Prolific Immigrant

Alright. In the spirit of Ramadan, you’d think that what I am about to write will be soft and kind and gentle and all things forgiving. But it’s not. In fact, it’s quite the opposite of all things gentle. It shall also be very short because you need to know that the entry I wrote about forgiving someone who hasn’t asked for your forgiveness isn’t for everyone. This entry still generates a flurry of emails weekly; it is not for everyone, specifically neither the forgiver nor the forgivee.

It’s not even for me, at all times.

It’s how to behave in an elevated manner, and quite frankly and specifically to me, when I see the asshattery around me, I have no desire to always be ‘elevated’. I retain the right to be a machete when facing any lying, cheating, thieving, oppressing, passive aggressive, eye-rolling abusive fuck-up. And so should you.

There is a fine line between being elevated and being a moron when it comes to letting people get away with shit in your life. You want to be a degenerate pushover?, be my guest; just don’t play the martyr of elevated and enlightened behaviour, and instead make sure to own it and suck it up like a real wo/man.

The bottom line is: there are some people that you will never forgive, whether it’s because you don’t feel like you can actually get past it / they deserve it, or because you can’t be bothered to repeatedly expend the copious amounts of energy required to forgive the actions of someone who never acknowledged or owned the act of lying, cheating, thieving, oppressing, abusing you and your trust all the while, paper-cutting you to death with their passive aggression.

Just make sure that the anger sits in a silo labelled ‘so-and-so’, and it doesn’t spill over on to how you treat anyone else. I expect to be held accountable for my own actions, not that of others. Extend that courtesy to those around you, at least…

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Footnote: Yes. Even the ones we choose not to forgive aren’t born to hurt us. And just because you choose not to forgive someone, it doesn’t mean you’re labelling them ‘evil’.

P.S. Clearly, this is in response to all of the other emails whose sole focus is men / women in a relationship. Just so we’re clear – we do know that people need forgiveness, and people perform fantastical feats of shittiness even beyond the confines of dating, right?

This disgusting, vile, repugnant backwards form of thinking with who I am, what I represent, what my Faith means to me, how it is executed within my family and my immediate community, how it will be taught to my children, how I choose to live it, how I choose to interpret it and the love I carry for it in my heart.

There is no learned Muslim – male of female – who would tell you that this court decision is defensible in any other Islamic court of law. It is defensible ONLY in a country that calls itself ‘Muslim’ and uses that very lie to justify a continued and abhorrent oppression of its women; a country that attempts to render women completely impotent at every turn of life.

Disgusting is this court decision and Saudi’s despicable interpretation of a beautiful, kind, forgiving and gentle religion that was the first to give women equal rights and equal power and equal status. They have made a mockery of it and all who it has served to protect for 1400 years.

And here’s my punishment to impart: Each one of the ‘Judges’ is raped 28 times and then their genitals sliced off to ensure they never lure another rape.

To anyone who has half a brain, please DO NOT misunderstand this court decision as a representation of Islam, for the only thing it represents is that country’s fear of an equal and empowered woman. I am really much too enraged to post anything articulate on this subject and so I recommend you instead read this particular response to the ruling.

Aside: This is NOT a religious issue. This is an issue that is, at its core, one about gender politics but manipulating the faith of Islam to its benefit. If you are male or female, Muslim or otherwise, this issue is about you. There is a duty here to speak loud and clear against this sort of injustice because today’s embodiment is the young woman in Saudi Arabia, tomorrow it may be our own daughters in any other part of the world. Do not wait until it comes knocking at your front door.

Aside no 2: Ask yourself where the British and American condemnation (it is not enough for the Americans to say they were ‘astonished’ by the ruling as that is like saying the sky is blue) of this ruling is – it will not come, and should it come, it will be as quiet as a lamb because Saudi Arabia is allied with the USA and Britain. Petrol / Money are here key issues. Had this decision been taken in Iran, both the American and the British administrations would have used the opportunity to point to the ‘barbarianism’ and lack of freedom, using it as further leverage to attack. Petrol / Money are here also key issues. Open your eyes if you’ve not done so already.

Aside no 3: Wahhabi – NOT Sunni – is the ruling ‘Islamic’ ideology in Saudi, and it is currently being called ‘conservative’, which it is anything but. Wahhabism is a strictly literal – and therefore psychopathic – interpretation of Islam. It would be the equivalent of how a Jewish settler would read the Torah, and how a Christian would be an Evangelist (or Mel Gibson).

In 32 years, I’ve only ever cared for one person. Well…maybe one and a half, the half not really counting because in hindsight it’s easy to see that it was little more than a very fun and exciting fantasy holding no water.

A few girls invited me out after work one evening and they were blathering on about their “tricks” with men because apparently, “a woman has to play games to get what she wants”. I am about to divulge some sisterhood secrets and I don’t mind doing this because thankfully, it is not to this particular sisterhood I belong. Most of the women were in their late thirties and single, having jumped from one bed to another.

True gems of wisdom imparted were:
“…cry – you’ll get anything!”
“…yell! You have to yell to show him whose boss!”
“…break up with him first. YOU HAVE TO BREAK UP WITH HIM FIRST!”
“…jealousy is par for the course with a man, make sure to always keep him on his toes and guessing that you have other men on your a** always.”
“…hold his ex girlfriends against him!”
“…play with his emotions by being temperamental and unpredictable.”
“…never make him think he’s totally got you or he’ll take you for granted.”
“…f*ck his best friend when you break up. It’ll kill him!”
“…needle his most vulnerable psychology!”
“…be a b*tch, it’s what all men secretly want.”
“…never pay for anything or he’ll expect you to always do it.”
…and my personal favourite was when one of the women decided to lecture me on that you should really get out there and date because that’s what men are for. Women’s lib! We fought for this!(1) And really who cares if you wait until marriage when there’s so much variety to be had and look at me I’m a tramp and I love it been with more men than I can count on all fingers toes and appendages and it doesn’t matter that I now wear a diaper because I have zero muscle drone drone drone.

As to this woman, to some it would seem odd that in thirty two years I would have only said “I love you” once. To those who think I am a freak of incredible proportion I’ll have you know that the more I look around me the happier I am about this particular aspect of my life. And in fact, the more respect I have for myself. I believe there’s something pure and honest about it.

Having dealt with T’s recent PIGLET! lying and cheating husband, I realize that my reality means I don’t take either the words or the sentiment lightly and that stands for something; no one can ever claim that part of me has been diluted by over usage.

More important still is that with every time we give ourselves away, we loose something. We become dulled, we become more cautious, we become less giving the next time. And…I…I wish to be able to give all of myself to someone someday without hesitation, trepidation or fear because of tangible things such as a past encounter. I don’t think that’s far-fetched or unattainable (I don’t actually believe in that word, but think it’s the ideal excuse for not working harder); Absolutely challenging and filled with hard work, but fully attainable nonetheless.

I like that: I won’t ever be someone who does dilute everything in their lives. Who jumps from one relationship to another, never mourning, never understanding, never learning, never growing. I don’t want to be with someone for the sake of being with someone, to avoid boredom.

I don’t want to further disrespect the man I will marry by giving so much of me away today that there’ll be nothing left to give him tomorrow. I don’t want to be the fool who doesn’t know how to be alone. Who doesn’t value their body or their heart and hands both out at random.

I refuse to belittle everything that I am just so I have the occasional date on Friday night and so that I’m not lonely because I fully believe that if we don’t know how to be alone and enjoy our own company, we won’t know how to let someone else share in that very company. I also refuse to fit into some bizarre prototype of ‘modern female’ because I don’t much like ‘her’.

More importantly, I like boys. I don’t want to be cruel to them or play games with them or disrespect them. When I am with someone, I don’t want to yell at him or make him cry or harm his heart and I want to believe that everything earthly is possible.(2)

Instead of aiming to do these things I’ll hope to do the exact opposite to the best of my ability. Inevitably, at times I’ll fail, but I’ll have at least attempted to avoid that failure. I want to love him fairly and completely. Understand his history and psychology, alleviate his fears, reinforce my love for him and forgive his weaknesses as I would expect to have done for me.

I also want to like him enough to hold his hand when we’re 85. I think women underestimate their capacity to hurt men and that’s an absolutely terrible thing. Simply because men may not discuss their feelings, it doesn’t mean they don’t have them. I wouldn’t want someone to play games with me or yell at me or be mean to me and so why would I ever inflict that sort of thing on another individual? Especially if it’s someone I love?

And if you believe that you can be a shit to your partner and yet don’t deserve to be treated in the same manner, then you need a lot of therapy and a kick in the ass. There’s nothing uglier than a spoiled brat, male or female.

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(1) We fought for ‘this? For the freedom to f*ck? And here I thought we were fighting for equality and respect. How shameful and backward of me to accuse the feminist movement of anything short of complete and full pornification of the female and her many fruitful usages and bendy ways.

Oh! And while I’m on it…thanks very much for providing me the opportunity to CHOOSE having my brea*ts sliced to obtain a more ‘womanly’ figure, my lips injected for a sexier pout, my eyebrows tattooed to shave off 10 minutes of ‘getting ready’ time in the a.m., my ribs broken for a smaller waistline and my face expressionless and poison filled so as to appear ‘younger’. Because deep down, I don’t think I can get anywhere on brains alone, I’d like to thank the modern day Miss. Interpretation of ‘feminism’ by the greater sisterhood allowing me to indulge these very exceptional and MY CHOICE! actions. These choices make me liberated, Hurrah!

Liberated enough to look down my new perfectly shaped “Jennifer Aniston” nose in order to mock the Muslim woman and her head gear – because heaven forbid she force the world to listen to her rather than stare BY CHOICE! at her. (3)

(2) Except the wanking PIGS! and Cheaters.

(3) Yes, there is a happy middle way, but not with the likes of the women who were the catalysts for this entry.

Monday of this week, one of The Girls discovered that her husband of eight years is a big fat lying cheat. We’ve not discussed the details, because to discuss his actions at length would be to provide him more worth and time than he deserves.

He’s the unfortunate one and so it is he who needs to worry about the deficiency of his own character, not her. Suffice it to say that for years, he’s been actively engaged in a relationship with another woman who has feigned friendship with My Girl, who found out about the affair by accident.

In his unsophisticated and base mind, he’s convinced himself that his love for this other woman will sustain him. They’ve built a long distance relationship which is ideal and quite fitting for two Cheaters, because it’s the one sort of relationship that’s built on sheer conjecture of their coming together. There’s nothing offered of real life but virtual action and time-delayed reaction. It’s perfectly suited for all sorts of lies and fake character definitions, ergo perfectly suited for the two fungi engaged within.(1)

Some may eventually wonder about the state of My GirlT & The Lying Cheat’s relationship in an effort to look for reasons to justify what happened…

I refuse to provide a character sketch of either the relationship or of My Girl as this is not at all about either. About her, I will say that she too lives her life in crayon and if ever there was a woman full of life, light, love, devotion, faith, kindness and humor, it is she. If I were a man, she is the one I would pursue before any of my other friends.

She is one of my best friends and I am of the fiercely loyal variety and so feel the need to discuss this (with her full permission to do so publicly). The following is in great part a direct communication of my passing judgment and so if you are a Lying Cheater, then I offer you absolutely no apologies and I seriously recommend that you not read any further.

Individual Moral Deficiency
When things go wrong, it’s much easier to offer the excuse of reaction and blaming of our partners. So, for example, The Lying Cheater will most always say: “S / He made me. They were always gone. They mistreated me”. Few will be brave enough to say ”I fell in love with someone else. I cheated. I offer no excuse for my actions. I’m sorry” (to whom I would only say that when you are in a committed relationship then you need to respect the sacredness of that union by removing yourself from places of temptation. All of them, beginning with the real and ending at the virtual).

(Here there’s a deeper malaise. It’s the ease by which people move from one relationship to another, from one emotional connection to another, and from one bed to another. We no longer believe in the sacred, of which is the commitment we make to our partners. Instead, so many throw around the word ‘love’ as though it is void of meaning and subsequent action. Moreover, many don’t possess either the capacity or the courage to be alone until a worthy partner comes along, settling instead for a time waste of a relationship that furthers one’s abiity to detach…an ability I would argue serves no value when it comes time for you to deal with honest love.)

If your original partner is abusive, then you should hold sacred your choice to commit – regardless of how hurtful they may truly be – and remove yourself from your relationship before you embark on another. Naturally, there are many abusive individuals who don’t deserve any respect (but much jail-time) but when you cheat on someone, your measure should never be their behaviour, but rather your own moral code.

Ultimately, if they are abusive, I’m sorry for the situation in which you may have found yourself. Their abuse is as much a reflection on your moral character as is your cheating on theirs. See: There’s nothing there. There are no links and there are no ties that bind in terms of moral conduct. Please note that I am not equating the two actions in any realm of moral conduct; suffice it to say that we should aim to compare our actions with those who are stronger than us, rather than to those who are weaker.

Societal Moral Deficiency
The more I’ve thought about this the less surprised I am by the fact that we tend to have the above backwards; rather than understanding that an individual’s action is a reflection of them, we blame an individual’s actions on the society of which they’re a part.

We lie to ourselves and convince ourselves that ‘society’ exists on its own, above and beyond the actions of the individuals within (much like the legal actions of a Corporation). It is the lazy man’s dumb approach at understanding our environment.

We live in an era where “anything goes” and where the measure of a person’s character is no longer of real value. Where words hold no merit and are equally void of grammatical structure as they are of action. This is not to say that we can always keep our word, but we better damn well be prepared to go to war – even with ourselves – in order to try and keep our word. Unfortunately, the reality here is there’s never a guarantee that you’ll win.

But I digress. Individual responsibility for action is no longer an integral part of how we view ourselves; quite possibly why so many of us have trouble saying “I’m sorry” or “I behaved irresponsibly”.

Heavily bi-polar because we are at once so busy being “Individuals” and giving into our “individual” basic desires yet equally blaming others for all that befalls us. I think that perhaps the root of this is that – as a collective – we have done away with individual responsibility (“I cheated because they were (insert any one of an infinite number of excuses)”).

We no longer honour responsibility to lovers, to parents, to children, to friends, to members of our global community…responsibility to our history and our future. (If some of you are looking for “responsibility to ourselves”, then you need to widen you self-awareness and value that all of the above are the fabric from which you – the individual ‘I’ – are a composite you short and near-sighted weirdo.)

We love in a world where we’re told repeatedly in film and television that we should obey our most basic instincts, satiating all our desires. Responsibility be damned. Our guiding light is no longer honesty, responsibility and measure of consequence, but rather, the push to be uninhibited. The act of being unfaithful is (more often than not) depicted as pleasurable and racy and dangerous and fun. And why shouldn’t we have fun? Why should we ever deny our desires, right? We are, after all, just animals, and these feelings are there for a reason, right?

Nonsense. As much as we try to deny it and turn away from it, we owe a level of deep responsibility to each and every individual we come in contact with – and if that means that we shouldn’t give into our most basic of instincts because of that responsibility, then we simply: should not behave in a manner short of the ideal. And if you don’t know what that is, then use the old adage that you should not do to others what you would not have done to you.

I listened to My Girl weep into the telephone. I heard her use the word ‘shattered’ to describe her state, and let me tell you, you loathsome, repugnant, vile, base, despicable excuse for a person, there is nothing racy or fun or pleasurable about the pile of rubbish you have dislodged onto the lives of others.

…and what of the rest of us? I guess all we can do is make certain that our moral code of conduct is not dulled, blurred or changed by the acts of others. More to the point, I think we have to do our best to instill these values in our children (Inshallah, should I one day be blessed with them).

Speaking for myself, I know that my moral character can infinitely use improving and I would humbly suggest you consider doing the same because ‘society’ is another way of describing the same string held to by each person in this entire world. Our responsibility is to make certain that where we see the string is frayed and near breaking around us, we mend it to the best of our ability.

I am now climbing off my soapbox and on to Lulu for a calming ride.

& P.S. To The Unfaithful who would say: But it just sort of happened, then to you I send the Greatest Emotional Flaccidity Award.

& Ugh, one last P.S. to those 3rd Parties, who are being cheated with; what makes you think you’re special enough, that the man/woman you’re with (the one whose already cheated on a partner to be with you) won’t do it to you…when there’s someone younger, or richer, or more charismatic, or taller, or kinder, or sexier, or plain old different than you, what they have become used to? If this thought’s never crossed your mind, then I hope this last P.S. will ring in your head every single time your partner goes out and comes home even 5 minutes late. (Now that you’ve read that, 3rd Party, you’ll never be able to shake it – and likely, it may have already made your stomach turn. As it should, because you too are a sh*t.)

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(1) Of course one can have a normal long distance relationship. But one must be cautious, I believe…or make an effort to fly out and see the other on a very regular basis and during which they spend ‘normal’ time together rather than ‘holiday’ time where it’s all fake fun.

The former will work to guarantee that should your relationship last and move to a stronger stage, you won’t be shocked when your partner behaves like a normal person. The latter will spoil you and your expectations. Neither of these realities should come as a surprise and one should keep them at the forefront of their minds should they enter into a long distance relationship. Bla bla bla.

“…when the CIA or FBI cannot legally hold a [alleged] terrorist subject, or wish a target questioned in a firm manner [interchangeable here with: tortured], they have them rendered to countries willing to fulfill that role. He said Mr. Arar was a case in point.”

I won’t discuss either the CIA or the FBI’s tactics mentioned above because this information is not new. What I wish to point out is the shameful behaviour of countries calling themselves ‘Muslim’ – not with respect to the misunderstood concept of ‘secular’ human rights, but rather their very status as ‘Muslim’ countries, because the country to which Mr. Arar was sent was a so-called ‘Muslim’ country. This being one of the tragedies of Islam in the modern world, when the Muslim ‘states’ stand not for justice, but are known to uphold and proliferate the very things Islam demands one fight.

There is not one ‘Muslim’ country who truly follows the straight path; who extend the simplest Islamic rule of war – to not maim a tree unless is absolutely necessary – to the human population. Such controlled behaviour is meant to be upheld in the most strenuous of circumstance, imagine the high standard of control one is to execute under normal circumstance.

Our nations are a self-loathing representation of Islam and we will reap what we deserve, and right now, we deserve to be the chumps of the world. The state of the Ummah is disgraceful due to the collective and absolute stupidity of its Nations.

It is no surprise that ‘outsiders’ (a concept I loathe, but a reality nonetheless) do not respect Islam when we so very clearly do not respect ourselves on a national level (not to be confused with individual behaviour). I am constantly shattered by the actions of the Ummah because they go against the very nature of who We – Muslims – are supposed to be and represent.

To me, the treatment of Arar would have been unacceptable had he been tortured at the hands of Americans or Canadians (which, by proxy, he was). His treatment would have been equally unacceptable had he not been a Muslim.

I believe one of our biggest problems was and remains arrogance and our own misunderstanding of who we are. This is not solely a characteristic of Muslims, it is unfortunately a virus of the human condition which, I believe, the essence of religion attempts to remedy. Unfortunately, the remedy continues to be ignored.

I write ‘arrogance’ because today’s Muslims believe – as most other denominations also believe – that we are the only ones who hold the Truth and so we will naturally be placed in positions of power over others (by God, nonetheless).

In terms of Islam, because of the simple reality that we forge the paths we walk and even if we believe we have been shown the straight path, it does not mean that we are following it. More importantly, and more to the theological point, if we are to follow the straight path, it is not for this world – it is neither for power nor gain in THIS world, but rather in the hereafter…a hereafter that belongs not exclusively to Muslims. A fallacy so many Muslims take for granted and use to justify so much bigotry and hate and separation, even amongst ourselves.

We need to be reminded that just as Heaven is not exclusive to Muslims, neither will Hell be free of Muslims. This was told to us directly by God, a declaration made repeatedly in the Quran, supported by several hadiths.

I once had a conversation with a fellow Muslimah who was appalled by my thinking because her response was: “But if that’s the case, then I don’t have to wear hijab, pray, fast or pay zakaat to go to Heaven!” My simple answer was “You do those things because you choose to do them and because you choose to believe in them. More importantly, you do them because you believe they make you a better individual in terms of who you are, and not in terms of your station with respect to other people in this world.” She didn’t get it and refused to open her mind to it.

It later dawned on me that she felt she was owed her standing in the hereafter because Islam can be perceived as demanding at times – like a child, her mind thinks along the lines of: Well, why should the person who doesn’t fast and doesn’t pray and doesn’t pay zakaat and who wears mini-skirts get to go to heaven like me? rather than I do these things because I believe in them and I wish for my brothers and sisters – Muslims and not alike – peace on this earth and the hereafter. But not to pedophiles, rapists, oppressors, human rights abusers, etc. et al.

So many choose to follow the first route because the world is easier when it’s compartmentalised. I have to make clear here that it is not simply Muslims who do this, it is every collective. It’s easier to live and breathe when I say ‘I am better than you’ because the other alternative, the alternative I believe to be the true basis for all religion, is the alternative to wish even for your enemies: peace.

Only that’s much too difficult, because it takes effort and self-security to define ourselves by who we are, rather than by who we are not. It is truly a pity that humanity – Muslims and ‘Not’ – is still too stupid, self-possessed, and much too weak to embrace this.

Please note: I didn’t pull any of the above out of thin air, I was taught this by my religion. The above is the essence, the underpinnings, the draw of justice and egalitarianism that is taught by Islam. That it has been perverted by Muslims and non-Muslims alike is something I have to argue against because it demands I do just that…and because silence truly is complicity.

I was a member of CrackBook long enough to get hooked into its obsessive and stalkeresque dissemination of information.

Today I deleted my account and sent a wee note to a few people indicating my leave of KissMyA**Book and have since received one too many MAHA ARE YOU OKAY WHERE ARE YOU ORLY’S YELLING AT ROGER’S text messages. I love my friends. They are worried. I understand.

For the record, I am okay. I am merely no longer a member of SqueezeMyHeartBook. I am refusing to become a further slave to its brand of too-much-information. I don’t want to see whose Dating who, whose Broken Up with who, who Married who and whose Hooked Up with who and that the Status of someone is set to “[insert name] is Marineland”.

Moreover, I don’t want to see happy smiling faces when I want to smash my face into my computer screen because that would feel better than just sitting here and watching other people’s lives all glittery and shiny and new. “Maha is bitter and sad and in anguish but she will f*#@ing deal with it because that’s what this sh*ttastic life is: it’s to Deal With It”.

Katie mentioned earlier that there’s a whole new world of rejection. She aptly titled it “e-rejection”: When you ask someone to be your friend and they e-reject your sorry a**. It’s traumatic enough to live, we really don’t need to add yet another avenue by which others may reject us. And being “e-rejected” (© K) by way of someone not adding you to their Friends or limiting your profile are among, but not the only ways of being e-rejected. I’ve not yet faced e-rejection and I’ve decided that I don’t plan on hanging out and watching for it by constantly clicking the Refresh button at the top of my screen.

Maybe in ten years, if WherePeopleOnlyPostSkinnyShotsBook is still around, I’ll reactivate my account. Until then, to YourLifeSuxComparedToMineBook, I say: SUCK ON THIS.

And to those of you who made it through the rant and have come down this far, please let me recommend to you the most beautiful CD I have heard in months: “Our Lady of Broken Souls” by Marie-Josee Houle, a local cabaret genius who will knock your ugly socks off. Really…she’s who you should be listening to if you too have left A**Book today.

“Maha is going to soak in the tub and eat milk chocolate covered almonds”.

I spent my day reorganizing my closet and throwing out all sorts of unnecessary garbage. I even got crafty and made these two beautiful things, for which the name – although am certain it exists – I haven’t a clue. I threw all of my agendas and writing books in the top one, and my letters in the bottom one.

Then I took the decision to buy the IKEA ektorp single reading chair, which I’ve been eyeing for quite some time. I drove out to IKEA totally psyched to buy it, bring it home, put it together and start reading Zadie Smith’s On Beauty this very evening. The chair and matching footrest I wanted in this fabric:

I saw it, I sat in it & I thought: this is my chair. It is this chair that I will take with me to my new home and place on my porch, along with others in different fabrics so that when people come and visit, they too will be seated in comfy sinky cozy chairs made for coffee and tea, cookies, cakes, good conversation and long lasting memories. And when my daughter has her girlfriends over, she too will be able to sit out on these very chairs and talk about boys and actors and shit poetry and all of the things neither her father nor I should ever know about. I was so happy, that I thought the two individuals seated on the ektorp sofa next to me cuddling in the store were sort of precious in their own unique weird way.

But then I made the fatal mistake of asking the boy who worked there to show me the matching footrest.

Fatal mistake because apparently, there is no matching footrest. Apparently the Swedes don’t think you need a matching footrest for this chair. They instead want you to purchase the leaby red footrest. And by leaby, they mean slutty. Behold the shade of red fashioned after the very lipstick Madonna wore throughout her Blonde Ambition tour:

What am I going to do with that shade of red anywhere in my home? My daughter will be a raging whore if I put something like that on my porch. Honestly, it may not appear as large a travesty as it really is, but it is. Especially when I had my heart set on that beautiful chair and it’s matching footrest. I stared at the boy incapable of comprehending what he was saying because I could not register: NOT AVAILABLE. He kept pointing at the hideous Leaby Red and declaring: It’s made to match. I couldn’t even look at the footrest, the red was so blinding and my eyes quite nearly started bleeding.

I said: “dark, rich red?”
He said: “leaby!”
I said: “No. That’s a really cheap brothel red.”
“Leaby?”
“That can’t possibly be the only matching footrest you have. Why doesn’t it come in the same fabric? It would be so easy to make with all of your cheap slave labour in China.”
“We use cheap slave labour?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t everybody? It sounds right, don’t you think? I mean Swedes don’t make this, do they? It’s probably poor blind children in Cambodia somewhere.”
“I thought you said China?”
“I said: ‘I don’t know’. Maybe India? And why are these two sleeping on your couch? This isn’t a home. Is it? Is this some Swedish guy’s home and I’m here by accident?”

…and the conversation just spiraled into stupidity from there.

Deflated and without a chair, I decided to leave my memories of a porch and children behind at IKEA. Only, if you’ve been inside of an IKEA store, you know it’s not made so that you may walk out at your leisure. Instead, you have to follow the rabbit out of the IKEA Matrix or else you will be swallowed by one of the ektorp chairs and as you’re being swallowed, they will take a picture of you and then frame it and stick it in one of their faux living rooms on display.

Did you really think those photos were donated? No. They are photos of people who get lost in the IKEA Matrix, my friends.

After bumping along and going back to the same damn spot 12 times, I found the arrows on the floor and followed them out. I swear there was a guy behind me with a camera.

Because people are strange. God damn it, what’s wrong with people?? This, this is not a rhetorical question. I’m really quite aggravated (spelled with an ‘a’ and not an ‘i’) at the moment.

In school, we have study time. STUDY TIME IS NOT A TIME FOR JABBERING. And I don’t give a rat’s ass but no one is so important that they need a bazillion headpieces and phones so that they can “always be reached”. Fucking Bush wasn’t reachable when the Twin Towers and the Pentagon were being nailed; What makes you think you’re SO important that you need to be on the phone during STUDY TIME?

STUDY TIME = QUIET TIME

I was trying to STUDY during STUDY TIME, only I couldn’t because Mr.I’m Much More Important Than You And I Know That Because I’m On The Mobile Six Out Of The Seven Hours We’re In School was on his mobile. We were seated in the QUIET STUDY ROOM, with all of the QUIET STUDIOUS PEOPLE who were trying to STUDY, when Mr.IMMITYAIKTBIOTMSOOTSHWIS was JABBERING on his mobile.

And you know what made it worse? He was fucking fake whispering, because STUDIOUS people = dirty people who don’t clean the wax out of their ears and so Mr. Cleverosity decided that fake whispering would amount to his ugly fake whisper slipping and dying inside of our waxy dirty ear canals before it had a chance to reach our eardrums where it would vibrate and a thing called HEARING would occur.

But I can tell you that phone call WASN’T SO IMPORTANT that it couldn’t wait. Because shit like “yeah, it’s study time right now so I was bored” ISN’T IMPORTANT, YOU MORON.

I was so – and obviously am still – perturbed that my heart started racing and I had to leave the room. My friend A was there, killing himself laughing because he thought my completely irrational reaction was just that funny. If A weren’t cute, I would have maybe drop kicked him for calling my reaction “adorable”. Adorable? WTF?

Anyway. The Fake Whisperer I couldn’t see at first because he was seated behind a small Chinese wall. But I was pretty sure I knew who it was, because I already dislike the guy. And yeah: I dislike him because of his face and his demeanor and the fact the he uses way too much gel in his hair and wears turtlenecks in summer.

Wanna know how I knew who he was? Apart from smelling the hair gel across the room, I knew it could only be the same guy who always sits outside and TALKS ON HIS RAZOR MOBILE. Every. Single. Time. I see him. He’s on. That Razor. And today, it took everything out of me not to haul my arse over to him, rip the mobile out of his hand, rip the ear piece out of his head and scream into his over-gelled hair that HE WAS ANNOYING THE ENTIRE FUCKING STUDY ROOM. And the fact that he’s always on the phone makes him pretentious. THAT’S MY JUDGMENT CALL TO MAKE. Don’t like it? Maybe today’s not the time to tell me, because I obviously am not in the proper mood for a disagreement right now.

As I was leaving the no-longer QUIET study room, I whipped around the corner of the Chinese wall and stared at him for a good seven seconds. We made eye contact and I shot daggers at him, with my eyes. I know he totally got it because he slowed down his speech pattern for those seven seconds while I was shooting daggers at him with my eyes. Then I whipped around again, nodded at A and left the room.

And there were two other ‘strange’ people in my path today. Look: I have a migraine today, and that means that I’m already a little edgy and tired. Now, for the record, when you’re with someone who explicitly tells you that they have a migraine and just need quiet, then you really should think about shutting the fuck up. You don’t understand that? It means BEING QUIET. It means NOT TALKING. It means NOT TELLING THEM STORIES ABOUT YOUR LIFE. This person clucks, too, which is horrible. He clucks when he speaks: “When my wife had our *cluck* first kid *cluck*, I was so happy. Your eyes are rolling *cluck* back into your head Maha.”
“That’s because of the migraine I have. That I told you about.”
“Migraines *cluck* suck.”
“Yup.”
“So, I was telling *cluck* you about my first kid. *Cluck* *cluck* fuckity *cluck* *cluck* *cluck*.”

Which leads me to the third and final weirdo in my path this day. The guy who was seated next to me whispering to his computer screen. He scared me so much that I almost wet myself. I backed away from him and very nearly fell over the garbage can.

All this to say that at several different moments today, I wanted to drive my face into a desk or a computer screen.

.1. Before I tell you about the film we saw last evening, I want you to take a look at this and let me know if you find it as odd as I. This is no joke; these are actual priests and this is the calendar they made.

Perhaps our sheiks would do the same, in an effort to better the PR that currently bogs them down, the poor souls. They can all be wearing different sized hats and coloured robes…walking down the street, pulling Americans out of disastrous and dangerous situations, one could even have a bubble that reads: “Allah bless America”.

Note to self: Look into making that a sticker that folks can place on the back of their cars. Would make millions in Chicago alone!

Note to you: By virtue of me blogging that idea, it is copy written to me, asap (because it is dated), so I dare you to try and take that idea from me. Remember: I do have a legal background.

.2. Jude Law is an attractive man…as is Clive Owen, but the film Closer was more than about being a pretty face; it was also about T & A, much thanks to Natalie Portman.

No, ok. It wasn’t only about that, it was about how one can cheat and be unfaithful and be a creep and gross and sick and twisted and sleep with a whore and be an absolutely morally lacking individual yet (drum roll) remain really well dressed and be very pretty.

The movie was terrible. We were actually groaning near the end, the women behind us laughing every time one of the characters decided to tell the other (for the umpteenth time) that they cheated on them, or that they didn’t love them, or that they wanted them to make a cup of tea. Worst thing about this movie is that it glamorised to a great degree, the moral bankruptcy of these four characters, almost an affirmation that this sort of unfaithfulness is the norm, that it is acceptable and to be expected. But their moral bankruptcy was really twisted and severe, for they would (eventually) “tell the truth”. Honestly, had I been any of those characters, I would have opened a seriously massive can of whup-ass at several different intervals during the course of the film.

Weird that the men wanted to know the sickest details and all the women wanted was to leave. Clean break, if possible…which I would think it never is. But what of the languages the two sexes were speaking? The women were talking a completely different language than the men and this was really disturbing to watch.

And what is with stripping? Do they do the sorts of things that Natalie Portman was doing? And how? For everyone? Wow. Also, when did Cirque du Soleil start taking its clothes off? And frankly, there is no way that a stripper would be wearing La Perla and Lejaby – which she was wearing. Absolutely not to throw these exquisite pieces of lingerie on to dirty perverted men in suits and ties.

The film disturbed me immensely; and anyone who thinks this an honest depiction of reality and relationships, should re-evaluate their perspectives on men and women and when it was that we started behaving like brutes and animals….and more importantly, when it was that as a society, it became the norm.

The worst part is that this movie had no linear message, no message at all, in fact. Here are the messages I heard:
Sex is unrelated to love.
No, wait. Sex is related to love and can only mean something if two people are in love.
No. Not really.
Just joking on that one.
But seriously, no matter what you do, it’s okay to have sex with a prostitute because no one will ever bring it up again.
And please: be explicit when you describe how you cheated on me.
Better yet, videotape it so I can watch it over and over and over again.
And if you must, cheat on me in my own home.
And make certain to do it on the nicest piece of furniture we have.
And art is nothing but a bunch of lies.
But so are we.
Touch my face and I will love you.
Lie to me, and all will be well.
But I hate you.
And I am leaving you because I don’t love you anymore.
Though I loved you, and lied to you about my real name.
Being naked is the only form of “real”.
And piss off already, because my wig has more character than you do.
The grass is always greener.
Maybe.  Not really.

In all fairness, there was one truth: Before one cheats, before one makes that move to cross that line, there is a moment. There is one final moment, your last grace, that you can either ignore or respect. In this instance, it was Jude who said “Come here”. That was the moment and that was the catalyst. Interestingly enough, it was the one who initiated this moment, who was the first to cross that line that was the ultimate loser.

.3. Dumb. Stupid. Useless. Nonsense. Don’t waste your time; watch Love Actually instead, or porn if you must. Really.

.4. If Closer is any indication of reality, I prefer my bubble world filled with romance and flowers and a little heartache, but an honest heartache and not one born of defilement and deviance and absolute disrespect for the person you choose to commit to.

.5. Yes: Am being judgemental. This is my blog, after all.

.6. Jude Law is really hairy.

.7. If you are a man and you wish to pursue me, pay very close attention to the following: A man is someone who is not scared to commit, recognizing fully well that there will always be temptation (a smart woman will also see this). Strength of character rests in the reality that you will keep it in your god damn pants. Otherwise, you’re just a beast, without the faculty to recognise right from wrong, and do the right thing.

It takes strength to commit and to remain commited; recognizing that should be the first step to entering into any union.

.8. Yes: Am being judgemental. This is my life; deal with it.

.9. Promise to be much more upbeat tomorrow (really).

Okay. Have recently had the pleasure of doing ‘hot yoga’, more commonly known as yoga-in-a-sauna-with-other-really-sweaty-people-some-of-whom-are-really-hairy.

Having gone with my workout partner J, we decided to see if it was ‘our thing’ – turned out to be that and so much more (& most definitely more gratifying than squash). By the time we had completed our 1.5 hour hot yoga class, not only were we capable of walking backwards while facing forward, but we had also soaked through our tanks and pants, from the tops of our heads to the tips of our toes, we were completely drenched in sweat…so much so that our fingers were like little prunes. That may not sound too sexy, but it made us both feel like a million dollars.

The following Random Personal Notes are based on this hot yoga experience…

.1. Yoga Etiquette: I understand that yoga is all about relaxing and finding a place of inner peace. That place of happiness is one that all of your colleagues in yoga class are also in search of…a search that is greatly hampered whenever you decide to fart. Please stop farting.

What might be more disturbing than the actual farting is the lack of reaction to the fart. No blushing, no giggling, not even a heartfelt ‘oops’; just a symphony of other odd body sounds as response.

.2. When you decide to go to yoga class, please understand that not all attendees are as excited about seeing your sweaty hairy body as your wife of 12 years may be. Frankly, it’s bad enough that we are sweating through every part of our bodies, we don’t need to share in that experience with your hairy sweaty self.

Many a woman is as hairy as some men, and they have to keep that hair tucked underneath their shirts. Know that were you to see that, you would be mortified; a place we currently sit when staring at you in the 100+ mirrors of class.

Note: Wear a shirt (and please stop farting).

.3. Please don’t eat blue cheese if you are heading to hot yoga class. The rest of us can smell you and no, we’re not hungry enough to eat a horse, let alone smell blue cheese off you.

Note: I love blue cheese, it’s my favourite on my tongue but not up my nose, off of your body.

.4. Really. Really, please stop moaning and groaning. It’s distracting and takes away from the flow of whatever zen might be trying to make its way into our hearts during the 1.5 hours.

.5. Note to boys: Please stop asking me if yoga is: (1) full of hot sexy girls, who are (2) doing “really interesting” poses. Most of the time, they are farting…and hairy. I refuse to keep your dream alive, sorry (there are internet sites that do that…but not this blog).

.6. Make certain to take one very large towel with you, which you should place on top of your mat. If you do not take this towel, you will slip and slide off said mat and smash into adjacent sweaty folks (who are, most likely hairy and without shirts).

.7. In your sweaty bliss after class, do not sign anything. Before you know it, a van will pull up to your home, armed with really nice folks who are taking you on a retreat. Somewhere. In the woods. Where you’ll all be barefoot.

Please feel free to peruse Female Canuck’s most current problem at yoga….

1. Bush wants you to know that insurgents are taking folks hostage because “They can’t whip our military.”

Wow. He comes up with these insightful explanations while he’s playing with his Lego set in the tub (rub-a-dub-dub).

I know that somewhere in his well-coiffed head, it all makes sense…

2. Spoilers ahead: This evening, I saw the film The Notebook, which I had been waiting for for some time. I was excited to see this film, and had really been looking forward to it all day.

I was seated about 7 rows ahead of a woman who felt it was ok to share her feelings with the rest of the movie-going folk. Luck would have it that she liked to punctuate all of her sentences with “That’s so beautiful!”…like, “Are they dead? That’s so beautiful!” and “Did he just take a dump? That’s so beautiful!”.

This film is supposed to be a love story, and so it should have been moving to watch. But thanks to the running commentary from the yabbering-jabbering idiot behind me, I couldn’t get too involved in the film. The worst was that at every touching or potentially moving moment in the film, Yabber-Jabber would heave and sob and blow her nose while muttering “That’s so beautiful!”

Had I not been so hungry, I would have thrown my full bag of popcorn at her head.

This b.tch made me recognize that I need a vacation. From human beings.