BENAZIR BHUTTO

Some people agreed with her politics, while others didn't, but none can deny that Benazir Bhutto was one of the most charismatic leaders of our time. May Allah grant her family the peace that she was unable to bring to her nation. This is a sad day for Pakistan.

HOLIDAY

Dear All My Kittens:

Apologies for being negligent in my responsibilities as your blogger-nerd. Yes, I was ill of late with a stomach bug that socked me on Thursday night and lingered until Sunday. This one was a whopper, indeed. But, I'm cured now, praise be to Gatorade and saltines! The sushi dinner I had last night was a blissful reminder of how one should be thankful for proper gastrointestinal functionings .

A ho ho ho to all of my Christmas-ing readers out there. I Christmas-ed by running eight miles in the morning, doing the laundry, paying my bills, playing Resident Evil (I'm afraid the game was just a tad bit too frightening for moi!) and Rayman on my brother's Wii, and then having a merry and festive dinner of Chik'n Grill with a side of chopped bell peppers (YUMMY). I made a to-do list for tomorrow, am now blogging, will follow this up with reading some more of the fantastic first book in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, THE GOLDEN COMPASS and will try to be asleep by 10PM.

Oh, the holidays!

By the way, kittens, some exciting news! I'm having dinner with MP's family on New Year's Eve! I'm all a flutter over it! Eek is the word!

Off to reading now and here's to a glorious tomorrow for the lot of you.

Clearly, I'm in a mood.

Love and cheer,
SABILA

HAPPY HOLIDAYS or I'M DOWN WITH THE STOMACH BA HUMBUG

Yes, kittens, it's that time of year again: Eid, Hannukah, Christmas, and Sabila's stomach bug are all upon us. I hope you are surrounded by love, family, and food (just thinking about food makes me dry heave, but I'm sure it's different for those people who don't get a stomac bug every freakin' December) during this season of celebration. Me, I'm going back to sleep and hoping that the diarrhea and vomiting that have been schoolin' me for the past twelve or so hours subsides so that I can drink some Gatorade and rehydrate.

Love you guys.

DEAR MADLIBBIN' PARASAILER: An Open Letter

Dear Madlibbin' Parasailer:

I can't believe that it's only been two months since that time that I--so absolutely racked with a case of the first-date-with-a-guy-I-picked-up-in-open-letters-on-my-blog jitters--showed up at Morimoto half an hour early in order to hop around the ladies' room and psyche myself up. In spite of all the hopping around and pep talks to myself in the dimly lit (and definitely not conducive to reapplying makeup) bathroom, I couldn't help but reply to your genial greeting with a frantic, "I'm so nervous right now, I think I'm going to vomit," as I waved my flushed face with my hand and took measured breaths in order to ward off an anxiety attack.

There were interjections of "OMG! I'm so nervous," throughout our meal, a "You're having a good time, aren't you?" as we finished course five or, maybe it was six, and, of course, the (polite) reach for the bill when it arrived was followed by "I'm so glad you're paying because it's really a turnoff when guys don't pay for dinner."

Clearly, I had a most terrible case of verbal diarrhea.

Yet, here we are, celebrating two monts together. Picking you up in open letters on my blog was the best thing I've ever done. I'm so thankful that you're my guy.

Yours,
The Nerddd

AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HOME VIDEOS

The Khan family has been watching and loving America's Funniest Home Videos from the show's earliest days on ABC with that loveable douche of funny Bob Saget (his comedy routines are way more edgy than any syndicated episode of Full House--or AFHV, for that matter--would lead you to believe!) through its bumpy years when Daisy Fuentes and that dude from VH1 hosted to this day with Tom What's-His-Face in the captain's helm (while I may not always remember the dude's name, he is, hands down, the funniest host the 2nd longest-running entertainment program on ABC has had).

So, the other day, amma and I are watching the latest $100,000 championship show, which I've DVR'd from the previous week (I don't need to be judged, yo. I'm way edgy. You don't know me). During a particularly funny (and touching!) musical montage of wedding proposals (from over the decades--you should see the mullets on some of the future brides and grooms! Hair-raising stuff, I tell you!), amma turns to me with a very thoughtful look on her face and says, "Someone needs to share these videos with MP."

Oh, AFHV! Full of inspiration and hope for ammas across the country!

PIMPLE PROTEST or THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN TO ME

I almost never break out.

As a matter of fact, I have pretty amazing skin, if I may say so myself.

I was the only teenager I knew who did not succumb to that pimple pandemic that seems to sweep the frenzy of hormones known as adolescence. I was only peripherally aware of the plight of girls volunteering to pop each other's pimples back in the '90s--a practice, which I later discovered, is more prevalent than I'd ever imagined (gasp!). Today, while other women cake their faces with concealer and foundation, I remain lucky enough to not need excessive amounts of makeup (I don't even own foundation).

Yet, even in spite of the overall wonderfulness of my (radiant...ahem...) skin, I, too, sometimes fall victim to the occasional zit (note, I said I almost never break out). And, trust you me, when that single zit alights on my face, it has its own freakin' spotlight, talent agent, and singing contract. The bitch is loud and angry and is telling me that it's not going anywhere. For instance, the one that is sitting its ass on my left cheek right now, is telling me that we're part of the same place, we're part of the same time, we both share the same blood, we both have the same mind, and that it's stayin', it's stayin', and I, and I, I'm gonna looooove it.

Just for the record, the crazy bitch has yet to convince me to love it. All it's really convinced me, during these handful of times it's found its way to my face is to ignore it, because popping it would be way too messy.

So, like an aerial shot of a penguin, lying flat on its face on an expanse of otherwise pristine Antarctic snow, my pimple's pretty goddamned conspicuous. I tried to conceal it from MP this weekend with with strategic hand-, hair-, scarf-, and giant purse-placements but the attention-whore wanted to get its fifteen minutes in with my boyfriend and it sure did.

He told me it was lovely.
I suspect he was lying.

Let's hope this loud-ass zit goes quiet before I meet MP's family, otherwise I may even stoop to asking him to pop it!
I jest! Of course I'd never ask my boyfriend, or anyone else for that matter to pop my pimple...not just yet, anyway...ahem ahem ahem.

SWEAT A COLD?

Didn't I read somewhere that one should sweat out a cold and that running 8-10 miles while in the semi-grips of a stuffy nose and sore throat is a good idea? I'm off for what I'll try to make a long run. It feels like a long run kind of day.

Update: Success is mine. I ran a nearly effortless 8 miles even in the throes of a cold and it felt damned wonderful.

MP's FAMILY

Dear Kittens,

Once again, I'm in desperate need of your guidance.

I'm meeting MP's lovely parents and older sister at the very end of this month and I want to buy them a "hello-I'm-the-Nerddd-and-how-are-you" gift, except I don't even know where to begin. I'm a very bad gift-giver. As a matter of fact, when it comes to giving gifts, I'm much like a man: clueless (I don't mean to generalize here. I'm sure that plenty of my male readers are awesome givers of gifts!).

The first time he met them, MP was kind enough to gift my parents with a lovely flower arrangement from Takashimaya. We cooed over it for days. I would, of course, like to present the MP family with something similarly coo-worthy; yet, it has to be something that they can easily take with them on their flight home. Should I gift each member of the family or only MP's mom? What, oh what, will be good enough for the family that raised a man as stunningly wonderful as my MP? Oh, I'm so confused!

Your assistance would be much appreciated, darlings. Thanks!

Yours,
The Nerddd

WORK-RELATED

If someone told me six years ago, when I--wide eyed with an English lit diploma clutched in my hand--first started working, that I'd someday find myself in my boss's office, flipping through a Playboy with him, I would've said, "You so crazy!"

Yesterday, I found myself in my boss's office, flipping through a Playboy with him.

I love my job.

OH SNAP!

"That's a really bad habit, Sabila," my brother comments each and every time I throw a piece of gum into my mouth and proceed to snap, crackle, and pop it with zero concern for the auditory peace of the folks in my vicinity.

Yes, I have mostly impeccable manners in public places.
Yes, these mostly impeccable manners are greatly compromised when someone offers an apres-dinner chew or when I fish out a stick of gum and a good book for entertainment during my commute.
Yes, some of my companions are shocked, dismayed, and galled upon experiencing the Nerddd snapping on a wad of gum.

No, I can't put my gum-snapping ways to rest. Gum played a significant role in my childhood and I have vivid memories of those days long ago, when a young Nerddd discovered the mysteries of chewing gum. I can pinpoint the moment: I was four or five years old and had spent the day running errands with my father in Manhattan--a day, which was, of itself, fantastic because it was just me and abu. We were heading back home on the PATH during rush hour, comfortably crammed into our seats, when a melodic symphony of pop-pop-pop caught my attention. It was coming from a large African American woman sitting across from us and I was held spellbound. What the woman was doing was the chewing gum equivalent of popping bubblewrap and, at that moment, I knew I wanted to learn how to snap gum.

The problem, however, was that I didn't even know how to blow bubbles with gum. So, that same week, I enlisted my mom's friend, B, to teach me. It must've been summer, though I'm not sure, but we were out on my balcony when she taught me. Pulling up a chair directly across from me, she demonstrated how to manipulate a wad of gum with my tongue until it was flat enough to push out and blow air into. And once I knew that, readers, snapping just as (some would argue) melodically became a habit that I just can't quit.

I'm a gum snapper. I will always be a gum snapper. People on the train will stare at me, annoyed, until my personal soundtrack fades into the background, right along with the sounds of the wheels on the track. My brother will always proclaim that I need to correct this horrible habit of mine. But, rest assured, I will always chew gum. I will always make sure that I catch pockets of air in my gum and I will always snap, snap, snap.

I'm a gum snapper.

OPEN FORUM

The number of comments I usually receive on my blog have been steadily declining ever since I activated Blogger's comments moderation option. To counteract this, I, for this single post, open the floor--as well as my blog--to all reader-commenters (and honestly, I won't have the time to moderate every single comment that comes in today).
Just fyi, kittens.

Here's the topic,

Interracial/interfaith marriages: is love really enough?

Let's get it on (and I don't mean that in a sexy way at all. Ahem)!

CRACK HIPS

Today, my dear readers, I share with you the gift of cracking your misaligned-and-as-a-result-injury-prone-hips back into place. Back in physical therapy, when my physical therapist wasn't myofascially releasing my ass, he'd make me lie on my back with my knees bent and feet flat on the table, and stick his forearm between my knees. I was to squeeze my knees together until we heard a crack (that would be my hips cracking, not his forearms).

Now, I would try to repeat this exercise with one of those smaller stability balls, as my physical therapist instructed, but I just didn't feel like the resultant crack was an effective crack. So, recently, I decided to try something new. I put a 4 kg medicine ball--with which I myofacially release, among many other parts of my body, my ass--on the exercise mat at the gym. I kneeled on the mat, with my knees on either side of the medicine ball, and then proceeded to squeeze. Almost immediately, I heard a series of satisfying little cracks! Like music to my ears, my hip was realigned and all was well. All was well.

So, if you, my friends, are suffering from the blight of misaligned hips, crack them back into place with this little exercise and, trust me, you'll be well on your way to running miles and miles and miles like I do.

NERDDDY LOVE*

Staring into each other's eyes over candlelit vegetarian Korean food

MP: I'm so lucky to have found you.
Nerddd: Are you kidding me? I'm lucky to have found you!
MP: No, no. With you by my side, it is I who has emerged victorious.
Nerddd: Well, I would've probably hurled myself out of a window if I hadn't found you.
MP: I'm luckier. Trust me.
Nerddd: Seriously...out-of-the-window. I'm the lucky one.
MP: Okay, okay. Let's just say that we're both equally lucky to have found one another.
Nerddd: Agreed.
MP: (groaning) I can't believe we've become that couple.

Staring into each other's eyes over Middle Eastern food

MP: I missed you so much since the last time I saw you.
Nerddd: I missed you more!
MP: That's just unlikely, my dear!
Nerddd: I missed you so much more--
MP: No, I missed you more.
Nerddd: I thought about you all day yesterday MP.
MP: I think about you all day, everday. Welcome to my world.
Nerddd: I suspect that anyone who'd have the (mis)fortune of witnessing this exchange would need a barf bag and several insulin shots...that being said, I missed you more.

*Please note that while this isn't an exact transcription of the more sentimental conversations that MP and I have, it certainly captures their essence and makes me sigh excessively.

PHISHING and FLASHING: A Tale of MySpace Identity Theft

My MySpace friends received the following comment from me for approval this past weekend:

OMG YOU GOTTA SEE THE PICS FROM THIS CLUB I WENT TO.. SHE FLASHED HER TITTIESS TO EVERYONE AGAIN AND WE GOT PICS.

Hate to break it to you guys but this comment didn't come from me, a fact that should've been apparent to all of my MySpace friends. Firstly, a club isn't my weekend venue of choice, mainly because of my sensory integration disorder.

Secondly, I'm a chick. Some chick flashing her tittiess at a club isn't a very noteworthy event in my book, mainly because I'm straight but also because, goddamit, I have my own tittiess. I flash myself with my own tittiess every single day. I also see an abundance of tittiess at the gym on a daily basis. So, guess what? I don't care about tittiess. Tittiess interest me about as much as arms and chins do. Trust me. There isn't a titty in the world that would have me scrambling for my phone at a club and forwarding pics of it to my MySpace friends.

So, in closing, if you, my MySpace friend, ever receive a MySpace message from me about clubs and/or tittiess, rest assured that it's merely a phishing imposter pretending to be your Nerddd.