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.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
I've been thinking ...
It'd been a good night.
As I lay basking contentedly in the afterglow of 3 brilliantly executed orgasms, my mind began to wander. He lay beside me, snoring loudly, tired and spent from his own 2 explosions.
I smiled to myself, thinking about how comforting the sound of his snoring was. I shifted my weight, lay my head on his chest and listened to him rumble like a big, warm, hibernating bear.
I felt very feminine then. It felt good to be a woman.
But it saddened me to think that so many women, through so many generations before mine, never experienced the powerful grip of a real orgasm. What a waste of woman!
A while back, I was at an Arab wedding. The ladies' party. The bride sat pretty, blushing and all made up in the middle of a room full of heavily bedecked, rejoicing women. Her mother and sisters hovered close by, making sure she was perfect. The older women shouted out chants of blessings and let out the occasional "wedding call" as I like to call it.
As I watched them, the grandmothers and great grandmothers of so many, I wondered "Do they even know what their bodies are (or were, at least) capable of?"
How would they feel if they learned now, that the sex didn't have to be a chore, an obligation, a duty they had to fulfill? That they could've experienced something so powerful and overwhelming and know the full potential of their sexuality? Perhaps some did. The bolder and more curious of the lot. But for most of them, it was just another thing they had to do. Like cooking and cleaning and getting the children dressed for school.
An elderly abaya-clad woman, probably in her late seventies stood up and hobbled towards the bride. The bride hugged her and kissed her wrinkled forehead and thanked her softly for her blessings. The woman went back to her seat at the far end of the room and sat down. A smile still lingered in the lines at the corner of her mouth. As I watched, her expression turned distant and serene and her eyes turned wistful. I knew what she was thinking. She was reminiscing about her own wedding day, probably much like this one, when she was the one sitting in the middle of the room.
Later that night, she was touched by a man for the first time in her life. She must've been so afraid and uncertain. Her mother had told her that a wife must always keep her husband pleased. But she had no idea what to expect.
It wasn't so bad. The pain had eventually subsided. The soreness was gone a few days after. Now, three sons, two daughters, and five grandchildren later, she still didn't understand why men made such a big deal about sex.
Through the ages, in most places around the world, the idea of sex was to be able to make children. The only thing required of a man, would be to impregnate her with his seed. Go forth and multiply!
Of course, he loved it. He would orgasm inside her, and his job was done. Forget foreplay, forget her needs and female ejaculation? Don't be ridiculous!
It's tougher for men today. Keeping a woman that is aware of her bodily needs satisfied, can be a daunting task. But do it successfully, and you've earned a whole new kind of respect *gleam*
Women now know what they can expect and they expect it. You don't make love to a woman anymore, you make love with her.
My bear had stopped snoring. I looked up to see if he was awake, hoping I hadn't disturbed him. He was still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful and so honest. I was tempted to kiss him awake. But I resisted and let him sleep.
He'd earned it.
As I lay basking contentedly in the afterglow of 3 brilliantly executed orgasms, my mind began to wander. He lay beside me, snoring loudly, tired and spent from his own 2 explosions.
I smiled to myself, thinking about how comforting the sound of his snoring was. I shifted my weight, lay my head on his chest and listened to him rumble like a big, warm, hibernating bear.
I felt very feminine then. It felt good to be a woman.
But it saddened me to think that so many women, through so many generations before mine, never experienced the powerful grip of a real orgasm. What a waste of woman!
A while back, I was at an Arab wedding. The ladies' party. The bride sat pretty, blushing and all made up in the middle of a room full of heavily bedecked, rejoicing women. Her mother and sisters hovered close by, making sure she was perfect. The older women shouted out chants of blessings and let out the occasional "wedding call" as I like to call it.
As I watched them, the grandmothers and great grandmothers of so many, I wondered "Do they even know what their bodies are (or were, at least) capable of?"
How would they feel if they learned now, that the sex didn't have to be a chore, an obligation, a duty they had to fulfill? That they could've experienced something so powerful and overwhelming and know the full potential of their sexuality? Perhaps some did. The bolder and more curious of the lot. But for most of them, it was just another thing they had to do. Like cooking and cleaning and getting the children dressed for school.
An elderly abaya-clad woman, probably in her late seventies stood up and hobbled towards the bride. The bride hugged her and kissed her wrinkled forehead and thanked her softly for her blessings. The woman went back to her seat at the far end of the room and sat down. A smile still lingered in the lines at the corner of her mouth. As I watched, her expression turned distant and serene and her eyes turned wistful. I knew what she was thinking. She was reminiscing about her own wedding day, probably much like this one, when she was the one sitting in the middle of the room.
Later that night, she was touched by a man for the first time in her life. She must've been so afraid and uncertain. Her mother had told her that a wife must always keep her husband pleased. But she had no idea what to expect.
It wasn't so bad. The pain had eventually subsided. The soreness was gone a few days after. Now, three sons, two daughters, and five grandchildren later, she still didn't understand why men made such a big deal about sex.
Through the ages, in most places around the world, the idea of sex was to be able to make children. The only thing required of a man, would be to impregnate her with his seed. Go forth and multiply!
Of course, he loved it. He would orgasm inside her, and his job was done. Forget foreplay, forget her needs and female ejaculation? Don't be ridiculous!
It's tougher for men today. Keeping a woman that is aware of her bodily needs satisfied, can be a daunting task. But do it successfully, and you've earned a whole new kind of respect *gleam*
Women now know what they can expect and they expect it. You don't make love to a woman anymore, you make love with her.
My bear had stopped snoring. I looked up to see if he was awake, hoping I hadn't disturbed him. He was still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful and so honest. I was tempted to kiss him awake. But I resisted and let him sleep.
He'd earned it.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Bug
I don't know why people don't like catching colds.
I've decided it's one of the funnest things that could happen to you.
Oh well, to me at least.
I love being sneezy and honky all day.
Clogged nasal passages and dry, flaky burning nostrils are da bom!
Nothing is more alluring and sexy than watery, bloodshot eyes and a voice that sounds like Pee Wee Herman.
It's so fucking cool when your cough keeps you up all night and your face hurts every time you laugh even.
The best of all, is trying to talk in the morning and ending up sounding like a Howler Monkey during mating season.
See, my darling obsessed bich? At least I'm not always cribbing. It's not my style *twinkle*
I've decided it's one of the funnest things that could happen to you.
Oh well, to me at least.
I love being sneezy and honky all day.
Clogged nasal passages and dry, flaky burning nostrils are da bom!
Nothing is more alluring and sexy than watery, bloodshot eyes and a voice that sounds like Pee Wee Herman.
It's so fucking cool when your cough keeps you up all night and your face hurts every time you laugh even.
The best of all, is trying to talk in the morning and ending up sounding like a Howler Monkey during mating season.
See, my darling obsessed bich? At least I'm not always cribbing. It's not my style *twinkle*
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Toying with trouble.
I'm going to try something today. A sociology experiment of sorts (Thank you, girl that "removes different voice only")
What I'm going try and do is this:
I am not going to tell a single lie all of today.
Not even a tiny one. Not a white one, not even a necessary one. Not in a box, not for a fox, not with Courtney Cox's socks.
I'm curious to see how 100% brutal honesty goes down.
"Yes, you have put on weight."
"Your new shirt looks like a curtain from an Egyptian brothel."
"No, you will never find someone."
"You are full of shit ... sir."
If I am never heard from again after today, my green anaconda goes to the boy with the runny nose.
What I'm going try and do is this:
I am not going to tell a single lie all of today.
Not even a tiny one. Not a white one, not even a necessary one. Not in a box, not for a fox, not with Courtney Cox's socks.
I'm curious to see how 100% brutal honesty goes down.
"Yes, you have put on weight."
"Your new shirt looks like a curtain from an Egyptian brothel."
"No, you will never find someone."
"You are full of shit ... sir."
If I am never heard from again after today, my green anaconda goes to the boy with the runny nose.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Burning Desire.
I was bored out of my mind today.
When I say "out of my mind" I don't just mean "very" bored.
No, no, no, no, no, no, NO NO NO... NO!
When I say "out of my mind", I mean "totally maniacal, raving lunatic, fucking crackpot, certifiably demented, criminally insane" bored.
Know what I mean? (If you do, get help... now.)
Okay, so the situation was complicated by unusually (not really unusual) high levels of oestrogen...the first thought I had today was "Burn".
My past fantasies of spontaneous self-combustion notwithstanding, as of today, I have a new found empathy for arsonists, serial or otherwise.
I can understand now, to a certain degree at least, why somebody would want to take a match to something, watch it go up in flames, disintegrate into nothing and just stare at it so long, your eyes burnt, your skin turned hot and your head felt like it was going to burst.
Boredom and Oestrogen don't go together very well.
It all started with the workplace being so cold, my nipples wouldn't stop pointing. Through my bra, vest AND shirt of reasonable thickness. It occured to me then that the only way I was going to warm up was by setting myself on fire. From there, it was just one endless, downward spiral into criminal insanity.
Truth is, boredom and the slow-pacedness of the day allowed for some idle mind-wandering. The direction it took was influenced by raging girlmones but then again, they always quiet down eventually, don't they?
Please don't be scared.
I'm harmless. Really.
I like puppies.
When I say "out of my mind" I don't just mean "very" bored.
No, no, no, no, no, no, NO NO NO... NO!
When I say "out of my mind", I mean "totally maniacal, raving lunatic, fucking crackpot, certifiably demented, criminally insane" bored.
Know what I mean? (If you do, get help... now.)
Okay, so the situation was complicated by unusually (not really unusual) high levels of oestrogen...the first thought I had today was "Burn".
My past fantasies of spontaneous self-combustion notwithstanding, as of today, I have a new found empathy for arsonists, serial or otherwise.
I can understand now, to a certain degree at least, why somebody would want to take a match to something, watch it go up in flames, disintegrate into nothing and just stare at it so long, your eyes burnt, your skin turned hot and your head felt like it was going to burst.
Boredom and Oestrogen don't go together very well.
It all started with the workplace being so cold, my nipples wouldn't stop pointing. Through my bra, vest AND shirt of reasonable thickness. It occured to me then that the only way I was going to warm up was by setting myself on fire. From there, it was just one endless, downward spiral into criminal insanity.
The fact that in reality, I couldn't light a candle without making sure I knew where the nearest extinguisher was, shouldn't matter.
Truth is, boredom and the slow-pacedness of the day allowed for some idle mind-wandering. The direction it took was influenced by raging girlmones but then again, they always quiet down eventually, don't they?
Please don't be scared.
I'm harmless. Really.
I like puppies.
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