Computer is busticated again. Aargh. I think this might be Sven’s fault again…
CURSES!
Author: Abez
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People who know me will look at this layout and go: ‘Abez, what happened? You don’t even like pink flowers!!!’ Then they’ll die of disbelief. Or maybe just roll their eyes. Aniraz did anyway.
I think I just needed a change. It was either this or get a drastic hair-cut. Chances are I’ll change the layout some time next week, right after I get irritated with the pink flowers, but for now the girly layout stays. So nya.
Feedback?
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You know how there are some annoying people who can’t leave well enough alone? Who waste alot of time trying to fix things that aren’t broken?
Guess who’s working on a new layout.
*teeth*
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Amreekistan II: Pretty please with ketchup and cheese
Setting: the US luggage inspection counter at O’Hare airport, the day of our flight home.Me: (to security officer) Excuse me, but this suitcase is torn and we didn’t notice it, do you guys think you could tape it up so it doesn’t bust open later?
Officer: Yeah, you might wanna tape it up, cuz after we take it it’ll be throw around a couple time like a volley ball. A few guys might play catch with it…
Me:Jump up and down on it a few times…
Officer: Yeah, exactly.
Me: Do you guys think you could tape it up?
Officer: That depends on whether or not you ask nicely.
Me:Pretty please with ketchup and cheese?
Officer: With ketchup and cheese? What kind of a please is that?
Me:Well, I was going to say hummus and tahini but I wasn’t sure if you’d know I was talking about…
Officer:Hummus? I know hummus! See, that’s racial profiling, you think just because I’m black that I don’t know what hummus is. I know hummus, and falafel and lots of other Arab food…
Me: Now that’s racial profiling cuz you’re saying I should know what these foods are because you think I look like an Arab.
Officer: No, you’re not an Arab, none of you are. (actually one of us was, half-Arab anyway). Now that one, she’s Urdu. Aren’t you.
Sabah: Urdu’s a language. I’m Indian.
Officer: Same thing. My co-worker over there, he’s Urdu too.
Sabah: Right.
The suitcases were eventually taped. Amreeka is such an interesting place…
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Amreekistan Part I: Snot snot snot, I’ve got a lot.
This, folks, is the beginning of the scatter-braindedest travelogue that ever was, and ever will be. For I, Abez, will not be recounting my vacation in chronological order, but rather, by subject, and nuts to sequence.
Amreekistan Part I: Snot snot snot, I’ve got a lot.
Of all the exciting places I saw in the US, the one where I sent the most time was the cold & flu remedy section of Walgreen’s pharmacy. It was a lovely place, all clean and shiny and packed from ceiling to floor with colourful boxes of cold remedies I couldn’t have:
Nyquil- 10% Alcohol.
Robitussin Cough & Cold Gelcaps- Gelatin
Walgreen’s Cough Syrup: 15% Alcohol
I racked up countless hours reading, re-reading and comparing ingredients of cough & cold medicines, most of which were unsuitable and other of which were ineffective.
Sudafed: psuedoremedy
AlkaSeltzer Cold: effervescent nothing
After an extensive (and somewhat expensive) trial and error study of the cold remedy section, the judges finally declared the winners!
Tylenol Cold: Multi-symptom Night time Complete.
Tussin (generic) cough & cold syrup. Alcohol-free!
A combination of Tylenol and the occasional chug of Tussin straight from the bottle helped get poor Abez through the last three snotty weeks in the US, but true relief came only when we (the nose and I) touched back down on Pakistani soil and had the best cold remedy of all, Haleem.
You may laugh, but the first bite of super-spicy cleared my sinuses instantly and more effectively than any of the over the counter medicines I brought from the US. It was also tastier, and the side effects were limited to burning mouth, watery eyes, and fullness. This is compared to the Tussin cough-syrup, which caused jitteryness, sleeplessness, and voices. Lots of them. Whenever I laid down to sleep, I found that the silence in my head had been interrupted by an endless chattering of unconnected thoughts.
Cold cold cold, this bed is cold. Like ice cream. Yummy. Wonder if there will be ice cream at the camp mess hall today. Mess, what a mess, there was mud all the way from the door to the bunk beds, and it had to be mopped up. Yep. Up. Ice cream?
I maintain that the side-effects still linger, because I would like an excuse for the ridiculousness of this blog. Humor me folks, I drank too much cough syrup.
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Got home about five minutes ago. I’ll blog as soon as I’ve had something to eat. In the mean time, have a seat. he he
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Guess who has a new obsession. Okay, maybe it’s not an obsession, maybe it’s just a wanna-be obsession, because you can’t be obsessed with something you don’t have yet, right? I dunno, you tell me.
Some people may say that DDR is just a game, well they’re wrong. If Playstation says it’s a game then they’re wrong too, because I sez it’s a piece of home-fitness equipment, and I will tout it as such when I whine and use the full force of my daughterly-wiles to ask my daddy if he’ll buy me one.
*flutters eyelashes*
Alright, so my daddy doesn’t actually read my blog, and I’ll probably be buying one for myself, but the point is: I can’t remember the last time that I had that gimme-gimme feeling, probably not since I was about… oh…. twenty (he he) but I’m having that tingly new-toy kinda feeling, and I’m hoping I can justify such a huge purchase by relabeling a PS2, dance-pad and video games as a health-related purchase. Fox news seems to agree, not that their opinion counts for much, but hey, I found this link! And this one too. Interesting, very interesting…
Mwahhahahaaaa!
PS: Leaving for summer camp tomorrow morning and won’t be back until the 13th. Amuse yourselves in my absence.
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I’m being a bad blogger, and I know it. *hangs head*
It’s not that there’s nothing exciting going on, or that I don’t have anything to say, but I simply don’t have the time to sit down at the computer for more than half-hour increments, time enough only to check my email and give brief replies. Even sitting down has become a luxury, dramatic as that may seem, due to the constant GO!GO!GO! of preparing for camp/finalizing workshops/being on vacation/partying till midnight.
You know how that works. You wake up at ten (entirely too early I say) and get to a meeting. You work for a few hours, and then someone suggests food. You go out for food and come back to work. You finish eventually, and then someone breaks out the DDR Max and you have no choice but to play until your body is sore and your face hurts from laughing so much. That would be till about 11:30, and by then your whole day has gone by and you still haven’t sat down on a computer, let alone had the time to write a blog.
Camp begins on Saturday morning, and from that Saturday until Friday the 13th (*gasp!*) we won’t have any phone/computer/internet access. Such is camp.
But yeah, back to the point. Due to the fact that I am deficient in both brain power and time, I’m getting bad at this blog thing. So instead of a proper blog, we’ll just do a FAQ session, ok? You may leave proper (though not necessarily relevant) questions in the comments of this post. You can ask anything, just don’t expect me to answer it if I don’t like the question. MWAhahaaa!!
-he he-
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Dear/AssalamuAlaikum Family & Blogistan
I’m typing this letter/ blog from the comfort of… (drumroll please) Baji’s house! Mwahahaaa! I dunno if she knows we’re here yet, but it’ll be lotsa fun when she arrives later tonight. Baji’s engagement party is tomorrow, and Chai drove up to G-ma’s house to pick Owlie & I up for the party. We’ll be staying here until Sunday morning, until then we’re working on getting plenty of use out the pool table downstairs.
A note on wandering about Southern Indiana: it’s been a-mighty interesting. We’ve met lots of curious and interesting people, (Hi, I’m Brian from the Church of Christ, what church do you go to?) and seen many interesting things (the county fair serves deep-fried Oreo cookies. whaa…?) and eaten things we probably shouldn’t have: fried fish, and lots of it. Our Aunt Elaine hosted us a mini fish-fry at her river cabin with all the proper fixings- macaroni and cheese, cole-slaw, a big red dog, mosquitoes, chocolate pudding cake and southern twang. The twang makes the fish tastes better. It also makes things sound cuter, and it makes you smile to hear , “Excyooz me, y’girls mind ‘f I ask y’all bout those thangs on yer head?”
People have been very nice here, something I unfortunately cannot say about some people in other places, people who started swearing at us from across the street while at a Dunkin Donuts, people who tsk-tsk and say to us ‘Too much clothes!’ and those who have offered to lend us trench coats in case we were cold. Why else do people cover their heads except when they’re cold?
In any case, we have had a nice time here, and overall people have been very nice. Especially Chai’s mom and Baji’s mom, who offered us some snacky-wackies in the kitchen-witchen. I think we’ll have-shave some. he he…
Peace & Snacky-Wacky Grease!
–Abez
The computer Chair
Living Room, Baji’s House -
Dear Mom & AssalamuAlaikum Dad& Z1 & Fuzzy & Zaymun & Oleo Corpoleo & Blogistan
I’ve only got half an hour to type (those are the rules down here at the Barret Memorial Library, Petersburg, IN) so I hope you guys forgive me for combining four separate letters with this one blog entry.
We’ve been in Indiana since Sunday. Z1 (the big bro) drove us down as far as Uncle Rusty’s house, where we sat on the sofas and hung out with cousins we hadn’t seen for about four years. A note about my Uncle Rusty, he loves Pakistani food. Sometimes I wonder whether he’s related to us from my mother’s side at all, or whether he’s actually a displaced Chacha (brother of my father) who somehow ended up in Indiana. We brought him a tub of Nihari and a tub of Biryani. (Note to Fuzzy: That biryani was Delicious with a capital D.)
We also met two Mormon missionaries who were at Uncle Rusty’s house for lunch. My Momma used to feed the missionaries every Sunday, so it was a very nostalgic experience for us to see the fresh-faced, well-intentioned, but too-young-to-be-too-brilliant missionaries with the black name-tags and back-packs.
After good-bye hugs and one good-bye squeeze from my Uncle that fractured at least three of my ribs, we jumped in G-ma’s little red car and finished the rest of the eight-hour drive catching up. We’ve been here for the last five days, baking cookies, eating G-ma’s famous tuna casserole and zipping about southern Indiana. We’ve also been mildly productive, we broke G-ma’s bathtub spigot. Then we replaced it. That was exciting. It involved a few trips up to the hardware store in town where a nice man humored our questions and guided us through the painfully silly process of installing a new spigot.
1. Buy new spigot. (the hardware store is only twenty minutes away)
2. Remove old spigot. (bang bang bang. ok, now what?)
3. Place threads of spigot onto pipe. (it isn’t fitting! Back to the hardware store, STAT!)
4. Place threads of adjusted spigot (the hardware man took an extra rubber bushing off) onto pipe.
5. Turn spigot clockwise. (which way is clockwise?)
6. Oh, that way, he he.
7. Enjoy. (whee! Showers for everyone!)Other adventures here at G-ma’s house have included a trip up to Hornady Park, the beautiful green pond & park where we spent the halcyon days of or youth torturing each other on the teeter-totter (mooOOOooom, she won’t let me dooOOOoown!) and feeding the ducks. Well, more than ducks actually. First there were the red-faced thingies that looked like ducks but hissed like snakes when you didn’t crank those crackers our fast enough. Then there were these white things that looked like ducks but honked like geese and ate like pigs. There were one or two proper ducks, cute little things trailing cute little ducklings, but they were muscled out of the way by the several proper geese, three-feet tall and mean-tempered. When they opened their beaks you had a choice, you could fill the beak with crackers of you could suffer The Wrath. We tossed the crackers and ran.
We plan on having an adventure later today, but right now we’re doing laundry. Rather, G-ma and Owlie are doing laundry at the Laundromat while Abez, Minister of Miscommunications, is here at Barret Memorial Library, where incidentally, her time is up.
Well Blogistanis, we hope to post some pictures after we get back to Chicagoistan and develop the film. More coming later, but how much later is unsure. G-ma doesn’t have internet access.
Love, Peace and Salan Grease,
Abez
Computer C2
Barret Memorial Library
Petersburg, IN -
Adventures in Amreeka
Four years ago, when Owlie and I lived with our uncle in Karachi while the rest of the family till lived in Chicago, I hoped that the phone was ringing for us from the US, and the home I missed was in Chicago. Four years later, I languish in Chicago and hope that it’s Pakistan calling. It’s an interesting reversal, and proof positive that home is not a location, it’s a feeling. Or, as the ten-year old calendar on my grandma’s kitchen wall used to say, “Home is where the heart is.” Although my heart is still safely lodged in my chest cavity, my ribs don’t feel quite at home.
I miss waking up in a happy sprawl with my pillows on the floor and my blanket under my head.
I miss reading the newspaper in the morning and then hopping into my pop can (car) and zooming off to work on the LEFT side of the road.
I miss the little row of zinnias outside of our front door and the two jasmine bushes that smell sweet at night.
I miss the dog, I miss her slobbery, unconditional love and the adoring look that she will give to absolutely anyone.
I miss the daily soccer game played in the field behind our house and find television to be a poor substitute.
I miss my brother, his brain full of interesting nonsense, his heart full of good intentions and his mouth full of amiable argument that he likes passing the time with. (Ten squirrels with machetes versus a bear with a machine gun. Who’d win?)
I miss my father, I miss him and his silly jokes and his cheating at Scrabble and his psychic ice-cream vibes and his motorcycle rides and the way that he sighs ‘Allaaaaaaaaahhh…” to himself when he’s tired.
I miss my mother, I miss hanging out in her waterbed with a bottle of nailpolish and a lap full of chocolates. I miss how she’s the only person I can hug without feeling self-conscious, how she will dance with me around the dining table and let me talk at her without telling me I’m nuts.
I don’t want to complain, because I am enjoying myself, and we have been hosted and received with kindness and love. We’re kept busy from morning till night with friends, camp meetings, summer parties and sight-seeing nostalgia, but when the Isha prayers have been said and I have again lain down in a borrowed room, my mind goes back to home, to the people in it and the four more weeks until I see any of them again. I toss and poke at a strange pillow.
I roll over.
I miss my bed.
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Walking past an abortion clinic on the way to buy milk this morning, we were stopped by a wide-eyed lady with an armful of literature who looked us and gasped, “You girls aren’t going in there, are you?!”
We told her obviously not.
“Good,” she said, placing her hand on her heart and sighing in relief, “I don’t know if I could take that this morning…”
We laughed nervously and walked away through the rows on nuns on both sides of the side walk (praying) and onwards to the gas station. On the way an interesting discussion ensued, about what difference, if any, these people in front of the abortion clinics are making, whether their 11th hour appeals to the women who enter these clinics do, in fact, save any lives. The problem is complicated, and the nuns outside the clinic seem to be a little late in their attempt to prevent abortions from happening, especially when you consider that the best way to prevent abortion is to prevent unwanted pregnancy. I’m sure the Catholic group that those nuns are part of have some sort of abstinence program for their youth, and they might be trying to advocate chastity, but I don’t know how far they’ll get when their teenagers are dressing like prostitutes.
I’m not saying that to be mean, and I know it sounds pretty shocking, but a perusal of the mall (and of the mall-goers as well) revealed that tiny combinations of black and pink with stiletto heels are all the rage. I’ve never seen shorter shorts or so many fleshy half-moons hanging out of said shorts. I could be accused of over simplifying the problem here, and of saying that dressing like a prostitute makes you act like a prostitute, but that’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m not saying that at all, actually. What I’m getting at is that if these nuns, these well-meaning and God-fearing people want to prevent abortions, then they need to prevent the pregnancies, and if they want to prevent the pregnancies, then they need to prevent the sex, and if they want to prevent that, then they need to take it off the teenagers’ minds, and if they want to do that, they better put some clothes on these little girls because apparently a pair of shorts with ‘Hot Stuff’ written on the seat are not conducive to modesty and chastity and all that nice stuff.
The woman in front of the abortion clinic with the flyers was shocked that three young women dressed as we were, in modest clothing and head scarves, would be headed for abortions. Apparently she knows what I’m getting at. Someone else understands the link between modest dress and modest behavior (though it isn’t always 100%). So why are they so reluctant to acknowledge the darker side of that link, that IMmodest dress leads to IMmodest behavior?
Some truths are less obvious than others.
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AssalamuAlaikum Blogistan and Momma-Abbustan.
I’m sitting in the UIC computer lab right now with Owlie, Sabah & Shamaila, finishing up the camp book enjoying this really comfy swivel chair. Wheee! We’re about to break for lunch- kabobs in pita bread we brought from home, yummy, and after that we’ll get back to work. Here’s a quick summary of what we’ve been up to so far:
Last night we went bowling at Lincoln Square Lanes, naturally I lost, but I maintain that I had the most fun. I had a strawberry milkshake from McDonalds, which cost me two dollars and took over half an hour’s worth of laborious sucking to consume. Man, I think there was a vein standing out on my forehead by the time I finished. I should’ve just gotten a spoon. I repent. I do taubah. No more milkshakes for me.
After bowling we went back to the park near our old highschool where we played on the swings and swung across the monkey bars, just like in the good old days… just like senior year. he he. Yes, Abez & co played in the park all the way till college, pushing the tire swings and falling into the wood-chip until the principal gave us diplomas and kicked us out.
Time to go for lunch, I’ll blog later InshaAllah. Still haven’t figured out how to use my brother’s digicam, the first step of which being to OBTAIN the digicam, which I have yet to do. Ah well.
Peace & Handi Grease!
-Abez -
Very busy finalizing camp book, I’ll type a real post later. In the mean time, I need help finding a small ‘SalAllahu Alaihi’ graphic to follow the name of the Prophet Muhammad peace and blessings of Allah be upon him(this is where the graphic would be useful). I left my clipart collection at home. 🙁 HELP!
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Dear Mom & Abbu & Blogistan
Yesterday Owlie, Sabah and I went out and replaced the beat-up sandals that I used to wear around the house- the ones the housekeeper was always making fun of and mom always trying to throw away. I’d give you permission to throw them away mom, but I actually brought them with me for safekeeping. :p I guess I’ll throw them away myself. They were good shoes too, maybe we should have a memorial service…
We also went to Jewel, where we wandered around aisles wider than most stores in a building larger than our local plaza, gawking at more food than anyone could eat in their entire lives, and eventually buying nothing. I don’t want to be so terribly fob-bish, maybe I’m just being 3rd-worldish, but that store was overwhelming, just in the sense of what was available, and wondering how much would be thrown away when it expired. There certainly are alot of food options for a people enamored with fast food. Maybe they go shopping and get overwhelmed too, so then they end up going out for falafel instead. That’s what we did anyway.
Yesterday we went to Evanston for lunch, after which we wandered around and then gravitated towards the beach. We clambered over the rocks and stood with our feet in the lake. We were enjoying the beach in the subdued, non-nekkid way that hijabis do when a woman in the distance began jogging towards us. When I turned and saw her, my first impression was that she had left the pants that went with the jacket she was wearing at the other end of the beach. Turns out it wasn’t a mistake. She was a life guard with a red jacket over her bikini, and she was here to tell us that this was not the proper beach entrance and that if we wanted to use the beach then we would have to buy a token.
Alright, we said. How much is a token.
Seven dollars, she said. And you have to buy them from over there.
We politely nodded and then made our way back over the rocks. After walking out of earshot, a motiont to boycott Evanston was proposed. All in favor say aye.
Aye!
The council unanimously agreed. Dunno where we’re going today, but I bet it’s not Evanston.
Peace & Handi Grease
-Abez -
I feel FOB-ulous.
(That’s FOB as in: Fresh Off the Boat)
FOBular observations by Abez– Costco is bigger than Islamabad airport.
– Judging by a fried breast-piece I met at yesterday’s picnic, I think your chickens could beat up our goats.
– The fruit is unnaturally large. RUN, it’s FRANKENFRUIT!!!!
– I could ride in an SUV with a whole bunch of other stuff in the back seat, like a bag, some golf clubs, a bedroom suite, my car…Next time: Pics and more FOBulous thoughts coming your way. 🙂
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Dear Mommma, Dad and Bloggers
Well, something about this computer’s cookie settings won’t allow me to log in to my email box to sent my parents a letter, so I’m writing my parents a blog instead.
The plane trip was pretty good, for the first time in my life I can say that I enjoyed flying PIA. The plane was new, a Boeing 777, which means nothing to me technically but in laymen’s terms it meant bigger seats with foot rests and personal computer screen thingies, even in economy with multiplayer gaming and your choice of movies & stuff. I ended up watching a fifty year-old adaptation of a Russian version of Beauty and the Beast, where Beauty’s name is Anastasia and her headdress and frock are distinctly Ukrainian. (the Beast, after he transformed, looked something like a hunky Estonian.)
I also watched the relatively new Dreamworks cartoon, Sinbad. I give it as many thumbs down as I possibly can, which is two, and as I type this I’m trying to curl my toes to see if I can add two more. Three of the four thumbs are for historical inaccuracy. Having read the original 1001 Arabian Nights as a child, I can tell you that Sinbad is-
a- not Greek
b- not a pirate
c- not a polytheistWhere in the movie he’s all of the above, a thief from Syracuse whose run-in with the goddess Aris (sp?) sets him on a whirlwind adventure with a sassy chick with which he obviously and eventually falls in love. The last downward thumb is for the cute animal that cartoon-makers feel the need to include in every movie. My theory is that this is the plush, adorable character that the children will nag their parents to buy, like Flounder from the Little Mermaid, Pegasus from Hercules and the raccoon from Pocahontas. This time it was a slobbery but sagacious dog who leaps in and licks people at all the warm and fuzzy moments, and can launch harpoons at the really dramatic ones.
Dreamworks did do an interesting and imaginative job with the animation though, so technically it gets four thumbs down but one pinky up. But I should stop reviewing two-year old cartoons now. You should have seen it for yourself by now, lol.
Right, well there’s an MSA reunion picnic that Owlie and I are off to right now. I have a whole bunch of other exciting and Fob-flavored observations that I could include in this blog (your Costco is bigger than our airport) but I’ll have to hold them till next time.
Love to Momma & Abbu, take care of yourselves and each other, don’t do anything crazy now. 🙂
Love, Peace & Handi Grease
-Abez
#101 Chicagoistan, USA -
Pre-Flight Packing Highlights:
- I found a bag that I thought was empty. Actually, it was our winter storage for crickets. That was exciting.
- Fatigue makes you do funny things. Stabbing yourself in the lip with a sewing needle is not one of them.
- We’re flying back on the same plane with Chai & Ismo. I thought that was pretty cool. 🙂
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A week or two ago, I made the pukka intention of losing five pounds before I got to the US. You would assume that following that sort of intention I’d do stuff like work out more often, eat less, and sleep less. Well you assume wrong my friend, I have been working out more, but the eating has been augmented with Salt & Vinegar Chips (Pakistan Zindabad! they finally got around to making them!) and my sleep has been increased with a daily nap. There are three days before Owlie and I zoom off to the US, and how does my weight-loss stand? At two pounds.
Yay!
Am I disappointed? Not in the least. I was actually expecting to have gained weight, because although I started my weight-loss regimen off with gusto, it kinda petered out after the third or fourth day due to the stress, the heat, and the Salt and Vinegar Chips, whose glorious name shall be capitalized henceforth.
Aside from losing those last three pounds, sometime before now and Sunday I also have to:
-drop clothes off at the tailor
-pick up other clothes from other tailor
-buy remaining gifts (this should be capitalized too, it’s a big project)
-find a non-broken suitcase (we’re Desi, we have no less than 12 suitcases with no less than twelve holes, tears, or missing wheels)
-packRight. I have to go eat…err… run errands.
yum…
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Grin, Bear It, and Gaviscon.
Seeing as how it’s been SUCH a long time since I posted, I wanna type a rockem-sockem kinda blog, but alas, it hasn’t been a rockem-sockem kinda week. It’s been an interesting week, what with my little brotha and his little friend (nineteen year olds are so cute! Awww, coochie coochie…) coming from the States. There’s also been loads of other stuff going on, and it turns out that I have stress-induced dyspepsia, isn’t that exciting! Between the chaos of trying to plan a trip and trying to entertain house guests and trying to buy gifts for everyone on a budget my stomach is trying to digest itself.
Ironic and amusing as that may seem, it’s a bit unsettling and more often than not- it’s nauseating. I don’t know why I’m bothering to write about it except that it’s been bothering me. I get a phone call in which someone asks me when the trip is. As I answer them, I remember that so much is unfinished and so many aspects of the trip are uncertain, and then I get a kick in the stomach. That’s what it feels like anyway. Then I have to wander over to the refrigerator and drink a bottle of antacid. (Gaviscon, yum.) I’ve also been on pump-inhibitors for weeks, which in laymen’s term means medicine that will tell my hyper-enthusiastic stomach to not put out quite so much acid, thank you very much. Man, I need a vacation from planning this vacation.
I shouldn’t complain though, really. I should just grin and bear it, because if I maintain that life is a test, then I shouldn’t be so averse to being tested. Logically that’s what my mind is saying- my mind is going, “Is this it? Is this the best the world can throw at me? Bring it on!” but my stomach is going *gurgle?* and then pumping out four times too much of the burning stuff. Luckily for me though, the stomach is not in charge and I refuse to be brought down! Ha! Allah stresses us and tests us in the same way that a smith will smelt metal, burning away the baser elements and refining what is precious, so if life seems to resemble a trial-by-fire of late, remember that it’s because Allah allowed it to, and because the pain is an exchange for previous sins. And since I have rather a lot of sins, I’ll just be content to grin- to bear it- to drink more Gaviscon.
Alhamdulillah 🙂
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Back!
Hello! Yay! Wheeeeeee!!!
The computer is finally healthy again, Alhamdulillah, real post coming soon 😀
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My mother told us she wanted she wanted a parrot for her birthday. She didn’t specify what color it should be, or whether or not it should be edible…The devilish looking horns were added on after the party btw, just for effect. 🙂
Sensei Presents: An exciting day and a boring blog
Everyone has a limit. Mine is 3 am. Precisely. The laws of Abezistan clearly state that I only have to lay in bed in the dark pretending to be asleep until 3 am. After 3 am night is over and any extra-bed excursion count as ‘waking up really early’ instead of ‘staying up really late.’
So today I’m up really early (it’s 3 am), typing in the dark and enjoying the basement ambience. Today was my momma’s birthday and we had an adventure. The basement flooded and then a pipe busted and there was boiling hot water squirting up to the ceiling and soaking into the electrical converters, which then started smoking. A very bad habit it is too, causes cancer & stuff. So then we had to tie the pipe up with a nylon. Then we had to turn the water off to the basement. Then we had no water in the basement. Then all the leaking water flooded the septic system and my bathroom flooded. Then there was panic and much gnashing of teeth as smelly water backed onto my bedroom floor and prevented access to basically everything in the bedroom. Boy was that exciting…
After the plumber came over and contained the emergency (I say contained, not fixed) we jazzed up the upstairs part of the house, wrapped my momma’s gifts and had us a party-sharty. There was drinks (milk), hot chicks (I was sweating), dancing (my mom did a one-man congo line around the table) and groovy tunes.
We also went out to KFC for dinner, not because we’ve bought in to the absurd trend that KFC in Pakistan counts as fine dining, but because we said, “Hey mom, what do you want for dinner on your birthday?” and she answered, “Fried Chicken!”
Certain local bloggers are invited over for leftover birthday cake. You know who you are. I’ll just go slice you guys some pieces. Not that I’m eating leftover birthday cake late at night. Oh no, I’m eating it early in the morning.
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Today is a hamster day, a day for me to brood malevolently in my cedar chip and wonder who keeps moving it around and why people keep reaching into the cage to poke me. Ok, so maybe ‘malevolently brooding’ means watching the Discovery Channel and eating gingerbread cookies, but I’m not leaving this cedar chip, gosh darnit!
Well, ok maybe I’ll leave the cedar chip later, but right now I feel hot and disinclined towards activity- a bad combination for someone who’s supposed to be both busy and productive. I think it’s my clothes actually. They’re making me feel sleepy. That might be my fault, since I haven’t changed out of my pajamas and it’s now 5:30. Speaking of clothes, my tailor (the competent one) is out of town for a week and Aniraz & I have already booked our tickets so there isn’t much time to spare. I don’t have any problems with my current clothes (I especially like these pajamas) but since they’re mostly wrinkly lawn shalwar-qameez in varying shades of pink (they were gifts) I think I should find some alternatives. Other than neon yellow. :p
Help me out here you guys, what’s in fashion for the scarf wearing fundus? (say that five times fast!)
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Have a Hamster-Flavored Day
A mangy looking guy goes into a restaurant and orders a hamburger. The waiter shakes his head and says, “No way. I don’t think you can pay for it.”
The guy says, “You’re right. I don’t have any money, but if I show you something you have never seen before, will you give me the food?”
“Deal!”
The guy reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a hamster and puts it on the counter. The hamster runs to the end of the counter, across the room, and up the piano. He jumps on the keyboard and starts playing Gershwin tunes.
The waiter says, “Wow, you’re right. I’ve never seen anything like that before. That hamster is a really good piano player.”
He brings the man a hamburger, which he promptly eats and asks for another.
“Money or another miracle,” says the waiter.
The guy reaches into his coat again and pulls out a frog. He puts the frog on the counter, and the frog starts to sing. He has a marvelous voice and great pitch. A fine singer. A stranger from the other end of the counter runs over to the guy and offers him $300 for the frog.
The guy says, “It’s a deal.” He takes the money. The stranger takes the frog and runs out of the restaurant.
The waiter says. “Are you crazy? You sold a singing frog for $300? It must have been worth millions.”
“Nah,” says the guy. “The hamster is also a ventriloquist.”
*****
A carpet-layer finishes installing a wall-to-wall carpet at a woman’s house and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette. They’re not there. He looks around the room and sees a small bump in the middle of the newly-installed carpet.
‘Damn,’ he thinks, ‘I don’t want to have to tear the whole carpet out just to get the cigarettes.’
He looks at his hammer and gets an idea. He pounds the bump until it is flat and the carpet is smooth once again. Just then the lady of the house walks in holding a pack of cigarettes.
‘I found these on the dining table,’ she says handing them to him. ‘By the way, have you seen my pet hamster?’
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woohoo!
It’s 10 pm, and having alternately eaten, lounged, chilled and then eaten again (lather, rinse, repeat) since 5, I am so stuffed/lethargic/tired that this is all I can manage for a blog right now. But I wanna say a big huge JazakAllahuKheiran for the dua’s and to ask to keep ’em coming. In the mean time, I have got to lie down… arrgg…
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I’m not half the man my mother is.
My momma is my hero. She is the ideal to which I strive. She is the vanquisher of metronome dogs.
This morning the Mother of All Evils and her three loud puppies were serenading the neighbourhood from our back yard again. I buried my head in my pillow and did my best to sleep through it. My mother, however, did not take it lying down. She threw dirt clods at them. She scored several direct hits. When that failed to drive the dogs away she took further action.
She marched across the backyard Dirtscape (it’s under construction), grabbed the puppies by the scruffs of their necks and tossed them on their merry ways. This while the mother dog was cringing across the creek. One of the puppies had poked its head into a crack in the boundary wall. After a good tug it came out with a audible –pop- and a yelp (much like a barking wine-cork) and sent packing.
My mother, being the brave and slightly nutty woman that she is, then kicked the dog’s new burrow in and threw a few more dirt clods for good measure.
My hero. I’m not half the man my mother is…
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Abezistan in Real Time
Introducing self to someone at party- “Excuse me, but I think I’m your mother.”
making pleasant conversation– “Your grandson just bit me in the head.”
How work was today?- “There were mangos and burgers flying all over the place!”
How did it go?- “He shot me with a grenade launcher several times.”
