PURIFIED WATER WITH A FILTHY FAUCET

DuckFace

2011-02-23T00:28:00.000-06:00

Men, when you are going to send me a picture of yourself, please do not send me a picture of you puckering up your lips because you think it's cute or some model did it in an add and you think you're hot and it works. It doesn't work, it makes you look gay. You get this Duckface expression, and frankly, you look gay. I like my men strong. Thanks.

Why did I tell you this? Because low and behold, I had a DuckFace. DuckFace was a nice fella. He actually wasn't too bad looking, and sweet when I met him. He was pretty funny...at times. Then he liked to stick his foot in his mouth. DuckFace loved loved loved sending me pictures of himself and constantly constantly text me. Both of which were annoying as hell. His poses in his pictures were horrid. He puckered his lips and turned his head to the side and snapped! HE WAS CONTENT WITH THOSE PICTURES! How do I know he was content? He sent the damn things to me! C'mon! Who in their right mind would send pictures of them acting a fool and looking gay to a girl they are trying to date? I kept thinking to myself, OH EM GEE! I MADE ONE GAY! Yes, I really thought that. I was so scared, I kept checking to see if I had a vagina because I thought he was attracted to me because I had a penis! I really didn't know what the hell was going on!

Oh yea, DuckFace also had a really bad sense of humor. DuckFace thought it was OK to insist I was a drunk (I wish I was actually) and implied that I liked Vodka sauce for pasta because there was vodka in it. Jackass didn't know that I know my food and that there isn't any alcohol in the fucking sauce! However, he thought it was necessary to argue that point. Every time there was a point to be argued, I would show him the proof that I was right, just so that I was sure, and he would still say "NO!" like a fuck face DuckFace that he was.

Now, he was nice. But, please don't throw your religion down my throat. Unlike many others, this one was one of mine. Oh shit did I fuck up on that selection. I would often hear, "Will you ever stop drinking?" Mind you my idea of a night of drinking is no more than 2 glasses of white zinfandel. So, DuckFace, I am slowly becoming an alcoholic slut with my boxed zinfandel. Please come and save me because you are so right with everything and I should just stand behind your shadow as we visit the Old Country Buffet for the rest of my life because you decided to turn religious and I, being nothing because I have a pussy good for only fucking and puking out monsters, will stand behind your shadow in Muslim vail, cover, nod, and just eat salad because you are so sweet.

I shouldn't be so mean. DuckFace really liked me. Then again, he said that he never really dates....so I guess he really doesn't have standards does he?

My mat is a happy camper today because he finally threw away his Polaroid and got a 3 mega pixel digital camera.

Do Not Tell Me This

2010-08-23T23:11:00.001-05:00

Do not tell me this:

"I'm not the guy you should be with." My response is only this, "then I'll leave you when I feel that I'm falling for you," followed by a his response of "No, don't do that. Let's see where this goes."

Are you trying to keep me around because you want a piece of ass that you'll never get, unless you are wedded on? I'm not really sure why Idiots (men) do this. What is your concern of my emotions if you feel that you have none for yourself. What makes you think that I am going to stick around to you? Is it because of your scruffy beard, perfectly husky body, mesmerizing eyes that I am hypnotized in when I gaze into them, chic style you dress yourself in, or romantic names you call me? I'm lost. I'm astounded that I stay around.

Here is my letter to you:

Dear You,

I don't know where you are going with this. You seem to be more intrigued with the fact that I have a vagina that you have not seen, but yet are still trying to obtain. You feel that your aggressive behavior that I like so very much will keep me retained to your side as you call me sweet names and sing sweet songs to me as we drive off amidst the darkness of the highways to a land where we don't care who views us, and how much fun we have. You're success has not driven me far from you, considering that your aspirations are so close to me. I feel that I have nothing to worry about when I'm with you, and you think the same, but you hide behind your rugged demeanor of masculinity that you will never let go. My magnetism to you is best described as how you described it to me; I am the positive, and you are the negative...making us attracting to what can be. But will it ever be? What will it become. What is your goal?

When you tell me that you have nothing to offer me but your dick, where am I to go with this in thinking what could be ahead? What is the point of thinking of what is ahead? Is there a reason? Should I even bother? You tell me, no, when I offer to leave when my cushion will be harder to fall on if I have ever reached that point. You say, let's keep going if it happens, then you contradict your words with, you're making a left turn with me and you should be going straight.

You need to understand that it's not fair. I'm a human and not as strong as I appear. So, when I do leave, you were the best one that I've had...only because I loved you once. But I loved you through another man's eyes, body, heart, and soul. You maybe soulless, and you will never show me if you have one or not.

I am woman, hear me roar. Although, not as loud as I anticipated through the weak point I now find myself at.

Sincerely,

Pointless to Continue but Still Will because I'm Foolish.

Advice to Men #4

2010-07-27T00:45:00.000-05:00

Don't tell me how bad of a Muslim or Arab I am. I'm fully aware that I am going to hell, you fuckface. Yeah, I know swearing is haram, too! Fuck YOU!

This is why I think some of you men are off in the head.

Advice to Men #3

2010-07-27T00:43:00.000-05:00

Telling a girl that you want to have fun while you two are dating will not make me want you more. In fact, you will scare me into thinking you have herpes.

Another reason to why men are poopy.

Advice to Men #2

2010-07-27T00:42:00.000-05:00

I will not split the bill with you on our first date.

This is also why men are poopy.

Advice to Men #1

2010-07-27T00:41:00.000-05:00

If you have a crush on someone, grow some fucking balls and ask them out. Flirting constantly one day and not doing anything the next makes me think your vagina is large. If you don't want this, don't flirt.

This is why Women think that Men are poopy.

AABA

2010-07-06T23:46:00.000-05:00

So, I've been busy. It's pretty obvious. Therefore, I apologize. However, in the past few months I have had quite the experience. Let's just say, hold on. I'll tell ya.

The All American BadAss

He was quite the ravishing look. BadAss he was. He had a chiseled face. Perfect jawline. Perfect body. Hot tattoos, soft spoken, and loved to have fun. This is my All American BadAss. AABA was found on the one and only, ArabLounge. Yup. This mulatto mix of Arab and White remained stagnant in the couple of months we spent together. He wasn't very knowledgeable about his heritage, and so he took it upon himself to learn. It was a compliment to his father's side (obviously the Arab side). I was really quite surprised he took an interest, he seems to take interest in slutty girls. That, unfortunately for the both of us (enter sexual frustration here) was not the type of person that I consisted of.

You see, he never admitted to me that he was into those girls, you know the ones that he meets at a bar and fucks that same night...never to be heard from again. However, he did admit that he looks. How brazen of you, BadAss. Thank you for your honesty. Although, please don't check these girls out (meaning, doing a 180 with your head) in front of me. It's quite rude and makes me feel less than what I really am (according to the Supportive Click aka friends).

BadAss, you're an alright guy. You're in learning mode. You've cleaned up your act and is trying to become a success, and I respect you. However, it's quite hard to respect your attitude when we're in a cab and you're looking at a girl with a tight leopard print dress on. Confidence is a sexy trait. I am aware of this. However, when I have a lack of it because you're checking out easy pussy, makes me a feel a bit on the bakara (cow) side. I feel less. I feel ugly. I feel as if I'm good to talk to (the minuscule amount of conversation that we had) and I feel like you don't appreciate who I am. It shows me you're more shallow than intellectual. It shows me that you're the guy at the club looking for easy pussy, thus making me think that any pimple I receive is a herpe because it was picked up from Level the night before.

Now, Bad Ass, we're friends. But, in the next relationship you encounter, my advice to you is the this: make sure you stare at your woman's vajay-jay as opposed to some whore on the street. You'll be garuneteed ass because you're giving her more attention.

My mat is cleaning off the grime from the alleys that the streetwalkers lie between. Apparently, BadAss found someone hot there and left some residue on the "W" of the "Welcome" part.

Let Freedom Ring!

2010-05-04T22:50:00.001-05:00

I went out with the Republican. Ol' Blue Eyes scored a date. In fact, we dated for about a month. Here's what happened: he was busy trying to get over the ex-girlfriend. Yes, we stopped dating because he was still trying to get over the fact that his ex was gone (which was six months prior by the way).

Now, remember the time I rejected him the first time? It was because I was pursuing SSG. I didn't think it would be fair to go out with the Republican and think of SSG at the same time. In fact, I was told by many people that it's not OK that I did that. I was told that I should have went out with the Republican and if SSG ever came around (note to you: he didn't...duh) then I can dump him and go to SSG. What's funny is that I was dumped by SSG before it ever happened! Oh boy.

After dating for a month, the Republican called and noted that it was time to decipher if him and I should continue to the next step. He then proceeded to tell me that he needed some time to think about it. I, in turn on the next day (after being given a plethora of bull shit sprinkled with a slight ounce of "[blah blah] my ex") decided it was much safer to just end it. And so I did.

So let me ask now, was it right of me in the first place to go out with another person when in reality I wanted someone else? Many say yes, many others state just the opposite.

Either way, what's fair in my head works for me. I'll tell you why, it really sucks to be dumped because of a potential that finally comes around...or an ex.

Yes I am aware this is short. It's been a busy life. Colon, Right Parenthesis.

My mat is chillin' today. It's taking a breather from all of it's sights and realizing that sometimes it is nice to not have to worry about what type of shoes step on them...like ones that are thinking about other mats and such.

The End of a Dream

2010-03-25T23:10:00.001-05:00

I put the card on his car. It was addressed to him. I didn't leave my name in hopes that he would be smart enough to know the person who was sending this level of secret admirer type message to him. Then, I saw him. Sexy Sales Guy and I pulled into the parking lot of our place of work at the same time. I have never wanted to avoid him more than that day. It was a couple of days passed the day I gave him the card. I was anticipating what was next, my heart was beating to the beat of a horrible rap song mixed with the ridiculous melody of DJ Tiesto and unbearable noise. My stomach, knottier than the pubic hairs of a crack whore hooker. The sweat started to slowly seep from my pores, and suddenly, I felt as if I had to go poop but didn't really need to. I felt slightly nauseous and I suddenly realize that he isn't too far behind me and I must keep the door open for him.

***REWIND A COUPLE DAYS***

Just a day after I put the Happy New Years I Secretly Love You and Want to Bear Your Children card on Sexy Sales Guy's car, Ol' Blue Eyes decided to grow some. After a couple of days passing messages back and forth via JackassBook, he asked me out. Yes, and I replied with the fact that I'm an Arab and he's Republican and White and that I would probably punt him. In fact, let me tell you what I put in my little Leave Me Alone message:

"Not that you're a bad guy, but I can see myself punting you if we dated, just being honest. I am an Arab and have strong political beliefs that side with what I call Palestine. You, as an American and through conversation, seem to have strong beliefs in what you would call Israel. Am I wrong? If so, please correct me. Yes, this is a major factor for me to decide my answer. "

I couldn't believe his response. He was surprisingly (reminder: he's Republican and very American...every Nutso's nightmare) fair! He believes in the two state deal (not saying I do or don't...I'm extremely nationalistic with Palestine) and has some fair views on the topic. I was shocked. He then proceeded to give me his point in dating saying that it would be boring to date someone that is very similar to one another. Another logical reason to never say no to someone very different. He called me gorgeous. Yes! Who does that?!?!?!? So then I told him the real reason I said no. I told him about my "perusing" another person and how I don't believe in dating two guys at once and that my tactic of scaring him away didn't work. In fact, here you go for shits and giggles:

"Ok, well i have to be honest with you. The reason i gave you the I'm Muslim schpeel was because I was trying to scare you off in a way. (in which I didn't, so kudos to you).

Here's why. I have taken on an interest in someone and have been for a while. I decided to grow some and find a way to let this guy know that. Although, it wasn't something that was directly said to him. If I were to go on a date with you, it really wouldn't be fair because someone else is on my head.

I just didn't want to say that to you because, well, i thought it was rude. I'm sorry if I came of crazy, it's because I sort of am."

*Footnote for later...keep this message in mind for future blog reference.*

***FAST FORWARD BACK TO SSG AND MY STOMACH IN KNOTS***

He was walking down the stairs to the entrance of the hell (aka work) and told me that I didn't have to hold the door open for him. I think it would quite rude if I just walked away, yes he wasn't very close, but not far either. I love him. I mean...

I felt as if poop was coming out of my face at this point. I told him that it's OK and it kills more time for me to hold the door open (horrible humor) so that I don't have to get back to work. Then small talk. "I'm going on vacation" says SSG and he tells me about the trip that he is oh so excited about. For some reason, I also asked if he was from here (Chicago) and he tells me no. He's from good 'ol Michigan (hence why he roots for them) and some more small talk. Then the elevator hits his floor. It illuminated the what was dim elevator and he stepped out. He was gone. Kinda like Houdini, the fucker left the elevator and said nothing! NOTHING! Nothing about he card!!!

I was slightly relieved and disappointed. I thought to myself the following:

No ring, so he is probably in a serious relationship
Oh my God! Maybe he's excited about his trip because he's going to propose to a longtime girlfriend
He's really 40 and looks VERY YOUNG for his age (not likely...but any excuse will do)
He doesn't know it was me that left the card (C'mon...how couldn't he? We had many conversations about my college of choice and his college of choice! In fact, he wears a shirt that says MICHIGAN on it when works out!)
He doesn't like me
He is gay

Another week passes by and I haven't seen sight of Sexy Sales Guy. When I dropped the card off, I thought they were moving in the beginning of February and it turns out it was going to be end of February. VERY uncomfortable to try to avoid the man I was mentally having sex with every day at least twice (note: we made beautiful children...mentally). I then go off to lunch with Baldhead (co worker) and SSG is in the same lot as I and kinda in the way. As I was pulling out (that's what he said) he continuously waved at me.

Baldhead then says "Either he's gay and likes me or he's really digging you!" because of the constant waving in a matter of 2 minutes!

It's the end of February. The last day of February would've been my day to say goodbye. My last view of Sexy Sales Guy (that is, if he came to the ivory building...work) and I had to take off that morning due to an unfortunate circumstance. At that point, I realized that I would never see or be with Sexy Sales Guy when I came to complete the day at work. And I was right.

****

If the mat was on clearance, Sexy Sales Guy would not purchase it. He would just laugh and pass it by while whispering "Happy New Year".

Hitching A Ride

2010-03-23T23:32:00.001-05:00

As you recall, I left you two different stories about two different men. I also peppered in a another one. That one doesn't really have much relevance, just yet. He has plenty of relevance to my life. I am just debating if that relevance is either good or bad. Therefore, for the time being, he is skipped until further notice.

So I take you back one and two blogs. Let's go back two blogs for a moment. I left you with Sexy Sales Guy. This was the short one with the dark features who illuminated people's world for money and mine for free (although, it's not 'that' type of illumination...and not the dirty type either). Enter confused face here. I have, for about two years, had a crush on this man. We had many chance encounters and learned a bit about each other with each encounter. I also left you with an act that I committed. I left a card on his car that was pretty vague, yet it referenced many conversations him and I had about the NCAA Basketball Championships of 2009. Yes, I referred quite a ways back, but seriously, he couldn't have been that stupid enough to NOT know who it was.

You will also remember Ol' Blue Eyes. He was the one that I met a Smiley's Debacle and learned later at the Benefit that he asked out College Buddy's Sister. I found this out at the Benefit in January of 2010. Let's emphasize on this a bit more. Now, Parole and Blue Eyes decided to stay at this venue and dance the night away with College Buddy and College Buddy's Sibling (the Debacle a year before). Apparently, both Parole and Blue Eyes received a phone number of College Buddy's Sibling and both later tried calling her (the both of them at separate events). Now, if you put enough liquor in one's system, anyone and everyone is gorgeous! Even the Parole child, who by the way has a child. To my shock, he knows who the mother is! WOOHOO! Well, come time for the Benefit, we are all reunited except for the sibling. Sibling, MIA. I don't blame her. Now, I was told of this story at the Benefit and wasn't really sure what was going on. With the help of Instigator (Blue Eyes), he was happy to embark on the previous year's event that evening. After many minutes of argument, and by far it was very entertaining to me, the conversation was over.

Now, the Parole's ride was long gone (which was his mother, his friend, and his son who cannot drive but came because his father is the Parole) because he decided to stay and get drunk! As the Benefit's evening was coming to a close, Parole decided to volunteer a ride out of me, which wasn't happening. I wasn't about to drive him anywhere and risk the chance of receiving any type of STD that was as drunk as the gifter of such a wonderful infection.

Hey, the nice thing about herpes is that the memory of the person that gave it to you will never leave you! And if you forgot, a random burning feeling will let ya remember!!! YAY! Well, I managed to escape.

Later, I find out that Blue Eyes was left with such a gift, Parole. It was very nice of him, and I am sure he enjoyed some hard core drunken action. Well, think about it this way, the both tried leaving with someone, little did they know it would be with each other.

Any who, as Facebook allows, Ol' Blue Eyes found me thanks to mutual friends (whom I will kick later because of this) and sent me a message telling me he was stuck taking the drunken imbecile (Parole) to another bar! Who'd a thunk another bar?! Actually, I would and did think that. Shut up. There's always a beginning to another DUI story. After a few messages, he grew up the nerve to ask me out. I thought, "WOW! Persistent!" I had turned this guy down before because I was in a relationship, and he still asked me out a year later (and he knew I was no longer tied down to stalker boy...again...he'll have his day in another blog).

There was a problem.

That same week he asked me out, I had placed the card on SSG's car! I was waiting for what may have happened to that! So what did I do? I said no. Why? Here was the excuse, he was Caucasian and a Republican and a devout Catholic. Just in case we forgot here, I'm Arab, Democratic, and a devout Palestinian. The Muslim thing doesn't affect me as much as being Palestinian. Can you imagine me bringing home a Republican? "Hey mom, here's my Republican boyfriend!" and he introduces himself and asks why no one in the house goes by the name of Jihad. Although, that would be hilarious. In fact, I would like very much for that to happen just for sheer entertainment.

Again with the tangents.

Ol' Blue Eyes gave me his two cents and it made plenty sense. He tells me his view on the Palestine/Israel topic (which was shockingly great) and his belief of being different is great. I thought after that, wow I'm screwed. Here I am trying to get you off my back and you won't stop. So I told him. I said that I was persuing someone. And that was the end of that. At least until I saw SSG the day after I placed the card on his car.

My mat is a bit damp tonight. It's sweating from anticipation of what may happen next (even though it knows what happens next, but it doesn't want you to sweat alone).

Just Another Wedding

2010-03-09T21:18:00.000-06:00

My friend, let's call her Smiley (she smiles all the time...through the good and the bad) had met her One and had a Debacle to celebrate the Mistake that she was about to make. I, of course, was invited and went (2 hours late and left as soon as possible). There was nothing wrong with the Debacle, it was just that this one was number 12 or so and I was a bit tired of them at this point. Anyways, it was fun and very interesting to meet new folks and catch up with the old ones.

I was sat strategically at the Table O' Singles. The Table O' Singles contained a lot of people that I knew from a while back, met then, and didn't realize were sitting there then. One of those Singles was a guy that I knew for at least a decade before. This guy had nothing going for him then and has nothing going for him now. Let's put it this way, I don't want to drive him around on dates because his parole officer won't let him. On the other side of myself was another young fellow who seemed to be on the lookout that night. He stood many inches taller than I, I will assume 6' here. He had what seemed to be blue eyes, not pearly blue, but blue enough. His hair stood about an inch above his head, light brown to be exact, and had what is referred to as the "Abe Lincoln Beard" that covered half his cheeky cheeks and cheeky chin. His physique, also one of a tennis player, with a little less definition. Some meat, but not SPAM meaty, meaty enough to fall of the bone and bear some marrow. His skin had the rugged cut of a man and a tone much lighter than what I am used to, although not light to where it was Casper-like, light to where I believed it could be considered just right for the good ol' white guy.

Ol' Blue Eyes also had a friend with him, male. He was as tall as his host and much paler. Not much to look at (for my tastebuds) but was very fun to talk to and make fun of Blue Eyes with. I was content with my evening. One thing leads to another and a group of us are talking (Parole Boy, Casper (pale friend), Blue Eyes, College Buddy (a chick I obviously went to college with), and the Sibling (College Buddy's sister)) and enjoying a drunken (except for me, wretched driving) conversation of how we met Smiley and why we were all mismatched on the Table of Doom, aka Table O' Singles. As the night went on, Blue Eyes had taken a higher interest in me (yea, I know. I'm wondering why, also) and we begin conversation about...um...well I forgot. I'm busy wondering why the hell I was in a Debacle for the umpteenth time anyways! I really didn't care much about what he was saying. Oh yes, I forgot, I was also busy thinking about how to get away from Friday. Friday is another blog. But for now, we'll stick with Blue Eyes and his antics.

He suddenly surprised me with "Would you like to dance" and I hesitantly agreed. Now, I'm in the South Suburbs of Chicago. Arab/Irish central. White and Arab and Mexican and Black all live segregatedly as one in this area. I'm kind of thinking in my head, "Great, some freaking camel jockey is going to walk in and see me with Blue Eyes and tell Nutso I'm pregnant" or something. Digression: The Debacle was held at a spacious venue with at least six other events in the same building that is open to the public. If you are familiar with the area, you may have a tiny inclination about which "mardi gras" joint I am talking about. Any who, we dance. I'm slightly uncomfortable because I have Friday. Now, Friday and I looked happy, but I was miserable. Therefore, it was OK that I was dancing with Blue Eyes. The end was coming for Friday as I knew it, and Blue Eyes knew he existed. Therefore, Blue Eyes stopped pressing for my number and settled with a gentle 5 minute waltz to some oldies while Smiley and The One for her danced next to us thinking "Awwww, we made a match at our 'Debacle'." I thought to myself, "Back off, no you did not!"

Next thing you know, the song is over and our dance was done. It felt nice to dance with Blue Eyes. It was nice to be held by someone who found me intriguing, although I am sure he was sort of in a drunken fury at this point. Although, I did have that somewhere else(minus the drunken fury), Friday's days were numbered...just like in the movies. But, so was Blue Eyes' days. I was then long gone afterward. I scatted out of the Debacle as fast as possible and found the closest watering hole I could find.

And then, the truth came out. It turns out the Sibling, College Buddy, Parole Boy, Casper, and Blue Eyes had a story to tell me. It was what I found out at The Benefit that had me thinking otherwise, especially about Blue Eyes.

My mat is hanging by a thread on these cliffs I keep putting it on.

SSG

2010-03-08T22:12:00.001-06:00

"Oh my God! I saw him today!" would be my normal reaction to a select group of friends that are in contact with me on a daily basis. "He saw me and I saw him and we locked eyes and he waved! I'm in love with him. Mentally, I'm pregnant and carrying his baby!" This would be my reaction every single time I saw this man.

Sexy Sales Guy was a stellar young fellow. He stood a mere 5'7'' or 8'', yet had the phsyique of a tennis player. He was not muscular in respects to being meat-head, yet toned and defined. I speak of him in past tense.

I work for a company that is housed in a building. It is a building in which it accommodated four other companies. Floor one housed two companies. You are able to apply for a mortgage loan and file reports to the state on this level. Floor two is home to the creative minds of McDonald's Happy Meal toys. Floor three allowed you illumination to your homes with light and find doctor's offices with scanners that can save your life. Finally, floor four strategically finds solutions for your financial institution with research and data analysis. Each floor has its importance for everyone. Typically one floor per person involved. In my case, I was worried about two. You see, as I scurried along with the working folk to floor four, I always found myself in a chance encounter with a stetson young fellow who illuminated one's world. Not only did he do this for his clients, he did so for me.

One day, I had taken notice of this man who illuminated everyone's world and thought to myself, "Wow!" Now, not many people are able to put me in this "Wow!" frenzy, but he did. He is Sexy Sales Guy. Every time I took a glance at his chiseled, olive face, I thought to myself, "he's out of my league" and ended it at that. My crush began to grow. One day, as I was encasing my body with cancer, he pulls into the parking lot and brings a heavy case inside with him. I, being prematurely finished with my cancer stick, head towards the door as if my much needed break was over and "by chance" (hey, sometimes you have to put fate in your own hands) help by opening the conversation with a crack at "You need help?" and end up opening the door. The introduction begins, and names are announced. Even a handshake was involved. Some petty conversation rose and then, floor three arrived as we both said our goodbyes and I fluttered back to being a corporate lackey with a slight bit more of excitement in me.

Here and there we would run into each other. More petty conversation. He is a city dweller who rooted for the University of Michigan as I cheered on my Blue Demons during March Madness of 2009. He loved to exercise, as he took runs during lunch, and sometimes wore clothes that made me wonder if he ever modeled for Express. I can imagine him in a white button down shirt worn under a black blazer and with black trowsers. His shoes, must be from Aldo's. The collar is stiff and covers his neck as he turns his head slightly to the right at me and tells me he loves me (ok, this was a figure of my imagination, but he would look great in that outfit). His brown eyes and dark hair made me wonder his origins. Are they Latin, Mediterranean, Middle Eastern? It was this notion. Sometimes, when he would walk down a corridor towards me, as I was entering in from the opposite end, he would look at me and then look down. He would then peer up to me with his beautiful brown eyes and smile with a one eyebrow slightly raised and say, "Hello, how are you" shyly. His boyish timidness never overpowered him. He managed to begin conversation with me, regardless of the hurry or not. Even when I was in a bad mood, and he was able to tell, the conversation would continue and I never minded (although I feel that one time he probably took notice and thought he was a nuisance when in fact I felt a client had ruined my life...you see this potential Three's Company-like misunderstanding can revere ones mind in a different direction if taken the wrong way). Never the less, the conversation, as petty as it was, was fantastic. It was fantastic because this man took notice of who I was. I felt a bountiful of importance, considering that I think he's out of my league, it's a compliment to me when we spoke.

Then one day, I decided to do it. I found out that Sexy Sales Guy's company was leaving. I didn't know what to do. In a state of sheer sadness, I decided to do the ultimate act that no other girl would do for someone who had constant petty conversations with another man. After the New Year, I decided to take things one step further. I decided to buy him a "Happy New Years Card". (Digression: Hallmark will do anything for a buck, Seriously, who the hey thinks of that? I was looking for a leftover Christmas card and only found box sets. Then, I was given the direction of the Happy New Years card...WOOHOO! Saved!). This card was simplicity at its finest. On the cover, it had some bear with a star under "Happy New Years" and inside had some shit like "Wishing you a Happy New Years" blah blah blah. Very friendly, no references for me wanting to give him my hymen. Nothing. Just a simple Happy New Years. I proceeded to add in a reference of conversation. "Maybe this March you can root for the DePaul Blue Demons instead of Michigan :)" We have had many conversations about our colleges and where we both came from. I thought to myself, he has to be an idiot not to know who this is.

And so, I placed the card in the envelope, wrote his name neatly on the cover of the envelope and placed it on his car as I had planned un-strategically and constantly that began just three weeks prior to the act.

Thanks Nutso, Thanks

2010-03-01T22:40:00.000-06:00

Really, what is it with mothers? Why is it that they are excited to get all prepared for a debacle? I was recently at my homegirl's Pre-Debacle Debacle (in which was really fun, actually...so thank you) and Nutso (guess whose mama) tells my main homey (I roll, that's right bitches, I roll) that she doesn't think that I'll make the Mistake with someone that SHE wants. Are you effing kidding me? You're freakin' nuts! She told my best friend this! This just came to light, well, because I am most likely going to bring her someone that isn't of Nutso's standards.

Nutso's Standards (aka, Unimportant Acquaintances Perception of How "Happy" Your Shitty Family Really Isn't)

Like all the rest of the assholes we try to impress, The One must be of Arab descent, same religion, good family, blah blah blah. Read The One for a refresher. Nutso always has someone in mind for me that she would like to see me with. As for all the other Unimportant Acquaintances, they just keep babbling Ukbal 3ndik. The Nutso's One must be a stellar man, successful, preferably a doctor or lawyer or engineer, must have a good family name, must be Muslim, and most importantly...must be Arab. She is terrified that I will bring her a non-Arab. In fact, I have brought her a non-Arab, a Muslim non-Arab, but he still stayed a "non" to her. He was absolutely nothing.

Nutso's standards does not finish here. He must be able to handle her craziness. The fact that he can understand her swears when she yells at me in front of him is a must. There must be many embarrassing moments that I will have to endure at one point with Nutso. Every Mom is a Nutso, it's a matter of fact that all our Nutso's are different with their nagging.

Well, what if I don't have the Standard of Nutso on my arm. If you haven't noticed in the past blogs, I've tried with these fucks. In fact, I haven't had any luck. Just ask their wives, girlfriends, parole officers, or shrinks. They'll tell you, I've tried and had NO LUCK. But, it doesn't matter what I think. I'm not going to be making babies with this guy or anything. It's not like I''m going to be living with this person. He'll be living to Nutso's standards and what I have to say is obsolete. Why, because the Unimportant Acquaintances have congratulated Nutso for doing a job well done with raising me.

Digression Alert: Jay Leno is an asshole. I miss Coco! Horrible jokes, Leno.

OK, so here is my solution to making Nutso and other Unimportant Acquaintances happy with themselves when talking about me behind Nutso's back. Honestly, I can give to flying fucks that they say anything. Marry an Arab....just for show. Live in seperate homes. When our Nutsos want to come over, pick the mutual home that we "live in" together, be fake, when they leave...go to our seperate homes, get wasted at a bar, fuck the hell out of some random dude, and be on your marry way.

And who said I can't compromise?

My mat is saturated of gin. It's at the bar waiting for me after my dinner party with Um Who Gives A Fuck.

My First Move

2010-01-23T22:38:00.000-06:00

It's a matter of figuring out what you want in a man. Does he care about me? Does he love me for my flaws? Does he love me for me? It's the introduction, the first impression, the first glance you both have at one another, the what's the word? The attraction. Whether it's a personality trait or a physical appearance, it's what strikes that person to you. Believe me, I'm no relationship expert. In fact, everything I blog about is from my personal experience. Just because I experienced a mini event, also known as Moment of Life, doesn't mean you necessarily have.

I just watched this horrible movie. It's called "Accidental Husband" and is about a women who is getting married and falls in love with another man. Now, here's the twist, she is a love doctor who ruined his, what was to be marriage. Blah blah blah, they fall in love, she doesn't get married to Guy 1, instead stays with the man whose life she ruined just two hours (a wasted two hours by the way) before. Blah Blah Blah. Happy ending.

This does not happen. It's that damned first impression that everyone dreads in which the other person judges if you are right or wrong. Why do I hate these? Because ever since I started this wretched ArabLounge, it has become first impression after first impression after first impression. Now, I seem to do well with these First Impressions. I tend to get the guy interested and he's gung ho about me. So, what next? I don't know! I seem to have mastered the First Impression, that I forgot about the rest of the steps. I tend to meet people, and I tend to not know what to do! Does he text me first? Does he call me first? Does he ask me out?

Here's my jist, I don't mind taking the first steps. I asked people out, I called first, I said hello first. For some reason, the man seems to get intimidated. Since when was it OK to wait for the guy to pull the first move? I've been hounded many times by friends because I don't have that issue of taking the plunge first! I am told numerous times that the man loves the chase and I am too strong and men don't like that. Maybe I am a bit too independent for my own good. What is there to lose? Why do we have to live in this social normality of the man initiating everything? I believe that instead of wondering what the guy thinks, don't wait, take the plunge, and find out. If there's rejection, then he's just not that into you. Why wait and wonder? Relationships aren't a game, so why does everyone play it as if it is?

What I am trying to say is that I have nothing to lose. If social norms say that I can't do something, I really don't care. What's wrong with doing what you feel is right? I say nothing. If it is not right, then I don't mind being wrong. If I see something that I want, I don't want to lose it. I say, let me go for it. If there is nothing in the first place, then I have nothing to lose! And you know what, he might just agree to a cup of coffee that I asked him to accompany me with.

The mat is content with itself, even if it's overcast and blanketing my beautiful Chicago. It still sits in Chicago, full from its coffee.

Mashallah!

2010-01-14T22:30:00.002-06:00

You're child is sweet! Mashallah!

You have a beautiful house! Mashallah!

You're pretty! Mashallah!

Mashallah is the heart and soul of the Arab. You can be a Christian or a Muslim, and Mashallah better come out of your mouth. If not, Unimportant Acquaintances are going to be offended. OK, well what if I'm lying to your ugly kid by telling it that it's cute? The I'm lying to God! Mashallah means "Thank God" or "Luck/Graces given from God" or something of that sort.

For example:

ME: Wow! You're husband is really attractive! Mashallah!
PERSON MARRYING UGLY AND STUPID: Awww! thank you! Ukbal 3ndik!
ME: (in my head) Fuck you bitch, he's fugly and don't wish The Mistake on me ever again (/in my head)

So, what if I don't tell someone Mashallah? Is the magic carpet going to pass their house on Christmas and not give them better looks or something? Boogy Boo! You're ugly, too!

I remember complimenting some Unimportant Acquaintance about her dress, becasue I actually liked the dress more than her...effing snob. Anyways, I didn't say Mashallah. After my compliment, her eyes bulged out and she scolded at me "SAY MASHALLAH!" So I did in fear that the new found cookie monster would mistaken me for an oreo and have me left as crumbs. Now, if you have to ask for someone to tell you Mashallah, my take is this: They're lying to you. They think your kid is ugly, your husband's an ass, you look fat in that skin tight dress, and your food tastes like Kibbles n Bits. So don't force that out of me!

Now, many people tell you Mashallah when you're young and healthy and have enough in you to take it from anyone (meaning in the Arabic language...Boorrrr (rolling's r's) shit). They tell you Mashallah for your hair, your clothes, your intelligence, your career, your humble abode, your marriage, and anything else that can be complimented. Now, what happens when you're 70? Ain't nobody saying, "Mashallah, you're ass needs to be wiped by the girl at the nursing home." No one wants that predicament. So, when you're pushing death, lived your life, no matter how awesome you were, no one wants to wish you wonderful graces from God. Because, if they do, it's as if it all went to waste. Why should I tell you Mashallah? You're going to die in the next couple of days anyways? If God doesn't take you away, it's going to be the live in nurse you have at your home. He/she is really tired of wiping your stinky ass!

Mashallah, my mat's clean today!

Hi, I'm BiPolar, and you are???

2010-01-04T22:55:00.001-06:00

Yea, I'm nashfa. I'm dry. I have nothing going on. My love life is as dry as my bottle of gin. Empty. Nothing. So I opened up ArabLounge again!

This time I am telling people my name and *GASP* I put up a picture, too! Well, besides the ass telling me my boobs were too small (he also did not realize that I knew his cousin and he talked smack about him), it's going pretty mediocre. I thought I met a great guy.

The Bi-Polar

What? It's true! He was dreamy looking!!! Oh my goodness. I can imagine him standing in front of me, although not extremely tall, but looks aren't everything. He was a great looking fella. Nice eyes, rugged face, manly, had a scar (so hot), and looked like an Arab, dark eyes, dark skin, nice body (muscular, different from my typical I like husky boys). Well, we got to chatting. Mind you, I'm a cheap ass and won't pay for the subscription.

Well, we were talking online which then led to the phone. It was quite a quick process, although he was cute and I thought, "Whatever, we're both desperate if we're both on ArabLounge". We talked and talked and texted and talked. And then, one day, I got the feeling. He lost interest. So when I called, I had a busy tone. I didn't call back because, ummmm, we're not married and I'm not going to hound the guy. So I called back two days later. Told him I called the day before but after a couple of rings, got a busy tone. OK, I'm lying. I didn't really get a busy tone, I really wanted to see if he was avoiding. The texts and calls abrubtly stopped! What was I supposed to do? So I called and told him and he gave me a lame ass excuse.

So, the number is erased because I don't need it anymore. Plus, I need the memory in my Crackberry anyways for people with one personality. If I wanted two personalities, I would have two friends. I'm telling you! ArabLounge is like a freaking discount store. With all the freaking bi-polar folks on there, you get a two for one discount! Two personalities, one jackass of a man!

Well, if he calls back, I'll probably answer and tell him I'm not interested. Only because it'll throw him off. Ahhh the excuse to get me off the phone was even better. It's 11:30 pm his time and 10:30 pm my time (he's an hour in the future, so it was a my science fictional friend of the future, not so much a friend anymore). He tells me (get this lame ass excuse) he's finalizing a car purchase.

Ok, men, seriously?!?!?! You guys are the worst liars EVER! Finalizing a car purchase? What happened to, "Hey, I'm not interested?" or tell me to fuck off, but why lie? I don't get it!

It's a shame, he had potential to be one of my future ex-husbands. Hazeen, now he missed the chance.

My mat is absorbing more gin now.

The Talk

2009-12-28T22:27:00.000-06:00

When you are a teenager, and not an Arab, you have "the talk". You know "the talk". It's the one about the birds and the bees, and the condoms, and how you shouldn't be promiscuous, and such other topics in relation to sex. When you are Arab, The Talk is quite different. Our Talk involves a much higher level of thinking, which yes, does in some way partake the notion of sex, although subtle.

The Talk occurs at about the same age as the Non Arabs "talk". The Arabs talk about something along the lines of The Mistake and what to expect when meeting a nice Suitor for you in the future, or present depending on your circumstance. My talk occurred around that time, coincidentally when a cousin stated his undying love for me. I still happen to believe it was lust with the help of other aunts and uncles back in the Ol' Country.

Let's begin with the awkward, "(My Name), do you know that you will be thinking about marriage soon?" This was the wrong question to ask. I was thinking about getting my drivers license at 15 and how I was going to bump Montell Jordan in my tricked out ride. "Do you know what you will do when (The One) is going to come and say he wants to marry you?" I have never felt such burning in my chest when this happened! The Pushy Mom was nonchalant about this, and here I am, excited about being allowed to drive and shave my legs! It was the most uncomfortable feeling in the world. I had dreams, aspirations, ambitions, and I felt it was all trumped by The Talk. The Talk gave me a new perspective from life. I was born to bear babies! I was a Monster factory! I couldn't handle it! "Do you know that you, my bint (Arabic word for "daughter") will eventually be given to man? You will be someone else's and no longer mine?" That's it! I'm outta here! Or at least that's what I thought. From that day on, I was determined to do one thing, and one thing only, go to college and be the first from my parents to get a degree. See, education wasn't a thing with both my mom and dad. For some reason, that was skipped with those two. Sometimes when I have talks, I see it. No offense, but come on! I was 15 years old! We weren't nomads! We were living in the south suburbs of Chicago with the rest of the Unimportant Acquaintances, who ironically, had made some sort of impact on The Pushy Mom considering that she was having The Talk with me at 15!!!

Well, time has passed. I am no longer 15. Yet, I am still single. I have accomplished most of my dreams and aspirations, and still withstands my strong ambition to become successful and independent of anyone that may walk in my life. It's working out for me good so far. I can sincerely say that I am happy to be who I am today. Although, I can do without the daily Talk. Now The Talk is more like, "Yallah, you're not young anymore!" Instead of, (my name) is going to work hard for what she has, it has become, you're not happy. Not Happy. I am not happy. Let me tell you why I'm not happy Pushy Mom. It's because I live with you and you remind me that life sucks without a man. You still haven't realized that I, the independent chicky, is completely satisfied without the The Debacle and The Mistake no where in sight of my future! I know I seem mean, but when I get The Talk, I feel as if I had failed everyone.

Then, the dreaded Ukbal 3ndik occurs and I just burst. First of all, I don't want to talk about my first night with my husband with you. I think, and I am sure that I am not alone in this notion of thought, talking about having sex with The Suitor is plain awkward. I don't want to tell you how we did it and how much it hurt. Every women that isn't a virgin has experienced their first night, and let me tell you something, those women talk about how shitty it is! Why would you make me recreate the horrid feeling in mind by having me explain it to you?!?! It's absurd! I've already gathered for X amount of years that I am a failure until I have a man. No matter what career path I chose, I am a failure. It's funny though, because all the Unimportant Acquaintances feel the same. "So and so has a Ph.D and she still isn't married and she is X years old. Ya haram (poor one)." Why so haram? What makes that person a hazeen (sorry fella)? Because she isn't married? That's ridiculous.

The irony of it all is when it does happen, and the divorce five years later. It's then the Pushy Mom (who is everyone's mom, btw) shuts the hell up.

Effing Mat, only worries about condoms while I worry about which towel I'm going to show the family.

The Better Side of Things

2009-12-20T21:35:00.001-06:00

Can I just clarify something? Is that OK? I don't hate Arabs. I don't hate being who I am. In fact, I love it. I just realized that I always type out "in fact" by the way, and I am sorry for it. Back to blog. I love who I am, the culture I am a part of, the food I eat, the holidays I celebrate, and life I live. What irks me is how people perceive it on their end and how much of the majority obtain the same mentality.

When I blog about men, particularly Arab men, I blog because I cannot take the redundancy that I witness every time I meet someone new. I am not afraid to admit that I am willing to meet men. However, not the type that will take over my life and expect me to live on his terms. What shocks Arab women most is that ALL men have that tendency. What? White, Black, Mexican, and Chinese guys can be just as controlling (if not more) than Arabs.

Therefore, this is an ode to The Armrest. The Armrest is the one that has chivalry up and down his body. He is encased with gentleness and politeness and everything that is similar to gum drops and teddy bears. The wonderful thing about Arab Men, many are The Armrest. He is the Armrest due to the fact that when you walk down the street with him and when he wants you to hold him, he reverts to the 19th century style of handholding and I love it dearly. He places his fist near his stomach, creating a loop for you to insert your arm and grab hold of him. When you walk, it becomes unison and you have a sense of security. Your steps are to the same beat. You have the slight hop when you walk due to the excitement of the that one action. You have the protection and stability you have been looking for, all in that motion of grabbing his arm while you walk. It's the walk that you won't forget because you show everyone that you two belong together. You show Harlem St. that you two are unstoppable and don't give a damn about what the strangers think.

The Armrest opens doors, lets you in first, holds the chair out for you when you sit, and adores you. This really does happen. I had that at one point. Obviously do not have it now, but it was nice when I did. I would love to give a kudos to any women that does have that, however. Good men are hard to find, no matter who or what they are. They are just hard to find.

I believe that finding the right person takes time. It's all patience. To the women that waited and didn't take any random man that knocked on your door for you hand, I congratulate you. I congratulate you because you took the time to get to know the man for who he was and not for how much he's worth. OK, not all women do that, they may play the "get to know" game to see what he has and if he's worth it, monetarily. No worries, women are not perfect and I will soon bash them.

Patience is a luxory feeling. You have to understand it in order to have it. You can't just say you're patient and still shake your leg in nervousness. You must understand that it will happen. Whatever it is you are anticipating will occur, just wait. I feel that I am very patient. I've been through so much garbage (garbage = life experience, not men) that I have no choice but to be patient. Although, I don't think women a generation ahead of me are patient. I'm starting to lose patience with them and their nonchalant way of telling me a loser because I'm not married with the simple words of "Ukbal 3ndik". I am going to one day create a human mute button. What is this mute button? When someone tells me I'm old and dry and need to marry yesterday, I punch them in the mouth and knock out their teeth. Then, instead of people talking about how you aren't married, they'll think you're violent. When that occurs, people won't ask why you aren't married. Instead they'll assume you're violent and think that is the reason why. Oh to live in the perfect world.

For those that just took the first one they met, I'm sure you have your reasons. Whether it is to go to a new country, to get out of your strict home, because he has money, or because you want to get back and an old boyfriend, I feel sorry for your husband. However, he's probably a jerk and karma is a bitch. I believe it's true with the notion of getting what you paid for. I don't think women like this need mute buttons. Instead, I believe someone is trying to find the "off" button as a whole.

My mat is pretty expensive. It's not the quantity of shoes that step on it, it's the quality.

Also note: No, I am not in love. So no assumptions here.

The Typical Ay-raaaab

2009-12-16T00:42:00.000-06:00

There is nothing like going out somewhere in Rogers Park and having some great Indian Food. How about the trendy new restaurants always popping up in Wicker Park? I love the bakeries and coffee houses that trickle down Lincoln Ave. in Lincoln Square. Nothing is better than that on a warm summer day and a snowy winter night. However, it's the Viagra Triangle that has everyone talking.

The Viagra Triangle is quite the place to hang out when you're in the mood for getting some. Nothing like walking past a Bentley dealership en route to Gibson's before a great night of clubbing at Level and Hunt Club! Ah, sex is in the air. The best was the beautiful billboard set up by Fetman, Garland, and Associates, Ltd (an all women lawfirm) that had a half naked man on one side and a half naked women on the other side, tempting The Escape. More specifically, "Life is short, get a divorce."

Now this is something I love about Chicago. Compared to some other cities like New York and LA, we're small. But, the scandal is ridiculous here. What lies within the Viagra Triangle are men; many, many men. Young boys taint the scene, realizing that they are not wealthy enough to bathe the Trixies in the cash that they are looking for, but try and learn from the actual users of Viagra. What is worse is when you're in with The Suitor. You and The Suitor are out and about. You and him are going to make The Mistake and are planning for The Debacle. You both are in love with making The Mistake and you can't do anything about it. He takes you out. You think it's great. He has money. You are wooed. Yummy. You're life is looking up.

Well, you then see the life around and realize, why is this man taking me here? He talks about how much he loves it there. Why? What is it about this cross of Rush and Division that makes your stimulated mind leap with joy? Why do you get upset if I go to the gym with both men and women that do not look at one another, while you're encased with half naked women (and sometimes men)?

Well, once upon a time, The Suitor was a player. There are many types of Suitors ladies. There are the types that were once a This One, a Settler, The Other Religion, and now meet The Typical Ay-rab. The Typical is the guy that has done it all. He has lived and kissed and fucked and drank and snorted all there is in this wonderful world. He has raped cities of its integrity and brought to new light to the meaning of anal retentive. He is the guy that has no interest to do anything else except for what he is familiar with, thinking it is going to impress you, The Girl.

You have no idea. You think it's fantastic, he's taking you out, he knows the area well, he's not an idiot, and then some burly guy comes up and starts talking to The Suitor with an eye on you as if you are just the Saturday night special. The reputation is lit. He knows The Suitor's past and it's close to coming out, then change of subject. Now after this wonderful even in the adultery haven of the Midwest, you were earlier blasted for going to the gym with both men and women. You should not have had your music up so high that the car next to you knew what you were listening to. Your shirt was too tight becuase other men were looking and don't even think about the wine list. Although, it's OK if someone offers the table free drinks (that The Girl cannot drink because she is The Girl) because The Typical was important in the past life of being The Typical Ay-rab.

The Typical carries traits such as dominance, controlling, frustrates easy, doesn't like to be wrong, is always right, smart (even if he's not), thinks he knows what he is talking about when it comes to religion and being an Arab, thinks his experiences has taught him how to live, and thinks you will never find out. You're guts are going to have to be spilled because he expects it to be. He must know everything. You are not allowed to know nothing.

It's much more fun when you try to upset The Typical. Prove that they are wrong, that they aren't the dominant. For example, a conversation I had with one:

TG:"What do you think of girls and tattoos?"
TTA: "Do you have a tattoo?
TG: I asked you a question first, I would like for you to answer.
TTA: I'm not answering because you won't like my answer
TG: Why should I judge you if I asked YOU the question
TTA: Listen I don't care if you have a tattoo, I have a tattoo myself.

Another conversation I had with The Typical Ay-rab:

TG: ...and I bought a cookie. That was my day, how was yours?
TTA: "Where's your tattoo?"
TG: Did I ever say I had a tattoo?
TTA: No, but you asked the question
TG: If I ask a question, that doesn't imply I have one. What if I asked you about kids? Does that imply that I have or want any?
TTA: You don't have kids and of course you want some.
TG: Actually, no I do not. So, your theory of me having a tattoo is based on the assumption of my question that I asked you. You have yet to answer it.
TTA: Whatever
TG: I hate that word 'whatever'. Why do you get so frusturated with me when I'm just pointing someithing out?
TTA: I have to go.

End of conversation because he ran like a little bitch. One thing that you must do with The Typical Ay-rab is show him who is dominant. If he isn't willing to even answer ONE question now while you're in courting mode, what makes you think you can get anywhere in a real fight while you've already made the mistake?

The Mat is on a four hour Viagra high right now. Please check back when the black and blue and swelling have gone down.

YOU'VE DONE WELL FOR YOURSELF; WHO DID YOU MARRY?

2009-12-07T23:38:00.000-06:00

I remember going to one of my friend's house for the first time after she married. Her mother was over. Her house was also quite large. Her mother gave me a tour and asked me "Don't you think (enter name here) has done well for herself?" As I nodded yes, I was thinking to myself, "What could she have possibly done to deserve this beautiful lifestyle?" The answer: you guessed it, she got married to a "comfortable" man. She lives in the epitamy of suburbia, in a cul de sac. Her house has more bathrooms than people that reside there and her floors are so expensive, it makes her Lexus look like the failing General Motors Corporation. Her furniture consists of modern style with a touch of ancestoric design. Her ethinicity is prevalant throughout the house. It is encased with relgious symbolism and nationalistic pride.

No, she is not Arab.

A few years later, I go to another friend's house. This one is Arab. Ironically enough, her mother also gives me a tour, with the one too many bathrooms and the polished flooring. Her furniture also looked modern with the design of a traditionalist. I was then asked the following question, "Don't you think (enter different name here) has done well for herself?" I gave the same nod and thought the same thing.

These women are two different cultures with similar backgrounds. They were both sheltered, and lacked the ambition to continue their education. They went because it was part of the process: grow up, go to school, get married to a "comfortable" man, be married. Now, if these girls did not finish school and do not work, how should I compliment how well they have done for themselves. They have done nothing. They married a man who was well endowed with money. Because his shit does not stink with his parents, his shit is covered with the scent of roses, also called money in reality.

You see, The Suitor has many barriers to achieve before attaining The Girl. He must prove to her Golddigging Miners (her parents) that The Girl will be taken care of. Meanwhile, SugarParents (his parents) are living dandy in suburbia because The Suitor is taking care of them. After all, SugarParents did raise him, and his shit doesn't stink. And he is not rich, he is "comfortable". We don't want to have Unimportant Acquaintances think he's full of himself. They don't know the difference anyways. Their heads are so far up their asses that when they think they find hair in their food that get caught in their mouth, it's really being picked from their scalp!

Now, here is the problem: SugarParents and Golddigging Miners are boasting about how well their children are doing. Little do they see the problem. Unimportant Acquaintances talk about how The Fools made The Mistake and had a lavish Debacle because The Suitor was able to afford it. What happens when The Fools make The Escape? The Girl is now a whore and she all of the sudden is back with the Golddigging Miners with 50% of The Suitor's money (God Bless America and it's quirky laws). The Girl is now left with nothing to show for her supposed success. She is now a nothing again. What's worse is that Unimportant Acquaintances now have something to talk about. Isn't that what they meant when they said to her, "Ukbal 3ndik" anyways?

Men seem to always have reprise after The Escape, they are the breadwinners. When you are an uneducated nobody to the Unimportant Acquainances, then you are nothing. You can't be saved. Someone popped you anyways. You are damaged goods.

The Suitor also has the upper hand. Isn't it great when he talks down to you and berates you because you are, in his eyes, dumber than he is? Isn't it also sweet when you walk barefoot on your expensive floors jealous because he had to work late, again, on a Saturday when he should be home with you? Of course it is, your floors cost more than your Lexus anyways. Silly girl, how naieve you are.

Get your effing education, dummies. It makes the rest of us look like Golddigging broads.

The Mat is encrusted in 25 Karat gold today because 24 Karats are just not enough.

The Other Religion: He's Not That Bad

2009-12-01T22:57:00.000-06:00

There is more to a man than his dirty mind. Not all are dirty. Some are sensual, romantic, genuine, sweet, caring, and what other fantasies may exist in my mind. I've met them! It's just they were not capable enough of being The One for me. The Other Religion isn't just one type of man. Not all of them want to you to "learn" stick shift. Some actually hunger for you, the type that is unattainable.

As I am writing (ok, typing) this, deja vu occurs. Reason being that I have constantly had discussions about this particular topic with many folks. At my age, I'm looking for one that has a potential future with me included, vice versa. I would like to know that when we are courting, if you would like to call it that, I am not wasting my time and that there might be something there. I would like assurance that you may be The One, not another This One or That One. Although, I believe, feelings aren't rendered because you would like them to be. They exist because they just do. As much as I hate my future quoted statement, feelings "are what they are" and there is nothing you can do about it.

Say for instance you are a religion, for ease let's say Muslim, and you meet a great guy. He is fantastic. Conversations are lit and on fire, you see each others reactions and you are tantalized! You are excited! You are so happy to have met this man, and then religion pops up. You realize that he, a Christian, and you can get no farther than this conversation. But what if you can't help yourself thinking about this man? What are you to do? Absolutely nothing. You can't! There are more to a relationship than the two of you. In all honestly, the family exists between you two, the friends, the careers, the thoughts of Unimportant Acquaintances, and everyone else in between that will not wake up next to you every day but The One. Living with this person with some sort of contact with you becomes difficult. You really have no clue what to do!

Then, you get to trying to work something out. That is the problem, you try to work it out with The Other Religion. My theory is that if you have to hide your relationship, why even bother? What's the point? It's because everyone wants the unattainable. Have you ever seen ham on Thanksgiving? I know a lady that can make that piece of swine look like the most beautiful piece of meat on Earth! Every time I go over her house and she makes that ham, my mouth waters and I yearn for a bite! Yes, the Muslim would like a bit of ham! It looks great, and only because it's against the religion to have it! That is what The Other Religion is!

Some of you may think to yourself, "Well, that is the only type that is attracted to me. It's The Other Religion and I can't help it." I know, I know, if you knew me, you would understand that this is something I go through almost daily. What is it that holds you back? Besides religion, it's your family and those damned Nobodies (aka Unimportant Acquaintances). If you ever talked to those Unimportant Pricks (aka Nobodies aka Unimportant Acquaintances) and they surrendered the truth to you (ha!) they would probably admit to you that there was some sort of crush on Their Other Religion.

In this lust you carry yourself into, you must take a moment and step back. You must ponder (which is to my chagrin because I then realize my mistakes before I commit them) that it is just not going to work. He cannot be the one for you. Reason, how are you going to raise your children? If you are like me and don't care, have at it, but do not forget that you are also with the family of both you and him. Not only religion is the factor, you're the "kafra" on his side as well as yours. You are the one that stands out like a red mini skirt at a funeral for a Sheik. You, and (according to the Unimportant Pricks) and only you are going to Hell for committing such and act that you hold no shame for doing. It all falls on you, and if you are the man, well...the world revolves around you.

What I am trying to say is that I may stereotype men quite a bit here. I feel that I have good reason to, considering my past experiences. However, I would not encourage you to go forth with The Other Religion. Think of it this way, he is the ham and you are the saliva drooping out of your mouth for a piece of that ass (isn't that what ham is anyways). But, your virginity and morals and family and friends hold you back. Doesn't it suck? Why continue to do that to yourself daily when courting The Other Religion? Just think (as a Muslim) that the pig is a filthy animal and you want no part, no matter how many pineapple rings and cherries are decorated about on it's honey glazed skin.

Lucky mat, I yearn for your lack of moral and constant position.

The Other Religion

2009-11-30T23:52:00.000-06:00

There is nothing like a handsome, dark, tall, husky, thick hair, wide eyed man to approach you and express some interest. OK, maybe not everyone has the same taste as me, but that's what I like, and I have no shame! Take a moment and think, think of the man that you would see yourself with. Think of your fantasy man. He's handsome, smart, stupid, ugly, short, tall, fat, skinny, whatever. Just think. This is your dream man. Now, this dream boy approaches you and talks to you and asks you questions and tells you all the good things a girl wants to hear.

Then, you see it. In my case, it's a cross. This dream boy has a cross hanging from his neck. He's one of them! He's The Other Religion! *GASP!* OH NO! You thought you met The One! Guess what! He's not because your parents will kick your ass from here to the territory of Hamas if you even thought about looking at this guy again!

Has anyone been swept of their feet by this guy? Isn't it depressing when it does happen? Doesn't it shoot your faith in finding The One to shit? Ladies and gentleman, if you say no, then:
1. You have never experienced The Other Religion
2. You are currently in a relationship with The Other Religion (FYI, one of you will get dumped)
3. You are 12 years old and have no business reading this blog
4. You're my mother

Now, if you have never experienced this, I recommend you try not to. Unless you like being hurt because one loves Jesus and the other loves Mohamed and you like to fool yourself thinking both families will except it, be my guest. However, it most likely won't work. Our culture will not allow women to "explore" other religions. It actually won't allow men to explore other religions, but being the stupid Arabs that we are, according to us, we are invincible and no one can touch us. Can't nobody hold us down, can't nobody take our pride, oh no! We got to keep on moving! Hey guess what Arabs, you're fucking idiots!

Go in a relationship with one, whether you're Christian or Muslim. I dare you. I guarantee you this: the guy, because men effing suck most of the time, will make an advance to you in which you will sit and contemplate your own moral value when this is brought up. What is the advance you ask? Touching the danger zones. What are the danger zones? The milkers (boobies) and the inserts (va-jay-jay) that God gave you! If you need more explanation, then you people need to take an anatomy class. I'm no where near a teacher/educator/professor. For some reason, The Other Religion (again, this could be either Christian, Muslim, or any other cult/belief/whatever you want it to be, so long as it is not your dysfunctional belief) will take it upon himself to constantly talk about sex. Sex this and sex that and I wanna do this to you and I wanna do that to you. After the handsome, intelligent man feeds you what you want to hear, the dirty boy comes out!

Here's what makes my case even more ridiculous than it sounds. The Other Religion is some sort of figure/believer in their deen (religion). This can be the guy that prays five times a day, or the one that is at every church picnic finding donations for the new cross to erect in the front of Sunday Service. This guy is The Guy To Go To when their organization is in need. What's even funnier is how he is so down low about it! SHHHHHH! Don't tell anyone about us, Shhhhh! My reputation is on the line! WTF! Fool! What about mine?!?! Moron! If you were so worried about it in the first place, why are you shutting me up now? Why did you even open your mouth and tell me all the bullshit a girl wants to hear? Fucking moron! Kuss im el yahood I say! It seems that The Other Religion's intent was to get tail!

So, why go to you? First, it's already enough to approach an Arab girl and "talk" (ha, yea right, just talk). You don't want to soil the preset notions that Unimportant Acquaintances have already established for you. Second, they don't feel bad when they approach Their Other Religion, because when it comes down to it (in the Arab culture) the men have a bit more power. They have the key to talk about a female's reputation. However unfortunate it is for us (females), Unimportant Acquaintances will look at the female and judge quickly. They haven't realized that THE GUY just said he slept with her or ate cookies with her or talked to her or whatever shit ruins reputations nowadays. They only heard the girl's name. Third, you can't try to pop a cherry of a girl that is the same as you! Oh NO! That's disrespectful! Their Other Religion can't marry me, so why not! When I get what I want, I can go and I don't have to marry the girl!

Yeah, I said it. The Other Religion is out to get you so he can try whatever dirtiness he can to put it in you. Then, when he does, out the door he goes. This explains why many Arabs go to the White Backups. Men "have needs" bullshit plays into effect here. The ones with the White Backups go to them for sexual solace, thinking they respect the Arab girls, and have their way. When their hornyness has been tired and rid, they become The Suitor. Ahhh, lucky Arab women. Is that burning you feel between your legs? Thank your husband. He was The Other Religion with the White Backup who got it from her ex boyfriend that was in jail and got that from a man named Bubsy. Nothing says I love you like a burning blister.

The only lucky mat here is the one that belongs to the White Backups. They don't have to end up marrying these dumb asses, unless they need a green card.

UKBAL 3NDIK (WISHING YOU YOUR TURN)

2009-11-22T23:34:00.000-06:00

I find the Arabic phrase "Ukbal 3ndik" (paraphrase: wishing you your turn) to be utterly annoying. It is a great phrase to hear when one graduates college and it is said to you after you congratulate the new graduate on their achievement. It is a fantastic phrase to hear when you congratulate one on his/her new home. It is the most annoying phrase to hear at Debacles. At The Debacles, it is always followed by a "Why aren't you married yet?" which drives me b-a-n-a-n-a-s!

In 2008 alone, I was invited to 18 Debacles and managed to attend 14. Yes, I was broke that year because of all The Fools that created a hubub in The Debacle to celebrate the future The Mistake. Now, needless to say, some realized The Mistake was a mistake and took an oath of The Escape (divorce). The Escape will be a whole other blog one day. But today, let's focus on the "Ukbal 3ndik" (in fala7y (farmer) terms, "Uchbal 3ndich"). The Debacles in 2008 were not all Arab weddings, but most were. Being (at the time) 25, a hefty amount of Nobodies (aka: Unimportant Acquaintances) were quick to approach me with the "Why aren't you married yet?" and "You're not getting any younger" bullshit. That's always nice to hear. Thank you, Nobodies. I cannot find what it is that is wrong with me because I am not in The Mistake just yet. My response was that I was trying to set myself up, financially. I wanted to make sure my credit is good, there is money in my account, and all the drama is out of my life. Paraphrase to Arabs, I'm not ready yet. Apparently, I need not worry about all of that because my husband will take care of me and that there shouldn't be any drama in my life, anyways. I guess I missed the memo about living in a box until I make The Mistake or die.

Next, the questions begin with what I do for a living and where do I live and other nonsense that initiates the scouting of females for desperate Suitors unable to find The One on their own. Instead, Mommy goes and searches for what she wishes she was when she was my age and hopes for beautiful and smart babies to gloat about to other Unimportant Acquaintances (aka Nobodies, or other Arabs that like to gossip). After the whole, "I'm just not ready" response, Mommy seems to give me a look as if I have just deceived them! It is as if I had told them I was interested and then decided to change my thought and they feel deceived! The funny part is that I told them from the get-go!

The worst part of "Ukbal 3ndik" is when The Pushy Mom (guess, who's mom this is) spills out of her mouth like water in a fountain. This is then followed by a "I cannot wait until your (enter English work for Debacle here) and you have many (Monsters (children)) and I can't take care of them while you and (The One) go out!" Well thank you Pushy Mom for reminding me that I will need a Monster Tamer (babysitter) for my Monsters because I will eventually have no life because I made The Mistake. This is then followed by a, "Why aren't you married yet? I want to see you happy. You should be happy!" Seriously? You and other Unimportant Acquaintances are asking this stupid question as if I had leprosy and I am hiding it from the world (sometimes I wish I had it, it be a much more valid excuse to Nobodies).

I never knew that The Mistake would make someone complete, or happy. I always thought that one is at the happiest stage of life when The Escape takes place (you should see how happy some people get when the papers are finally signed, it's quite entertaining). It irritates me because "Ukbal 3ndik" really means, "You aren't happy, so get married and give me something to talk about to other Unimportant Acquaintances. And when I see you through a problem, I will not help you out, I will instead talk bad about you because I'm that kind of prick." This is what that shit really means.

It is now 2009, and I have attended about four weddings (much more money in my bank account...WHEW!). Some Unimportant Acquantaince told me "Ukbal 3ndik" with their, what seems to be scripted, followup questions quickly thereafter. My response, "Khalto, I am a lesbian. Mom didn't tell you?"

Ahhhh mat, you are so lucky with your careless life on your back.

THE ARABLOUNGE EXPERIMENT

2009-11-20T21:12:00.003-06:00

Have you ever tried the drudgery of online dating? Well, I have. Now, many of you may already have a preset notion that it sucks. Others may argue otherwise, claiming to have found The One on it, or in the process of it. My situation is not so fortunate! I have a devised some stories of my online escapade from ArabLounge.com.

The ArabLounge experiment

What I did was look for my options. I signed on, behind my mother's back (because in her eyes, she would believe that I was looking for husband, thus thinking that her goal of me getting married by December would come true). Yes, she implemented a goal. More like a deadline, but I like to call it a goal. It was my goal specifically to wait and NOT get married by December just out of sheer spite for her even mentioning that ludicrous timeline. Anyways, I told most of the men a fake name, and a fake life...meaning, I live alone in the city, I have a super amazing job and that's about the only lie I told them. My personality was no different and I did not upload a photo. However, if I seemed to have like a person, or didn't think anything shady of them within the first few minutes of our "chat", I would tell them the real truth, my name and the fact that I don't live alone. The results are as follows. Enjoy!

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The Stalker

The Stalker contacted me because he was "in love" with my profile, that lacked a picture. He claimed that I was hysterical. Well, he didn't use that word because I don't think he was quite the articulate kind. But, for those of us who know English, I used a synonym. The Stalker seemed nice. However, he was quite older than I, and had a child. Being a never married "girl", I wasn't ready to allow myself the extra baggage. Besides, women are already branded as crazy, and I have enough issues on my own to deal with. Either way, he was kind and a bit funny. Not too much. But, he tried and I give him credit for it. Well, I eventually lost interest with our chats because I knew I wasn't going to allow it to go further than online. I started receiving email messages wondering where I was, giving me his number, and eventually it led to, "WHERE ARE YOU?"! Yes, all in caps. The Stalker yelled at me via email. How nice. Needless to say, I became even more distant. I eventually wrote to The Stalker and told him that his inability to back off was quite scary. That was my first experience with the wonderful world of ArabLounge.com.

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The Christian

The Christian was a nice fellow. He was a stetson young fellow working for a good company in the city. He lived downtown, seeming to do well for himself. He was also new to the area. His point in case for ArabLounge was to meet new people (he really wanted to meet women considering he was a frequent flier of ArabLounge) and was doing so-so with that. Him and I were chatting for quite a bit. Honestly, I didn't tell him my real name or situation because I didn't feel that I could trust the man. What was ironic was that he trusted me with everything (or at least that is what it seemed like). The kicker was when he told me that he went on a date and thought of me throughout the whole date. I thought it was quite brazen of him to admit that and I admired him for that, although not enough to give him a phone number. After chatting with him, I looked a bit more closely at his profile and found that he was Christian. If you didn't see the news today, I'm Muslim. I became a bit frustrated with the fact that it stated on my profile that I was looking for a Muslim! When I eventually deleted the account, I failed to notify him of my departure. Well, at least Jesus loves The Christian.

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The Divorce'

This man was also 10 years my senior (The Stalker with the 12 year old was 10 years older than me. I failed to note both their ages of him and his child). He seemed very nice. He was Sweet, educated, had a sense of humor, and wit. However, his taste in music is accustomed to a man smack dab in the middle of a mid-life crisis, ridiculed of DJ Tiesto and other nonsense of noise that are pointless to my ears. I told him the fib of my life, living alone...blah blah blah. His response entailed that he was "cool" with it because it showed my independence and lack of need. I thought, "Very nice! This guy has an open mind."
Now, his name is strictly what it is, he is divorced. Let me clarify, I have nothing wrong with anyone that is divorced, and it is none of my business to why this man was divorced. We were not close enough to discuss it, plus I didn't want to damper our conversations with his past issues. I have never been divorced, but This One sure as hell made me think I was in one! I eventually told him the truth; my real name, my real job, and the fact that I lived with my mother (typical Arab unmarried girl). Let me state again, my personality was no different. His response, he was glad that I do not live alone. Girls shouldn't be living alone. It seems that someone is a bit on the contradictory side, fun future! After giving him more of the benefit of the doubt (because hypocrisy seemed to be prevalent with his personality after the I shouldn't be living alone comment), I gave The Divorce' my number and we began talking. He became upset of the fact that we did not speak daily. I simply didn't have the time for a conversation everyday. Those who know me, know that! Plus, I hate talking on the phone. Yes, a girl just said that she hated talking on the phone.
   One day, he had sent a text, and I responded with a joke of the topic that he sent me. It was a very meaningless text. I don't remember what was said, that is how pointless it was to me. He then responded back with a phone call and few other people to back up his personality. One person began telling me (after handing the phone to this person) that The Divorce' was really a great guy and very trustworthy and handsome, etc. My eyes were practically bulging out and near the floor along with my jaw. Another person soon exclaimed to me how fantastic and helpful The Divorce' is and how I am a very lucky person to be talking to him! Now that's great and fantastic that Divorce' is capable of being a great man, but why the testimonies? Regardless, I apologized that he took whatever I said to heart and had to explain to him that I am a trustful person and that he gave me to reason not to trust him. We must also consider the notion that this was not really a relationship. These were just mere phone calls that lasted no longer than an hour.
We then decided to meet, or go on a date in the words of an American. Well, I was happy that I can actually meet this person and see what he was about. After a few more conversations, we began to talk about The Mistake (the mistake is the cause of The Debacle, aka Marriage). I ask why he spoke so much of The Mistake. He told me that it is one of his "to do's", as if it were on a checklist of some sort! I told him this, if you make it seem like a task, then it will be a task. He apparently didn't like that. Reason to why I know he didn't like that...he canceled our date the day of. FAIL Divorce', fail.

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The Whitewash

The Whitewash was of Middle Eastern decent, who had no idea of where he was from. He thought our culture was devised of hummos, baba ghanoush, bellydancers, and hookah. He was completely oblivious to the fact that there was a language attached to the culture! He lacked any real interpretation of who he was because he was, in his eyes, white. I also went on a date with The Whitewash. In fact, I was honest with him from the get-go. He wasn't my type at all, in fact a bit too skinny for my liking, but seemed very laid back and Americanized. Little did I know how Americanized he was!
Our date consisted of a quaint Middle Eastern restaurant in the city. It is actually one of my favorite places. He was not dressed for the occasion. A white tee shirt (more like undershirt...Arab hillbilly), jeans, baseball cap, and gym shoes clearly expressed the lack of respect for a first date. It could have also been that he was that low maintenance. I, on the other hand came causal (slightly lifted up a notch) with a bit dressier shirt (which didn't belong under anything, it was a regular shirt), also known as the blouse. It was something nice, you get the point. Oh yeah! I wore heels and had makeup on. I don't always where too much makeup. On this day, I wore mascara! I only wear mascara to weddings! So yes, I took a bit extra care that day. Sorry for the digression, I tend to do that on occasion. As I was saying, we go to the restaurant and he orders an appetizer, of course it was hummos. He then decides to order the specialty wine (which was far better than my date). He then apologized for the fact that we are ordering wine to the owner! "Sorry to have Arabs do this, but can we have a glass of .....".

Really?!?!?!?!?!?! YOU FUCKNUT (thought in my head)

First, did they have to know that we were Arab? Second, did you NOT know that NOT all Arabs are Muslim? Third, SHUT THE FUCK UP! OMG!
After watching this creature eat, and having to continuously point out that he had something on the side of his mouth from the food (more than twice), the bill came. Yes, the wretched bill. As always, because I am not expecting him to pay for everything, I offered to pay. He accepted. I was not surprised. I'm a bit old school in that sense, a gentleman always pays and holds the door open and blah blah bullshit that I expect in a man. Although, it was kind of him to knock a few dollars off because I drove to the city (considering I don't live in the city, but the 'burbs are boring as hell and full of chain junk). Just in case you couldn't tell, the last sentence was sarcasm. We then went for coffee. The coffee escapade was quite the trip. He paid (thanks jag, very nice of you to dish out an extra $4 on shitty coffee) and then told me of his business plans. I told him my two cents, and he didn't like it. Needless to say, the no-phone call back to one another was a mutual feeling.

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The Hornball

The chat went as follows:

Hornball: "Hi"
Me: "Hi"
HB: "You horny?"
Me: (clicking the exit button)

HB opens window again:

HB: "You horny?"
Me: (wondering at this point if he got the message that I thought he was a douche. AL notifies you when someone closes their window) "I'm a transvestite and my dick is probably bigger than yours." (close window)

Never heard from him again.

SAVE!

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My Screw-up with the one that was Out of My League

For him to even have agreed to go out with me that day was quite interesting to me. It showed that handsome men see more than appearance. It was a breathe of fresh air. It was nice. I have a preset notion that good looking men are shallow.
   Too make a long story short, I'll give you the juicy part. I did the biggest faux-paux that could have ever been done (actually there were two major fauxs). One of them consisted of me drinking more than I can handle. Can I just say that sangria is a silent effing killer! It's like the AIDS virus! You don't know that you have it until you have it! Well, then with a bit more peer pressure (this was a double date/meet), I had something else and that topped me off. Now, this was consistant throughout the night (the drinks) and eventually, I came to the part to where I told the guy he was (second faux paux) out of my league. However, I don't regret it. In fact, I thought he was.
   I couldn't understand why it was me that he spoke with. I didn't get why he had taking a liking to me! I couldn't fathom it! In many ways, I end up feeling that I have a different personality online in comparison to actually meeting the person. I tend to be a bit more reserved in person. Online, I was witty and had the ability to hide behind my laptop and say whatever I wanted to say. He couldn't see me or do anything to me. The only thing he could have done was close his magical chat window. We get to meeting, and I froze. I was not the normal me. I was back in the box and shut it closed. The sangria opened it up slightly. Because of the sangria, the box had fell to the side and opened in a ditch of filthy waters.
    If I could apologize, I would. In fact, I tried but I'm sure I scared him off. By the way, I'm really good at scaring people off. You will see. No worries, I am not perfect, in fact, I'm far from it (if you weren't able to tell by my horrible grammar already).
So this is to you Mr. You're Out of My League. I am sorry. I am sorry for hiding and allowing alcohol have me open up on the wrong side of the murky waters. I am sorry for having one too many sangrias (freaking silent killer, it's like effing venom!). I am also sorry for making you feel uncomfortable by telling you that you were out of my league. If I was in your situation, I would...well, I would tell me off and tell me how ridiculous I am.
However, you are very cute. I thought I should throw that in. In fact, your eyes mesmerize me. You are also very smart, funny, a gentleman, hospitable, and your vocabulary tantalized my mind because I didn't think Arab men had the ability to be articulate.

WHAT? I'm sure he'll never read this...and if he does, well then he does. That's life folks.

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See people, no one is perfect. In fact, I am far from it.

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From all this, what did I learn? I learned that white people are incognito in the form of Arabs, hornballs exist everywhere in all cultures (in fact, I knew this from before), Jesus lovers are attracted to what they cannot have, The Mistake is now on the "to do" list of life, and stalkers are much better when they don't know where you live. Also, I need to cool down with the lack of confidence. There is more that meets the eye. I'll admit, when one lacks confidence, it is a turn off. Although, so is over confidence. Really, conceited is the better terminology.

Not so lucky of a mat here.

THE SETTLING SUITOR

2009-11-17T18:40:00.002-06:00

The Suitor is the guy The Girl wants to avoid. The Suitor is the guy who's getting married to settle. The Suitor really has no clue to what he wants. He wants to find a wife, settle, please mommy and daddy, and continue with life as usual. The exception to the rule is the wife and the fact that bachelorhood is over. No more late nights, no more boozin', clubbin', dates with hot chicks from the bar, or random trips with the boys to Vegas; done. Over. No mas.

Why does The Girl need to avoid The Suitor that wants to settle? Well, because he wants to settle. That is it. The courtship is pretty traditional to The Settler (aka The Suitor). The Suitor has no idea that The Girl is somewhat a good human being. He sees her more as the person that will please his parents because he married her. No matter what, his parents see The Girl as the completion of The Suitor.

The Girl, who is oblivious to this, does not think that this is what The Suitor is looking for. That is, he is looking to settle. The Girl thinks that all his kind gestures to win her naive heart is a display of affection and a growing love that they will obtain at some point of their lives (and possibly lose). The Girl is planning parties to display her Suitor/Settler with a mirage of pre-wedding parties and The actual Debacle called The Wedding itself. Yes, The Debacle. She then has the talk about what to do after the wedding, the having sex part. The part where The Girl becomes The Woman.

It is The Debacle, The Wedding. It is a raunchy display of a potential divorce waiting to happen (at least a six out of ten chance in the U.S.). It is gaudy and pointless. I say, when my time comes, that we sign the papers that the leader of the cult/religion/whatever you call it says that shows God that we are in it for good and have sex till both our danger zones become black and blue. But noooooooo! Mommy and Daddy live miserably together, so we have to wait until the stupid white dress (that will soon become red after some little shit spills juice on it) is worn and taken off by The Suitor and The Suitor alone. And why would a virgin have sex with the dress on perverts? No, it would not become red from her vagina. Geez.

So, how does The Girl and The Suitor get to know one another without the sex? They don't. Instead, they feed each other a bunch of bullshit that makes both their dysfunctional lives look normal.

The Suitor: I graduated at BLAH BLAH BLAH with a BLAH in BLAH.
The Girl: Wow! I always wanted to do that. Instead, I graduated at BLAH BLAH BLAH with a BLAH in BLAH. I love BLAH BLAH BLAH'ing because I do it so well.
TS: Well I love to BLAH BLAH BLAH'ing, also! We're perfect for each other

Then when The Debacle is said and done for and becomes this:

TG: Where are you going? We had plans with unimportant acquaintances that we must show that we are happy to!

TS: I am going to BLAH BLAH BLAH

TG: You're probably cheating on me!
TS: I think you and (some friend met at the wedding because he crashed looking to settle with another Girl) are doing something!

My question is this: What happened to falling in love with a person who has respect for you, your ideals, your personality, and your quirks? What happened to love and lust at the same time? Why is settling such a trend now? Why am I even worried about this? Well, I have the answer to the last question. It's because I'm in my, what is now, late twenties and I'm a virgin waiting for The Debacle to occur so that my Settler and I are both black and blue once The Debacle is over.

However, I chose to date and meet people on my own (or maybe through the help of sites, shutup) and see where personality can take me. It turns out, The Suitor is incognito online. Freakin' invading my space in cyber hell. I'm screwed, and not the black and blue kind.

I still envy the lucky mat.

THIS ONE

2009-11-17T02:01:00.001-06:00

Let's start with This One. This One, I thought at the time, was The One. This One did weird things for me. He went to plays with me, he went out to eat with me, he talked to me endlessly on the phone, he told me his problems, he had me help him with his problems, he introduced me to his family, he met my family, and he was (at the time) The One. It was the plays. What man in his twenties volunteers himself to go to plays? OK, rephrase, what straight man volunteers himself to go to plays? This One did! This One knew that I had to go for class, and came with me! WHAT?!? I KNOW! I found a keeper! WOOHOO!

This One had a sense of humor. He made me laugh, and I made him laugh, which then made him jealous because I was funnier. However, he liked that. Huh? I don't know either. I showed him how to be more ambitious, and he showed me a bit more of my religion. Then shit hit the fan. I started being a bit more religious again because of This One. He was subconsciously teaching me ideals of Islam, then he would go gamble. Yes, a bit ironic. However, I thought to myself, This One is bringing me into his world. This One is going to make me a better person. This One is showing me NO AFFECTION whatsoever because he respects me! WOW! This One is The One! (Note: No affection means "No Affection". No hugs, no pecks on the cheek, no handshakes, no nothing. NO AFFECTION)

This One then stopped calling. This One did not give me a reason to why. He just stopped. I called a couple of times to try to figure out where I went wrong! ME! I CALLED THIS FOOL! (Yes, I yell quite a bit. In person, I am a bit on the animated side, also) This One gave no explanation. Then one day, he called and I answered. Yes I did. (SIGH) I thought he was The One because he came back. Fate had brought me back!

Well after This One played this game of calling and not calling months at a time, it was time that our three year stint should have come to an end. The relationship (or lack there of) was not the same. I trusted him less. I thought his religious take on life was a crock of shit, realizing that he loved Vegas and the boat a bit more than God himself.

I almost forgot the best part, the cheating part. Yes, I was the Other Woman. The One was not This One. This One has now realized that lies have short legs and you cannot get anywhere with a six foot torso with a three inch leg (no I'm not talking about a penis. Considering after he cheated and lied, it was probably an inch or so anyways). Oh yes, the courting of Other Women. It's really not fun to be the Other Woman to This One's Women and be This One's Other Woman to Other Women. It actually sucks. I thank This One for making me realize that I cannot really trust many folks now because of it. Not only I, the Other Woman, didn't know what he was up to. Other Women and This One's Woman had no reason to think anything was going on! How could I know? He was like Houdini with a disappearing act that I kept accepting!

Well, This One is now living happily whipped ever after with his life. I'm sure that he enjoys every minute being wrapped around a finger of a woman who probably lied to him just like he lied to This One's Woman, Other Women, and the Other Woman (which is me if you haven't gotten it by now).

This One, I thank you for not falling even harder in love with you. I thank whatever spirit is out there that you didn't take my cherries. Because if you did, it would probably dissolve in the cheap ass vodka that your ass is afraid to drink at the poker table because it is against the religion to drink.

Three years vested in a no affection relationship. If you're wondering where the losing the virginity part is in this story, it doesn't exist. Just in case you couldn't pick that up from the NO AFFECTION.

Lucky mat.

WHEN ON RIDE, PLEASE BE SURE NOT TO POP A THING

2009-11-17T01:23:00.001-06:00

I am a 26 year old, outspoken, extrovert, educated, a professional, cultured, and a virgin. I am a virgin. How many 26 year old single women in Chicago can say that? Not very many. I like to call myself "moral" because of it, but it really has nothing to do with morals anymore. It is all personal. It was religion, and now it is not.

Being an Arab and Muslim is pretty hard nowadays. I used to have fear instilled in me every day from my family. Don't do this because fury fires will burn your vagina off, or something crazy like that will be told to me if I were to do something close to THINKING about sex. However, it is everywhere. Welcome to my world of horny cornucopia folks. Nothing but people injecting body parts into one another like heroin and not being part of the fun! BOOOO!

So, you may ask yourself, why are you 26 and a virgin? Well, again, I'm Muslim. It was instilled in my head that boys and sex are wrong. Then I grew up and found that it really isn't that bad. No, foreplay didn't give me that sense of thought. It was that the Arab society made everything seem so much worse than it already was. It became a religious standpoint when I was a teenager. Walking in high school, I would see pregnant teenagers and think to myself, "Wow, I'm not foolish like these girls because I'm good to God." After junior year, I sort of lost faith. It then became an issue of finding "The One".

The One is going to take to me to far away lands with flowers and cookies and kites and kiss me here and there and love me forever and ever. The One is going to be exactly what his name is, The One for me. The One is going to have my heart and soul. He is going to have every piece of me, including yes, my virginity. Well, you will learn that after This One, I realized that The One may not exist, but it doesn't hurt finding him. God really is not the reason anymore, nor is it the ridiculous tightly bound Arab culture in Chicago. It is the fear of me giving my grenadine to a dude that will no longer be in my life and the endless regret I will have thereafter. Yes, I called my virginity grenadine. I also have a sense of humor.

My goal with this blog and my life is to document a virgin's trek through the dating world, and how far I can get without screwing or getting screwed. Basically, I want to show people that virgins have feelings, too. Sorry I won't lay down with you, but you can only imagine what my mind is thinking. Creamsicles. Yes, creamy creamsicles. It exists in my head. I am a pervert. A virgin pervert.

The welcome mat is currently laid on the floor for you. It is, by far, the only thing that gets more action then me. Considering that it is on its back 24 hours a day. So come on in and take a ride, just be sure not to pop anything on the way in. Stupid mat, I'm jealous of you. Lucky mat.