Calgary

It was my first time out West and I loved it. Surprisingly, Calgary is a lovely and calming place (notwithstanding their crazy Conservative politix).

Most of my trip was spent with R, who is the sister of my uncle's wife. R was married nearly ten years back and due to a move to Kazakhstan and the birthing of four children, we rarely maintained touch. But, seeing her after nearly twelve years proved that real friendship does in fact span time, no matter the clock's ticking.



Her children are joys to be around; the youngest one being Jennah who reminds me of Maggie Simpson as she is constantly with a bottle in her mouth.

Here are The Babies:





And here is Jennah (also, with bottle):







R's husband was so nice and so warm and so welcoming that I couldn't ask for more. They make a lovely couple, see:



I gifted Jennah the world's greatest gold lame crack that she wore from the moment she awoke to the moment she slept. More importantly, I gifted the household a new garden!! I am both proud of and excited by this choice. Now, inshallah no one will forget to water the plants and they will live a long and healthy life, reminding R and Co. of I each summer when they bloom.

Due to certain circumstance, there were some very difficult moments that remain beyond my comprehension. What I can say about that is that it's reinforced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that any decision making process shared between partners must stem from the same value system. (Otherwise, you're completely f*cked.)

Almuhim. I have some highlights to share, as follows...

.1. GEESE!!



.2. This is the Calgary Tower:



...of which the top left hand corner is made of super duper strong plexi-glass or something like it (this, I hear, is the scientific term):



When you reach the top of The Tower, you can walk out on to this plexi glass thing and see ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE STREET! (This excites me.) Equally as important, if you stand beneath the plexi thing all the way down on the street and you have a very strong camera, you will see up the skirts of good people such as I. There is no getting around this, as I discovered.

Right. So I am by no stretch of the imagination a trepidatious person, or someone who doesn't appreciate risk taking. I do it all the time and am prone to diving head first because I am of the opinion that time is precious and one should spend it doing and being with the things that make them happy and sunshine-y. So...it was with great surprise that I couldn't make myself take an actual step on to the plexi platform while looking ALL THE WAY DOWN at the concrete. Instead, I had to stare straight ahead, walk to the side and then look down. It was totally trippy. I loved it.







...the best two pictures involve Aaminah.

The first is of her completely and totally floating in air:



while the second is of her standing next to spider man:



R had been there before but she had never been able to make it out on to the plexi platform. I coached her and she made it. Also, I coached some random woman who was absolutely mortified but managed to do it - she told me I had a fantastic way about me and trustworthy. (That's how you represent Islam, Kitties...) That interaction was as trippy and as fulfilling as the plexi platform, but that's just me.

Look! Muslims!
>> They're just like You! <<
They sit on plexi platforms!



Also, while at The Calgary Tower, I signed something (I don't know what)



Got busy



& discovered that when My People aren't terrorizing Your People, We can be found seducing You into submission



.3. We played in Banff













.4. I wrote at the feet of Lake Louise













.5. I went to visit Na.oh.mi in Edmonton and realized that there's few people with whom we can share so much of ourselves so easily. Na.oh.mi is one such friend. She and Jason are soon moving to Calgary and so this little home of theirs will be no more.







Edmonton took Na.oh.mi and I on a wild goose chase for a Dairy Queen (skor blizzard, please), a trip to Rona, lunch at Da*de*oo's, deep conversations about de-weeding one's garden, three episodes of Arrested Development and the world's yummiest miso salad dressing.

And finally...

.6. I made a new friend, who:
- introduced me to RAW BEEF (a.k.a. Beef Tenderloin Tartar) that I find myself craving right now
- told me how gasoline lamps function (I used to think it was by magic alone!)
- let me drive their Lexus GS350, a car that starts WITH A BUTTON! You push a BUTTON! (My New Friend likes toys and so also has a Porsche 911 S convertible. Lucky for them that I can't drive stick, or else I would have been all over the Porsche...)
- met Bambi with me
and
- showed me that Calgary was in fact secretly Tuscany

All in all, the trip was as close to perfect as I would have liked it...

Final Notes on NYC

.1. Because when I think of Unions, it seems a propos that NYC come to mind.



.2. Stare at one spot on the tracks; as soon as there's movement in the periphery, your eye picks it up and there's your rat. (That's the trick.)



.3. More breakfast! (Fresh yogurt & fruits, a croissant and a fruit plate. It was a little much, but who am I not to take one for the team?)

As you can see, I had my agenda / diary so as to jot down my random observations and Shoosh's laptop (because I left Baby Mac at home); I was trying to write out my notes re a review of War, Inc. and instead drowned in the latte.



.4. BALL GAME!! (This is the stadium which is to be torn down so that it may be replaced with a shinier version.)

Yankees played the Red Wings.



.5. We dropped by The Coffee House for a thick and gooey breakfast, where I quite possibly took the best photo of Sharshoor, ever.



Three things to note re The Coffee House. Shoosh nearly took out the hostess because she was so busy texting on her BlackBerry that she ignored us for a little too long. Without warning, Shoosh turned to me and said: "Shoo hay 7aywaneh?" which literally translates to "What is she, an animal?", but actually means "What? Is she an idiot?"

Shoosh is full of fire and energy and so her tone was easy enough to read; Hostess put down her BlackBerry (because your a$$ is so important that you need to text immediately? (To which the natural response is, of course, because our a$$es are more important and we need to be sat down asap. I see my own indulgence here...)) and sat us down without any more texting.

It was the day the Netherlands lost to Russia and the two loudest, drunkest and most obnoxious men in the joint took a liking to us. They were a little on the wanker side and wearing what can only be described as attire meant to birth Rock 'n Roll imagery. I don't mind a man who drinks once in a while, but he'd better know how to hold his liquor. These guys didn't have a clue and at one point, one of them came over to our table and grabbed my sunglasses before I quietly and quickity split took them out of his hand and didn't respond to any of his questions so as to not give him any ideas or allusion that I was interested.

Much more endearing than the drunken slobs were a couple seated across from us. They couldn't take their hands off one another and it was absolutely adorable. It worked, I think, because they both had the same colouring and they were young and cute and so into one another they didn't take notice of anyone else in the joint. There was a playfulness in the way they interacted and a comfort that engaged anyone who looked at them. (I'm all for public displays of affection when you're not obscene and recognise it doesn't suit everyone. It's like The Dress That Borders Sl*t (TDTBS); some women can wear TDTBS and own it like no one's business because they have an inherent class in the manner they carry themselves. Others wear TDTBS and look like prostitutes. Same goes for PDA.)

.6. I call this Shoosh's Glamour Shot and Adeebo's Crazy Eyes Shot. Love it; it's now hanging in my office.



.7. Night out at some club on Park Avenue because most of the boys in the circle are bankers. (LOOK! I have on eye make-up!!)



Best part of the evening was when one of the guys decided to tell me that what he did for a living was: "Build companies."

I lost my sh*t and laughed so hard he couldn't help but laugh with me.

"Build companies"?
My response was: "That's like telling me you occupy countries. That says nothing to me except about the size of your ego, guy."
Lucky for me I can deliver a joke and he can take it.
And I never deal where I refuse to play, so the rest of the interaction was light and fun.

.7. Met brother blogger HijabMan for a wonderful breakfast at the unGodly hour of 8.30 am on Sunday (my fault, this!) and was seated on the steps of St. Xavier church when I paparazzo'd (or is it: paparazzi'd, Espy?) him walking toward my NYC home...



He was handing out Sunshine to any one who would take it. Apparently, he had a hard time getting people to accept the Sunshine...but then I came along. And we all know I'm a HoneyPot. And that means I have enough charm to force you to receive the Sunshine. Three more lucky folks accepted the gorgeous flowers.

Before heading to breakfast, we went into St. Xavier to chill with Jesus.



...and this may very well be one of my favourite pics from the whole trip



(Note worthy: No implosion this time, either.)

(More note worthy: HijabMan's take on our morning basking in Sunshine.)

.8. Breakfast with more Sunshine.



.9. While en route to the Karim Rachid store, I saw this beautiful statue of the map of Palestine and stepped two feet in to ask "how much?" Only then I noticed that there were Hasidic Jewish folk praying in the back room of this Gallery. I've never been so frazzled and caught off guard; not even at an Israeli check point where you expect to be treated like shit because you're a Palestinian...probably because at the check point you're braced and expecting it.

I turned around and immediately left as I'm certain I wouldn't have been very welcome (had I enquired about purchasing even a map of what I consider Home).



...and finally... .10. Who doesn't love finding a Heart on the Street?



This trip to NYC has been among the best.
I feel in love with Shoosh all over again, and I love that I love Adeebo. It's always so hard if you don't click with your girls' men, but Adeeb is an amazing guy and their relationship is a treasure, Alhamdulilah.

(Aside: I forgot my favourite jeans at their place. I am still shocked every time I realize this; these jeans are like a second skin. They're perfect and I've had them for nearly three years. They're worn and torn and they've seen half the world with me...and currently, they are en route to Shoosh's mom's and I am awaiting the moment that I will greet and embrace them once again.)

Find the complete series of photos here.

Coming Soon: More NYC & Calgary pics and random notes

Kitties!

I have been delinquent in my blogging as I have just returned home from Calgary (on a flight so filled with turbulence I almost threw up all over the crazy guy next to me taking pictures of his feet). Forgive?

Soon: Pics and stories coming from both NYC and Calgary. You will laugh, you will cry, you will wonder how I am of flesh and blood rather than crayon and paper.

Until then, do ogle this one of my favourite shots EVER, taken by my gorgeous and beautiful Sharshoor in NYC. The man here is Adeebo, her husband and for some strange reason, as soon as Sharshoor said "Smile", we both managed to do something utterly idiotic. Wicked fun...because only a fool wouldn't feel the sunshine when looking at this picture...

NYC this day (10 things to note, +1)

Please Note: I am typing directly into blogger. The following is likely filled with grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. Please forgive...I am exhausted. xo

.1. Breakfast was a cob salad without the bacon. I drowned myself in Le Pain Quotidienne's lattes because they were so good.



.2. I purchased a book here.



.3. Noticed that LG's new advertisement campaign for Scarlett TVs has a grammatical error in it; their tag is "...bla...bla...Scarlett TV's". Morons.

.4. NYC men are pretty awesome. Two conversations of note:

(a) I was crossing the street when a relatively attractive dude nearly fell into me while roller blading.
"I almost fell in the right direction there..."
"hee hee."
"ha ha."
(silence and he rolls away, then turns around and rolls back toward me)
"Can I invite you to my art show?"
"Sure...but I'm only here until Sunday..."
"Where are you from?"
"Canada."
"Well then why don't I give you all of my info - maybe this'll be the romance that spans somethingOrOtherIDidn'tReallyHear..."
"tee hee."
"SomethingElseSaidThatICan'tRemember."
"I'll definitely pop by and see your work."
"The gallery it's at is great, too."
"Well then I'll make certain to go..."
...and I plan on doing just that tomorrow, Inshallah. Find Patrick Collins' art here, please.

Update to add: I went to the gallery and checked out his work. Cool stuff.

Aside: I will never ever see Patrick again and that was a quickity split conversation on the side of the street but still: how can you not love that Alpha in some men? The men who just go for it? The men who see something and just: GO. For. IT. Love it when a man does that.

Determination and strength are sexy. A man who knows what he wants is a fox. (I'm not saying this is Patrick, I'm just talking in general random terms here, folks...)

(b) Some well dressed but much too old dude stopped me as I was about to cross the street and head into Karim Rachid's shop (dude's a fellow Carleton grad, so I am obligated to support him).
"You are Italiano."
"No."
"You are not Italiano?"
"No."
"Yesssss. You must be Italiano - you are much too beautiful not to be Itali-."
"I'm Palestinian."
"Palestinian? What is? Hmmmm. Where is Pales-."
"I'm a Middle Easterner."
"Palestinian? You model?"
"No."
"You should model. Palestinian?"
"MIDDLE. EAST."
"You are EGYPTIAN?"
"NO!"
"Me? I design special clothing for Scoop. You know Scoop?"
"Yes. I have to go. I'm late."
"I want you to model for me."
"I use my brain to make my money...but thank you, anyway. BYE!"
"We use our brain too in my industry. We are full of smart people! Ha ha! You are too beautiful to use your brain, anyway."
"Smart? Like you? Like you who doesn't know PALESTINE, you creepy f*cknut? I don't know if I'd call that smart. Tee hee heeeee."
And I bolted across the street but not before he'd handed me his business card. Weird and random.

.5. I saw War, Inc.

(You will laugh. You will be sick. You will be sad. Most importantly, you will be enraged.)

War, Inc is about life for sale. It is about the branding of Government, military, religion, relationships and the pornification of the 'female'. Every single thing is up for sale. I'm not going to say any more about this film except that you need to get your asses in motion and get to a theater as soon as possible. Support this film in any and all ways you can. (Before the film started, I was standing outside and taking photos - three people approached me and asked me why. I fished; They came into the film with me.) I'll be writing a piece on it and so I won't give you anything more. You'll have to wait until the article is complete and published at Rabble to read it.



P.S. Joan Cusack is a fk'n RockStar of gigantic proportion. I want to take that woman out for a drink and tell her all of my tales.
P.S. Marisa Tomei is a beauty as she has a face untouched by botox.

.6. I gave this man all of the cash I had.



.7. I ate a pretzel.



.8. We hung out at Bryant Park with the assumption that there was going to be Opera In The Park. I was completely stoked to sing along...until we found out that we were in the wrong park.

Instead, we took stupid pictures.











.9. We splashed past Rockefeller Plaza.









.10. Ate dinner at La Lanterna in George Washington Square.





.10+1. And finally ran home through the pouring rain. We were soaked and satiated.

Shawn & Kelly (Part 1, 2 & 3 of 4)

You all know Shawn, who I have mentioned on numerous occasions as 'S'.

Shawn and I have a rare sort of friendship. I don't believe that beyond a certain age, men and women can be friends. I do believe - that for the most part - in order for us to be close friends, there needs to be a certain level of attraction that exists, and so friendship in its purest form as it exists between two straight women (for example) can never be attained between a man and a woman. Or so is my experience because men always fall in love with me due to my never ending charming.

Shawn is unique.
Shawn and I fell for one another's friendship immediately and without hesitation and our friendship was based on the trading of secrets (our own, not those of others).

He has offered support when I least expected it and talked me through the most obscure, surreal and craziest moments. He has also always offered an honest and sincere interest in and support of my life. Even though it should go without saying, I will write it anyway: the last two sentences are dittoed on my end.

Understand that Shawn has a special place in my life...and on Saturday he was married.

Part 1: The Wedding
Shawn met a beautiful and sparkly girl named Kelly.
Shawn and Kelly fell in love.
Shawn and Kelly got married...because that's what folks do when they want to adventure together for an extended period of time. Or so is the case, in my world, shared by the likes of Shawn and Kelly.

My heart nearly exploded through my chest when I walked up to the church and saw him standing in his tuxedo, I was so happy - a word that falls so short of what I actually experienced.

(My heart also nearly exploded because I was wearing a shade of sl*t red entering into a church while others were in subdued hues of brown, black, blue and grey. Hurrah for D who showed up in the same - entirely unplanned - shade of red a wee bit later.)

Not surprisingly for a girl who cries when she sees any act of kindness, I cry at weddings.
On Saturday, I cried a lot, and for two reasons.

The first was because it was in a Church.
I am a Muslimah and so I heart Jesus (as well as Moses and the rest). Consequently, it fills me with unbelievable amounts of warm and fuzzy when I see people standing / sitting before a priest, sheikh or a rabbi and entering into this very 'covenant' before God.

There was an incredible moment when the priest mentioned the etymology of the word 'sacrifice' and how it is sacrifice and forgiveness that make a relationship work. Sacrifice is rooted in the Latin concept to come together, and so when entering into a union of this sort, sacrifice (a word that too many frown upon) is the key to unifying as one, rather than existing as two solitudes and feigning unity. (Remember that. Also remember that our worth is measured not by our ability to remain a single unyielding entity, but rather how we enrich, improve, challenge to make better the lives of everyone in our path. You did not become so great had it not been for the sacrifices made on your behalf; so always work to return the favour to the universe (so long as you're not going against your moral code, obviously).)

But I digress.
I still remember Shawn sitting across from me in the fall of 2006 and telling me about Kelly, who he'd already fallen in love with. (Did you know that men are the ones who fall in love at first sight? It's not actually women, but rather men who will tell you that from the very first moment they saw her, spoke to her, watched her walk up a set of steps, handed her a coffee over the counter, etc ad infinitum, they know that she's the one they want to marry. It's men, not women, who are the eternal romantics (this, not to be confused with a woman's inclination to romance in the form of flowers and candles.))

Needless to say, Kelly's an easy girl to fall in love with because she's of the rare few who seem to have an endless amount of love to give, leaving others to wonder how such a tiny chest cavity can hold a heart so big.

Shawn didn't merely fall in love with her, but rather he fell into a state of adoring her. Seeing this so clearly and in such palpable manner was the second reason I cried more so than usual.

I heard it in Shawn's voice two years ago and I saw it all over his face on Saturday. What a pleasure it was to be witness to what may very well be the key to 'ever' after.

Part 2: The Party
Too much to tell you, and I've already told you the most important part.

Let me say that I danced with three wonderful folks, one of whom I will discuss in the following section. First, though, and perhaps most importantly, is that Shawn's mom and dad taught me how to jive dance.

They had the patience to teach me how to jive dance!! I couldn't believe my luck - I was so excited and kept tripping at first, throwing my hand up at all the wrong moments, but still keeping the beat and so they kept at it with me.

I can now - sort of - jive dance. I need a little practice, but I appreciate that they took the time to graciously waste on me.

(A little note on Shawn's family, just so you understand the sort of creativity that exists in their world: Shawn is adopted and in order for the mama and the papa to teach Shawn about that, his mum created a story book about their lives and how they found Shawn. Mama and papa were bears, and Shawn was a penguin brought into their family. I will forever think of Shawn's mom as The Penguin Lady whose sense of imagination I love.)

Part 3: Salt
I've mentioned previously that Shawn is a writer with several Hollywood scripts already under his belt.

A while back, Shawn started telling me about "Max and his amazing family", with whom Shawn was working on a new project. Whenever Shawn mentioned Max, he lit up with energy and admiration and an overall sense of awe. When discussing Max's family, I could almost touch how much Shawn's come to love them, most definitely how grateful he is for their presence in his life.

Max is 27 years old with cystic fibrosis. His beautiful beautiful sister also has CF.

I must admit that before I met Max, I'd not known anyone with CF. I will also admit that I had a deep misunderstanding about what CF does and how it affects those who have it. Max pretty much shattered every misconception I had of this disease and I spent the better part of yesterday grilling my med school cousin about CF.

Please learn more about Cystic Fibrosis and consider supporting a foundation in your local area. Also, please read about and get to know the labour of love that is Salt, borne between Shawn and Max McGuire. (I will provide more info on Salt as it becomes available.)

For all of my blogging brothers and sisters, please consider placing a link to Salt's home. (Shukran.)

Part 4 is forthcoming; the day in pretty pictures, happy faces and a lot of red lipstick.

Three honourary mentions:
(1) Folks were trying to guess where I was from - behind my back - until Shawn told me.
(2) I fell in love with all of Shawn's uncles, the Riopelle men, one of whom provided one of the three greatest lines of the evening: "How can the Jews be fighting your kind when all they need to do is look over the fence and see that Palestinian girls look like you?! WHY ARE YOU SINGLE??"
(3) The other two "greatest lines" of the evening belong to Kevin, the best man, who started the evening's hilarities with his speech as follows: "Fornication! Oh. Uh. Sorry, I tend to speak too quickly when I'm nervous. Let me try that again: For an occasion..."
& ended our night with this goodbye to me: "When I saw you coming towards the church in your red dress, I thought 'holy shit! I've forgotten everything Freud's taught me! All of that therapy down the drains. Damn!" (Because, really: What more could a girl ask for, yes?)

K

Most of you should remember K of "M & K", inspiration for A Home Can Not Be Built on the Table of an Architect.

Before your day is over, please send her your best energy.

(It's nothing serious, but still warranted.)

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A special note to Baby Jane

Love you.
Miss you.
Thinking of you, always.
& ready to open a can of Texan-style whup-ass on your behalf, if requested. Or just bake you a cake. Or braid your hair? Exchange most excellent photo angle tips & tricks? Buy you some Crack? Play tennis? Whatever. It's yours.











Greatly appreciated if everyone who lived here sent their best energy toward Toronto for my beautiful Baby Jane.

xox

Shifted Perspective (& the Border Fox)

I've never understood the concept of a fan event. In fact, I would have to say that until Saturday evening, I have - on occasion - been a little cruel about them.

In early February, T invited Mo & I to visit her family. Having heard so much about her two baby girls and The Husband, James, I couldn't pass on the opportunity. Adding more seduction power was that Mo would be there as well. Around a month ago, T asked if I would be interested in attending a dinner comprising a few hours out of a multi-day fan event. My initial reaction was 'no' until she confirmed that it would be an 'in and out' sort of deal. Mo promised to serve as a buffer and if necessary, I would have T's husband to whom I could escape. Albeit a little nervous, I agreed. The bottom line was I was scared-ed of what I might see.

And so we went to dinner. I still don't understand it and I would still not attend (to each his own) if not for the necessary involvement of my dear and wonderful T. But, now that I've been witness to one such event, a few things have shifted in my perception...

I respect the women involved in the impeccable organization of the event. It took them EIGHTEEN MONTHS to prepare. EIGHTEEN MONTHS without the hint or illusion that the actor in Q would ever drop by. EIGHTEEN MONTHS, the result of which was an exquisitely organized and seamless evening where the over 250 individuals in attendance had the pleasure of escaping reality and stepping into the fantasy shared with friends who totally 'got' it.

I saw women cry and squeal with joy because they were finally meeting one another after a long virtual friendship. I saw as others spilled over with joy and gratitude because the actor had graciously personalised notes to the women for their hard work. Most importantly, I watched how value and purpose was received from this event...and, quite honestly, I was moved. Even as I type, I am moved by their experiences and a little ashamed at my previous cruelty.

So. This is just a very short note to say that between the beautiful baby S's ballet class and occupation of my lap for the purpose of a nap, Eddie Izzard at 2am, James' exemplary cooking, talking 'shop' (politics & religion) until 3am, Enchanted, L's beautiful built-for-a-girl room and ability to give the world's greatest and warmest hugs, Mo's warmth, humour and secret-keeping and T's generosity of heart, spirit and crafty ability...I attended a few hours of a fan event and even though I did indeed escape rather early so as to hang out with James while Mo & T2 got busy on the dance floor and T took care of more business I was warmed by the experience of watching the palpable pleasure of those in attendance.

Apart from creating bonds and friendships that span continents, they have found purpose and value in entertainment; this later serving as the most important of all, most especially in a time when so much of entertainment and most all of entertainers have actively engaged in cheapening themselves.

From the small rumours I've heard, they're expecting to crack an unbelievable amount of money, each dime of which will be going to a charity supported by the actor himself. I will provide you with the exact figure once it's released. If for no other reason, any effort that raises any money for any charity must be admired. And neither that it is needed nor does it matter to them, but for that, the women have earned my admiration, and so Bravo to them and their amazing work.

Gorgeous Mo, who when she visited me over a year and a half back left a little note for me on my dresser - a note I carry around with me everywhere I go because I love it so much:


& even though I will not blog the photo of T for personal reasons, I will add this photo as I have tucked her safely and securely beneath the mauve dot (& if anyone tries to touch her, I'll break their envious and pathetic little fingers):


One small special mention very worthy of your attention: On the raffle block, there were thirty beautiful and overflowing massive theme baskets, each one of which was stained individually by one of the fathers of the women who organized the event. He is wheelchair bound and requires an oxygen tank. And yet, he stained thirty wooden baskets for this event. I wanted to walk over and give him a hug, but felt a fool for even thinking it. So, choosing to be creepy instead, I merely stared at him in wonder when he wasn't looking. (And just to confirm that I am in fact a Super Creep I also took a photo of him because I think he deserves to be acknowledged when the actor in whose name this was done is told about the event with a special mention made re the man who stained the baskets.)

******************************

Two unrelated further asides.

First. I tried to take a photo of Mo while she was dancing. I don't know how to work technology very well, most definitely not something like a BlackBerry. But I tried anyway and couldn't figure out how to turn on her camera though I did somehow turn on her video camera instead. And so, I managed to take a video of her, only she's not in the picture because I'm that stellar. In place of that, you hear me jabbering on about why I can not take a photo, then turning to T who 'threatened met me' with her own BlackBerry and finally declaring "I wanted to take a picture of Mo & T2 but I don't know how and now I'm taking a video ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA HA" or something like that with a lot of laughter. Mo has threatened to post said video - will let you know if she does indeed.

Second. If you are interested in meeting hot men, I strongly recommend you hit up the Customs Area at the Ottawa International Airport. I was standing waiting to be questioned as to my trip and couldn't decide to which 'window' I was hoping to be called. (When did the border guards become the Border Foxes? And with such excellent hair, too?) Lucky I was called up to the Hottest of The Border Fox crew who asked me where I went and then why I went there and finally if I'd done any shopping because I declared '0' on my customs form. Because I didn't buy anything. Because T has babies and babies are made for attention taking and not shopping. So. Border Fox leaned over and looked deeply into my eyes with his beautiful blue eyes. To this I leaned in and stared right back at him and his lovely eyes expectantly as he asked "You went to visit for a girls' weekend? And you didn't buy anything? Even though Mo came up from Los Angeles? And Trish from Florida?" (Yeah, seriously, I gave names...) He thought I was lying and the Border Foxes are trained to sniff out a liar and so I started thinking Oh my God, thank God I'm not a liar or else Border Fox would read it on my face as he is trained to do with those foxy blue eyes. Like, if I'm lying, I would respond and look to the left or maybe to the right or maybe at my shoes and then he'd know I had been shopping and was lying on my customs declaration. How clever of the Border Fox with the fantastic blue peepers. Lucky me I am not a liar. Though I do wish we had shopped. I like your hair. And your pretty blue eyes. I also like anything that sparkles if you spin it. Vanilla cake, too... This internal monologue while I was staring and smiling at him. And so I forgot to answer his Q. Really fancy of me, yes? I guess Border Fox could tell I was not fibbing, because he let me walk though I wouldn't have minded much if he'd decided I was a liar and held on to me for further questioning. (Really, seriously, next time you fly into Ottawa International Airport, pay close attention to the new breed of The Border Foxes and get back to me.)

MEEEEP!

I am off to the first Most Fantastic Weekend of The New Year.  Heading out of the country to warmer climates for a few days so that I may chill out with two of three of The Other Girls; I couldn't pass on this invitation to visit them as we've not all convened in the same room for quite some time. I am excited to poke and squeeze both (missing and missed will be K).
 
Have a safe and spectacular weekend!
 
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'Caramel'

Except for the occasional political one, I rarely recommend films on this blog. But if you are free tonight, this Thursday evening, tomorrow or Saturday and live in Ottawa, then please find the hour and a half needed to head over to the Bytowne Cinema where you can catch Caramel. (Tonight it's on at 5pm, Friday at 4.30pm & Saturday at 2.15pm.)

Later, I will insert here why I loved this movie as much as I did...check back.

I'm Out of Touch

Hi all - okay...

(1) For those of you new to me, please understand that the mobile is perhaps the bane of my existence. I rarely have it on and check my voicemail perhaps once every two weeks. Last year, and for reasons beyond my control, I had to make myself accessible as best as possible.

Now that I no longer have to do that, it also means that my response time has slowed.

Please don't feel ignored...it's not you, it is most definitely me...

(2) I've not been blogging much because I've had a super crazy schedule and I am planning a super busy summer. Trips to NYC, Vermont, Toronto, Montreal, Washington, (perhaps) Thailand, definitely the Azores, all forthcoming.

Now that curling is over, I am back to boxing once a week. In five weeks' time, boxing will be upped to twice a week. (Please note: this is not faerie boxing, nor is it kick nor muay. It. Is. Boxing. And it beats the shit out of your body.)

I try to have dinner with only one friend a week, but that's turning a little impossible, so now it's two a week.

C and I will be training to run a 5k in mid-June. This is a first for both of us and so terribly exciting and awkward and hilarious.

I will be taking my first sailing classes in July / August.

I will also be taking care of a very specific region in mama's garden. (More on this in the future months as it is a very big deal for me.)

I am maybe going to try rowing, depending on whether the schedule fits my own. Neither for competition nor dragon boating, but simply rowing. I hear it's excellent for your arms and shoulders...and those are two key muscle groups for girls.

So all this to say that I am currently a little busy. Not to mention that I still have books to read.

If I am out of touch, please know that I'm not ignoring you; it's only that I'm living a perhaps-to-you-but-not-to-me hectic schedule. There are only 27 hours in my day and I enjoy making the most of them. "Idle" = "lazy" and though that's an excellent way to pass maybe two days a month, it is no way to live a life. (At least not mine.)

(3) Please visit following album sets to see what's been happening.

As promised previously, photos of Sophia and I have been uploaded (simply click on the picture):


Aalya / Sophia's baby shower photos linked here:


Muslims, They're Just Like You! They Shovel Snow! (Click the picture to see what has buried Ottawa this past winter, and also to check out my stellar shoveling outfit that consists of pyjamas, mama's panda bear coat, her boots and her headband.)


More to come (including the images from my trip to the Middle East this past December).
xox to each...

Babies are collapsible as well as spring-loaded

Please say hello to my niece Sophia:



Whose papa called me a few hours after the above photo was taken on March 8th, 2008, to leave me the following message:

"hi maha it's dietrich and i just wanted to let you know that our baby sophia was born early this morning at about twenty to one a.m. and she's a beautiful baby girl and she's very happy and she has dark curly hair and long eyelashes and her mother's nose - lucky her. And she's just wonderful and she was 7 pounds and 13 oz and her and Aalya are doing just fine they are sleeping here in front of me right now and they're both just so beautiful (voice cracks) and we wanted to let you know and we can't wait to see you as soon as we get home. Bye bye."

I started crying.

After a C-Section / See-Section / Sea-Section (because, really, all of them could arguably apply), mama was satiated and calmed and bonding with baby Sophia:



As was papa:



These next two photos break my heart because while I was carrying her, this is how she looked



and she was collapsible as is apparent in this photo



Funny this, that she is spring-loaded. When you tap Sophia's little round belly her arms flip out and up, much like The dude crucified in the image of Jesus. I couldn't stop myself poking and watching the spring load.

I am in love with Sophia and I think it'll be so much fun to grow one of my own, inshallah. (Pics of her and I forethcoming.)

The Stand-Up Guy

His name is Daemon (Scott) Fairless, and he recently married Lyana, a beautiful and brilliant gynaecologist (as Scott says: "It's nice to have a shared interest") who I can't wait to squeeze next they're in Ottawa.

Scott was the first boy I ever loved, though I never told him that. I believe I loved Scott, but wasn't in love with him. Being the first boy I dated, it was complicated and unclear at the time.

We met while he was working as bartender at Oliver's on Carleton University's campus. He was 6'2" and quite possibly in the most prime shape of his life, considering how he describes his physique today ("fat" - I've seen recent pictures and he's anything but (not to mention that it is relatively difficult to be "fat" at his height)), with green eyes and sandy brown hair. He made me laugh to the point of peeing myself, was a reader and a boxer and so proved the most beautiful combination for my 22 year old self.

We were both children then and I loved him the only way a 22 year old Maha knew how: Stupidly and confusedly. We argued about religion - he was then an atheist, though now believes in God - and poetry. He read to me, we had dinner with his step-mum and father who called me "gregarious", he read to me some more, he had dinner with my mother who called him "handsome", we argued more, we had dinner with his mother and he attempted to play the guitar only to find a condom wrapper inside of the guitar throwing us into a hysterical frenzy of laughter, he cooked, we read, I cooked, we argued even more, his love of Johnny Cash rivalled my love of Madonna, we made fun of each other, I was confused by him, we danced to really bad and fast pop music, we watched ER, he wrote his number on a piece of paper I still have today. He was beautiful and brilliant to me and he introduced me to Vietnamese rolls for which I am eternally grateful.

Essentially, it was exactly what two 22 year olds look like in a relationship.

Among the memories I hold of Scott, there are these two following particularly vivid spots in time: First, Cathy and Dino had come to meet me at Oliver's for a drink and to meet Scott, who was working that evening. I was walking past him when he pulled me over and whispered "you are so beautiful" to which I couldn't respond because I didn't know how. I was 22 years old and I'd never heard it from anyone but my mother because, essentially, I am a muppet. (In fact. Up until that point there had only been one other boy who'd ever referenced my looks, and that was George Logaras of Brookfield High School in Ottawa nearly 7 years earlier: He'd called me 'ugly' and 'fat' (I was a size 12), and referenced my 'four eyes' (glasses, yes) and my unibrow WHICH I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE HAD! I have never plucked between my eyebrows. The unibrow misobservation dumbfounds me to this day. He was a real dream boat, that one, aged 18 to my 15.)

Second, he was the first boy to hold my hand and when he did, I nearly threw up because it was so intense. (Remember: I am a muppet.)

Right. So, anyway, 22 year old Scott was also a self-absorbed idiot who didn't know how to communicate with my 22 year old self, loved Walt Whitman (snoooooooze), made fun of me for believing in angels (now only if I believe in the "Cherubs", which I don't), spent way too much time reading and believing Nietzsche (and then making me read Walt Whitman and Nietzsche), writing poetry and sulking in the way only a 22 year old boy can sulk. The world revolved around Scott, and if it didn't, he forced his mind to perform acrobatics so that the world became about him. In hindsight, he was a 22 year old clown...but he was my clown and I loved him for it.

Needless to say, 22 year old Scott trampled all over my 22 year old heart and then he started dating a woman much too soon after me. His actions did not set off a nuclear bomb because he neither deceived nor misled nor betrayed me; but his actions were indeed idiotic, hurtful and mean.

(I must say here that their relationship started by him cooking her dinner; she came over with a Tom Waits CD, flowers and her flute. SHE PLAYED HIM THE FLUTE. Talk about phallic. Likely, she went to band camp. (I still remember unveiling the news re 'the flute' to The Girls who proceeded to gawk at me as though I'd suddenly sprouted a second head and tipped forward due to the sheer weight of the new head combined with my existing head.) When he told me about their date (we were trying to be friends) I told him I was no longer interested in being his friend and that it was too soon and too hurtful. I hung up, went into my closet to find a lantern which he'd gifted me and then promptly propelled it down the garbage chute with enough force to knock down the entire building.

For approximately two months after he and I stopped speaking, I used to imagine taking a bat to his legs and burning her flute.

From what he tells me, he stayed with Her for a couple of years, and it was the "worst relationship of his life".

Ha! Ha! (That's God batting for Team Maha, kids.)

I'm being mean because I've suddenly lost interest in my 33 year old self and found my inner 22 year old instead.)

Right. So six years ago, I received an email from Scott after he "Googled and found [me]". He contacted me to apologise for all of his shit behaviour years back, as he should have. It wasn't something I had waited around for, as 22 year old Maha wasn't the same as 27 year old Maha nor was she the same as 33 year old Maha who is currently thinking that speaking about herself in the 3rd person is really strange and so Maha will stop.

I accepted because his apology was honest and clear and true, appreciating the fact that it had played on his mind for five years (look: if a boy becomes a man at 27, then that's pretty damn impressive). Since then, we've remained in contact at a relatively good level - though it's not regular contact, it is worthy contact when it happens (quality here, in fact). For the women who live here, I wish to share something with you, sent to me by Scott about men nearly a month and a half back. My mind was experiencing a logjam, and he forced me through it. (There is something to be said for those who knew our hearts intimately, no matter that with Scott it was 11 years ago. As with very very few others, he will always have an edge.) Take the following with you and keep it somewhere safe so that you may access it when you need it (this is something I've always believed and expressed without hesitation, but it's nice to have it confirmed and backed by a man):

"Fact is, guys suck most of the time. I don't mean to sound flippant but it's true. They are hard to trust. Their dicks are serious liabilities. It's that simple. Even the guys who don't want pussy want pussy. They'll go to great lengths to rationalize their actions but it really is that simple. The only guy you can kind of trust is a guy who is honest about that. I really think you can't ever fully trust what a guy says. At least until he's got one hell of a proven track record.

Also, guys tend to be kind of autistic and so they don't really understand how their actions affect others, at least not in the same way women do. (Again, I'm not being flippant. There's a male-autism-lack of empathy thing that's pretty well studied).

In my mind, there's a divide: males who know this is true of themselves can be called men. Males who aren't yet aware of this are called boys, regardless of age. A gentleman takes care not to harm others whether by taking precautions not to act on his biological imperative or not lying to himself or others about his inability to keep it in check."

Pretty brilliant.

Love that he's willing to step beyond the Male Code of Keeping Their Shit Secret and stand next to a girl who was once in his life to clarify a few points.

Love that it comes from the same man who "once made [his wife] lunch and included a can of beer so that when she opened it in front of her colleagues, they'd think she was an alcoholic".

Love that it proves that even at 22, I knew how to pick a good man...even if it took him six years to become that man.

Every girl should have one (and Scott is mine): The Stand-Up Guy to whom The Girls and you throw back as you discuss the m(e)n in your lives.

Really. I love it.

Baby (in Theatres mid March)

Please meet Sophia (we call this The Creepy Ultrasound picture):


currently residing in mama Aalya:


who is set to pop within the next week and who just said: "Maha, I look & feel like a dung beetle. I want this little diva out of me - she's a week late. Always late, like her mother. I have no doubt she is going to be born kicking and screaming and feisty and opinionated just like her mother and all of the wonderful women she knows."

Dispatch no4: Plants & Animals at The Drake

Most of you have heard of The Drake, yes? It's one of the most infamous places to be seen and to see in Toronto.

It's there that Janey and I caught Plants and Animals, an (originally) East coast band that had a very familiar Doors feel about their music. We loved everything about them, beginning with their stage presence and ending with their tempered shyness and drinking sense post show.

It was with great pleasure that last night I discovered they were iTunes' featured Free Single of the Week.

The Drake itself was wonderfully small by most standards and had the best Art Garfunkel look-alike bartender


And nicest yet potentially meanest doesn't take shit from anyone manager (on the left) who joined us for drinks post show


And a picture booth(!) into which Janey, Plants & Animals' lead singer and I squeezed in to take pictures


(The strip pictures you can see more clearly here and also here.)

Post The Drake, we went to Rhino where we found one of the world's most disgusting bathrooms (just look at the mirror!)


After which Janey, The Manager and I went and ate Halifax Style Shawerma...I didn't take any pictures because I was too busy eating eating eating.

Excellent night all around where I discovered new music and new food - and to think that I had contemplated staying home that evening...

Now: Go download some Plants and Animals, please.

P.S. You can make fun of all pictures from that evening here...

Fly Porter Airlines

I received this in the mail at the office, Thursday last. It's now off my computer screen and pinned to my wall, where it will stay until it falls apart because of age.

I love this. Not because - according to Janey - I am way hotter, but because it's the sort of thing only Janey and I would do for one another; countless and random magazine and newspaper pages sent by snail mail throughout the years. (Make sure you click the picture to read the note; I think Janey's hand writing is very fashionable and should become an official script titled 'The Baby Jane' because Times New Roman is just such a bore.)



Psst! Why should you fly Porter?
Because they're brilliant and fun and they serve tons of snack foods and their water bottles are square and they have free wi-fi and comfy couches and also because I think their mascot may be a racoon. (A racoon!) They're how I last got to Toronto and how I will get there every time from here on in; they're the same folks who provided me with the opportunity to ask my former boss / former leader of the opposition if he was an actor from 'LA Law'. (Read: They let me illustrate out loud the dorkiness.)

Psst, no 2! Did any of you send me a postcard from Honolulu? I...don't...know...who sent this postcard...and I can't read the signature :(

The Gift

I was in the middle of a party, eyes dressed accordingly in kohl and mascara and carrying myself around with some level of dignity until I was handed a gift. When she handed this to me and I unwrapped it, I began to cry and my mascara frowned and sighed.



After already spending so much of her time with me to help me better understand and to tell me I would get through things in time, she took more time. After so much of her time was spent holding on to and rocking me while I was weeping in her living room, she took more time. After having already spent too much of her precious time emailing me down, phoning me down, text messaging me down and allowing me to draw from her incredible reserve of strength and faith, she still took more time to take one of my stories and have it published in a little bookie.







The individual who handed me the gift is one of the very few blessings to come from 2007 and has become one of my greatest confidantes. This bookie is one of the most special items anyone has ever gifted me, and she is one of the most precious that God has ever gifted me.

Cricket in a Fist

Of the many things for which I am thankful are the friends I hold near and dear.

Na.oh.mee, mentioned here previously, is one of these friends.

Of all her exceptional qualities, it is her compassion that draws me in and softens me up. It's this same compassion that will undoubtedly permeate all of her future works, most definitely her soon-to-be first novel: Cricket in a Fist.

It will be released in two days and I am anxiously awaiting my copy!

Dispatch no3: Toronto Engages in Love & Fertility (because we can’t on our own)

It was my Baby Jane’s special 30th birthday last September (for which I have yet to send her a gift, but I’m now thinking I won’t send it and will instead take it to her when I see her in the Spring). On that day, she received two strange birthday gifts.

Neither of these gifts solicited a same-reaction-as-Baby-Jane’s except mine. Something both of us found puzzling when I reacted as I did.

The first gift received was a ring. In a box. From her mother.

The second gift was an ugly, sorry Janey fertility god in the form of a fat baby Buddha with a bow on it’s head and made from some animal’s body part (the tusk of Dumbo, maybe?). Correct me here if I’m wrong, Baby.

Do you see a theme? Do you see a perhaps problematic theme?

Baby Jane did, and so did I.

Janey refused to tell me what her mother had gifted her, and instead chose to unveil it in order to see my reaction. My reaction that was one of shock and terror and complete disbelief. That ring should not have come from Janey’s mama; That ring should not have been gifted to any single woman except by that woman’s soon-to-be life partner, or herself if she decides that she wants a ring and doesn’t want to wait for a man to give her that ring.

I was in the kitchen for the unveiling and I nearly choked on the coffee I was drinking. And then Janey screamed a THANK YOU because no one else had seemed as dismayed by the gift in question. I’m not even sure if Janey wears the ring or if it’s sitting there in it’s box wondering where the sunshine is.

On to the fertility baby. Because? Because nothing says Happy Birthday quite like “because your womb needs all the help it can get, now that you’re close to barren, you sad and single thirty year old”.

Look. Both Janey and I understand that the fat fertility god was a very expensive antique, but honestly folks, you don’t give a fertility fattie to a single woman. And most definitely, not on her 30th birthday. If you do, then you should expect that she’ll hand you a box of depends on your 40th. And maybe some orthopaedics on your 43rd. Maybe.

(Happy Valentine’s Day from me, and a gentle reminder that you won’t be getting either a fat baby or a ring from me, but rather only what you deserve...and from the bottom of my heart, too.)

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 t