soapy.soccer.field

Two hours ago I was dragged in a soccer game with my younger siblings and cousins. I didn't mind the challenged soapy field. I thought I would only slip once or twice. I get to boast my historic skills! Show me what you got boys and girls!

So the minute we landed on that soapy field, I see a couple of my cousins fall on their buttocks. Ha! I never had fan like that in a long time. My presumtions were not what they were. I was wrong. Not only I slipped a couple of times, but I kept landing on my left side of my body whenever I laughed at someone's fall. It did get me no where.

"What happened to your big talk"?
"Urghh, I'm a little rusty .. oldd"

Came up with another idea. Who can slide the furthest to the other end of the soap field. I was before last. Bummer. my male cousins are sticks; they flew.

Those teenagers definitely brought back some old memories and most definitly my kid inside me ha!

"Want to do that again next week"?
"Please please please" .. That was my answer two hours ago.

If they ask me right NOW, my answer will be "NOOOOO please"

I thought I wouldn't get any cramps. But my tushy hurts, I'm bruised all over, and every single muscle in my body aches while I'm on bed typing this.

Off topic, I'm getting used to the new weekend here. Believe me you it makes such a difference.

in.which.i'm.trying.to.open.up

Let me share...

What made me get into blogging the first place I wonder? I recall the many essays that I have written back in High School. Well most of them were handed back with red remarks such as "Unfocused", "Idea is scattered all around the place", "Needs redrafting". I had problems with writing skills, I guess that's why I tried to major in a field as far away from literature, or any major that needed excessive writing. And I succeeded. But I wanted to try writing again. The only way into it is starting a diary or a weekly journal. Blogger.com was the answer.

I don't think there's a person in the world who detests packing more than me. I can't describe how much I hate folding my clothes neatly and gracefully carry it over to the luggage. My only way escaping this, is having an unpacked luggage until the day of the trip, and that by the way drives nonnah crazy. So this manipulation in fact works. In the end I'm the happy woman who oversees the packing process in which nonnah becomes the packer.

I'm a fan of short/shoulder length hair. I try to keep mine this way. Hint, that's the only easy way to distinguish between me and nonnah.

I started designing an art room a while ago. I think that's gone to waste, because it'll be easier on me to use a spare garage. It'll need a little bit of tweaking - some service cables to place an electric pottery wheel and a kiln, some plumbing for a sink basin, erect a window, and some paint. It'll be all good. That's a nice change. My brother "promised" me to help. He's up for it as long as I give him half of the room for his new born artistic talent.

I'll be out of the country in a couple of days. Don't miss me much. I'll be coming back with splendid photos. I promise. Take care. Salam. ;*

mmm

10:45pm on a week day. Waiting outside to pick my 17 year old sister from a friend's house since I'm already out.

sis: "That's a shocker. You're out late on a week day. I thought you're a sleeping bag".
me: "Was on a date baby".
sis: "Ma9adgich".
me: "lat9adgeeny 7abooba".
sis: "Seriously?!"
me: "Seriously".
sis: "With whom?! You on a date? Hahaha. You're too goody goody".
me: "With an old dear friend of mine. It's just for coffee. And for old time's sake. And I'm not too goody goody thank you very much".
sis: "Cool. As long as he's funny".


Kay.Iye.Dee.Ess.


I need to write a resignation letter. I have no idea how to write a resignation letter. My boss is so sweet, if I write one that would be too insulting? I still haven't told him about leaving the government sector. I don't know how to bring it up. I need to bring it up, before sending the resignation letter. So how do I write one? I'm being repetitive. Hmmmm. Google.

Feel Like Listening to Billie Holiday

Copyright © Billie Holiday, The Very Thought of You
Powered by Castpost

invasion.of.flying.monkeys

Lebanon gets invaded by Israeli bombs while my residence was invaded by 5 little monkeys. No kidding.

First and foremost, our hearts with the Lebanese, and the foreigners who are trapped in Lebanon. Needless to say that our hearts have been and will always be aching for the Palestinians. May God give you strength. Always.

Now about the monkeys, dad's first encounter with them was not long ago. He found 3 jumping over his car landing on the fence. At first he could not believe what he saw; we don't see monkeys - moreover flying monkeys - everyday.

Maids' encounter with them was 48 hours ago. They've seen the five monkeys sitting around the pool with their pinkesh butts facing them.

I wasn't knowlegdable of the monkeys at first. The news of their existance did not come to me directly. It was funny how I knew, since the news of it took a bend or two. Baba talked eagerly about them to Mama. Poor sensible Baba, he did not think of the matter seriously but with a mom who can never stare at a situation without making a move at it, made him regret the second he told her about those adorable monkeys (not). To her, what makes those monkeys not infected with contagious diseases (Breakout the movie)?! Mama, the reuter, repeats the story to her aunt. My aunt has an overflowing husband who loves to spread situations to the rightful authorities which somehow landed on MBC fm's morning program where nonnah listens to it every day; so she naturally brought the news back to me. And that's how I knew of the five flying monkeys.

Two Civil Defense Officers knocked on our door today. Being alone at home at that moment, I was obliged to open the door for them and try explaining about a subject that has nothing to do with crime, robbary, or of that sort. I could not bring myself explaining about the 5 monkeys that love swinging from tree to tree. They nearly broke down from laughter. They were helpful though *clap clap*

coup.d'etat

People exaggerate a lot in this particular part of the world. It's so silly paying attention to such little unmeaningful details and try to enlarge them in any way possible. They make a cat, a cheetah; a fart an atomic bomb. Nothing tops this one: trying to say exactly what I mean by being eloquent, however others would think I'd said just the opposite. That's funnily way overboard. Heh. That's the new exaggeration era.

So white is really black?

What's wrong with a little bit of decency .. little bit of a simple satisfying life.

It shows I'm in a frustrated mood, but I undeniably am, and it has a sudden power overturning my optimism.

;p~

-------
On a lighter note, I'm a Jane Austen fan:
Although the dialogue came straight out of the motion picture; It won't do JA justice, but I love love it).


Scene 1:

Still photos from Pride & Prejudice Motion Picture

Mr. Bingley: She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.
But her sister, Elizabeth, is agreeble.

Mr. Darcey: Perfectly tolerable, I dare say, but not handsome enough to tempt me.
You better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles. You're wasting your time with me.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth & Charlotte are overhearing...

Charlotte Lucas: Count your blessings, Lizzie. If he liked you, you'd have to talk to him.

Elizabeth Bennet: Precisely.
As it is, I wouldn't dance with him for all of Derbyshire, let alone the miserable half.


Scene 2:

Still photos from Pride & Prejudice Motion Picture

Elizabeth: I wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?

Darcey: I thought that poetry was the food of love.

Elizabeth: Of a fine, stout love, it may. But if it is only a vague inclination, I'm convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.

Darcey: So what do you recommend to encourage affection?

Elizabeth: Dancing.
Even if one's partner is barely tolerable.

what's.in.a.name

~I'll be thounding like a whiney 10 year old girl .. thweeeet!
-------------------

Can't figure out what my name really means.

I always wanted to know! Never succeeded in finding a real meaning to it. When I was a kid I nagged Mama for as long as I could, and she kept telling me it is a female version of a natural "something" that lies on the face of the earth. I wasn't satisfied with that result 'cause surely there is another meaningful symbol behind my name. I was soo jealous of nonnah's. I wished I had hers. Half of the neighbour's daughters carry nonnah's name. And they can literally define it in so many ways. I kept on running to Mama and whine to her of what a stupid name they've picked for me, 'cause I can never come up with a definition for it .. not even a single one. None of them knew what it really means except that it's an ancient name carried by women long ago in ancient Bahrain.

Nonnah was named the second she got out of Mama's uterus. I, on the other hand, was a nameless baby for the first 30 days of my life; until on the 31st day dad had an announcement to make, "N.A. it is".

I'm still dying to know what the heck my name symbolizes. It's like an annoying puzzle that I'm trying to solve. Brrrffff.

;pP

bittersweet

There was once a system that sucked me inside its magical environment. It was non existent, like an unwritten song lyrics. Being a first timer as I was in that unexpected experience, I was floating away through an unheard life – ignorant of the lovable beings around me. I was a prisoner inside my own deeds; a prisoner who feared from the outside world, who fell in love with the system that formed darkness in a short hiatus.

Like a drunkard I was flushed and felt intoxicated with it. A feeling that can never be described. When I needed more doses, the system was graciously charitable. But before I knew it I was abandoned by it, the system was no where to be found. The charity was cut short. I was suffocating, because finding out that that system was realistically turmoil. That system that I was sucked in promised me the world in one hand, but I mostly saw the waves of confusion that drifted me to unwanted places. First of them was a place called Emotional Instability. Luckily, I was out if it sooner than expected; only to find myself with an unwanted guest. It kept following me to places that had never been visited before. I wanted some answers: why was I abandoned, who might that unwanted guest be?

Curiousness made me realize the paid visit was from a guest named Capriciousness. It was addictive; moreover, it was unsurprisingly a hand-me-down from my so called fellow – Emotional Instability. I realized the former had enough of me, or did I have enough of it?

Capriciousness was ironically a beautiful transition. Made me easily forget I was ever into the system. With the mood swings flying everywhere it landed me upon a school of thought. An aptitude of familiar territory – a preview of my prehistoric life with the wonderful and lovable beings. I’ve reached an understanding that life still goes on. At last I was cured until a fortnight ago a rushed reappearance by it shocked me. I do not want to be trapped again by the system. I was tired of its problems. It brought grayness to my hair. I need to live an easy, blossoming life away from it, as far as my body can drag me. The thought of being intervened by the system scares me.

So let bygones be bygones.

choices

I’m kind of questioning the life choices I made. Nobody “slapped me on my hand” and forced me to do the things that I did. I more or less chose to do them no matter what outcome could be there.

An i.e., “My Mama told me to stop biting my nail, a bad habit that I do, or else my cell phone will be confiscated for a month. ”

Well sweetheart, you either choose to bite that filthy nail, or choose to stop. But, if you chose to stop that habit of yours, then that does not mean you are doing it for the fear of your Mama, instead you chose to stop doing it, because you know what the terrifying result would be – a week phoneless not a week of Mama’s preaching.

I know I stepped on a dangerous and sensitive territory, that I trespassed the morale of any person – "فلا تقل لهما أفاً ". But trust me, I’m not your Mama’s rebel, I’m trying to express how I see the world in my own eyes. And how I see it, the world is marched through the choices made by people themselves.

Anger is a choice made, not a heredity of dysfunctioal behavior. I don’t know, I don’t buy the latter. A person chooses to be angry on Human Being A, because Human Being A did something wrong – a glitch. Now, if that angry person stepped back and gave some thought to the matter, he can either be a pain in the ass and shout at Human Being A or be cool about it. So which is it? Everything in life is treatable and fixable, no need to make a huge fuss –the size of China –about it.

I don’t think that a person grows evilness within him. I believe, or chose to believe, that a person has an option of being evil and niceness is just one of his road that is less travelled.

Now, speaking of choices, I chose to hate the word “busy”. I chose to be annoyed by it. I chose to not like hearing it. The “z” sound in it makes me nauseous when enunciated by a person who worships bustling. I hear a bunch of people pryingly say they’re “busy” with a particular thing that might postpone, for example, a one week planned outing with a friend. I don’t religiously believe in 100% busy life or 100% busy day (It’s wonderful to enjoy stillness once in a while). There’s always time to spare. There’s always a millisecond that could be fitted in a schedule.

I don’t really get busy people.

But then again, it’s my choice not getting them in the first place. ;)

"i.wish.i.was.a.punk.rocker"

• I walked into a salon and saw 6 Indian eyebrow threaders trembling on stools and couches, screaming at something. the one and only Philipino was courageously running with a broom trying to kill a gecko.

They say higher ground means royalty.

But the way I see it:

Indians are chicken and Philipinos are gutsy*

• I really hate it when I'm solemnly in a room .. dead silence .. and my stomache suddenly growls at people who might think that

a) I have food shortage in my house.

b) I might've accidently expelled mixed gases from my other end.

Untrue. I even drank a bottle of water, but the stomache generator has gotten worse. Urgh.

* Stereotyping is unintentional.

Copyright © 2006 Sandi Thom, I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker

Powered by Castpost

casual.wednesday.&.crawling.insects

My division that I work in never fails to crack me up. It’s the only girl’s dominated division.
You’ve got Nadia, our sluggish boss whom I adore.
You’ve got Khookhoo, a young mother of a one year old. With a couple of conversations, we’ve discovered we were in fact related (what a small world heh).
You’ve got Simone, Khookhoo’s Egyptian-Originated, Bahraini-Passported partner in crime. She talks funny; Egyptian-Bahraini funny.

Bring these together, and you’ll draw closer to a comic bunch.

The last of their comedic play happened not long ago during brunch time.

Khookhoo asked me if I want anything from a cafeteria. I get suspicious of food delivered from cafeterias especially ones called sunrock .. sunrise .. sun something, so I unobligingly replied with a sweet "no thanks, i already brought my own apple and banana".

Their sandwhichs were delivered, they hungrily went into another office and started with their food. But five minutes later I see Khookhoo's face, all bloated light headed approaching my table. I'm still picturing her pose lol.

I asked her, "what's going on?"
She blurted out something like "our sandwhiches were filled with crawling insects and spiders"
I've never heard of spiders finding their way into edible things like sandwiches, but I saw the proof with the two bites deducted. I presume Khookhoo with all her starvatious self had munched two bites from the sandwich until eventually analytical Simone discovered (read: screamed) those gross creatures. How unfortunate.

I have never laughed so much since I joined that division. It needed me a day to flush this out of my system.

They sooner or later threw up whatever was eaten, called the Ministry of Health and called in the cafeteria and bashed whoever was on the other end of the phone.

On the same day, Nadia skipped worked .. again. The night before, Nadia and her hubby were more like a scratching dummy. Termites ate half of their bed and continuously were after them. They spent the rest of the night scratching each other.


Apparently I’m the only sane person at this girl’s dominated division, I carefully wrote this after Simone mentioned how she loves caressing her butt with Baby Johnson's Lotion.


In the midst of all this, I decided to choose a day in the week to dress (semi) casually. So what day better than Wednesday?!

More casual, more approachable, less seriousness and more enjoyable.



Copyright © 2005 Middle of Nowhere by Hot Hot Heat
Powered by Castpost