Zero. Fkn. Patience.

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



Watch the bastards render my account inactive.

On asshattery & being a pushover

Pre-emptive note no1: I have to do this because I've received a couple of odd emails from people asking if this was about them. For the record - NO. If you're someone with whom I am communicating in any way shape or form (even if it's a kind email once a year), this entry is not about you. If this entry was about you, you'd have known it beyond the shadow of any doubt.

Pre-emptive note no2: If this entry isn't about you, then neither is the one titled On Forgiveness & Apology.

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 way back in February of 2008, 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 fucking 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 asshattery 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 asshattery, not that of others. Extend that courtesy to those around you, at least...

**********
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 asshattery even beyond the confines of dating, right?

P.S. Immediately below this is a quote from the Qu'ran on how to not let other people's poor behavior change how you would act. Call me a bad Muslimah, go ahead...I'll forgive you.

The Jackson Family

I woke up to an avalanche of emails linking to MJ's kid's speech during his memorial. People are forwarding the clip because they think it is beautiful and moving and endearing.

I watched in horror as these court jester wh*res displayed their grotesque need for attention, pushing that little child into the spotlight; amazed at how they were so willing to place this kid into the very environment which fucked up Michael Jackson himself. Also, how immediately they went against the very grain of MJ's fierce protection of the children's identities.

And to the emails that ask me what I think of Michael Jackson himself; my opinion is simple and it is that he will remain a brilliant musical genius the likes of which we may never see again. May he, like all of us, rest in peace.

Comments closed. If you're about to email me telling me you think I'm a cold-hearted bitch. Save it.

Toddlers & Tiaras

This spotlights one of the reasons why I think our world is going to sh*t. (P.S. While you're sl*tting up your babies, your government is r*ping you and other countries.)

On Twilight and being moved to violence

On principle, I was opposed to reading Twilight because of the lunatic storyline communicated to me. Some sh*t about a teenage girl who falls in love with a vampire who then ends up with a werewolf (the girl, not the vampire), and then somehow has a child with the vampire (the girl, not the werewolf). Or something.

Opposed, on principle to reading this series of books because there are so many brilliant books waiting for attention, that I was extremely hesitant to instead surrender my precious hours to these ones.

I finally did. I went out to dinner with a girlfriend who was swooning over the storyline. She gave me her book and so I began.

But not for long.

As is often the case, I have extreme reactions to things or ideas or situations or people. I don't half-ass most anything, let alone a response to sh*t such as this book.

If I could, I would have stabbed this book. This is how much I hated it. Nearly as much as The Devil Wears Prada.

Not only was this horribly written, it also had a weird sense of sexuality-but-not sterility about it that was simply creepy as the storyline was about A CHILD in (obsessive sexual-but-not-really-as-the-mum's-reading-this-would-have-a-fit-if-these-two-got-groovy-in-this-first-of-three-sh*t-books) love with A VAMPIRE. Oh my God, looking at that sentence, I am ashamed to have given even 5 minutes to this book.

Obviously, I did not make it very far into the book; one afternoon wasted on a little under half of Twilight and I drove it back to my girlfriend's place and had to control myself not to throw it with all my strength at her door repeatedly until she answered...only to keep throwing it at her as she stood in the doorway.

We grappled for a little and she pushed me down on to the sofa, forcing me to watch the film instead. (Thankfully for free. I wouldn't give a cent to this stupid film.)

Much to her dismay, I lasted through the 2 hour comedy. She tried to turn it off, but I would have none of it, as I'd not laughed that hard in quite some time.

For the record no1: I think both the lead actors are equally sh*t. The girl looked as if she were in a perpetual state of stupid whereas the boy a perpetual state of puke.

For the record no2: Really? Seriously? How are any of you still believing in this unhealthy formula that is so repugnant?

Vampire = bad boy meets girl and she changes everything in order to be with him while he, nothing.

This storyline, perpetuated by gender-based fu*k-nuttery is repugnant. It. Is. Vulgar. Does this make you sad? Do you think I'm cruel? Possibly. Go ahead and tell me I have poor taste in literature, please, or that I am heartless. Please - I invite you to.

Still, though, right now I wish to slap my screen.

P.S. If I had a daughter, I would rip this from her hands and burn it.
P.S. to the P.S. I must admit that the baseball sequence in the film version was absolutely beautifully shot.

“A Guidebook for the Mindless Insecure Female: How to entrap an insecure man and marry him!”

I was recently going through a friend’s bookshelf and among a deeply disturbing volume of this genre’s nonsense, I stumbled upon: Why Men Marry Bitches: A woman’s guide to winning her man’s heart.

I paused.
Took a very deep breath.
…& proceeded…

[Aside: A few years ago, a girlfriend moved out of the country and I inherited a stack of books, among which were a few of this sort. Mostly, they were tips for dating that were relatively hilarious. Unlike my girlfriend (who I adore), I’ve never been a big dater because I tend to find it annoying and boring, ergo, the books amounted to fodder for fun. (Another aside: This is not to say I don’t date, but rather, it is to say that I only date when my interest is very peeked and that doesn’t happen very often because I would rather spend time alone than on a date with a dummy.)]

Plot
During the short time it took me to rip through this book, I found myself physically reacting to it by turning the pages with such force that I may have ripped a few pages. Perhaps.

Forget about the offensive title; as in this day and age, that a woman would refer to other women as ‘bitches’ and consider it a compliment boggles the mind. (This a personal belief that stems from my perspective on empowering oneself through the embracing and owning of words that were once used to attack said individual such as the use of the ‘n’ word. I am deeply offended when I hear it, no matter who may be using it. Clearly, I do not engage in standpoint epistemology.)

Moving past the title, I’ll touch on the two caricatured genders within the book:
A: Men are one-dimensional insecure creatures who will never be honest with a female and who only react to mistreatment and game-playing.

The proof is in the pudding(!), as follows:
1) Men are manipulative even though they don’t really know what they want. Case in point: Men like a good cook in the kitchen. You can feign being a good cook by buying a lot of pots and pans and always leaving them out. He’ll marry you and he’ll never notice that you can’t cook. Instead he’ll start cooking!

2) Men are simple and only need the following: sexual escapades in the bedroom (and please do not tell him the truth about your past. And if the ‘truth’ is in fact…true…then he won’t believe you anyway. A 34 year old virgin? WHO ARE YOU KIDDING?)

3) Men are disrespectful and must be ‘put in line’ by your glorious ‘bitchiness’. When this happens, you will then be able to change the true nature of the man , turning him into a pussy because that's what he secretly wants.

4) Men are not honest and are mean-spirited so you must always be on the alert for such behaviour and you must always be able to ‘give as good as you get’. This is called ‘information gathering’ and it is called ‘being sassy’. Never mind that you’re reading this book, ergo are mindless, ergo wouldn’t understand sass if it bent you over the couch backwards and had its way with you. Please don’t be direct and ask him if something’s up – instead, play games because you are a pathetic creature and your number one hobby is How Can I Manipulate A Man Into Marrying Me?. Better still, go to Hawaii for a weekend of fun in the sun with your girlfriends and feed off of one anothers’ pathetic-ness.

5) Always take a man at his word. I love that you're too dumb to notice that this is one of the many blatant and opposing viewpoints within this book.

6) Men are weak and on this weakness one must play in order to hook and sink said ‘man’; this is the true nature of 'love and marriage'.

7) Men only want a ‘fun’ girl so never show him your ability to bring down the hammer when necessary; don’t ever have a difficult moment, just be ‘fun’. Furthermore, you must refrain from behaving "emotionally", since that is your weakness, Female. Finally, please remember that it is in Male nature to be difficult and when that happens, accept it and roll with it while you place a beer in the fridge for him. Give him time to cool off; he will respect your level headed response because he doesn't expect that from a female. (Sub-section to point 7: Always keep him guessing!)

B: Women are one-dimensional insecure creatures who are not allowed to be engaging, passionate, honest and real. Instead, they must only be reactionary and strategic in their approach to ‘the man they love’ (because when you’re in love with a man, your natural female instinct is to be a c*nt; don’t fight it because it’s inbred since Eve).

Generally, a female must:
Play games.
Manipulate.
Lie.
React.
Entrap.
View men as both the enemy, as well as prey.
Believe that Dolly Parton, she of the unnatural body and face, is a role model to which one must aspire.

Specifically, a female must:
Never tell a man she misses him (or risk being a downer and needy).

Stroke the man’s ego by saying things such as ‘I feel safe with you’ – don’t worry about the truth or merit of that statement. He’s stupid enough to never see through your games. You are brilliant; pat yourself on the back.

Never tell a man you like him. Make sure he says it first, and then that way you will be the one who has control and power over him, rather than the other way around (because there’s no room for equality between a male and female, most especially not in a relationship. Remember: You’re at war, so keep your eye on the ball: INSEMINATION!).

Always remember that every action he takes is about you, and you must react accordingly. While you're at it, please ask him to reiterate his fondness of you by constantly providing you with reassurance that you're The One...just like in The Matrix.

Important! NEVER ASK A DIRECT QUESTION. (Or maybe I've already mentioned that?)

Critically, a female must:
Never tell a man she likes him, finds him interesting or is looking forward to learning more about him.
Just don’t do anything that would be engaging. Instead, let him do the work because that is the only way he will appreciate you.

Because he, in the same fashion as you, is a mindless insecure freak of nature.
Because he, just as you, is a fkn incompetent socially inept individual.
Because he, just as you, likely spends all of his time fixating on everyone else’s actions and trying to then react to said actions…
Because. Because. Because it is easier to follow and to react than it is to possess confidence…know what you want…and make a point of going for it.

After all, who needs self respect and honesty when one can play games?

Glaring Aporia Within The Plot
The premise of this book is to ‘make yourself gone’ and know that ‘you don’t need to be married to be okay’; to have a full life is when you will ‘make him chase you…until you catch him’.

Naturally, this begs the question: If you have a full life and don’t need marriage to feel complete, then why in holy hell are you buying a book that is all about entrapping a man in your efforts to be married? Because last I checked, you don’t eat a cupcake to reduce the size of your ass, and you don’t go to the gym, to thicken that same ass. And you most definitely do not purchase a book about entrapping men if you’re not interested in said fkn entrapment…unless, of course, you are in fact a degenerate retard and 2 + 2 = 17 in your world.

Curtain Called
Set aside the above blather and the glassy-eyed nature of the caricatured genders about which this book was written.

Clean your palette and pay very close attention to the following, please...

The only ‘rules’ you need (and this only pertains to the truly confident among you – male and female) are: A quality individual who is worth paying attention to and one worth engaging with will never be entrapped. More importantly, they will see right through the game playing (and if they didn’t, would you want to be with someone so stupid, anyway?).

A quality individual will never think you’ve called too many times or said too much or been too honest. A quality individual will be honest and will expect honesty, and if they can’t handle either, then you will find someone who can take you for all of you. (This should not, by any stretch of the imagination, be misunderstood as a green light for either the male or female to be psychotic; You can love and be loved and respect one anothers' borders. In fact, this may be the only way to love.)

Specifically, to women, let me say that in your efforts to be ‘strong’, you do not need to be an asshole and you most definitely do not need to be disengaged from the man who has peeked your interest because trust me when I tell you that it takes a strong woman to be weak in the right man’s arms. And if anyone tells you that wanting someone is a form of weakness, then you’re speaking with a needy individual and neediness is a far cry from wanting.

Though you’re a smart bunch, let me clarify: Wanting someone amounts to a realization that they are, indeed, someone who brings added value to your life. Wanting someone is extending a warm set of arms to a person because you wish to do so. Needing someone is because you feel incomplete alone; unfortunately, if you feel incomplete alone, no one will ever be able to fill that gap, marriage or otherwise. (Essentially: Loners are sexy for this very distinction, as they fall into the former category.)

Finally, I will say that being strong is not being a bitch. What it is is a clear awareness of the person that you are and what you bring to the table. No one can touch or shake that if it's solid within your own mind. Period.

Unlike the bile spewed by such books, the reality is that both men and woman are emotional creatures. The reality is that both men and women have their own brand of crazy; the nuanced approach is to learn about the crazy, embrace the crazy, don’t try to change the fkn crazy, and let the crazy run its course when it needs to. (If either the male or the female can’t handle the crazy, then you’ll find someone worth your salt who will love you and all of your crazy, and vice versa if you need someone with less crazy. Don’t try to change who you are to meet the fake breasted caricature of relationships created by offensive books such as these…please…)

All of the above to say: Please stop perceiving the opposite (or same, or either) sex as the enemy. The sisters will thank you, as will the boy bands.

Oh

"Children as young as 6 have been forced to have sex with aid workers and peacekeepers in return for food and money..."

I started crying when I read the above article, and it didn't get much better as I was reading the report itself. Please read it if you can as it's just a quick 37 pages. Then do something about it, either by donating money or sending an email or writing a letter or volunteering at a local shelter for abused children.

I've been reading a lot lately about child sexual abuse and exploitation and I can not actually coherently articulate what I think should happen to adult men** who so much as touch anyone below the age of 18. My 'articulation' can't form a linear coherent and logical train of thought; it does, though, give rise to images of crowbars, bats, chains and rusty saws. Without exaggeration, the Saw films would look like a Disney undertaking compared to my imagination.

Sad aside: Did you know that most of the time the (vile, repugnant, unworthy of life) Molester is a trusted family member or someone that would be characterized as a family member, such as an 'uncle' figure?

Even sader aside: Most of the time, the parent(s) is aware that something is going on.

What would you have done to both the parent and that 'uncle'? What would you do? Because there is nothing that you could tell me you would do that I've not already imagined I too would do. And then some. Or maybe: And then too much to merely call "some".

Parents have a duty to protect their children with their life. As I type this, I choke on the mere thought that my parents would shirk this responsibility where I was concerned, as a child, or where I am concerned still, as an adult. This duty, I believe, is among the most important - if not the most important in our lives. I can't possibly imagine what kind of weak, pathetic, disparate character one would possess if they suspected that their child was being molested and DID NOTHING. I actually can't imagine it. I can't wrap my mind around it. I can't think straight if I try to understand it and I loose all cool even writing about it.

When those duties are not taken seriously or with the ferociousness as the protection offered in the animal kingdom when a mama or baba has to protect their cubs, then that "parent" deserves to have every bone in their body broken. And I don't give a rat's ass about the cycle of violence; I don't care if that parent was previously abused or neglected because there is NO EXCUSE. There is NO EXCUSE. You want to cry me a f*cking river about your past; I'll tell you to f*ck off, still.

As with the situation referenced above, there is - and I don't use this term lightly - an 'evil' to the character of those who would commit such a crime against children. A parent's silence is an equally - if not more so - wretched complicity in the act.

There is no recourse, there is no apology, and there is no forgiveness of these individuals. There should only be death.

I've just donated to Save the Children (Canada); I recommend you consider doing the same. For those of you in the USA, you may donate here, while those of you in the UK, can make contact with the organization here.

--------------------
** Save for very rare situations, the impulse to sexually molest children does not seem to be part of the psychological composite of females, but is, rather, a compulsion that seems to lie deep within the male psyche.

Apologies for my going off topic, but the subject of child molestation is one of a handful of subjects that throw me into a tailspin...as you've just witnessed.

Secretly wishing someone would "mist" Dr. Phil

.1. My body is still hibernating. It sees a potato and angels start singing.

.2. A "Bacetto" chocolate is not a Baci chocolate. They are both made by Perugina and they are both packaged in exactly the same way. They are also both hazelnut focussed.

Only: The Bacetto does not have a poorly translated and usually hilarious "fortune" within, leaving the chocolate eater to wonder if they accidentally chewed up and swallowed the paper fortune.

Don't be fooled and don't settle for anything short of a Baci.

.3. Someone gifted me "an aromatic spa refreshing facial mist [that is] ideal for toning the skin and awakening the senses!" (exclamation mark theirs not mine). It comes in a small spray bottle which one is meant to point at thine face and spray.

I did this and found it neither 'refreshing' nor 'misty', but rather aggressive and hostile.

I tried it several times, hoping I would soften and get used to the on-slough of spray. Only, the more I sprayed, the greater my recoil and shock at the force of the "mist", and the greater reason my skin will have to wrinkle as I scrunch it up in anticipation of the "pure essential oils of ORANGE & GRAPEFRUIT & natural GREEN TEA" (yelling theirs not mine). I was holding it up to my face this morning and I couldn't actually bring myself to mist; same paralysis I would encounter if I tried to bite myself (near impossible to draw blood unless you have psychological issues that would permit you to set aside your body's natural biological reaction to fight and ward off the potential hurt bla bla).

It may have to do with the fact that I sprayed a direct line into my left eye and nearly drowned myself in it because I forgot to close my eyes and my mouth and plug my nose.


.4. If you know an under-ten, please take them to see Dr. Seuss' Horton Hears A Who. It's one of the books I always gift under-tens and it's a message most adults could use to learn.

.5. I used to think Dr. Phil was good, until I watched a complete show around a month back and it hit me like a ton of bricks that: He's all about "owning your sh*t" and that this is a novelty in this day and age is the reason people like him so much.

So...essentially, the reason he's so popular is because we've turned into a society that does nothing more than enable crap behaviour, and when a normal thought pattern comes on to centre stage (such as: Own. Your. Sh*t.), we think it's some kind of miracle.

So. I'm officially removing my support for Dr. Phil because I think it's lame that we've propelled to stardom a dude who is selling what should be so obvious to anyone who thinks they are a functioning part of and contributor to a healthy society.

OWN IT, ALREADY. YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW. IT SHOULD NOT BE YOUR END POINT, BUT YOUR FRIKING BASE-LINE. (And if you, for one second, believe that anything worth having can be found in a 42 minute show and without hard work and life-long commitment, then you're a bigger loser than...the biggest loser in the world.)

(It's like The Secret. It was NEVER a "secret". I'm rolling my eyes so hard that they look as though they belong in the head of the person sitting next to me and they've accidentally landed in my sockets and are trying to find their way out. Roll. Roll. Roll. Never. A. "Secret"!)

.6. In case you have yet to notice: I am intolerant today.

Download

1973 by James Just Call Me Annoying Blunt.

I've been listening to this song against my own will because James Blunt, in his entirety, is one of my greatest pet peeves.

The first time I heard You're Beautiful, I almost committed a crime.

The first time I heard Goodbye My Lover, I started yelling 'Shut Up!' and crying.

And then he had to go and write a good song.

Uhm. You're still annoying, though, James.

Men are from Mars and Some Women are from Stupid

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.

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

(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.

THE PIGS! are Everywhere

At the tender age of seven, I was treading water during a swimming lesson and staring at a man. He was standing in the doorway of the men's change room watching us swallow and snort water in the name of 'treading'. He was also diddling himself.

He had his Boy Part (BP) out above his shorts and he was playing with it, much like one would play with a small cat. I didn't understand and so stared in his general area more mesmerized by his chosen combination of matching baby blue turban (a la Seikh variety, not Arab from the South - although am certain there are many wankers there, too) and baby blue shorts, the colour of his body serving as a sharp contrast to the chosen colour of his attire. I wondered if his mama had sewn them for him, so they would match.

In my early teen years, feigning interest in 'exercise', I was running through the Experimental Farm. Running toward me was a hairy fatso without a shirt on. Some ways away from me, he stopped running and pulled his BP out of his shorts and declared "Tu-DUH!" to which I responded with a gawky face that said "EW" and a full sprint.

In my later teen years, two things happened. First was during a crisp Fall evening while N and I were walking down Elgin Street. We approached the platform of one building (I believe it's the one that now houses the British Embassy) and looked up to see a man with his pants and underwear around his ankles and his shirt completely undone and blowing in the wind. With his bits out in the free air, he too was wanking. In some odd twist of mind, I imagined that if I kept my normal pace, the wind would carry the items soon to shoot from the BP and hit me directly in the head. So I ran.

The following summer, I was walking down Bank Street when I looked into a car where I saw - what appeared to be - a dying man. How else could I have explained the expression on his face? With terror gripping my heart, I edged over to the window intending to heroically tap and ask if he needed help. When close enough, I noticed that once more was a man with his BP out in public. Granted, this wanker was in his own car, but unless he is in his car, in his garage with door closed...his environment remains 'public'.

Finally, nearly eight years back, I was walking down a crowded street when a man brazenly reached out and completely cupped my breast. Without thinking and without hesitation, I punched him square in the side of his head and he dropped. He was holding the side of his face looking at me as though I were the dirty culprit. And because of this, I proceeded to lecture him on his inappropriate and unacceptable behaviour and how dare you look at ME like I'm the one to blame, that because my breast is HERE you can just reach for it without consequence? My girlfriend, who'd not understood what had happened, dragged me away as I continued on in English; she didn't want me to make more of a scene. This was in Gaza and within three minutes the entire Strip had heard about what happened to the granddaughter of YouKnowWhoAndSheHITHIM! My family made me my favourite dish that night to show me how proud they were of my right jabbing ways.

Que a few hours ago, when the story takes a slightly more insidious turn.

I was walking behind my dad's building en route to purchase some milk. I'd just parked Lulu and was carrying in one arm my laptop and in the other, my purse and mobile. The area I was walking in was an off-side alley, open at both ends.

A man called to me with a simple "Excuse me can I ask you something?". I didn't like it. I didn't like that I was alone with him. Something seemed odd immediately and gut instincts are always to be trusted.

"Yes?" and I opened my mobile to pretend I was making a call.
"Uhm."
"What?" Even though am not ever rude and usually go out of my way to be nice, something felt really wrong. He was 'safe' enough looking with clothes slightly tattered but I didn't like his yellow teeth. I later realized this because they were a reflection of his sick dead insides.
"Uhm. I want to ask you something."
"You already said that. What do you want to ask me?"
"Uhm. Uh. When you get off the phone."
"I'm not getting off the phone any time soon so ask your question or leave."
"Uhm. Uhm. Mmm. Mmm. Uhm. Uh. Is the phone ringing? Uhm. I'll ask when you're done..."
I noticed immediately that he was speaking in a what was becoming even softer and lower voice for some unsuspecting slop to move in closer. But I'm neither unsuspecting nor sloppy and so I actually backed away and said rather forcefully: "I think you're best to go."
"Uhm. Would you like to touch me?"

To which I promptly replied: "Yes. I would love to! In fact, that's why I'm wearing a suit, carrying my laptop and my purse and walking - it's all a lie and I'm playing hard to get. I've just been waiting for a really charming boy such as yourself to come along and ask me if I wanted to touch his - what will surely be - beautiful peni*. I'm so happy you asked and I'll get right to it, as soon as I'm done with this call, ok?"

Only it came out sounding a little more like: "NO I DON'T WANT TO TOUCH ANY PART OF YOU YOU SICK AND TWISTED DISEASED AND FILTHY INDIVIDUAL POOR EXCUSE FOR A PERSON WEIRDO A**HOLE LIAR. WEIRDO WHAT IF I WAS YOUR MUM. WHAT WOULD YOUR MUM SAY IF SHE KNEW YOU WERE THIS SORT OF DEMENTED PATHETIC? FREAKSHOW IT'S 6 PM AND COMPLETE DAYLIGHT AND WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT? AND YOU NEED TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH! GO HOME AND BURY YOUR SAD SORRY SELF AWAY FROM HUMANITY YOU COMPLETE AND TOTAL WASTE. SICK. SICK. SICK. YOU ARE SO SICK. CHEATER! YOU'RE PROBABLY A CHEATER TOO! I'M GOING TO REMEMBER YOUR FACE AND NEXT TIME I SEE YOU I'M GOING TO TAKE A PICTURE OF YOU AND SEND IT TO THE POLICE! YOU GET ON LINE AND MEET OTHER CREEPS LIKE YOU! GO! FACEBOOK'S GREAT FOR THAT SORT OF A HOOK UP, YOU PIG! PIG!

No. I'm not talking to myself. I'M TALKING TO A PIG!

PIG! PIGLET! PIG!"

He ran. Oddly, I was fine. I wasn't shaken up or feeling threatened or violated or anything like that...just more appalled and cursing stupid men, really.

Here's the slightly more amusing bit: I'd accidentally hit the Call button on my mobile and it rang the last incoming number: Mummy. This should explain to you the "No. I'm not talking to myself. I'M TALKING TO A PIG!" bit above. She'd overheard everything. I'm surprised she didn't magically appear in front of me with a cape, a wand and a machete aimed at THE PIG! because I hear it's what Mummy's do in situations such as these.

Right. So all this to say:
.1. You stupid PIGS. Keep your ugly bits in your pants. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? SERIOUSLY!!!!

.2. Girls. The phone trick is great - even better is if you point it at them and tell them you've just taken their picture and sent it to your friends.

.3. PIGS! You try the above and we WILL call the cops on your sorry a** as soon as you run away like the little b*tch that you are. PIGS!

(Please note: The above is likely filled with spelling errors - I have typed directly into Blogger and haven't bothered to spell check. Sorry.)

On The Cheaters

Monday of this week, one of The Girls, T, 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 T. Suffice it to say that for years, he's been actively engaged in a relationship with another woman who has feigned friendship with T. T found out by sheer 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 T & 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 T as this is not at all about either. About T, 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 T. If I were a man, she is the one I would pursue before any of my other friends.

T 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 they’re a part of. 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 unsophisticated 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.

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 T 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 I hope you catch something that begins with the letter 'H' and rhymes with Slurpees.

...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.

& P.S. to the P.S. Don’t even get me started on the f***wits who cheat on their entire family.

& 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.)

********************
(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.

A Monopoly on The Truth

"...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 against.

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. And when all is said and done, it represents me as equally as I represent it.

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 an affection 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; that there are Believers who are not 'Muslim'. This is 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 a level of sophistication 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.

This is me giving the finger to Facebook

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”.

‘Witty Lady With Blackberry’, K, 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”.