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!

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*

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

The Value of a Woman

I read this somewhere and my heart melted into a puddle;

"The woman came out of man's rib. Not from his feet to be walked on. Not from his head to be superior. But from the side to be equal. Under the arm to be protected, and next to the heart to be loved."

Beautiful.

King of the Ants

Midas* was one of the most vain, conceited, arrogant guys I've ever known. Also one of the most annoying. We met through mutual friends and became sort-of pals. Sort-of because he sort-of liked me and I sort-of didn't. Not that he was bad looking or stupid or anything. Infact, when a friend told me he liked me, I remember thinking hmmm...

Then I got to know him.

Every time we'd run into each other, he'd smile, toss his head back and smoothen his hair with his fingers. Toss. Smooth. That was his peacock preen. Toss. Smooth. Just seeing him in action I'd want to swallow my teeth in irritation.

He'd send pages and pages of romantic (or so he thought) poems that he'd written, offer me a ride home every single day, and when I'd refuse, follow me all the way home. Like a bodyguard. Or an obsessive stalker. Every few weeks he'd send me seven cards, one for each letter of my name. And when I asked him to quit pestering me, he wrote me a long letter declaring his unending love. In blood.

EWWWWW.

After four and a half years of incredible crazy-ness, his father found out just how much he was troubling me and put an end to it. He gave me his number and asked me to call him if his son ever bothered me again. He promised he'd break his bones.

Midas did not harass me again. I did not call up his father. His father did not beat him up.

Sometimes I'm just too nice.

Midas now lives on a different continent. He is married but continues to email me regularly from different addresses (with IDs like onlyyours and made4u). ((ugghh)). All signed, your secret admirer.

More like, well-known-stalker-whose-dad-I'm-so-gonna-call-up.


*Obviously not his real name. And unlike the original Midas, everything he touched, wilted.

A Matter of Marriage

I just re-read yesterday's post and realised most people would probably be thinking "What the..?!" at the:

"and then proceeded to turn down marriage proposal after marriage proposal after marriage proposal."

No I'm not some miss world lookalike (although I do like to think I could be. heheh).

Let me explain.

In our East African-with-Indian-roots community, any girl hitting the ripe old age of 18 is likely to get atleast 10 proposals a year. This is done courtesy of eagle-eyed, match-making huntress aunties who are always, always, on the lookout for the perfect wife for their son/ nephew/ friends' neighbour's sister's son.

They catch you at weddings and in the shops and in deep, dark alleys; critically eye you up and down (trying to catch any physical flaws and disabilities) and, if you meet their requirements, find out who you are (who your parents are I mean, cause you don't matter), where you live and what you do. If you're pretty enough, educated enough (although that's not really all that important) and can cook, you're all set. Added to her list of eligibles, to be made un-eligible at the earliest opportunity.

There are two sorts of marriage set-ups. There is the "love marriage" where a boy and a girl (boy-boy and girl-girl fiercely frowned upon) meet each other somewhere, fall in love and end up getting married. The usual girl meets boy, live happily ever after story.

And there's the arranged marriage, which has evolved over time to become a sort of "arranged+like marriage." Thanks to the huntress aunty, the young girl stranger meets the young (or old) boy stranger (note: the girl always has to be young, attractive and preferably martha-stewart-esque in the home and kitchen. The boy on the other hand, can be young, old, divorced, widowed or pigeon-toed). (No offense to any pigeon-toed people out there). And if they like each other and enjoy the others company, they get married.

In the old days however, the "arranged+like marriage" did not exist. It was simply fixed between both sets of parents, dates set, trousseau bought, preparations made, and the bride and groom actually saw each other for the first time on their wedding night. How crazy is that. But my grandparents had a long happy loving marriage. As did their friends.

And that's that.

Now excuse me won't you, I need to go and fix my flaws.

And then there were none.

My last single guy-friend just got engaged today. That makes 3 engagements and 2 weddings in the last three months. Three months.

It's weird how all my guy friends are either in serious relationships, or getting engaged or married (at such speed you'd think women were suddenly on the list of soon-to-be-extinct species), while us girls are still livin' the single life. A single non-dating life. And not by choice either.

Sadly enough, since all the guys in my city seem to be engaged by 23 (I'm totally serious, I know a guy who actually got married at 18), the only choice we do have are a) psychotic morons b) young, young, young boys c) psychotic morons. Our city is filled with men who sms "I would like to mak fraandship with you" or who yell, from their cars, "hi! can I get your number" (and who'd then probably sms, "I would like to mak fraandship with you"). Or else, if by some incredible stroke of luck, you do meet someone who's witty and interesting; he's either gay, married or 18.

Most people here do get married young... I'm not sure why, maybe there's just not much else to do. While most of my school girl friends got married at 18 (one divorced at 18 and a half), I announced to my family that I wanted to live my life on my own terms, that I'd marry who ever I pleased when-ever I pleased, and then proceeded to turn down marriage proposal after marriage proposal after marriage proposal.

Now at 25, knowing more about who I am and what I want, it's harder and harder to find a guy I really really like being with. My friends call me fussy mc fusser, but spending an hour with a guy who can go on and on and on about himself is really not my idea of a good time. Even if he's really hot. By the end of that "conversation," I knew the name of pets his grandfather had had as a child. He could not have told me where I worked if his life depended on it.

Anyway, I'm really not yet desperate enough to spend my life with a guy who can't spell friendship.