Sunday, February 25, 2007


A pump followed by a shimmy will make that seemingly oxymoronic term, "sexy line dance," a reality.
Shimmying before pumping may change results. Proceed with caution.

Sunday, February 18, 2007


Love blows. Men blow. Carbs blow (well, really, they rock...but you know what I mean, surely). REALITY blows. I want to die.
Seriously, I do.
...Ooooor, I'll take life in Alaska.

I want to start life over again. I want to relocate to Alaska, where I can live in an igloo (or a very spacious but cozy log cabin) with someone I know with whom a future is very much an unreality in reality. We can listen to songs we like, write novels and short stories and read books all day and then talk about the books we've read over dinner in our igloo/log cabin. In our bedroom, there will be a skylight through which we'll watch the Northern Lights at night. We'll have a gym in the basement of our igloo (ahem...)/ log cabin, where I'll work out first thing in the morning, every morning, forever, without worrying about making it into work, because we wouldn't have to work. We'd be wealthy off of writing our short stories AND our screenplays. We'll be the reclusive power couple of the century.

Vanity Fair will do a spread on us. Each photo will show us looking languid and happy in our igloo/log cabin, flush from the warmth of it, flush from the stories and the music and the abundance of omega-3 fatty acids in our fish-heavy diet. In one pic, I'll wear a little dress and my feet will be bare, the toe nails painted red. He'll wear jeans, an ironic t-shirt and flip flops. I'll wear jeans with brown riding boots in another, maybe a cardigan with a skull pattern on it, and big gold earrings. On him, pajama bottoms. In another pic, we'll be dressed for the Oscars (we'll have attended the Oscars for our best-screenplay nomination and win) but not wearing the actual outfits we wore to the Oscars. Instead of the black couture Chanel gown, I'll wear a white empire silk tulle Marchesa gown embroidered with golden flowers. He'll wear a Giorgio Armani tux, which, while it looks a hell of a lot like the Dolce & Gabbana he wore to the Oscars, will also be a hell of a lot different. His bow tie will be undone, his hair mussed. I might want my lipstick smudged.

The VF people will insist on one photo with us in native garb, which I find termendously uncomfortable, so instead of describing it at length, I'll tell you that our outfits in this pic will be lush and gorgeous and very ethnic. I'll wear a lot of heavy native jewelry, all my own. He'll have to wear those uncomfortable native shoes, khusays. He'll limp in pain by the end of the shoot. I'll be sweaty under the layers of the past. And, finally, in the last photo, we'll be glamorously unrecognizable in layers and layers of coats and hats and scarves and mittens and snow boots. We'll be holding hands in that awkward way that people wearing mittens hold hands. Maybe we'll stand in front of our igloo/ log cabin (in all honesty, I'm leaning towards the log cabin. I mean, how comfortable can an igloo be, right?).

I love this life. It sounds like heaven.


During meetings at work, I have this constant fear that my cell phone is going to go off. I understand this to be a totally unfounded fear because I never have my cell phone with me in meetings. There WAS this one time when a lunch ran late, forcing me to run into a meeting without first dropping my handbag off in my office. I slid into the meeting as inconspicuously as possible and stuck the bag under the table, by my feet.

Yes, my phone did go off then.

The room was quiet.

My phone's ring tone--a slow, schmaltzy tune--wasn't.

So, yes, that's where the fear originates. It's still, however, totally irrational.

Saturday, February 17, 2007


I now have the task of composing an email to this dude who I don't care to email. Good times. I'll let you folks know how it goes.

And someone answer the following question for me, please: are there really no American born or raised, intelligent, passionate, well-read, unassuming, kind, pop culture savvy, funny, driven, boyishly good looking, single men of Pakistani or Indian Muslim descent in the tri-state area? Because I think my mom might be lying to me...

Friday, February 16, 2007


The parental matchmaking process to which most of every Pakistani person (read: GIRL) is subjected to at some point in his or her (read: HER) adult life is infuriating and I HATE it. It's degrading and confusing and exhausting. Because I'm so worn out from trying to first explain to my parents why I rejected a rishta they'd received for me from the opposite coast (read: BECAUSE I HAVE NO CAREER PURSUITS, WHICH MAY REQUIRE ME TO STAY ON THIS COAST) and later spelling out to them exactly how far I was willing to take this ridiculous process, I'm going to cut and paste here the chat conversation I had with a dear friend (read: NOT SO MUCH A CONVERSATION, IT WAS MOSTLY ME SWEARING AND VENTING AND SWEARING SOME MORE) a few hours after the showdown. Please remember that the grammatical errors that may appear below are the unfortunate results of me being in a heated way:

NERDDD: allow me to bitch for five minutes?
FRIEND: haha go right ahead
FRIEND: I am watching Meet the Press
NERDDD: just read
FRIEND: I shall
NERDDD: so, the 'rents are back on their let's-get-sabila-married kick, right?
NERDDD: and the cousins around the country have been ordered to keep an eye out for available men
NERDDD: and i'm like, whatever this blows but do what makes you happy and keeps you off my back
NERDDD: so my cousin on the west coast of all fuckin' places has a sort of friend who he thinks is perfect for me
NERDDD: and my cousin is a decent guy
NERDDD: but he wasn't brought up here etc isn't very up with the pop culture etc and I doubt he reads
NERDDD: but my mom thinks that my cousin is all that people should strive to be and secretly dreams that she was his mother
NERDDD: so of course his friend is suddenly perfect for me right
NERDDD: so the friend emails cousin brief summary of his life so far plus two pics which are then sent to my dad which i then get to see (after the bros have seen and, apparently, approved, those bastards)
NERDDD: so before amma shows me pic she declares that the bros have approved so i feel like saying then THEY should marry him but i don't
NERDDD: and i look at below average pic and i read drab and dry and uninspired email and there isn't one thing on that computer screen that does ANYTHING for me
NERDDD: i mean if i'm supposed to make initial decisions based on photo and email then i've made my decision, right? so i tell my mom that he's not attractive and he's a bloody electrical engineer for christ's sake. what do i have in common with an ELECTRICAL ENGINEER. I took ap calc in hs, but that's all we've got here
NERDDD: i told her that it's fine that he isn't my type in the looks dept. that he could've totally balanced that out with a passionate email full of verve and personality, or if he had interesting hobbies or an interesting job but he doesn't so based on all of the information available to me, I've decided that NO, I don't want to waste my time or this guy's time getting to know him.
NERDDD: and my parents get pissed at me!
NERDDD: like, oh, i reject everyone
NERDDD: and i shouldn't reject everyone
NERDDD: so like i should MARRY everyone instead? is that what they want me to do
NERDDD: so i tell them that going by what i have available before me i see no reason to pursue this. i'm trying to be all reasonable and composed and mature and junk right
NERDDD: but then they're like, in a couple of years i'm not even gonna get any rishtas and this upsets me very much
NERDDD: this system is bullshit
NERDDD: im' pissed
NERDDD: so i tell them that yah, i should pretend to be interested in this dude and then marry him because he's their favorite nephew's friend and, like them, i should base my decision solely on that fact and when in two years i'm getting a divorce they should pat themselves on the back
NERDDD: and they're like, no decent boy would divorce me
NERDDD: and i'm like, hell, just x me out of that entire equation. what the hell about me? where do you want me to fit in here?
NERDDD: fuck
NERDDD: i hate this shit
NERDDD: it's shit
FRIEND: how did your brothers approve?
FRIEND: thats interesting
NERDDD: finally because they just wouldn't stop talking about it, i told them that id made my decision based on the facts that were available to me but if they think that there's reason to pursue this further i would. but that they should know that if after steps two and three and four fuckin' hundred or however the fuck many steps there are in this motherfucking bullshit process, i say no, i'll mean no
NERDDD: that i'm not going to go and bloody marry someone because he's bloody friends with my bloody goody two shoes cousin who happens to be semi fobby
NERDDD: fuck
NERDDD: my brothers approved because they probably didn't give a rat's ass
NERDDD: this is what i've become to them? someone they just need to marry off?
NERDDD: i REFUSE to marry someone because it's the right time to do so or it's what my fuckin community or extended family expect me to do
NERDDD: and they're just goign to have to live with it
FRIEND: need a call?
NERDDD: why cant' this be easy? why can't i just find someone during my morning commute or something. It would make life so much fuckin' easier.
NERDDD: yes, I need a call.
So, now I have to exchange emails with this electrical engineer on the opposite coast simply because I didn't know that I wasn't allowed to reject anyone in the first step of this multi-step process. The steps, as I see them, are:


2) Exchange email addresses through parents. Email one another in a totally ridiculous and nonsensical effort to get to know your (not so) potential life partner through smiley faces and LOLs! Waste several hours of your life trying to get to know someone you knew you weren't into five seconds into reading his biodata and viewing his rishta glamour shots;

3) Exchange numbers to make sure (not so) potential life partner doesn't have a nasally, grating or too high-pitched voice and asking him questions like whether or not he's into whore pants and trying to ascertain from his inflections whether or not the dude's being honest ;

4) Spend hundreds of dollars and countless more hours of your life arranging a real life oh-goodness-you're-so-much-more-(insert adjective of choice here)-than-you-appear-in-your-photos) moment;

5) Piss away more valuable hours meeting and greeting (not so) potential life partner as well as (not so) potential life partner's family;

6) NOW, after you've thoroughly wasted EVERYONE'S time and energy and toyed with their emotions, only NOW can you say, "Oh, right, like I'm not so into you anymore. Sorry."

And what happened to the ground rules that the parents were supposed to follow? They were to limit their search to men who have spent a considerable MAJORITY of their lives in the States and are LOCAL. Jeez, Louise, is it SO hard? Apparently, yes?

Serenity (as well as sleep) now!

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


The naked commercialism of the most manufactured of all holidays is, once again, upon us. Let us vomit. Amen.

While I hate Valentine's Day with most every fiber of my being (this does not include the fibers of my being that have been longtime fans of flowers and those candy hearts with messages on them) and while I might come across as ambivalent about romantic love, I'd like to say for the record that I'm mostly in love with love.

I tend to throw around "I love you"s with about the same frequency as others say "Hello!" or "Your tag's out" or "Hey, wanna grab some (insert meal of your choice HERE)?" No, I'm not frivolous with my love. I just tend to live with my heart and being generous with love never seemed like a bad idea.

So, to all of the people I know out there (and, even to some of those I don't know), I'd like to say I love you, not because it's cupid-farting-hearts-out-of-his-ass day, but because it's just another day. And, no, I'm not bloody buying you a box of chocolates.

Monday, February 12, 2007


*please note that all names have been altered in this post to protect both the identities of my extended family as well as my own hide. I don't have an Aunt Humera or a cousin called Sheila. They go by different names in real life.

Amma: Remember that single doctor your cousin told us about?
Nerddd: The 40-year-old doctor from, where was it?...Arizona? Alaska?
Amma: Don't exaggerate! He was 37! I think it was South Dakota...hmm...or was it North Dakota...
Amma: Well, anyway, the doctor who you rejected without even looking at his photo--
Nerddd: Last time I checked, there weren't so many publishing opportunities in either of the Dakotas...
Amma: Fine. Well, I told your cousin to put his family in touch with your aunt Humera's family. They're looking for your cousin Sheila, after all.
Nerddd: And, how did it go?
Amma: The boy and his family flew out to visit Humera and the family and each side LOVED the other.
Nerddd: They flew down from the Dakotas??
Amma: Yes, because they're serious about marriage unlike those boys you always end up meeting.
Nerddd: But the boys I know don't need their moms to set them up with girls on the other side of the continent, which is a plus in my book.
Amma: You know, back in my day, girls wanted good boys. Now that seems to be out of style.
Nerddd: Okay, let's get back to Sheila and Mr. the Dakotas. The families hit it off. What are they going to do now?
Amma: Nothing is official yet but I think we're getting there...
Nerddd: Amma, that's great! You were like THE matchmaker on this! They'll owe their happiness to you. Or maybe their misery but we'll cross that bridge if we ever come to it.
Amma: So, I was thinking...what do you think of Sheila's brother?
Nerddd:...(pause) mean my cousin?
Amma: I saw some newer photos of him. He's VERY attractive.
Nerddd: ...and he's my cousin...
Amma: he's a doctor...
Nerddd: he's my COUSIN...
Amma: ..but he's single!
Nerddd: single COUSIN...there's no amount of.. I don't know, ah, ANYTHING that will make me want to find marital bliss in the arms of my COUSIN.
Amma: Fine. Times have changed!
Nerddd: I just threw up in my mouth. I hope you're happy.

Sunday, February 11, 2007


Apparently, my brother and his colleagues bet on everything. Football, baseball, dating prospects, basketball, each other, people they don't even know...EVERYTHING. Their new bet: me. More specifically, they'll be betting on at which age I'll get hitched.

I'm a ham for attention (a byproduct of being the youngest, I'm convinced), so I don't really mind. Plus, I can appreciate the comedy of the situation.

Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to know the odds against me though because knowing might impact the decisions I end up making. So, to anyone who works with my brother and might be in on this bet, I wouldn't mind some 4-1-1. Wink.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007


I seem to have the writer's block today.
The end.

Monday, February 05, 2007


Gotham's so cold and
I'm no good at bundling up.
Oh Gore, you're a tease.*

*Please note that the Nerddd takes global warming and the climate crisis very, very seriously. She was deeply troubled by the spring-like weather that assaulted the tri-state area in early January. "What is up with this?" she asked everyone who would listen. No one had answers though and so everyone shrugged. The haiku above was composed in jest and for purposes of entertainment. The Nerd, in fact, is relieved to see winter kick that freak of nature warm weather to the curb and happily embraces the below-freezing, bone-chilling, hypothermia-causing temperatures. Because that's what winter is all about. She wishes she could communicate these profound truths to you in the world's shortest poetic form, consisting of seventeen syllables arranged in three lines of five, seven, and five syllables each; that traditional Japanese poetic form lacking rhyme and metaphor. Alas, she's afraid it would take to long to compose a haiku of such intense emotion.

Thursday, February 01, 2007


I'm pretty obsessive.

The obsession du jour is NetFlix. I'm having more fun than a normal adult person should adding and rearranging movies in my NetFlix queue. Plus I'm watching movies every night, which probably isn't a good idea, but oh well, it's all right for right now.

Allow me to extend to you my NetFlix friendship so that we can view each other's queues, compare movie ratings, and exchange notes and suggestions.

Queue. I fuckin' love that word. Goddamn those crazy Brits, they slay me.