Bending Over The Line

Being at Bikram Yoga once a weekend allows me to focus my energy and my mind. It forces me to be still and really pull everything together for a minimum of 90 minutes a week. To some of you, that may not seem like a lot, but to someone like your WebMistress, that is an excruciating amount of stand-still time.

Unfortunately, that allowance has recently been raped by The Man Who Wears A SPEEDO To Class.

That's right, ladies & gentlemen, he actually wears a SPEEDO to Bikram Yoga.

Look. I get it. I get that it's insanely hot and that you sweat your a** off. I also 'get' that Speedos are made for water, but so are ducks and fish and last I checked no one was wearing either to my yoga class.

I've managed to ignore the idiot men who think it's acceptable for them to display their hairy backs and chests, their big bloated bellies and unnaturally large nipples. BUT THE SPEEDO IS KILLING ME.

IT'S KILLING ME. And not even softly.

I've actually got heart palpitations because of it.

And this past weekend, I was next to The Man Who Wears A SPEEDO To Class...and when we had to bend over, I didn't really much appreciate the free-flow of information provided by his SPEEDO. Imagine if I'd slipped and went tumbling forward? I'd have had to scrape my face off to recover.

(It took every ounce of self control for me to not start sobbing WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOUR SENSE OF SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOUR AND WEAR, MAN? I'm not even entirely certain I know how I made it through that class without strangling him in his own little hammock or forcing the teacher who didn't say anything to bend over behind The Man Who Wears A SPEEDO To Class.)

I sent the centre an email asking if they'll consider having an 'at minimum shorts' policy. I don't think they'll take me seriously and I expect they'll send me a "the body is beautiful" email. If they do, I'm donning a fat and hairy suit and going in with a tanga and a string bikini top. As a man.

I rue the day Speedo was born.

Download & one political note

The Klonhertz Remix of Owner of a Lonely Heart.
&
My dearest Canada, how you break our hearts.

Baby Sings

This morning I was seated next to a baby bundled up in a blue snowsuit and singing Frère Jacques. (The baby, not I.) My trip into work made me revisit the following High Security Incident that transpired many years ago.

Aged four and while in kindergarten, my teacher had us sing Frère Jacques. When done, she asked me to sing it alone and in front of the whole class.

I remember this as though it were yesterday. I smiled and began while clapping and swaying.

Beaming with pride (because I was the only one who was singled out), I sang at the top of my small not-yet-grown-to-size lungs:
Fray-row Jaack-uh!
Fray-row Jaack-uh!
Vous lay vous!
Vous lay vous!
Suh muh leh mateen-ah!
Suh muh leh mateen-ah!
DING! DANG! DONG!
DING! DANG! DONG!

Teacher asked me to stop singing and told me I was "wrong", to which I threw my 1inch fist into the air, palm facing her, and declared "Like hell I am, Teach", only it came out "why?" and I began to cry. Amidst the great confusion and my young black civil rights tendencies, all other pink, white, olive and brown babies located within the same room followed suit and also began to cry. The over-emotional one of them - a little white one from Poland - went so far as to run over and hug me (I often wonder what's become of him whose name I can't remember; he was my bff and on to the freezing cold ground we would place our 2x4 towels side-by-side when it was time for the teacher to have a cigarette break nap time. Bunch of fat babies laid out like beached dwarf whales, forced into REM. Odd indeed.).

Anyway. I was an Arabic baby and we'd arrived in Canada that same year. My mother tongue was Confused Arabic and the Teacher should have recognised that my effort was enough instead of singling me out for a "wrong". To my "why", Teacher never responded and I stood dissolved. Until now, I don't know the proper lyrics to the song and I've created an auditory block whereby I don't hear those proper lyrics even if they're being shouted directly into my ear. Worse still, the incident is - I am certain - the cause of my mental collapse re lyrical abilities, something of which I was reminded this morning.

Nearly twenty nine years later, I stand by Suh muh leh mateen-ah!, if for no other reason than the empathy shown by the little white Polish one.

********************
Aside no 1 re children's songs: I used to sing London bridges falling down, rather than London bridge is falling down. The true lyrics I swear to you, I only discovered while in Dubai this past December when my baby cousin Ahmed sang it to me. I was stunned as I had no idea it was only one bridge rather than all of the London bridges. Brilliant, yes?

Aside no 2 re Frère Jacques: He's 'Brother John' in English. Gives little French and English boys a complex, I would think...

The 3 Cs for Understanding

Clear.
Concise.
Correct.

p.s. For those interested in getting into the guts of politics, read the Financial Times. I don't usually mention this because most individuals look at me as though am stupid when I offer: Understanding money is your key to understanding most all politics. (Religion would be next - and far below - on my list.) I will allow the girl in me to mention that the print edition is a lovely shade of coral. Better still, the ink doesn't bleed on your hands.

Behold

.1. 'The Pantaloon', a type of pant that was once worn by Folk Not of This Century.



This particular photo is of a pantaloon that's to be worn beneath one's outer-wear and to that I say: (1) Better this than a piercing and chains in that region; and, (2) Actually, they might not be so bad while CURLING!

I've only noticed this this year and so I'm not quite certain what that makes of all years prior...although I'm certain I always did wear pants, I guess I never tucked them into anything, let alone my boots.

At the office, I have three pairs of Crack. I wear boots to the office and then change into more appropriate Crack for the duration of my day. Two evenings back, I noticed the very disturbing reality that: When I tuck my dress pants into my boots, I appear to be wearing a variety of The Pantaloon. Nothing can be done about this, it seems.

I've been eyeing others who tuck their dress pants into their boots and no one else appears to be wearing The Pantaloon. I am distraught (and stupidly dressed, it appears) and would appreciate any advice and guidance you may have to offer. (Perhaps galoshes would provide enough room for the dress pant to lay normally, rather than bunching up and out? They would compliment my Paddington Bear look and afford me the opportunity to repeatedly and sanely say aloud 'galoshes' as opposed to my turretic inclination to do so now for no reason apart from 'I love the word'.)

.2. The Sierra Designs down-filled Pratt coat.



I have called every single sports expedition shop in Ottawa. I have emailed every single on-line source for Sierra Designs. I have prayed to Allah. I have begged eBay. And yet: No one can find me a size small in this model.

I found an XS, which fit perfectly (and with quite some room left over) around the body. Unfortunately, and apparently, 'XS' was in reference to the size of one's head because as soon as I zipped closed the hood, I stopped breathing and my eyes slanted at a beautiful Far East degree. But, as we all well know, I have an unusually large head when compared to heads such as Sarah's. That's neither here nor there and all this fuss to say: If you find one of these in either black or white, size small, please purchase her for me and I will repay you promptly.

One Female Canuck With A Broom! (Updated)

I am having difficulty expressing my extreme excitement re CURLING!. Luckily, I am capable of sitting long enough to write my first review of this fabulous sporting activity. Check back in the coming couple of days to read all about me standing on ice with a slider and a broom. And then me falling on ice with a slider and a broom and the thing that is a STONE NOT A ROCK.

I will be posting in this spot immediately below the line of MA-tildas (I know they're called 'Tilda's but I deem MA-tilda more appropriate because this is my blog).

OH! I tried to make CURLING! an Extreme Sport and was lovingly called a "big Goof".

LOVE CURLING! I LOVE IT! I WANT TO BE ON THE COVER OF A CURLING MAGAZINE DECLARING MY LOVE OF HER!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are three things you need to know about me:
(1) When I say 'curl', I am usually referring to the state of my hair at rest.
(2) When I utter the words 'sweep' and / or 'broom' it is only to indicate that I don't.
(3) My body takes to athletics extremely quickly though no one who knows me well would ever consider me ‘athletic’.

Odd this because until my late teens, I figure skated and swam four times a week. In my early twenties, I lifted six times a week at three hours each turn (I didn't have much else going on and having a six-pack was addictive). As an adult, I box, swim, shop for Crack, walk almost everywhere, do bikram yoga on Saturday mornings (avoiding thinking of the heat, the dripping sweat, the bacteria and the men who, unfortunately, assume it’s necessary for them to remove their shirts and show their disturbing bodies) and as you all know, I purchased LULU last summer. Even with all of this, no one who knows me considers me 'athletic' by any stretch of the imagination. UNTIL NOW!

Well, maybe not, BUT, but when I make it on to the cover of SWEEP!, then my friends will consider me 'athletic'. (I’ve already been called 'a new convert' at Curl News blogspot, based on which the voices in my head and I concur that SWEEP! is a true and real possibility.)

The lead up
At the end of December, the Super Head Biggest Cheese at my workplace asked me if I would be interested in joining her curling team. I'd always been under the impression that curling was for folks over the age of eleventy million and so was a little shocked to learn that people I considered young were doing and digging it.

Because the women on this team are luminous and magical creatures, but short of unicorns and faeries, I accepted the invitation to CURL!, thinking I could always hang back and chat rather than get my ice on. Curling was as appealing as golf, and the closest I ever came to coveting it was in terms of the hilarity of “Men With Brooms”.

The follow through
I joined!

As is the norm, that meant I was also extremely over-eager, over-excited and over-layered. Over-layered because when I went into the washroom, I thought I had undone all of the layers only to discover that the one nearest my skin was still clinging on for dear life. When I asked The Panty about it later, she cried and explained this because she was being smothered by three layers of pant, six layers of top, one puma zip-up and a very large woolen jacket. (The Panty was calmed only when I promised to never ever again take my dressing cues from Paddington Bear.)

As I wobbled into the arena, I quickly realized that CURLING! appreciates and encourages The Pretty. Clothes clinging to the body help your flexibility, form and mobility. You can even wear your hair down and bouncy. Hurrah for CURLING!

The delivery
A wonderful woman named Fleure showed me how to serve / volley / throw / launch the stone / rock / ball down the lane / sheet / ice / arena / rink / field.

Please pay very close attention to the following illustration:
(1) As I’m right handed, I place my right foot on this angled at 45degrees plastic thing-a-ma-bob.
(2) My right leg is bent at the knee and I am positioned as though preparing to shoot off and wobble a race in my over-layered excitement.
(3) My left leg is also bent and positioned behind my right leg.
(4) On the bottom of my left foot is a ‘slider’, or rather, a piece of plastic that allows one to slide forward at breakneck speed. (Thank you, B.)
(5) My right hand is holding the small handle of the stone / rock / ball which weighs an approximate 7000 pounds (this I discovered while attempting to pick it up, lost a war against gravity and instead tripped forward. Because I maintained a firm grip on the stone / rock / ball as I tripped forward, I was snapped back and so I experienced my first ever full-bodied bobbling motion.)
(6) Using the stone / rock / ball to generate momentum, I was sliding her back and forth and back and forth and then propelling her forward as I held on and went along for the ride.
(7) In tri-dem were the propelling forward motion, the pushing off from the plastic thing-a-ma-bob and the bringing forward of the left leg so as to slide all the way forward, aiming and then letting go of the stone / rock / ball.

Surprisingly, my body froze up (ha! ha!) during my first two serves because I envisioned falling on my face and breaking it. First this happened, I lost my Cool Demeanor & Focus, tipped over and smashed my right knee relatively hard against the ice.

Second this happened, I fell backward on to my bum and remained seated for a good two minutes, pouting and watching others serve / deliver / volley / launch / propel in perfect form. (As is my weirdo nature, I was having trouble understanding why I wasn't already perfect at it; it was, after all, my second turn already.)

I spent the duration of that particular game watching the technique of others and so when it was my turn to play again, I added the following three steps:

(8) As soon as my left leg came forward, I dropped my right knee to the ice and extended my right leg back, bent low and pretended to aim.
(9) I ran to my team-mates and asked if they had witnessed MY 'FORM’! MY 'FORM'! MY KNEE WAS ON THE ICE AND I CAN CURL!
(10) My team-mates patting me on the head as their eyes glazed over and I kept chattering on about MY FORM! (Really.)

What not to do
First. As the other team ‘delivered’, I was in the end zone and knew we could broom their rock out of the point area if we broomed a little faster. So, in my over excitement and due to my over-layering, I over-heated, started laughing to myself while a voice in my head screamed “WE’RE GOING TO GET THEIR BALL OUT! BROOM, MAHA! BROOM!” and began to broom alongside my other teammate who was already brooming.

Apparently, you can only have one person brooming the stone / rock / ball of the delivering team. It doesn’t matter how happy and excited the second broomer may be, they are not allowed to broom. (I shake my fist at this rule.)

Second: Do not “I’m just going to push your rock out of the way for a moment”. Ever.

Third: Recall that this is not an Extreme Sport, and so when at the end of the game, you are sliding all of the rocks / balls / stones to one end, do not ‘let it rip’ and start smashing them all against one another and laughing at the fact that “they don’t break” or else you risk being called (lovingly, and with the biggest laugh and smile) “ya big goof” by the aforementioned Super Head Biggest Cheese at your workplace.

Fourth: Don’t smash your team-mate’s broom as you are brooming together. Most definitely, don’t do this and then ask them why they kept hitting you…

Fifth: Don't wear a long scarf, no matter how pretty and colourful she may be.

Finally, don’t broom with the wooden portion of the broom. Use the straw end…though this may go without saying for all normal folk, it was something I needed to have pointed out after I scraped all of the ice and stood wondering WHY THE ICE KEPT PEELING AND SLOWING ME DOWN

What to do
Join a recreational CURLING! team today. Enjoy an extremely fun sport and smile because you could be the next to grace the cover of SWEEP!

Lessons Learned

I learned that whenever I opened up my heart and made a decision based on love and hope, I almost always made the right decision, even when the result was a painful one.
I learned that one of the greatest challenges to our selves brings with it the greatest benefit to our lives and those we hold dear: looking at our actions, owning them, holding ourselves accountable and responsible at every turn and at every choice made.
I learned that an individual's character hinges on their ability to accept this very responsibility for their actions.
I learned that patience is truly a virtue and to one which I'm not naturally inclined.
I learned that the only people who are scared to "loose themselves" are those who don't know who they are to begin with.
I learned that Crack does, indeed, make me happy.
I learned that anger and resentment breed bitterness that changes every aspect of who we are and how we live.
I learned that everything is a choice.
I learned that I suck at poetry, though am a supreme rhymer.
I learned that in love, there is no room for pride...and where there is room for pride, it is not love.
I learned that the amount of respect you show others is a direct extension of how much you respect yourself.
I learned that walking on a crack in Crack won't break anyone's back but my own.
I learned that ending a conversation with "we agree to disagree" is quite possibly the best way to end a conversation with family.
I learned that forgiveness of an action does not equate absolution of that action.
I learned that when living honestly, you can live more in one day than most others do in one life time.
I learned that I am an optimist.
I learned that to be of sound mind and body are the most profound of blessings and it is these we most often take for granted.
I learned that starting from a position of fear, defensiveness and self-pity is just another excuse for one's paralysis.
I learned that if you really want it, you may have to spend the rest of this life fighting for it...and that's perfectly acceptable.
I learned that I have the most amazing parents in the world and they keep surprising me at every moment.
I learned that at the outset, no one needs to earn my trust because I give it freely; but when it's lost, it's lost entirely.
I learned that except for my facing God, absolutely everything in my life is up for change, if you can convince me.
I learned that when you shake someone's hand, you need to take off your glove if you're wearing it, stand up if you're sitting down, and take off your sunglasses if you're wearing them.
I learned that life goes on - usually stronger and bigger and warmer - no matter the trauma to our hearts.
I learned that evolution and dissent posed by one against themselves is a sign of a healthy mind.
I learned that f*cking things up once in a while is good for you because it teaches you, in no uncertain terms, of where you don't want to be and therefore where you need to go.
I learned that the perfect shade of red nail polish doesn't exist.

And...I learned that kindness is the currency of human interaction and no one likes a cheap bastard.

To be changed momentarily

Hi Blogger!

Randomness (because I'm much too tired for anything more at this very moment...)

.1. On Tuesday of last week, I started a killer new job that I LOVE. I was head-hunted (that's Hot, I know) and I now work directly for A Very Big Cheese. I adore him and my new colleagues are warm and welcoming. It's a crazy amount of work and it's intense, but I appreciate the vote of confidence it took for the head-hunter to head hunt me.

.2. When you have a daughter, be the first man to send her flowers. Make a point of it; if you don't know why I'm recommending you do this, then you need to spend a little more time figuring out (1) how relationships should work, and (2) what a privilege it is to have children.

.3. I had no idea Little Mosque on the Prairie was back. (Thank you, Fathima!) For so many reasons, it meant the world to me last year, and now I don't even know that it's a regularly scheduled program. Strange how things change so dramatically over the course of one little year...

If anyone has taped the season up until now / can download all episodes of this season, please let me know as I'd love to get all caught up.

.4. If your pride rules you, you need to get over yourself and learn to be ruled by the decency in creating and maintaining warm human relations.

.5. I saw PS I Love You and fell in love with William. (It goes without saying that Gerry is a Fox.) It was a beautiful moment when William cradled Holly in his arms, and it made me sort of wish I were her. It did the same thing for the other girls who watched it...

I can't wait to fall in love as though nothing else exists in this world. Just saying that out loud makes me smiley.

.6. I've purchased the film SuperBad and I've already watched it twice. One of my favorite lines in any movie comes from this beautiful and hilarious look into male friendship and it is: "samesies". I love that boy and if there were an older version of him, I think he would satisfy my last sentiment of no. 6 above.

.7. I ordered an Optimus Prime doll from eBay. A REAL LIVE DOLL!! I can't wait to receive Him.

.8. For the record: If I had to date a robot, it would be Optimus Prime. He's sensitive and smart, he transforms (!), he can throw a mean punch and I believe we share the same perspective on humanity.

.9. I eat snow-peas while grocery shopping. Last I did this, a woman was staring at me and I could feel her thinking: Thief.

Does this make me a thief? Should I maybe weigh them and pay for them and then do my grocery shopping?

.10. Except for a misplaced blip, life has been really good, Alhamdulilah. The first couple of weeks post vacation brought back some hurt from 2007, but that's subsided at a surprisingly rapid rate and I hope this is the tone of 2008.

Girl With A Broom

I start curling on Tuesday.

Right. That about says it all.

Edit on 20 Jan '08: Read about it here.

4th Annual Girls' Holiday Dinner (part 2 of 2)

Hurrah! The Annual Girls' Holiday Dinner was an unabashed success (even though the stuffed chicken was much too salty, even for my taste...).

The Reason(s)
The main reason I began having these Annual Dinners was because The Girls were convening - with great difficulty - perhaps once every six months, and I thought it was time we had a standing yearly event to which we all looked forward. That is precisely what The Annual Girls' Holiday Dinner has become, a reputation that is well earned because it really is an 'event', and not merely a dinner party. The second and much more important reason I do this is because I like presents! And The Girls come bearing gifts...

To the bouquet of flowers where red and white lilies were present, Di added yellow ones


Tasha gifted me the gorgeous gold earrings I'm wearing; Laura brought a box of specialty tisane teas, and Cleo brought a candy-cane candle & 8 different scented body creams. (I enquired if she thought I was stinky. She laughed and walked away without answering, but not before she told me to watch myself as I walked past the stairs "because [I] could fall and really hurt myself".)

The Attendees
Di & Cleo


Laura & Tasha


(Di was the designated photographer and within moments, the ladies had been lined up both against the wall, and by the sofa so that their portraits be taken. It was really quite fantastic as the shutter bounced up and down, Tasha and Laura did a little tango, while Cleo and Di opted for a more discreet revival of The Outsiders video box, minus one Tom Cruise.)

And I, your BlogMistress


(Di was attempting to capture the length of the dress and I was yelling back responses to Cleo as she rummaged through my closet and queried "Why haven't I EVER seen you in THIS dress? And what's BEDO? And are all of these CDs yours? And if your mom ever wants to give away the dress you're wearing and you don't want it, will you give it to me? And don't fall down the stairs, you could really hurt yourself!")

Although mama was not present in body (she's in Dubai until this coming Friday), she was present in soul as the dress I wore was in fact once hers. I believe she purchased it in her early 20s and wore it much lovelier than I could ever dream to wear it.

The Drink
Over the course of the six hour meal, we consumed two bottles of IKEA's Sparkling Apple Drink and two bottles of IKEA's Sparkling Pomegranate Drink that are wrapped up as though they are champagne. These drinks are fun because by glass no 4, we were all hit by an incredible sugar rush that left us hysterical and prone to confessions. (To add a slight more ambiance to the drink, I placed strawberries in each glass.)


As though these four bottles weren't enough, I brought to the table at least three gallons of water and rose oil. By the end of the evening, The Girls = Race Horses.

The Meal
The seven courses were presented once an hour on the half hour, as follows...

6.30pm
Asiago Cheese Puffs
Stuffed Baby Potatoes with Shrimp






6.30pm for Dianna, a vegan
Bruschetta & Babaghanoush


7.30pm
Curried Sweet Pepper soup (served with a dollop of sour cream, a dash of sweet paprika & a blackberry)


8.30pm
Arugula, Pear & Asiago Cheese salad (served with roasted walnuts and breadsticks)


9.30pm
Angel Hair Pasta Nests with Shrimp, in Heavy Cream (fresh basil served as the garnish)


10.30pm
Stuffed (with Borsin Cheese & spinach) Chicken Breast


10.30pm for Dianna
Yellow Pepper stuffed with cous-cous, garlic, cashews & dates


11.30pm
Lemon Sorbet...which, sadly, went unphotographed...

12.30am
Vanilla Pound Cake with Vanilla Bean ice-cream, fresh berries & fresh mint


Pretty spectacular, indeed. So spectacular that I was allowed to wear Laura's tiara and crowned by myself and only in my own head: Culinary Goddess. (Look how large and cow-like my eyes are.)


The Soundtrack
Apart from the incredible company and food, we were joined by the very sexy Tom Jones, Platinum Blonde (Yes! We know they are of The Gay variety, but we love them still in 'that' way...), Bono, Terence Trent D'Arby & the boys from Chicago. As only the best Holiday Dinners know, The Eurythmics, The Spice Girls and Justin Timberlake completed our evening's soundtrack.

The Final Confession
Naturally, there were no lulls in the evening's conversation. In fact, this year's theme seemed to be that of The Confession, with the Weirdest Topic Award going to: Gas (not of the petrol variety).

If I were to sum the evening up into one line, I could...and I will...

We promised we would never discuss who said this, and so you must excuse my adherence to this code...

As one of us was staring down at her dessert plate, she quietly and very seriously announced: "I don't know if I'm seeing things, but I'm pretty sure my cherry just vibrated."

And that line, my friends, is the line that best wraps up the 2007 Annual Girls' Holiday Dinner. I do hope you had as much fun ogling the photos as we did devouring the food. Feel free to stalk the entire rest of the photos here.

4th Annual Girls' Holiday Dinner (part 1 of 2)

In a little over two hours, some of (the others missing in the USA) The Girls are coming over for my Annual Holiday Dinner. Technically, this evening is for 2007, as I didn't have the chance to celebrate the presence of their friendship within the confines of that calendar year.

The table is set with six candles, sparkling pomegranate & apple " faux champagne", and oriental white & red lilies (my favorite):









The seven-course menu is:

Asiago Cheese Puff appetizer & Stuffed Red Potato Shrimp appetizer (look: here is 'The Making Of' of the latter caught on camera)






Curried Sweet Potato Soup (with a dollop of sour cream and a dash of paprika)
Arugula, Pear & Asiago Cheese Salad
Angel Hair Pasta & Shrimp Nests
Stuffed (with Boursin cheese & spinach) Chicken Breasts (but first & critical, is that the chicken is marinated in brine over-night, as this photo explains)


Lemon Sorbet
Vanilla Pound Cake (with ice cream and fresh berries)

The dress-code: Evening wear. I've chosen to wear mama's 1960s hippie-chick floor-length gauze stunner:



I'm currently pulling together the song playlist and I have to make pretty relatively soon; my home smells like vanilla and sugar and I'm quite certain things couldn't be any better than right at this very moment...

One of life's great mysteries...

Does anyone know what a 'post doc' is? I'd never thought about it until New Year's Eve when the following conversation flowed around our table (performing a slow and quiet interpretive dance):

D: "...blablabla...working on their post doc."
Maha: "What is that, anyway?"
D: "What?"
Maha: "A 'post doc'?"
D: "Something to do with their PhD?"
P: "Isn't it work done post your doctorate?"

(silence)

Maha: "Do they get letters?"

(silence)

Maha: "You know, letters. Like, with their name? Like an 'M.A.' or a 'Dr'?"
P: "I don't think so, Maha..."
Maha: "Oh. Well. That sort of sucks; They really should consider at least giving them one extra letter. And if not, then they should make it a PhD²."

So...uhm...any of you know what a post doc amounts to? (I'm too floppy to Wiki as I've just come home from yoga.)

Yaznotjaz Hauls It to Ottawa

You all know her as the crazy wonderful woman who lives here and peppers our conversations with ROCKSTARs and HIGHFIVEs: Yasmine, Yasmina, Yaznotjaz.



(The table in this photo is a mere three inches from the ground, but I'll get to that in a moment.)

My favourite story of Yaz's is that of the gentleman who told her he liked her "costume" (aka hijab).

In early December, Yaz hauled it to Ottawa for a friend's wedding and I took her to my favourite restaurant where she, for the first time ever, ate Vietnamese. I understand your initial reaction here is "¿Qué?", but that she'd never before had Vietnamese is la verdad, my coco loco amigos that live in the Barrio. (How exciting! I've just used every Spanish word I know. Olé!)

The few things about Yaz that I wish to share are:
(1) When you look at her big brown eyes, you think you're looking into the face of a baby. I considered reaching over and burping her after lunch, but Alhamdulilah, I didn't. (Even though I would have done it gladly.) On several occasions and moments before she would speak, I half expected her to gurgle instead. That's how pure and innocent her eyes are.

(2) You know how she comments and writes "HIGHFIVE"? She actually HIGHFIVEs you in public. It took me a few seconds to figure it out, but I catch on relatively quickly and started HIGHFIVE-ing her as demanded during the course of our time together. This, though most of you know my complete distaste for the HIGHFIVE-ing industry which sucks us dry of other potential exclamation scenarios.

(3) She wrote the Encyclopedia Britannica.

(4) She has a laugh that puts the loudness of mine to shame. It is infectuous and catchy and made me laugh harder and louder. Honestly, I'd not laughed that hard in a long time and so it was with pleasure that I let her virus infect me...

(5) She is an excellent keeper of secrets.

(6) From the bottom of her heart, she says things like: "Dude, that's hell-a not cool. That's just about basic human character and respect. Hell-a. Not. Cool. God'll take care of that shit. HIGHFIVE."

(7) She is a Kung Fu Master.

(8) She is the tiniest creature I have encountered and she wears three socks which she tucks into a size 2 running shoe. Propelled by her petiteness, I was forced to pick her up and attempt hanging her on the Christmas tree. (Recall the height of the table in above photo.)

She fought really hard and won, then told me she thought I was "Hell-a weird. HIGHFIVE."

(9) She is a text message fiend, who writes novels that fly through the mobile airwaves at least 23 hours a day.

(10) I kept wanting to hug her, but contained myself until the very end when we said our goodbyes and hugged twice - once for Anjum, and once for her. I was satiated, but did notice that Ottawa dimmed a wee little bit after that goodbye, as she seems to be followed around this little earth by warm sunshine...

(Safe and Happy New Gregorian Year, folks.)

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