Do not tell me this:
"I'm not the guy you should be with." My response is only this, "then I'll leave you when I feel that I'm falling for you," followed by a his response of "No, don't do that. Let's see where this goes."
Are you trying to keep me around because you want a piece of ass that you'll never get, unless you are wedded on? I'm not really sure why Idiots (men) do this. What is your concern of my emotions if you feel that you have none for yourself. What makes you think that I am going to stick around to you? Is it because of your scruffy beard, perfectly husky body, mesmerizing eyes that I am hypnotized in when I gaze into them, chic style you dress yourself in, or romantic names you call me? I'm lost. I'm astounded that I stay around.
Here is my letter to you:
Dear You,
I don't know where you are going with this. You seem to be more intrigued with the fact that I have a vagina that you have not seen, but yet are still trying to obtain. You feel that your aggressive behavior that I like so very much will keep me retained to your side as you call me sweet names and sing sweet songs to me as we drive off amidst the darkness of the highways to a land where we don't care who views us, and how much fun we have. You're success has not driven me far from you, considering that your aspirations are so close to me. I feel that I have nothing to worry about when I'm with you, and you think the same, but you hide behind your rugged demeanor of masculinity that you will never let go. My magnetism to you is best described as how you described it to me; I am the positive, and you are the negative...making us attracting to what can be. But will it ever be? What will it become. What is your goal?
When you tell me that you have nothing to offer me but your dick, where am I to go with this in thinking what could be ahead? What is the point of thinking of what is ahead? Is there a reason? Should I even bother? You tell me, no, when I offer to leave when my cushion will be harder to fall on if I have ever reached that point. You say, let's keep going if it happens, then you contradict your words with, you're making a left turn with me and you should be going straight.
You need to understand that it's not fair. I'm a human and not as strong as I appear. So, when I do leave, you were the best one that I've had...only because I loved you once. But I loved you through another man's eyes, body, heart, and soul. You maybe soulless, and you will never show me if you have one or not.
I am woman, hear me roar. Although, not as loud as I anticipated through the weak point I now find myself at.
Sincerely,
Pointless to Continue but Still Will because I'm Foolish.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Advice to Men #4
Don't tell me how bad of a Muslim or Arab I am. I'm fully aware that I am going to hell, you fuckface. Yeah, I know swearing is haram, too! Fuck YOU!
This is why I think some of you men are off in the head.
This is why I think some of you men are off in the head.
Advice to Men #3
Telling a girl that you want to have fun while you two are dating will not make me want you more. In fact, you will scare me into thinking you have herpes.
Another reason to why men are poopy.
Another reason to why men are poopy.
Advice to Men #2
I will not split the bill with you on our first date.
This is also why men are poopy.
This is also why men are poopy.
Advice to Men #1
If you have a crush on someone, grow some fucking balls and ask them out. Flirting constantly one day and not doing anything the next makes me think your vagina is large. If you don't want this, don't flirt.
This is why Women think that Men are poopy.
This is why Women think that Men are poopy.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
AABA
So, I've been busy. It's pretty obvious. Therefore, I apologize. However, in the past few months I have had quite the experience. Let's just say, hold on. I'll tell ya.
The All American BadAss
He was quite the ravishing look. BadAss he was. He had a chiseled face. Perfect jawline. Perfect body. Hot tattoos, soft spoken, and loved to have fun. This is my All American BadAss. AABA was found on the one and only, ArabLounge. Yup. This mulatto mix of Arab and White remained stagnant in the couple of months we spent together. He wasn't very knowledgeable about his heritage, and so he took it upon himself to learn. It was a compliment to his father's side (obviously the Arab side). I was really quite surprised he took an interest, he seems to take interest in slutty girls. That, unfortunately for the both of us (enter sexual frustration here) was not the type of person that I consisted of.
You see, he never admitted to me that he was into those girls, you know the ones that he meets at a bar and fucks that same night...never to be heard from again. However, he did admit that he looks. How brazen of you, BadAss. Thank you for your honesty. Although, please don't check these girls out (meaning, doing a 180 with your head) in front of me. It's quite rude and makes me feel less than what I really am (according to the Supportive Click aka friends).
BadAss, you're an alright guy. You're in learning mode. You've cleaned up your act and is trying to become a success, and I respect you. However, it's quite hard to respect your attitude when we're in a cab and you're looking at a girl with a tight leopard print dress on. Confidence is a sexy trait. I am aware of this. However, when I have a lack of it because you're checking out easy pussy, makes me a feel a bit on the bakara (cow) side. I feel less. I feel ugly. I feel as if I'm good to talk to (the minuscule amount of conversation that we had) and I feel like you don't appreciate who I am. It shows me you're more shallow than intellectual. It shows me that you're the guy at the club looking for easy pussy, thus making me think that any pimple I receive is a herpe because it was picked up from Level the night before.
Now, Bad Ass, we're friends. But, in the next relationship you encounter, my advice to you is the this: make sure you stare at your woman's vajay-jay as opposed to some whore on the street. You'll be garuneteed ass because you're giving her more attention.
My mat is cleaning off the grime from the alleys that the streetwalkers lie between. Apparently, BadAss found someone hot there and left some residue on the "W" of the "Welcome" part.
The All American BadAss
He was quite the ravishing look. BadAss he was. He had a chiseled face. Perfect jawline. Perfect body. Hot tattoos, soft spoken, and loved to have fun. This is my All American BadAss. AABA was found on the one and only, ArabLounge. Yup. This mulatto mix of Arab and White remained stagnant in the couple of months we spent together. He wasn't very knowledgeable about his heritage, and so he took it upon himself to learn. It was a compliment to his father's side (obviously the Arab side). I was really quite surprised he took an interest, he seems to take interest in slutty girls. That, unfortunately for the both of us (enter sexual frustration here) was not the type of person that I consisted of.
You see, he never admitted to me that he was into those girls, you know the ones that he meets at a bar and fucks that same night...never to be heard from again. However, he did admit that he looks. How brazen of you, BadAss. Thank you for your honesty. Although, please don't check these girls out (meaning, doing a 180 with your head) in front of me. It's quite rude and makes me feel less than what I really am (according to the Supportive Click aka friends).
BadAss, you're an alright guy. You're in learning mode. You've cleaned up your act and is trying to become a success, and I respect you. However, it's quite hard to respect your attitude when we're in a cab and you're looking at a girl with a tight leopard print dress on. Confidence is a sexy trait. I am aware of this. However, when I have a lack of it because you're checking out easy pussy, makes me a feel a bit on the bakara (cow) side. I feel less. I feel ugly. I feel as if I'm good to talk to (the minuscule amount of conversation that we had) and I feel like you don't appreciate who I am. It shows me you're more shallow than intellectual. It shows me that you're the guy at the club looking for easy pussy, thus making me think that any pimple I receive is a herpe because it was picked up from Level the night before.
Now, Bad Ass, we're friends. But, in the next relationship you encounter, my advice to you is the this: make sure you stare at your woman's vajay-jay as opposed to some whore on the street. You'll be garuneteed ass because you're giving her more attention.
My mat is cleaning off the grime from the alleys that the streetwalkers lie between. Apparently, BadAss found someone hot there and left some residue on the "W" of the "Welcome" part.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Let Freedom Ring!
I went out with the Republican. Ol' Blue Eyes scored a date. In fact, we dated for about a month. Here's what happened: he was busy trying to get over the ex-girlfriend. Yes, we stopped dating because he was still trying to get over the fact that his ex was gone (which was six months prior by the way).
Now, remember the time I rejected him the first time? It was because I was pursuing SSG. I didn't think it would be fair to go out with the Republican and think of SSG at the same time. In fact, I was told by many people that it's not OK that I did that. I was told that I should have went out with the Republican and if SSG ever came around (note to you: he didn't...duh) then I can dump him and go to SSG. What's funny is that I was dumped by SSG before it ever happened! Oh boy.
After dating for a month, the Republican called and noted that it was time to decipher if him and I should continue to the next step. He then proceeded to tell me that he needed some time to think about it. I, in turn on the next day (after being given a plethora of bull shit sprinkled with a slight ounce of "[blah blah] my ex") decided it was much safer to just end it. And so I did.
So let me ask now, was it right of me in the first place to go out with another person when in reality I wanted someone else? Many say yes, many others state just the opposite.
Either way, what's fair in my head works for me. I'll tell you why, it really sucks to be dumped because of a potential that finally comes around...or an ex.
Yes I am aware this is short. It's been a busy life. Colon, Right Parenthesis.
My mat is chillin' today. It's taking a breather from all of it's sights and realizing that sometimes it is nice to not have to worry about what type of shoes step on them...like ones that are thinking about other mats and such.
Now, remember the time I rejected him the first time? It was because I was pursuing SSG. I didn't think it would be fair to go out with the Republican and think of SSG at the same time. In fact, I was told by many people that it's not OK that I did that. I was told that I should have went out with the Republican and if SSG ever came around (note to you: he didn't...duh) then I can dump him and go to SSG. What's funny is that I was dumped by SSG before it ever happened! Oh boy.
After dating for a month, the Republican called and noted that it was time to decipher if him and I should continue to the next step. He then proceeded to tell me that he needed some time to think about it. I, in turn on the next day (after being given a plethora of bull shit sprinkled with a slight ounce of "[blah blah] my ex") decided it was much safer to just end it. And so I did.
So let me ask now, was it right of me in the first place to go out with another person when in reality I wanted someone else? Many say yes, many others state just the opposite.
Either way, what's fair in my head works for me. I'll tell you why, it really sucks to be dumped because of a potential that finally comes around...or an ex.
Yes I am aware this is short. It's been a busy life. Colon, Right Parenthesis.
My mat is chillin' today. It's taking a breather from all of it's sights and realizing that sometimes it is nice to not have to worry about what type of shoes step on them...like ones that are thinking about other mats and such.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The End of a Dream
I put the card on his car. It was addressed to him. I didn't leave my name in hopes that he would be smart enough to know the person who was sending this level of secret admirer type message to him. Then, I saw him. Sexy Sales Guy and I pulled into the parking lot of our place of work at the same time. I have never wanted to avoid him more than that day. It was a couple of days passed the day I gave him the card. I was anticipating what was next, my heart was beating to the beat of a horrible rap song mixed with the ridiculous melody of DJ Tiesto and unbearable noise. My stomach, knottier than the pubic hairs of a crack whore hooker. The sweat started to slowly seep from my pores, and suddenly, I felt as if I had to go poop but didn't really need to. I felt slightly nauseous and I suddenly realize that he isn't too far behind me and I must keep the door open for him.
***REWIND A COUPLE DAYS***
Just a day after I put the Happy New Years I Secretly Love You and Want to Bear Your Children card on Sexy Sales Guy's car, Ol' Blue Eyes decided to grow some. After a couple of days passing messages back and forth via JackassBook, he asked me out. Yes, and I replied with the fact that I'm an Arab and he's Republican and White and that I would probably punt him. In fact, let me tell you what I put in my little Leave Me Alone message:
"Not that you're a bad guy, but I can see myself punting you if we dated, just being honest. I am an Arab and have strong political beliefs that side with what I call Palestine. You, as an American and through conversation, seem to have strong beliefs in what you would call Israel. Am I wrong? If so, please correct me. Yes, this is a major factor for me to decide my answer. "
I couldn't believe his response. He was surprisingly (reminder: he's Republican and very American...every Nutso's nightmare) fair! He believes in the two state deal (not saying I do or don't...I'm extremely nationalistic with Palestine) and has some fair views on the topic. I was shocked. He then proceeded to give me his point in dating saying that it would be boring to date someone that is very similar to one another. Another logical reason to never say no to someone very different. He called me gorgeous. Yes! Who does that?!?!?!? So then I told him the real reason I said no. I told him about my "perusing" another person and how I don't believe in dating two guys at once and that my tactic of scaring him away didn't work. In fact, here you go for shits and giggles:
"Ok, well i have to be honest with you. The reason i gave you the I'm Muslim schpeel was because I was trying to scare you off in a way. (in which I didn't, so kudos to you).
Here's why. I have taken on an interest in someone and have been for a while. I decided to grow some and find a way to let this guy know that. Although, it wasn't something that was directly said to him. If I were to go on a date with you, it really wouldn't be fair because someone else is on my head.
I just didn't want to say that to you because, well, i thought it was rude. I'm sorry if I came of crazy, it's because I sort of am."
***FAST FORWARD BACK TO SSG AND MY STOMACH IN KNOTS***
He was walking down the stairs to the entrance of the hell (aka work) and told me that I didn't have to hold the door open for him. I think it would quite rude if I just walked away, yes he wasn't very close, but not far either. I love him. I mean...
I felt as if poop was coming out of my face at this point. I told him that it's OK and it kills more time for me to hold the door open (horrible humor) so that I don't have to get back to work. Then small talk. "I'm going on vacation" says SSG and he tells me about the trip that he is oh so excited about. For some reason, I also asked if he was from here (Chicago) and he tells me no. He's from good 'ol Michigan (hence why he roots for them) and some more small talk. Then the elevator hits his floor. It illuminated the what was dim elevator and he stepped out. He was gone. Kinda like Houdini, the fucker left the elevator and said nothing! NOTHING! Nothing about he card!!!
I was slightly relieved and disappointed. I thought to myself the following:
Baldhead then says "Either he's gay and likes me or he's really digging you!" because of the constant waving in a matter of 2 minutes!
It's the end of February. The last day of February would've been my day to say goodbye. My last view of Sexy Sales Guy (that is, if he came to the ivory building...work) and I had to take off that morning due to an unfortunate circumstance. At that point, I realized that I would never see or be with Sexy Sales Guy when I came to complete the day at work. And I was right.
****
If the mat was on clearance, Sexy Sales Guy would not purchase it. He would just laugh and pass it by while whispering "Happy New Year".
***REWIND A COUPLE DAYS***
Just a day after I put the Happy New Years I Secretly Love You and Want to Bear Your Children card on Sexy Sales Guy's car, Ol' Blue Eyes decided to grow some. After a couple of days passing messages back and forth via JackassBook, he asked me out. Yes, and I replied with the fact that I'm an Arab and he's Republican and White and that I would probably punt him. In fact, let me tell you what I put in my little Leave Me Alone message:
"Not that you're a bad guy, but I can see myself punting you if we dated, just being honest. I am an Arab and have strong political beliefs that side with what I call Palestine. You, as an American and through conversation, seem to have strong beliefs in what you would call Israel. Am I wrong? If so, please correct me. Yes, this is a major factor for me to decide my answer. "
I couldn't believe his response. He was surprisingly (reminder: he's Republican and very American...every Nutso's nightmare) fair! He believes in the two state deal (not saying I do or don't...I'm extremely nationalistic with Palestine) and has some fair views on the topic. I was shocked. He then proceeded to give me his point in dating saying that it would be boring to date someone that is very similar to one another. Another logical reason to never say no to someone very different. He called me gorgeous. Yes! Who does that?!?!?!? So then I told him the real reason I said no. I told him about my "perusing" another person and how I don't believe in dating two guys at once and that my tactic of scaring him away didn't work. In fact, here you go for shits and giggles:
"Ok, well i have to be honest with you. The reason i gave you the I'm Muslim schpeel was because I was trying to scare you off in a way. (in which I didn't, so kudos to you).
Here's why. I have taken on an interest in someone and have been for a while. I decided to grow some and find a way to let this guy know that. Although, it wasn't something that was directly said to him. If I were to go on a date with you, it really wouldn't be fair because someone else is on my head.
I just didn't want to say that to you because, well, i thought it was rude. I'm sorry if I came of crazy, it's because I sort of am."
*Footnote for later...keep this message in mind for future blog reference.*
***FAST FORWARD BACK TO SSG AND MY STOMACH IN KNOTS***
He was walking down the stairs to the entrance of the hell (aka work) and told me that I didn't have to hold the door open for him. I think it would quite rude if I just walked away, yes he wasn't very close, but not far either. I love him. I mean...
I felt as if poop was coming out of my face at this point. I told him that it's OK and it kills more time for me to hold the door open (horrible humor) so that I don't have to get back to work. Then small talk. "I'm going on vacation" says SSG and he tells me about the trip that he is oh so excited about. For some reason, I also asked if he was from here (Chicago) and he tells me no. He's from good 'ol Michigan (hence why he roots for them) and some more small talk. Then the elevator hits his floor. It illuminated the what was dim elevator and he stepped out. He was gone. Kinda like Houdini, the fucker left the elevator and said nothing! NOTHING! Nothing about he card!!!
I was slightly relieved and disappointed. I thought to myself the following:
- No ring, so he is probably in a serious relationship
- Oh my God! Maybe he's excited about his trip because he's going to propose to a longtime girlfriend
- He's really 40 and looks VERY YOUNG for his age (not likely...but any excuse will do)
- He doesn't know it was me that left the card (C'mon...how couldn't he? We had many conversations about my college of choice and his college of choice! In fact, he wears a shirt that says MICHIGAN on it when works out!)
- He doesn't like me
- He is gay
Baldhead then says "Either he's gay and likes me or he's really digging you!" because of the constant waving in a matter of 2 minutes!
It's the end of February. The last day of February would've been my day to say goodbye. My last view of Sexy Sales Guy (that is, if he came to the ivory building...work) and I had to take off that morning due to an unfortunate circumstance. At that point, I realized that I would never see or be with Sexy Sales Guy when I came to complete the day at work. And I was right.
****
If the mat was on clearance, Sexy Sales Guy would not purchase it. He would just laugh and pass it by while whispering "Happy New Year".
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Hitching A Ride
As you recall, I left you two different stories about two different men. I also peppered in a another one. That one doesn't really have much relevance, just yet. He has plenty of relevance to my life. I am just debating if that relevance is either good or bad. Therefore, for the time being, he is skipped until further notice.
So I take you back one and two blogs. Let's go back two blogs for a moment. I left you with Sexy Sales Guy. This was the short one with the dark features who illuminated people's world for money and mine for free (although, it's not 'that' type of illumination...and not the dirty type either). Enter confused face here. I have, for about two years, had a crush on this man. We had many chance encounters and learned a bit about each other with each encounter. I also left you with an act that I committed. I left a card on his car that was pretty vague, yet it referenced many conversations him and I had about the NCAA Basketball Championships of 2009. Yes, I referred quite a ways back, but seriously, he couldn't have been that stupid enough to NOT know who it was.
You will also remember Ol' Blue Eyes. He was the one that I met a Smiley's Debacle and learned later at the Benefit that he asked out College Buddy's Sister. I found this out at the Benefit in January of 2010. Let's emphasize on this a bit more. Now, Parole and Blue Eyes decided to stay at this venue and dance the night away with College Buddy and College Buddy's Sibling (the Debacle a year before). Apparently, both Parole and Blue Eyes received a phone number of College Buddy's Sibling and both later tried calling her (the both of them at separate events). Now, if you put enough liquor in one's system, anyone and everyone is gorgeous! Even the Parole child, who by the way has a child. To my shock, he knows who the mother is! WOOHOO! Well, come time for the Benefit, we are all reunited except for the sibling. Sibling, MIA. I don't blame her. Now, I was told of this story at the Benefit and wasn't really sure what was going on. With the help of Instigator (Blue Eyes), he was happy to embark on the previous year's event that evening. After many minutes of argument, and by far it was very entertaining to me, the conversation was over.
Now, the Parole's ride was long gone (which was his mother, his friend, and his son who cannot drive but came because his father is the Parole) because he decided to stay and get drunk! As the Benefit's evening was coming to a close, Parole decided to volunteer a ride out of me, which wasn't happening. I wasn't about to drive him anywhere and risk the chance of receiving any type of STD that was as drunk as the gifter of such a wonderful infection.
Hey, the nice thing about herpes is that the memory of the person that gave it to you will never leave you! And if you forgot, a random burning feeling will let ya remember!!! YAY! Well, I managed to escape.
Later, I find out that Blue Eyes was left with such a gift, Parole. It was very nice of him, and I am sure he enjoyed some hard core drunken action. Well, think about it this way, the both tried leaving with someone, little did they know it would be with each other.
Any who, as Facebook allows, Ol' Blue Eyes found me thanks to mutual friends (whom I will kick later because of this) and sent me a message telling me he was stuck taking the drunken imbecile (Parole) to another bar! Who'd a thunk another bar?! Actually, I would and did think that. Shut up. There's always a beginning to another DUI story. After a few messages, he grew up the nerve to ask me out. I thought, "WOW! Persistent!" I had turned this guy down before because I was in a relationship, and he still asked me out a year later (and he knew I was no longer tied down to stalker boy...again...he'll have his day in another blog).
There was a problem.
That same week he asked me out, I had placed the card on SSG's car! I was waiting for what may have happened to that! So what did I do? I said no. Why? Here was the excuse, he was Caucasian and a Republican and a devout Catholic. Just in case we forgot here, I'm Arab, Democratic, and a devout Palestinian. The Muslim thing doesn't affect me as much as being Palestinian. Can you imagine me bringing home a Republican? "Hey mom, here's my Republican boyfriend!" and he introduces himself and asks why no one in the house goes by the name of Jihad. Although, that would be hilarious. In fact, I would like very much for that to happen just for sheer entertainment.
Again with the tangents.
Ol' Blue Eyes gave me his two cents and it made plenty sense. He tells me his view on the Palestine/Israel topic (which was shockingly great) and his belief of being different is great. I thought after that, wow I'm screwed. Here I am trying to get you off my back and you won't stop. So I told him. I said that I was persuing someone. And that was the end of that. At least until I saw SSG the day after I placed the card on his car.
My mat is a bit damp tonight. It's sweating from anticipation of what may happen next (even though it knows what happens next, but it doesn't want you to sweat alone).
So I take you back one and two blogs. Let's go back two blogs for a moment. I left you with Sexy Sales Guy. This was the short one with the dark features who illuminated people's world for money and mine for free (although, it's not 'that' type of illumination...and not the dirty type either). Enter confused face here. I have, for about two years, had a crush on this man. We had many chance encounters and learned a bit about each other with each encounter. I also left you with an act that I committed. I left a card on his car that was pretty vague, yet it referenced many conversations him and I had about the NCAA Basketball Championships of 2009. Yes, I referred quite a ways back, but seriously, he couldn't have been that stupid enough to NOT know who it was.
You will also remember Ol' Blue Eyes. He was the one that I met a Smiley's Debacle and learned later at the Benefit that he asked out College Buddy's Sister. I found this out at the Benefit in January of 2010. Let's emphasize on this a bit more. Now, Parole and Blue Eyes decided to stay at this venue and dance the night away with College Buddy and College Buddy's Sibling (the Debacle a year before). Apparently, both Parole and Blue Eyes received a phone number of College Buddy's Sibling and both later tried calling her (the both of them at separate events). Now, if you put enough liquor in one's system, anyone and everyone is gorgeous! Even the Parole child, who by the way has a child. To my shock, he knows who the mother is! WOOHOO! Well, come time for the Benefit, we are all reunited except for the sibling. Sibling, MIA. I don't blame her. Now, I was told of this story at the Benefit and wasn't really sure what was going on. With the help of Instigator (Blue Eyes), he was happy to embark on the previous year's event that evening. After many minutes of argument, and by far it was very entertaining to me, the conversation was over.
Now, the Parole's ride was long gone (which was his mother, his friend, and his son who cannot drive but came because his father is the Parole) because he decided to stay and get drunk! As the Benefit's evening was coming to a close, Parole decided to volunteer a ride out of me, which wasn't happening. I wasn't about to drive him anywhere and risk the chance of receiving any type of STD that was as drunk as the gifter of such a wonderful infection.
Hey, the nice thing about herpes is that the memory of the person that gave it to you will never leave you! And if you forgot, a random burning feeling will let ya remember!!! YAY! Well, I managed to escape.
Later, I find out that Blue Eyes was left with such a gift, Parole. It was very nice of him, and I am sure he enjoyed some hard core drunken action. Well, think about it this way, the both tried leaving with someone, little did they know it would be with each other.
Any who, as Facebook allows, Ol' Blue Eyes found me thanks to mutual friends (whom I will kick later because of this) and sent me a message telling me he was stuck taking the drunken imbecile (Parole) to another bar! Who'd a thunk another bar?! Actually, I would and did think that. Shut up. There's always a beginning to another DUI story. After a few messages, he grew up the nerve to ask me out. I thought, "WOW! Persistent!" I had turned this guy down before because I was in a relationship, and he still asked me out a year later (and he knew I was no longer tied down to stalker boy...again...he'll have his day in another blog).
There was a problem.
That same week he asked me out, I had placed the card on SSG's car! I was waiting for what may have happened to that! So what did I do? I said no. Why? Here was the excuse, he was Caucasian and a Republican and a devout Catholic. Just in case we forgot here, I'm Arab, Democratic, and a devout Palestinian. The Muslim thing doesn't affect me as much as being Palestinian. Can you imagine me bringing home a Republican? "Hey mom, here's my Republican boyfriend!" and he introduces himself and asks why no one in the house goes by the name of Jihad. Although, that would be hilarious. In fact, I would like very much for that to happen just for sheer entertainment.
Again with the tangents.
Ol' Blue Eyes gave me his two cents and it made plenty sense. He tells me his view on the Palestine/Israel topic (which was shockingly great) and his belief of being different is great. I thought after that, wow I'm screwed. Here I am trying to get you off my back and you won't stop. So I told him. I said that I was persuing someone. And that was the end of that. At least until I saw SSG the day after I placed the card on his car.
My mat is a bit damp tonight. It's sweating from anticipation of what may happen next (even though it knows what happens next, but it doesn't want you to sweat alone).
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Just Another Wedding
My friend, let's call her Smiley (she smiles all the time...through the good and the bad) had met her One and had a Debacle to celebrate the Mistake that she was about to make. I, of course, was invited and went (2 hours late and left as soon as possible). There was nothing wrong with the Debacle, it was just that this one was number 12 or so and I was a bit tired of them at this point. Anyways, it was fun and very interesting to meet new folks and catch up with the old ones.
I was sat strategically at the Table O' Singles. The Table O' Singles contained a lot of people that I knew from a while back, met then, and didn't realize were sitting there then. One of those Singles was a guy that I knew for at least a decade before. This guy had nothing going for him then and has nothing going for him now. Let's put it this way, I don't want to drive him around on dates because his parole officer won't let him. On the other side of myself was another young fellow who seemed to be on the lookout that night. He stood many inches taller than I, I will assume 6' here. He had what seemed to be blue eyes, not pearly blue, but blue enough. His hair stood about an inch above his head, light brown to be exact, and had what is referred to as the "Abe Lincoln Beard" that covered half his cheeky cheeks and cheeky chin. His physique, also one of a tennis player, with a little less definition. Some meat, but not SPAM meaty, meaty enough to fall of the bone and bear some marrow. His skin had the rugged cut of a man and a tone much lighter than what I am used to, although not light to where it was Casper-like, light to where I believed it could be considered just right for the good ol' white guy.
Ol' Blue Eyes also had a friend with him, male. He was as tall as his host and much paler. Not much to look at (for my tastebuds) but was very fun to talk to and make fun of Blue Eyes with. I was content with my evening. One thing leads to another and a group of us are talking (Parole Boy, Casper (pale friend), Blue Eyes, College Buddy (a chick I obviously went to college with), and the Sibling (College Buddy's sister)) and enjoying a drunken (except for me, wretched driving) conversation of how we met Smiley and why we were all mismatched on the Table of Doom, aka Table O' Singles. As the night went on, Blue Eyes had taken a higher interest in me (yea, I know. I'm wondering why, also) and we begin conversation about...um...well I forgot. I'm busy wondering why the hell I was in a Debacle for the umpteenth time anyways! I really didn't care much about what he was saying. Oh yes, I forgot, I was also busy thinking about how to get away from Friday. Friday is another blog. But for now, we'll stick with Blue Eyes and his antics.
He suddenly surprised me with "Would you like to dance" and I hesitantly agreed. Now, I'm in the South Suburbs of Chicago. Arab/Irish central. White and Arab and Mexican and Black all live segregatedly as one in this area. I'm kind of thinking in my head, "Great, some freaking camel jockey is going to walk in and see me with Blue Eyes and tell Nutso I'm pregnant" or something. Digression: The Debacle was held at a spacious venue with at least six other events in the same building that is open to the public. If you are familiar with the area, you may have a tiny inclination about which "mardi gras" joint I am talking about. Any who, we dance. I'm slightly uncomfortable because I have Friday. Now, Friday and I looked happy, but I was miserable. Therefore, it was OK that I was dancing with Blue Eyes. The end was coming for Friday as I knew it, and Blue Eyes knew he existed. Therefore, Blue Eyes stopped pressing for my number and settled with a gentle 5 minute waltz to some oldies while Smiley and The One for her danced next to us thinking "Awwww, we made a match at our 'Debacle'." I thought to myself, "Back off, no you did not!"
Next thing you know, the song is over and our dance was done. It felt nice to dance with Blue Eyes. It was nice to be held by someone who found me intriguing, although I am sure he was sort of in a drunken fury at this point. Although, I did have that somewhere else(minus the drunken fury), Friday's days were numbered...just like in the movies. But, so was Blue Eyes' days. I was then long gone afterward. I scatted out of the Debacle as fast as possible and found the closest watering hole I could find.
And then, the truth came out. It turns out the Sibling, College Buddy, Parole Boy, Casper, and Blue Eyes had a story to tell me. It was what I found out at The Benefit that had me thinking otherwise, especially about Blue Eyes.
My mat is hanging by a thread on these cliffs I keep putting it on.
I was sat strategically at the Table O' Singles. The Table O' Singles contained a lot of people that I knew from a while back, met then, and didn't realize were sitting there then. One of those Singles was a guy that I knew for at least a decade before. This guy had nothing going for him then and has nothing going for him now. Let's put it this way, I don't want to drive him around on dates because his parole officer won't let him. On the other side of myself was another young fellow who seemed to be on the lookout that night. He stood many inches taller than I, I will assume 6' here. He had what seemed to be blue eyes, not pearly blue, but blue enough. His hair stood about an inch above his head, light brown to be exact, and had what is referred to as the "Abe Lincoln Beard" that covered half his cheeky cheeks and cheeky chin. His physique, also one of a tennis player, with a little less definition. Some meat, but not SPAM meaty, meaty enough to fall of the bone and bear some marrow. His skin had the rugged cut of a man and a tone much lighter than what I am used to, although not light to where it was Casper-like, light to where I believed it could be considered just right for the good ol' white guy.
Ol' Blue Eyes also had a friend with him, male. He was as tall as his host and much paler. Not much to look at (for my tastebuds) but was very fun to talk to and make fun of Blue Eyes with. I was content with my evening. One thing leads to another and a group of us are talking (Parole Boy, Casper (pale friend), Blue Eyes, College Buddy (a chick I obviously went to college with), and the Sibling (College Buddy's sister)) and enjoying a drunken (except for me, wretched driving) conversation of how we met Smiley and why we were all mismatched on the Table of Doom, aka Table O' Singles. As the night went on, Blue Eyes had taken a higher interest in me (yea, I know. I'm wondering why, also) and we begin conversation about...um...well I forgot. I'm busy wondering why the hell I was in a Debacle for the umpteenth time anyways! I really didn't care much about what he was saying. Oh yes, I forgot, I was also busy thinking about how to get away from Friday. Friday is another blog. But for now, we'll stick with Blue Eyes and his antics.
He suddenly surprised me with "Would you like to dance" and I hesitantly agreed. Now, I'm in the South Suburbs of Chicago. Arab/Irish central. White and Arab and Mexican and Black all live segregatedly as one in this area. I'm kind of thinking in my head, "Great, some freaking camel jockey is going to walk in and see me with Blue Eyes and tell Nutso I'm pregnant" or something. Digression: The Debacle was held at a spacious venue with at least six other events in the same building that is open to the public. If you are familiar with the area, you may have a tiny inclination about which "mardi gras" joint I am talking about. Any who, we dance. I'm slightly uncomfortable because I have Friday. Now, Friday and I looked happy, but I was miserable. Therefore, it was OK that I was dancing with Blue Eyes. The end was coming for Friday as I knew it, and Blue Eyes knew he existed. Therefore, Blue Eyes stopped pressing for my number and settled with a gentle 5 minute waltz to some oldies while Smiley and The One for her danced next to us thinking "Awwww, we made a match at our 'Debacle'." I thought to myself, "Back off, no you did not!"
Next thing you know, the song is over and our dance was done. It felt nice to dance with Blue Eyes. It was nice to be held by someone who found me intriguing, although I am sure he was sort of in a drunken fury at this point. Although, I did have that somewhere else(minus the drunken fury), Friday's days were numbered...just like in the movies. But, so was Blue Eyes' days. I was then long gone afterward. I scatted out of the Debacle as fast as possible and found the closest watering hole I could find.
And then, the truth came out. It turns out the Sibling, College Buddy, Parole Boy, Casper, and Blue Eyes had a story to tell me. It was what I found out at The Benefit that had me thinking otherwise, especially about Blue Eyes.
My mat is hanging by a thread on these cliffs I keep putting it on.
Monday, March 8, 2010
SSG
"Oh my God! I saw him today!" would be my normal reaction to a select group of friends that are in contact with me on a daily basis. "He saw me and I saw him and we locked eyes and he waved! I'm in love with him. Mentally, I'm pregnant and carrying his baby!" This would be my reaction every single time I saw this man.
Sexy Sales Guy was a stellar young fellow. He stood a mere 5'7'' or 8'', yet had the phsyique of a tennis player. He was not muscular in respects to being meat-head, yet toned and defined. I speak of him in past tense.
I work for a company that is housed in a building. It is a building in which it accommodated four other companies. Floor one housed two companies. You are able to apply for a mortgage loan and file reports to the state on this level. Floor two is home to the creative minds of McDonald's Happy Meal toys. Floor three allowed you illumination to your homes with light and find doctor's offices with scanners that can save your life. Finally, floor four strategically finds solutions for your financial institution with research and data analysis. Each floor has its importance for everyone. Typically one floor per person involved. In my case, I was worried about two. You see, as I scurried along with the working folk to floor four, I always found myself in a chance encounter with a stetson young fellow who illuminated one's world. Not only did he do this for his clients, he did so for me.
One day, I had taken notice of this man who illuminated everyone's world and thought to myself, "Wow!" Now, not many people are able to put me in this "Wow!" frenzy, but he did. He is Sexy Sales Guy. Every time I took a glance at his chiseled, olive face, I thought to myself, "he's out of my league" and ended it at that. My crush began to grow. One day, as I was encasing my body with cancer, he pulls into the parking lot and brings a heavy case inside with him. I, being prematurely finished with my cancer stick, head towards the door as if my much needed break was over and "by chance" (hey, sometimes you have to put fate in your own hands) help by opening the conversation with a crack at "You need help?" and end up opening the door. The introduction begins, and names are announced. Even a handshake was involved. Some petty conversation rose and then, floor three arrived as we both said our goodbyes and I fluttered back to being a corporate lackey with a slight bit more of excitement in me.
Here and there we would run into each other. More petty conversation. He is a city dweller who rooted for the University of Michigan as I cheered on my Blue Demons during March Madness of 2009. He loved to exercise, as he took runs during lunch, and sometimes wore clothes that made me wonder if he ever modeled for Express. I can imagine him in a white button down shirt worn under a black blazer and with black trowsers. His shoes, must be from Aldo's. The collar is stiff and covers his neck as he turns his head slightly to the right at me and tells me he loves me (ok, this was a figure of my imagination, but he would look great in that outfit). His brown eyes and dark hair made me wonder his origins. Are they Latin, Mediterranean, Middle Eastern? It was this notion. Sometimes, when he would walk down a corridor towards me, as I was entering in from the opposite end, he would look at me and then look down. He would then peer up to me with his beautiful brown eyes and smile with a one eyebrow slightly raised and say, "Hello, how are you" shyly. His boyish timidness never overpowered him. He managed to begin conversation with me, regardless of the hurry or not. Even when I was in a bad mood, and he was able to tell, the conversation would continue and I never minded (although I feel that one time he probably took notice and thought he was a nuisance when in fact I felt a client had ruined my life...you see this potential Three's Company-like misunderstanding can revere ones mind in a different direction if taken the wrong way). Never the less, the conversation, as petty as it was, was fantastic. It was fantastic because this man took notice of who I was. I felt a bountiful of importance, considering that I think he's out of my league, it's a compliment to me when we spoke.
Then one day, I decided to do it. I found out that Sexy Sales Guy's company was leaving. I didn't know what to do. In a state of sheer sadness, I decided to do the ultimate act that no other girl would do for someone who had constant petty conversations with another man. After the New Year, I decided to take things one step further. I decided to buy him a "Happy New Years Card". (Digression: Hallmark will do anything for a buck, Seriously, who the hey thinks of that? I was looking for a leftover Christmas card and only found box sets. Then, I was given the direction of the Happy New Years card...WOOHOO! Saved!). This card was simplicity at its finest. On the cover, it had some bear with a star under "Happy New Years" and inside had some shit like "Wishing you a Happy New Years" blah blah blah. Very friendly, no references for me wanting to give him my hymen. Nothing. Just a simple Happy New Years. I proceeded to add in a reference of conversation. "Maybe this March you can root for the DePaul Blue Demons instead of Michigan :)" We have had many conversations about our colleges and where we both came from. I thought to myself, he has to be an idiot not to know who this is.
And so, I placed the card in the envelope, wrote his name neatly on the cover of the envelope and placed it on his car as I had planned un-strategically and constantly that began just three weeks prior to the act.
Sexy Sales Guy was a stellar young fellow. He stood a mere 5'7'' or 8'', yet had the phsyique of a tennis player. He was not muscular in respects to being meat-head, yet toned and defined. I speak of him in past tense.
I work for a company that is housed in a building. It is a building in which it accommodated four other companies. Floor one housed two companies. You are able to apply for a mortgage loan and file reports to the state on this level. Floor two is home to the creative minds of McDonald's Happy Meal toys. Floor three allowed you illumination to your homes with light and find doctor's offices with scanners that can save your life. Finally, floor four strategically finds solutions for your financial institution with research and data analysis. Each floor has its importance for everyone. Typically one floor per person involved. In my case, I was worried about two. You see, as I scurried along with the working folk to floor four, I always found myself in a chance encounter with a stetson young fellow who illuminated one's world. Not only did he do this for his clients, he did so for me.
One day, I had taken notice of this man who illuminated everyone's world and thought to myself, "Wow!" Now, not many people are able to put me in this "Wow!" frenzy, but he did. He is Sexy Sales Guy. Every time I took a glance at his chiseled, olive face, I thought to myself, "he's out of my league" and ended it at that. My crush began to grow. One day, as I was encasing my body with cancer, he pulls into the parking lot and brings a heavy case inside with him. I, being prematurely finished with my cancer stick, head towards the door as if my much needed break was over and "by chance" (hey, sometimes you have to put fate in your own hands) help by opening the conversation with a crack at "You need help?" and end up opening the door. The introduction begins, and names are announced. Even a handshake was involved. Some petty conversation rose and then, floor three arrived as we both said our goodbyes and I fluttered back to being a corporate lackey with a slight bit more of excitement in me.
Here and there we would run into each other. More petty conversation. He is a city dweller who rooted for the University of Michigan as I cheered on my Blue Demons during March Madness of 2009. He loved to exercise, as he took runs during lunch, and sometimes wore clothes that made me wonder if he ever modeled for Express. I can imagine him in a white button down shirt worn under a black blazer and with black trowsers. His shoes, must be from Aldo's. The collar is stiff and covers his neck as he turns his head slightly to the right at me and tells me he loves me (ok, this was a figure of my imagination, but he would look great in that outfit). His brown eyes and dark hair made me wonder his origins. Are they Latin, Mediterranean, Middle Eastern? It was this notion. Sometimes, when he would walk down a corridor towards me, as I was entering in from the opposite end, he would look at me and then look down. He would then peer up to me with his beautiful brown eyes and smile with a one eyebrow slightly raised and say, "Hello, how are you" shyly. His boyish timidness never overpowered him. He managed to begin conversation with me, regardless of the hurry or not. Even when I was in a bad mood, and he was able to tell, the conversation would continue and I never minded (although I feel that one time he probably took notice and thought he was a nuisance when in fact I felt a client had ruined my life...you see this potential Three's Company-like misunderstanding can revere ones mind in a different direction if taken the wrong way). Never the less, the conversation, as petty as it was, was fantastic. It was fantastic because this man took notice of who I was. I felt a bountiful of importance, considering that I think he's out of my league, it's a compliment to me when we spoke.
Then one day, I decided to do it. I found out that Sexy Sales Guy's company was leaving. I didn't know what to do. In a state of sheer sadness, I decided to do the ultimate act that no other girl would do for someone who had constant petty conversations with another man. After the New Year, I decided to take things one step further. I decided to buy him a "Happy New Years Card". (Digression: Hallmark will do anything for a buck, Seriously, who the hey thinks of that? I was looking for a leftover Christmas card and only found box sets. Then, I was given the direction of the Happy New Years card...WOOHOO! Saved!). This card was simplicity at its finest. On the cover, it had some bear with a star under "Happy New Years" and inside had some shit like "Wishing you a Happy New Years" blah blah blah. Very friendly, no references for me wanting to give him my hymen. Nothing. Just a simple Happy New Years. I proceeded to add in a reference of conversation. "Maybe this March you can root for the DePaul Blue Demons instead of Michigan :)" We have had many conversations about our colleges and where we both came from. I thought to myself, he has to be an idiot not to know who this is.
And so, I placed the card in the envelope, wrote his name neatly on the cover of the envelope and placed it on his car as I had planned un-strategically and constantly that began just three weeks prior to the act.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Thanks Nutso, Thanks
Really, what is it with mothers? Why is it that they are excited to get all prepared for a debacle? I was recently at my homegirl's Pre-Debacle Debacle (in which was really fun, actually...so thank you) and Nutso (guess whose mama) tells my main homey (I roll, that's right bitches, I roll) that she doesn't think that I'll make the Mistake with someone that SHE wants. Are you effing kidding me? You're freakin' nuts! She told my best friend this! This just came to light, well, because I am most likely going to bring her someone that isn't of Nutso's standards.
Nutso's Standards (aka, Unimportant Acquaintances Perception of How "Happy" Your Shitty Family Really Isn't)
Like all the rest of the assholes we try to impress, The One must be of Arab descent, same religion, good family, blah blah blah. Read The One for a refresher. Nutso always has someone in mind for me that she would like to see me with. As for all the other Unimportant Acquaintances, they just keep babbling Ukbal 3ndik. The Nutso's One must be a stellar man, successful, preferably a doctor or lawyer or engineer, must have a good family name, must be Muslim, and most importantly...must be Arab. She is terrified that I will bring her a non-Arab. In fact, I have brought her a non-Arab, a Muslim non-Arab, but he still stayed a "non" to her. He was absolutely nothing.
Nutso's standards does not finish here. He must be able to handle her craziness. The fact that he can understand her swears when she yells at me in front of him is a must. There must be many embarrassing moments that I will have to endure at one point with Nutso. Every Mom is a Nutso, it's a matter of fact that all our Nutso's are different with their nagging.
Well, what if I don't have the Standard of Nutso on my arm. If you haven't noticed in the past blogs, I've tried with these fucks. In fact, I haven't had any luck. Just ask their wives, girlfriends, parole officers, or shrinks. They'll tell you, I've tried and had NO LUCK. But, it doesn't matter what I think. I'm not going to be making babies with this guy or anything. It's not like I''m going to be living with this person. He'll be living to Nutso's standards and what I have to say is obsolete. Why, because the Unimportant Acquaintances have congratulated Nutso for doing a job well done with raising me.
Digression Alert: Jay Leno is an asshole. I miss Coco! Horrible jokes, Leno.
OK, so here is my solution to making Nutso and other Unimportant Acquaintances happy with themselves when talking about me behind Nutso's back. Honestly, I can give to flying fucks that they say anything. Marry an Arab....just for show. Live in seperate homes. When our Nutsos want to come over, pick the mutual home that we "live in" together, be fake, when they leave...go to our seperate homes, get wasted at a bar, fuck the hell out of some random dude, and be on your marry way.
And who said I can't compromise?
My mat is saturated of gin. It's at the bar waiting for me after my dinner party with Um Who Gives A Fuck.
Nutso's Standards (aka, Unimportant Acquaintances Perception of How "Happy" Your Shitty Family Really Isn't)
Like all the rest of the assholes we try to impress, The One must be of Arab descent, same religion, good family, blah blah blah. Read The One for a refresher. Nutso always has someone in mind for me that she would like to see me with. As for all the other Unimportant Acquaintances, they just keep babbling Ukbal 3ndik. The Nutso's One must be a stellar man, successful, preferably a doctor or lawyer or engineer, must have a good family name, must be Muslim, and most importantly...must be Arab. She is terrified that I will bring her a non-Arab. In fact, I have brought her a non-Arab, a Muslim non-Arab, but he still stayed a "non" to her. He was absolutely nothing.
Nutso's standards does not finish here. He must be able to handle her craziness. The fact that he can understand her swears when she yells at me in front of him is a must. There must be many embarrassing moments that I will have to endure at one point with Nutso. Every Mom is a Nutso, it's a matter of fact that all our Nutso's are different with their nagging.
Well, what if I don't have the Standard of Nutso on my arm. If you haven't noticed in the past blogs, I've tried with these fucks. In fact, I haven't had any luck. Just ask their wives, girlfriends, parole officers, or shrinks. They'll tell you, I've tried and had NO LUCK. But, it doesn't matter what I think. I'm not going to be making babies with this guy or anything. It's not like I''m going to be living with this person. He'll be living to Nutso's standards and what I have to say is obsolete. Why, because the Unimportant Acquaintances have congratulated Nutso for doing a job well done with raising me.
Digression Alert: Jay Leno is an asshole. I miss Coco! Horrible jokes, Leno.
OK, so here is my solution to making Nutso and other Unimportant Acquaintances happy with themselves when talking about me behind Nutso's back. Honestly, I can give to flying fucks that they say anything. Marry an Arab....just for show. Live in seperate homes. When our Nutsos want to come over, pick the mutual home that we "live in" together, be fake, when they leave...go to our seperate homes, get wasted at a bar, fuck the hell out of some random dude, and be on your marry way.
And who said I can't compromise?
My mat is saturated of gin. It's at the bar waiting for me after my dinner party with Um Who Gives A Fuck.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
My First Move
It's a matter of figuring out what you want in a man. Does he care about me? Does he love me for my flaws? Does he love me for me? It's the introduction, the first impression, the first glance you both have at one another, the what's the word? The attraction. Whether it's a personality trait or a physical appearance, it's what strikes that person to you. Believe me, I'm no relationship expert. In fact, everything I blog about is from my personal experience. Just because I experienced a mini event, also known as Moment of Life, doesn't mean you necessarily have.
I just watched this horrible movie. It's called "Accidental Husband" and is about a women who is getting married and falls in love with another man. Now, here's the twist, she is a love doctor who ruined his, what was to be marriage. Blah blah blah, they fall in love, she doesn't get married to Guy 1, instead stays with the man whose life she ruined just two hours (a wasted two hours by the way) before. Blah Blah Blah. Happy ending.
This does not happen. It's that damned first impression that everyone dreads in which the other person judges if you are right or wrong. Why do I hate these? Because ever since I started this wretched ArabLounge, it has become first impression after first impression after first impression. Now, I seem to do well with these First Impressions. I tend to get the guy interested and he's gung ho about me. So, what next? I don't know! I seem to have mastered the First Impression, that I forgot about the rest of the steps. I tend to meet people, and I tend to not know what to do! Does he text me first? Does he call me first? Does he ask me out?
Here's my jist, I don't mind taking the first steps. I asked people out, I called first, I said hello first. For some reason, the man seems to get intimidated. Since when was it OK to wait for the guy to pull the first move? I've been hounded many times by friends because I don't have that issue of taking the plunge first! I am told numerous times that the man loves the chase and I am too strong and men don't like that. Maybe I am a bit too independent for my own good. What is there to lose? Why do we have to live in this social normality of the man initiating everything? I believe that instead of wondering what the guy thinks, don't wait, take the plunge, and find out. If there's rejection, then he's just not that into you. Why wait and wonder? Relationships aren't a game, so why does everyone play it as if it is?
What I am trying to say is that I have nothing to lose. If social norms say that I can't do something, I really don't care. What's wrong with doing what you feel is right? I say nothing. If it is not right, then I don't mind being wrong. If I see something that I want, I don't want to lose it. I say, let me go for it. If there is nothing in the first place, then I have nothing to lose! And you know what, he might just agree to a cup of coffee that I asked him to accompany me with.
The mat is content with itself, even if it's overcast and blanketing my beautiful Chicago. It still sits in Chicago, full from its coffee.
I just watched this horrible movie. It's called "Accidental Husband" and is about a women who is getting married and falls in love with another man. Now, here's the twist, she is a love doctor who ruined his, what was to be marriage. Blah blah blah, they fall in love, she doesn't get married to Guy 1, instead stays with the man whose life she ruined just two hours (a wasted two hours by the way) before. Blah Blah Blah. Happy ending.
This does not happen. It's that damned first impression that everyone dreads in which the other person judges if you are right or wrong. Why do I hate these? Because ever since I started this wretched ArabLounge, it has become first impression after first impression after first impression. Now, I seem to do well with these First Impressions. I tend to get the guy interested and he's gung ho about me. So, what next? I don't know! I seem to have mastered the First Impression, that I forgot about the rest of the steps. I tend to meet people, and I tend to not know what to do! Does he text me first? Does he call me first? Does he ask me out?
Here's my jist, I don't mind taking the first steps. I asked people out, I called first, I said hello first. For some reason, the man seems to get intimidated. Since when was it OK to wait for the guy to pull the first move? I've been hounded many times by friends because I don't have that issue of taking the plunge first! I am told numerous times that the man loves the chase and I am too strong and men don't like that. Maybe I am a bit too independent for my own good. What is there to lose? Why do we have to live in this social normality of the man initiating everything? I believe that instead of wondering what the guy thinks, don't wait, take the plunge, and find out. If there's rejection, then he's just not that into you. Why wait and wonder? Relationships aren't a game, so why does everyone play it as if it is?
What I am trying to say is that I have nothing to lose. If social norms say that I can't do something, I really don't care. What's wrong with doing what you feel is right? I say nothing. If it is not right, then I don't mind being wrong. If I see something that I want, I don't want to lose it. I say, let me go for it. If there is nothing in the first place, then I have nothing to lose! And you know what, he might just agree to a cup of coffee that I asked him to accompany me with.
The mat is content with itself, even if it's overcast and blanketing my beautiful Chicago. It still sits in Chicago, full from its coffee.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Mashallah!
You're child is sweet! Mashallah!
You have a beautiful house! Mashallah!
You're pretty! Mashallah!
Mashallah is the heart and soul of the Arab. You can be a Christian or a Muslim, and Mashallah better come out of your mouth. If not, Unimportant Acquaintances are going to be offended. OK, well what if I'm lying to your ugly kid by telling it that it's cute? The I'm lying to God! Mashallah means "Thank God" or "Luck/Graces given from God" or something of that sort.
For example:
ME: Wow! You're husband is really attractive! Mashallah!
PERSON MARRYING UGLY AND STUPID: Awww! thank you! Ukbal 3ndik!
ME: (in my head) Fuck you bitch, he's fugly and don't wish The Mistake on me ever again (/in my head)
So, what if I don't tell someone Mashallah? Is the magic carpet going to pass their house on Christmas and not give them better looks or something? Boogy Boo! You're ugly, too!
I remember complimenting some Unimportant Acquaintance about her dress, becasue I actually liked the dress more than her...effing snob. Anyways, I didn't say Mashallah. After my compliment, her eyes bulged out and she scolded at me "SAY MASHALLAH!" So I did in fear that the new found cookie monster would mistaken me for an oreo and have me left as crumbs. Now, if you have to ask for someone to tell you Mashallah, my take is this: They're lying to you. They think your kid is ugly, your husband's an ass, you look fat in that skin tight dress, and your food tastes like Kibbles n Bits. So don't force that out of me!
Now, many people tell you Mashallah when you're young and healthy and have enough in you to take it from anyone (meaning in the Arabic language...Boorrrr (rolling's r's) shit). They tell you Mashallah for your hair, your clothes, your intelligence, your career, your humble abode, your marriage, and anything else that can be complimented. Now, what happens when you're 70? Ain't nobody saying, "Mashallah, you're ass needs to be wiped by the girl at the nursing home." No one wants that predicament. So, when you're pushing death, lived your life, no matter how awesome you were, no one wants to wish you wonderful graces from God. Because, if they do, it's as if it all went to waste. Why should I tell you Mashallah? You're going to die in the next couple of days anyways? If God doesn't take you away, it's going to be the live in nurse you have at your home. He/she is really tired of wiping your stinky ass!
Mashallah, my mat's clean today!
You have a beautiful house! Mashallah!
You're pretty! Mashallah!
Mashallah is the heart and soul of the Arab. You can be a Christian or a Muslim, and Mashallah better come out of your mouth. If not, Unimportant Acquaintances are going to be offended. OK, well what if I'm lying to your ugly kid by telling it that it's cute? The I'm lying to God! Mashallah means "Thank God" or "Luck/Graces given from God" or something of that sort.
For example:
ME: Wow! You're husband is really attractive! Mashallah!
PERSON MARRYING UGLY AND STUPID: Awww! thank you! Ukbal 3ndik!
ME: (in my head) Fuck you bitch, he's fugly and don't wish The Mistake on me ever again (/in my head)
So, what if I don't tell someone Mashallah? Is the magic carpet going to pass their house on Christmas and not give them better looks or something? Boogy Boo! You're ugly, too!
I remember complimenting some Unimportant Acquaintance about her dress, becasue I actually liked the dress more than her...effing snob. Anyways, I didn't say Mashallah. After my compliment, her eyes bulged out and she scolded at me "SAY MASHALLAH!" So I did in fear that the new found cookie monster would mistaken me for an oreo and have me left as crumbs. Now, if you have to ask for someone to tell you Mashallah, my take is this: They're lying to you. They think your kid is ugly, your husband's an ass, you look fat in that skin tight dress, and your food tastes like Kibbles n Bits. So don't force that out of me!
Now, many people tell you Mashallah when you're young and healthy and have enough in you to take it from anyone (meaning in the Arabic language...Boorrrr (rolling's r's) shit). They tell you Mashallah for your hair, your clothes, your intelligence, your career, your humble abode, your marriage, and anything else that can be complimented. Now, what happens when you're 70? Ain't nobody saying, "Mashallah, you're ass needs to be wiped by the girl at the nursing home." No one wants that predicament. So, when you're pushing death, lived your life, no matter how awesome you were, no one wants to wish you wonderful graces from God. Because, if they do, it's as if it all went to waste. Why should I tell you Mashallah? You're going to die in the next couple of days anyways? If God doesn't take you away, it's going to be the live in nurse you have at your home. He/she is really tired of wiping your stinky ass!
Mashallah, my mat's clean today!
Monday, January 4, 2010
Hi, I'm BiPolar, and you are???
Yea, I'm nashfa. I'm dry. I have nothing going on. My love life is as dry as my bottle of gin. Empty. Nothing. So I opened up ArabLounge again!
This time I am telling people my name and *GASP* I put up a picture, too! Well, besides the ass telling me my boobs were too small (he also did not realize that I knew his cousin and he talked smack about him), it's going pretty mediocre. I thought I met a great guy.
The Bi-Polar
What? It's true! He was dreamy looking!!! Oh my goodness. I can imagine him standing in front of me, although not extremely tall, but looks aren't everything. He was a great looking fella. Nice eyes, rugged face, manly, had a scar (so hot), and looked like an Arab, dark eyes, dark skin, nice body (muscular, different from my typical I like husky boys). Well, we got to chatting. Mind you, I'm a cheap ass and won't pay for the subscription.
Well, we were talking online which then led to the phone. It was quite a quick process, although he was cute and I thought, "Whatever, we're both desperate if we're both on ArabLounge". We talked and talked and texted and talked. And then, one day, I got the feeling. He lost interest. So when I called, I had a busy tone. I didn't call back because, ummmm, we're not married and I'm not going to hound the guy. So I called back two days later. Told him I called the day before but after a couple of rings, got a busy tone. OK, I'm lying. I didn't really get a busy tone, I really wanted to see if he was avoiding. The texts and calls abrubtly stopped! What was I supposed to do? So I called and told him and he gave me a lame ass excuse.
So, the number is erased because I don't need it anymore. Plus, I need the memory in my Crackberry anyways for people with one personality. If I wanted two personalities, I would have two friends. I'm telling you! ArabLounge is like a freaking discount store. With all the freaking bi-polar folks on there, you get a two for one discount! Two personalities, one jackass of a man!
Well, if he calls back, I'll probably answer and tell him I'm not interested. Only because it'll throw him off. Ahhh the excuse to get me off the phone was even better. It's 11:30 pm his time and 10:30 pm my time (he's an hour in the future, so it was a my science fictional friend of the future, not so much a friend anymore). He tells me (get this lame ass excuse) he's finalizing a car purchase.
Ok, men, seriously?!?!?! You guys are the worst liars EVER! Finalizing a car purchase? What happened to, "Hey, I'm not interested?" or tell me to fuck off, but why lie? I don't get it!
It's a shame, he had potential to be one of my future ex-husbands. Hazeen, now he missed the chance.
My mat is absorbing more gin now.
This time I am telling people my name and *GASP* I put up a picture, too! Well, besides the ass telling me my boobs were too small (he also did not realize that I knew his cousin and he talked smack about him), it's going pretty mediocre. I thought I met a great guy.
The Bi-Polar
What? It's true! He was dreamy looking!!! Oh my goodness. I can imagine him standing in front of me, although not extremely tall, but looks aren't everything. He was a great looking fella. Nice eyes, rugged face, manly, had a scar (so hot), and looked like an Arab, dark eyes, dark skin, nice body (muscular, different from my typical I like husky boys). Well, we got to chatting. Mind you, I'm a cheap ass and won't pay for the subscription.
Well, we were talking online which then led to the phone. It was quite a quick process, although he was cute and I thought, "Whatever, we're both desperate if we're both on ArabLounge". We talked and talked and texted and talked. And then, one day, I got the feeling. He lost interest. So when I called, I had a busy tone. I didn't call back because, ummmm, we're not married and I'm not going to hound the guy. So I called back two days later. Told him I called the day before but after a couple of rings, got a busy tone. OK, I'm lying. I didn't really get a busy tone, I really wanted to see if he was avoiding. The texts and calls abrubtly stopped! What was I supposed to do? So I called and told him and he gave me a lame ass excuse.
So, the number is erased because I don't need it anymore. Plus, I need the memory in my Crackberry anyways for people with one personality. If I wanted two personalities, I would have two friends. I'm telling you! ArabLounge is like a freaking discount store. With all the freaking bi-polar folks on there, you get a two for one discount! Two personalities, one jackass of a man!
Well, if he calls back, I'll probably answer and tell him I'm not interested. Only because it'll throw him off. Ahhh the excuse to get me off the phone was even better. It's 11:30 pm his time and 10:30 pm my time (he's an hour in the future, so it was a my science fictional friend of the future, not so much a friend anymore). He tells me (get this lame ass excuse) he's finalizing a car purchase.
Ok, men, seriously?!?!?! You guys are the worst liars EVER! Finalizing a car purchase? What happened to, "Hey, I'm not interested?" or tell me to fuck off, but why lie? I don't get it!
It's a shame, he had potential to be one of my future ex-husbands. Hazeen, now he missed the chance.
My mat is absorbing more gin now.
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