This is just cute.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Groan
This is my Christmas tree. From top to bottom.
I'm so freaking proud of it. It turned out really great this year.
I love Christmas. Even though I don't believe, it's my favourite time of the year.
I don't care what it originally stands for, I love it because it's pretty and warm.
It's the one time of year that I will go to Church without too much of a fuss.
But that's only to make my parents happy. It's hard for them to accept atheist children.
This year, my sister and I slipped out of midnight mass and drank coffee in a nearby restaurant. We made it back to church just as my parents were coming out and did our best to look radiant and blessed.
But now, 2 days since then, I'm still nursing a bastard of a hangover.
Do they sell Alka-Seltzer in Kuwait?
Also, this (below) is my favourite Christmas tree hanging. I bought a boxful at IKEA a couple of years ago. I haven't seen them anywhere since. GIMME!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Au revoir, mon ami, mon amour.
I thought I cried because
I was sad because
I was lonely because
You left me behind.
I cried because
I was sad because
I was lonely because
I had to leave you behind.
And move on.
I was sad because
I was lonely because
You left me behind.
I cried because
I was sad because
I was lonely because
I had to leave you behind.
And move on.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Who da man?
30 minutes after I stepped into the work place, I was
- Checking mail (work AND personal)
- Burning 12 copies of a particular DVD
- Playing a fast-paced game of Literati
- Talking to my mother on the phone
- Thinking of the noisiest way to wake Le Garçon up
- Listening to Sade's Jezebel
- Reading up on Stem Cell Research
- Drinking a piping hot tea
... all at the same time.
A moment of a day in the life of me, multi-taskeur extraordinaire.
- Checking mail (work AND personal)
- Burning 12 copies of a particular DVD
- Playing a fast-paced game of Literati
- Talking to my mother on the phone
- Thinking of the noisiest way to wake Le Garçon up
- Listening to Sade's Jezebel
- Reading up on Stem Cell Research
- Drinking a piping hot tea
... all at the same time.
A moment of a day in the life of me, multi-taskeur extraordinaire.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Yes, No or Maybe?
I hate to admit it, but Greg Behrendt might just have been onto something when he said "He's just not that into you".
A friend and I were waiting in the car last night, freezing our butts off, while Le Garçon and Princess Boy were shopping for toys (don't ask). We got to talking about girl stuff, as is bound to be the case when 2 women get 5 seconds of privacy.
It occurred to us how our idea of "The One" had changed since we were little girls.
When you're 14 and have just discovered that boys are not icky after all, you're full of hope and love and great expectations.
Surely there was a young, handsome, well-mannered boy out there that liked romantic music, slow dancing, walks on the beach and shoe-shopping. Wasn't there?
And then you get to 21 and are just horny. All he has to be is straight and not smell like a sewer rat.
By 25 though, you've kinda been everywhere and done it all. If you're lucky enough to not be married or pregnant already, you're ready to slow it down a little. Common ground and conversation suddenly become more important. Flashy cars and expensive restaurants are nice enough, but laughter and like-mindedness suddenly take on a whole new charm.
And then she said "But one day, you meet someone that doesn't meet a single one of your criterion. Not one. But something clicks, and you just know that he's The One."
Under her breath she muttered "And then it just doesn't work out."
I explained that even though most people and self-help books would tell you to just remember the good times and be happy, I personally found it more helpful to think of all the times you wanted to rip his head from his body and feed it to the sharks. It helps to think of all the crap you WOULDN'T have to live with.
"But what if the only bad thing that happened was that it didn't work out?"
"Then" I said, "that's his biggest fault of all. That he was fool enough to let you go even though you were so great together."
I bet she thought I was being naive.
She said "It doesn't work that way, Ri. Sometimes there are 'circumstances'"
CIRCUMSTANCES, MY BIG BROWN ASS!
Then, in a (rare) moment of absolute brilliance, I replied "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but that's just total crap. If he wanted it enough, it would have happened. You just weren't what he wanted most of all. If both people in a relationship, *NOT* just one of them, want it to work bad enough, fuck everyone and everything else, it will. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to move on.
The idea of 'circumstances' is like God. They're both comforting thoughts, but they both don't exist."
A friend and I were waiting in the car last night, freezing our butts off, while Le Garçon and Princess Boy were shopping for toys (don't ask). We got to talking about girl stuff, as is bound to be the case when 2 women get 5 seconds of privacy.
It occurred to us how our idea of "The One" had changed since we were little girls.
When you're 14 and have just discovered that boys are not icky after all, you're full of hope and love and great expectations.
Surely there was a young, handsome, well-mannered boy out there that liked romantic music, slow dancing, walks on the beach and shoe-shopping. Wasn't there?
And then you get to 21 and are just horny. All he has to be is straight and not smell like a sewer rat.
By 25 though, you've kinda been everywhere and done it all. If you're lucky enough to not be married or pregnant already, you're ready to slow it down a little. Common ground and conversation suddenly become more important. Flashy cars and expensive restaurants are nice enough, but laughter and like-mindedness suddenly take on a whole new charm.
And then she said "But one day, you meet someone that doesn't meet a single one of your criterion. Not one. But something clicks, and you just know that he's The One."
Under her breath she muttered "And then it just doesn't work out."
I explained that even though most people and self-help books would tell you to just remember the good times and be happy, I personally found it more helpful to think of all the times you wanted to rip his head from his body and feed it to the sharks. It helps to think of all the crap you WOULDN'T have to live with.
"But what if the only bad thing that happened was that it didn't work out?"
"Then" I said, "that's his biggest fault of all. That he was fool enough to let you go even though you were so great together."
I bet she thought I was being naive.
She said "It doesn't work that way, Ri. Sometimes there are 'circumstances'"
CIRCUMSTANCES, MY BIG BROWN ASS!
Then, in a (rare) moment of absolute brilliance, I replied "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but that's just total crap. If he wanted it enough, it would have happened. You just weren't what he wanted most of all. If both people in a relationship, *NOT* just one of them, want it to work bad enough, fuck everyone and everything else, it will. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to move on.
The idea of 'circumstances' is like God. They're both comforting thoughts, but they both don't exist."
Saturday, December 09, 2006
So close! @#%$^@%&!
By the third week of my boss being on vacation and leaving me in charge of the workplace, I was bursting with pride and self-confidence. Everything had gone smoothly...more or less. A few glitches along the way (refer to previous post, thank you) wasn't enough to make it a catastrophic disaster.
But then the 4th week happened and, in spite of having one of the best weekends ever (*glint*), without warning, everything came down around me at work and poo poo -really- hit the fan.
He's back today, and I've braced myself for a huge, smelly shitstorm.
I'm not worried. It's not like he can do without me or anything. MUAHAHAHAHAHA.
But then the 4th week happened and, in spite of having one of the best weekends ever (*glint*), without warning, everything came down around me at work and poo poo -really- hit the fan.
He's back today, and I've braced myself for a huge, smelly shitstorm.
I'm not worried. It's not like he can do without me or anything. MUAHAHAHAHAHA.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Argh.
If you were driving in Khaldiya, on the main road, and passed the corner of Block 1, you probably saw a girl, pacing up and down on the side walk, waving one hand wildly in the air, the other hand holding a phone that she was screaming obsceneties obscenities into, choking on her rage from time to time and finally storming off in tears of murderous anger.
That was me.
The person responsible for that did the only smart thing that day by staying in the car when he finally showed up 45 minutes late for a big assignment. If he'd gotten out, you could've visited him today in the casualty ward of Sabah hospital, with a rusty garden rake sticking out of his skull.
When everything was finally ready to roll, I was still shaking with anger. I took my Mary Poppins bag and went into the bathroom to freshen up. When I was done, I realized I hadn't carried any of my perfume. All I had with me was Le Garçon's Polo Black that he had left with me. I took it out and sprayed on just the tiniest bit, aware that it was very strong and masculine.
And as his fragrance wafted up to my nose and I took a deep breath, for the first time that evening, I smiled. Everything was going to be alright.
That was me.
The person responsible for that did the only smart thing that day by staying in the car when he finally showed up 45 minutes late for a big assignment. If he'd gotten out, you could've visited him today in the casualty ward of Sabah hospital, with a rusty garden rake sticking out of his skull.
When everything was finally ready to roll, I was still shaking with anger. I took my Mary Poppins bag and went into the bathroom to freshen up. When I was done, I realized I hadn't carried any of my perfume. All I had with me was Le Garçon's Polo Black that he had left with me. I took it out and sprayed on just the tiniest bit, aware that it was very strong and masculine.
And as his fragrance wafted up to my nose and I took a deep breath, for the first time that evening, I smiled. Everything was going to be alright.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Pepe Le Pew
I haven't laughed this hard in a long, long time.
I laughed so much, my face started to hurt.
I'm still laughing.
I laughed so much, my face started to hurt.
I'm still laughing.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Never, you say?
Last night, as I turned out the lights and walked to my bed in the darkness, something caught my eye. It was a dim, but distintintive green glow coming from a small table at the foot of my bed. Curiousity piqued, I walked towards it with my hand stretched out impatiently in front of me. When I picked it up, I realized what it was.
Glow-in-the dark stars! Not just stars, but also 2 Saturns and a comet with it's tail curving back behind it.
I stood there motionless in the dark, for several moments. Something had just occured to me. I climbed naked into my warm bed, still holding my glowies in my hand.
Right upto that moment, I'd always secretly wished that I'd been in love at least once in my life. Don't get me wrong, I've fallen in and out of forbidden love more times than I can count.
No, what I mean is ... I was thinking how I had never been "The Only One" for anyone. I'd always put myself into impossible relationships where the chances of something permanent were a million to one. It was always 'no strings attached', and that always suited me just fine.
Except that I was wrong. There was this once ...
He was my sister's friend's younger brother. He was six years my junior, so at first, we all laughed it off as a boyish crush.
He wouldn't dare tell me directly, but he'd confided in his sister who told my sister . Big mistake.
But it was there. In his face, when he smiled, when he looked at me, when he heard my name, the softness with which he said my name.
He sent me bars of Kit Kats from his school canteen.
He made excuses to hang out at my house, just so he could be around me.
He got drunk on my birthday, just so he could rest his head on top of mine while we danced (yes, he was a giant) and say "I love you, Ri"
He carried a huge teddy bear past all his friends on Valentine's Day (so brave, and only just 16) to give to my sister to give to me.
He made me cry when he announced that he was over me, and was finally seeing someone his age.
He came back to me, the second he found out that I cried for him.
He held my hand and kissed it 23 times in 3 hours while it was wrapped around him and his little black kitten snored contentedly on my chest.
The other night we spent at their house, I was so fascinated with the constellation of glowy stars on their ceiling, I could barely sleep.
He came home the next week and stuck glowy stars above my bed. A whole constellation of them.
As I lay in my bed 4 years later, a hundred years older and not a second wiser, I held what was left of my glowies close to me. The glue had dried up and most of them got lost when I changed bedrooms. Except for these.
My dear, sweet you. Thank you for loving me the way that you did. It may have just been a boyish crush, and we may have outgrown each other, but for that short while, I was The Only One for you. And for that, I will be forever grateful. Love always, me.
Glow-in-the dark stars! Not just stars, but also 2 Saturns and a comet with it's tail curving back behind it.
I stood there motionless in the dark, for several moments. Something had just occured to me. I climbed naked into my warm bed, still holding my glowies in my hand.
Right upto that moment, I'd always secretly wished that I'd been in love at least once in my life. Don't get me wrong, I've fallen in and out of forbidden love more times than I can count.
No, what I mean is ... I was thinking how I had never been "The Only One" for anyone. I'd always put myself into impossible relationships where the chances of something permanent were a million to one. It was always 'no strings attached', and that always suited me just fine.
Except that I was wrong. There was this once ...
He was my sister's friend's younger brother. He was six years my junior, so at first, we all laughed it off as a boyish crush.
He wouldn't dare tell me directly, but he'd confided in his sister who told my sister . Big mistake.
But it was there. In his face, when he smiled, when he looked at me, when he heard my name, the softness with which he said my name.
He sent me bars of Kit Kats from his school canteen.
He made excuses to hang out at my house, just so he could be around me.
He got drunk on my birthday, just so he could rest his head on top of mine while we danced (yes, he was a giant) and say "I love you, Ri"
He carried a huge teddy bear past all his friends on Valentine's Day (so brave, and only just 16) to give to my sister to give to me.
He made me cry when he announced that he was over me, and was finally seeing someone his age.
He came back to me, the second he found out that I cried for him.
He held my hand and kissed it 23 times in 3 hours while it was wrapped around him and his little black kitten snored contentedly on my chest.
The other night we spent at their house, I was so fascinated with the constellation of glowy stars on their ceiling, I could barely sleep.
He came home the next week and stuck glowy stars above my bed. A whole constellation of them.
As I lay in my bed 4 years later, a hundred years older and not a second wiser, I held what was left of my glowies close to me. The glue had dried up and most of them got lost when I changed bedrooms. Except for these.
My dear, sweet you. Thank you for loving me the way that you did. It may have just been a boyish crush, and we may have outgrown each other, but for that short while, I was The Only One for you. And for that, I will be forever grateful. Love always, me.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Karma
This weekend was ... interesting, to say the least.
I sat triumphantly at a table eating a nicely sauteed calamari and shrimp platter, while everyone else there ate what they later realized was meat from the face of a cow served to them by a waitress whose mole looked like she had a "tick feeding off her nose". BWUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Ahh, the satisfaction of being a vindicated pescatarian.
Too bad my contact lenses started to bug me to the point where I had to throw them away on the way home and was all but blinded for the next 24 hours or so :/
Friday afternoon, I was half way through my second HUGE mug of beer and feeling happily light-headed when I realized that I had to be sober, showered and sexy in the next 15 minutes because I was to accompany Le Garçon while he dropped off his calling card at a few hotels. I barely made it on time, fumbling around the house in obscenely high heels and my uncle's old bifocals that made me look like Harry Potter with boobs. And, and, and ... INSPITE of all the trouble I took, he laughed when he saw me. HE LAUGHED!
Too bad the next time he got out of the car, he tripped, nearly sprained his ankle and was in pain for the rest of the evening.
(Note to Garçon: I'm sorry you were in so much pain. I didn't like watching you limp like that, it was only slightly funny. I'm just pointing out the Karma here.)
I had the best time though, because we laughed so much. On our mission to find a certain form of entertainment, we hobbled around, me half-blind and with my sadistically high heels and him with his sore ankle, both looking like escapees from the nuthouse, being given the runaround by kabayans and unwelcoming hostesses and being sent to the Evangelical Church for redemption. We eventually gave up because he figured that they were "unworthy of our presence".
Best of all though, was we got to spend the day together... which is a very, very rare thing.
On a completely unrelated note, I hope sex is always as much fun as it is now. I never want to get to where it becomes a chore.
I sat triumphantly at a table eating a nicely sauteed calamari and shrimp platter, while everyone else there ate what they later realized was meat from the face of a cow served to them by a waitress whose mole looked like she had a "tick feeding off her nose". BWUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Ahh, the satisfaction of being a vindicated pescatarian.
Too bad my contact lenses started to bug me to the point where I had to throw them away on the way home and was all but blinded for the next 24 hours or so :/
Friday afternoon, I was half way through my second HUGE mug of beer and feeling happily light-headed when I realized that I had to be sober, showered and sexy in the next 15 minutes because I was to accompany Le Garçon while he dropped off his calling card at a few hotels. I barely made it on time, fumbling around the house in obscenely high heels and my uncle's old bifocals that made me look like Harry Potter with boobs. And, and, and ... INSPITE of all the trouble I took, he laughed when he saw me. HE LAUGHED!
Too bad the next time he got out of the car, he tripped, nearly sprained his ankle and was in pain for the rest of the evening.
(Note to Garçon: I'm sorry you were in so much pain. I didn't like watching you limp like that, it was only slightly funny. I'm just pointing out the Karma here.)
I had the best time though, because we laughed so much. On our mission to find a certain form of entertainment, we hobbled around, me half-blind and with my sadistically high heels and him with his sore ankle, both looking like escapees from the nuthouse, being given the runaround by kabayans and unwelcoming hostesses and being sent to the Evangelical Church for redemption. We eventually gave up because he figured that they were "unworthy of our presence".
Best of all though, was we got to spend the day together... which is a very, very rare thing.
On a completely unrelated note, I hope sex is always as much fun as it is now. I never want to get to where it becomes a chore.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Here, here, Richard Dawkins
Forgive my sudden video-happiness, but you've really got to hear Richard Dawkins out. This man is truly fabulous.
Even if you're a devout believer, it's hard to argue with such crisp logic and common sense. I haven't been this excited about anything since Bertrand Russell.
His interview about his new book, "The God Delusion"
The Root of All Evil (takes a while to load, make yourself some green tea with mint)
- Links to other parts of the series are posted on the right side of the video.
The pwnage of Ted Haggard.
(Note to Mr. Dawkins: If you want to put a sharp object in his neck, I'll post bail)
Richard Dawkins, up front on the Banana Boat, please.
Even if you're a devout believer, it's hard to argue with such crisp logic and common sense. I haven't been this excited about anything since Bertrand Russell.
His interview about his new book, "The God Delusion"
The Root of All Evil (takes a while to load, make yourself some green tea with mint)
- Links to other parts of the series are posted on the right side of the video.
The pwnage of Ted Haggard.
(Note to Mr. Dawkins: If you want to put a sharp object in his neck, I'll post bail)
Richard Dawkins, up front on the Banana Boat, please.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
All apologies.
My apologies
- Firstly, to my legions and legions of loyal readers. I've been lazy and uninspired lately. I'm sure both of you will understand.
- To my boss. For taking Thursday off. I loved every second of it, but I may have gotten in the way of your little post-lunch "meetings" that your wife never seems to know about.
- To you, the first boy I was ever in love with. Maybe marriage isn't such a bad thing, who knows? Good luck, my friend. You're going to need it. I'll be there. Manning the getaway car, just in case.
- To you that had to wake up to find YOUR nutjob girlfriend on YOUR couch with the creep, drunk and passed out from drinking YOUR alcohol. That was cold. Maybe your wife will kiss your boo boo and make it all better. Oh, and you couldn't dance to save your life. Give it up.
- To you, whose clothes don't fit like they used to. Unfortunately, I know what that feels like. We're going swimming again, even if I have to go CATERPILLAR on your fat ass.
- To you, who I have to work with, 6 days a week, 8 or more hours a day. Your breath smells like a dead cat. Somebody is going to stab you in the face someday. I will point and laugh.
But before I get back to cavorting with rich women that want to look like they didn't really eat a whole cow for breakfast...
Word up
- To first time orgasms, to finding out your exes are sorry they're not with you, to showers, to old friends stuck in traffic on the way home from work, to people that know how to make Moonshine, to people that move house and give away their blinds (which I helped pick *scowl*) for free, to roller coasters and Go-Karts, to getting laid in your bedroom with the music playing on cheap computer speakers AND to moments of clarity when everything falls into place and suddenly, things look like they're going to be alright after all.
- Firstly, to my legions and legions of loyal readers. I've been lazy and uninspired lately. I'm sure both of you will understand.
- To my boss. For taking Thursday off. I loved every second of it, but I may have gotten in the way of your little post-lunch "meetings" that your wife never seems to know about.
- To you, the first boy I was ever in love with. Maybe marriage isn't such a bad thing, who knows? Good luck, my friend. You're going to need it. I'll be there. Manning the getaway car, just in case.
- To you that had to wake up to find YOUR nutjob girlfriend on YOUR couch with the creep, drunk and passed out from drinking YOUR alcohol. That was cold. Maybe your wife will kiss your boo boo and make it all better. Oh, and you couldn't dance to save your life. Give it up.
- To you, whose clothes don't fit like they used to. Unfortunately, I know what that feels like. We're going swimming again, even if I have to go CATERPILLAR on your fat ass.
- To you, who I have to work with, 6 days a week, 8 or more hours a day. Your breath smells like a dead cat. Somebody is going to stab you in the face someday. I will point and laugh.
But before I get back to cavorting with rich women that want to look like they didn't really eat a whole cow for breakfast...
Word up
- To first time orgasms, to finding out your exes are sorry they're not with you, to showers, to old friends stuck in traffic on the way home from work, to people that know how to make Moonshine, to people that move house and give away their blinds (which I helped pick *scowl*) for free, to roller coasters and Go-Karts, to getting laid in your bedroom with the music playing on cheap computer speakers AND to moments of clarity when everything falls into place and suddenly, things look like they're going to be alright after all.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Ow
For some unfathomable reason, all of last week, I was filled with a perverse need for self-inflicted pain.
And I do not mean the "Ooh-that-stings" kind of pain.
What I'm talking about here, is the "HOLY-MOTHER-OF-GOD-WHAT-THE-FUCK-WAS-I-THINKING-SOMEONE
-PLEASE-SHOOT-ME-IN-THE-HEAD" kind of pain.
I learnt some very valuable lessons too. Among other things:
1. There are no winners of the Ouch game.
2. Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING, not even death, can make a Brazilian wax less painful.
3. Learn from your mistakes. Leave people's phones alone. Some messages are better left unread.
And I do not mean the "Ooh-that-stings" kind of pain.
What I'm talking about here, is the "HOLY-MOTHER-OF-GOD-WHAT-THE-FUCK-WAS-I-THINKING-SOMEONE
-PLEASE-SHOOT-ME-IN-THE-HEAD" kind of pain.
I learnt some very valuable lessons too. Among other things:
1. There are no winners of the Ouch game.
2. Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING, not even death, can make a Brazilian wax less painful.
3. Learn from your mistakes. Leave people's phones alone. Some messages are better left unread.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Sheep
For the past two days, we've been working on something that requires us to be present at a 3 day long, worship workshop sorta deal for school children.
We don't participate, we just work alongside the actual arena, providing them with a supplementary service which has nothing to do with God.
We work at a hectic pace, trying to finish as much as we can in the 2 hours that we have there. But every now and then, there's a break in the flow, giving me a chance to actually listen (and not just be deafened by) what the neatly dressed guy on the mic is droning on about.
And as I listen, I am amazed at just how completely most people are taken in by the biggest myth in the world. God.
"Children" he says enthusiastically "God loves you! Don't be afraid when you're alone because God is with you. He is greater than anybody else in your lives."
"Can your parents come and sit with you during school time?"
- A big "NOOOOOOOO" in chorus.
"Can your teacher come and live with you at home?" (Daddy wishes.)
- Another big "NOOOOOOOOOO"
"But children, God is everywhere! In your class, in your home and in your heart."
I wondered then, if any of them were wondering "Then why does Daddy get drunk and beat Mommy?"
"Then why does Mommy cry every night?"
"Why's the teacher so nice to the girl with the nice clothes and big car and not to me?".
"If God's right next to me, then why doesn't he do something when Daddy comes into my room at night and hurts me like he does?"
Needless to say, I was disgusted.
As I looked around the huge hall at so many little faces, some engrossed, some indifferent, some asleep, I was afraid for them. Innocent minds, so impressionable, only eager to please and fit in are such fragile things.
When I send my children to school, I want them to learn to be kind, intelligent people, with questioning minds and an unshakeable belief in themselves.
I want them to learn it's okay to not do what everyone else is doing.
I want them to understand the power of logic and reasoning.
I want them also to know that sometimes, you just go with your gut.
I want them to learn to question everything (except Mommy)
I want them to be good, kind human beings because that's what humanity is about, not out of the fear of burning in hell for eternity.
I want them to be kind to animals and love the earth and the sky and the rain.
The way my children turn out, the kind of human beings they become, their lives ... are almost entirely in my hands.
That is, by far, the scariest thing in the world.
We don't participate, we just work alongside the actual arena, providing them with a supplementary service which has nothing to do with God.
We work at a hectic pace, trying to finish as much as we can in the 2 hours that we have there. But every now and then, there's a break in the flow, giving me a chance to actually listen (and not just be deafened by) what the neatly dressed guy on the mic is droning on about.
And as I listen, I am amazed at just how completely most people are taken in by the biggest myth in the world. God.
"Children" he says enthusiastically "God loves you! Don't be afraid when you're alone because God is with you. He is greater than anybody else in your lives."
"Can your parents come and sit with you during school time?"
- A big "NOOOOOOOO" in chorus.
"Can your teacher come and live with you at home?" (Daddy wishes.)
- Another big "NOOOOOOOOOO"
"But children, God is everywhere! In your class, in your home and in your heart."
I wondered then, if any of them were wondering "Then why does Daddy get drunk and beat Mommy?"
"Then why does Mommy cry every night?"
"Why's the teacher so nice to the girl with the nice clothes and big car and not to me?".
"If God's right next to me, then why doesn't he do something when Daddy comes into my room at night and hurts me like he does?"
Needless to say, I was disgusted.
As I looked around the huge hall at so many little faces, some engrossed, some indifferent, some asleep, I was afraid for them. Innocent minds, so impressionable, only eager to please and fit in are such fragile things.
When I send my children to school, I want them to learn to be kind, intelligent people, with questioning minds and an unshakeable belief in themselves.
I want them to learn it's okay to not do what everyone else is doing.
I want them to understand the power of logic and reasoning.
I want them also to know that sometimes, you just go with your gut.
I want them to learn to question everything (except Mommy)
I want them to be good, kind human beings because that's what humanity is about, not out of the fear of burning in hell for eternity.
I want them to be kind to animals and love the earth and the sky and the rain.
The way my children turn out, the kind of human beings they become, their lives ... are almost entirely in my hands.
That is, by far, the scariest thing in the world.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Rant
I wrote this a long time ago. Spruced it up just the tiniest bit.
What the hell is wrong with people?
Do they not see, can they not understand, have they not realized by now that the whole idea of "a blissful marriage" is a sham? A myth, a mirage, an illusion, a lie deviously convoluted by society to seem like it should be one of life's most important milestones, if not the singular most important one?
Two, I've had just two coffees since this morning.
Okay. So I have a paranoid fear of being ordinary.
I loathe the idea of conforming to ridiculous ideals, just because 'it is expected of me.'
But bear with me for a moment. Consider for a while, that I am not full of cow poo and that I might actually have a point:
I consider myself to be reasonably intelligent (Fuck you. All of you)
And being reasonably intelligent, it would take a reasonably intelligent person to stimulate me, attract and captivate me, miss me, existing just to kiss me .... uh, sorry. Melissa Etheridge moment. Bygones.
When I fall in love (again), I will have found a friend.
I will have 'met someone'.
I will be pre-occupied with him, sometimes at least.
I will want to buy him silly shit, like a bright pink Crazy Ball.
I will be giddy with lust.
I will want to share my life, in all its insanity, with him.
Now, why on earth would I want to take something as pure and as pretty as that and turn it into a fucking legal contract?
Because that's what marriage is. It's taking your love relationship, putting it on paper, declaring it to the world, making it palpable to The Village Elders and making it a LEGAL CONTRACT.
LEGAL, as in UPHELD BY LAW.
What that means is, if you wake up one morning and realize you've just spent the night (and the better part of your youth) with the wrong person, you're fucked. You can't just up and leave. You signed a contract, binding the two of you together, for life. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry.
So you just suck it in and take it in stride. I mean, how bad can it be? He does love you. He has a good, steady job. He probably doesn't cheat on you (or has probably perfected the art of not getting caught, which is fine by you because what you don't want to know anyway... what you don't know can't hurt you, right?). He can still get it up every now and then. Romance and excitement and laughter is for kids anyway. Marriage takes hard work and compromise. That's what you're doing. You're not just compromising, you're making your marriage work. Because just look at the alternative. The ugly "D" word *shudder*
I digress. What I'm trying to say is, whatever happened to the sanctity of a relationship? Relationships that transcend paper work and licenses and public approval? It's probably just me, but I think taking something as sacred as love and making it "protected by law" is just plain insulting. To everyone involved, you included.
Why would I want to keep someone that wants to leave, bound to me by a piece of paper he signed 10 (or 2) years ago? If the person you married doesn't want you anymore, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT HIM FOR? If he wants to go, he should be free to do so. Wouldn't it be worse if he stayed with you only for fear of the repercussions of wanting to leave?
And coming down to the nitty-gritty of it, what about the children? What if there are babies involved? What if you are left with 5 children, one salary and no trust fund? THAT'S when you bring in the law. Not to make him stay. He can fuck off, it's his money you want. Not for yourself, but for the children he helped make. He needs to know that he's responsible for them too. If it helps, sue him for everything he's worth. What law, you may ask. You're not even legally married.
You don't have to be legally married to prove the biological paternity (or maternity) of a child. And in most places in the world, the biological paternity (or maternity) of a child, is grounds enough for a lawsuit.
So there, sue yourselves silly.
But remember the assupmtion we made in the beginning? That of reasonable intelligence?
I would think, I would HOPE, that two intelligent people that no longer felt the same way about each other (let's face it, things WILL change - Thank you, O) and wanted live separate lives would let go with humanity and kindness and like G would say "basic human decency".
I dunno, I'm sure there are holes in my arguement. I haven't figured this out completely yet.
The only thing I know for sure is, if he ever wants to leave with my Crazy Ball, he'll be free to go.
What the hell is wrong with people?
Do they not see, can they not understand, have they not realized by now that the whole idea of "a blissful marriage" is a sham? A myth, a mirage, an illusion, a lie deviously convoluted by society to seem like it should be one of life's most important milestones, if not the singular most important one?
Two, I've had just two coffees since this morning.
Okay. So I have a paranoid fear of being ordinary.
I loathe the idea of conforming to ridiculous ideals, just because 'it is expected of me.'
But bear with me for a moment. Consider for a while, that I am not full of cow poo and that I might actually have a point:
I consider myself to be reasonably intelligent (Fuck you. All of you)
And being reasonably intelligent, it would take a reasonably intelligent person to stimulate me, attract and captivate me, miss me, existing just to kiss me .... uh, sorry. Melissa Etheridge moment. Bygones.
When I fall in love (again), I will have found a friend.
I will have 'met someone'.
I will be pre-occupied with him, sometimes at least.
I will want to buy him silly shit, like a bright pink Crazy Ball.
I will be giddy with lust.
I will want to share my life, in all its insanity, with him.
Now, why on earth would I want to take something as pure and as pretty as that and turn it into a fucking legal contract?
Because that's what marriage is. It's taking your love relationship, putting it on paper, declaring it to the world, making it palpable to The Village Elders and making it a LEGAL CONTRACT.
LEGAL, as in UPHELD BY LAW.
What that means is, if you wake up one morning and realize you've just spent the night (and the better part of your youth) with the wrong person, you're fucked. You can't just up and leave. You signed a contract, binding the two of you together, for life. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry.
So you just suck it in and take it in stride. I mean, how bad can it be? He does love you. He has a good, steady job. He probably doesn't cheat on you (or has probably perfected the art of not getting caught, which is fine by you because what you don't want to know anyway... what you don't know can't hurt you, right?). He can still get it up every now and then. Romance and excitement and laughter is for kids anyway. Marriage takes hard work and compromise. That's what you're doing. You're not just compromising, you're making your marriage work. Because just look at the alternative. The ugly "D" word *shudder*
I digress. What I'm trying to say is, whatever happened to the sanctity of a relationship? Relationships that transcend paper work and licenses and public approval? It's probably just me, but I think taking something as sacred as love and making it "protected by law" is just plain insulting. To everyone involved, you included.
Why would I want to keep someone that wants to leave, bound to me by a piece of paper he signed 10 (or 2) years ago? If the person you married doesn't want you anymore, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT HIM FOR? If he wants to go, he should be free to do so. Wouldn't it be worse if he stayed with you only for fear of the repercussions of wanting to leave?
And coming down to the nitty-gritty of it, what about the children? What if there are babies involved? What if you are left with 5 children, one salary and no trust fund? THAT'S when you bring in the law. Not to make him stay. He can fuck off, it's his money you want. Not for yourself, but for the children he helped make. He needs to know that he's responsible for them too. If it helps, sue him for everything he's worth. What law, you may ask. You're not even legally married.
You don't have to be legally married to prove the biological paternity (or maternity) of a child. And in most places in the world, the biological paternity (or maternity) of a child, is grounds enough for a lawsuit.
So there, sue yourselves silly.
But remember the assupmtion we made in the beginning? That of reasonable intelligence?
I would think, I would HOPE, that two intelligent people that no longer felt the same way about each other (let's face it, things WILL change - Thank you, O) and wanted live separate lives would let go with humanity and kindness and like G would say "basic human decency".
I dunno, I'm sure there are holes in my arguement. I haven't figured this out completely yet.
The only thing I know for sure is, if he ever wants to leave with my Crazy Ball, he'll be free to go.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
The Look
Another wedding, another make-up caked bride, another Thursday evening wasted.
I was PISSED off.
The mother of the bride was hospitable enough but she was unstoppable in her quest to be in every one of the 400 or so pictures I shot that night.
"Thake bigchar, my deeyar. Thake many bigchar. I laik thoo much bigchar." YES MA'AM
I looked around for the father of the bride, hoping he was a short, skinny speck of a man that would blow his wife's 5'9", well-endowed frame way out of proportion and give us something to snicker about back at the studio (yes, we are very bored people).
But alas, he was a tall, lanky man with a weathered face and kind eyes. BLEH, whatever.
It was time for the bride to make her grand entrance. How she was going to descend a full flight of NARROW ASS stairs with a dress that could've kept a small village dry during a rainstorm, was beyond me. Her sister informed me that she and her friends were going to helb her. One of them, standing behind the bride, in charge of the back end of the dress, was so helbful, that everyone remaining in the room as the bride made her exit, accidentally got a good view of white bridal buttock. Cotton panties, sensible.
Zalghoota! The old women howl with everything they have. Here comes the bride! Behind her, a trail of young women, one hand helping the bride with her dress, the other desperately trying to hold their own abayas closed, protecting their modesty.
Yeah right. I was there when they'd come up to wish the bride. They'd hurriedly shed their abayas and hijabs then, so that everyone could get a good look at their outfits. Modesty my big brown ass.
The bride finally reaches her seat far across the room from where her groom is sitting. The girls pick up the back of the dress and throw it over the back of the chair. She sits down gingerly. For some reason, the words "Little Miss Muffet" come to mind.
The place suddenly fell silent. I turned to see what had caused this very unusual occurrence. In walks bearded The High Priest, brown bisht and turban impeccable, followed closely by the father of the bride. He makes his way past the seated women and takes his own seat near the bride.
He says something to the room. The women reply in chorus. The bride's father takes his place on the other side of the priest and looks down into the book he is reading aloud from. From where I'm standing, I can see the bride's mother seated in the front row of women, across from the bride. I don't know what the priest is saying but the look on the father's face is intense as hangs on to every word the priest utters.
Then it happened. As if the gravity of the moment was too much for him to bear, the bride's father looked up, his brown eyes searching the crowd of women for that one familiar face. And then he found it. His wife looked back at him from where she sat and smiled reassuringly. His face softened and the corners of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly. They looked at each other a long time. Like there was nobody else in the room. I was mesmerized. So much was said with that one look they exchanged. Pride, relief, thanks, happiness, love.
His sweet brown eyes twinkled and she beamed back at him.
If I believed in marriages, that's what I'd want mine to be about.
I was PISSED off.
The mother of the bride was hospitable enough but she was unstoppable in her quest to be in every one of the 400 or so pictures I shot that night.
"Thake bigchar, my deeyar. Thake many bigchar. I laik thoo much bigchar." YES MA'AM
I looked around for the father of the bride, hoping he was a short, skinny speck of a man that would blow his wife's 5'9", well-endowed frame way out of proportion and give us something to snicker about back at the studio (yes, we are very bored people).
But alas, he was a tall, lanky man with a weathered face and kind eyes. BLEH, whatever.
It was time for the bride to make her grand entrance. How she was going to descend a full flight of NARROW ASS stairs with a dress that could've kept a small village dry during a rainstorm, was beyond me. Her sister informed me that she and her friends were going to helb her. One of them, standing behind the bride, in charge of the back end of the dress, was so helbful, that everyone remaining in the room as the bride made her exit, accidentally got a good view of white bridal buttock. Cotton panties, sensible.
Zalghoota! The old women howl with everything they have. Here comes the bride! Behind her, a trail of young women, one hand helping the bride with her dress, the other desperately trying to hold their own abayas closed, protecting their modesty.
Yeah right. I was there when they'd come up to wish the bride. They'd hurriedly shed their abayas and hijabs then, so that everyone could get a good look at their outfits. Modesty my big brown ass.
The bride finally reaches her seat far across the room from where her groom is sitting. The girls pick up the back of the dress and throw it over the back of the chair. She sits down gingerly. For some reason, the words "Little Miss Muffet" come to mind.
The place suddenly fell silent. I turned to see what had caused this very unusual occurrence. In walks bearded The High Priest, brown bisht and turban impeccable, followed closely by the father of the bride. He makes his way past the seated women and takes his own seat near the bride.
He says something to the room. The women reply in chorus. The bride's father takes his place on the other side of the priest and looks down into the book he is reading aloud from. From where I'm standing, I can see the bride's mother seated in the front row of women, across from the bride. I don't know what the priest is saying but the look on the father's face is intense as hangs on to every word the priest utters.
Then it happened. As if the gravity of the moment was too much for him to bear, the bride's father looked up, his brown eyes searching the crowd of women for that one familiar face. And then he found it. His wife looked back at him from where she sat and smiled reassuringly. His face softened and the corners of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly. They looked at each other a long time. Like there was nobody else in the room. I was mesmerized. So much was said with that one look they exchanged. Pride, relief, thanks, happiness, love.
His sweet brown eyes twinkled and she beamed back at him.
If I believed in marriages, that's what I'd want mine to be about.
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