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.

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!
 
Comments here are closed.

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...

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.)

The Red Sea Dispatch (no.1)

Hi & sorry for not blogging sooner! I’ve discovered that I suck at blogging while on holiday…

Long story short, the longer of which I will eventually write about (within the coming couple of months, I’m certain): A part of this trip has been to snorkel in the Red Sea. If you really must, please visit this page, in order to locate me…on an atlas.

I’m not much in the mood for long entries, and so have decided to video blog instead. If, for some reason you can’t see the three videos I’ve posted below, you can see them on my spazzy femalecanuck youtube channel linked here.

Video no 1: The view from our hotel’s (Sofitel) gazebo that overlooks the Red Sea. Mama waving. French people being athletic.



Video no 2: Walking toward the Red Sea. A completely random and unrelated story to pictures of chicks? or chickadees? & Wearing a flip? flop?



Video no 3: Me: sun burnt and with yasmine in my hair. Waving away flies. Talking about scent. Making you listen to the waves.



I’m off to the Arabian Gulf for some scuba diving. I promise to post more videos and idiotic narration (with a lot of ‘uhm’s for good measure).

To those who have asked for photos, I’ve yet to post any, but I’ve taken around 200 already. They’ll be along within the coming little bit.

1 announcement & 2 updates

(1) I fly out tomorrow.

Even though I will have access to the internet, I don't plan on responding to email unless it's some crazy emergency.

However, I will be blogging to keep you up-to-date on the fun I'm having, Inshallah. Also, I'll be posting all photos here, so keep this link bookmarked if you'd like to take the - at least - pictorial journey with me.

(2) I see that many of you have already noted this, but for those who've not yet taken a peek: I've updated the Most Popular Posts based on the amount of emails I receive, and the amount of page hits these babies get. The new list is (insert drum roll, please):

Every Girl Should Have 'One'
A Childhood Photograph
Marvin Under Glass
Belief vs. Proof
The PIGS! Are Everywhere
A Home Can Not Be Built on the Table of an Architect
Sailing with Seedo
Tunnels Aren't Fun
The Honour of Being A Daughter
Montreal Lovers
Maha's 35 Things To Do In London
Why I Don't Grocery Shop
Gerry Butler's Secret
The IKEA Matrix
Baba (or: Pappy)

(3) I've finally updated all of my Categories and the links to them (take a peek to the right column...)

**********
Please think of me tomorrow as I fly up above. I'll wave and hope someone is nice enough to wave back at the little blur in the sky. Be safe, everyone and don't worry...you're all coming with me in one way or another. Mmmmmmwah.

Every Girl Should Have ‘One’

Initial Aside: The boy discussed below is a good friend of mine and is single; if you are in the UK and wish to meet him, let me know! Am not at all beyond pimping my single friends...and have I mentioned? He's single...

By ‘One’, I mean her very own personal British Special Air Service Officer. I found Mine last year in Beirut – he is of the Air Troop variety, flying out of planes, doing ‘stuff’ which he can not even allude to, and then somehow super-leaping back to the airplane.

I nicknamed him ‘Killer’. Only I didn’t tell him about his nickname, for fear that he would parachute into my hotel room, ‘Killer’ me, and then leave without a trace. (He’ll know now that it’s on here; Hi Killer!)

How to meet and nab an SAS Boy for yourself
Obviously, you will need to be located in a war torn region. Look for the boys jogging and smiling as bombs drop around them; quite likely, they are of the SAS variety.

If you are really adventurous, hang out near cubby holes where ‘insurgents’ (but only those defined as such by the lucky few not belonging to The Axis of Evil) hide and make chai.

If you are not too adventurous, there’s always the internet café of said war torn region. Spy the only boys who are reading neither the news nor the most recent updates titled Where Can You Hide Today?; they will be wearing shorts, t-shirts, sporting a tan and using a British tongue nearly incomprehensible. If you listen closely, they will make subtle ‘vrooming’ sounds as they move their mouse.

My Own SAS Boy and I met in the business centre of his hotel (my hotel sat across the street with a sick internet connection). I didn’t know how to work the computer, he helped me manage and we got to chatting. He had seen me the night prior – a memory I do not hold - when I was lost and asked him if he was Australian. (In my proper defence, I was told that we (Canadians) were to be hanging out with them (Australians); I saw a blonde, heard an accent and so approached. Very simple equation if ever there was one, little did I know the level of treachery I had committed when I asked a Brit – an SAS one, to boot - if he was an Aussie.)

On the physical size of The SAS Boy
They appear ‘small’ (please don’t Killer me) – My Own being perhaps 5’9”, but they’re packed with strong fibre goodness which allows them to take out a man thrice their height and ten times their weight. Upon great reflection, I do think the compact nature of the SAS Boy has to do with the agility required to leap tall buildings and propel oneself from planes, landing squarely in cubby holes 10,000 feet below.

They are, for those of you interested in knowing, rock hard. I threw random items at Mine and they bounced off as though hitting a brick wall. Eventually, Mine asked me to stop being a child and to stop throwing random objects at him. I mumbled and pouted and he finally let me throw a tire at him as a farewell to the activity of throwing.

On the character trait of The SAS Boy
Focussed.
Determined.
Alpha.
Male.
Fear-LESS.

These are not Boys with whom one should mess about. While walking around Beirut with My Own SAS Boy, I can tell you that I felt very safe. Very safe, indeed; the safest, in fact. There’s something about their line of duty that makes them radiate an aura of complete and total blanket safety (unless, of course, you’re their target).

The word ‘hesitate’ does not exist in their vocabulary, and for that they are to be admired, as it runs into all aspects of their lives, not just the physical embodiment of their ‘work’. Case in point: Within moments of teaching your BlogMistress how to work her computer, My Own SAS Boy asked to take me for a coffee. Right then and there on the spot. (I thought: If I don’t accept, he may Killer me…and so I accepted.)

After coffee was over, he asked to take me for dinner. Right then and there on the spot. (I thought: If I don’t accept, he may Killer me…and so goes the rest of the story.)

Nothing stands in their way and if an SAS Boy wants something, he does what is needed to make certain he gets it. And this I mean literally; nothing stops them, neither physically nor spiritually - it's a pretty spectacular thing to watch as it drips from them and engages all aspects of everything they do and touch.

On the nature of conversation with The SAS Boy
You will not be surprised to learn that among one of the first lines of conversation I had with My Own SAS Boy was “So…do you ever wonder if what you’re doing is wrong?” and then “So…uhm…will I, like, one day be sitting in my living room in Palestine and you’ll fly through a window and Killer me MEANING you may one day get wrong orders MEANING have you ever wondered if you’ve already received wrong orders MEANING have you ever Killered anyone?”

Lucky I that Mine has a sense of humour and answered all of my questions, even if it was a mere “I really can’t answer that!” which I think is code for That’s The Line That Wins Most Chicks. But I’m relentless and he nicknamed me ‘Unnie Ot’ which is Canadian to the British ‘Honey Pot’. I stared in wonder and confusion, looking for a translation on the wall, the floor and even the window as I had no idea what that was. Nowhere was there closed captioning for the British Hearing Impaired. (Stupid, Beirut.) Mine was nice enough to finally tell me that 'Honey Pot' is, apparently, a term of endearment used to describe someone who can pull secrets from people very easily. Upon hearing this definition, I smiled and asked: “So, was it you who caught Saddam? And have you Killered anyone? And can you fix the World Cup?”

On the reliability / loyalty of The SAS Boy
Apparently, SAS Boys have to be at the ready at the drop of a pin, throw of a hat and wiggle of a bum. They all have a special beeper that, when it beeps, they have to meet at a certain location, are given their orders and then flown out. My Own SAS Boy was riding his motorcycle when he got beeped; he had to leave it and his keys with his friend so he could fly to Beirut within two hours. This would mislead one to believe they are unreliable to anyone but Her Majesty. As I can attest, I’ve had Mine for over a year now and even though we did lose touch for some small amount of time, he has always been kind enough to ping a Hello email and send others with winning titles such as ‘Photographs Only Men Would Take’.

Quite honestly, more of an effort made than most, and for that, My Own SAS Boy is special.

I have already secured the following from Mine, as he graciously accepted the responsibility should the need arise (and to which he is beholden until I drop dead). If ever I am in a state of terror and I need to be saved, then he shall do the saving. Because if we’re talking true loyalty, it never hurts to have that loyalty come from a friend who knows how to disentangle a b*mb, make one, crash through a window, leap off a building, outrun and outfight most all other men, make ‘vrooming’ noises as he uses a mouse, ride a motorcycle, and look good in a suit. (I knew you’d agree.)

*****
If My Own SAS Boy doesn’t Killer me for this entry, then perhaps he will allow me to post a photo of him as he flies out of an airplane. Check back later…

Dispatch no 2, Toronto: The Arrival

"Look outside, pretty lady! I*m standing directly across from no 8 price street! :)"

To which, in response, Baby Jane flew out of no 8 Price Street's doors and ran across the street without looking both ways. I'd barely had time to put my mobile back in my pocket, reapply the lip glass, and button my coat before a blur of blonde was running toward me.

She was as breathtaking then as she'd always been and it felt like coming home when I saw her smile, my Baby Jane.

By the time we'd made it up to her second floor office, we'd discussed her wardrobe crisis that morning, my new Crack, my flight, her new office digs and former boss.

Within 10 minutes of being in her office, the following ensued, which serves as the end of this Dispatch from Tee-Off.

"chatter chatter chatter"
"CHATTER CHATTER chatter chatter CHATTER"
"Chatter?"
"CHA. TTER!"
"xyz abc 123"
"chatter!"
"def 456 i like coffee."
"Wait, Maha, you're all over the place - wait - I have to finish this story. Chatter."
"...chatterchatterchatter...?"
"LOL!! OK, I forgot what I was saying! OH! CHATTER! CHATTER CHATTER!"
"abc."
"LOL!"
"LOL! Maybe I should go. I'm too excited! What if you can't do any work after I leave?"
"Maybe you should go - I'm turning into a Mexican Jumping Bean. There's too much energy. Do you like my wall?"
"I LOVE IT! MaybeIShouldGoMaybeI'llWalkAroundAndSeeWhere'sMuch?CanIShop?WhenShouldIBeBack?Where'sBonnie?WhoseMaryEllen?"
"Yes! OHMYGODIDon'tKnowIfI'llBeAbleToGetAnyWorkDoneNow. HoltzIsRightDownTheStreet. GoAndBuySTUFF. 5O'clockSharp. She'sStillAtLunch. MyMother."
"YourMother'sNameIsMaryEllen?"
"Yes."
"IAlwaysJustThoughtSheWasMUMWhoKnewSheHadAName."
"MEXICANJUMPINGBEAN! DoYouWantToGoOutTonight? OurNameIsOnTheListOfAReallyExclusiveClub."
"I'llDoAnything."
"Anything?"
"Anything!"

...and then I flew out of Janey's window and landed in Holt Renfrew.

Stay tuned for more Baby Jane & Mahi Mahi Dispatches from Tee-Off.

(Psst! I'll be blogging about Toronto in little pieces during the coming weeks because there's simply too much to tell in one stream...)

Dispatch no 1, Toronto: Dork, extraordinaire

Seated across from me on the airplane, I knew I recognised him but I couldn't quite place from which television show. Because...it's difficult to name That Canadian Actor under the best of circumstance - seated behind and at an angle made it slightly more difficult.

While waiting for our luggage, this gentleman and I chatted and I instinctively KNEW. I knew how I knew him, and I was so excited! For a brief moment, I hesitated to ask but then gave in because I thought he would feel really good if a girl in my age category told him she remembered him and loved him on L.A. Law. I didn't mind that he wasn't a fellow Canadian; a girl's allowed to make mistakes.

Discreetly, I leaned over and enquired: “Are you the gentleman from LA Law?”

Richard Dysart:



To which he graciously and as equally discreetly responded with: “No, I used to be the leader of the opposition…”

Bill Graham:



My middle name is: Smooth.

Thank you.

(P.S. I also saw Roméo Dallaire, who I recognized without problem. I didn’t approach him because it’s Roméo and when one sees the General, one should just ogle in great wonder and awe.

THEN I saw The Naked Chef, Jamie Oliver, only he was fully clothed. Lovely man, of whom I took a few photos that you can find at this link. The photos make it look as though I was hiding in a bush, which maybe I was...)

So...

Janey was giving me 'directions' as thus: "Go South - that means down the hill, towards a clock tower, Maha - blablabla" because she knows that directions confuse me to no end, especially when people get all technical and start using big words like North and West.

In preparation for the weekend, we were emailing back and forth lines such as: "YAY!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!! Less than 24 hours and I get to see your beautiful face!"

"Just come up to the building, say 'Baby Jane', I will hear you and I will come running to see your gorgeous face!"

"I LOVE YOU!"

"I LOVE YOU MORE!"

"love,
lame-o"

"You mean, love,
wonderful-o"

Pretty strange sh*t, I know. But Baby Jane is the only female in whose lap I could put my head, have her play with my hair and be completely comfortable. Furthermore, she's the only one of my exquisite friends who I have actually tucked into bed, and whose hair I've stroked until she fell asleep because she'd had a rough day. No one questioned her when saying "Maha is the best person to play with your hair! It's how I got to sleep!"

She's also the only one with whom I share a strange affection for poutine, with chili powder and a little mayo. (You did read that right.)

Anyway, I'm excited for this weekend both because I get to hang out with such a spectacular woman, but also because I also get to hang out with her mum, whose coming over tonight in order to get caught up. Janey's mama is a first class woman who shares my Crack fetish and who raised Janey with the rule "no boys on the second floor", as well as all of the proper lady-like guidelines of etiquette pertaining to hosting, guest-ing and general "tips and tricks every woman should know".

When Janey first moved to Toronto, she was living at home with mama in the heart of Toronto - we would breakfast every morning on the little iron patio that sat off the kitchen and which overlooked the massive backyard, and the drop off into nothing but green. There are only a few such places in the centre of Toronto, this being one of them. Mama always had a full breakfast and pot of coffee at the ready for us.

As for Toronto itself, I've not been back since a relatively psychotic weekend of partying in September of 2005 at the Toronto International Film Festival. The night Janey and I were together was the night we met Morgan Freeman and LL Cool J, the night I found out that Dylan McDermott was a little short, the evening I hung out with Kim Coates and made fun of people, as well as the first evening I was petitioned to be the third to a threesome and laughed so hard at the proposition that the retarded and likely disease-filled couple thought I was crying.(1)

We'll see what happens this weekend...but before I go, I strongly recommend you download the acoustic version of "You've Placed A Chill In My Heart" because Annie is a queen.

Have a warm and shiny weekend!
**********
(1) Update: Janey and I are both convinced this is false and that I have, in fact, been back to Toronto since 2005. The only thing of which we're certain is that it wasn't in 2007. Strange, how our collective memory sucks.

Quote of this day

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." - Albert Einstein

...and the days of my life as of late have been drops of golden miracles.

A part of these golden droplets is that I'll be in a few different locations (in North America; overseas is next month, Inshallah) over the coming weekends, so I'll be sending you random postcards from wherever life takes me.

Two worthy mentions

Places you must visit while in Montreal:

.1. Suite 88 Chocolatier, where you must try the Strawberry Pepper gelato.

.2. Yves Laroche Galerie d'Art by the old port. Even though there is a tendency to carry work that leans a little to the grotesque, it's all beautiful.

The Long of It: Montreal

This is my beautiful friend Ranoon, with whom I spent close to a week in Montreal. In this first elegant shot Ranoon is gracing us with the Thou Shalt Not Take My Photo pose:



Moments before she got up and ran away from me, I managed to catch a glimpse of her gorgeous face, which I share with you here:



…her dimple will melt the heart of a lucky man some day.

Until then, she’s busying herself with Bio Genetics (I think I have that right, she will correct me, if need be). You can’t see it, but Ranoon has a massive brain that fills up half of Montreal. She writes and publishes things titled: ”Volumetric Characterizations of Protein Denaturation and Ligand Binding”.

To me, that sounds like something about steaks, leggings and added volume to your hair. But I know that’s not the case and that’s because I'm the girl who once thought that peanuts came from…I don’t know, actually. I had to think about it when asked “Where do you think peanuts come from?” in response to my surprise that they grew ‘beneath’, like potatoes. I guess my mind simply assumed that peanuts grew in cans made by Mr. Planter. So it’s really not a far stretch that Ranoon’s work holds no coherence where I’m concerned…but I am super proud of her when she wins Awards, as she recently did for her ground-breaking work on…something to do with molecules and how they break it down when no one’s looking.

As you can see, Ranoon is a tad shy of cameras. Whereas your blogMistress is anything but, as the following pictures shall illustrate. We spent the better part of our days waking up relatively late and enjoying coffees at home and then at Shaika Café on Sherbrooke. The ambiance of the place is simply: local. It’s obvious that everyone knows the staff, that all locals congregate there for weekend breakfasts and coffees and daily conversation. After my second day there, I expected the staff to call out “Maha!” as I walked in to order my café latte “in a bowl, please”. No one did, so I did it back to myself. Ranoon turned around and left the Café until I stopped giggling.

This is how happy it made me to sit across from Ranoon and drink the yummy lattes:



Our evenings were generally infused with dining out in Le Plateau and Old Montreal and then an early night’s walk around the city or a drive around Westmount and Mount Royal where we ogled homes we can not yet afford.

Amidst our adventures, Ranoon and I learned that I have a nose for rain. It’s weird and it’s new and I don’t know to what I owe the pleasure, but I am your regular Rain-Bee (if there be such a thing) and I can tell you whether and when it will rain. I would come in handy if I could be packaged and sold.

Here’s where I realise I am actually cross-eyed. It’s hot:



(But that’s another story for another entry.)

Every night we watched a movie and I nearly killed myself after watching “The Good Shepherd” which I hear was originally titled “Matt Damon Is A Piece of Wood, Angelina Jolie Used To Kick Small Furry Animals After Shooting A Scene Because She Had To Pretend To Play Passive And Demure, No One Believes That Kid Wasn’t Queer And What’s The Plot, Anyway, Because I Can’t Hear Them?”

I then usually read and fell asleep at the crack of dawn.

I dragged Ranoon into Holt’s in order to play. I played with the hats and we both played with the sunglasses. Here’s the proof (again, please note Ranoon refused to have her picture taken for reasons I am not allowed to mention or else I am not allowed entry back into her home!):




(See: I'm cross-eyed again.)


(I'm not posing here, I was trying to tuck my hair into the hat and I was blinking while trying not to laugh out loud at something Ranoon said.)





& the crazy thing is, I’m considering buying those sunglasses. They’re Tom Ford Margaux. I’m in love and I’ve dreamt of them. I may just do it, even though I was told I looked like a cross between Lisa Bonnet and Michael Jackson in the photos. While in Holt's, we ran into my old friend B. B and I went to high school together and I was the first in our school to know he liked boys. B and I were dear friends and he is Montreal's finest make-up artist. If you're ever in Holt Renfrew, make certain to visit him at the Bobbi Brown counter and tell him I sent you; just look for the beautiful Asian man. (You may call him "Kiki", his stage name.)

It was the perfect week. Relaxed, filled with introspection, laughs, excellent conversation, much love and the occasional “No, that’s not right” as a footnote to "If you were standing outside of yourself".

Good friends are a rare thing and I keep thanking my lucky stars for each and every one of mine. This is how happy I was at the end of that trip:





See the entire lame-o photo stream here. I’ve learned that I have to – from here on in – sneak up on Ranoon and take photos when she’s not looking. Otherwise I’m not allowed. And in case you’re interested, she comes with a portable air conditioning unit that has wheels.

Thanks ya Ranoon! (And p.s. I *was* in Montreal last summer for a couple of days, as the hotel staff mentioned; right before leaving for Beirut. How odd that I forgot.)

Wee photos from Montreal

& big hellos...

It took me forever to take this photo - Ranoon just kept refusing...but here she is in all her beautiful dimple-faced glory:


Walking around Old Montreal, we kept missing the down-pour (one word, two or hyphenated?) and I tried to take a photo so you could see how hard it was raining, but it's not all that obvious:


The most precious statue in Old Montreal. The Girls and us had a little palaver (where they told some great secrets, say thank ya, sai King):






While in Le Plateau, we came across this beautiful little shop called Galerie Flowerbox on St-Denis:





More to come, Inshallah...

Postcard from Dubai

I will pool my thoughts on the political debate I’ve been having in my head soon enough, I promise. Many of you have – and continue to – ask for a sort of ‘brief’ on the already mentioned idea of Jewish fear/identity that I touched on in several personal conversations, referenced in a couple of my Beirut dispatches. I promise that blog entry is coming. In the next couple of days, I’ll force myself to do this, but for now am still enjoying the residue of Dubai that sits on my skin.

And here’s a little bit of that for you…

Mornings handed me quiet swims in the Arabian Gulf, lunch offered fresh grilled fish and vegetables, afternoons took my money to shopping malls and evenings swallowed whole by family.

Although it was a much too short trip, it was one I needed desperately and which went to prove that I simply can not stay in one place for too long. Had originally made a promise that I would not travel for a year, but that took flight a few months back and I’m a happier girl for it.

Wanderlust is something I believe I’ve finally come to terms with, quite happily.

Most interesting about this trip to Dubai was that it was the first during which I’ve ever beached. My trips always amount to discovery; a lot of walking, hiking, walking, walking and walking…with the occasional run for a bus or a train or a car or some place where I can plant my ass and take a break. There’s always a full schedule with things to do, sites to visit, restaurants to sample and people to meet up with. To better understand how I usually travel, just visit my 35 things to do in London, and forgive that your webMum obviously needs to learn how to relax.

But not this time. In fact, I would say that this time, I could have taught people how to relax, as my entire trip sort of reminded me of Baby J’s retelling of her vacation to Hawaii. And if anyone knows how to relax, it’s Baby J. Although I can’t remember which part of Hawaii it was, it sounded like a paradise, filled with great music and food, where everyone surfed during the day and sat out on the beach at night, eating and drinking. (Sounds like the ideal place to live, not merely vacation.)

Swimming in the morning was a little surreal. Since I was alone with the water for the most part (except for one morning), it felt like I had the entire beach to myself. My uncle didn’t know because he feared I’d get sunstroke (for god’s sake!) and so this was kept quiet, and before the kids woke. There was no one out in the waters and I would lay out on the beach like a little whale, or should I say swan? or maybe a seal? do they beach? Anyway, whatever animal it was, I was imitating it quietly and happily so. I didn’t think about anything or anyone or Beirut or Palestine or politics or even tomorrow.

And then there was the outdoor shower, something I’d never used before. Now I want one in my backyard, even when it snows. Actually, especially when it snows. The water is scalding, and in the desert heat one would think that a bit of a nightmare when it is, in fact, ideal. You have the hot air, the hot sun, and the hot sand between your toes and then this boiling water pouring over you.

Obviously, I enjoyed “beaching” and being completely unaware of the world outside. Don’t know when I’ll have the chance to do that again, but right before I left for Beirut, H had finally officially purchased that home in the Azures, and she’s invited me up for New Year’s celebration. It would be friends from all over the world, doing nothing more than excessive drinking and lounging, it sounds. After this recent experience, that seems the perfect holiday and is something am seriously considering at the moment.

Wrap up on Beirut coming soon, I promise.

Uzi almost made me cry

This very nearly moved me to tears, only I was seated between my family and I had to swallow my heart down a little. I'm not often left speechless, but...

...thank you, ya Uzi.

Notes from a pouty day

As soon as I sat on the helicopter, the pilot charged over and shoved a floatation device over my head and strapped it around my waist. He didn’t ask if he could touch me, but perhaps this is an airborne allowance which is universal? Needless to say, he pointed at me and said “It would be nice to not use this but you never know. Thank you. May I take a photo?”

Way to infuse my morning with a little sunshine, Mr. Pilot.

*****

Because I’m a tool, I made the mistake of wearing Strawberry Body Lotion en route between Beirut & Dubai. Everyone but yours truly knows not to do this in the heat and humidity of these countries.

Why?

Because your constant companions are flies and mosquitoes, who are drawn to the scent of the product.

I was walking around like an open can of strawberry jam, swatting away the world’s stickiest frigging flies and mosquitoes, neither of which were the least bit put off by my very obvious distaste for them. Some serious god damn nerve; I could hear them making fun of me while buzzing around my body.

Sitting with the former Swedish Ambassador to Ryadh, he was talking calmly while I was swatting and spinning and very nearly falling off my stool trying to get the flies off me. At one point, he stopped in mid sentence and asked “what are you doing?”
“FLIES & MOSQUITOES.”
“Where?”
“HERE! ALL OVER ME.”
“Right. Ok. *beat:silence* So tell me again, Maha, why is it that Canada decided to so blindly support Israel?”
“Oh my GOD. What do you mean you can’t FEEL THE FLIES?”

…for an otherwise intelligent girl, I made certain to completely under represent Canada. Eventually, he stopped talking and just stared at me as I did the wild dance of Swat.

*****

While in Larnaca, I desperately wanted to speak to my best friend.

With flies around my head, I stood staring sadly at the telephone machines that had refused the advances of my just purchased phone cards. ’But the girl who sold these to me promised me I could call Canada,’ I thought. Not so, she exclaimed when I went back to tell her; “I no tell you call Canada”, she said and refused to make eye contact.

I was standing in front of an Orthodox Priest when I mumbled “You’re lying. And liars go to hell, isn’t that so, padre?”
“We can’t tell who goes to hell or heaven, child. Except all Muslims, Jews, Roman Catholics, Protestants, Lutherans, Buddhists, Taoists, fornicators and pedophiles. Oh! Hookers, too.”

And with my defunct calling cards in hand, I walked out of the hell hole that is a store and I made the following sign in protest: I BOYCOTT YOU

And stood holding it over my head for half an hour before I decided to leave, me and my flies.

*****

To cool off, I went to the washroom to splash cold water on my face.

I have a few questions about the toilettes:
(1) Why aren’t they air conditioned, when they’re the one place where you’re negotiating life or death between bags, toilette seats, dirty floors, and wiping your bum (I mean, really)?

If there is one place that should be air conditioned, it’s the place where you’re trying to pull off your pants while not touching anything that’s within cm of your body.

(2) Why don’t people flush?
You don’t need a high IQ to reach out and flush the freaking toilette, so why don’t you? Is it a game? Do you people hide behind other stalls cackling when someone is forced to walk into a toilette which you havn’t flushed?

(3) How can you miss the gigantic hole that serves to swallow your pee?
I will never understand how it is that women miss the hole in which they’re supposed to plant their arse and wee. HOW DOES YOUR PEE LAND ON THE TOILETTE SEAT? And why don’t you take a small piece of tissue and clean it?

No matter what kind of poor hand/eye coordination you may have, that doesn’t account for missing the toilette seat.

All this to say that I was in a pouty mood while en route between Larnaca and Dubai. And…I’m looking forward to getting back to Ottawa.

At least the rabbit hole's comfy

I was supposed to leave this morning until they asked me to stay on one more day. Coming to Beirut is like falling into the rabbit hole; not that I mind that one bit, but I do wish there were some mind altering drugs to be had. Shut up! I'm kidding.

The rumour is that I leave tomorrow morning and so have one more sunset before Larnaca & Dubai.

Guess what?
The current report is that Israel has kidnapped two civilians and is bombing the South again. Phoque! Fakku! Fuck! Fokk! Fak! Fok! Lezayen! (Thanks for the variations, Wikipedia.)

Hurrah for the ceasefire.

Will try to be back and update in this same blog entry; when you return, just scroll down and see if I've added anything below here.

A sad goodbye to Lebanon

I can't say it enough; Lebanon is a beautiful and breathtaking country and tonight I'll be graced with it's last sunset. I quickly learned that the best way to wrap up my day and unwrap my evening was to wave a little goodbye to the sun.

Heading out to Larnaca tomorrow and on to Dubai the following day, it's been sad and a little difficult for me to find it in my heart to leave. I don't want to walk away from the people, the environment, everything and anything which brought me and kept me here with a smile on my face and a full heart.

My two favourite pictures from this trip are the first sunset I met in Lebanon:


& this moment captured was one of the happiest I had while Beirut served as a mistress; on this particular day, my emotions had run the spectrum available to them and as you should be able to see on my face, I was happiest when the photo was taken. With me are Thunder, an Arabian race horse, and its rider Ahmed:


I'll also leave you with my favourite poem, penned by Gibran Kahlil Gibran, one of the greatest poets to grace us, born in Bsharri, North Lebanon...

The Playground of Life XIX
One hour devoted to the pursuit of Beauty
And Love is worth a full century of glory
Given by the frightened weak to the strong.

From that hour comes man's Truth; and
During that century Truth sleeps between
The restless arms of disturbing dreams.

In that hour the soul sees for herself
The Natural Law, and for that century she
Imprisons herself behind the law of man;
And she is shackled with irons of oppression.

That hour was the inspiration of the Songs
Of Solomon, an that century was the blind
Power which destroyed the temple of Baalbek.

That hour was the birth of the Sermon on the
Mount, and that century wrecked the castles of
Palmyra and the Tower of Babylon.

That hour was the Hegira of Mohammed and that
Century forgot Allah, Golgotha, and Sinai.

One hour devoted to mourning and lamenting the
Stolen equality of the weak is nobler than a
Century filled with greed and usurpation.

It is at that hour when the heart is
Purified by flaming sorrow and
Illuminated by the torch of Love.
And in that century, desires for Truth
Are buried in the bosom of the earth.
That hour is the root which must flourish.
That hour of meditation, the hour of
Prayer, and the hour of a new era of good.

And that century is a life of Nero spent
On self-investment taken solely from
Earthly substance.

This is life.
Portrayed on the stage for ages;
Recorded earthly for centuries;
Lived in strangeness for years;
Sung as a hymn for days;
Exalted but for an hour, but the
Hour is treasured by Eternity as a jewel.

To those of you who have sent hundreds of emails, thank you for your kind words and prayers and encouragement (& occasional 'what the fuck are you thinking?'). You're all in a special folder and I promise to respond to each and every one of you individually. Once more, you have moved me to no end.

No 11: Funnies are a must

A few funny stories to tell, in order to keep with the spirit of my usual blogging.

Special Guest
Friday evening was a long one. Four of us got to sleep at approximately 4:45 am, and two of us had to be awake by 8 am. I was of the lucky who didn't roll out of bed before 12:55 pm.

We all breakfast together in the mornings and so I rang my colleague , who has been nicknamed 'Man-Boy' because he's sort of an adult, but not really. Hands down, he's one of the funniest people I've ever met and has a beautiful girlfriend with whom I hit it off immediately. She likes crack, and who am I to deny the beauty of crack?

So I rang Man-Boy and we met in the lobby for 'breakfast' (cream of mushroom soup & coffee). He owed me a wee bit of money so covered my tab. By that time, all of our other colleagues were out being productive and touristy. We decided to go bathing suit shopping and come back to the pool to lay around like large carrots.

So until this point, the visual was as thus:
- We had breakfast together
- We left the hotel together
- We came back together
- We hung out at the pool together

...What the hotel staff couldn't hear was that Man-Boy called his girlfriend and chit chatted with her about the evening prior and the mushroom soup.

Later that evening, Man-Boy, two other colleagues and I dined together before we all said goodnight and went up to our rooms (I was in bed by 9:30; more on this to come, in terms of "The porno that was being shot next to my room").

Scene Two: Sunday morning, I am in the elevator on my way down to breakfast when the elevator stops, the door opens and in walks Man-Boy also headed down for breakfast.

We walked into the b