Last night, while discussing with the bff my woefully misguided predilection for men who are just not that into me, I realized that there is one thing that all of these men share (well, other than the not being that into me part of it...ahem...): a deep-seated, relentless hatred of Oprah Winfrey.
Why do these men hate Oprah? I'd hate to venture any guesses, but she is a woman who's climbed out of abject poverty to become THE richest and most powerful person in entertainment...and she's done it on her own...and, to top things off, she's not conventionally beautiful (just for the record, I happen to think she's STUNNING). She's effectively beaten men at their own game by making her own rules and some of them just can't deal with it. For whatever reason, I'm attracted to these very same men. And, for some reason, these men aren't always so into me. So, if men who HATE Oprah are wrong for me, then, following this line of logic, men who LOVE Oprah must be right for me.
Right.
From this moment forward, "What do you think of Oprah Winfrey?" will be (among the) first question(s) I'll ask all potential suitors and a negative response will most definitely result in my serious hesitation to pursue said suitors.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Friday, January 26, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
INSOMNIA: not a haiku
Unlike my other insomnia posts, this one, clearly, isn't a haiku. I can't compose a haiku right now. I feel haiku'd out.
It's 3AM. I have to get up in three hours and, yet, the motivation to sleep eludes me. I heart great novels.
Come morning, I'll happily wear those bags under my eyes.
It's 3AM. I have to get up in three hours and, yet, the motivation to sleep eludes me. I heart great novels.
Come morning, I'll happily wear those bags under my eyes.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
A.I.
Last week, my mom, my brother and I sat down to a sushi dinner. As per (well, mostly) always, amma rattled off engagement, wedding and birth announcements with the brevity of a newspaper. Then, more sweetly than dramatically, she sighed and told us that she often wondered how long it would be before she and my dad would have grandchildren of their own.
My brother, who has mastered the art of deflecting all marriage/procreation talks with witticism, assured her that he could take care of that; all he needed from the 'rents were the number of grandchildren they'd like and if they preferred biracial or Pakistani babies. I chided him for teasing amma and told him that this was not the time for silliness.
"Amma, I've asked you to keep these family blind dates coming. People have met in stranger ways..." I told her.
I threw in the but before she could express her delight.
"...but, you have to realize that I'm not going to NOT have children simply because I couldn't find Mr. Right..."
My brother nodded in mock support. I was half serious.
Her eyes and mouth became perfect Os almost as soon as she demanded to know how I planned on doing that.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," my mother tsk'd before I could respond (no one, by the way, tsks better than the South Asian mother). Saying such things was hardly appropriate, she told us.
"More and more women are doing it, amma. Having and raising babies on their own. I think I read somewhere that more women are doing that than actually getting married." I'd read no such thing. "Why should we deny ourselves the joys of motherhood, the MIRACLE of bringing life into this world just because we're not married?"
Amma's face was trapped somewhere between amusement and fear.
My brother was still nodding. He thought he'd read that article as well, he added.
Nice, Muslim girls didn't go and have babies without getting married first, Amma countered. It didn't matter what varieties of sins other women were committing.
"BUT AMMA! It's so easy. You just go to a lab..."
She let out an "uff!," another exclamation perfected by the South Asian mothers. This was followed by the "thoba, thoba." Still, I think she was just a little relieved to realize that it was artificial insemination about which I was talking.
"...AND I can choose a donor based on MY specifications. Like he can be a 6-ft tall, blonde Harvard Law grad with a genius IQ and an affinity for the outdoors..."
She wanted me to know that both me and my child would be disowned if I ever did something like...like THAT.
"How could you do that to your own grandchild, amma?! Your grandchild!"
The baby would be a stranger to her.
"How could your flesh and blood, your family be a stranger amma! YOUR GRANDCHILD. Don't disown her, don't disown sweet, little Amelie. She needs her family!"
Amelie?! my brother asked, nearly spitting out his sushi.
"I can name her whatever I like. I love that movie. It was effin' awesome."
My mother didn't care. She didn't want to see my or Amelie's faces again!
"But she'll have a gorgeous face. I'll make sure to pick a hot donor! Plus I'm going to see that her father's a genius. I'm talking MENSA amma. Amelie's going to be a gorgeous genius baby."
We'd never joke around so vulgarly had we been raised in Pakistan.
My brother suggested that perhaps amma and abu could babysit while I was working, and shrugged a "Whaaat? It's a good idea," when amma glared him down.
"Poor Amelie," I sighed.
Could we change this ridiculous subject Amma wanted to know. She'd much rather talk about the weather.
Mission accomplished.
My brother, who has mastered the art of deflecting all marriage/procreation talks with witticism, assured her that he could take care of that; all he needed from the 'rents were the number of grandchildren they'd like and if they preferred biracial or Pakistani babies. I chided him for teasing amma and told him that this was not the time for silliness.
"Amma, I've asked you to keep these family blind dates coming. People have met in stranger ways..." I told her.
I threw in the but before she could express her delight.
"...but, you have to realize that I'm not going to NOT have children simply because I couldn't find Mr. Right..."
My brother nodded in mock support. I was half serious.
Her eyes and mouth became perfect Os almost as soon as she demanded to know how I planned on doing that.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," my mother tsk'd before I could respond (no one, by the way, tsks better than the South Asian mother). Saying such things was hardly appropriate, she told us.
"More and more women are doing it, amma. Having and raising babies on their own. I think I read somewhere that more women are doing that than actually getting married." I'd read no such thing. "Why should we deny ourselves the joys of motherhood, the MIRACLE of bringing life into this world just because we're not married?"
Amma's face was trapped somewhere between amusement and fear.
My brother was still nodding. He thought he'd read that article as well, he added.
Nice, Muslim girls didn't go and have babies without getting married first, Amma countered. It didn't matter what varieties of sins other women were committing.
"BUT AMMA! It's so easy. You just go to a lab..."
She let out an "uff!," another exclamation perfected by the South Asian mothers. This was followed by the "thoba, thoba." Still, I think she was just a little relieved to realize that it was artificial insemination about which I was talking.
"...AND I can choose a donor based on MY specifications. Like he can be a 6-ft tall, blonde Harvard Law grad with a genius IQ and an affinity for the outdoors..."
She wanted me to know that both me and my child would be disowned if I ever did something like...like THAT.
"How could you do that to your own grandchild, amma?! Your grandchild!"
The baby would be a stranger to her.
"How could your flesh and blood, your family be a stranger amma! YOUR GRANDCHILD. Don't disown her, don't disown sweet, little Amelie. She needs her family!"
Amelie?! my brother asked, nearly spitting out his sushi.
"I can name her whatever I like. I love that movie. It was effin' awesome."
My mother didn't care. She didn't want to see my or Amelie's faces again!
"But she'll have a gorgeous face. I'll make sure to pick a hot donor! Plus I'm going to see that her father's a genius. I'm talking MENSA amma. Amelie's going to be a gorgeous genius baby."
We'd never joke around so vulgarly had we been raised in Pakistan.
My brother suggested that perhaps amma and abu could babysit while I was working, and shrugged a "Whaaat? It's a good idea," when amma glared him down.
"Poor Amelie," I sighed.
Could we change this ridiculous subject Amma wanted to know. She'd much rather talk about the weather.
Mission accomplished.
Friday, January 19, 2007
HI
Dear Readers, don't fear, your Nerddd is still here (ahem) and she's still single and mostly happy but very busy. I know, I know, that's a vague and rather lame excuse for not updating my blog but, believe me, it's true. January has been a demanding and clingy but all-around sweet month.
So, I'm still around. More blogging to come, I promise. In the meantime, I leave you with this: Warrior Cats
So, I'm still around. More blogging to come, I promise. In the meantime, I leave you with this: Warrior Cats
Friday, January 12, 2007
THE FAMILY BLIND DATE: I'LL HAVE SOME MORE OF THAT!
I think I'd like to have my mother set up more family blind dates because I'm rather bored at the moment and, frankly, the FBDs are quite fun for the following reasons:
1) The mystery: I don't know about other peoples' experiences with family blind dates but mine always have elements of mystery thrown into them. For instance, during the last FBD, I didn't know the name of the guy with whom I was being matched, what he looked like, or where he lived. All I had to go on was his age and his occupation. What a brilliant way to pique a single woman's (trepidatious) interest.
2) The drama: Let's face it folks, the FBD gives me something about which I can bitch and gripe. My life isn't all that interesting (whose is, really, anyway. Liars, all of you raising your hands!). Add to that the fact that I like talking and having people listen to me (I'm convinced this is a by-product of being the youngest child) and is there anything better or more foreign as a FBD to hold others' attentions. And I won't lie: I love drama. I believe in drama. That feeling of building things up to an emotional crescendo assures that life will never be boring or bland.
3) The relief: Once the FBD begins, the emotional crescendo, that combination of anger, frustration, fear, humiliation, and anticipation will deflate as rapidly as a pin-pricked balloon. The realization that all I have to do is sit back and talk (everyone knows how much I love to talk) and GET THIS OVER WITH is a cathartic experience, as satisfying as the drama leading up to it.
4) The comedy: Even in the midst of griping, bitching, stomping my feet, the general distress and an overwhelming feeling of being railroaded, I'm very aware of the entertainment and comedic value of the FBD, as is everyone else. At the core of it, all of my drama is comedy. Knowing this keeps me sane.
5) That glimmer of hope: Wrapped up in the crazy mix of emotions leading up to the FBD is always that hope that, by some miracle of miracles, I'll end up meeting a great guy. Stranger things have happened, dear reader.
I'm so telling my mother to start up her matchmaking ways again! This should be fun (or something).
1) The mystery: I don't know about other peoples' experiences with family blind dates but mine always have elements of mystery thrown into them. For instance, during the last FBD, I didn't know the name of the guy with whom I was being matched, what he looked like, or where he lived. All I had to go on was his age and his occupation. What a brilliant way to pique a single woman's (trepidatious) interest.
2) The drama: Let's face it folks, the FBD gives me something about which I can bitch and gripe. My life isn't all that interesting (whose is, really, anyway. Liars, all of you raising your hands!). Add to that the fact that I like talking and having people listen to me (I'm convinced this is a by-product of being the youngest child) and is there anything better or more foreign as a FBD to hold others' attentions. And I won't lie: I love drama. I believe in drama. That feeling of building things up to an emotional crescendo assures that life will never be boring or bland.
3) The relief: Once the FBD begins, the emotional crescendo, that combination of anger, frustration, fear, humiliation, and anticipation will deflate as rapidly as a pin-pricked balloon. The realization that all I have to do is sit back and talk (everyone knows how much I love to talk) and GET THIS OVER WITH is a cathartic experience, as satisfying as the drama leading up to it.
4) The comedy: Even in the midst of griping, bitching, stomping my feet, the general distress and an overwhelming feeling of being railroaded, I'm very aware of the entertainment and comedic value of the FBD, as is everyone else. At the core of it, all of my drama is comedy. Knowing this keeps me sane.
5) That glimmer of hope: Wrapped up in the crazy mix of emotions leading up to the FBD is always that hope that, by some miracle of miracles, I'll end up meeting a great guy. Stranger things have happened, dear reader.
I'm so telling my mother to start up her matchmaking ways again! This should be fun (or something).
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
I WANT TO MAKE BUSINESS WITH YOU
I recently received the following email on Friendster:
Hi Sabila,
I thing you're energic, smart,charm woman , want a make business(tourism) with me?
I'm a General Manager at Travel Agent in Indonesia?
It's about goddamn time someone recognized my untapped potential for tourism and my unrealized love for Indonesia. Believe you me, not everyone is cut out to be a travel agent in Indonesia. The industry needs smart thingers, which, clearly, I am. I thing all the time! Sometimes I thing so much that I get nauseous and anxious and I start to hyperventilate. That just means that I'm a more intense thinger than most people and that I thing on, like, a different level.
But what's a thinger without energic? A thinger without energic is a SLACKER and there's no room for slackers in Indonesian tourism. We need to stay AWAKE to make DREAM vacations happen...so's life, I thing, so's life. All of that being said, just remember that thingers can't get very far without being charm woman. I'm so effin' charm woman that when I walk by, some people stop and say, "Wow, she's charm woman!" while other, more perceptive people, say, "Now SHE should look into making business(tourism) in Indonesia because that's hot."
So, YES, random Indonesian General Manager at Travel Agent, I do want to make business with you!!! Call me?
Hi Sabila,
I thing you're energic, smart,charm woman , want a make business(tourism) with me?
I'm a General Manager at Travel Agent in Indonesia?
It's about goddamn time someone recognized my untapped potential for tourism and my unrealized love for Indonesia. Believe you me, not everyone is cut out to be a travel agent in Indonesia. The industry needs smart thingers, which, clearly, I am. I thing all the time! Sometimes I thing so much that I get nauseous and anxious and I start to hyperventilate. That just means that I'm a more intense thinger than most people and that I thing on, like, a different level.
But what's a thinger without energic? A thinger without energic is a SLACKER and there's no room for slackers in Indonesian tourism. We need to stay AWAKE to make DREAM vacations happen...so's life, I thing, so's life. All of that being said, just remember that thingers can't get very far without being charm woman. I'm so effin' charm woman that when I walk by, some people stop and say, "Wow, she's charm woman!" while other, more perceptive people, say, "Now SHE should look into making business(tourism) in Indonesia because that's hot."
So, YES, random Indonesian General Manager at Travel Agent, I do want to make business with you!!! Call me?
Monday, January 08, 2007
MANHATTAN STINKS: Update
We just received the following email (Time Magazine was SO right about me being the Person of the Year...I'm totally controlling the news right now):
The Company has been in touch with various city and news agencies regarding the gas smell in Manhattan and parts of neighboring boroughs and New Jersey. The smell is being investigated and a gas leak has been reported as being the cause, but agencies are broadcasting conflicting reports regarding the site of the leak.
The air in the building is currently being purged, which will clear out air with the gas smell and will not let the smell in further. The office space will smell better shortly and has already improved in most areas.
We recommend that employees stay in the office rather than leaving the building at this time. The air is better inside the building than outside. The PATH train has been temporarily closed, and we would not want exiting employees stranded on the subway in the event of a temporary interruption of service.
We will continue to monitor the situation and let you know as we have more information.
The Company has been in touch with various city and news agencies regarding the gas smell in Manhattan and parts of neighboring boroughs and New Jersey. The smell is being investigated and a gas leak has been reported as being the cause, but agencies are broadcasting conflicting reports regarding the site of the leak.
The air in the building is currently being purged, which will clear out air with the gas smell and will not let the smell in further. The office space will smell better shortly and has already improved in most areas.
We recommend that employees stay in the office rather than leaving the building at this time. The air is better inside the building than outside. The PATH train has been temporarily closed, and we would not want exiting employees stranded on the subway in the event of a temporary interruption of service.
We will continue to monitor the situation and let you know as we have more information.
MANHATTAN STINKS
It smells like gas all over the city. The stink hit me as soon as I exited the PATH station and has managed to creep into our building. ConEd and the NYPD investigates.
I hate Mondays.
I hate Mondays.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
MY KIND OF NEWS
According to CNN.com, the American Dialect Society has chosen its Word of the Year for 2006. The word is...(drumroll please)...PLUTOED. Yes, it seems that Pluto, the planet recently rejected, abandoned, cast aside by the International Astronomical Union has been rescued, cleaned up, and crowned a winner, once again, by a society dedicated to the study of the English language in North America.
For those of you who don't already know (ahem), "to pluto" is "to demote or devalue someone or something, as happened to the former planet Pluto when the General Assembly of the International Astronomical Union decided Pluto no longer met its definition of a planet." Among other words in the running for Word of the Year, my favorite is "macaca" or "macaca moment," which is defined as "treating an American citizen as an alien." The hands down funniest selection on the list (download the pdf from the society's website) is "sudden jihad syndrome," or "an outburst of violence from a seemingly stable and normal Muslim." I couldn't stop laughing after reading that one.
Don't you just LOVE the fluidity of language?
I wonder how one becomes a member of the American Dialect Society. RR, being a member of the Jane Austen Society, an educator, and a former NOD (Revenge of the Nerddd's Nerddd of the Day) might very well know. RR?
Saturday, January 06, 2007
OH, CANADA!
Here's another reason we should've all moved to Canada upon Bush's reelection in 2004: Little Mosque on the Prairie.
The sitcom, which premiere's on Canada's CBC network next week (I hope the first episode will be available somewhere on the Web), is about Muslims living in a small Canadian prairie town and uses comedy to shed light on what remains, for many in the western world, a religion shrouded in mystery and suspicion. The show's garnering worldwide praise and attention for tackling the post-9/11 religious divide between Muslims and non-Muslims with fresh and light hearted laughs. I doubt that a US station will ever pick this show up but, with over 6 million Muslim Americans, it would be super if that does happen.
Check out the show's website here (I'll post up a hyperlink when I'm on the PC tomorrow): http://www.littlemosque.ca/
The sitcom, which premiere's on Canada's CBC network next week (I hope the first episode will be available somewhere on the Web), is about Muslims living in a small Canadian prairie town and uses comedy to shed light on what remains, for many in the western world, a religion shrouded in mystery and suspicion. The show's garnering worldwide praise and attention for tackling the post-9/11 religious divide between Muslims and non-Muslims with fresh and light hearted laughs. I doubt that a US station will ever pick this show up but, with over 6 million Muslim Americans, it would be super if that does happen.
Check out the show's website here (I'll post up a hyperlink when I'm on the PC tomorrow): http://www.littlemosque.ca/
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
DEAR PEOPLE WHO ROLL THEIR EYES AT ME UPON FINDING OUT I'M A VEGETARIAN: An Open Letter
Dear People Who Roll Their Eyes at Me Upon Finding Out I'm a Vegetarian:
I hate you.
You don't see me rolling my eyes upon discovering that you're insensitive, small-minded prigs who can't keep your opinions to yourselves. And, please, refrain from trying to convince me that my reasons for going veggie--mainly, a concern for animals and the environment--are not important or significant. Now, go gorge on a steak while I enjoy my wheat gluten. No, I don't want to argue about your mother's right to cloak herself in dead animals or your dad's penchant for hunting deer while we dine because that's just rude. I may think your folks are crazy but I'm polite enough to keep my opinion to myself.
You are obnoxious. Please try to work on that.
Best of luck.
Yours,
The Nerddd
I hate you.
You don't see me rolling my eyes upon discovering that you're insensitive, small-minded prigs who can't keep your opinions to yourselves. And, please, refrain from trying to convince me that my reasons for going veggie--mainly, a concern for animals and the environment--are not important or significant. Now, go gorge on a steak while I enjoy my wheat gluten. No, I don't want to argue about your mother's right to cloak herself in dead animals or your dad's penchant for hunting deer while we dine because that's just rude. I may think your folks are crazy but I'm polite enough to keep my opinion to myself.
You are obnoxious. Please try to work on that.
Best of luck.
Yours,
The Nerddd
Monday, January 01, 2007
HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY
Happy birthday to my matchmaking mom, who--after the family blind date, which I mentioned very briefly in previous posts from last month--once again, swore off her matchmaking ways forever. I'm blessed to have a mother as determined, funny, inspiring, strong, beautiful, confident, intelligent, charming, caring, selfless and honest as you.
I'd also like to send a very belated birthday shoutout to my dad, who happens to be a Christmas baby (yes, he and amma are a perfect holiday couple, indeed). Abu hasn't been feeling very well in recent days and had to be taken to the ER on Thursday night. He's fine now but still needs to undergo a few tests this week before he's given a clean bill of health. My brother and I ended up spending New Year's Eve at home with the 'rents since the doctor has ordered my dad to take it easy over the next few days. Every so often, my father would call one of us to him and tell us about how he'd love to see us married in his lifetime (I get my flair for the dramatic from my dad, no joke). There's no grave danger on the horizon, thankfully. When I asked him who in goodness' name I should marry, he told me that he would find someone for me (he was half joking.....I hope...gulp). I also watched the Ace of Cakes marathon the Food Network and am now officially a groupie of pastry chef Duff Goldman. While I don't know who I'm going to eventually marry someday far, far in the future, I do know that Duff will bake my wedding cake and that the cake is gonna rock.
A healthy, joyous, and prosperous new year to my parents, my brothers, my cat, the rest of my family, friends and my readers. I love all of you. Here's to a great year!
I'd also like to send a very belated birthday shoutout to my dad, who happens to be a Christmas baby (yes, he and amma are a perfect holiday couple, indeed). Abu hasn't been feeling very well in recent days and had to be taken to the ER on Thursday night. He's fine now but still needs to undergo a few tests this week before he's given a clean bill of health. My brother and I ended up spending New Year's Eve at home with the 'rents since the doctor has ordered my dad to take it easy over the next few days. Every so often, my father would call one of us to him and tell us about how he'd love to see us married in his lifetime (I get my flair for the dramatic from my dad, no joke). There's no grave danger on the horizon, thankfully. When I asked him who in goodness' name I should marry, he told me that he would find someone for me (he was half joking.....I hope...gulp). I also watched the Ace of Cakes marathon the Food Network and am now officially a groupie of pastry chef Duff Goldman. While I don't know who I'm going to eventually marry someday far, far in the future, I do know that Duff will bake my wedding cake and that the cake is gonna rock.
A healthy, joyous, and prosperous new year to my parents, my brothers, my cat, the rest of my family, friends and my readers. I love all of you. Here's to a great year!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
THE NERD WHO BROUGHT BACK REVENGE OF THE NERDDD'S NERD OF THE DAY
It's been quite some time since I've bespectacled (yes, I'm totally using the adjective as a verb) someone Nerd of the Day. I could say that I am sick and tired of the politics and competition that come along with choosing a NOD; that the quality of nerds in my life is rather unfortunate; or that the internet age is transforming even the brightest minds into insipid drones, leaving me with a pretty shallow pool of nerds. But the truth of the matter is that, I totally forgot about NODs.
Well, that is until I came across a nerd who made me remember.
I've seen Aneesh Raman reporting on CNN countless times but last night was different. I felt like a nearsighted tourist in Jersey City who, after hours of staring at the muddy blobs of light that are supposed to be the Manhattan skyline, finally puts on her glasses to discover that, oh my, the blobs are, indeed, the Manhattan skyline. I never noticed before how handsome, intelligent and engaging the CNN Middle East correspondent is. He can recite the alphabets or read Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit on air and he'd have me riveted. Plus, he's pretty damned smart: after graduating magna cum laude from Harvard, he spent a year in India as a Fulbright Scholar.
I think I'm in love.
Read more about him here (but please note that Aneesh Raman's pic here doesn't do him any justice): http://edition.cnn.com/CNN/anchors_reporters/raman.aneesh.html
Well, that is until I came across a nerd who made me remember.
I've seen Aneesh Raman reporting on CNN countless times but last night was different. I felt like a nearsighted tourist in Jersey City who, after hours of staring at the muddy blobs of light that are supposed to be the Manhattan skyline, finally puts on her glasses to discover that, oh my, the blobs are, indeed, the Manhattan skyline. I never noticed before how handsome, intelligent and engaging the CNN Middle East correspondent is. He can recite the alphabets or read Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit on air and he'd have me riveted. Plus, he's pretty damned smart: after graduating magna cum laude from Harvard, he spent a year in India as a Fulbright Scholar.
I think I'm in love.
Read more about him here (but please note that Aneesh Raman's pic here doesn't do him any justice): http://edition.cnn.com/CNN/anchors_reporters/raman.aneesh.html
Am I, at 27, too old for Facebook?
Shit!
I joined the networking site earlier today because my friend invited me and I didn't have anything better to do (I'm still ill). It seemed like a good idea at the time. The realization that I'm way past Facebook prime set in well after I'd already set up my profile, uploaded a pic, and invited a bunch of people I know from work to be my friends (I couldn't help but notice that all of them were younger than me). I'd delete my profile but I've already invited those folks. And can I really delete my profile or is Facebook (shudder) forever?
Eff.
Shit!
I joined the networking site earlier today because my friend invited me and I didn't have anything better to do (I'm still ill). It seemed like a good idea at the time. The realization that I'm way past Facebook prime set in well after I'd already set up my profile, uploaded a pic, and invited a bunch of people I know from work to be my friends (I couldn't help but notice that all of them were younger than me). I'd delete my profile but I've already invited those folks. And can I really delete my profile or is Facebook (shudder) forever?
Eff.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
SICK: DAY 4,039,789
It's day 4 of my week off from work and GUESS WHO'S STILL SICK??!!!!!
...you post one lousy letter breaking up with bloody 2006 on your blog and the year suddenly hates you back. Sheesh...
...you post one lousy letter breaking up with bloody 2006 on your blog and the year suddenly hates you back. Sheesh...
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
LIVE FROM THE SICKBED
This blows. This really, really, really blows. I best be cured by tomorrow.
The end.
The end.
Monday, December 25, 2006
CLEARLY, THE JOLLY OL' GEEZER DOESN'T LIKE OUR NERD
That sadistic, sick, old man gifted our nerd with a stomach bug this Christmas. Feeling a sense of deja vu at the sound of that? Well it's probably because you've read about a previous bout that our nerd waged with gastrointestinal terrors earlier this year. The culprit that time was bad sushi. The culprit this time can be none other than the jovial fat man. Our nerd, however, seems to believe that the My Super Sweet Sixteen marathon on MTV that she watched for hours--she likened it to a traffic accident--after her morning run had something to do with the waves of nauseau and busy stomach, which are still tormenting her.
With a shrug, our nerd sums up the diarrhea and vomiting (SO much vomiting) with the following words of wisdom:
"Better me than someone who observes Christmas."
Someone elect that nerd to public office!
And she also wishes all of her readers a Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and Happy Eid (Eid's next weekend!).
With a shrug, our nerd sums up the diarrhea and vomiting (SO much vomiting) with the following words of wisdom:
"Better me than someone who observes Christmas."
Someone elect that nerd to public office!
And she also wishes all of her readers a Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and Happy Eid (Eid's next weekend!).
Friday, December 22, 2006
2006: An Open Letter
Dear 2006:
Wallace Stegner once said, "Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus." The years that came before you had broken my heart so that I was encased in caution when we met on vacation last January. Yet you wooed me anyway, using the foreign land in which we were deliberately and happily stranded as your chisel. The air was different in that part of the world. It pressed against my skin, heavy with history; it was fragrant with culture and tradition. I'd never felt more alive before and, somehow, it all seemed possible only because of you. Suddenly, you were a fresh start, a resolution to forget the past and move forward with purpose. I fell in love with you under those now-distant skies.
I thought I could make the feeling last forever with you 2006 and we made it work during those first few months back from vacation. You made routine seem euphoric and new; the world was luscious and sweet and I, I was invincible--to heartbreak, pain, regret, fear, loneliness. I was unflappable. We were happy. I have memories from those early months that I will take with me wherever I go. I hope you can do the same.
You see, 2006, I don't have any regrets about our time together. It was fun while it lasted. You were a better conversationalist than 2000 could ever be (it's all about a person's BREADTH of knowledge, isn't it) and way hotter than 2003. 1999 could learn a few things from you about kissing and I'd like to forget that 2005 ever happened. I must say, however, that you rather pulled the rug out from under me. I don't want to dwell on the issues for they might seem inconsequential, trivial when compared to the massive amounts of sorrow, pain, and agony you've likely brought to others who, regardless of whether or not they fell under your spell, were, and still are, subject to your indiscriminate will. But you still hurt me. You became full of the kind of unrequitedness that leaves a bitter taste in one's mouth and a tight, cold fist where the heart used to be. You toppled ideals and hopes and I cried one time too many because of you.
Yes, this is exactly what it sounds like 2006. I'm breaking up with you...in an open letter...on my blog. I want you to know that thanks to you, I'm fully and securely armored against all of the years that will follow. And, don't get it wrong: it's YOU, not ME. You're old, outdated and fast approaching your expiration date. Thanks for the memories, but 2006, you bastard, I'm afraid we're through.
Wallace Stegner once said, "Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus." The years that came before you had broken my heart so that I was encased in caution when we met on vacation last January. Yet you wooed me anyway, using the foreign land in which we were deliberately and happily stranded as your chisel. The air was different in that part of the world. It pressed against my skin, heavy with history; it was fragrant with culture and tradition. I'd never felt more alive before and, somehow, it all seemed possible only because of you. Suddenly, you were a fresh start, a resolution to forget the past and move forward with purpose. I fell in love with you under those now-distant skies.
I thought I could make the feeling last forever with you 2006 and we made it work during those first few months back from vacation. You made routine seem euphoric and new; the world was luscious and sweet and I, I was invincible--to heartbreak, pain, regret, fear, loneliness. I was unflappable. We were happy. I have memories from those early months that I will take with me wherever I go. I hope you can do the same.
You see, 2006, I don't have any regrets about our time together. It was fun while it lasted. You were a better conversationalist than 2000 could ever be (it's all about a person's BREADTH of knowledge, isn't it) and way hotter than 2003. 1999 could learn a few things from you about kissing and I'd like to forget that 2005 ever happened. I must say, however, that you rather pulled the rug out from under me. I don't want to dwell on the issues for they might seem inconsequential, trivial when compared to the massive amounts of sorrow, pain, and agony you've likely brought to others who, regardless of whether or not they fell under your spell, were, and still are, subject to your indiscriminate will. But you still hurt me. You became full of the kind of unrequitedness that leaves a bitter taste in one's mouth and a tight, cold fist where the heart used to be. You toppled ideals and hopes and I cried one time too many because of you.
Yes, this is exactly what it sounds like 2006. I'm breaking up with you...in an open letter...on my blog. I want you to know that thanks to you, I'm fully and securely armored against all of the years that will follow. And, don't get it wrong: it's YOU, not ME. You're old, outdated and fast approaching your expiration date. Thanks for the memories, but 2006, you bastard, I'm afraid we're through.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
THE NERD KNOWS STATE CAPITALS
As you all know, I've been behaving rather cantankerously of late for reasons listed a couple of posts below. One of the reasons, of course, is the family blind date, which hovers over me like a bad premonition. The number of ways this can go wrong are infinite and yet I must go through with it.
How I'm railroaded into such things is beyond me.
So, I was at Target eariler today, intent on wasting as much time as I could (because it's been one of those weeks, you know). Lingering over notebooks (I heart notebooks and journals) and pens (I heart pens) in the office supplies aisle, I barely noticed when a salesperson, dressed in the Target-issued red polo and khakis walked by. He startled me when he suddenly stopped and asked: "Excuse me. Do you know the what the capital of Montana is?"
I looked over my shoulder to see if he was addressing someone else. Nope, we were the only two people in the office supplies aisle.
I reached back into that sliver of brain where 4th grade geography resides. "Um, I think it's Helena," I told him.
"Helena?" he confirmed.
"Yah, I think so."
"Helena," he repeated and smiled. "Thanks."
I returned to the notebooks and pens that I loved and didn't think much of my exchange with the salesperson.
Now, I can't stop wondering if I look like the kind of person who knows what the capital of Montana is. Sweet baby Jeebus, do I LOOK like a nerd???
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