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.

The Little Things

Things I'm most happy about right this minute:

• Chatting with my sister (even though she just made reference to rat excrement)
  
• Buying Betty Crocker cake mix in anticipation of my mom's birthday tomorrow (Hi Mom. No, don't worry, I won't say how young you're turning.)
• It almost being the end of the work day
• Already knowing what I'm going to blog about tomorrow
• My sister agreeing that birds have weird (i.e. no) necks
• Remembering, thanks to More Positive Than Your Average Bear, Forsooths' penchant for pretending to really cry while chopping onions. She writes: When I'm cutting up onions, I pretend that I'm really crying because a super sad thing has happened and say appropriate lines while sniffling and wiping tears away. "She was so young!"
• Having a hot dog at the softball game tonight. Might even bring my own pickle!
  

Notice

Dear Birds,

Don't think I haven't noticed that you've recently taking a liking to the balcony railing right outside my window. While one of my main issues with you lot is "WHERE ARE THE BONES IN YOUR NECKS?!", the bigger issue (right now) is: why MY balcony? In a city of roughly 13 million people, an average family size of eight people, four windows per house per family, (and my incredibly limited math skills), there should, in theory, be about 406,250 other windowsills, balconies, and other perches for you to rest your weird three-pronged, clawed things on. I don't loiter around your pigeon coops, so stay the hell away from my railing and out of my peripheral vision.

Thank you,
Disgruntled Bird Hater

Good While It Lasted

This weekend was a nice break from the monotony of bed/bathroom/kitchen routine I had going from Monday afternoon to Friday morning. I was worried the vitamin D my body would get from being out of the house early on Friday would be too much of a shock to my system, but fortunately there was no hissing at the sun. I took in a (relatively) good softball game with Female J and Male J's cousin, went on a (relatively) unsuccessful run to City Stars (Female J made some good purchases and we had a great lunch at Wagamama), and went to a (wildly) successful party at the Js' house at night. Would post photos from the party, but Internet, I don't think you're ready for them.

Spent a lazy Saturday having brunch with some old faithful friends, and had coffee for a few hours with More Positive Than Your Average Bear. Closed off the evening with some good (for real, I promise) television and a sushi dinner. Couldn't have asked for a better weekend.

This morning, I got into the elevator and had the following conversation with a coworker:

Baby Mama: So, how was yesterday?
Me: *confused* Yesterday?
Baby Mama: O, I guess you don't have a boyfriend...

Yeah, thanks for that.

Losing It

It would seem that after only a day in the house, I already have cabin fever. While I've been known to watch some bad television in my twenty-five years, today takes the cake. After waking up from a one-nostril breathing-induced nap, I meandered over to the tv and began the requisite channel surfing.

Not wearing my glasses, and having the strength of a lab rat, I settled on The Hottie and the Nottie. Little did I know that this fine piece of cinematic history starred Paris Hilton and the lanky guy from Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story.

Internet, I don't know how to tell you this, but I watched about an hour of the film before I allowed my mother to pry the remote out of my cold (not dead) hands and change the channel. I don't know how much longer I can let myself make viewing decisions. If I report in here after watching the food network tomorrow, come find me. And bring reinforcements.

Blerg

Took the day off to recover from a nasty cold. Surprisingly, I have remained relatively healthy all winter.

(Let's take a minute to dissect that last sentence...

surprisingly: immune system equivalent to wet toilet paper
relatively: counting mental health
winter: ha - I've worn my winter coat a total of six days over the past four months

...and we're back)

It was only natural that I'd miss a day of work. I didn't think, however, that my day would consist of completing research I was assigned at 4:30 pm yesterday, finishing off the (overcooked) brownies I made two days ago, and eating pickles out of a jar. While the last two points are how I'd like to spend all of my days, I need to work on convincing my parents, and any potential suitors, that that counts as an acceptable lifestyle.

You'd Never Guess She Skipped a Grade

Conversation with my sister in the grocery store today:

Me: Ooo! Look at all the candy for Valentine's Day!

Little One: NICE! Is this for Halloween?!

O, Little One. One day you'll learn to tell the months apart.

Cynicism At Its Finest

Over the weekend, I went to an r&b and hip-hop event at one of the city's handful of nightlife-y venues. It was my first time visiting this particular spot, and I tried to keep an open mind. Tried being the operative word. Some observations:

1. (Fake) straight-haired girls standing around in the bathroom act like they've never seen curly hair before. Please, like you don't wake up looking like this.
2. The average age of hip-hop party goers is roughly ten years younger than those at any other event.
3. Wearing a faux fur-lined, puffy parka inside is now acceptable and actually encouraged by others.
4. After her 'comeback,' Britney Spears is apparently now an r&b recording artist.
5. I might be too old for events that start after 10 pm.

I don't get nearly enough good music in my life at other activities (Ha! Got you! As if I go anywhere!), so I reckon I'll continue to go to these once-a-month nights. See you next month with even more obnoxious commentary and hopefully incriminating photos.

Gold Star

What ever happened to the 'gold star' system? I can think of several things I've done over the past couple of days that are gold star-worthy. For example:

• I finished the book I was reading last night. BOOM - gold star
• I sent out the only e-mail I needed to send this morning. BOOM - gold star
• I made today's lunch last night so I could get a few more minutes sleep this morning. BOOM - gold star
• I finally put away the pile of clothes that was slowly taking over my room. BOOM - gold star
• I let numerous pedestrians cross the street in front of me while driving. BOOM - gold star
• I didn't complain like I usually do when my mother and sister wanted to watch Iron Chef last night. BOOM - gold star
  

These are just the things on the top of my head. Think of the possibilities! Now if I could only find a way to convert these gold stars into cold, hard cash...

With Conversations Like This...

Over e-mail...

Me: Almost had major spillage disaster!

More Positive Than Your Average Bear: Ooooh! Recovered in time i hope?!

Me: Yes, thankfully. Drinking tea out of a travel mug, and I hit it by accident. Wobbled for what felt like the longest two seconds of my life before coming to a rest.

More Positive Than Your Average Bear: Yipes! Close call!

Is there really any need to state the degree to which it warms my heart to see others using 'yipes'? Also, at times like this, I can't help but wonder how much more productive I could be at my job without needless conversations like the one above. The more thought I give to the matter though, the more I come up with this conclusion: not that much more.

Money Maker

Lately, I've been spending money faster than I can make it. I see only two solutions to this problem:

1. Make more money.
2. Find a sugar daddy (or mommy).

At this point, either option is welcome. I'll be accepting applications for the latter starting now.

Mental Math

Let's assume that the average age in my office is 35. Let's also assume that everyone in this office has been using the restroom independently since age three. I'm a social science major, but I'm pretty sure this means people would have had 32 years to master the art of aiming. It would seem, however, that I've never been more wrong.

Yikes

Recently, some friends (?) have been uploading incriminating photos from middle and high school on Facebook to share with our 2001 graduating class. While they think this is "cute" and "funny" and "a way to look back and relive old memories" (gag me), I'm quickly considering deactivating my account and burning my hard drive so all evidence is erased.

Take, for instance, this photo from the last day of seventh grade:

*Not our real faces.

That's me on the far left. Now, several things:

1. My shirt's tucked in. Granted, this was 1996, but still.
2. My jeans are acid washed.
3. My jeans are tapered leg.
4. My shoes probably weigh more than my chicken legs and those of my peers. Also, if I remember correctly, they were suede.
5. I must have thought wearing the 3-D glasses that came with our yearbook was...cool?

The uploading and subsequent commenting by people I haven't seen in over ten years has been relentless. Some of the photos are palpitation inducing and seeing as how I have mitral valve prolapse, I don't know if my heart can take much more of this.

Crisis!

(Not really - keep your pants on.)

My mother stumbled upon this blog last night. I made the mistake of telling her that a friend (hi friend who I never see but would really like to!) had told me she found my writing funny (naturally), and my mom asked if she could have the privilege of reading my posts herself. I did a quick mental recap of posts past to make sure there wasn't any questionable or incriminating material and hesitatingly typed in this site's URL. She found the conversations with my boss thoroughly entertaining, cooed at the photo of our cat, and tried to tickle Elmo through our monitor.

After skimming through the rest of the posts, she had these two comments:

1. "Please don't write anything about me on here. You know, I AM a public figure."
2. "Hmm, you could be funnier."

There is no pleasing this woman. Well, Mom, keep checking back in. I promise not to air any dirty family laundry (okay, that's a lie), and to step up my game - even though a lot of people already find me mildly amusing! Just so you know, though, this will require me to be out of the house more often in search of material. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Warning

Dear Fellow Curly-Haired Office Mate,

Your previously mid-back length curly hair was a marvel. You'd walk around the office, sashaying up and down the halls, swinging your hair in our faces, forcing us to comment on the beauty of your curls. You know how difficult it is to achieve the perfectly defined curl. You know how many products are necessary to make your hair look somewhere in the acceptable range between baby sheep and noodles in a blender. So when you rustle your hand through my hair at the lunch table, you must know that I want to ELBOW YOU IN THE GUT, TACKLE YOU TO THE GROUND, AND PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE.

Please don't ever do that again.

Thanks,
Me

Love Letter

Dear Internet,

We got separated today, and I didn't know how long I'd survive without you. I tried twiddling my thumbs, going upstairs, staring out the window, but nothing worked. You are my (much) better half. You lift me up when I'm down. You make me laugh. You bring close friends even closer. You make me feel better about myself by showing me photos of celebrities without makeup on. You complete me.

I love you. I'm glad you're back.

Your biggest fan,
Me.

Things I Heard at Work Today

1. Boss: Does your car play mp3s?
Me: Nope, I think I got the budget version.
Boss: Yeah, you did.

2. Boss: Do you want to go to Assiut?
Me: Sure, what's the project?
Boss: I don't know.

3. Boss: Can you write up an "journalistic" article about Thursday's meeting for our website?
Me: Uh, I guess...we didn't really talk about anything though.
Boss: Make it at least a page.

Must learn to keep headphones in and eyes forward at all times.

Brought to You by My Uterus

For the past two (or ten) years, my body has been sending some pretty strong reproductive messages. If I wasn't sold on having babies before, this clip of Chris Brown on Sesame Street has definitely done it. I will make my kids watch this clip repeatedly forcing them to both learn how to read signs and execute some smooth moves. It's a win-win situation really.

And don't even TRY to tell me that this song isn't ridiculously catchy. You know you're singing along at this very moment.

It's Friiiiiiday

Conversation with my mom this afternoon:

Mom: Meen Ice Cube? (Who's Ice Cube?)
Me: A rapper. Why?
Mom: Friday After Next is on. Should I watch it?
Me: Umm, no.

I know I don't know movies, but I know this one, and the third installment of a movie based pretty much about getting weed, smoking weed, and talking about weed probably isn't mom material. There IS a ghetto Santa Claus in this one though, so...

Peeved

I was out of the office yesterday attending a one-day conference by Robert Chambers, the man who invented participatory rapid appraisals - a large part of my job. Not only is this man pushing 90 (yes, 90!), he was one of the most engaging and energetic speakers I've ever had the privilege of being in the company of. He was running around the lecture hall, jumping up and down, laughing hysterically, lying on the floor! Sure, he coughed out a lung into the microphone a few hundred times, but still.

One of the most poignant and notable parts of yesterday's talk was his advice to development practitioners in the field: Shut up. Maybe he could have been more eloquent about it, but he was spot on. If only the people with the running commentary throughout the day had heeded his advice. I came to listen to the oldie, not have you run your mouth in my ear for six hours.

Unrelated: After watching a film on sex in Egypt at work today, one of my female coworker's comments was:

"Wow, I had no idea that girls were circumcised at such an old age. I thought this was something that happened at birth."

SERIOUSLY?! Roughly 90% of the female population of your country has been genitally mutilated and you have no idea how or when it happens? Pick up a book for God's sake. Ask questions. Be!

Clicking Heels

I'm currently reading Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal. The book is written as a series of encyclopedia entries, with fragments of Rosenthal's life highlighted under their respective letters. For example, under the letter 'B,' is one such entry:

Brother
	My brother, who grew up with three sisters, was I won’t say how many years old when he finally realized that he did not have to wrap the towel around his chest when he came out of the shower.

Rosenthal is also a big fan of lists. In AKR spirit, here's a list of places I'd rather be than sitting at my desk this morning:

1. Cuba
2. Iran
3. My bed
4. Walking around London listening to an iPod with a battery that lasts longer than 49 seconds
5. Sitting in the sun, eating brunch and sipping on iced tea

List Fairy, where are you when I need you?

(Not) a Film Buff

I don't watch movies (that often). My attention span doesn't allow for two hours of uninterrupted viewing, and I find the ability to keep my mouth closed for more than ten minutes impossible. Some (and by some, I probably mean none) would say my not going to the movies is really a social service, really. People are going around shooting people in theaters for talking! I don't want that to be me. Friends and strangers alike can enjoy their movie experience without having to hear me say any (but usually all) of the following:

a) Watch your legs. I need to get a snack.
b) Watch your legs. I need to use the restroom.
c) So, which one's the bad guy again?
d) Wait, isn't that the same woman as before?
d) I don't get it.
e) Do you remember where we're parked?

For all of these reasons, I've chosen to spare myself the confusion and people the effort of having to deal with me. This, however, has led to having to answer 'no' more often than not when I get asked if I've seen certain movies. I have a running theory - yet to be disproved - that you can name ten movies and I'll have seen no more than three of them. Go ahead, try me.

Don't Be Cruel...

...is what Whitney Houston should have said to Bobby Brown when he got her addicted to crack. That little issue aside, this song is amazing. Such a throwback.

How listening to this will help me in my information and communication technology report though has yet to be established.

Couldn't Have Said it Better Myself

Meredith Broussard, a writer for the Huffington Post (and other sites - read her mini bio here), recently posted an article on why she's not on Facebook. I think I should start writing professionally (ha!), because most everything I think has already found its way to the Internet. No reason why I shouldn't be capitalizing on this cash cow.

An excerpt from Broussard's article:

If I updated my status as obsessively as I probably would...it would seriously interfere with the quality time I like to spend with my couch. If all of my friends could tell that I'm around, and that I have time to Facebook, they'd want to talk. And hang out. And do things that involve leaving my house. Meredith Broussard would no longer have her "busy social life" or her "rigorous work schedule" or the even more vague "deadlines" to excuse her from social obligations. Meredith Broussard might have to stop watching TV and get up off her duff. Who needs that?

I salute you, MB. Not that the people I socialize with think I have a busy social life, or even more outrageous, a rigorous work schedule. However, more often than not, the last thing I want to do is shower, put on real clothes, and leave the house. AND make conversation. There's only so much peppiness one can exude at any given time. I'm only human!

Grrr

Is more than four minutes of hot water for my first shower of the weekend too much to ask? I think not. My weekday showers before work are already rushed enough. All I want to do when I wake up on Friday mornings is stand under some warm water and wash the week away.

But no, I'm not bitter.

Best.E-mail.Ever.

Excerpt from a Facebook message I just received from a great friend from grad school:

"Ha I knew that Badu cd would creep on you. It's got the right blend of political activism, introspection, and sexuality...oh shit, wait I was describing us!"

Truest words ever typed.

Good Point

Talk of new year's resolutions came up at dinner last night. One of my plans - to make five new friends this year - was met with both eye rolling and guffaws. Forsoothsayer nearly choked on her drink, but was still able to proclaim, "HOW?! You hate everyone!"

Touche. This may throw a serious wrench in my plan. I either need to radically scale down the number in question, drastically reduce my standards, or hide some current friends in a shed for a few months and then reintroduce them as newly acquired pals. Other suggestions welcome.

Hitting too close to home

New York Magazine runs a weekly column of New Yorkers diary documenting their relationship successes and mishaps. Apparently I wrote this week's column without knowing...

7:32 a.m.: As punishment for not trying to see me between then and now, I decide to tease him with a killer outfit. Looking perfect would be too obvious, but I leave the apartment pretty pleased with myself.

11:30 a.m.: Last time I cared how a specific guy thought I looked was for a frat boy my junior year of college. Usually I make a point of deleting guys' phone numbers at the smallest sign they're not perfect; co-worker is shockingly still in my contact list. This must be love.

11:47 a.m.: Remind myself not to let my crazy out just yet … want him to feel the same way about me first.
1:30 p.m.: Arrive at company meeting. He sits behind me, so I make whispered jokes to girl co-workers so he knows I am not only sexy but hilarious as well.

This last entry is something I would totally do. Is this something I shouldn't be admitting?

Out with the Old

Goodbye 2008! With the year coming to an end, it only seems right to make a list of New Year's resolutions. Haven't put much thought into this, but off the top of my head, I'd say my list consists of:

1. Finding a new job. (STAT)
2. Doing some volunteer work. Preferably with kids. And music.
3. Being more cultured. I had hoped to see at least one show/concert/play a month in 2008, but I failed monumentally.
4. Making five new friends. (Too ambitious?)
5. Traveling to at least two countries I've never been to before. (Or at least haven't been to in the past five years).
6. Sleeping less, exercise more.

Okay, the last one's a lie. Just thought I'd throw it in there for good measure. After rereading this, 2009 sounds like a lot of work. Who ever said being a lazy bum that contributes little to society was a bad thing?

Hello Early '90s. Nice to See You Again.

As if going back to work in the morning after a week off wasn't painful enough, I've been told that my car license has not been renewed, rendering Napoleon useless for a few days. I'll be using my aunt's car to schlep my rear around - a car whose radio refuses to work (GASP!). I'm a big fan of listening to the eff-ery that pollutes the airwaves - mainly as a source for extreme mockery and eye rolling - so I have no idea what tomorrow has in store. London Cousin, trying to help, made a few suggestions. See conversation:

London Cousin: Well, there's a tape deck. Do you have any tapes lying around?
Me: Seriously? Did you just hear the words that came out of your mouth?

True, he only JUST joined Facebook yesterday, but has he no clue that the world has progressed beyond the audio cassette? I don't know whether to spend the drive to work cursing the evil French men and women that made this joke of a car, or make mental notes of progresses our fine planet has seen in the past roughly twenty years or so. Who knows if I'll have enough energy left to do my job afterward.

Back

I'm back, Internet! Sorry to have abandoned you for a few days, but I was off gallivanting in rainy Lebanon for a family event. Beirut in the winter isn't anything to write home about, but it's always good to get out of Cairo for a while.

Highlights from the trip include a three-minute dance party in our pajamas to Sean Paul's 'Temperature,' my cousin being told she'd get "Facebooked" (the guy could have at least bought her dinner first!), and making gun pointing gestures and yelling "BOOM!" at every witty pun.

Back to the grind now, and will resume regular posting (from work, of course). Good to not be living out of a suitcase and sharing a bathroom with two other females. Now if only my cousin would get his grimy paws off my laptop...

Career Counseling by Forsoothsayer

In the course of my chat with Forsoothsayer today, she mentioned that while lathering up in the shower, she thought of the ideal job for me (who doesn't know that the best thinking happens in the bathroom, really?). Read:

Forsoothsayer: vj on mtv

Me: YES! has been dream for ages!

Forsoothsayer: involves working with kids, bad black music, and doing dance moves

My interests, perfectly summed up into one, incomplete sentence. If your cousin's sister's husband's dealer's grandmother knows anyone with the hook up, let me know.

Sitting in a Tree

O Internet, how I love thee.

The power went out at work for nearly two hours today, making the world without the Internet feel dull, lifeless and decrepit. What were people doing before the Internet? What was I doing before the Internet? Was life even worth living?

I hope my next internet-less experience is far, far off. I don't know if my weak heart can handle another episode so soon.

Service with a Smile (and much annoyance)

My hunt for new glasses came to a successful end on Friday, when Female J and Male J (of Guinea Pig fame!) helped me pick out cute little Michael Kors frames. After discussing everything under the sun with the salesman - including my "excellent" Arabic (!) - I was told that my glasses would be ready for pick up the next day. Seeing as how I was in an area of town that I rarely frequent, and sure as heck wasn't going to go to two days in a row, I asked him to please send them to the branch closer to my home. This, I was told, would not be a problem.

Today, two days later, I phoned the branch close to home to inquire if my new baby had arrived. Not surprisingly, they hadn't. A series of phone calls later, it was established that my glasses had in fact arrived from the workshop, but there was a "problem with the delivery man." I think this roughly translates into "Crap, I forgot to tell the factory to send your order to Branch X." Not wanting to pick a fight (shocking!), I told the sales rep from Friday that all was fine, but I needed the glasses no later than Tuesday because I was traveling the next day (so I lied a little...sue me. [Please don't, actually.]). He assured me that I could pick up my glasses tomorrow, "begad," (seriously) after 3 pm.

No more than two minutes later, I received another phone call saying that AT THE LATEST, "begad," my glasses would be ready on Tuesday night. GAH! Fine, fine. Pick your battles, right?

This, however, was the icing on the cake. At the end of the conversation, the salesman says:

Ahem 7aga matiz3aleesh minny. (The most important thing is that you aren't upset with me).

NO! The most important thing is that I get my glasses, DAMMIT! Crippling customer service is nothing new to this country, but this is just getting ridiculous. Maybe I need to go around yelling all the time. This seems to work for other people. The fact that I look eight probably won't help though.

Do It. Call Me 'Big Papa'

Apologies for the quality of this video, but this is a must-see ("must-see" being a relative term). I haven't for a while, but I used to tell people about this movie ALL THE TIME. If you can get over Keanu Reeve's shiz acting "skills," this movie is amazing - no doubt due to the little kiddies that make up the inner city baseball team.

Miles, the team's pitcher, can only throw strikes if he's listening to Biggie Smalls' "Big Papa." When the opposing team's coach calls him out on it, Miles' teammates break into their own version of the song - complete with dance moves!

Watch the kid at 2:38. How does one get a pre-teen to do that? Did Keanu Reeves have to demonstrate? More importantly, is there a YouTube video of it?

Must find a way to get friends to reenact this scene with me. I'll be the boy from 2:38.

Sometimes You Just Can't Win

Conversation with my mother earlier today while shopping for new glasses:

Mom: So, do you NEED to wear your glasses all the time?

Me (feeling confident): Yeah, pretty much. I mean, it's just too much of a hassle to take them on and off again at different times over the course of the day.

Mom: Well, hmm, okay. If you don't need to wear your glasses all the time, you can go for something out there.

Me: I don't really understand what you mean. And I just told you I need to wear them all the time.

Mom: Okay, then you need to look for something where we can see more of your face. Something that isn't so striking. Something where we don't look at you and only see GLASSES.

Me (not so confident): So, what you're saying is that you'd like me to pick out something without black frames.

Mom: Yes, exactly.

Me: This conversation could have lasted about four minutes less than it just did...

Happy Sheep Eating!

Happy Eid, suckers. Blog you in a few days.

U R A Dummy

Someone should really write a how-to book on text messaging. When e-mailing because the modus operandi of communication, we learned that WRITING IN CAPS WAS PROBABLY NOT THE BEST WAY TO TELL YOUR BOSS THAT YOU NEEDED TO TAKE THE DAY OFF BECAUSE YOUR GRANDMA ETHEL WAS HAVING A HYSTERECTOMY, extensive :) and ?!?!?! usage was downright annoying, and little girls in Mogadishu would not grow a third arm while simultaneously being attacked by gorillas if we didn't forward a message to eighty-six people we knew.

People have been writing whole books on how to compose the perfect e-mail for years now. We all know how to write a subject line that most clearly gets our message across in eight words or less, can tell the difference between "Regards" and "Best," and know that e-mailing your best friend about your coworker's halitosis probably should be reviewed several times to make sure it doesn't get mailed out company-wide.

Nowhere, however, has anybody told me how to develop a text message that not only depicts how incredibly witty, laid-back and easy going I am, without seeming overly anxious to actually have my phone vibrate. I need a 'Text Messaging for Dummys' book, stat.

Questions that this guide should answer include:

1. What's the appropriate length of a text message? When you run over the limit of characters allotted to the message (1), should you stop? If you have more to say than that, should you instead be making a phone call?
2. Do you always have to address the person you're texting, or can you just lead with your statement/question?
3. If you're dodging a phone call and would rather text than pick up, how long should you wait so the other person buys that you were actually away from your phone?
4. If you're trying to play it cool, how long should you wait between receiving a text and replying?
5. If someone says goodnight at the end of their text, must you reply?

Someone out there must know the answers to these questions. Help. My social life is in danger.

Long Term Goals

I've come to the conclusion that I need one of two things: a) a talent, or b) a hobby. Whichever comes first really. I'm going to a "concert" (maybe more of a show?) tonight and it has me thinking that I need to be doing something where people can say, "Hey, you know her? She's GREAT at [insert something awesome here]." I'm quite good at eating, but you never heard anyone say, "Wow, you should SEE how she twirls that spaghetti!" Suggestions welcome and encouraged.

Also, if you look to the right, you'll see that I've now started using Twitter. In addition to having this blog to distract me from doing my actual job, I have this little service to thank for keeping me up at night thinking of witty one-liners. As much as I'd like to believe though, I'm pretty sure this won't qualify as my hobby.

Crap

I wish I could ctrl + Z my agreement to translate this document.

Hot and Cold

My biggest problem this morning was figuring out how to simultaneously keep my hands under warm water while using cold water to rinse the toothpaste out of my mouth. I came disturbingly close to putting my head under the faucet.

Winter and I do not get along.

Listen Here

Just finished the music review I wrote about here. Meeting with the band was great, but I probably won't ever agree to do something along the lines of critiquing other people's work again. Writing my master's dissertation was easier than this.

Who knows if my writing's any good, but check out Wighit Nazar's tracks on their MySpace page. Let me know if you like their music - I'll pass the compliments along.

Deep Thought

Should I be so embarrassed that I'm tempted to erase a Facebook wall post that outs me for liking Gossip Girl?

How Long Have You Known Me?

Conversation while walking around Maadi this morning:

Female J: O! Look how pretty these birds are!
Me: I have a very intense fear of birds, so no, I will not be looking at how pretty those birds are. Please keep walking.

Celebration!

My cousin had a baby last night! I don't know when we'll get to see the little guy in person, but here he is looking awesome. What a pimp!


What does this make me? A second aunt? A cousin once removed? A monkey's uncle?

In Over My Head

I've agreed to write a music review of a local Arabic rap group for the entertainment section of Forsoothsayer's magazine. For some reason, I've decided that it would be smart (smart?!) to meet with the group as a supplement to my thoughts on their music. This is problematic for a number of reasons:

a) I've never written a music review before
b) I barely speak English, let alone a second language
c) One of the band members only speaks Arabic

This is shaping up to be the biggest flop in the history of music reviews. Pray for me.


(In other news, I ran/did stairs again last night. Who am I?!)

Well, That Didn't Go Well

Went to the gym. Got my measurements taken. Was mildly humiliated. Decided I won't go back.

Think I'll start running a track and think about a different gym. It's unfortunate - there could have been some amusing stories that came out of this whole 'exercise' idea.

Having Doubts

My 'no-going-out-on-Thursday-night' policy has been severely violated lately, and I have nothing good to show for it. Yesterday, I enjoyed some quality time with two former coworkers and a few of their friends. In between watching one couple smoke in their two year old's face (while helping him hold up his sippy cup full of soda, AT MIDNIGHT!), I listened in horror as Kiwi retold stories of her days as a physical therapist in New Zealand.

There were no less than seven stories about overly excited athletes engaging in extreme(-ly insane and stupid) sports, resulting in life threatening injuries and long term rehabilitation. This conversation could not have come at a worse time. Tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen, I am joining a gym. For 25 years, I have fought the evil exercise gods and have rested my laurels on an incredible metabolism (which has, unfortunately, begun to slow to the pace of a hundred year-old Galapagos Island tortoise). All I can think of is slipping off a treadmill and breaking my teeth, lifting dumb weights only to have them drop on one of my human hooves, or straining my opposable thumbs so bad that typing becomes impossible.

Who invented exercise, anyway? No one ever broke their neck while lying down on their couch.

Deep Thought

Is it possible my ears are shrinking? Is that why my headphones hurt so bad all of a sudden?

Deep Thought

I had some cinnamon tea this morning, and all day my desk has smelled like Christmas. Life would be complete if I had a bowl of warm oatmeal to go along with it.

Food, Not So Glorious Food

Lunch time in the office is pretty much the best part of my day - 5:00 p.m. not included. I usually bring leftovers from home and have 3am Awesome or Man Whose Name Cannot Be Said, Only Yelled pick me up some yogurt. Today, as it turns out, one of my coworkers and I had brought the same thing, stuffed cabbage. Not typically your ideal meal when you need to be awake more than thirty seconds after consumption, but delicious regardless.

Without commenting on HER stuffed cabbage (gross, though), let me take a minute to reflect on what was touching the stuffed cabbage. Ma7shy mombar - stuffed beef sausage, or chitterlings if you will (you shouldn't). Chitterlings, as per trusty Wikipedia, are "the intestines and rectum of a pig that have been prepared as food. They are a type of offal." I think it's safe to say that these chitterlings were beef, but that's neither here nor there. Offal, as it would so be, is the entrails and internal organs of a butchered animal. Yum.

No one held a gun to my head, and I commented on my weak stomach, but I was forced to try the sorry excuse for food nonetheless. Let's just say if I had read up on mombar before lunch time, I would NOT have tried it. Note:

Care must be taken when preparing chitterlings, due to the possibility of disease being spread when they have not been cleaned or cooked properly. These diseases/bacteria include E. ColiYersinia enterocolitica, as well as Salmonella. Chitterlings must be soaked and rinsed thoroughly in several different cycles of cool water, and repeatedly picked clean by hand, removing extra fat and specks of fecal matter because the part of the pig the 'chitlins' come from includes intestinal polyps and the last few inches before the pig's rectum.

I've already had Salmonella, thank you very much. And I usually prefer dill to fecal matter (!) when garnishing my food. Office, you're killing me. And it isn't just figuratively anymore.

Quality Conversation

*While doing homework...

Little One: EW! Don't breathe through your butt!
Me: Who?
Little One: Sea cucumbers!

(Was 'who' really the best pronoun I could come up with?)

*Later...

Little One: Gross. Sometimes crabs live in the butt lungs.

We're pretty charming in person, but by this conversation, you'd never guess she's skipped a grade and I have a Master's degree. It's true, though. I swear. We have references.

Deep Thought

What's the point of a real job when my true happiness comes from browsing the Internet in my pajamas?

No Thanks!

Feeling guilty about leaving my yogurt-ridden spoon in the sink for our 60-year-old "office 'boy'" to clean, I picked up the weird, too green for comfort, sponge and began the two-second job. One second in, 3am Awesome and I had the following discussion:

3am Awesome: Sebeeha! Sebeeha! Ana ha3millo. (O! Don't worry about that! I'll do it.)
Me: Heya m3ala2a wa7da. Mish moshkila. (It's only one spoon. It's not a problem.)
3am Awesome: Ah, 7asabt innik bitikhsili 7aga 3aleha molokhiya. (O, I thought you were washing something that had molokhiya on it).
Me: La2, la2, howa zabadi bas. Wa bakrah il molokhiya. (No, no, it's just yogurt. And I hate molokhiya).
3am Awesome: Tab, bamya? (Hmm, okra?)
Me: Yaa3. 7aram 3aleik! (Gross! What are you doing to me?)
3am Awesome: *winks like a crazy person* Tab, kaware3? (Hmm, trotters?)

Exhibit A of a conversation that went south SUPER fast. What makes it even worse is that I can't picture joint eating without hearing the sucking noises people make when their lips are all over those puppies. Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

Thinking

If I lived in a country where it got cold enough to wear Uggs, would I? It's possible.

Current Mood: Crabby Patty

Tonight's plans got flushed down the toilet before I even got a chance to say, "Let me in, you big dummy!" to the bouncer outside After 8 (while this probably would have been more entertaining with the bouncers in London, I've been meaning to try it out here for some time. Surely my size and stature would at least make for an interesting exchange). To ease the pain of yet another failed social excursion, I donned my pjs, snuggled up to a warm cup of Green Tea and Apple in my Cheeky Monkey mug (thanks, Q8 Dumas!), and YouTubed some 'So You Think You Can Dance.' Yes, I have a problem.

Eight routines and an hour later, my inner Missy Elliott was itching to pop and lock her way in front of the mirror and (half-assedly) re-create some of the moves from the episode. Little Miss was too preoccupied with her own YouTube-ing to really feel the chemistry and dance with her eyes with me, so I shut the door and turned up some music that would audibly offend roughly 95% of my closest friends. And by 95%, I really mean 100%.

What ensued was dangerously close to the One Minute Dance Party Tina Fey and her writing staff have on '30 Rock' to get their creative juices flowing. Tina Fey busts out some smooth white girl moves to Chamillionaire's 'Ridin' Dirty' while Alec Baldwin looks on in what can only be described as disgust/dismay. For the past 30 minutes, I've been trying to find this comedic masterpiece, but have come up shorter than He PingPing. For reasons unknown to humankind, the brilliance that IS '30 Rock' has not caught on with the rest of the world, and I wanted to share a clip of this particular scene, but the FOOLS out there uploading crap on the internet are idiots. Here's an idea - stop uploading photos of your kitten in stupid outfits and post things that really matter!

Number 1 Reason I'm Glad I Didn't Star in 'The Parent Trap' Remake

Because then I'd probably be going around saying things like this:

"It was really exciting. It's an amazing feeling. It's our first colored president." —Lindsay Lohan, in an interview with Access Hollywood.

TV Phone Home

I can't remember the last time I watched full length shows on the actual television in my house (beside So You Think You Can Dance, of course), but there's something incredibly unsettling about staring at a broken TV. For two days now, my TV has been playing a nasty joke on me and the residents of my household by refusing to work. The Showtime gods are probably having a good laugh, but this is worse than Guantanamo.

Rather than, I don't know, pick up a book, I chose to spend my evening like this:

Me: Little Onnnnnnnne, why doesn't the TV work?
Little One (reading her school newspaper): I don't know. I'm busy.
Me: Ugh. Fine.

Thirty seconds later...

Me: Little Onnnnnnnne, why doesn't the TV work?
Little One: STOP! I'm trying to read!
Me: Fine! I just want to know why the TV doesn't work.
Little One: I don't know! Stop talking to me!

Thirty seconds later...

Me: Little Onnnnnnnne, why doesn't the TV work?
Little One: O MY GOD! YOU'RE THE WORST!

The electrician's scheduled to fix the satellite dish at some point today. Let's hope for my well being, and Little One's sanity, he doesn't bail.

Just a Bit Awkward

Last night, Mouse and I picked up two copies (one for him, one for me - he's such a gentleman) of a magazine that featured a photo spread of a wedding we attended a couple weeks back. I was not anticipating viewing these pictures as I knew I had made a weird face in the photo. The problem with professional photographs is that you can't screen the digital versions and only upload your money shots.

Against my insisting otherwise, we brought the magazine out to dinner with us. Mouse wanted to show off how great he, and his suit, looked in the photo to our friends. The magazine was passed around the table, and this was the conversation that followed:

Bizzaro Elvis: O, Mouse! You DO look great in this photo!
Mouse: Yeah man!
Bizarro Elvis (to me): And so, you were also at this wedding?
Me: Umm, yes. I'm standing right next to Mouse, actually.
Bizarro Elvis: WHAT?! WHERE?! THAT ISN'T YOU!
Me: Umm, yes, it is.
Bizarro Elvis: O my gosh! I didn't even recognize you! This doesn't look like you at all!

The magazine was then passed around the table again so the group could get a second look. The general consensus is that with straight hair and no glasses, I'm much more attractive. Also, note to self: purse lips a la the Olsen twins and look like someone's poked you in the backside for that perfect "O, what, this look? It's effortless!" pose.

'Race' Relations

All morning I've been talking about the potential implications Barack Obama's presidency may have on race relations not only in the United States, but the world over. While I have a problem with the term 'race' as a concept, this is a fantastic article on what it means to be Black in America today, and just how far change may go.

The article also mentions this text message that's being circulated around the country:

"Rosa sat so Martin could walk. Martin walked so Barack could run. Barack is running so our children can fly."

Beautiful.

Yes!

Congratulations and thank you, Barack Obama. I feel very proud to be an Arab-American today. I like to think that the four Pennsylvania swing state votes sent in by my family helped with this too:

Pennsylvania went for Obama. It had done so for Gore and Kerry too, but it was very close. Looking at the projected percentages it looks like Obama will get over 60% of the state (according to CNN). (Link)

One highlight from Obama's victory speech:

"This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change."

Throwback

This morning, the goons on the radio asked Cairo what the first song they remembered liking was. Immediately, and without a doubt, 'Step By Step' by New Kids on the Block came to mind.

I remember sitting in the car after school in Pittsburgh, furiously unwrapping the new NKOTB tapes my mom had bought. Twice, she stood in line the first day the albums were released, just to see my face when she presented them to me (I can't imagine she did it because she particularly enjoyed having her eardrums damaged by the excited shrieks of a 7-year-old, side-ponytailed, retainer-wearer).

To my joy, one of the texts received by the station included the NKOTB song in question. To my even greater joy, the buffoons decided to play the song. This resulted in another great display of air microphones and top-of-my-lungs singing. It's a shame Office Savior wasn't in the car this morning.

Doing a quick search for this video, I came across several other NKOTB gems that I'd forgotten about, like this and this and even this! It's amazing how quickly song lyrics can come back to you after so many years. These lyrics, from 'Cover Girl,' are particularly profound:

It's alright
Oh, yeah, it's out of sight
Let me say it's alright
Ah, yeah!

I "hear" (this is me playing it cool and casual) the boys have made a comeback. Judging by the smooth moves in these videos, the kids on So You Think You Can Dance should best watch out.

Month 216

Happy 18th birthday, Little One!

Today you can officially:

a) Vote (which you did)
b) Donate your body to science
c) Drive without a permit
d) Legally buy marijuana in the Netherlands

Based on past conversations, I reckon (c) will be the one thing you'll never get around to doing. Sorry Dad, but it looks like you'll be getting smacked in the face by branches every time Little's One's behind the wheel.

Christmas Come Early

My cat turned four years old last month. I'm not sure what this means in people years, but you'd think that in cat years, one would know how to use a litter box by then. You'd think.

Coco is, to say the least, difficult. We got her when she was only a few weeks old and apparently raised her, in absolute terms, wrong. She doesn't sit in our laps, doesn't like to be pet for more than a minute, and insists that we stand next to her when she's eating. The first two characteristics are mildly acceptable. As a family, we've come to terms with the fact that we got a defective feline, and now cherish every morsel of what limited affection Coco chooses to show us. The last characteristic, however, is WICKED annoying. She will meow at us until someone gets up and accompanies her to the kitchen. If we walk out in the middle of her meal, she'll follow us and meow incessantly until we walk back with her. This is more annoying than you could ever imagine, but with wireless internet and a chair in the kitchen, it has become remotely acceptable.

Yesterday, after much nagging, I walked to the kitchen with Coco and waited patiently for her to finish her meal. She popped into her litter box after she was done, but HIGH TAILED (pun intended) out of it after Little One dropped something outside and made a huge ruckus. As I left the kitchen to see why the little bugger was whining, I stepped in a little surprise that was probably intended for the litter box. There, in the middle of the hall, was a fresh piece of you know what, and half of it was on the bottom of my you know what.

Now, some of you may not know this (because you've been living under a rock), but I am the biggest podophobe known to man. Any activity involving those things attached to one's ankles sends me into a panic attack complete with heart palpitations and high pitched shrieks. So, having to wash CRAP off my singular footses was excruciatingly disturbing. My family, and cat, will never recover from the "EW! EW! EW!"s that lasted for about seventeen and a half minutes following the initial contact.

And to think I wanted to stay home instead of going to a Halloween party last night. My hatred for costumes is pretty high on my list of neuroses, but I'm thinking suffering through some ludicrous get ups would have been better than spending my evening disinfecting my ankle accessories.