Monday, April 28, 2008


Everyone beware. I'm in an unusually vile mood today. Sorry, but there's no love here today, kittens. I hate everyone (except maybe MP. I still love you, baby), especially those mofos on the train who don't know a thing about commuter etiquette and insist on keeping their bags slung over their shoulders or on their backs while I, like an asshole, stand with my bags placed politely between my feet, and get poked, prodded, and molested by purses and backpacks during the ride to work. And work? Work! I love you on most days but, frankly, I have nothing to say to you today but fuck you. I'm done with wankers and bad weather and umbrellas. Could it have gotten any more unseasonable yesterday? I nearly froze in my summer dress and jacket as MP and I ventured on a walk through Jersey City. MP, of course, welcomes unseasonable chills in the air, due mostly to the fact that he's as Canadian as they get, minus the accent, which only makes an appearance when he's overworked and exhausted. We're expecting a lot of that for the next two weeks, so I suppose a fuck you is in order for MP's job. And can we talk about umbrellas? Try holding one above your head as you carry two bags and a cup of coffee that's way too hot. It's not fun, readers. As a matter of fact, I was almost convinced that my umbrella was trying to have me hospitalized this morning.

I need a vacation that's fuckin' longer than three work days and the weekend. That's bullshit and it's miserable.


Thursday, April 24, 2008


I heart the following comment I recently received from a reader so much that it deserves a post of its own. I'm glad I inspire slight obsession and sleepless nights in my fans. Hell, I'm glad I have fans!

This comment was ADORABLE. I am flattered. Here it is:

This is on a completely unrealted note and has nothing to do with this post.

Hello Sabila,

My sister and I have been silent readers of your blog for a very very long time (too long, in fact- been leaving anonymous comments here and there, but nothing more than that). We are not stalkers, don't get afraid (or excited). We are just really sad and bored.. oh what the hell, we are stalkers. Something like that.

So yeah, we've been following your MP stories as well. And for a very long time, MP's identity has been too much of a source of lack of sleep for me. Therefore I embarked on a serious mission. Which was, to find out who the man behind the mask is.

Please don't scared. I assure you, treat me like your friend. I mean no harm at all. I am just slightly obsessive when it comes to my googling etc abilities, as well as shit curious.

So. After half a day of constant dedicated research, my sister and I narrowed down our hunt to the result of One Man. All I need you to do is, to confirm whether our result is correct or not. You dont have to reveal it on your blog! I am enclosing my e-mail address for you to reply to. If you consider that to be too much of a hassle, then you can leave a sidelined hint on one of your posts (we are avid readers, we won't miss it).

If our guess is correct, it means we can rest our case. Otherwise we need to continue our hunt till we crack/track the man down.

All this has been done in purely innocent interests. Down to the guess. The Guy we think MP is:

Mike. (Michael?)


Ahem. Honestly. Please don't get freaked out. I swear, and if you want to ask anything about this seemingly weird outburst, you have the right to. But please reply/contact me in some form/TELL ME IF I'M FUCKING RIGHT.

My e-mail address

I repeat, .

I will be waiting for your reply/hint. If I don't get it soon, I won't lose hope, or get discouraged, I will be contacting you again! sadly, I couldn't find your e-mail address anywhere online.

I left this in your comments on purpose because I know you have moderation enabled.

Much thanks for taking the time to read this. Hope you and MP are happy together.

I call myself 7825537. I'll prefer to remain nameless.

waiting, day 1.

Lovely, no?

I hate to break it to you 7825537, but MP is not Mike. As a matter of fact, the letter M doesn't appear even once in my MP's (first or last)name.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008


I'm struggling with technology these days. You may officially declare me technologically impotent. The router was two days old and the iPod lived two years and two days. May they rest in peace. May I find the time, energy, and funds (oh, I'm dropping a whole lotta dough on this first of what is hopefully many luxurious real estate investments around the world) to be one with technology again.

That wasn't the haiku.

This is the haiku:

My iPod followed
Linksys into the light and
died on me today

Oh, if only I had room for more syllables in the haiku above to express the depth of my despair. Alas. Alas.


Dear Readers:

I am back. To answer your clamorous demands to know where I've been all of this time is impossible. It would be rather like counting the hair on a bumblebee's back or parallel parking. Therefore, just be satisfied with this, kittens: I have meditated on life and art; I have scaled mountains of uncertainty only to come down defeated; I have drank from the cup of truth but remain in a cloud of uncertainty and doubt. Yes, I have been to that place only slackers know and have, if momentarily, embraced a sort of physical and mental laziness that can only be described in words that are quite contradictory to what you may associate with laziness. This much is for sure, however: I am once again my allergies' bitch, slapped into complete and utter submission by pollen. I may or may not be suffering from the following ailments, all of which have struck at different times during my brief (but, oh, it feels so long) hiatus: breast cancer, diabetes, ovarian cancer, brain cancer, heart disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, skin cancer (contrary to what the bff told me, my research has shown that asians are, in fact, perfectly susceptible to the disease! SPF 5 suncreen is a villain, indeed), and early onset Alzheimer's. Oh, to be a hypochondriac! 'Tis an existence full of drama, angst, and frantic calls to my health insurance company's 24-hour, on-call nursing line. Adding to all of this drama is the following news: just like my former wireless router, my new wireless router went kaput after two whole days of granting my laptop internet connection. I am defeated. I am utterly defeated.

I may be defeated, kittens, but, rest assured that I am back. I've returned. I may not be any wiser but, then again, I never promised you any wisdom. So, stay if you will. And welcome back.

Thursday, April 10, 2008


Life has been a hectic, crazy, Calgon-and-Paxil-take-me-away kind of busy. Chores and errands feel endless, as does finally closing on this first of my luxurious real estate around the world (while it may not be so exotic or luxurious to you, let me reassure you that Jersey City is someone else's "around the world"). My allergies seem to be getting worse (boy did I take for granted that little thing called breathing). And, really, who knew that being firmly ensconced in a totally healthy relationship would chip away at valuable nerd-blogging time? I sure as hell didn't.

(These days, MP has taken to gently reminding me that I haven't posted, which--although not his intention--leaves me feeling terribly guilty. I'm often so guilt-ridden that, by the time I return home, I'm too mentally and spiritually exhausted to write. Other times, I just forget).

And, why does it seem like every single crowded train I'm on has that one asshole who insists on leaning against the pole, making it impossible for the rest of us to hold on?! Oh, and those jerks on crowded trains who don't stow away their giant bookbags and/or handbags between their feet, so that I'm left with a knockoff Louis Vitton poking my back for the duration of my commute. Not that these people have anything to do with my lazy blog posting habits, but I just really, really wanted to tell them to fuck off. So, here goes: fuck you, you inconsiderate and ill-mannered creeps.

I promise I'll return to more regular posts.

Friday, April 04, 2008


I turned off my alarm clock this morning wondering why the hell I'd set it for 6AM on a Sunday.

As I scrambled to get myself together for work when I realized at 8AM that it was, in fact, only Friday, things only got worse.

My jeans, for one, were a whole lot tighter on me than the last time I'd worn them. Feeling like a fatty fat fat, I threw on tops, only to pull them off in disgust. Deciding to join the ranks of the sabotage-Sabila brigade, my hair refused to do much of anything, so I yanked it back into a lame ponytail and attempted to make myself look presentable with blush and lipstick.

It didn't quite work the way that I'd hoped it would: my jeans were still snug, the top I'd finally settled on still didn't look right, and I was still effing late.

I felt three feet tall and two hundred pounds heavy as I braved the rain while juggling my two bags and an uncooperative umbrella. I entered the station just in time to watch my train pull away. Once I got on the next train, I rifled through my bag only to discover that I'd left the galley I've been reading at home. And so I waited for my stop, having ample time to meditate on what an awful day this is going to be.

Thursday, April 03, 2008


Special prize* for anyone who finds MP's favorite (and, certainly, the most ironic for us) paragraph from this provocative article about intteracial marriages in good ol' Manada.

*And by special prize, I actually mean no prize. Sorry.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008


Should the fact that two people have spouses/significant others of the same ethnicity ever be a conversation starter or am I still drinking this kool-aid?