about the last point. Someone ACTUALLY said that today, after sitting in the conference hall for five days. If I hadn't eaten my weight in baby croissants, I just might have walked out. After putting a few baby croissants in my pocket for the drive home, of course.

Ugh, If I Must

Happy first birthday, stinking blog.

Text messages you wish you had

So, I missed my blog's birthday. I'm sad about this, but not THAT sad. I mean, if this blog was my baby, and I forgot to throw a celebration for its first birthday, I'd be a horrible mother, right? But this is the internet, and I don't know how much I care about you guys, so who cares, right? However, cupcakes would have been nice.

Anyway, I need to get back into the regular swing of things over here at thingsonmymindgrapes, and the last time I did this it was a big hit, so here you go. Text messages that currently exist on my phone, part deux:

Please! Take me now.

I was putting make up on and my dad was like do you need help he is all over me

Such flagrant nose picking!

i had some rice with a couple girls last night. long grain.

Damn you crustacean. Your nastiness and craziness amazes me.

do i smell generalization!

One of the EIGHT movers is kind of cute, in a pseudo-vagrant kind of way. I figure that’s still a good statistic for egypt.

Some girl just asked to borrow my notes from last class and I was like “you can HAVE this doodle of a sheep but I don’t know how useful it will be.”

It’ll find a way into the oxford dictionary. I did some favours (notice the u!) for some editors there a few years back but I don’t wanna talk about it.

You whine like a chimp in heat. It’s pathetic.

Just had a flash back of trying to do the splits and falling on my face last night. How old am i?

Just saw hottest guy I’ve seen in real life for some time now. The secretaries actually swooned. Will investigate for you.

Got the job. Will be weird not seeing you in 12 hour intervals.

Econ professor just said regularize 4 times. Then she wrote it on the board.

I’m never going to find a husband.

The leopard vest returns!

At the islamophobia conf @ auc. Btw, terrorism began with the mafia in italy. So, if we want to pt a finger, lets start there.

You is!

Who owns two leopard vests?!

Have a safe flight mon friar

We xam dooo whatever u liiiike haha

O say can you Little One

Little One and I are seven years apart. Growing up, this meant that I couldn't do anything fun because a) she'd either ruin it, or b) want to copy me, end up sucking, cry, wipe her snot on me. This also meant that at an age where I wanted to explore my inner child, we couldn't have sugary drinks that turned your tongue purple for fear of her bouncing off the walls and cracking her skull open, or bring home a pet for fear of her riding it. The absolute worst thing about our age difference, though, was being told, "don't get her excited before bed" every time Little One rested her moppy head.

For reasons unknown to anyone, RIGHT before Little One's bedtime is when I get the crazies. Symptoms include jumping jacks, pokes, putting every sentence to music, and making a general fool out of myself, all the while having Little One, and often our mother, refrain from rolling their eyes back too hard out of fear that they'll stay that way.

Tonight, as Little One was getting into bed, I did the following:

1. Throw four shirts and three pairs of jeans at the foot of her bed, one by one, and hang them back up in the closet at a painstakingly slow pace.

2. Rip the sheet and comforter off of my bed and violently thrown them onto her, and say, "What? It's messy."

3. Mutter "nose pickers are deaf" under my breath as our mom walked out of the room.

4. Rub in the fact that Coco loves me more than her by recounting the number of times she's slept on my bed this week.

Oops. Good luck waking up in exactly 6 hours, sucker!

*Also, and consider this my public service announcement to you, the Internet: If anyone lures you into their home under the pretense of watching He's Just Not That Into You, THEY WANT TO KILL YOU. Consider yourselves warned. Don't say I never gave you nothing.

Updates

Internet, I've been neglecting you. Well, not the entirety of the internet, but this here page in particular. In fact, I wish I could ignore the internet more and write here all the time, but a) I love the internet too much, and b) I don't really have all that much to say. Also, you'd get bored, I'd get bored, there'd be a nasty break-up, we'd avoid each other on the street...Wait, what?

Anyway, I hope to be back to regular posting after next week, but in the mean time, some of things currently making my head explode include:

1. The new Twitter account I just set up for the cousins in my family: I don't know if these goosebumps are from excitement related to that, or the MEAT LOCKER status of my office.

2. Ellen DeGeneres replacing Paula Abdul on 'American Idol': I hope one of the contestants is a carpenter so she can tell them they NAILED IT.

3. Cupcakes: As in, why aren't there any IN MY MOUTH.

4. Analogies: I can't even begin to express my loathing for these. Bird is to fish as chopstick is to IN MY EYE PIERCING MY FRONTAL LOBE.

26: In Pictures

So, it's official. I'm old. BUT, getting there was fun. Have a look!



Got this WIIIICKED nail kit from my parents first thing in the morning. I don't know if my parents wanted to get me a present so much as my mom wanted me OUT OF HER CRAP, but excellent either way.



Got this necklace from FJ after I coveted it in her house a few weeks ago. My neck might buckle under the weight of it, but it'll totally be worth it.



Little One's envelope. Sealed with quality spit to prevent Coco from getting into it, and stuffed with this:



I'm not sure if she really understands how we're related.



Red velvet cupcakes. I've never been to heaven before, but I bet if you licked it, it would taste like these bad boys.



Books from Eureka. She's big on the edumacation.



Bling, from Little One, Brownies and Mouse. Wear your sunglasses the next time you're around me. You might get blinded by this ice. (Okay, these aren't really diamonds, but how badass did that sound?!)

That's how it ended, Internet. Great year, great birthday, great family and friends. But not THAT GREAT. There's always next year. Start planning.

Where I've been

I haven't been posting much here, and for good reason. Here's a list of things that have kept me away from this precious blog for the past while:

1. Ramadan: Not being able to eat three to twelve meals a day has really cut down on my brain activity/finger strength.

2. Work: I was taking planes, trains and automobiles (minus the planes) around Egypt last week for work. Let me tell you, walking into your house at 9 pm after being in the filthiest mango market you've ever seen is not inspiring.

3. My birthday: On Sunday, I turn Old. This is causing me much stress and gray hair. Send presents. It'll help.

Another mind numbing conversation

And this time, it WASN'T with Little One!

Friday night, the Js had one last (last?) hurrah before heading back to America to waste their days away without me. I THINK last night's shindig was a belated birthday party for MJ, a pre-birthday party for me and FJ, a going away bash, and an "o crap, Ramadan starts in ten minutes" celebration, but I'm still a little uncertain.

Anyway, as I was heading out, I pulled out my car key and this fine example of verbal mastery occurred:

I Can't Give His Name Initials Because Then You'd Know Who I Was Talking About: Hmm, a VW. Do you drive a Passat?

Me: No.

ICGHNIBTYKWIWTA: A Golf?

Me: Nope.

ICGHNIBTYKWIWTA: A Polo?

Me: Negative. Starts with a 'J.'

ICGHNIBTYKWIWTA: A Golf?

God, give me strength.

Egypt. Women. Marriage. Insanity.

I went to the official wedding ceremony of one of my coworkers last night, and as happy as I wanted to be for the guy, there were a few things standing in the way. First, the mosque was LITERALLY (some would say 'figuratively' would be a better word choice here, I disagree) four days away from my house. Second, the guy didn't crack a smile the whole way through. And finally, in his speech about what makes a good wife, the sheikh offered this pearl of wisdom:

"If a wife wakes up, gets dressed and leaves the house before her husband wakes up, she was not brought up well and has no manners."

REALLY NOW? Needless to say, this did not go over well with the ten development practitioners I was sitting in the middle of.

And you want to know the worst part? Someone asked me if they could have my piece of chocolate. And I said yes.

Julia Child, eat your heart out

Scene: Bedroom. Eating mashed pumpkin.

Me: Little One, will cinnamon make me stay up all night?

Little One: Umm, a) don't be an idiot. And b) if anything's going to make you stay up all night, it's going to be all the sugar in there.

Me: THERE'S SUGAR IN HERE?!

Little One: Yeah, can't you taste it?

Me: No. I spilled the whole jar of cinnamon on this. I can't taste anything.

And this, Internet, is why I shouldn't be allowed in the kitchen. Ever.

Suspects

Internet, I got no sleep last night. You and I both know my love for self-diagnosing, and I think I got myself so worked up about potentially being lactose intolerant that my beauty sleep was forsaken (and as Little One will tell you, that beauty sleep is much needed). I've been vocal about HATING cheese, but if I can't have cereal or coffee anymore because milk has been cut out of my diet (not a real diet, cool your jets), what will I do with my mornings? Be productive? Ha. CRISIS!

Anyway, possible reasons for my lack of shut eye include:

• My fear of rotten milk has now developed into a full blown anti-milk crusade
• The four nausea pills I took had some sort of caffeine in them
• Little One's warnings to sleep with one eye open have come to fruition

Anyone else out there's body waging war against them after drinking milk? I want milk to do my body good, I really do, but right now it's pretty intent on just bitch slapping me across the face. Suggestions?

Trauma

Last Wednesday, my mother, Little One and I took our cat to the groomer (yes, it takes a village). Coco is a half-Persian, half-Rugrat, long-haired little rascal, and every year she has to get the knots shaved out of her. Coco is notoriously unfriendly (and maybe a little racist), and loves alerting the neighbors every time we take her out of the comfort of her luxury dwelling.

For this particular shaving, it took three (THREE!) tranquilizer shots to sedate her, and she still hasn't forgiven us for the events that transpired. Not only does she now look ridiculous, but she refuses to pay any attention to us, has gotten mildly aggressive, and never wants to cuddle. Now, I'm all for her rebelling and acting out against us, but let's take a look back at some of the traumatizing events of my past and see where they've led me:

1. Six years old: Being hit on the shoulder by the wing of a disgusting bird while riding my bike.
2. 10 years old: Having a gecko run down my arm while tilting our mailbox over to retrieve the mail.
3. 25 years old: Having someone put their BARE foot (*shudder) on my exposed leg.

Ahh yes, proceed Coco. You have every right to be pissed and hold your shaving against us for the rest of your nine lives.

Pittsburgh Pirates shirts and floral shorts

I don't know how I feel about the Internet showing me this article. Apparently MTV is now giving celebrities the chance to critique their own outfits? Presumably if celebrities are wearing these outfits on their own accord, they think they look good, right? And if they don't, why would they want to go on record talking about how ridiculous they look? I mean, in the 8th grade, I wore this outfit...



...but you don't see me talking about it.

(Click photo to enlarge. Do so at your own risk, however.)

Hold on to your feathers!

Little One started driving lessons yesterday. She turns 19 in November (read about her entrance into adulthood here!), and we've figured it's about time she starts paying her dues and earning her keep in this family. I've been chauffeuring her around for the past six years (I was a late bloomer and didn't get my license till I turned 20), and I'm sick of always having to be the one responsible for the late-night ice cream runs. So, Little One, good luck and don't let the jerks honking their horns at you while you restart the manual car you've managed to stall while changing gears get you down. Until then, I'll be the one dodging behind parked cars when I see you inch by at 14 miles an hour with your clammy hands clenching the steering wheel in a death grip.

Friends Shmends

(Warning: I'm going to mention my BlackBerry in this post. Please don't roll your eyes so far back that they get stuck that way.)

So, a couple months ago, I bought a BlackBerry. You can read about my love for it here. Since then, I've been pretty good about not letting it take over my life, I haven't downloaded every application under the sun, and almost (but didn't) broke into tears when I dropped and scratched it a few weeks back.

This morning, one of my best friends (let's call her EVIL [just for now, though]) told me to download the latest BlackBerry Messenger application. I resisted, citing my dislike for 'change.' However, under EVIL and G-Money's peer pressure, I buckled. The son of a gun downloaded in three seconds, and for the past three hours, I've been trying to get the piece of crap OFF MY PHONE. This is the worst application I've ever seen, it makes my phone think it's battery power is equivalent to the memory of a goldfish (three seconds, if you're wondering), and all around SUCKS.

I rue the day I listened to EVIL and G-Money and will not rest until my precious phone is back to normal. Moral of this story, if your friends, even those with dimples and charm, tell you to do something that goes against your gut instinct, refuse and PUNCH THEM IN THE FACE.

GRE. BAD.

Today marked my first official study day for the GRE. I didn't have to take an entrance exam for grad school back in 2005, so the last time I filled in one of those dreaded bubbles with a number 2 pencil was back in 2001. That would also mark the last time I did math. Needless to say, while doing my practice test this morning (you know, to determine your starting score so you can assess how much blood, sweat and tears (O THE TEARS!) you have to put into your studying), I might as well have taken a nap.

I reckon it'll be easier to learn formulas than reading comprehension, but if you happen to pass by my house and find pencils in my ear instead of on my scratch paper, call for help. Please?

You wish you had these

So, I might NOT HAVE TOTALLY STOLEN THIS IDEA AT ALL from some other blogger, but her's are totally weird and make you want to look off to the side and casually close the lid of your laptop so people can't see what you're reading. I give you...texts saved on my BlackBerry:

• Today in class, the professor asked us how we would identify ourselves in one word. Some said egyptian. Others said arab. Some said muslim. Others said coptic. Ezbeligy said, "i am the pharoahs."

• Hey little goose! Just a little text to remind u that i think about u with or without appendix.

• Brother. Locked, loaded. Ready to poke, flare and stomp. Let's smite ugly goons and move constantly upward. I'll keep sending you secret love messages on facebook.

• I'm sorry, i was just blinded by the food, you know you're the one.

• Moose is gay.

• Never said i liked her. Just that i don't hate her as much as my brain thought i did. Doesn't excuse personal space violations.

• Think accounting guy might secretly be a muppet.

• Shove it.

• Worst. Day. Ever.

• Lol re [professor] trying to convince us that the cultural revolution in china was good for the country. Someone needs to send this woman some wikipedia links.

• You should shoot me out of pity like at the end of of mice and men.

• The results of a genetics experiment gone awry?

• Hey Boo!!! Holla at ya boy - This text is the most productive thing i've done at work today!

• You win that one a thousand times.

• I.T. probs or dead in ditch?

• Someone in my computer science class just asked the TA if we would all get A's if the professor died.

• One of my co-workers in fayoum started a diet and will begin exercising too. She joined a gym and will start working out tonight. What will she do u ask? Well, sauna of course.

• I can orchestrate a simultaneous make out session. Just to drive it home.

• Hate you!

• Your toes are like baby shrimp! Birds!

Overheard

Comments directed at me while walking around the office in my new kuffiyeh (I was wearing pants too, ask anyone) today:

1. Is that the Palestinian flag?
2. IS THAT A SOCCER JERSEY?! (Pretty sure this was in reference to my shirt and not my kuffiyeh, but the Intern's not the sharpest tool in the shed)
3. Oh, are you going to Gaza? (My response: Yes, yes I am. For lunch. I'll be back tonight.)

Remember when I quit this job, but I'm somehow back in the office? Yeah, should we discuss that?

*Hey you! Have you seen this blog's new masthead up there at the top of the page? Tell me what you think. This blog's lookin' at you. *wink. *gag.

Fancy Fresh

So, More Positive Than Your Average Bear has gained roughly 8 zillion cool points today. He texted me this afternoon telling me to check my mail, and the only things that came to mind were that he a) confessed his undying love for me (it'll happen one day), b) sent me a forward with baby heads sticking out of felt flower petals (has happened before), or c) suggested new music for me to listen to (ha, who was I kidding? Only I do that).

What was waiting for me was WAY AWESOMER. There were MULTIPLE masthead options for me to choose from. MPTYAB and I have been throwing ideas around for new blog mastheads for a while, and after maaaybe getting a little emotional the other day when in his presence, he put his nimble fingers to good use and came up with a few ideas.

I'm pretty much IN LOVE with the one I've replaced the old one with, but maybe in a couple months you can tell me that you're bored and I'll put up one of his other designs. Happy days!

Gifting

I'll be 26 (yikes!) next month, and I thought I wanted a new iPod, or a laptop, or perhaps even a job (yeah, remember that new job I mentioned? Scratch that...), but no. In case you're sitting around, wracking your brain, making Santa-like lists of the perfect gift for me, I'll make it easy for you. Get me this. You don't even have to wait until next month.



What does one do with a baby elephant? Take her/him for walks around Maadi? Give them the creative freedom to paint masterpieces with their trunks? Carry them around in a Baby Bjorn? I don't know. I just want one. LEAVE ME ALONE.

Something I won't apologize for...

...is laughing profusely when people fall. Hard. I can't help it. My first reaction isn't to ask people if they're okay, or lend a helping hand. It's to point, laugh until I cry (happy tears), point again, ask everyone in a 10 meter radius if they saw what happened, and then laugh some more.

I thought I had a soft spot for children, and really, Internet, who wouldn't instinctively run up to a child and ask if they were okay if they saw them take a nose dive? Apparently me, because this photo had me on the floor.



Does this make me an awful person? Probably. Do I care? Not at all.

All in a day's work

"Started" my new job yesterday. I don't know if paragraphs will do the day justice, because it was JUST.THAT.GREAT. (read: sarcasm), so please, let me list for you what my day consisted of.

• 10:45 am - Get to work
  
• 10:46 am - Give three kisses to a woman I've only met once
• 10:50 am - Realize that my work-issued laptop didn't have an operating system on it
  
• 11:30 am - Eat everything I brought to eat for the day
  
• 2:30 pm - Leave work after sitting around for four hours harassing everyone I know on BlackBerry Messenger
• 2:37 pm - Return to my old office, only to be asked "ALREADY?!" by my ex-boss who thought I was coming to ask for my job back

Day 2 at the job went a lot better. I had two meetings, told the director that something was "not my job," and e-mailed some work to More Positive Than Your Average Bear to fix up and make look sharp so I didn't have to fiddle with it myself. Come to think of it, this new job may have potential!

Well Played, Hiccups

Things it's almost impossible to do while hiccups are kicking your ass:

1. Sound important and knowledgeable during a meeting
2. Blow your nose without asphyxiating yourself
3. Not annoy your coworkers
4. Bust out some seated, ghetto fab moves while listening to the new Mos Def album in your car
5. Put some water out for your cat without spilling it all over the floor

Damn you, hiccups. Seven times in one day? I mean, if we're going for world records, let's start with something we know we're good at. Like this!

Knowing your market value

My boss' 16 year old son is interning at my office for the summer. We had a few hiccups when he first started - his English isn't as good as I thought it was, and miscommunication led to some pretty amusing exchanges. Yesterday, after helping him insert a row into the table he was working on (a task which the five other people in his office were incapable of doing), he sauntered over to my desk, leaned on my chair, flipped to a random page in my notebook, and wrote down his cell number and e-mail address (firstname_the greatking@hotmail.com). Today, I'm in a skirt and have my hair down (two looks which I've abandoned completely in the workplace for a reason I can only describe as: I really couldn't give an eff), and The Great King came over and asked me why I looked so good.

One word: Sa-weet!

Saturday Madness

At the wedding I went to on Saturday, I:

• Got mosquito bites in areas I didn't even know I had
• Had dinner twice
  
• Was awesomely surprised by the return of the OssMan (WICKED surprise, bruv. Innit!)
  
• Replied, "I like songs by Black people!" when asked what kind of music I wanted to listen to
• Chatted with someone who goes by FHB, the B standing for 'Brince'

Good thing the people I know aren't in the habit of marrying each other because I don't know if activity like that needs to be repeated. Except for the fun surprises. Next time though, OssMan, bring presents. We might be a LITTLE MORE excited that way.

There's only so much I can do for her

Little One: Guess how many times I hit myself in the head with my laptop today? Hint: It's not zero.

Good thing summer school starts up again tomorrow. This swine flu-induced school shut down has definitely not done wonders for her intellect.

Geeks Just Wanna Have Fun

On Saturday, I'm going to the all-day wedding of a good friend. Said friend is really into books about dragons, and engaging in multi-player video games where you create your own world and language and food or something. I haven't quite figured out how the game (maybe there's more than one?) works because every time I inquire about it, my eyes glaze over, rigor mortis sets in, and the people around me have to do that CLEAR! business and put electrically charged paddles to my chest. Tonight's his bachelor party, and his male friends have created a treasure hunt-type activity for the groom - complete with clues and all. Doesn't this just make you want to pinch their nerdy little cheeks?

False Advertising

My recent cereal purchase claims to be a "Good Source of Vitamin D." Really? Because a good source of vitamin D would be NOT BEING IN MY OFFICE listening to my office mate ask me if her mosquito bites were swine flu. Or hearing my boss tell me that his son who's interning at the office for the summer can have the money he paid for his lunch back if he gets sick and it all comes up again. Or reading a report that talks about "aluminum casserole." What does that even mean?! Here's to getting some real vitamin D exposure, as well as losing some water weight, before Saturday, or else I'll be walking around my friend's wedding looking like this:

Things you wish you talked to your friends about

Below is a list of topics discussed with some of my besties over gross chocolate cake last night:

• fish in alexandria (we should have it)
  
• american politics (we're sick of talking about it)
  
• bathing suits and wandering eyes (we don't like the combination)
  
• mexican food (we thought we were going to have it today)
  
• okay books turned into bad movies where little girls are subjected to the advances of nasty old men (we don't like this combination either)
  
• stool samples (I should produce (?) one to check if I have the typhoid parasite or not)
  

We're an eclectic bunch. If you're lucky, maybe we'll talk to YOU about molestation and poop the next time you see us out!

Sister, Sister

Me: Little One! Come sit in the room with me!

Little One: Okay! What will we do?

Me: I don't know, talk?

Little One: UGH.

Seriously, Little One? It's not like I was going to teach you how to twirl a baton (which, by the way, would be AWE-SOME) or roll your eyes so hard that you hurt the back of your neck. I mean, we have to leave some things until you're older.

Office Humor

It's paragraphs like this that make report editing not as mind-numbing:

A small sample of women were asked which TV spots they had seen on avian influenza and they immediately recalled the Shaaban Abdel Rahim spots. The sampled women believed that there was a vaccine against avian influenza for humans. The study team identified one spot on vaccinating birds, but the star of the spot, Shaaban Abdel Rahim, ends with a jingle that says: “take a shot and feel at ease.” Obviously, he was addressing a chicken, but many individuals were confused.

Yes, of course. Of course he was addressing a chicken. Who wouldn't? My fear of birds aside, how does one actually address a chicken? Do they respond better to jingles? How can you tell if they're listening? WHERE ARE THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS?!

It's a good thing I wasn't drinking milk just now

Seldom do I laugh out loud when I'm reading things on the internet (the rare exceptions being e-mails from my idiot friends, as Josephine loves pointing out). However, my attention was recently brought to this blog by Spaz, and I've been eating up the archives like softball field hot dogs.

One particular entry, from February 2003, highlights activities from the blogger's weekend. She says:

• preparing to give Steve a black eye and his sober friend Andy getting very concerned and saying, “Sarah, I don’t think you should do that!” while his drunk friend Tony yelled “HIT HIM!”

I'd like to think I'm a Tony and not an Andy.

Confession

The only foreseeable reason to have a man in my life right now would be to open the jar of green olives tormenting me from the refrigerator.

Windex, The Pants' Cleaner

Someone landed on this page after typing this into their search bar:

"you can call me coffee i grind so fine. i like to clean my pants with windex on occasion.- whats thi"

Yes. That is exactly the theme I was going for when I started this blog.

Question

Today's intellectual conversation (see others here and here), brought to you by Little One and I:

Me: So, do boy cats have nipples?

Little One: Hmm, good question. Don't all mammals have nips?

Me: Well, do zebras have nips?

Little One: I guess so. Male monkeys have nips. Is that just specific to primates, though? YOU'RE specific to primates. *snicker*

Zing. Maybe, but that still doesn't answer my question.

How many Egyptians?

The men in my family had the bright idea of wearing bow ties for my cousin's wedding a couple weeks back. My dad, perhaps the brightest of the bunch, bought a pre-tied bow tie, but was told that real, untied ties were coming in from Switzerland. Little did anyone know, however, was that none of the men knew how to tie these ties (stop saying ties).

So, in came the women. The groom's sister brought a Google print out detailing the exact steps, and in between getting our make up and hair done, we all tried to master the art of the bow tie. Which we did. Observe:

Step 1: Attempt to tie the tie on your cousin's forearm.

Step 2: If that doesn't work, attempt to tie the bow tie on the bed.

Step 3: If THAT doesn't work, attempt to tie the bow tie around Little One's neck while she holds up the directions. This step is usually the most beneficial.


Success!

Overheard at the ACE Club

Random Fool: Hey Peter, we're going to a bar after this! You in?

Peter: YEAH MAN! Where are we going?

Random Fool: PUB 55! IT'S TOXIC TUESDAY!

Don't do it, Peter. Don't do it.

Nuweiba Power Plant

Dr. Oubi asked me to put up a link to this petition to Stop the Destruction of Nuweiba and its Coral Reefs. The Egyptian Electricity Holding Company, funded by the European Investment Bank and the African Development Bank, plan to build a power plant in the middle of Nuweiba, South Sinai. The plant poses a threat to local tourism, the local Bedouin population, and of course, the environment.

Please sign the petition, and read here and here for more information on the project.

Think of the fishes!

Twitter

I've protected my Twitter updates out of fear that potential employers might track my e-mail address and discover all the "wonderful" things I've said about my current job and the people that I share office space with. This blows, because now they don't show up to the right of where you're currently reading. Were the updates a value added to this blog? Did you even notice them? Did you think they were annoying text ads? Let me know - if you don't have Twitter and would like to see them reappear, maybe I'll switch the e-mail address I use and link them back onto this blog. Speak up, nerds!

Update: Figured out how to change the e-mail address. Tweets are back!

Recap

I'm a whiner (not to be confused with 'winner,' of which I also am, but that's neither here nor there). Roonies has earned the righteous title of Master Complainer, but I think I've got whining down. It's hard to notice under my cute and cuddly facade, and I try to bat my non-existent but Lancome-slathered eyelashes to distract from how annoying I really may be at any given moment, but I generally feel the need to comment, sometimes negatively, on situations I find myself in (see: this blog). So, with that cleared up, let's address this mystery illness I've been the not-so-silent victim of one last (ha!) time.

Things that have gone into my mouth (minus a 'that's what she said' joke) from Monday, May 25th to Monday, June 1st:

• 3 bowls of cereal
• 2 spoons of fava beans
• 1/2 bowl of plain pasta
• 2 spoons of plain rice
• 4 pieces of brown toast
• 1 banana
• 3 bottles of Gatorade in colors not found in nature
  
• 1/2 boiled potato
• 1 bowl of corn soup

Things that have come back up and out of my mouth since Monday, May 25th:

• 1 bowl of corn soup

Number of unexpected days taken off work: 3

Total weight loss: 4 kilos

General feeling: Worse than when I had salmonella (o yes, folks, this body is the gift that keeps giving)

Estimated time required to pass before I can handle a similar illness: The next time someone at work suggests ordering (the good) sausage sandwiches.*

*Note, my illness was not the result of (the good) sausage sandwich eating. However, the precarious nature of my stomach is dissuading me from eating anything that hasn't been sterilized. I have no will power, though, and will crumble at the mere suggestion of Manousha. Coworkers, if I've ever wanted you to read this blog (which I never have), NOW IS THE TIME.

And...Scene

Internet, the search is over. I've found the one. Behold:


- Horizontal Stripes: CHECK
- Height: CHECK (the photo is deceiving, but trust me)
- Ability to carry heavy things: CHECK

And wait! It gets better!



-SQUINTY EYES!

Must find a way to make it onto the set of One Tree Hill, even if it means changing my name to something ridiculous like Trapp or Button or KreditKard, and pay someone ridiculous amounts of money to turn me into an horrible actress. It'll be worth it. I'm sure.

Might be time to leave the house

So, I'm sick. I thought I'd only be away from the internet, and this blog, for a few days during the flurry of activities surrounding my cousin's wedding, but things took a turn for the worse the day after the final showdown, and I've been in bed pretty much ever since. I carted my butt into work on Monday morning only to be told that I'd be doing field work under the blazing hot sun for six hours. After returning to the office, I promptly planted myself in my car and into my bed as quickly as possible. Since then, nerds, I've been horizontal. And in these 101 hours from 4 pm Monday till 9 pm Friday, I've come to several conclusions.

1. Your family will cook the best food they've made in weeks right when you THINK you're getting better, but the mere taste of a fried potato sends you running back to your bed.

2. Your sister will love you slightly less when she has to wake up to the sound of you vomiting.

3. Your cousin from out-of-town will not object, for the first time ever, to going to a party with music YOU BOTH LIKE, only to have the idea of it shut down on account of not being able to stand on your own chicken legs.

4. The "no white food" diet you went on was pointless, seeing as how everything you've eaten, and ever thought of eating, in the past six months has made a quick exit.

5. The possibility of your appendix growing back, though rare, is still a possibility. Your sister will even read you horrifying web articles on 'stump appendicitis,' whereby a tiny segment of your appendix is pushed into your intestine after an appendectomy, and later goes on to slowly take over your being, leaving you one giant, unnecessary body part.

6. You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet.

And we're off

Dear Internet,

Today is the last day of relative calm until at least Sunday afternoon. I'm going into the belly of the beast known as "(successfully) pulling off a wedding." I'm not sure if all of this activity has completely put me off marriage (just kidding, Mom!), or makes me really excited to do all this planning for myself knowing that I'll get to enjoy it even more when it's for me (my husband too, I guess, but really me). While I'm leaning more towards the former, we'll see how I feel after Saturday. I expect to get pulled and tousled and tweezed so much in the next few days that I'm not sure I'll even be recognizable after the wedding. However, seeing as how I've been feeling under the weather for roughly, umm, SIX YEARS now, anything will be a step up.

Later nerds!
Me

Insanity by the dozen

My cousin Jones is getting married this weekend, and the next few days are going to be a whirlwind of activities. Another cousin and her five month old, Marvin, arrived a little over a week ago, and the rest of the clan flew in last night. After getting their ears violated by unsanitary thermometers in the Cairo Airport (presumably they were checking for symptoms of swine flu, but really I think they were looking for some Saturday night action), they filed into one of two homes we've set up as bases for the family reunion. The two-bedroom house I'm currently in now holds six adults (five women, one man), a five month old, and a cat (also a female). The other house holds three women and two men. Throw in two, sometimes three, housekeepers, a driver, the grocery man, and the gas guy, it's officially become the full house of the century. There is TOO MUCH ESTROGEN between the two houses, and I predict a monumental blow up very, very soon.

Internet, if you don't hear from me in a few days, send the sniffer dogs.

Cheating. Usually (but not this time) does a body good.

At lunch today, one of my coworkers, a husband and a father, rehashed this story:

Father: So, how did your Arabic exam go?
Nine Year Old Son: Good, Dad.
Father: And how about the dictation part? Has your handwriting improved?
NYOS: Dictation? Would you believe it? I must have forgotten to do that part!

With the Egyptian education system as ridiculous as it is, forgetting to do this simple section of the exam is actually a HUGE mistake. No less than three seconds after finishing the story, my coworker's furious wife called him to complain about HIS son (of course, when he does something right, he's HER son, but she wants nothing to do with the cretin today).

I'm not sure how the two are related, but I keep getting flashbacks of high school, senior year, Special Religion (yes, the name really is that bad) class, where Danoosh missed a mid-quarter test (insignificant anyway, seeing as how your grade was directly related to how short your skirt was the day of the exam). Danoosh successfully coaxed the teacher into letting her take a make-up test after he had passed back the graded exams, whereby which Danoosh tucked Tookie's test paper (she had received a 20/20) into her desk and copied it word for word. When Danoosh received her test a week later, she had received a 16/20. She must have been wearing pants that day.

Actually, these stories aren't related at all. Never mind!

Sunday. Swine Flu. This job. Actual work.

What are...things that suck about today.

Been holed up in my house since Thursday night with what appears to be a common cold manifesting itself into swine flu. I couldn't, for the life of me, get out of bed this morning. Either the H1N1 has me by the theoretical balls, or my job really HAS gotten this bad.

I debated staying home again today, but the newest addition to the family, while incredibly cute, was being fussy and whiny. Until Little Marvin can whip up some scrambled eggs and warm cocoa (maybe not together), I'm going to resort to spreading my germs to my officemates. If all goes according to plan, they'll be on bed rest as soon as I get better. And you know what that means! Watching YouTube clips WITHOUT my headphones as opposed to with them. WOHOO!

God, must get out of here.

Surely there are better ways to be productive

Things I did while the internet was down from 9:30 am to 2:45 pm today:

• Curse the IT guy
• Watch an old episode of 30 Rock
• Curse the IT guy
• Receive multiple text messages from Female J and More Positive Than Your Average Bear asking me if I was still alive and if I'd thrown my computer out the window yet
• Curse the IT guy
• Read old e-mails from my boss that I should have been reading over the past week (one of them was actually important - whoops)
• Curse the IT guy

Let's just say, thank goodness it's Thursday. The thought of having to spend another day in this office without internet makes me want to cut my ears off. I don't know how that's related, but it is DAMMIT.

In other news, I told my coworker that I didn't support the diamond trade yesterday (and after explaining the reasons why, she said, "I guess il hasal hasal!" [whatever happened, happened"]). She informed her husband of my stance on the issue, and he said that if I wasn't interested in buying purses either, he could probably find me a husband. Sorted.

Gossip Genius

Internet, it's official. My IQ has dropped so many points in the recent past that I'm unable to follow a Gossip Girl story line. Part of the reason why I don't watch movies is because there are too many characters to follow and I don't have the patience to pay attention for extended periods of time. The beauty of television is that in 45 minutes, most dead bodies are identified, babies are delivered, and coke dealers are not only apprehended, but they've already repented for their sins. And I'm gullible enough to believe it, and even shed a few tears in the process.

Last night, I was watching the most recent episode of Gossip Girl when I realized that I had NO IDEA what was going on. Maybe I was blinded by all the pretty people, or the designer clothes, or the witty(ish) banter, but I found myself retracing episodes past to string the story line together. Gone are the days of teenage dramas when the biggest mystery was which football player the cheerleader contracted syphilis from, Internet. Now we've got Ponzi schemes, incarcerations, and socialites getting their Madoff on.

The insanity of it all was too much for me, so I picked up a book instead. And by 'picked up a book,' I really mean Googled when the next season of Entourage starts. If ever there was a dumb show...

Color of the season: Sick Yellow

Internet, if you could control the weather, I know you'd have done a better job yesterday. Last Thursday, all pumped up for the weekend, I made plans to have a relaxing Friday by the pool - listening to music, reading an overpriced magazine, and eating so much that I'd leave looking far worse in my bathing suit than I did going in. Plans changed, as they usually do when organizing activities with more than half a person, and the pool date was switched to Saturday.

Woke up yesterday to check the weather, and the forecast read a little like this:

High: 31C, but don't even think about enjoying the day because clouds and gloominess will dampen even the brightest of spirits.

Dejected and forlorn, I spent the next ten hours on the couch YouTube-ing a tv sitcom. The way things are going, I may resort to holding one appendage at a time out the window in an attempt to get some color. Judging by the raised eyebrow from my neighbor who saw me in a skirt yesterday, I'm guessing all-out tanning on the kitchen balcony MIGHT not go over so well.

Three handshakes just aren't the same

In the latest swine flu flurry, Reuters is reporting that a critical Lebanese national custom is under major threat. To help curb the spread of the disease, Lebanese Health Minister Mohammad Khalifeh warns that the customary three kisses to the cheek should be stopped. Please - that's like asking Lebanese men not to be hairy! Or Egyptians to respect personal space. Or Jordanians to actually laugh at a joke. Never going to happen, Internet. Never going to happen.

On being an older sister...

My greatest (read: only) talent is annoying the hell out of my little sister. While she takes my antics in stride, I'm sure there are days when Little One wants to punch me in the face, renounce our sisterhood, and take over my closet space. It's a fine line between what actions of mine she perceives to be hilarious and what clearly isn't, and I think I walked that line two days ago. For example, I:

• ran an opened can of tuna under her unsuspecting nose (not hilarious)
• put a whole pineapple on her pillow and tricked her into coming into the room under false pretense, only to have her look at me in shock when she saw it (hilarious)
  
• faked my own death when asked to clean Coco's little box (not hilarious)

However, when I strategically maneuvered a hideous, winged insect onto a tissue and released it back into the wild, her only comment was, "thanks, you're the closest thing to a man we have in this house." This, coming from a seven-year younger than me, snot-nosed booger face. Watch your back, Little Jerk. I know where you sleep.

Colors Only

I've been on a 'no-white-food' diet for about two weeks now. While I'm still eating dairy, I've cut out all bread, rice, pasta and potatoes (THE HORROR!). I would do nasty, nasty things to someone for a bowl of spaghetti right now, but I have to admit, this diet is working wonders. Without a fully-stocked refrigerator (not the norm, but most weekends), I've been forced to improvise certain meals. Yesterday, not wanting to eat the "light" bran flakes in the kitchen cabinet because no, cardboard is not my favorite food flavor, I opted for some fava beans...and roughly 30+(ish) Peanut M&Ms. This food choice may give me rock hard(er) abs, but I'll probably need to do something about the side order of diabetes that's most likely to come along with it.

BlackBerry, I Do

Dearest BlackBerry Curve,

Because you have yet to thank me for handing my life over to you two short nights ago, I thought I'd take a moment to tell YOU just how lucky you are to have ME.

My last phone was great - it didn't pretend to be anything it wasn't. It made calls, sent texts, and was always there when I needed it. It did, however, have a couple of rough months recently, losing most of the glue that held it together. I tried to tell people that it would be okay and that no, superglue wasn't necessary, but after one fateful fall at the airport on Monday (as I was being ushered into a secret room for reasons I have yet to discover), it was gone forever.

Thankfully you were at home, waiting patiently for my arrival. You looked so welcoming in your sleek black box and all I wanted to do was pick you up, leave on your protective plastic covering, and tell you how pretty you were. The plastic covering has now come off, but I continue to tell people how great you are and steal glances in your direction every three to five seconds to make sure you're still there.

I promise to keep you in your sleeve, refrain from dropping you or letting abrasive substances touch your service, and yell at Little One when she threatens to put her grimy paws on you.

So, in short, you're welcome. You'll never find a better owner. Now if only you could think of a way to make your battery last longer and my fingers not hurt as bad because of all the chatting...

DoYou? DubaI?

Internet, I'll be leaving you for a few days again. I'm going to Dubai tomorrow morning, and no, I don't feel bad about it, even after reading this scathing report on the city. (If anything, I feel like moving to Dubai and fighting for workers' rights, but the powers that be feel it's more important for me to be filling out a completely useless logframe for a proposal that probably won't get funded anyway.) But I digress...

I'm going to get away from the city until Monday, and I can tell you right now, it's going to be hell getting me on the plane back. I met someone at Office Traitor's birthday party a couple weeks back who, at 30, retired and is now "exploring Cairo by day" and has set up shop in an art gallery. While I can't think of more mind-numbing things to do, there is nothing I'd rather do at this very moment than retire. If, for some unknown reason, I don't win the lottery (or snag a billionaire) while I'm gone, the internet BETTER work well upon my return.

See you in a few days, nerds!

ABCD-I.T.

It's official. The IT guy hates me. I was all up in his business last week complaining about the lack of internet and threatening to leave early because I couldn't get any work done. He seemed unfazed by my empty threats, but I did detect slight eye rolling every time I walked up to his desk. After wild hand gestures and long sighs, the internet was back to full speed by the end of the week, and I was as satisfied as one can be at this place anymore.

However, here we are on Monday morning, and I just paid IT-man another visit, telling him that the internet was slower than ever and "I can't work this way!" After looking at me like I was from Mars, because (GASP!) how could ANYTHING be wrong after he worked tirelessly (for ten minutes) to fix it last week, he offered this explanation:

"Ahh, yes. I can't really call "slow" a PROBLEM, but it may be due to the fact that I'm downloading a 400 megabyte application that I REALLY need."

Is that so? Well, do you really think this blog is going to pull up its own URL and write itself? Yeah, didn't think so. Fix it.

Not even cool enough for school

My dad has consistently been outshining me with his passion for gadgets and general coolness (see here). Over the weekend, he informed me that he "didn't like" his new Blackberry (*double swoon*), and instead traded it in for an iPhone (*single swoon*). If only the rest of us could be so lucky. I must remember to bring out the paper cup and string I've been using as my main means of communication the next time he's in town.

One can only dream

How did people ever get any work done before the internet? (By work, I mean chat the day away while perusing celebrity gossip sites.) Our IT guy thinks the reason the service has been so dodgy for the past two weeks is because someone in the workplace is infiltrating the system and essentially cutting off access to the rest of the office. I don't know if that's even possible, but if it is, I'm pretty sure a swift kick to the back of the culprit's knees will help. This in no way will allow me page surf faster, but it will make me feel better about the situation. Imagine if I actually believed in violence. It'd be a right battlefield up in here!

Going to get my Twitter on instead...

Prince Pepper Foot

I had dinner with some "friends" last night, and as usual, my many fears, hates and neuroses became the subject of quite an animated discussion. These subjects are of much amusement to the people in my life, and they take complete liberty with throwing what they think to be completely irrational thoughts in my face, all the while tossing their tiny heads back with laughter. One day, I tell them, one day...

After pondering over a number of different scenarios, they group came up with my ideal man. He'd be a cheese-eating, bird-raising, black pepper plantation owner with a foot fetish. So, sir, if you're out there, call me. WINK WINK.

Poo

Things about this day that kind of suck:

• I'm eating diet bread that tastes more so of cardboard than usual. Pretending it's a giant Reece's Pieces isn't working.
• I have actual work to do. With a deadline and everything. When did I sign up for this?
• It's hot and I'm wearing a sweater by accident.
• Said sweater has what I think is a minute spaghetti sauce stain in a very strategic location. I can't stop looking at it, but suspect my coworkers now think I'm some sort of self-obsessed pervert.

(Two good things about this day, though, are that I found a new favorite song and I'm one day closer to my vacation. What what!)

The Little Things

I've been at my current job for almost two years now, and am one of roughly 30 people at the organization. Our director, when not smoking his life away behind closed doors, is constantly asking if I'm following when conversations are in Arabic, and struggles to find the right words to say to me in English when he wants to explain concepts. This continues to baffle me, as I laugh at his Arabic jokes (not easy for me!), am pretty sure he's heard me speak the language before, and a large part of the work I do is not in English.

This morning, he walked into my office - where the IT guy happened to be at the moment - and started complaining about the slow internet. Mind you, the internet's been down(ish) for the past two weeks, and today is the first day of super fast service. He then turns to me and says, "Oh! What a nice haircut!" It's nice to know that he has no clue as to the contribution I'm making to his organization, nor how the internet works, but he has noticed that my hair is one shade darker than it was two days ago. I feel very confident about my future growth here.

Not cut out for this

Internet, I think I pulled my groin muscle. It makes no sense, seeing as how the most exercise I ever get is opening and closing the refrigerator door, but I think it happened. Yesterday, Female J and I were up before the roosters started crowing (ew, bird reference) and went to the Wadi Degla Protectorate for a walk. Mind you, why people in their 20s think going for "walks" is exercise is a whole other issue, but it was exercise nonetheless. About four kilometers in, I knew something wasn't right, but I soldiered on. It's been 24 hours since, but something still feels a little off. If you see me walking weird, do me a solid and assume it's not a limp, but a swagger. And then tell me how walking is going to make me Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition-ready by next week.

(Semi) Public Service Announcement

Dear Coworker,

Yes, the office smells like sausage and cumin. Yes, it's gross. But your incessant nagging about the fact that you're going to throw up is really getting on my nerves. Just puke already or shut the hell up.

Thanks,
Me

You want me to do what now?

Bless my job for giving me material to write about, but this is just getting ridiculous. Yesterday, after my triumphant return to the office after my week in Jordan, I was assigned five separate tasks for three different projects. Over the course of yesterday and today, some of the comments I've heard include:

• I'd like to rephrase this. I don't know to what though. Fix it.
  
• Do you think he'll notice if we copy and paste a section from this document dating back to 1929?
• So...I brought back this large stack of material. You brought back...nothing? Hmm.
  
• Do you think we should put this in alphabetical order? I think so. No, no. Wait, yes. No. Okay, yes.
• Can I have a hug?

In my mind, the only response to these comments are, "EVERYTHING IS FINE HOW IT IS, and no, I don't want to touch you! Now leave me alone so I can get back to this*."

*Beware: Clicking on this link will result in zero productivity for the rest of your day. So, clearly, click on it.

Bird Brain

I got hit on the back of the head by a bird today.

Seriously, a bird FLEW INTO THE BACK OF MY HEAD. People that know me well (and others I've scared off by sharing this information) know that I have a very rational fear of birds. I can't really explain it - I've never seen the Hitchcock movie, I eat chicken, and I watched March of the Penguins without having heart palpitations. I do, however, cross the street when I see a bird in my path, shush people when they make bird noises, and refuse to buy clothes that have birds on them.

Friends continue to tell me that I'm mad - that birds are more afraid of me than I am of them. I try to tell them that they're wrong, but they don't listen. They're always telling me that there's no way a bird would fly so close to actually touch me, but guess what, friends? YOU WERE WRONG.

My heart rate has since calmed and I've regained normal breathing patterns since the 'incident,' but I don't think I'll ever stop talking about this. I'll continue to complain that birds are evil and should be exterminated, and will roll my eyes when friends try to explain what happened as "bird revenge."

So note, Internet, the feathered are not your friends. Be safe.

Jordan You Glad To See Me?

It's my last day in Amman, and my work ethic is non-existent. The only thing I can think about is getting in one last (okay, maybe seven) falafel sandwiches before I go. The restaurant completely gave us the shaft yesterday and refused to pick up, so here's hoping no one's dead (or if someone is, that the delivery service is still working).

Overall, Jordan's been pretty great. Here are some things I won't miss though:

• Sub-zero (not really) temperatures and freezing rain
• Not being able to breathe
• A coin system that makes no sense
• Over-inquisitive taxi drivers and gift shop workers (no, little 18-year-old married mother of a 2-year-old, I don't have a boyfriend)
  

Some things I will miss:

• Being told "Meet you!" after saying "It was nice to meet you" to the boss' wife
• Watching the secretary clean her boots with Windex
• Overhearing the secretary tell the guy that cleans the office that mid-falafel eating, she dropped hummos on her seat and when she went to wipe it up, it only got worse
• Drinking Tang at breakfast and pretending it was one of my daily fruit servings

Okay, off to nag about the falafel. Write you from Cairo!

Kings of Awesome

After a fantastic sushi dinner last night, my (super helpful and attentive!) college friend who I've been hanging out with in Jordan and I listened to this song in the car.

We immediately started singing along and then talked about how GREAT this guy's voice is. I told my friend, "Imagine if we spoke to this guy on the phone - we wouldn't be able to concentrate on what he was saying because his voice is so heavenly." It's a good thing I sound like a chipmunk on helium because I have a lot of important things to say that everyone should hear.

So Long, Cough - Cough - Sniffle, Farewell

Dear Internet,

This trip to Jordan has been great. The air outside's clean, the people are friendly, the food's good. Couldn't ask for anything more really. I'm scheduled to return home on Thursday, but at the rate things are going, it's likely that I'm going to leave this earth as a result of hypothermia or dangerously high levels of second hand smoke inhalation. It hasn't stopped raining (LIKE A MOTHER) since 7 pm last night, and the lack of ventilation in this office is slowly crippling my bronchioles. I'm going out for sushi tonight, so if today is in fact my last day here, at least I'll be going out with a bang (or mercury poisoning).

Love,
Me

Sucker

It was bound to happen. I fell victim to the inevitable tourist trap yesterday. Apparently there are 1,000 piasters in a Jordanian dinar, not 100. So when the meter in the taxi read 950, that meant LESS than 1 JD ($1.40). I gave the cabbie 10 ($14). Grrr.

Yordan

(I tried to post this from my hotel room yesterday, but of course by the time I finished checking my mail and writing this, my ridiculously overpriced ($10) one-hour internet service had run out. Needless to say, I will NOT be using the internet outside of office hours for the rest of my time here.)

Guess what, Internet? Looks like I lied! Here I am in Amman, blogging to you from the giantest hotel bed ever created. Flight here was quick and painless, even though I messed up royally by telling the kind man at the airport check-in that I was going to Jordan for work. He then asked why it said "unemployed" in my passport and if I had a letter from my employer stating the nature of my business. Whoops. I made my way to the customs line, where I proceeded to lie to the guy behind the bulletproof glass (smart, I know) and told him that the purpose of my trip was strictly touristic. He didn't buy it, but he stamped my passport anyway. It was then smooth sailing up to Starbucks where I had free, wireless interent and a cute boy sighting!

So, I'm here now and I've already put in a full day in the office. Even had a meeting at a government office at 4 pm (hear that, Egypt? Government workers in their offices past 2 pm? Hmm...). (Mom, look away...) Lost my passport for a hot minute (more like three hours) after I got here, but thankfully I had left it at the hotel reception. The knot in my stomach is slowly starting to fade, and it's nothing a huge dinner can't cure.

Anyway, it's pretty freezing here, which means I'm going to have to wear my coat (HATE wearing coats), but I'm looking forward to getting a good night's sleep. Here's to dreams of sugar plum fairies and dancing scrambled eggs. Ahh, the breakfast buffet...

Later Skaters

Internet, this will (probably) be my last post until late next week. I'm leaving to Jordan on Sunday for work and will be based out of our Amman office for a week. I've been told that there's a notoriously hilarious woman the size of a door there, but otherwise, I can't imagine I'll have anything amusing to report.

In addition to stressing about a major deadline I have today, my weekend looks like it's going to be unusually busy - including Thursday activitIES (I have a 'no Thursday activity' rule) - and am feeling pretty anxious about the coming few days. Tonight is More Positive Than the Average Bear's birthday (happy birthday, MPTAB!), and in addition to the dinner in his honor, I'll also be meeting a recently laid off family friend who I haven't seen in ages. I made the faux pas of telling him he could buy me coffee to make up for flaking on plans last night, but he took it well, telling me he would pay but that I wasn't allowed to order anything with flavors. Seems like a good compromise. If only we could achieve peace in the Middle East as easily.

Until we meet again, Mind Grapes Out!

Sorry, Betty Friedan

Internet, I single-handedly set feminism back fifty years yesterday. It all started when Forsooth, Office Traitor and I ventured into the depths of downtown to make it to MEAN!'s book signing. After circling downtown for what seemed to be the equivalent of a two-hour American Idol special (okay, I can't lie - I not-so-secretly love that show), we finally found the gallery. Parking downtown is notoriously difficult, and when I found what appeared to be a spot, I cut across four lanes of traffic (nerves of steel, I tell you!), and shimmied into place. In seconds flat, an officer appeared at my window, and without warning, eyelashes were being bat at hummingbird pace! I don't know what came over me, but I was all smiles and charm, and "please sir, don't let my car get towed." I don't even know who I am anymore.

We walked into the gallery, and I quickly realized I had three, count them, three, pounds in my wallet. I felt like a Grade A chump, and sheepishly asked the publisher (?) if they took credit cards. Before I knew it, he was all smiles as well and handed me a copy of the book. I tried to refuse, and offered to send the money to the publisher's office, but I think he too was mesmerized by my lashes. Anyway, the book is a collection of the Al Khan comic strip that runs in the Egyptian Daily News. Buy the book, become a fan on Facebook, or read the strip here! Preferably all three!

Attention Science Geeks

The secretary in my office told me I looked beautiful today. No joke, she forgot what she was going to say once she took a look at me. Now, two things need to happen:

1. I must continue to wear make-up every day.

2. I need someone to develop the technology where I can shrink my secretary and carry her around in my pocket at all times. Get on it, nerds!

Young Grasshopper

I was going to Tweet this, but it was too good to not get read.

Yesterday, I called my mother to tell her I was going to stay late at work to finish up a few things. I'm traveling next week, and I have a ton of background reading to get through before then. Her response? "Effers."

Oh Mother. I've taught you so well.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Friday night, I left the windows of my car ever so slightly cracked. This, as I quickly learned, was equatable to running up and down neighboring streets naked. In the span of 16 hours, I received the following comments:

1. Phone call from my uncle: "Z, I forgot to tell you that when I was driving by your house this morning, I saw your car windows open."
2. Mom: "The driver says your car windows are open."
3. Building Super 1: "Please, Miss, you left your car windows open."
4. Building Super 2: "Umm, so, umm, the windows on your car are open. This MAY cause a problem when we wash it in the morning. Do you think you could roll them up?"

I look forward to the day I bring someone home to meet my family (and building supers) for the first time. People will be Twittering about it for years! I think I might also start leaving salacious material on the backseat just to see what happens. I imagine the number of comments will decrease, but if I post about my car being broken in to, you'll know why.

Cookie Monster

After what could have been the shortest conference attendance in the history of conference attending, my coworker and I stopped in at a little cafe to grab some coffee and snacks. I picked up some ginger cookies - the kind Little One surprises me with when she's in one of her "I love my sister and will prove it by showering her with material things" moods (we love these moods). The cookies are hit-or-miss (usually miss), but when they're good, they're good. I just opened one of the two packs I picked up (you're welcome, Little One), and let's just say - it's a good thing I know how to get to my dentist's office with relative ease. I'm now dunking the cookies in my blueberry tea and they're going down like butter. Internet, if you see me wearing a burka on the beach next month, you'll know why.

100!

Internet, this is my 100th post. During my quarter-life-crisis-induced insomnia last night, I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling thinking of something profound to say or do for this momentous occasion. It didn't take long, however, to remember that profound I am not.

I thought of taking photos of 100 things found around my house, but 100 grains of rice and 100 gray hairs are not things good blog posts are made of. I thought of taking 100 photos of my cat, but she's still mad at me for taking her to the vet for her immunizations yesterday (and decided to voice this anger by throwing up in front of me this morning. Thanks, Coco.). I would have forced Little One to come up with 100 witty things to say or asked my mom to dictate 100 ways of telling me how I could be funnier, but they already get too much publicity here, and if I give them any more credit, I might have to grease the sides of our front door so their heads fit through.

So, Internet, here you go. 100 posts, minus the pomp and circumstance. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to eat 100 of the unsuspecting chips sitting on my coworker's desk.

I Don't

I've never heard as many references to marriage as I have this weekend. Over lunch with Brownies and two friends living in Kuwait yesterday, Big Lips decided on an arrangement for the two of us: if neither one of us was married by 30 (we're the same age), we'd marry each other. I quickly stated my hesitation, noting that 30 wasn't that far off, and that I wasn't ready for that big of a commitment so soon. He told me not to worry - I was his "option D." He tried to make it better by saying that the options weren't "sequential," but rather to give him a wide range of women to choose from when the time came. Why he isn't married yet is a mystery.

And today, while in the midst of wedding planning for my cousin's upcoming nuptials, my mother and aunt kept dropping hints that soon enough we'd be going through the motions for my wedding. Our DJ looked at me and said, "What's the rush?! You're so young! How old are you, anyway?" It's a good thing he wasn't drinking when I announced my age (25), because if how far his eyeballs protruded from their sockets was any indication of the projectile that could have spewed from his mouth, we would have been showering for days. His vocalized response: "Oh..."

Why I should stick to watching television

Had a great night out yesterday. Good food and company (in that order). T-Money, or T-Rand as everyone else thinks he should be called, brought his dad, here from out of town, out for show and tell. Shortly after meeting Father J, I asked him if anyone had ever told him he looked like Harrison Ford.

He said no one had. I asked Forsooth for backup, and she concurred. I then went into details, telling Father J that he looked like Harrison Ford circa The Fugitive. We beat this dead horse even further, pinpointing the exact moment in the movie where I saw the resemblance (about 1/3 through Ford's jump into the Hoover Dam).

Later on in the night, Father J made reference to the fact that he's been told he looks like Tommy Lee Jones. I sat back, thought about this for a moment, and realized that Tommy Lee Jones was ALSO in The Fugitive!

(Father J) (T.L. J)

Oh. Turns out, that's who I meant.

Road Rage? Who? Me?

Things that go through my mind (and are often shouted out loud) EVERY SINGLE DAY while in my car:

• Here's a novel idea: your cars should be between the dotted white lines, not directly over them
  
• Move cat. Cat. CAT!
• Cadbury Dairy Milk ba da ba da! GAH! I HATE THIS JINGLE!
  
• I wish I had a crap car so I could hit you right now
  
• Dude, you're reversing on the highway...
  
• Gramps, left lane? Seriously?
• SINGLE FILE, LADIES!

One day, just one day, I'd like to utter, "Wow, Cairo, that's a great job you're doing at driving. Here's a gold star. Keep it up." Until then, I'm doomed to fits of blind rage every time I leave the 'burbs. Lock up your children.

Creativity at root of newt levels

Feeling incredibly uninspired, Internet. I don't know what it is. Maybe the sleepless nights I've been having for the past few days? Maybe the MIND NUMBING work I've been doing (there are only so many edits you can make to a final report!)? Maybe the fact that every time I start a chat conversation or pick up the phone, someone tells me my humor's been lacking. (I only have two words for you people, and not only do you know who you are, you know what those two words are).

Having dinner with some friends tonight, and hoping to get some good material while I'm out. The place isn't conducive to large groups, so conversations will inevitably get muffled. I'm hoping this leads to at least one "YOUR MOM DID WHAT WITH HIM?!" awkward conversation. I've also never left this place without getting into a fight with the man who runs the car park, so I intend on exiting either two pounds richer, or Britney Spears style, leaving crushed toes (and hearts) in my rear view mirror. Stay tuned!

Career Change

I spent last night with the usual group of friends at a semi-housewarming party. Over the course of the evening, T-Money and I got to speaking about our current occupations and how we might possibly be in quarter-life crises. Our conversation twisted and turned and took us to far away lands doing obscure jobs. What we realized is that all we want is for our dream jobs to fly in on silver platters and fall into our laps. Is that really too much to ask?

Knee deep into the conversation, Office Traitor (previously Office Savior - yes, you've been demoted...) joined in, and we got to talking about hot dogs, hot dog stands, New York and London. We talked about how crap the hot dogs in London are, and how eating them, or standing anywhere in a three-mile radius, may result in death. Being the bleeding heart that I am, I have decided that I'm going to move to London, set up a proper hot dog stand, and do my social service from there. It's really a win win situation if you think about it. Just don't think too hard.

On Days Like This

Sometimes I have to ask myself why:

• I stayed home to be with my dad on his last day in town, only to find him spending the evening sleeping off a stomach bug
• I debated joining a softball team partly as a means to live a healthier lifestyle, only to open the fridge and eat a gargantuan slice of cheesecake
• I bothered to style and wear my hair down, only to have the Santa Ana winds make their way across the lands to blow Cairo into my curls
• I excited myself about a Save the Children job in London, only to realize that the annual salary will allow me to fulfill my post-grad school prophecy of living in a cardboard box
  
• I forced myself to write here today in an attempt to be funny, only to wait around for Little One's "umm, yeah, it was okay."
  

Come on, Saturday. My (figurative) eggs are in your basket.

Martha Stewart I Is Not

Me: i made cookies for tonight

i burnt the second batch though, so take from the top

Forsooth: ya3nee i am skeptical of ur cookie making skills

Me: !!

Forsooth: i think the last time i bit into a chunk of solid crystallized sugars

Me: these were from a bag! i added butter and an egg!

It's true. I couldn't have exerted less effort if I tried. And the second batch got singed because I was mesmerized by Kate Winslet recanting her Oscar glee to Oprah. Has there been a more eloquent British lass to ever grace our movie screens? I haven't even seen either two of her movies that have generated all the buzz, but I want to make my own golden statues with tiny little butts and give them to her. Anyway, hopefully Office Savior's dinner will be more successful than my failed attempt at "baking."

Insert Alanis Morissette song about irony here

I have mixed feelings about heels. Perhaps you'd call it a love/hate relationship. And by love/hate, I want you to really mean hate. I'm already taller than most of the females I know (and all of the ones I work with), and they're generally a pain in the butt (the heels, not the coworkers. Well...).

I work in a relatively laid-back work environment, so after months of towering heights, I've given up on heel-wearing. It's a nuisance, I don't need to further the complexes of colleagues, and I'm reasonably low maintenance. Once in a while, though, I break out the heels, just for the heck of it. Today was one of those days. And then this happened:

Mom: Hi. I didn't go to work this morning, but I need you to pick something up from my office (note: not far enough to warrant taking a cab, but just far enough to feel like you want to hack your legs off at the knee).

Me: Sure, Mom. Can't think of anything else I'd rather do right now.

I went on this errand and plan on remaining in my seat until 5. Now, someone get me some tea.

Pursuit of Trivia

After an unsuccessful hunt for a hula hoop - an item which I believe will both provide me with endless satisfaction as well as rock-hard abs - on Friday, my mom, Little One and I decided we needed a board game. Last night, after admiring our still-in-the-plastic purchase for two days, we sat down to a not so intense game of Trivial Pursuit. The only saving grace to this activity was that it was not on a Friday night (give me SOME credit). My dad was supposed to join us so we could play teams (parents vs. kiddies), but he was feeling slightly under the weather. I think he may have just been resting up for his birthday festivities today (hi Dad! happy birthday!), but that's something we'll never know.

My mom and Little One, being Trivial Pursuit novices, got a thirty-second refresher course and off we went. Of course, my mother, being the public figure that she is, received about 4,907,843 phone calls in the first five minutes of the game, and quickly abandoned her puzzle piece and went off to...I don't know...end world hunger or save the whales or something. This left Little One and I to finish the game by ourselves. We seem to have picked up a 'more British than you could ever imagine' version of the game, and with the relatively little knowledge we have of English history/athletes/odd drinking games, we got creative with our clue-giving. Examples include:

• Think...that random Seinfeld quote from 30 Rock I'm always saying
  
• Rihanna's from there (My dad (after he'd woken up): Germany!)
  
• They ruled the Congo at one point (Me: Switzerland?)
  
• Sounds like "The Shmeatles"

With all the "assistance," Little One ended up winning. This game has taught me so much in so little time. One, that I should never look to Little One at times when cheating is desperately needed, and two, that I'm not above reading and memorizing every one of the four hundred cards that came with this game so as to win each and every time I play again. So there.

Relativity

My dad flew in last night and promptly informed me that he spent the morning with the president of Lebanon. I now follow Snoop Dogg on Twitter. It has yet to be determined which one of us will benefit more from these nuggets of life. It might also be time to set some new long term goals.

For When You Don't Have an Actual Gift (Yet)

* Happy birthday, Mom! *

Look - a post specifically for you (and not about anything humorous/embarrassing you've done!). In honor of one of my favorite movies, 10 things I love about you:

1. I love that even though I've learned how to use my opposable thumbs, you'll still make make lunch when I ask you to. I haven't quite figured out if you do this because you truly love me or because you don't want to hear me whine, but either way, I love you for it.

2. I love that even though I yell when you comment on my driving, you speed up and change lanes when I tell you to without uttering a peep.

3. I (secretly) love the songs you sing to the cat even if I roll my eyes and try to cover her ears. All the single kitties...all the single kitties...

4. I (secretly) love your corny jokes. I find myself thinking things that you'd say all the time, but I feel like you should maintain the monopoly on relative lameness.

5. I love that even though you never want me to admit that I'll never wear diamonds (Internet, CTRL + Z that bit of information), you support my decision.

6. I love that you get excited and clap at the tv sometimes, even if it is super weird and you must know they can't hear you.

7. I love that we're becoming better friends. It's a shame we're not the same size. I hear sharing clothes is what friends do. Look into it.

8. I love that we can look at each other without saying anything and know that the other is thinking "o no...what is she WEARING?!" when questionably-clad women walk by.

9. I love when you try to impersonate me and get over animated and squeaky. I guess living with me for 25 years makes you pretty much an expert.

10. I love that after you read this, you'll probably lean over, tell me I could have been funnier and ask why I stopped at 10.