Great Balls of Fire!

Discussing fires yesterday, with a group of friends, I realized we don't really consider fire too much of a threat here in Pakistan. I'm sure, in Karachi people have some kind of fire escape plan, should their houses ever catch on fire. Calling the fire department, would be last on their lists of course. I remember years ago, working at a local hotel, which decided to excessively conduct a series of fire drills one year. Some of us were selected to climb out of the fifth floor (big ass hotel floors folks, not your average residential building floors), and then fight our way down a canvas chute, attached to a fire truck. I signed up, took the elevator up, climbed out of the balcony, started down the chute, then remembered I'm claustrophobic. Of course, the two firefighters there to assist us, thought I was mental. I climbed back out, jumped back into the balcony, and watched the firefighter light a cigarette, before I went off in search of a drink.

Should there be a fire in the apartment building we live in, I have an escape plan in mind. We live on the 1st floor, so instead of running down stairs, while the building burns, and people stampede, I think it would be easier to tie the kids in sheets, and lower them over the balcony. The Huz, would need to climb down first, which is fine, because he can climb up and down sewerage pipes easily (at least he used to over a decade ago, when footballs, and tennis balls needed retrieving). I see a great future for him in the U.S. as a firefighter, should we ever move there. And of course, if that happens, I will be a fire-fighter's wife, and expect everyone to thank me for my husband's service. Oh wait... wrong service.

As you can see, fire is not scary in Pakistan. In fact, we love fire over here, more than we love to hate our cricket team... At least that's what it's been like in the last decade. BOOM goes a market, then everything catches fire, and people gleefully jump over burning carts, and flaming fruit stalls to rescue old men and women, who were only there for a bargain. OK, maybe not gleeeeefully, but man can they jump.

Then, of course there are the groups who hate "blasphemers", and burn down their residences, villages, churches, and parts of their towns,  After, which the media will film the burning for hours, while people watch, and young children learn why their city is called the "City of Lights" and/or 'The most violent city in the world.' 

As you can see, no panic. We're a fearless bunch.

Tyre burning is another great local sport. Fuel prices go up, power outages become unbearable, "rival groups burned tyres on Tuesday? It's our turn now." It doesn't matter. People find their excuse, and take to the streets, yanking tyres off vehicles, drenching them in petrol and setting them ablaze on main roads. Other people abandon their cars, and run around looking for more tyres, to throw on the massive fires all around them. Most go home, because watching endless re-runs of it on the news, while sipping chai at a local Dhaba, or alternatively, updating Facebook with "OMG I was just THERE" is more appealing.

One lonely tyre... Not for long.

Bus burning. Well, because buses are just so goddamned badass, and big, and look so scary when set ablaze. Why not? And, easily accessible too, these buses, since they can always be found on the streets, shuttling working people back and forth, so you know, they can maybe earn a living, and feed their small children.

Looks gorgeous in print doesn't it?

  

Flag burning. No excuse needed, it's yet another fiery national sport, sponsored by people who clearly manufacture international flags, and have lots of 'Not fit for export' ones to spare. India, Israel, The Netherlands, Sweden, were this decades favorites, OK, OK, the Indian flag has always been a favorite.... coming in second, only to Israel. Until recently that is. Then came the American flag... And, the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave? Nonsense! Ah, it remains the most sought after flag to burn. Even though there seems to be an endless supply of it available, at any given impromptu flag burning ceremony. If you've burned an American flag, you're a hero.

But please, keep giving us visas, and aid for Sesame Street productions.

Coming in last, but certainly not the least. The effigy. One cannot begin to describe the passion and emotion behind the burning of an effigy in Pakistan. We've burned so many over the years, created so many remarkable likenesses from George W. and the Pope, to members of our national cricket team  The effigy, without doubt, is our true love.

Dude, why are you beating it?

All this talk of fire has made me hungry. Think I'll fire up the grill tonight.

Posing for Facebook!

A few days ago, a good friend of mine posted something on her Facebook status, which gave me a laugh. It's been working it's way into a blog post ever since, and finally today after successfully putting aside all the stresses of daily life, I feel ready to write about it.

Her status:

I have been wondering about this for a while now. I thought I'd ask:-) You guys who go to bars and parties and all that...Is there ever any actual fun being had (i.e. dancing, drinking, laughing)? Or is just a bunch of people packed in a space taking hundreds of posed pictures of themselves to post on FB? Anyone?

Hmm, the Facebook generation strikes again. And, apparently they've been at it for quite a while, because this is not the first time I've encountered someone mentioning people at parties, obsessed with taking pictures for Facebook. I was at a get-together a while back, when I laughingly said we all hadn't yet taken a fb group picture. Big mistake! The cell phones appeared out of pockets and handbags almost magically, and everyone scrambled to group together as if drawn by a call for prayer.

I will never make such an asinine joke again.

Teenagers, I don't mind so much, and not even 20 somethings to be honest. Many of them are still living in denial of growing up. But 30 somethings? Really? You make plans to meet up with friends, get dressed to the nines, pour out the drinks, turn on the music, and spend the remainder of your time posing for pictures? For Facebook? I came across an album of 304 pictures taken by one person, at one party. And, said person was also tagged in several other albums, all containing not less than 200-300 pictures... At the same party.

If the Huz were around, I'd get him to do the math, because I suck at stuff like this.

OK, granted I come from a generation where cell phones were a luxury, and digital cameras probably didn't exist. Or if they did, we had no clue till our rich friends showed them off, while their parents weren't around. So, we made out OK with our stone age cameras, and waited patiently for our films to get developed at the Kodak shop, over a two or three day period. Later, we lucked out with "One Hour Only" developing, which really meant waiting two hours or more in the shop for it.

No, I'm not in my 50s.

Anyway, so with limited resources, we got around to taking maybe two or three pictures at parties. And, now should I come across any of those pictures (which my generation loves to scan and upload on Facebook, as if to say "Here you go you young constant picture taking suckers, we had fun too, so THERE!") I'm amazed to find that I can remember so many details of those events. Who hosted the party, who wore the most hideous outfit, who passed out from too much drinking (or other indulgences), the couple who never got off the dance floor, how the host's father got sloshed, and insisted on dancing with all the pretty, young girls, sometimes OK most times holding them in a death grip, while he attempted to jive on rap music.

My mind took snap shots.

And, now what have you but a generation who prefer to group together, all with extended right arms, the hands of which are firmly clutching the latest in Smart Phones, while they strike pose after pose after damn Facebook pose. Well, looky here folks, this is us entering the party, this is us saying hello to each other, this is us opening the beer bottles, this is us drinking the opened beer, see it's branded stuff, this is what we're wearing, this is the side view of our slutty outfits, now the back view, and these are our shoes. This is us in a 'couples only group,' and another group shot, and wait! Another group shot. Now this is us attempting to dance, and yes, the latest dance steps all require us to keep our right hands extended, while we move like robots so as not to blur the picture... And, here are another 50 group shots... Just the boys, just the girls, just the girls with one boy, just the boys showing off their middle fingers.

How do they not die from so much fun and happiness?

Why does Facebook not explode from the weight of all these albums?

*Sigh* I guess I sound all old and demented, but in my defense this is not what some of us consider fun. Good times don't revolve around how many pictures you get to take at your party or club night. I've been there, done it all (and probably much, much more because I didn't waste my time holding up a camera). I vividly remember laughing till my eyes smarted while I watched my friend S play out a charade, in a game which was not Charades, just a few months ago. He was hilarious! And, there were Smart Phones on the coffee table people! But, we were too busy having a good time to notice. I'm guessing a ton of us who are young enough to remember, yet old enough to know that this zillion picture taking nonsense is nothing but a waste of time, which would be better spent having a blast say WTF? to it all.

But, to each their own I guess.

Fears of No Substance

I don't remember the last time we encountered a full weekend. And, by that I mean having some place to go, something different to do from Friday night, to Sunday evening.... Without a break. This weekend was somewhat like that... OK exactly like that, and I found I couldn't wake up on Monday morning, because my body ached, my head was the testing ground for atomic bombs, and my eyes itched.

It wasn't a hangover.

And, then I did something stupid. I got into an argument with an ultra Catholic boy scout type, who with every ounce of loyalty he possessed, every Bible verse he could Google, and every argument for "forgiveness" he could invent, defended the RCC for sheltering priests who were accused of child molestation.

I lost my cool in a way I haven't since the time I was a teenager, and full of self righteous rebellion against authority. It wasn't pretty, and it made the atomic bombs go off faster and with more power than Iran claims to have. So, I ranted to the huz who prefers to take the more laid back approach. "Don't argue with idiots."

But he isn't an idiot. He's a sanctimonious prick.

And, I probably need to stop speaking out against these types of things, or so people say. I don't see it happening anytime soon. I am incapable of allowing injustices to be swept under the rug once I've spotted them. It keeps my popularity ratings low (another nugget of information from folks around me), but I wasn't aware I even needed to have a rating, or was given one. I wasn't aware that I am by some silent, unofficial law not allowed to voice my opinion and disgust against an institution I was born and raised in. Although, sometimes vague memories of instructions on how to wear the blinders flit through my brain. It was part and parcel for belonging to the club. I refused to conform then, and I won't do it now. Besides, the punishment of ex-communication does not intimidate me. Never has, never will.

It's strange that today I feel a certain sense of gratitude towards the sanctimonious prick I argued with yesterday. He reminded me how dangerous it is to cave in to fear. Fear of an institution who can, and does wield it's power over the masses. Fear of not being accepted into what has become an elitist club for many, where leadership is faltering, and no one wants to do a damn thing about it. The fear of taking a stand and saying wrong is wrong, no matter what the cost to your social status, or promise for fulfillment in an afterlife.

Fears of no substance.

Valentine's Day Ideas - Umm Really?

So, I got another email forward today, and no there were no corpses in it. But, what with all the overflowing of love and mush because Valentine's day is tomorrow, this email titled "Valentine's Day Ideas" gave one some insight into how this day should be celebrated with the one you love. Honestly, they were practically insisting everyone do what they suggested.

Heading the list was

1. Think Back

It went on to ask the reader to remember those wonderful days, when they openly demonstrated their love for their spouse, in many small but meaningful ways. I remember writing little notes to my husband (then boyfriend). You know, those cute little bits of paper, with Have a great day hun, I love you... Muuuuah written in purple ink, and decorated with a few hearts? No really, I'm lying, I never did that even though I loved writing in purple ink then. So, I thought, why not write him a little note today, so I could slip it into his shoe tomorrow morning, and won't he be pleasantly surprised to find it. Grabbed my note cards, a black pen (sorry, no purple ink anymore since I'm all grown up now) and chewed the end trying to think of something romantic to write, without sounding 18.

I ended up writing out our grocery list for the week.

2. Create a Top 10 List of What You Like About Your Partner

Again, I tried...

Top 10 Things I Like About You

10. I like that you're a great father and husband, no wait.. I love that.

9. I like how you love me. Umm nope, I love that too.

8. I don't like how that sounded as if I were 15 years old

7. Oh, I like your taste in movies!

6. I like that you'll forget I said such a lame thing.

5. I can't do this.

4. Wait, let me try again.

3. I like how laid back you are.

2. This is the most asinine thing I've ever done.

1. I'd rather buy you boxers.

Moving on...

3. Jolt up happy memories with a blow-up print out of a picture of those "carefree days" and put it in a conspicuous place.

Clearly the author of that has NO idea how depressing it is to see "carefree" pictures of oneself from over a decade ago. Old pictures belong in albums for our children, and their children to laugh over. Please!

4. Instead of sitting in separate chairs while you watch your next movie on television, sit together on the couch, so that you can cuddle, and perhaps even steal a little kiss every now and then. For the Valentine weekend, you could rent a romantic movie.

What? And, not watch some thriller, while we munch take-out pizza, and maybe drink some beer while the kids sleep?

5. Give your partner a nice shoulder rub, a back or foot massage and/or a back scratching session.

Sometimes sex is the answer, believe me.

6. Make a fun desert for after dinner

Fun! After cooking all day, feeding the kids, making menu plans for the week, all I want to really do is cook some more stuff for after dinner. I'll send the kids to the neighbor's house, ignore that they have school the next day, and make dessert with the huz, so we can refuckingconnect! Lovely!

7. Heart Shaped Burgers

You are not.fucking.serious!

I don't get this.. All this "Be romantic" crap for Valentine's Day. I get that it's one of those overly commercial holidays, but can they please leave (some of) us very married people out of it? I love the odd card, and bunch of roses as much as the next wife, but my husband and I don't need to "re-connect" thank you very much. We're connected in ways most 20 somethings won't have a clue about, till they've birthed and lost sleep over a few babies of their own.

Our mundane day to day crap is what re-connects us. Those calls to say "I'll be home late," laughing together about something the kids did, talking about our tiring day every night, or even twice a week, brief "Hey, how are you doing honey?" moments all keep the love steady and strong. I no longer need to give my husband a foot massage to "bond" with him, because the looks we share over our helplessly laughing children's heads, bonds us for life. Completing years of marriage, knowing how much we've overcome, and how far we still have to go, holds us together better than concrete would. I don't have a list of 10 things I like about my husband, because I have a mental list of a billion things I love about him. He lives in our home, he earns a living which feeds my kids, he sleeps in my bed every night, he drops our kids to school each morning, he cleans up puke off the carpet ffs.

That's better than any store bought Hallmark card, my friends. And, if I want to just kick back, and relax in my PJs, while watching a movie with my husband this Valentine's Day, I will. Our sex life will not suffer for it, so screw you.

Happy Valentine's Day honey, I love you! Don't forget I still love purple roses! :D

Daddy is Not a Babysitter!

So, I'm sitting here and once again wishing people would stop congratulating me on what a fabulous husband I have. Not that he isn't fabulous, there's no doubt about that, but like any other husband and father, he does not require (or want) a pat on the back for doing his duty as a parent.

A few things worth mentioning...

When told he changed our babies diapers

People smile at him in amazement

When they hear he also bathed the babies

Most women swoon, as if he's Edward Cullen in the sparkly flesh

When I mention he cooked dinner for the family

They rush to the stores which sell trophies, and purchase one for him

When I go out with my friends

It's "Aww it's so sweet that your husband babysits the kids"

Babysits? He co-parents our kids!

I do not understand this, and really don't understand this almost religious adoration shown to men who "help" their wives with the children on some odd occasion. Why do we refuse to see it for what it really should be? Parenting! It's what needs to be done. It's what we're supposed to do. Change the diapers, prepare the meals, tend to cuts and scrapes, soothe a crying child... Parenting! Some of my friends think I'm pretty ungrateful because I dismiss their gushing over how "helpful" my husband is. Let me say this to them... I love my husband, I appreciate many, many things about him, I'm thankful for tons more, but I do not need to pay him homage when he spends half an hour with the kids, so I can cook dinner in peace. He doesn't want the thanks, and neither do I want to be constantly thanked for everytime I wash a dish.

There are many women who I think need to grow a little backbone, or alternatively stop treating their husbands like idiots who are capable of accomplishing only one small task at a time. They may surprise you, believe me. They're more than capable, and if they're not? They'll learn to be, and unlike small five year old children, they do not need us standing on the sidelines cheering them on.

It's time most stay at home moms mothers around the world also stepped back a bit, and allowed these guys to be fathers. Admit it, we take on too much, attempt to do everything ourselves, put our lives, interests, wants and needs firmly in a box and lock it. And while we're happily doing all that, telling ourselves we're so great, because we do everything to nurture our children, and shower them with love, we tend to forget there's another parent around, who needs to nurture and love those kids too. And, more importantly, the children need him to do that, free and clear of mommy butting her nose in. He may work 9-5 or 9-9 or whatever, but when he's around, he's right there and perfectly capable. And, don't give me that He works all day and is usually tired crap... We all work all day and are tired, get over it!

Step back.

And, when it's all done, hold the thanks and give conversation a chance. Let him talk about his time with the kids... And, listen. You may be surprised when you notice he needs no thanks, and isn't looking for any.

Because, he actually enjoyed his time with his children.

Don't Eff With Me!

So, I was standing out in my balcony this morning, enjoying the first crisp air this city is experiencing after a crap ass summer, and I noticed this guy staring at me. No big deal, guys stare at me a lot, and I'm not saying that because I'm vain or anything. Men look at women! They have to, can't be helped. They can be walking down the street, minding their own business, and suddenly they get a twitch in their pants, and their eyes automatically zero in on the nearest female. The bigger her breasts, the bigger the itch. It's their own personal, built in radar, and we should be accepting of it. And, not jealous, because we have our own radars. But, I won't get into that right now, because writing about female radars could fill several books.

Anyway, so I tried to ignore the idiot, but, I really, really hate it when people stare at me.. It's just annoying. Like dude, look at the beautiful blue sky, appreciate the lovely weather, examine your testicles, maybe your itch is really a rash... Anything! Just don't keep gazing at my breasts ffs!

Finally, I decided to give him my "Don't eff with me look" which is pretty scary if I do say so myself. I've had it for ages, and it just gets scarier with time. It'll probably be horrific when the wrinkles come around, but I don't want to think about that just yet. In the last five years though, I've managed to perfect my "Don't eff with me" look, thanks to the OMG I think I would DIE if I had twins comments hurled at me by numerous asshats. So, unless I birth triplets next time around, which I'm pretty sure is not going to happen, I don't see my 'Don't eff with me' look improving.

But, I'm happy with it.

Not that it holds a candle to the God of "Don't eff with me" looks.


I wish he were my (sugar) daddy! Even now, that he's old and whatever.

Seriously, I have never seen a better "Don't eff with me" look than that. How Ashton ever managed to not crap his pants in the presence of this guy is mind boggling. Ashton must be blind! Because, if I were a 20 something guy, who had the hots for Bruce Willis' ex-wife, and I was not BLIND!! I would never go within fifty feet of her. Never! I mean, has Ashton even watched Die Hard 1?

I think I'll go blow up this picture now, print it out and hang it in the balcony. Not saying the huz doesn't have a great "Don't eff with me" look. He does! And, and even better "Don't effin eff with my effin wife, you mother effin eff" look, but he's not around right now.

So, Bruce it is!

How I Fell in Love With My Husband

An interesting post on a message board caught my eye today. It was a question about when everyone knew they were in love, and when they told their significant other that they loved them.

I don't remember the first time I told my husband I loved him. ***Ignores the gasps of shock and snorts of disgust***

I don't remember the moment, how I felt, whether he said it to me first, what he wore, how surprised I was or was not, if it was raining outside, nothing. He probably remembers it all, the ass. And, he'll lord it over me someday when I'm lording something over him. Again, ass!

I do however, remember all the times I fell in love with him. How many times can you fall in love with the same person? Apparently, many in my case. But, that's probably because I kept falling, and kept ignoring how much I was falling. It was not supposed to end in LOVE for heaven's sake! No, no, couldn't have any of that stuff ruining a fabulous friendship. So, I busied myself ignoring the numerous times I fell for him. Did I have issues or what?

Like the time he outrageously flirted with me at a party, and my then boyfriend was in the next room, strutting around in tailored pants he was afraid would wrinkle if he sat down. Or the time he convinced his girlfriend to chop off her locks, because I didn't like her hairstyle and mentioned it to him. Also, the time my friends asked me to cook for them, and then wouldn't eat because the food was way too spicy. Wusses! But HE ate it... And, asked for seconds. I was so happy, I pretended I couldn't hear his stomach cursing me to oblivion.

Over endless cups of coffee, in cozy cafes, late night chats on the internet, immediately after we had spent several hours together. Ridiculous email exchanges, unexpected roses for no reason at all, friendship cards, Oreo cookies, the ever available shoulder to cry on, massive arguments, our preference to talk to each other instead of the whole group which surrounded us a lot. We were falling alright, and hard. No way was I going to acknowledge it.

So, that first kiss threw me. And I panicked, for the first time in my life. Then, something, something and something more... Before I knew it, LOVE! It bitch slapped me in the face so hard, I couldn't get over it. I suppose it had, had enough of lurking in the far recesses of my mind. I'm not going to say 'heart' because that's just stupid talk... Don't you just hate it when someone says they know something in their heart? Just say 'brain', or 'mind' ffs. I suppose it sounds all mushy and sweet. I'd rather have an Oreo instead.

From there it was smooth sailing. Fast courtship (do people still say courtship?), surprise engagement (MIL, the old bag, is still reeling with the rest of her clan), small wedding (I wanted a big wedding, because I was greedy and wasteful then), twins ten months later and ,no sleep ever since. Fun!

And that's the story of how I fell in love with my husband. And, that lurrrve has kept us married for five years. Well, that and, the ability to tune out on occasion... OK, OK, more than the odd occasion. But, he tunes out more than I do... Not that I blame him, I'm a huge, incessant nag.

We didn't have the whole two strangers eyes meet across a crowded room and they know it in their hearts, that it is love stuff. Although, for those who it has happened to, great! Send me your story, I'll publish it here on my blog.

Got Nationality?

I've spent the last two days mulling around a few topics in my head, for a possible blog post. One subject has been on the forefront of my mind though and it relates to race. Oh yes, I said RACE people. That little four letter word which incites fierce debate, and feelings of righteousness. No newbie blogger would touch that subject with a ten foot pole, and I'm not going to either. But, I do have a story about how stupid some people here (in my country) can be when it comes to people of other nationalities and race. It's just a little glimpse, and an extreme one, but funny as hell... Or painful, depending on which way you look at it.

A couple of years back, or less (I can't be certain), I was out shopping with my sister who was visiting from overseas, and another good friend. So there we are, at the mall, snacking instead of shopping, when we see this girl we knew from years ago. She was a few tables down, with her kid and a large man... who was white. Not uncommon here, because plenty of our locals marry "foreigners" or Goras (white people) as we like to call them. My sister being one of them. Anyway, try as I did to avoid us running into her, it of course had to go and happen. Damn my sister and her niceness! And all in a rush of hellos, and how are yous (from my sister), this one does not bother responding, but then suddenly bursts out with This is my husband, he's a German. It took exactly five seconds for her to finish saying "German."

I watched my sister freeze, and could almost hear her willing herself to maintain her polite smile, while my friend rolled her eyes and then tried desperately to make eye contact with me. I did not give in, because I was too busy scanning the stores to see if they had trophies or medals on sale, so I could buy one for the idiot married to a German and congratulate her on her husband's nationality. And, if that wasn't enough bullshit which spewed from her mouth, she follows up with He's from Germany Wow, no shit Eisenstein! I swear to God I thought Germans were from Antigua. It was at the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it and pretended I couldn't see my friend who was rolling her eyes even more, and making soft gagging noises, while my sister looked desperately at me for help. She wasn't getting any.

I sometimes do not jump into these situations with my smart ass mouth, not because they could lead to bloody lips, but because I have this sick and twisted need to watch asshats turn themselves into giant sized asshats. And, I'm glad I did, because years later, it's given me good material for a post on an otherwise non-creative day.And no, that wasn't the end of it. There was no stopping the idiot "who is a rush of breath went on He's here from Germany, and we'll be going to Germany soon, because he works in Germany and so I'll be joining him with my daughter in Germany. Never in my life have I heard the name of that country mentioned as much as I heard it in those three minutes.

Really, you can't make this shit up. This is the ultimate goal of a certain segment of Pakistani society... Marry the Gora and show it off. Oh, and get the passport! "This is my husband, he's a German" Who says stuff like that? I mean really, who? She never told us his name, and he just stood there like an ass, blushing, while she grinned like the cat who got the German canary.

I wonder how she would introduce him to her German friends if she should aquire any? What would she say? Probably This is my husband, he's German like you are. I on the other hand am a Pakistani, from Pakistan, but once I get my passport, I'll be a German, from Germany, because this is my husband, and he's a German.

It really was a buy gun, shoot self encounter.

Have a great weekend everyone, and by the way... This is my husband, he's... my husband.

Ex Boyfriends - The Post

Oh my goodness! What a terrific week this has been. NOT!

It all began one scorching hot and humid day in the city of Karachi, when it's residents decided they needed to pray for rain. And pray they did, for months and months, till finally the blessed rains fell from the heavens on Saturday, July 18, 2009. And then the power went out. The end.

So, now we're back to the real world three days later, very disgruntled, exhausted and sick to death of the words "no electricity" "no water" "wasted frozen meat, chicken, fish and everything else in the damn refrigerator" Torturous three days and I don't want to talk about it right now, because if I do, some idiot will probably tell me to thank the gods I'm better off than the people who didn't have power for four or five days. I'm not interested. My problems are my own, which make them bigger and worse than everyone else's thank you very much, and go screw yourself.

Thankfully, I have other things to talk about. It seems my blog is finally kicking off (oh the wonders of social networking sites) mainly because I decided to not be so chicken shit anymore, and actually believe people like my husband and BFF who tell me that I can write, and need not hide my "stuff" in padlocked boxes, password protected word documents and online blogs. Seriously... four year old blog and I only just have the guts to go completely public. For all my bad assness, that's quite sad.

So anyway, back to my blog's baby steps towards (dare I say?) popularity. I received an email requesting a post! How wonderful is that? For a moment I could almost feel how J.K. Rowling must have when all her fans told her to not kill Harry off in the end. It's an honor to have someone ask you to write about something. Never mind if they ask you to write something (anything) relating to ex boyfriends in general, never mind if the topic is not right up there in the same league as say big issues like abortion, or religion, or Sarah Palin's secret plans to take over the world through faith and faith alone gosh darn it! I was asked to write about ex boyfriends, which is a great topic for some good laughs, so write I will. Because I have a few ex-boyfriends. Now, if I were male I would be able to say I was quite the ladies man, but because I'm female I'll just have to go with ummmm slut? Seriously! What's our term? Male magnets? Men's lady? Still sounds slutty to me. This is ridiculous, I feel like burning my bra in protest!

OK so, ex-boyfriends. Sadly, not many left a lasting impression on me, and I swear to all things unholy, I don't even remember what a couple of them looked like. In fact I ran into one a while back and I couldn't for the life of me remember his name. And if that wasn't bad enough, I didn't even remember going out with him, and... AND, I for some reason thought he went out with my best friend many years ago. I mean who in their right mind does not remember an ex? And more importantly, how mediocre a kisser was this guy that I have no memory of it? Seriously.. How many more have I forgotten? What the hell does this Mommy Brain do to us goddammit?

Anyway, I tend to remember my ex's by their nick names. I gave them all nick names after the break ups, which was part of my healing process. Not for me the late night ice-cream binges, or crying myself to sleep. I gave them nick names and imagined them several years down the line, married to horrible, nagging women with recurring acne problems. I can't remember all of the names but Jerkoff, Jerk of the Century, Asshole, and Dickless were definitely on the list. Wonderful therapy... So much better than songs about lost love. All you can do is cry over those when you have a broken heart right? What a waste of good Air Supply music. Singing "All Out of Love" when you're happy is so much better than sobbing the words into your pillow.

Some of the ex brigade were great guys. OK I'm exagerating, maybe one or two of them were great guys, and I remember them fondly from time to time. But the rest... Ickcity pigs! Specially one or two who I fell really hard for... hard, as in flat on my face with the word 'Doormat' stamped on my ass. What can I say? I had my very, very stupid days. Some of my friends while reminiscing with me still ask What the hell were you thinking? I always reply, I wasn't. Who thinks at times like that? Come on! Teenagers don't think.. Their raging hormones just latch on to the nearest target and they're set. At least I didn't marry anyone from my hormone filled, non-thinking days right? Some girls did! And while most of them are very happy I'm sure (if they're not divorced or doing the postman), some of them have to wake up every morning and ask themselves What the hell was I thinking? While a voice inside their head screams You weren't! You're weren't! But hurry! Get off your ass, and stage perfect in-love-with-my-husband picture for your Facebook profile soonest! Never mind if he looks like shit run over, backed up and run over again.

OK that was mean, I'm guessing not all my exes look like crap now, some were so fricking good looking, they could only have aged well. Not that I'm going to ever bother finding out, because I wasn't the Let's be bestest friends forever and ever after our breakup, and you can be Godfather to my first born child kind of gal. I only made the exception with my husband who in case you didn't know went from best friend, to boyfriend, then ex-boyfriend, then boyfriend again, fiance and finally husband, while managing to remain my best friend through it all, and almost definitely ignoring that voice in his head which yelled What the hell are you thinking?

Teeny Bopper Hell

From the time I was very young, I've been a people watcher. No, not one of those wall flower types who gape at everyone, or even a voyeur, nothing like that... just honest to goodness people watching. It's also not something I consciously do when out and about, because normally when I'm out and about, I can almost certainly be found chatting up a storm with one or more people.

But, for some reason I can still tune in to what the people around me are doing, saying etc. It's just weird, but I notice the most ridiculous things going on around me, no matter how engrossed I may be in a conversation or whatever else I'm doing at the time. For example, I would notice random guy in the far corner, hiding behind a menu, picking his nose and then wiping the booger off under his chair, or big lady with the sparkly white sandals, three rows down, pinching her husband's thigh and raising her eyebrows. Then I look around at the people with me and say "Did you SEE that?" and they look at me like I just landed in from another galaxy.

And, if that's not enough, then being able to tune into other conversations is another curse on my otherwise clean and spotless soul. I swear to you right here and now, I do not eavesdrop. I really don't have the time, and I also think what goes on in my head is more interesting than what a lot of people around me have to say. There I go, pissing people off again... one of these days, I'll get the nastygram and probably deserve it.

So, sitting in one of my favorite coffee houses today, with my husband as we waited for the kids to get off dance class, and who should come and sit down right next to us, but those wonderful, misunderstood and very frickin excited.... Teenagers!! Now, don't get me wrong, I love teenagers, and am a great defender of all things youthful, well maybe not the way some of them dress these days, but otherwise yes, I love teenagers, having being one myself many moons ago. But, when I'm enjoying a nice quiet cup of coffee with my husband and chatting about how I want to remodel the kids room, I do not want my curses to rise to the surface and start observing teenagers. ***Sigh*** But, they did, and I did, so here's what my curse brought to my attention.

Girl 1: I'm like so happy you guys could make it
Girl 2: So, so, so, like did he call?
Girl 1: Yeah he did, and Omigod, I was like SO excited!
Girl 3: Sooooo, like what did he... like SAY???
Girl 1: You will like not believe this, but he was like So I just called to wish you a happy birthday, and I was like Omigod, I can't believe you remembered and he was like Yeah, so what are you doing today? and I was like Oh nothing much, just like dinner with the fam and he was like OK then have a great birthday! Omigod! Omigod! Can you like belieeeeeeeeve it?
Girl 2: Omigod!!! Whaaat? He rememmmmmbered? Omigod!!
Girl 3: He's like SOOOO hot!
Girl 1 & 2: I KNOW!!!

No, they couldn't get us another table, no I couldn't tune out, no, I won't be going back there next year on July 8th, and no I did not appreciate my husband laughing at my rant later, because HE teaches this age group in school and is like used to like how they like speak like every like single like day!!

Informal Debate Rules - Thou Shalt and Thou Shalt Not

Most of my family or friends will tell you that I love to debate. They'll also tell you it's just another word for 'argue' and they're right. I can argue about anything, with anyone, at anytime, any day. My husband knowing this, married me anyway, and now probably lives to regret it. My four year old children, or at least my daughter is definitely biding her time watching, learning and preparing to kick my ass when I least expect it. I expect it every second of every day... I'm way ahead of her, and much taller.

What most people fail to understand, is that it's not a love for the actual argument, or beating someone when they're trying to make a point or **gasp** winning. It's just something people like me, do. And, we're not bad people, or bullies or whatever the hell you want to call us. We just like to make our point too, and most times we're so hell bent on making that point, we really do come across as bitches or bastards. Which is a load of crap. We love people, for the most part. I know I do, and I love to learn from them too.. Just because I'm talking hard and fast, does not mean I'm not listening. People tend to forget that when debating with the 'love to argue' types.

But, there are rules! Our rules, and we follow them, and just wish others would too. Granted they may not be formal rules listed on some international debate website, but they exist (or should) in any informal debate setting. So I'm going to type them out now, and probably piss off a lot of people in my life.

The Rules

1. Know What You're Debating
For there is nothing more annoying, than a person who likes to argue about something, he has little or no clue about. These are not the 'argue about everything' types... these ones usually have one pet subject they are ignorant about, and they love to show the world just how frickin ignorant they are about it... every chance they get.

2. Try to Understand
Make the attempt, really, it won't kill you. Time and again I see people not bothering to even attempt understanding what the other person is saying. Maybe they're just busy listening and agreeing with the voice (voices?) in their own head, so they can't hear, leave alone listen to anything else.

3. Be Yourself
If you do not have a personality, find one online or something, then adopt it.. and STICK with it. But to do not pull the whole I-have-a-multiple-personality-disorderish-type-of-personality. Which means you're nice one minute, and go completely off the deep end the next. It's confusing, and I for one never know if I should keep talking, or offer to run to the nearest pharmacy and buy you your meds.

4. Don't Be a Whiny Ass Baby
I'm going to play the whiny ass baby here for a second to really get the point across. I bring up a topic, and people get talking. Someone makes a point, and I begin an argument. They make another valid point, and all I can say in return is 'You're bullying me, wah wah wah, you're being so mean wah wah wah, and rude wah wah wah, and a bitch wah wah, wah, and I wish you wouldn't. You're so angry wah wah wah and I don't like anger because I've had a really hard day wah wah wah, I'm just trying to be nice and understanding of you and your point, but you won't let it go wah wah wah.

If I downed a drink for everytime I've encountered one of these piss poor excuses of "debators", I would be an alcoholic.

5. Keep it Simple.
Be short and to the point please and save the lengthy stuff for your blogs or journals like so many of us do. I like to debate, not lose my hearing to monotone crap, or make my retinas bleed a slow death. I just came across a couple of such "debate" posts on Facebook, and I swear to all that is holy, my eyes screamed in terror and I felt like they were gasping for air. It was terrible... sentence after sentence of type which would cure me of my insomnia if my eyes did not protest.

Thanks for stopping by... Have a great weekend!!

20 Confessions This Week

Too little time to post a whole long and drawn out post this week. Sad really, but I blame the heat which makes me lag behind on every major and minor chore around the house, outside the house, on top of the house... whatever.

01. I signed the kids up for dance class, and now wish I had checked the timings first.

02. Afternoon drives in what the weather bureau claims to be 35 degrees C is unbearable,
even with the air conditioning on full blast.

03. Weather forecasts for this city are always inaccurate.

04. I hate pollution more than everyone else.

05. Dance class does not drain kids of energy, an hour of it is like six tablespoons of sugar
washed down with Coke.

06. My husband cooked dinner today.

07. Because I pretended I was going to, and then let him insist he would.

08. I'm a good wife otherwise.

09. Made a plan to meet a fellow twin mom for breakfast, and kept my fingers crossed she
would be normal, and not one of those moms I love to hate.

10. She was better than normal, she was awesome.

11. My children have taken to wearing nothing when they're home.

12. I can't thank them enough.

13. My washing machine can't thank me enough.

14. It's 10:00pm and I haven't eaten dinner yet.

15. The husband can cook, and cook well... it's just taking a while today.

16. I'm a little hungry but won't ask how long before dinner's ready.

17. Because I'm a good wife like that.

18. My OCD kicked in big time today, and I cleaned like a mad woman.

19. I also decided my dining room needs a makeover, as in paint, new table, some this and
that.

20. Mentioned it to my husband... He pretended he didn't hear me.

Perfect Pizza Recipe

Ingredients
Pre-made pizza dough
Tomato sauce
Toppings of their choice
Cheese
Put daddy in-charge

Directions
Pre-heat over and hunt two inquisitive kids out of the way
Let daddy take the lead and allow kids to pile it all on
Watch their creativity flow
Laugh a lot
Bake for 15 minutes or as desired

Serve hot with chilled drink of your choice. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The author of this recipe refuses to take responsibility for the holy mess which may result during and after the preparation of this pizza. Counter tops may never regain their shine, kitchen sink may forever be clogged, oven mitts may retain scorch or burn marks and/or holes. Mommy's blood pressure levels may rise beyond control and tongue may be bitten till you taste blood to prevent "Not like THAT" orders.

Like Father, Like Son!

The kids walked into the room while I was hooking up my bra. So H says "mommy you have big boobies" and B said "so does daddy" (weird huh? LOL) Then they went on to say that they both had small boobies.

And then B says "I like big boobies, yours are nice mommy"

I have no doubts he will be exactly like J when he grows up. LOL

The Clock!!

B still cannot say "clock" so he says "cock". J's alarm clock had a piece missing, and B just found it. He said..."Look mommy, I found the thing for daddy's cock". "Here you go, you can fix it back on his cock.. and then it'll be ALL better".

Later when I told J about it, he didn't believe me... anyway, I sent B over to tell him about the clock, and he said ""Daddy... look mommy fixed your cock and now it's ALLLL better.. right?"

The look on J's face was priceless!!