That (bad) fling thing

I think I now understand why some women stay in abusive relationships. Not because I am in one, or have ever been in one, fortunately. And not that I would stay longer than to throw things at his head. But I now sort of get women who do.

See the thing is, I love my job. I truly enjoy the work I do. (having a brand new iMac helps :) ) but for the past well, three years, I've had an on-off relationship with it because of the other things that come with working in a high stress, no-social-life field. Crazy working hours, bitchy colleagues (well, one) (but she more than makes up for an entire bloody team) and a could-have-been-better-paycheck (it can always be better right?). There have been times when I've worked through entire weekends only to find out Monday morning that the client doesn't want to go in that direction/ is out of his budgeted range/ isn't doing it anymore. Bastard.

So every few months I'll think about updating my resume and going on a hunt for that perfect job. And that's how far I always get. Thinking about it. Not only because I can barely find five minutes to revamp my CV, (and when I do, I'm reading blogs or writing this one) but because two days after the showdown with the bitchy colleague, or the presentation that went terribly wrong, work will once again be all rainbows and butterflies. Easy. Fun. Peaceful. Colleagues will say "thanks! you're a star!", clients will say "great work!" and I'll go back to loving my job and missing deadlines. Until the next time shit hits the high powered air conditioner.

It's a vicious cycle, good times and bad in an ever-changing, never-ending spiral. So much like a dizzying, volatile romance.

Is there a home for battered workers?

Everything and a peanut

I was once found, but now I'm lost. Had to change some things about this blog so I could go back to blissful anonymous-ity. So if anyone is wondering why the change in name, now you know.

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I have a new mac. A 20 inch flat screen iMac. It has a sleek little remote for my iTunes that attaches to the side of the screen with a magnet. Oooh the screen. It's big. It's beautiful. I want to bow down and pray to it.

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Diwali was fantastic. I absolutely adore fireworks. When they're several thousand meters away. As long as I can't hear them, I'll have a huge idiotic grin plastered on my face any time I see a particularly spectacular one. (hah I like the sound of that. Very tongue twister-y. Particular Spectacular.) Hearing them though, scares the living beejezus out of me.

Last year I dared leave the security of my home (where a magnificent vista of fireworks is available to me from the safety of my balcony) and walked right smack bang into the middle of a war-zone. Flashing lights, thunderous racket (and rockets), I felt like I'd walked right into the heart of terror-torn Iraq. When some kids decided to light some fireworks under a parked car, I almost had a seizure. Never again. Now fireworks are viewed from the comfort of my balcony, lights switched off, wrapped in a cosy sheet (because this is still Africa, and we're almost on the equator. No wooly blankets for us) and popcorn and an iced drink. And God they were stunning.

When (and if) I ever get married, and if I can afford them, I'm so totally having fireworks. Only I'd have to pay for licenses, fire trucks, ear plugs etc. Waitaminute, I can just get married on Diwali. That would be awesome. So that's that then. Now I just need to find an unsuspecting victim to marry.

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Eid was boring. Which is funny, because I'm muslim and I enjoy diwali more than I do eid. It could be because I have a very, very, very small family here and it's just not as much fun when there's only three of us to feast on potfuls of chicken biryani. Usually every year, my sister, a good friend who also doesn't have a big family for big-family-celebrations, and I would take off to of all places, subway, for long bouts of nonsense, silly jokes and yummy sandwiches. This year my sister is married and celebrating with her new big family who have big-family-celebrations, and my good friend is away living it up abroad. So that leaves lonely old me. And that's how eid was spent watching dvds and gorging on sweets all on my lonesome ownsome.

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The party at Ahmet's house was fabulous. Not because it was a brilliant party with the right mix of people, fun, food and a very dip-able pool. Which it was. And not because it ended at sunrise. Which it did. But mostly because of Ahmet's presence and his ever-charming rake-ish ways.

Word of advice: If you thought you'd gotten over a guy simply because he got married, newsflash! you haven't. Therefore it is NOT a good idea to party at his house. You will be very aware of every little comment, every gesture, every move. Did that hug linger a few seconds longer than usual? Did he actually say "wow" when I walked towards him asking for a drink? Did his wife notice?

And it was really very bizarre when the next morning, my horoscope for the day read: A relationship has unnerved you once again because you genuinely thought you had got over loving this person. Acknowledge the fact that for the first time in your life you are experiencing true love.

See? Sooo not a good idea. I really need to re-read my copy of "He's just not that into you." More importantly, I really need to get a life.

Oops. Did I do that?

- Steve Urkle in Family Matters

Sometimes I do the stupidest things to myself. Sending the wrong text message to the wrong person is one of them. It's a standing joke amongst friends. I've lost count of the amount of times I've made a complete fool of myself having sent an embarrassing sms to someone who was definitely not meant to read it.

Coworkers have received messages from me asking them to "please buy some milk when you're on the way home". Friends I've asked to "call mom as she can't find that pan you'd used yesterday."

A while ago I had a bit of a thing for this guy. We chatted on instant messenger regularly and one fine day, in the midst of a pleasant conversation, I turned and made some comment to my sister. I don't remember what I said but she in turn bent down to the keyboard and on the chat window jokingly typed "I think you like me." She wasn't going to send it, but in my tizzy, halfway through our mini-scuffle, I hit enter.

Mortified? Who me? I should be used to it by now.

In the end, that incident didn't end up too badly. The track of our talk changed and he ended up confessing he liked me and asked me out.

Most of my dimwitted moments though, don't have such a happy ending.

This morning, I did the single most idiotic thing on the planet. Ahmet is having a house party this weekend which his wife had mentioned to me but for which I didn't really get a nice (formal) invite. I wouldn't usually be so anal about it, but since I don't really know her too well, and with my past history of awkwardness with Ahmet being what it is, I wasn't planning on going if one of them didn't call and request the pleasure of my company.

This morning when he did, I texted a mutual friend "You didn't tell Ahmet anything did you?" who do you suppose I sent it to? Take a wild guess? Ahmet. If I want to know what red-faced utter-chagrin looks like, I just have to look in the mirror.

My acts of shame have been recorded for posterity by a friend who made up a poem a few years ago. Read on, it's funny.

There was a cat who wore a hat
that was two sizes too big
it had green and purple polka dots
and it hid his little pink wig

The cat was merrily on it's way
to a beauty contest in town
Thinking smugly to himself
"With a hat like this, I'll snatch the crown"

Whilst on the way he met Polar bear
dressed like a ballerina
laughing out loud the cat he said
"Don't let the other guys see ya!"

The contest took off with a bang
The bear was a laughing stock
The cat was winning all the rounds
And smiled as if to mock

Then suddenly in awe the crowd went quiet
and looked in unison to the right
for walking gracefully on the stage
was (geek goddess) most stunning as turkish delight

She had on her a funky blouse
of stripes black and red
denim jeans that flared below
"It's friday you see" she said

She stopped and turned and to the judges smiled
that smile that only she could smile
the judges all fell off their chairs
that smile, that walk, that confectionary style!

The cat was mighty miffed at this
"Foul play" he cried, "don't you love my hat?"
the judges paid him no heed
as they watched (geek goddess) pirouette

She did a twirl and then a jig
her wiggly toes keeping beat
and as she her hair tossed back
the crowd sat stunned as if glued to seat

Then she cracked a joke she did
the audience in laughter burst out loud
her wit, her humour, her sarcy comebacks
would have made any jester proud

Then her phone did ring out beep
an SMS she had to put in motion
and as the crowd watched her fingers type
she sent a message... to the wrong person!

But for all her quirks and her bathroom singing
she's fun to be with and she has taste
the judges all agreed to this
and made her the winner pretty post haste

The prize was a huge moist chocolate cake
that disappeared in the blink of an eye
and they wondered not where it all went
when (geek goddess) let out a satisfied sigh

So the cat he walked off with a sulk
the bear couldn't care less
(geek goddess) decided to eat with a friend
just WHERE is anyones guess!

For (geek goddess)'s nice for all her whackiness
(and you can bet your chocolate on that!)
cause even when she has a bad hair day
she's far prettier than a cat in a hat!

Also known as Dory*

I am the most forgetful person on the planet. Seriously, I can open a door and forget whether I'm coming in or going out. I have dialled numbers then forgotten who I was calling. I've forgotten the names of classmates I'd studied with for 4 years, a month after graduation (truly embarassing story that), and I've spent hours searching for keys that were in my hand. Okay wait, that's not lousy memory, just plain stupidity. But anyway, if there was a Queen of the Forgetful, I'd be her. Or she'd be me. Whatever.

Now where was I?

Less than a week ago, I'd told my mother and sister some hot new gossip. "Are you serious?" my sister had exclaimed, "Shocking!" Last night, she repeated that same little tidbit to me. (It's obviously genetic.) "Seriously?" I asked incredulously, "That's shocking!"

Our mother looked on in bemusement.

*Dory the fish from err... whatchamacallit... Finding whatshisname? Right. Finding Nemo.

Close Call

Phew. Someone I know found this blog.

Sometimes the itty-bitty-est acts of carelessness can lead to your undoing. And me being the extremely private person that I am, would never have been able to write another post knowing someone I know would be able to read my deepest desires and unspoken secrets. Not that I've written anything of that sort on this blog - yet.

Not even my sister who is like a piece of my heart, or my bestest friends know about this blog. I may tell one or the other some time in the future. Maybe. But for now, this blog is absolutely, utterly, unnamed and faceless.

Thank you Gods of Blogger for making it so easy to go back into hiding.

Dear you-know-who-you-are, I'll know if you find this blog again. Can you be really, really nice and go away? Thanks.

Now back to our regular programming.

Men vs Boys

Two conversations in an otherwise empty elevator zipping non-stop down a high-rise.

SCENE 1:
Man - wow, we haven't stopped once on any of the floors.
Me - yeah, maybe we're in a free fall, plummeting to the ground, and we don't even know it.
Man - *nervous look* I watched this program on AXN all about how you could save yourself if you were stuck in a falling elevator. blah blah blah...

SCENE 2:
Guy in his 20's - cool shit yo, this lift ain't stoppin on any of the floors.
Me - uh huh
Guy in his 20's - *adjusts imaginary super-hero cape, beats his arms in the air and pretends that he's batman*

Maxim for Life (and death)

I don't know who wrote this, but I love it.

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming, "WOO HOO! What a ride!"

Not that I wouldn't mind getting there looking totally hot, (who knows who I'd run into in the hereafter) but I could live with that. (die like that. whatever.) Although at the rate I'm going, I'll probably get there worn out and weary from lack of sleep, weak from hunger, drained from a bad head cold; just plain dead beat, and then have just enough strength to mutter "Oh I can sleep now?" before I collapse.

Life is...

Last night I was in a bit of a blue funk. What with my heart all topsy turvy at sighting an old somewhat-ex and then, almost simultaneously, meeting an old crush at Saturday night's party.

This old flame, I'll call him Ahmet, was the love of my life. We met a few years ago and hit it off like chocolate ice cream and a mixed nut topping (what? You can't have chocolate ice cream without nuts okay?) He wasn't conventionally good looking, but he had this easy confidence and a quick wit that would have me rolling with laughter in seconds. He oozed charm. Oozed it, it leaked from his every pore. We flirted back and forth and our sms's were filled with light banter and sparkling repartee. I fell for him like a stack of glass plates crashing to the floor. Hard.

There was one tiny problem. He'd had a steady girlfriend for almost six years. He wasn't cheating on her or anything, the further-est we'd ever gotten was harmless flirting - on his side. I on the other hand, was head over heels.

He got married to his girlfriend not long ago, which I know in my heart of hearts was the right thing to do. But that doesn't make it any easier for me. The selfish, insensitive she-devil that I am. Seeing him again at Saturday night's party with his beautiful wife brought back bittersweet memories. We talked a little, albeit awkwardly. The butterflies and friction were still strong, and the eye contact was as long and soul deep as it had always been.

I'm not usually the remorseful type. I try not to let things get to me, I honestly believe if something's meant to be, it will. So if it doesn't work out the way I want it to, I let it go as best as I can - I know there's something better out there. But last night, for possibly the first time in my life, I felt the pangs of deep regret. If only I'd given quasi-ex a chance. If only I'd not let stupid, superficial things get in the way of knowing him better. If only Ahmet had not had a girlfriend. If only we'd met earlier, before he'd had her in his life. If only.

Sometimes you just have to grab whatever life throws your way with both hands. Close your eyes, take a leap and jump for the stars with full faith that you'll land between them. Unless of course, that particular star is already conquered and occupied. Then you just return to base, ready to take a high flying leap at the next beautiful star that comes your way.

Shit, now I sound just a little bit stalker-ish.

I read this somewhere and found it particularly fitting; "All that matters in the end is how fully you've lived, how deeply you've loved, and how well you let go of the things not meant for you."

Three things in my head.

1) The hot preacher leaves today. I'm heartbroken.

2) Got a dinner-party-thing planned at home tonight for a whole bunch of people. And I'm working till at least 7 p.m. Worried? Me? Naahh. Everything is in order. Food? Check. Drinks? Check. Dessert? Check. Messy, cluttered, almost-pig-sty home un-cluttered? Oh shit.

3) Saw a quasi-ex last night. Quasi-ex because we were only quasi-dating. We were doing the whole hanging out/ flirting/ late night phone calls thing for a while without an official "dating" tag but it didn't work out. He was still into his ex and I felt he was too over-conservative for my own free spirited, independent self. But damn, last night he looked good. My little heart actually skipped a beat. Too late though, he's already been hooked by one other. I'm surprised by the heart flutter, it's only happened once before. And I certainly didn't expect to feel it for him. Or wait, it could be that I'm weak from all the fasting. Yup, I think that's it.

Crush on a preacher

Every year, every Ramadhan, I end up having a major crush on atleast one of the religious speakers at the local mosque. It's not like any of them have been exceptionally goodlooking (except for that Robert De Niro lookalike 2 years ago.) (Yummy.) (Robert De Niro is THE hottest older man alive) (as is Sanjay Dutt, who I have seen TWICE, and who is just as smokin hot in real life as he is on screen.) (Okay, enough of the parentheses, I could've had a whole seperate post with just them.) (But then they wouldn't make any sense on their own.) (Okay this is really it.)

So I realised something. Along with being attractive and intelligent and witty and successful, (I realise I'm asking for the earth and the stars here) I also want my man to be religious. (and now the moon.) Not extremist bin-laden religious, (who really isn't religious, just insane with a touch of derange (can you say that? Derange?)) but a more moderate (normal) level of faith.

I like a man that believes in a supreme being. I like that he prays and fasts and does the things he does, because he believes God deserves to be worshipped. I like that a man can go out of his way to research and read up on an ideology he has faith in, that is not a hobby, but a way of life. In the wise words of Paris Hilton (whose song 'Stars are blind' I'm embarrassed to admit I quite like, and who really does have a pretty decent voice), "That's hot."

"Religion is essentially the art and theory of the remaking of man. Man is not a finished creation." - Edmund Burke