Love of God, you’re killin’ me.

xxo
Maha

PS Recently…
M: I need to buy a pair of night goggles.

“Friend”: What? Why?

Why not?

Seriously. Why?

They seem like so much fun. Like…if I could get a unicorn, I’d get one of them too. Not for any discernible reason, but just because. Who doesn’t want a unicorn? Or, like, a Care Bear to always give me hugs?

What are you talking about?

IMAGINE THE FUN I COULD HAVE WITH NIGHT GOGGLES!

Only if you’re planning on taking out insurgents…
(pause)
You need help. Like, so much.

You. You need help. You? You are never allowed to play with my goggles. When I get them. Which…I don’t even know where?

Please stop talking. Adults are coming.

Awesome. They’ll totally know where I can score a pair…

etc.

Did you catch that boys?

This isn’t about her knowing she’s a hottie (that’s the inside part), but rather, it is about her confirming (yes repeatedly) that you, the man she digs finds her a hottie.

Crystal clear is the memory I have of the first man who ever told me I was beautiful. At university in sweats, runners and a t-shirt, with my hair a mess, I walked past this dude while he was working the bar at Oliver’s on campus. He pulled me over and simply said “I just have to tell you that I can’t stop looking at you. You are so beautiful.”

I stood dumbfounded.
No one had said that to me (except my momma) prior and so to hear it from a man set off an avalanche of squees and near nauseau throughout your WebMistress.

A feeling that has not subsided; a feeling which happens every single time I hear those words from a man, but most importantly, from a man for whose attentions I am vying.

That goes for all women I know; the ones who just started dating their men, and the ones married for 10 years. Even though every single woman I know has an unbelievable reserve of self-awareness both in terms of ability and beauty, each one of these women – myself included – also has a natural inclination to insecurity with regards our looks because we exist in a culture that places so very much emphasis on a woman’s beauty (and know full-well about the male inclination to visual.).

It seems that recently, there is an epidemic amongst the women I know, and one which is centered around their men not engaging these simple words or these simple acknowledgements.

Gentlemen, and on behalf of the Sisterhood: tell your woman out loud that you think she’s hot, because if you don’t, another man will and he will get big points (since the off-set of you never mentioning it actually works to heighten his comment).

If the reason that women like it and so appreciate your attention to detail isn’t enough of a reason for you, then let me break it down and make it all about you instead: When you tell your partner she’s gorgeous, it will turn her on. (Women? We’re selfish that way; maybe you can relate.)

Right. So for your edification, take a read through this article and note that: She needs to hear out-loud from you that you notice her and admire her. And, chose words like “sexy” or “beautiful” or “amazing”; women like words like this because they are bigger and make it seem like you really are thinking they look incredible at that particular moment. Stay away from bland and generic compliments like “you look nice” or “you look fine.” And one compliment that most women really don’t like is “you look cute”; she is not a puppy, she is a woman.

Sidebar: To the women who would say that the above is a slight to women, and women don’t need a man’s accolades to feel good. And to those idiot self-help writers who tell us that everything must come from within or else it is meaningless. You are lying liars who lie and exist in a perpetual sea of self-delusion.

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Originally published 10/08/06.

I mean, do you know how many birds with one stone I am going to be killing at this wedding?  So.  Excited.

One of my girls is getting married to her girlfriend, and when she told me, my immediate email response was: Oh my God, you will have beautiful caramel coloured babies.  You’re black and she’s not and so your children…O wait!  No you won’t.  Because you’re lesbians.  Congratulations!  I love you!  So happy for you, Lesbo!

I’ll tell all y’all about how The Gays get down at this Lesbo wedding.  I expect it will be the party of the Century, and I hope someone wears a boa and platform shoes and that this someone is a man.

By the way, I was hoping to find an interracial lesbian wedding cake topper, but apparently progressive only goes so far.  I could feel the cake topper stores cutting me with their eyes as I Googled and failed.  Praise be.

NO H8!

Also, I have decided to keep writing here as a means to enjoying myself, because I love all 12 of you readers and your amazing feedback.  More importantly, I need to keep writing here because quite honestly?  Writing is like — as L would say — punching myself in the face repeatedly.  What’s more amazing is that I haven’t even actually started the writing process, but rather been thinking very hard about said writing process, and I already want to punch myself.  I am, however, still completing my other comedic writing exercise, and which I will eventually share here.

Once the comedic writing exercise takes a break for the duration of the summer, I will start the short story writing stint and also, I have decided, I will revamp this place.  I will be reshaping it and giving it a completely new feel (and even title, though it shall remain “something something….a blog by one female canuck“).

I promise to post something soon which is ridiculously stupid, as this seems the way of my writing of late.

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Image courtesy of tv tree blog.

Comments closed.

Emily is – for lack of a better concept – sexually fluid. She toggles several sexual partners at once and has no desire to commit to anyone or even seek out commitment.

I have already told her that whatever fulfillment one committed partner provides, she is in fact having the same needs met by several, only without any duty of serious responsibility; her partners fill the space that would otherwise be left open to loneliness.

She has argued that it is not that she is incapable of deep love and commitment, but rather that she doesn’t currently care for it. A sentiment that makes me laugh while I respond with “bull. SHIT.” because even though she is seeding her needs from several sources, she is still seeding…the same need. (If Emily were standing beyond that scope of relationship / sexuality and arguing she doesn’t care for it, then her argument would stand.) And please note that there is nothing in this post which she has not already heard face-to-face, and that she knows just how much I care about her.

Our conversation was a mishmmash of pop-psychology that spanned…
…from asking the obvious:

Do we seek out only what we believe we deserve? [Read: I am unworthy of commitment and so shall only seek out environments where rejection is not a possibility. Here, the fragility of character is a lot more aggressive than most would be comfortable admitting aloud. (And anyway, is seeking commitment a reflection that we deserve "better"? Is it human nature to nest with only one, or is it a societal construct? More complex still, is it a societal construct because it is in fact healthier for society and each of us individually?)]
…to wondering if it is the exact opposite: I am too worthy and no one can meet the worth.
…to poking: maybe seeking out multiple partners is just about actively – through the body – engaging in a little revolution against norms, expectations, religious / societal demands?
…to Zen and Motorcycle Maintenance taunting: we can’t ever really know.
…and then finally landing squarely on: What makes someone interesting enough?

During that conversation, and now still, I argue that to formulate the question in this way places the onus on the other, rather than ourselves. It absolves us of our contribution, and instead places us above the relationship itself as at its core it is stating: show me why you deserve me, and if you’re lucky enough, I may just grace you with my monogamous commitment, a not so innocent and entirely arrogant and entitled demand.

Through some laughter, the mishmash made us reformulate the question to: Why are we interesting enough to be sought out?

Only instead of engaging in this side of the equation, we were side-tracked to talking about music, only to eagerly come back and ask: To which combination of ‘us’ is it worth committing?

Years back, I wrote that it must be partially about the energy created between two people; that when you are in that individual’s presence, there is a new energy that comes to life and within which you wish to remain. I still strongly believe this.

Emily mentioned ‘inspiration’, and I agree that we need to both be inspired by, and to inspire the individual.

She also stated that we have to want to impress that individual, a critical point which I believe sheds light on something deeper – the reality that we need to feel we are worthy of the person before us. (Take pause and consider that when many relationships start to fall apart, usually the very first thing said is that someone felt as though “they were being taken for granted”, which is another way of saying that their partners stopped noting what they once found “impressive”.)

And so taking this last point, we come full circle, because we need to (gently and with grace) understand our own worth, to then wish to impress it upon another. And the more I think about it, the more I believe this is maybe one of the most important keys to commitment. When you stop wanting that, you stop wanting the relationship, and instead seek out another with whom that same energy and impression starts anew.

No doubt, there are all other kinds of factors that work together to see us to commitment. Not least of which is timing, laughter, trust, silliness, honesty, and the simplest of chemical reactions.

Ultimately, as a Muslimah, I was taught and believe that [He] “created us in pairs”; whether or not we find one another is a whole other reality…and all I can do is keep on this incredible egg hunt.

.2. Firmly convinced that the best and only way to wake up in the mornings is to have a Dance Party. Among the songs to which you must get down seriously (like a serious loser) is 38 Special’s ‘Caught Up In You’ because HOLY does that song get your loser feet moving. That and Santana’s ‘Hold On’. (You’re welcome.)

.3. Dear Ryan Gosling.

I really shouldn’t have to say more than your name, but I will so no one misunderstands me.

I wish to marry COACH ERIC TAYLOR (HI! I miss you!); steel and steal Taylor Kitsch for affairs; and grapple with Vampire Eric. But then there’s you. Suddenly. You with your squinty eyes and that curved mouth? You make me want to push you into dark corners and down dark alleyways.

Hi mom!

Thank you…

Maha

.4. Someone recently told me my heart was too big; that no matter how angry and hard I could be…my heart somehow always won out.

I was staring at them thinking (1) nice hair; (2) does this place sell cupcakes; (3) do I need to reapply my lip gloss?; is *my* hair nice?; and, (3) ameen.

Team Big Hearts!

.5. No 4 presenting the perfect segway to: If you have a tendency to pout and sulk because you don’t get what you want, then you’re a fantastical loser who needs to get over themselves and understand that this world and those within it aren’t here to serve your entitled sense of self. Also, you should probably remember that adulthood isn’t about playing in the sandbox, and therapy helps. True story.

I am here for an annual check-up and it seems that tempers are high and patience is low.

A walk-in patient was taken in before a woman with an appointment. The woman with an appointment very aggressively challenged the walk-in’s husband (still seated outside in the common area). A combination of ‘your wife shouldn’t have gone in before me’ to ‘she was an emergency case, you don’t get to make that call’ was fine, though annoying.

Suddenly, it became ‘shut up’ to ‘no, I think you’d better shut up’, too loudly and aggressively for any good to come of it.

Clearly, we’d just stepped into the Middle East peace negotiations.

I am seated in a slightly separate area, though we could all see one another. As soon as the ‘shut up’s were introduced, I put my book down and went over to calm both cartoon characters down since the nurses and admin assistants were merely watching in fascination.

When I first threw my hat into the ring, the husband turned his aggression toward me. Thankfully, I somehow pulled the right comments out of my ass and he laughed and I was able to sit next to Woman-With-Appointment and cool both of their shit down.

No more than 5 minutes it took to confirm they weren’t angry at one another, but rather the administration. Also, that it was Monday and no one wanted to start their week off being told to shut up. And that it was rude to do so, under any circumstance where the players are above the age of 7.

When they focussed their attention on The Man rather than one another, I excused myself to come here and tell you, because I think there’s an important lesson to be learned: honestly, and without tongue in cheek, if peace is what you want to find, then peace is precisely what you’ll get.

There’s usually almost always common ground, if you’re interested in finding and owning it – even with the greatest of asshats. We just need to care enough, and I sometimes find it easier with a stranger who I don’t know from a hole in the wall, than with someone I know personally who has hurt either myself or someone I love.

As the Woman-With-Appointment left, she said “thanks for stepping in…I was getting nervous because I don’t think he was going to stop“, and as the husband was leaving, he flipped me a thumb’s up and offerred a “you did good, kid“.

Score:
Maha 1
Week 0

*Sigh*. I wish COACH ERIC TAYLOR (HI!) had been here to witness my – clearly – supreme negotiation skills.

(I love you half of KAWN!)

Every once in a while, I would be pulled from her pages by the loud voices of two late 20-something young women seated at the table next to me.

“I was with David Friday night.”
“Whose David?”
“The guy I’m dating. He’s why I couldn’t see you Saturday. We spent Friday night together, went out for breakfast Saturday and rented movies and hung out with, like, his dog that night. It’s what we do…but it’s not a relationship. The sex is GREAT! And then there’s Andrew.”
“Whose Andrew?”
“The other guy I’m dating. He’s perfect. He’s a homeowner, he owns a vehicle and has an excellent job. He’s tall, too, and the sex with him is GREAT also.”

Pause. Check bberry. Look out window at protestors (Sri Lanka / tamil), and ask “who the fuck are they?”
“Who cares. They, like totally held up traffic last week. You’re in Canada! God. Get over it, right?”

Pause. Check bberry, then continue
“Anyway. So like whatever happened to Mikey?”
“Sex with Mikey is even MORE awesome. I’m seeing him tonight.”

Pause. Check bberry, then yell “WHAT!”
“Omg what’s wrong?”
“READ!”
“Omg. Mikey has a girlfriend?”
“Yeah!”
“You’re, like, The Other Woman. That’s slammin’ cool.”
“And he’s breaking up with her. Right. Now!”
“Awesomeness. You’re a rockstar!”
“To the max, yo. I’m totally updating my FaceBook status to tell everyone about this…f*ck YEAH!!”

Droooooooone.
Focus on white tuna.
White noiiiiiiiiise.
Your daughters will not be like this.
Ugggggggggggh.
Tataki. Tataki. Tataki.
Huuuuuuuuuurrl.

I am so sad for girls far too often.

Also, I wish to run into the hills and hide.

“I’m well thanks. How are you?”
“I’m very good. If you have a moment, I’d like to tell you how The Book of Mormon brought me closer to Jesus Christ…”
“Actually. I’d love to hear about that – and then I’ll share with you how The Quran brought me closer to Jesus Christ. Oh! We can share and compare. It’ll be fun.”
…blank stare, then: “Well, okay, you have a good day ma’am”, and off trotted the two little Mormon boys in their black suits and black back-packs, so I sincerely asked “you don’t want to share?”, to which the other Mormon boy responded with “Is there anything else we can do for you today, ma’am?” as they continued on their way.
“No. I guess not. But maybe you could stop calling me ma’am…?”
“Good-bye, lady.”
“Good-bye, young Mormon. Muslims love Jesus…”

Please feel free to consider me your own personal amuse-bouche.