Prolific Immigrant

And all through the house, not a something-something was stirring, not even a mouse.

Then, Maha decided to go downstairs.

Ensuing conversation:
“What was all that noise…?”
“I fell.”
“Oh my God – you didn’t make a sound!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you didn’t scream? I only heard the falling.”
“I don’t tend to scream when I fall.”
“What?”
“It happens so often, anyway. I just get sad that it won’t stop.”

I thought to share my awesome drawing talents with you. I hope you like it; it took me 17 hours to complete.

I just received this in an email. It is a link to the latest promo pics for season 4 of Friday Night Lights.

.1. Zach Gilford ought to eat a sandwich and fatten up a wee bit; (I hope that it is Baby Jane whom he is eyesexing in the distance).
.2. Connie Britton is rocking each one of the pictures.
.3. Jesse Plemmons is adorable and I wish to take him out for a drunk. I mean drunk. Damn it. I mean DRINK. I hate typing in a blind-fold.
.4. Brad Leland? Buddy Garrity? Fry me up a chicken-fried-chicken steak with a side of double-fried potato wrapped in shake-n-bake, please.
.5. COACH ERIC TAYLOR. You’re a fox, and for the record: unlike other audience members, I have no conflicted feelings about whether I’m more interested in you being my husband or my father. Now strip, please.
.6. Taylor Kitsch? What? Who airbrushed you to within an inch of your fantastic arms? And if you’re not airbrushed, then what shade of bronzer is that (sharing = caring, thirty-three)? Also. Why isn’t there a picture of your bottom in the promos? And why aren’t you horizontal? Foolishness.

Watch Friday Night Lights, please.

Additionally:
I hate football, and I also hate hockey when forced to watch games on television.

I do, however, love watching both live.
And it is for this reason that I have on my list of Sports-Specific Must-Dos In My Life the following two items: (1) Watch a UT at-home football game against whomever (something I flagged in my head the first time I went to Austin and visited the Darrell K. Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium); and, (2) Watch the Grey Cup.

So. Even though I don’t like these sports and am only familiar with the ins and outs of futbol (the only sport I can watch on television), I am going to be seated in one of the most coveted seats at the next at-home UT football game. I will also, as is familiar to many, be clueless and searching for COACH ERIC TAYLOR at the side of the field. I plan on finding a Booster and getting the low-down on their football and sports-related nosiness. I plan on finding Mack Brown’s wife and hanging out with her. I plan on wearing pumpkin and geeking out on UT ways, like, currently? I am Googling special UT chants and learning them, while also Googling special UT hand gestures and learning them, so that when I greet the other fans, I will know the secret handshake.

More to the point, I also plan on making up my own UT-specific song and singing it to myself during the game; as importantly, and in an effort to appear football aware, I will also be repeating whatever I overhear from those seated next to me…only, I’ll say it louder, smarter and like I mean it more than they ever could.

Here’s what I have so far, to the tune of the great MC Hammer classic You Can’t Touch This! (you must sing it out loud; it makes way more sense that way):

Can’t touch them (x2)
Can’t touch them (oh-oh oh oh oh-oh-oh) (x2)

Longhorns! Hit so hard makes others SAY! Oh my Lord
Thank you for blessing them with big strong arms and thighs that can
Bring home the big W for UT
A superdope homegirl from Canada
And she’s known as such
In her head imagination FUN!

Can’t touch them (x2)
Can’t touch them (oh-oh oh oh oh-oh-oh) (x2)

Anyway – it is all I have right now, though working diligently to complete a full song by game day, October 10th.

Are you watching this show yet? Are you watching Friday Night lights yet? Why not? What could you possibly be doing that hasn’t allowed you to watch this show just yet? It will make your life a brighter one – trust me. You will learn, you will think, you will cry, you will try to make out with Tim Riggins and instead receive an electric shock because your saliva hitting the television screen is not the brightest of ideas. At least that’s what I hear from other people.

Friday Night Lights is brilliant from A to Z. It is the best acted, written, directed television show I have ever watched, and you should be watching it too, unless you consider The Kardashians interesting, then Friday Night Lights doesn’t require your low IQ in its audience. You would be a fool to let this show pass you by; and so when you watch it, please make it count so that we ensure this show stays on the air.

The beautiful man in this promo is Coach Eric Taylor (HI! Kyle Chandler); the beautiful woman Principal Tami Taylor (HI! I LOVE YOU! Connie Britton); the man looking over his eyeglasses, the character bringing electricity to this show Joe McCoy (I shake my fist at you (lovingly)! D.W. Moffett). (East Dillon better kick Panther ass, Writers.)

In honour of this show, I am creating a new category label titled Friday Night Lights. At the bottom of this entry, you’ll find it – click it if you’re interested in reading all of my sad & lame entries.

Also, please note the greatest birthday present I have ever received is this UT Longhorns at-home vs Colorado football game ticket. (I was so excited to receive this that I nearly passed out…don’t you dare judge me, unless it means I come out smelling like clean fresh shampoo.)

Darrrell K Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium
40 yard line
2nd row
Behind the Longhorns
(…eat your heart out, boys & see you in Austin in a couple of weeks)

Have you ever thought about what your Facebook photo says about you? I think, in general, we are safe to make the massive generalization that we choose photos we believe represent us. We can expand this to include: how we wish others to know us.

This is my current FaceBook photo. Notice the subtle messages this photo conveys to my friends (and now you, 6 precious readers): (1) I eat snakes; (2) I am ALIVE; (3) I am a WEIRD GEEK; (4) I have a fantastic leather jacket (feels like butter, tastes like chicken): and, (5) I have creepy red-eyes.

My photos fence-straddle Extremely Happy Nerd or Smasher Of The Stupid (fence-straddle: here, I had originally accidentally used the word ‘facilitate’, intending to use the word ‘vacillate’, only to Thesaurus.com the little b*tch and come up with the gem ‘fence-straddle’. Feel free to call me James Joyce…just make certain you call me…ruhahahahahaaaaw…).

These are the two Mahas I am most aware of / happy with / see as my true self, and so the ones I wish to share with my friends and general fanbase of 6 readers.

(Look: It’s not like I am only jolly when stumbling around smashing random people; it is, though, that I don’t let people fck around with me. I call people on their shit immediately, and without hesitation, even if it makes them uncomfortable because they’re not right in the head. The alternative? I absorb their shit behavior and give myself an ulcer in an effort to make certain I don’t rock the boat and instead placate them. No thanks.)

Right. Hold on, let me scroll up and read what my point was.
Ok. So it appears I don’t really have a point and shall instead end the above thought here, but not before I tell you that a little while back, I was seated next to a man who must have been an archaeologist because his finger was digging very far up his nose.

Hope you’re all having a lovely weekend…xoxo

Dear Taylor Kitsch,

From you, I have never once hid the fact that I am a cheating slut, nor that I would dump your exceptionally and perfectly curved bottom, in an instant, were Coach Eric Taylor interested in cheating on Tami (even though I pretend that I would not hurt the sisterhood in this fashion, I would stab Tami for a chance to fumble Coach Eric Taylor’s football). But that’s neither here nor there.

What is both here and there is that to the list of descriptives you use when you are bored and sad and miss and talk about me to your friends, you may now add ‘fickle’, because I am back.

I am back and ask that you forgive me my indiscretions with Jared Padalecki.

As much as I love his physique ability to speak to theology and politics, his hairstyle is setting alight dormant aspirations to hair dressing that I know will disappoint my mum (“some of my best friends are hair dressers…”).

Also, Rigglett, unlike you when you are busily sexing your females, he doesn’t appear to make use of his tongue very often. Since we are all very aware of the Fact that tongues are the sisterhood’s BFF, this reality poses grave and disconcerting news for all, most especially I who – having waited 34 years – isn’t interested in a non-tonguer. (Thank you for your time Jared ‘non-tonguer’ Padalecki, and good bye.)

This morning, a reader sent me this fantastic video of you being dumb (and I mean, like, in the smartest most intelligent way) and cute and very British Columbian Canadian when you declare:
“What? Are you? kidding me?
This was. I can. Can I swear?
Holy shit. Man.
That’s the first time. He uh. He put the flies down.
somethingsomethingmumbleTaylorhassomethinginhismouthanditsnotmesoIdontcare
This is like.
Do you know when you’re on tv? and the fuckers had the fish on the line and like? they just said action.
This is insane man.
somethingsomethingmumblemumble“.

Being an Ontario native, I have a very hard time fighting off the seductive prowess of West Coast hippies such as yourself.
Will you take me back?
If you’d like, I will send you a photo of myself in a bikini while wearing thigh-high rubber boots, with a FlyFishPole in one hand…if there is such a thing…and a potted plant in the other, and standing in a pool because rivers and ponds and lakes give me the heebie jeebies.

I look forward to our reunion,
Maha
P.S. I reserve the right to cheat on you again, with whomever pleases me.

Dear Readers,

Taylor Kitsch enjoys working with sick children.
Anyone have a non-contagious one I can borrow?

Really, very grateful,
Maha

Dear Dan Cone, FlyFishingFriend of Taylor Kitsch,

I really appreciate your use of the word “channelizes”; a word I did not even know existed until watching the above linked-to video.
It is my word of the day: I am a girl who channelizes all of her energy into her make-believe cartoon life.

Thank you,
Maha

Awesome.

Above is a portion of a greater screen cap someone sent to me.

It is from a German message board which is currently discussing my opinion about Twilight rape & abuse.

I’ve cut out the name and photo of the woman who wrote the above sentence.
In a nutshell, she was hating on the opinions expressed in the piece. This isn’t a problem – obviously, when one posits an opinion, you expect a counter.

But there are rules of engagement to the counter, no?
And the rules dictate that you don’t respond to an argument about the validity of red vs blue as a favourite colour by saying “Well. Your mum’s black, so you’re wrong”.
Or do you?
Was there a news bulletin sent out indicating Exceptionally Racist Asshattery = Gold Star?

This particular woman? rather than engaging the opinions, instead attacks Islam. Loosely translated, the not-too-bright female ends her rant (not counter) about her distaste for the opinions expressed here by saying “She’s a Muslim…that says everything.”(1)

Amazing, no? Amazing the complete and total ignorance of this individual. Amazing that she is too stupid to focus on the arguments and counter them one by one, and instead chooses to turn around and focus her hate at me and my Faith.

As previously established, I am a cheating slut rather than a racist idiot. Lucky because had I been a racist asshat, I would have responded to the mired-in-filth comment of hers with possibly an equally offensive comment about the German history of peace and love.

But. I am neither c.nt, nor racist. I am, though, laughing at the collective stupidity which she represents. (Note: I was also sent one woman’s response who called her out on her racist ignorance – saying that [me as] a Muslimah, was allowed to have an opinion. Thank you intelligent not-ignorant female.)

The end.

**********
(1) I dare you to tell me that by me labelling her personal (ergo rendering it a personal attack on her…person) racism as an expression of complete ignorance, I am therefore as guilty as she of the claim I make against her above. (Go ahead. I’d love it.)

P.S. Let me be clear: Twilight is SHIT.

Dear Taylor Kitsch,

Hi Rigglett. How are you? I am very well – more so than usual, because Ramadan is over and I may now have my morning venti americano with a lot of milk.

Also, I have been cheating on you ever since Jared Padalecki took off his shirt. I thought you should know.

Thanks for the memories,
Maha
P.S. I hope you don’t think of me as a slut for cheating on you, unless, of course, you like cheating sluts, in which case, I remain yours forever.

Dear Jared Padalecki,

Hi. How are you? I am good.

You look terribly smart in your towel and I bet you love to talk about politics and theology.

Also, thank you for being the descendant of People With Fantastic Genes. Really, seriously. Unlike yours, my Tribe is not fitted up by People With Fantastic Genes, but rather People With Alright Genes And Every Once In A While, You Know…Not Too Shabby And We Can Really Surprise You.

Also, please undress more often.
Er…! I hope you like the font color I have chosen in honor of you.

I love your body,
Maha
P.S. I am having great difficulty not calling you DEAN as I loved you very much on Gilmore Girls. Much more than dirty Jess and definitely more than the blond man-child who Rori dated for much too long.

P.S. no 2 Please cut your hair, my love. Or grow it to one length. Anything but bangs..’cus bangs are for pixies.

Dear Connie Britton & Kyle Chandler,

HI! HOW ARE YOU?
O! So happy that we’re talking again!
I miss the both of you equally.
I understand you will be away until the stupid Executives at whichever dumb place you work for have decided it’s time for you to return because they are completely out of touch with reality and clearly good taste is dead.

I thought I would let you know that your absence is noted and you are missed by both myself and every single one of my 9 friends who I have introduced to Friday Night Lights.

That is all (insert sad emoticon here, please),
Maha
P.S. This shade of font is called “lavender blush”. I don’t get it, either.
P.S. Coach Eric Taylor? I would trade both above mentioned children Taylor Kitsch and Jared Padalecki for you in your angry man shorts. For true. xo

Only because I have been seeing one too many photos of women of all ages with this facial expression. (NSFW)

That facial expression (best articulated by offspring of pimp parents), is ridiculous not sexy, Daisy Duck not Angelina, laughable not lubricious.

I have yet to meet a man interested in sexing it up with a woman who looks like her lips are caught within one of these:

And in case I wasn’t clear: You look stupid.

You’re welcome.

Years back, I followed La Coquette’s lead and posted an image of my handbag and listed all of its contents. I can’t find the link to that post because I am nearing the 800 entries mark on this blog and I am relatively shit at on-line searches.

This year, I decided to try something different and so have instead listed the relatively boring contents of all that sits on my desk. Click on the following photo and you will be taken to the page where all 27 notes list the contents of the items you see before you. I understand this to be extremely exciting (I too may pee), please contain yourselves.

Feel free to do the same (note – in order to comment on flickr, you must actually have an account).

The good news is that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

The bad news is that I discovered mama hides her large squash-like homegrown vegetables in the basement. This is not a euphemism, but rather is a fact I discovered moments ago when mama went downstairs empty-handed and came back upstairs carrying what is called a spaghetti squash, grown by her, the size of her bum.

As I type, she is showing off her back garden (again, not sexy innuendo) via web-cam to our family in Gaza. She is also wearing pistachio green sweater to “matching” lime green socks (yes, with pants; no, not any shade of green). She is as happy as a squirrel with nuts amongst her squirrel friends who have less nuts on which to feast and so is gladly sharing said nuts.

Everywhere I have looked recently, I have felt defeated, usually engaged in thoughts such as I hate people; why are they so useless?; why do they care so much that some pop singer’s small pet died / was carried away / is lost?; why aren’t they reading about Palestine?; paying attention to Darfur?; seeking out more info on the women in the Congo?; Why so mean?; Why such bullies?; Find balance outside of pill-aw-tees, you entitled useless twat, SHUT UP!

Then I look at the eccentric weirdo with whom I live and I am made better.

And I recently realized that when she is gone, she will take 95% of the love I feel in this often-times grotesque and hurtful world, and that turns me into a sad sobby creature with mascara around her nose. But in the interim, I get to appreciate her weirdness and her bizarreness and love every bit of it and for that I am grateful.

So, most especially for those of you who have had a tough Ramadan and who were trusting enough to share their experiences with me, I thank you and hope that you too have at least one person to whom you are able to turn and who is capable of swallowing you up in their innocence and kindness. If it is your mama, then get up and hug her, high five her, kiss her, tell her you love her before you wish her Eid Mubarak.

Peace and love to you all, including you asshats.

From my brilliant editor at rabble. (Derrick! Please forgive that it took me so long to post this. I am lame; this you know, but now it is public. I hope your sense of justice is served re my tardiness! xo)

From Derrick: This is what I’ve been co-writing for the past year… so I’m really excited it’s done! (webMe’s note: Me too! Me too!) [...]It’s only the UK and Australian version that are out now, North American in October under the title of ‘A Woman Among Warlords’.[...]
D.

The UK version of Malalai Joya’s book, Raising My Voice: The Extraordinary Story of the Afghan Women who Dares to Speak Out, will be in stores as of early July.

Malalai Joya is the youngest and most famous female MP in Afghanistan, whose bravery and vision have won her an international following. She made world headlines with her very first speech, in which she courageously denounced the presence of warlords in the new Afghan government. She has spoken out for justice ever since, and for the rights of women in the country she loves. Raising My Voiceshare her extraordinary story.

Raising My Voiceis available now for pre-order at either Amazon or from the publisher.

Comments closed.

Note: this is an objective entry and that means this may or may not be my perspective (a perspective that is none of your business). By posting this particular perspective, I am not extending your way the right to speak about either my state of iman or my personal perspective.

This is meant as merely food for thought and contemplation, and to help us all become aware of the different sides of the argument, so that we may then accept the conclusions most rational to us. It was sent to me by an Al-Azhar University graduate who frequents this blog and who read the ass-hatery re hijab in the comments of the post titled Tell me about Ramadan.

It is in Arabic and so only accessible to those of you who can read and understand Arabic (sorry!).

To you non Muslims who live here – Although you can not read the Arabic, I would like for you to take the following away from this entry: As Muslims, we are required to read / investigate / consider / and then choose (that which is most logical to us) of the varying scholarly opionions presented on issues such as this one. We are never to follow blindly – and the choices we make to bring things in to / expel them from our lives is in fact one based on the idea of open discussion and questioning and dissent. It is a thought process epitomizing the idea of democratic free thinking.

Additional info, sent to me by the same Al-Azhar University graduate: This was published in Rosa El Yousef – one of the most credible periodicals in Egypt – by Dr. Mostafa Mohammad Rashed about the Hijab. One of the attached files is a copy of the PhD certificate that Dr. Rashed had obtained from Al-Azhar University with an “Excellent” grade. (Read: Dr. Rashed’s credentials.)

[...]it is identical to my understanding of the subject from my studies at Al-Azhar University, and from my own private readings. The writer’s approach is logical, rational, and is rooted in Quranic and historic evidence. Dr. Rashed states his conclusion very clearly that the Hijab is not an Islamic “Fareeddah;” i.e. it is not a requirement from any Muslim woman.

You may wish to read it and get the benefit from this scholar’s research on one of the most controversial subjects of our time. Feel free to circulate to others, if you believe that they would benefit.

Comments closed.

Hi!

How are you?

My father and uncle received the letter (photographed here) from Rogers Cable Inc., detailing your special offers specific to the Muslim celebration of Eid.

I don’t have cable and I currently use Bell for both my mobile as well as internet services. But guess what, Phil? Because your company is amongst the first to respectfully acknowledge that there is a demographic of creatures called Muslims – who celebrate rather than explode – you have just gained a new customer (that’s me, Phil).

Also, it is exceptionally cool of your communications team for having properly included both “Eid Mubarak” as well as the crescent moon (which is – to those who do not know – the symbol of Islam).

With thanks, and looking forward to eventually buying a rogers product,
Maha
P.S. To those of you interested, please find Rogers’ official press release here.
P.S. to the P.S. Here is the Rogers site.

Read and share, please.

A core group of largely Toronto-based Jewish filmmakers is accusing the festival of playing into “the Israeli propaganda machine” with its inaugural “City to City” program, which it says excludes Palestinian voices from the 10-film program.

The group is circulating a letter of protest and has drawn support from more than 50 artists around the world including American writer Alice Walker, Canadian writer and activist Naomi Klein, U.K. filmmaker Ken Loach and American actor Danny Glover.

“Looking at modern, sophisticated Tel Aviv without also considering the city’s past and the realities of Israeli occupation of the West Bank and the Gaza strip would be like rhapsodizing about the beauty and elegant lifestyles in white-only Cape Town or Johannesburg during apartheid without acknowledging the corresponding black townships of Khayelitsha and Soweto,” the letter states.

The letter goes on to accuse the festival of being unduly influenced by the Israeli government’s year-long Brand Israel campaign, which it says is geared towards sanitizing Israel’s controversial political and military history.

Comments closed.

I went back to CrackBook well over a year ago. Since that time, they’ve changed their fkn layout like they’re piecing together a god damn jigsaw puzzle.

Watch the bastards render my account inactive.

Usually, Ramadan is a more-heightened-than-normal-life experience. Last year was the first year I had an exceptional Ramadan. I woke up every morning before sunrise and had a small bite to eat, prayed subuh (the 1st of 5 daily prayers) and then fell back asleep before waking up to begin my day.

Last year was also the first ever year I was completely entrenched within Ramadan. I was focused on, living and breathing the character that – failing to carry it throughout the year – was supposed to be representative of Islam. When I stood to pray, I imagined myself inside of and protected by a teardrop that was being looked after by God. It was a wonderful, amazing and – admittedly – exhausting experience; focused and clear and simple.

This year, I can’t seem to find my way to any of the above.

I was, and remain humbled that I am experiencing another Ramadan with a near 1.5 billion sisters and brothers in this, my faith tradition of Islam.

I am grateful for every blessing I find in every nook and cranny of my everyday life (& everything is indeed the cherry on the cake that is an already blessed life; I am not complaining and I am not taking for granted anything).

I am equal parts excited and scared that this is the month during which I get to reflect on the good, the bad and the ugly of last year, in order to focus on all that I hope to change, accomplish, dismiss, refine and deepen this coming year.

With that still, this is not my month – not this year, anyway.

This, I do not mean physically, as even though the fasting day is at nearly 14 hours per day, I am not at all hungry. In fact, I feel healthy and energized all day long.

It is, unfortunately, a spiritual malaise and fatigue that has overwhelmed me. I am going through the motions without a sense of connection to anything horizontal or vertical, and this saddens me in a way I can not express as I don’t fully understand it. This year, and with all of the laughter and excitement that rises with the pretty sun, I am feeling a little bit out at sea without focus during the one month where I should be firmly anchored.

There are 19 days left; I don’t believe we live in the age of miracles – or perhaps we no longer recognize them – and so I don’t expect much to change over the coming three weeks. All I can hope is that next year, inshallah, I will be capable of experiencing Ramadan at center, once more.