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Monthly Archives: May 2004

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Momma has landed

My mommy’s home. Everybody dance. 🙂

It’s T-minus 11 hours till Momma arrives, and I’ve got a rather daunting to-do list to complete before she arrives.

-Make Haleem

-Buy Rasmalai

-Buy Flowers (necklaces as well as bouqet)

-Wash Dog (she jumped into the creek yesterday and came out a shade darker and twice as smelly)

-Clean Upstairs

-Clean Downstairs

-Clean all bathrooms

-Wash Car & Clean Inside

-Buy Bottled Water

-Write Blog (check!)

Well, at least one of these things is done. *sigh*

Men’s kurtas are among the most comfortable articles of clothing in the entire world. Chai knows this, she has a kurta that belonged to her grandfather. Kurtas are soft and baggy, and when they get old they only get softer and baggier. Kurtas are the ideal hot-weather clothes for me. My father agrees, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate it, especially since the kurtas I’m wearing are his.

You all know the shirts I’m talking about, sometime in the sixties (or maybe the 1860’s) the uniform of the Pakistani male was the white kurta-pajama, the kurta being the loose, white cotton tunic and the pajama being the bunchy, soft pants that fit your legs like corrugated stove pipes.

It’s been a long time since kurta-pajama was really in, and at some point between the sixties and this century all of my father’s pajamas were lost and only three or four of the kurtas remain. They’ve been living in my wardrobe for years, but it’s still a shock to my father every time.

“Beta, you’re wearing my shirt!” my father exclaims, looking confused. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

“Because it’s comfortable abbu,” I plead, holding the shirt out for him to feel the fine white cotton, washed hundreds of times into softness.

“I know it’s comfortable, it’s my shirt.”

“Abbu please?”

Here my father shakes his head and wanders off, muttering about my strange fashion sense. I steal his regular qameezes too, and that irritates him sometimes. But I only borrow the qameezes, not the pants, and so that means he’ll sometimes have three or four shalwars hanging in the closet without their matching shirts. This evening my father came home to see me wearing one of his old white kurtas and arched an eyebrow.

“You’re wearing my shirt again Beta.”

“Yes daddy, I know.”

A few seconds of silence pass. He gives an exasperated sigh. I wait for him to tell me that he can never find matching clothes any more. I wait for him to remind me that when you wash the shirt more often than the pants, they end up being two different colors after a while. I wait for him to tell me to hang the shirt back up.


“Yes abbu?”

“Could you at least wear the matching pants?”

Productivity Hurts

10 pm: It wasn’t enough today that I should clean out the refrigerator, do laundry, fit a mirror into an antique frame, make pizza dough, drive the dog to the vet, eat half of a samosa and give our neighbours a tour of the (quickly cleaned) house. I had to make a new layout too. And now that I’ve done that I’ve got to go make a cake. Oh my aching back.

The Good, the Bad, and the Goofy

There are certain time-honored traditions in every family. In ours, there’s the insult game. The rules are simple. The person who out-insults the other wins the respect and admiration of his peers as well as the right to dance around the room and yell “I win! You lose! I rule! You drool!” and such like.

It’s not as easy as it sounds though, there are certain rules. The most important of which being that all insults must rhyme. Take, for example, this specific insult duel between Aniraz and myself.

Me: You look like a bat.

Aniraz: You’re terribly fat.

Me: Does your mother know you’re such a brat?

Aniraz: You look like something that’s gone splat.

Me: Oh yeah? Well I’ve seen better faces in place I’ve spat!

The crowning insult of the duel had to be this one:

Your head fills nine gallons of a ten gallon hat.

I thought I had won the match after that gut-buster (it’s hard to duel when you’re laughing so hard you can’t even sit up straight) but as Aniraz retreated up the stairs giggling she yelled out, “You smell like a dead muskrat!”

Drat. I have to think up an insult that rhymes with ‘bat,’ otherwise I won’t be able to show my face in this one horse town again. Any suggestions, amigos?


JazakAllahuKheiran & Thanks to Ahmed who made me this layout. 🙂 Not only is it easy on the eyes, but it gives me more time to come up with the ultra-Spartan and yet ultra-cool layout that I’m hoping to build sometime in the near future. I’d build it in the immediate future except that I’ve got work to do, cuz my momma’s coming home!

So far we’ve washed:

-the table linens

-the porch

the dog

And rearranged the kitchen shelves and starting unpacking her stuff. There’s a lot more left though, the least of which is the cleaning of my own room which happens to look rather slovenly at the moment. I thought about taking a picture of it and then realized we were in enough trouble already, what with momma noticing the beans in the computer desk and the bed-sheet that’s been doubling as a table cloth. Mommas notice these things. They have Mom-o-vision.

So now it’s time to go clean something. Oh, and by the way, I’ve decided that as the only teacher in this here Blog-o-sphere I get to assign everyone homework. Here it is folks: Your home work for this blog is to go and hug a parent. Then write about it. 🙂

You’re an Etch-a-Sketch!! You’re the creative,
artsy type who doesn’t need to actually utilize
a single muscle group in order to have fun.
Doesn’t matter though, you’re still cool.

What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Back to Basics

Every now and then I feel the need to get back to basics. Sometimes I’ll get tired of the extras in life and stop wearing my watch or any jewelry. Or I’ll get tired of cooking and eat veggies and yogurt for a few days in a row. When I get fed up with my high-heeled work shoes I’ll go teach in sandals. When I get really tired of things, I’ll go back to wearing the wrinkle-free, too-dark-to-stain ‘black default’ jilbab for a few days instead of ironing and maintaining any of the other ones.

I think it’s time to go Spartan again (ulta-simple, not battle-ready and buff). Bear that in mind when I finally post my new layout with links only for my daily/favorite blogs and my people. I couldn’t stand the visual clutter anymore.

Peace & Chikken Grease,


Pardon Our Dust

Blog under construction. In the mean time, enjoy some Engrish. It’s on the house.

Islamilicious Sunday: The Last Sermon

THE PROPHET MUHAMMAD’S LAST SERMON (sectioned by Amber. Hi Amber!)

Responsibility of conveying the message:

“O People, lend me an attentive ear, for I don’t know whether, after this year, I shall ever be amongst you again. Therefore listen to what I am saying to you carefully and TAKE THIS WORDS TO THOSE WHO COULD NOT BE PRESENT HERE TODAY.

Responsibility to another Muslim:

O People, just as you regard this month, this day, this city as Sacred, so regard the life and property of every Muslim as a sacred trust. Return the goods entrusted to you to their rightful owners. Hurt no one so that no one may hurt you. Remember that you will indeed meet your LORD, and that HE will indeed reckon your deeds. ALLAH has forbidden you to take usury (Interest),therefore all interest obligation shall henceforth be waived…

Being aware of the Satan:

Beware of Satan, for your safety of your religion. He has lost all hope that he will ever be able to lead you astray in big things, so beware of following him in small things.

Responsibly to Women:

O People, it is true that you have certain rights with regard to your women, but they also have right over you. If they abide by your right then to them belongs the right to be fed and clothed in kindness. Do treat your women well and be kind to them for they are your partners and committed helpers. And it is your right that they do not make friends with any one of whom you do not approve, as well as never to commit adultery.

Responsibility to Allah:

O People, listen to me in earnest, worship ALLAH, say your five daily prayers (Salah), fast during the month of Ramadhan, and give your wealth in Zakat. Perform Hajj if you can afford to. You know that every Muslim is the brother of another Muslim. YOU ARE ALL EQUAL. NOBODY HAS SUPERIORITY OVER OTHER EXCEPT BY PIETY AND GOOD ACTION.

Remember, one day you will appear before ALLAH and answer for your deeds. So beware, do not astray from the path of righteousness after I am gone.

O People, NO PROPHET OR APOSTLE WILL COME AFTER ME AND NO NEW FAITH WILL BE BORN. Reason well, therefore, O People, and understand my words which I convey to you. I leave behind me two things, the QUR’AN and my example, the SUNNAH and if you follow these you will never go astray.

All those who listen to me shall pass on my words to others and those to others again; and may the last ones understand my words better than those who listen to me directly. BE MY WITNESS O ALLAH THAT I HAVE CONVEYED YOUR MESSAGE TO YOUR PEOPLE.”

*sniff sniff*

I’ve been home all day today with a miserable head-cold. No, the irony of having a cold when the weather is so very hot has not escaped me, but irony alone cannot save me from the sneezing, the runny nose, the blocked sinuses and the feelings of general malaise. I don’t need irony. I need a another box of tissues.

I also need some chicken soup. That thought occurred to me this morning as I wandered aimlessly about the empty house, wondering where everybody was even though I knew they had all gone to work. I meandered into the kitchen and tried to think through what it would take to make chicken soup. Chicken stock? None in the house. Chicken cubes would have to do. Noodles? No, only macaroni. I dumped that in too. Parsely? None available. I crushed a handful of dill into the pot instead and threw some garlic in for good measure. Garlic is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick. Or is that ginger? I wasn’t sure.

I let the pot boil for a while. Then I got bored and put my head down on the dining table. When I woke up a bit later my soup had turned into a pile of slimy, yellowish macaroni that smelled faintly of garlic but mostly of chicken cubes. It was also spicy. Apparently I had thrown in some paprika while I wasn’t looking.

I took my yellow slime down to the basement and brought along half a liter of Amrat Cola as an incentive to eat it. As irony would have it (“less irony, more tissues” –The Nose) I finished half a liter of pop before making myself finish my slimy macaroni. It’s not that I was eating slowly, it’s just that I was trying to rearrange my noodles into a tastier position since their current one was sort of bland. I piled them one on top of another and decorated them with salt. I knocked the pile down and stirred it around some more. I invented mashed macaroni. I drank more cola.

The rest of my day has passed somewhat similarly to my morning. I’ve sat around, I’ve napped, I’ve used up all the tissues in the house and I’ve moved on to the toilet paper. I’ve also created a new layout for my blog, but all the germs in my head have addled my brains and I can’t figure out how to make my columns line up without any seams. Helpful and benevolent people with helpful and benevolent suggestions may leave them here. Help!

I haven’t been wholly useless today though. I did manage to pulverize my father and sister in a game of Scrabble. I decided beforehand that if they beat me it would be because I was sick. Since I won, it’s because I can beat them even when I’m sick. Booya. I could beat them with both of my sinuses tied behind my back, which they might as well be for all the good they’re doing me. Whatever it is that sinuses are supposed to be doing, I’m pretty sure they’re not doing it.

And I wrote a blog. So there it is folks. I’m going back to bed and if this blog stinks it’s because I’m sick and if it’s great then that means I can blog even if I’m sick. Booya.

Beware of Expert

My father brought an expert home yesterday to fix our CD drive. I went to put a scarf on while my father led the man down to our computer. When I descended the stairs I saw the ‘expert’ staring confusedly at an error message on the screen that basically read “system file C:\windows\system\systemlog is missing or corrupt. Boy have you done it now.”

I estimate that I had been gone only a minute putting on my scarf, possibly even less- a minute in which the said expert broke our computer. You know, the dictionary defines an expert as such:

\Ex”pert\, n. 1. An expert or experienced person; one instructed by experience; one who has skill, experience, or extensive knowledge in his calling or in any special branch of learning.

I have to agree, because in all my years of using (and abusing) computers, never have I once managed the cause so major a problem in so little time. This man though, he managed to corrupt/destroy a vital system file in under a minute, and I would say that this was nothing less than the work of an expert. I’m still not sure how he did it. Neither is the man who usually fixes our computer.

As our computer repair dude slid the case back onto the CPU, he said to me, “You should be careful about who you let fix your computer.” I nodded emphatically.

He went on. “You should leave it to the experts.” I bit my tongue and carried the CPU back to the car. Leave it to the experts?

God forbid.

Love is…

Love is realizing that who you’re arguing with may be more important than what you’re arguing about, and sometimes that means letting go.

It can be frustrating and sometimes the sacrifice can go unnoticed, but you know what? It’s not important that people love you so much as it’s important that you love them.

That’s love.

Dream a little dream with me

Ah, blessed Saturday. I woke up at my leisure this morning, lolling about my bed in the cool basement and trying to remember what I had been dreaming about. It had something to do with a flood, and no one would let me get in their canoe. Now if you’re the kind of person who places meanings on dreams then I must warn you to give it up now. The canoes were pink and one of them was a floating Land Rover.

I know that some people believe that dreams have meaning, but I don’t know if that applies to all of them. I spent one dream throwing matzo-balls at my Jewish in-laws. In another I was chased down Broadway by a statue of the Pope. (look out, he’s got a scepter!)

I have had the typical chased-by-scary-things dreams and the I-can’t-find-my-scarf dreams that are the Islamic adaptation of that dream everyone has where they show up at work or school without their clothes on. I’ve also had very nice peaceful dreams, and some that I would even call religious dreams, but the vast majority of my dreams are simply insane. And it runs in the family too.

Aniraz woke me one night while talking in her sleep. “No Czar,” she said aloud, “I didn’t put ketchup in your shoes!” Another time she giggled in her sleep and said, “Smiley face, smiley face, smiley face cows!”

I can only guess what happy farmland idylls she had been enjoying in that dream, and I’m not even going to try to figure out what it could mean. Had any weird dreams lately?

William Tell Blog

Sensei Presents:

A five minute blog.

(cue William Tell Overture)

My dad’s gone to bring the car, motorcycle and dog in for the night so I have a brief window of opportunity to steal the computer. Technically he already has dibs on it but he can’t claim it if he’s not here. Mwahahaa!

Yesterday I left my sunglasses in the car while at work. After I got off of work and started driving I decided that I wanted to wear my sunglasses. So I put them on. This would have been ok if the metal legs hadn’t been roasted to piping-hot perfection in the sun. Consequently I burned the sides of my head, complete with yelping and flinging the sunglasses off quickly. I’m sure I have brain-damage now, and the fact that there’s no perceptible difference in my brain function doesn’t mean anything. I started out on the loopier side of things.

Uh oh, time’s up and I have nothing to post. Well, I did type a letter to one of my friends. Maybe I can lazily, errr, conveniently post some of that. Here comes Dad, RUNNNNN!!!!

Dear Amira…

You’re nuts to voluntarily take summer school my dear, but to each his own. I’m just gonna spend me summer baking like the unhappy kabob I am. It’s already 106. Luckily though, it never gets much hotter than 117. Alhamdulillah. But you’re going to start your blog again! How exciting! I hope you’re moving it from Xanga. I’m such a lazy bum that I can never log myself in to post comments, as far as xangas go I’m just a silent lurker. But hey, with a blogspot blog, people can comment without having to register. (all for just nine easy payments of 9.99! *cheesy grin*)

In recent news, we’ve moved to a new house with a nice, cool basement that I plan to remain in until October. There’s a workout area (weights, elliptical trainer), a Playstation, the computer, a deep freezer (ice cream, frozen burgers) and a bathroom down here so I’m all set. There’s nothing exciting upstairs anyway. The fridge? Who needs it. Hmmph. *gnaws on frozen burger*

Well m’lovely, I have to go. I need to pray Zuhr. Much love & duas from my part of the world to yours.


Abezistan in real-time

Real-time quotes from Abezistan.

(at the kitchen sink)

Me: Excuse me sir, but I need the sink for a sec.

Aniraz: (steps aside) Oh?

Me: I have refried beans under my nails.

Aniraz: Could this have something to do with sticking your fingers in the refried beans?

Me: No comment.

(at student’s house)

Me: Hey, where’d your dog go?

Student: We sacrificed and ate him.

Me: Don’t be silly, Eid isn’t for months.

Student: Alright, he’s in the back then.

(in the middle of a game of Scrabble)

Dad: (gesturing with a mouth full of pie) Mmmph!

Me: You want the chips?

Dad: (Shakes head.)

Me: The dictionary?

Dad: (Shakes head emphatically.)

Me: A glass of water?

Dad: (Shakes head)

Me: Are you alright?

Aniraz: Oh come on, don’t you know dad well enough already? He wants ice-cream.

Dad: (nods.)

Holy Guacamole

One of the joys of having a site meter is that you can see what search terms people enter to find your blog. Two of the more noteworthy ones for this week are:

flies bites pants

Islamic militant websites list

To which I answer: Whaaaa?

In the house that Jack, err…Sven built.

I had two hour nap today, and it’s all Sven’s fault. Sven is an 18-year old German boy, and if he hadn’t kept me up until three in the morning then I might not have crashed into bed at 4 pm today and woken just an hour before Maghrib. That was the nap I took to make up for the sleep that I missed last night due to the computer infected with the Sasser worm that Sven built.

This afternoon, my sleepy self and I sat with a computer guy for two and a half hours trying to undo the damage. The computer guy politely said, “You should be more careful about what you download, there are a lot of dangerous viruses and worms about these days.” I wanted to tell him that this was the worm that Sven built, not me, but I didn’t thing he’d buy it, so I hung my head in shame.

This evening my father walked into the dining room and said, “Beta, is this some new fashion to wear your clothes so wrinkled?” I wanted to say that was Sven’s fault too, because if he hadn’t created the worm that infected the computer that kept me up all night that made me sleep in and wake up a mess then I wouldn’t have been this wrinkly. I couldn’t say that, so I just said, “Sorry dad, I slept in my clothes.”

After lunch I made horrible coffee, and that too was Sven’s fault. If he hadn’t messed up my computer and stressed me out about all the files I hadn’t backed up then I wouldn’t be so preoccupied that I’d forget to put sugar in the cup. After I got home from work I parked the car crooked due to haste and frustration, and if someone hits the tail-end that’s poking out just slightly past the driveway then that will be Sven’s fault too. *nods* I know that no one understands how it’s all Sven’s fault, but I tell you, if I ever get my hands on Sven I’m gonna wring the skinny little neck attached to the malicious head that contained the brain that wrote the code for the worm that Sven built.


Changes made, html cleaned up just slightly. It’s a work in progress I spose. In the mean time, everybody go read wakeuppakistan’s most recent post. It’s better than mine. 🙂

Five things to remember about your bro/sis in Islam

For what it’s worth, the happy head-scarf crew (me, Aniraz, Chai, Maryam #4, Amber, Zainab & Iman) has decided to validate it’s weekly ‘pig out @ abez/aniraz’s house & then lay on the carpet moaning’ by giving it an Islamic theme and calling it a Halaqa. So now we have a new tradition- Islamilicious Sundays! Here are some of our notes from this week’s Halaqa.

Five things to remember about your brother or sister in Islam

(or in the house)

Protect them!:

The Prophet of Allah, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him said:

“The Muslim is the one from whose tongue and hand other Muslims are safe and the Muhaajir (Migrator) is the one who distances himself from what Allah has prohibited.” (Bukhari)


The Prophet of Allah, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him said:

“By God Who owns my life, none of you can be completely faithful unless and until you like for your brother what you like for yourself.” -(Bukhari and Muslim)

Greet them!

…And when you are greeted with a greeting, greet [in reply] with something better than it or return it [in kind]. Verily, Allah is ever taking careful account of all things. An-Nisaa:86

The Prophet of Allah, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him said:

“Verily the worthiest to Allah among people is the one who is first to greet them.” (Related by Abu Dawud)


The Prophet of Allah, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him said:

From Abi Dharr: The Prophet (sas) said to me: “Do not underestimate anything among the good deeds, even if it is only to meet your brother with a friendly face.”

Make Peace!

The Prophet of Allah, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him said:

“It is not lawful for anyone to turn away from his brother beyond three days turning away from each other whenever they meet. The best of them is the one who restarts the greeting.”

And now dear Blogistanis, I expect you all to have memorized all five of these hadith (plus the one ayah from the Qur’an) by next Sunday. Fajitas and peach pie will be served on the living room floor. Until next week, be excellent to each other.

We now have DSL. Please form a congo line on the left and everybody dance. Also in tech news, I’m looking for some way to streamline the html of my blog. Benevolent and helpful volunteers may leave suggestions at will. In the mean time, I’m going to go hog-wild with the bandwidth and do something really unheard-of, like check my email in under ten minutes. Fasten your seatbelts folks, this thing goes fast!

-twenty minutes later-

I think we’re cursed. Whatever evil spell someone cast on our phone line has migrated to the DSL line, so after fifteen minutes of confusing the tech-support guy on the phone (“you got it today? And already you’re having problems?”) it’s still not working. I’m waiting for them to call me back with some brilliant idea to explain why things aren’t working the way they’re supposed to be working. My guess is that they’ve convened a council of computer guys and where they’re all munching samosas and hoping I won’t call back.

Little do they know that I’m going to call them back, and I’m going to hope that the contagious curse from my phone line infects their phone line. Mwahahaaa…

Oh wait, luckily for them it’s working now. I guess I’ll just have to save my bad phone vibes for someone else. Like the cable guy.

Dear Blogistan, we’re all connected in the circle of errr…blogs. Which means I got this list of questions from Amir’s blog, and he in turn got it from Anju’s. And for that I thank Anju for this easy…err…interesting update. 🙂

Twentiesh Questions…

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says:

He liked the loyal capo Gotti and displayed his affection for him.

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?

The wall. But I don’t want to, it looks dirty.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?

A Playstation game, if that counts. We haven’t had tv in months.

4. WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what the time is.


5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?


6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?

Nasheeds, the Hadi-Al-Ruh remix. 🙂

7. When did you last step outside? what were you doing?

An hour ago, coming home from work. I flagged down an ice-cream man and then took two popsicles to Aniraz’s office.

8. Before you came to this website, what did you look at?

Amir Brook’s blog.

9. What are you wearing?

Sandals, scarf, jilb. Moon & star ring, chap stick, cheesy grin.

10. Did you dream last night?

Yes, and it had something to do with my dog. Honest.

11. When did you last laugh?

Earlier this morning, reading Roald Dahl’s Matilda with one of my students.

12. What is on the walls of the room you are in?

a few world maps, some newspaper clippings, I’ve hijacked a computer in Aniraz’s office. 🙂

13. Seen anything weird lately?

My car was full of lentils the other day. I wish they had been in a bag, but as it were, they were free-range and travelled nomadically between the front seat and the back.

14. Last movie you saw?

Ice Age.

15. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?

Jannah. 🙂 Masjid anyone? Then another ice cream.

16. Tell me something about you that I don’t know.

I drive better backwards than I do forwards, and that doesn’t mean I drive badly, that just means I’m pretty damn good at backing up! :p

17. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?

Khilafah! Visualize whirled peas!

18. Do you like to dance?

Does the pope wear a funny hat? No, I don’t think his hat is very funny.

19. George Bush: is he a power-crazy nutcase or someone who is finally doing something that has needed to be done for years?

I pick C. Brainless, power-hungry, oil-rich moral leper.

20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?

Sabira. InnAllah ma’as-Sabireen.

21. [Same question for a boy]


22. Would you ever consider living abroad?

Dude, I AM living abroad.

There are two words for ant in Urdu, chunti and chuntaa. Chunti, with the cute little ‘i’ sound on the end of it means a little ant, an inconsequential and harmless little ant that sometimes floats to the top of your chai.

Chunta, with a big fat ‘AH’ sound on the end, is the kind of ant that carries your cup of chai away on its back and then comes back to tote off your biscuits. They’re the big black ants with the big black pincers. They’re not harmless. They bite, and having bitten, they latch on and refuse to let go.

The unassuming little chunti is most commonly seen in homes and kitchens, foraging for crumbs or sugar crystals on the floor at night. The chunta, however, is not usually seen in homes, so you can imagine my surprise when I found one in my fridge today. And he had brought along three of his friends.

I don’t know how the ants got inside of the fridge. Judging by their size, I’d say they stood on each other’s shoulders to reach the handle on the outside and just let themselves in. If they came seeking Nirvana then they may have found it in a way. If not, then I hope they get reincarnated as something nicer- something that I won’t have to chase out of the fridge and then dispatch with my sandal.

It’s amazing how this is not even unsettling to me. True, I am offended that the ants refused to honor the sacred precincts of the fridge, but I’m not paralyzed with the heebie-jeebies. Life in Pakistan does this to you, it teaches you to deal with things that you never thought were normal. When Aniraz and I came to Pakistan four years ago we had to reevaluate the way that things had been dealt with before. For example, in the US, if an ant had been in your food, you threw the food away. If you did that here you’d starve to death. So Aniraz and I came up with two golden rules of living in Pakistan, two ideals by which to live and coexist with our new surroundings- Rule number one: If it looks like an ant, don’t eat it. Rule number two: If it looks like a roach, run away.

Thank you and goodnight.

Ok folks, here’s the deal. In two or three days we’ll be getting DSL.


and Alhamdulillah.

But in the mean time, I’ve run out of internet hours and don’t want to buy any more. See my dilemma?

Alright, now that we’ve voted to vote on something, we’ve got to decide on something to vote for! Any suggestions? :p

I say we put something to a vote. All in favor say aye. All opposed say Nay.

English Night rokt, naturally. Not only was there madlibs and Scrabble and stuff like that, but there was Lasagna and Kunafa and an ice-cream cake. *drool* The students are gone but the ice-cream cake remains. For how long though, I can’t say. Ice-cream cake has a short life span. Not only do pieces of it evaporate every time I pass by the freezer, but sometimes whole chunks have vanished when I check in on it every now and then. You know, just to see how it’s doing.

*wipes chocolate off of chin*

Right, where was I?

(Not in the freezer, I swear!)

*slaps self*

Anyway. Another fun part of English Night involves showing off all the neat stuff I have in my house, like the BMI Index-calculating scale. It tells you what percent of your body is fat, and then you all compare results and tease the person with the lowest amount. Good times, good times. I’m sorry to say that I’m never that person with the least amount, but at least that means I am the teaser rather than the teasee.

I just realized that this sounds like a fat blog. It’s a food blog though, that’s for sure, and I blame it on the Kunafa. It’s sending me kunafa vibes from the fridge upstairs, and I find myself inexplicably drawn towards it. I can only resist for so long.

*slaps self again*

Now I’ve gone from English Night to food to weight. Boy am I focused or what. I have five pounds to lose folks, and I need help. I started lifting weights and then I gained two pounds. Then I was distraught over the weight gain and gained another pound just to keep the other two company. Then I got out a measuring tape and realized that I had gained pounds but lost inches, and then I felt sorry for adding that last pound. Now I have to change my workout goals, because if my goal is to lose weight by lifting weight, then I’m not sure if it’ll work. Muscle mass is dense and heavier than fat, and a very muscular woman can weigh even 150 pounds and still fit in a size 8. My goal should be to lose inches by lifting weights because the increased muscle mass burns extra calories. Like ice-cream.

I’m doomed.