Spring, WH and Petty Vengence

Hark Spring, is that thou? 

Today as I got ready for work, I was glum.  May be this had to do with the fact that yesterday it snowed.  Not just snowed, but throw into that mix sleet and rain and you’ve got a party…but not really.  By the time I got home from Baltimore, I was frozen solid, my car would have had a thin layer of ice had I not been speeding (responsibly) and had I planted vegetation in my non-existent garden, they would have bit the big one.  Facebook went nuts with status updates regarding the weird weather event and when you wrap your mind around the fact that it’s the end of March, nearly the beginning of April, well one can’t possibly have a bounce in their step.

Like Sunday, I had checked the weather app to see what was to happen but unlike Sunday, where I felt reassured by what the screen was saying to me, today I was just negativity personified.  I was not about to be caught unawares hence I left with two jackets, an  umbrella, my hair tied back and a perma-scowl on my face.  I even pulled on boots.  I love my boots, anyone who has seen me in person knows this.  I can’t wait for fall when I can start to pull them out of the closet and prance around but even my boot-loving self looks forward to spring when my toes are more able to breath (after getting a pedicure of course).  I’ve been long since ready to put this particular foot gear away to be replaced by adorable wedged heels or cute strappy sandals.  This is not too much to ask for.

For the beginning part of the morning, the weather went right along with my mood.  It was sunny yes, but a cold wind blew from…wherever.  I glared at the sky a few times while muttering a few choice words under my breath.  This may have garnered some interesting looks from others but my ability to ignore humanity sometimes comes in handy.  However by lunch time, I must say the wind, although still blowing, has warmed up.  Now it’s tolerable to stand outside without a jacket.  Yes, I believe spring is in the air and any resident of this fair city can almost smell the Cherry Blossoms in the air.

I don’t know if I ever told you folks, long ago, I used to work in the same spot here in GT that I work at now.  From 2000 – 2003 my butt used to schlep down to Washington Harbor every day.  Back then I didn’t have the ability to pay for parking so it was public transport all the way.  Let me tell you what an ordeal that was.  First I’d catch the metro to one stop, change to another train, disembark and then make it to the shuttle that would take 20 minutes (if we were lucky) to get down to the waterfront.  Now couple that with nasty weather and you truly have good times on your hands.  Oh and let’s not forget the most important ingredient.  I hated where I worked. 

When I say ‘hate’, I mean hate (and I don’t often use this word in reference to anything for it is far too strong an emotion).  That place (which I shall not name) was straight from the pit of hell and those folks who worked there (save a few good friends who I am still in touch with till today) were minions of the devil.  The elitist snobbish wankers who ran and worked in that establishment thought they were truly the shiznit.  Heck, I thought they were too but I didn’t know better since I was a young paralegal.  It wasn’t till after I left that I realized how ‘small fish’ they were in the otherwise large pond of law firms. 

That experience so soured me to the location that for nearly 10+ years after leaving, I wouldn’t venture this way even for social reasons.  It was like every bad memory of those 3 years jumped out to greet me whenever I hazarded anywhere close.  Yuck.  In fact, when I found out this was where my interview for my present job was to be, I nearly refused.  Friends and family convinced me not to let my dislike for the area, or rather the memories of my past, to prejudice new experiences.   I’m glad I’m not so stubborn that I wouldn’t have listened.  I have once again found a renewed love for this spot.

What I do not love, and this was brought to my attention the last beautiful day we had (which was when, I can’t actually recall), is the fact that every fool in D.C. decides to rush here to enjoy the water.  As if there is no other darn place in this huge city to go and enjoy *frowns and scowls*.  There are bars here that are basically on the dock and these bars are stupid crowded as soon as the temperature even touches on 60+F.  This doesn’t seem like a big deal, right?  Well it is when you work down here, have to deal with their nonsense and the extra traffic when all you’re trying to do is live and worse of all at the end of the evening take your tired exhausted self, home.   I hated it back then and this one thing hasn’t change, even now.  This is also just the beginning of the warm months which means I’ll be in a fairly pissy mood every night from here on out till it gets cold again.

Great, as if I need more reasons to be negative.

Before I sign off, let me share this funny story (actually it was hilarious to me, may be not to the other person(s) involved):

12 years ago(ish), on a warm Friday night after having worked till about 10pm, I gathered my belongings and with a final sigh, left the building.  I stepped out into the courtyard of WH only to be met by scads of folks walking about lazily, heading for the bars, eating slices of pizza, laughing, lounging, generally enjoying the evening that was to herald in the weekend.  They all seemed quite happy.  I was not.  I was in fact in a foul mood after having worked overtime every single day leading up to that night.  The only consolation was that since I had known I would be working late, I had driven in.  At that time, the big park that now stands next to the harbor actually used to be a rat-infested skeezy parking lot.  The thing went practically to the boathouse that was (is) located all the way under the Key Bridge.  I would avoid at all costs to park in that area, even if it meant getting in early, since I had heard there was a lotta shady goings-on in the darkness.

That night there was a stream of cars heading into the already chock-full lot.  I saw the line of taillights as I approached from a distance, sighing resignedly.  Getting out would not be pretty, that much I knew from experience.  Weaving through the cars, I headed for my truck that was near the middle of the lot, which was not close since the parking area was so vast.  I had a laptop case slung over one shoulder, a purse on the other while clutching a bag in my hand.  Honestly, I looked like a zombie.

As I trudged along with the weight of those things practically dragging me to the ground, I rather felt than saw the car that trailed after me.  It was a bunch of people stalking me for my space.  I knew this, it had happened before also.  And whereas I would normally be congenial and indicate to them where I was, even rush to my vehicle to jump in and zoom away so they could get themselves situated, that night, I was sooooooooo not in the mood. So what did I do? 

Instead of heading directly for my car, which was approximately 10 vehicles directly in front of me, I started to zigzag.  I went from left, to right to left again.  I paused, turned around, looked about in confusion, scratched my head, even put my stuff down on the ground and panted in an exaggerated fashion.  I managed to frustrate so many hopeful party-goers that had looks been daggers, I would have laid in a heap of my own blood on the gravel road.  It was awesome.  Gleefully I messed with them until my arms and feet couldn’t take the fun and games anymore.  Eventually I got to my car, but I didn’t leave immediately.  Yes, another car waited for me to pull out.  That carload of folks also irritated me so I sat there looking at my phone and killing time until they got fed up and left.  Only when the coast was clear did I back off and head home, feeling ridiculously smug as well as a tad bit satisfied.

This time around, I park in the garage just below my office.  It’s okay if someone stalks me; take my space, as long as I get out of the blasted building I don’t care.  I’d like to think I’ve grown up and matured but it’s not that, I just don’t have the patience to be that vengeful.

Okay people, enough messing around on my blog.  I’m gots to finish up some work and go home to my beloved couch, even as most of my friends speak of working out or going and doing something fun.  Clearly, there is no shame in my game.

Have a good one.

Why Can’t You Be More Like Me?

Why can’t you eat the way I do?  Why can’t you smile as I?Why can’t you stand the way I do?  Why can’t you at least try?How come you prefer that color?  That doesn’t look good on me.Can’t you please conform your beliefs, to align to the way it should be?I’m not trying to tell you what to do, please believe me, I tell you true.But I cannot accept you for who you are that much I cannot do.

Wonder who the poet is above?  Well it’s me.  Yes, I wrote that.  Are you impressed?  You probably didn’t know I had such varying talents, eh?

I’ve been thinking about writing a blog for a while about intolerance.  This sort of thing I never know how to begin, I admit.  It’s such a touchy subject and since I usually am okay with believing that people have the right to follow their own hearts, I’ve kept my trap shut.  But recently I’ve thought to myself, if everyone and their momma’s can air their opinion, surely so can I?  Of course we all know that I have no issues with speaking up here in my beloved blog but there are even topics that I won’t touch, this, the subject of homosexuality, had been one for a while now.   It’s time to unshackle myself in a way, so here I go:

Long ago, a close friend came out of the ‘closet’ to me.  I was very young, wide-eyed and terribly innocent.  And even then after she told me, I nodded my head, accepted her truth and moved on asking her only “have you ever been attracted to me?”  She laughed, hugged me, nudged me playfully and said “of course”.  I couldn’t help but giggle too and we’ve kept a strong friendship from then to now.  I never stopped to think that she was doing something ‘unnatural’ or ‘wrong’.  I simply loved her and therefore anything she did (short of murder and willful harming of another) was acceptable to me as long as she was happy.

Approximately 2 years ago, I sat at dinner with two dear girlfriends (one gay the other in a straight relationship) and they opened my eyes to something I had thus far been ignorant about.  It was a terminology.  I had since forgotten about it until about 2 weeks ago when another friend refreshed my brain.  It’s called “pansexual”.   What is that?  Check it out -> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pansexuality.  Basically though, for those who are too lazy to click the link, it means that a person is attracted to another not according to their gender but the person that they are.  I was fascinated by this concept.  When it was first brought up to me, I actually rejected it.  How is that possible anyhow?  The basic physical attraction between any two people has to be defined, right?  I’m speaking of a totally elementary equation.    

Man -> woman. 
Woman -> Man.  Man -> Man. 
Woman -> Woman. 
Man -> ? 
Woman -> ? 

Okay wait that was weird. 

 But then a few months later I recalled a bizarre incident in India where a woman had fallen in love with an oak tree, or was it a tamarind tree?  Doesn’t matter I suppose, the point is she did and what happened?  She married it.  Yes, a priest married the tree and the woman.  Don’t ask me what happened to the ‘couple’.  I asked my mother about this and she said that this wasn’t unusual.  My mind dissolved into crickets.  You’re laughing maybe?  Particularly you westerners who are thinking even now ‘crazy easterners with their mystical nonsense.’?  Well Pookie-Bear, recently in the USA, a woman fell in love with a ferris wheel and she indeed married it (check out the article here ->http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/florida-woman-married-ferris-wheel-like-ride-loved-decades-article-1.1516404).  Sit and chew on that.  You think she’s nuts?  But is she?  How does one define love?  I mean I literally fell in love with my new leather jacket, I could not not buy it and once I did, that was it, I’ve spurred all my other jackets for it.  Is that not love or at least one definition of it?  (No, I did not marry it). 

The funny part of the two things I wrote above?  There were ‘holy men’ who actually played a part in these unions.  Yes, a person of religious standing.  Hmm…I see a few loopholes here.

I won’t lie, with every new ‘exposure’ to an alternative world/lifestyle, I feel a bit more educated and liberated.  It’s not like I’m running out to see if that universe fits me, I’m secure in mine but ignorance isn’t always bliss.  It’s a pretty big world out there just crammed with all sorts of interesting humans, some good, some not so good, some super bad and some that makes you ashamed of yourself.  That’s just how it is. 

Now let me clarify a few things.  I have lots of gay friends, lots and lots.  If you live anywhere near a city with varied cultures and races all jam-packed together into a small space, then you are going to run into those individuals of varied sexual tastes as well.  You get used to it.  It no longer surprises you as to whom you’re talking to or what they’re about.  You simply…accept.  Well at least I do.

Eons ago, after having returned from a 3 year stint in L.A. (funny enough I had never met anyone of that lifestyle there) I came back to D.C. and as a young paralegal I started to work for a medium sized law firm that seemed a bit…stuff shirt-esq.  There was a young man who sat not too far from me, tall, good looking, blond, soft spoken.  He came over to introduce himself that first day, sticking his hand out and saying ‘Hi, I’m M and I’m gay’.  I was taken aback.  Not by the fact that he was in fact gay, but because he had just dropped it like that right in the middle of an introduction.  He saw my confusion and said with a shrug of his wide shoulders, ‘you probably will ask me eventually about my significant other, girlfriend/wife, so before any awkward moments can occur, I may as well put it out there’.  I was actually appreciative.  We became quite close and I absolutely loved that guy.  Had he wanted a fag hag (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fag_hag) (oh, please don’t be perturbed by my use of the word, get over it), I would have been his without question. 

I have no issues with the gay lifestyle.  I hang out with those who follow it, who are a part of it, who are it.  I laugh and joke with them; I eat from the same plate and drink from the same glass.  I go shopping with them, talk about their work, aspirations, dreams and goals.  Yes, we even talk about their love lives.  I take advice from them and have cried with them over my own existence.  I do not think I’ll ‘catch’ it; in fact I know I won’t.  This is not a disease that can be transmitted through a cough or sneeze.  Nor do I assume to think that they are going to try to convert me by chanting into my ear how much I want to be ‘just like them’.  Folks who are homosexual (or whatever other designation they choose) just don’t have the time.  And guess what?  They can be just as dumb and boneheaded, just as emotional and mean, just as stupid and irrational as their heterosexual counterparts.  They are people, just like you and I.  Got it?

Do I subscribe to it?  No, I don’t.  I am fully hetero.  My religion does not recognize it and I accept this too.  Once I heard an Imam say, ‘God has created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve’.  You know what?  I laughed at that.  I didn’t think he was being intolerant; he is a man who has studied his religion and understands it completely.  That’s what it says, so that’s what it is.  How do I argue that?  But on the other hand I do not remember reading anywhere in the Quran that I should stone to death a random gay person who simply walks by me.   I don’t go throwing my beliefs at them; neither do I lecture them about how they ‘should’ be.  Who am I to do this?  For me, it’s between you and whoever your creator is.  If you believe in God then it’s between you and Him/Her/It.  If you believe there is no god, then it’s between you and…well whatever, maybe Papa Smurf.  I just don’t care enough.  The fact is I’m trying to get in good with the Creator myself, that’s what keeps me occupied.  I don’t have time to worry about your immortal soul when I’m sorta trying to keep mine out of exceedingly hot temperatures.    

Now if you ask me about what I think about it on a more personal religious level?  That’s a different story.  I will openly tell you that whereas I don’t agree with the lifestyle, that doesn’t mean I don’t agree with your choice to follow it.  You aren’t trying to change me; I’m most certainly not trying to change you.  If you want to debate why I don’t believe in it, well then I won’t hold back.  I have the right to my opinion.  I will not shy away from my beliefs at all nor be embarrassed that I follow the basic laws of my chosen religion but again I will not try to convince you that you are wrong.  That’s just not my thing.

So you can throw at me that I’m still ‘intolerant’ simply because I’m saying what I’m saying or rather because I dare say that I don’t ‘agree’ with it.  Okay, you can go right on ahead.  I’ve seen this far too many times on Facebook and surprisingly enough it goes both ways.  I’ve witnessed so many individuals who vilify anyone who seems even the slightest bit ‘off’ from their own beliefs.   And the funny thing is, it comes from both the tolerant and intolerant.  I’ve read posts from folks who have said ‘why aren’t you more tolerant?  You’re a racist/bigot/blah blah blah…’ when someone who is religious dares post something…well religious.  And never mind the slurs against anyone living an alternative lifestyle.  You’ve all seen it.  I don’t have to repeat it here.

What makes me sad though is that neither side can leave well enough alone.  You know what, why don’t you just worry about what you post, if it aligns with your beliefs then good for you, Cupcake.  Don’t worry about what Bubba is writing about his pick-up and how he’s gonna go shooting coons, and please turn a blind eye to the skinny bootilicious white girl who goes on about how the hardest thing in her world is fitting into a pair of skintight jeans.  You disagree that someone is bashing those who like mixing stripes with plaids, delete.  If you hate those who like broccoli, delete.  If you love biking but become irritated when someone says that they think you’re dumb for loving it because it is in fact dangerous, well…delete.   You don’t like these people?  They don’t fit into your ‘world’ well there’s something called the ‘de-friend’ option.  Use it.  Don’t go on a rampage of telling them how much you disagree with their POV (hellooooo, it’s called a POV for a reason), putting them down and questioning their lifestyle choices because you’re a vegan tree hugger who marches in every protest under the sun (and by the way, if that’s your thing, then more power to you).  That doesn’t make you better, it simply makes you different.  Get over yourself. 

You don’t like carrots but you think everyone should love them?  Um, right.

You love steak but think the chick who munches on lettuce nonstop is insane?  Whatever.

You prefer traveling internationally as opposed to getting to know your own country?  Okay.

How about you like the male form more than the female?  Good for you.

Break down everything that you like and look at it from another angle.  Why do we have to all be the same anyhow?  How totally boring is that?  And if you’re spouting the ‘right’ thing to do because it comes from a more religious part of your upbringing, then okay but what about the pure definition of the word tolerance?  And I don’t mean tolerance in the sense of embracing what others believe, but may be simply saying ‘alright, I may not agree with it but hey, it’s your life, you go do you, Boo Boo.’ And be done with it. 

I guess I’m writing this because lately I’ve seen so much intolerance in the world, whether it be down the street, around the corner, across the ocean, on television or in the newspaper.   The prejudice is definitely on sexual preference for sure but also extends to religion, color, culture, child rearing, soft drink penchant, music, clothes, etc.  How judgmental are we, really?  I don’t know about you, but it makes me sad.  And did the Almighty really want us to be like this?  Was this God’s intention?  If we took a moment to realize that each one of us have lived a different life from the other (even if you live in the same household) then we would also realize that by default our thinking, beliefs and basic likes vs dislikes would be different (of course).  And frankly, I think this world could be a much more…tolerable place.

Just sayin’ Folks, just sayin’.

A Good Omen

A particular favorite show at one time of mine had been Friends.  It took me a bit to warm up to it.  When it was at the peak of its hype, I admit that I didn’t really find much interest.  I’m not one into fads to be honest.  In high school I wasn’t into U2 until well after the initial craze, I wore scrunches in my hair when it was practically ‘lame’ to be doing so and Snoop’s useful terminology of ‘shiznit’ is still in use by me today long after the kids have stopped saying it.  Yes I’m that person, the one always playing catch up.  For instance, right now it seems like Scandal is all the rage but I refuse to watch.  Not because I don’t believe it’s good but probably because for the most part the fads fade quickly after one or two seasons. 

So I usually bide my time to see if the popularity lasts and then, much too many friends frustration, I finally get on board.  Mind you everyone else in the world is about 10 years ahead of the game while I’m just starting off.  That’s okay; I like to think myself as an individual.  When I’m ready, I’m ready.  I don’t want to be rushed long and I refuse to jump onto a bandwagon without fully vetting and weighing the pros and cons.  Can you say ‘freak’? 

Back to Friends…there was this one particular episode where Phoebe decided to go running with Rachel.  They limber up, get ready and start running but Rachel is horrified by her friends running style.  She’s all over the place, arms waving, legs going in different directions (which makes you wonder how one runs in a straight line) but she seems liberated.  Rachel, by the end of the show, follows suit although initially she’s embarrassed to even be seen with her scatter-brained buddy.  Since I’m a naturally negative human being (a few of you have argued this point with me, thinking that in fact I’m very positive but what you don’t know is when I’m trying to be positive or radiate it, the fact is I’m fighting all my basic instincts.  I can assure you inside; I’m going ‘yea, right’ at just about everything under the sun) I figured as normal sitcoms exaggerate everything and moved on with life.    

What’s the point to this?  Is this just one of my more favorite episodes?  No, not really.  There were far funnier ones (like the one with Rachel’s possessed hairless cat who she tries to sell) but the reason I mention this one is because of something I saw today.

As I was driving to work, keeping my phone clutched in my nervous hands because my dad is having minor surgery and well he’s my dad so no matter how minor, to me it’s major and I was waiting anxiously for Ammu to call me back after it was over.  My mind was distracted and the gloom of the morning seemed more prevalent.  It’s warmed up here in Washington D.C. but the showers part of ‘April Showers’ has decided to finally make itself known.  A misty drizzle embraces us adding to the depressing feeling even though it’s Friday and by all that’s holy we ought to be doing cartwheels with the weekend looming ahead.

I sat at a light waiting for it to turn green when I looked to the left.  The Potomac was streaming by quickly, the waters choppy, looking unwelcoming.  I made a face at it, thinking that nothing around me was lending any sort of comfort this morning.  I needed it though.  As I sat there slumped behind the wheel, eyes constantly going to the display of my phone in hopes that the call would come through to assure me things had gone well, I thought for the 100^th time that maybe my phone had lost connection?  Or possibly AT&T cell towers had all come crashing down en mass.  These are the thoughts of a worried daughter I suppose.  I had promised my mom that I would wait for her to ring me once everything was complete therefore although I wanted to know, I stilled my hands.  I could do this, I told myself.

So my eyes slid back to the left and a man runs past, another lunatic jogger out in gross weather.  I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, D.C. is chalk full of health nuts who just don’t seem to care about how ugly/bleh/inclement the elements are, they will be outside…looking happy…stupid endorphins.  Since by now I’m so used to seeing this sort of nonsense, there was nothing unusual about it.  When I had first moved back to this area and was working in the city about 14 years ago, my brain couldn’t register yet now I simply shrug and go along my merry way (the destination is often the couch in my living room).

Why did this particular man make me focus?  He was running like Phoebe!  Oh yes, arms flailing, legs all over the place, head tilted and mouth agape.  And this one singular thing made me smile, finally.  It was as if the pure joy of the activity radiated through his whole being.  I’ve seen others and for the most part they looked either a.) Determined or b.) Pained.  This man though?  He was enjoying this, which was clear by the broad smile wreathed across his face.  By the time the light turned green, I felt somehow better.  Lighter in spirit and yes, I even thought to myself, everything is going to be okay. 

Weird, right?  That grinning silly ridiculous runner just seemed to be a good omen. 

Maybe it’s possible I was desperate for a positive sign, I needed it and that dude was it?  Maybe I’m stretching it but still I wanted to share. 

I say go out there and look for your good omens.  Even if it’s a penny on the street because it’s surprising how comforting such little things can be.

TGIF, Folks.

A Females Reality...You Just Don't Know Until You've Walked A Day in Our Heels

And here it is midweek but it feels as if it’s Monday.  It’s equally not a good thing when your brain works a day behind mentally.  I woke up thinking that it’s Tuesday.  Since Tuesday was actually a ball of ugliness at work and the evening wasn’t much better, how I could confuse things is beyond me.  Last night I didn’t sleep much for a myriad of reasons resulting in a very crabby Rubi this morning (note: I started to write this blog yesterday, Wednesday).  The only consolation, all the cursing and scowling and ow-ing while I wrestled with my locks last night resulted in a good hair day.  It’s all about the silver lining, I suppose (no, not really).

During the course of the later part of the evening a friend pinged me and I told him that I was contemplating a major life decision.  He was naturally curious and I told him, I think I’m going to get a sex change.  His response?  “NO!”  Rather emphatic, if you ask me. 

Now for those family members/older generation of family friends who are reading things, please don’t get worked up or upset.  These thoughts often run through our modern day generation heads.  With all the stress of managing/balancing work/life/kids (if you have them)/and other such nonsense, one tends to contemplate dire solutions to pretty hideous problems.  This was mine.  And let me tell you what led me to this proclamation.

Yesterday was challenging.  After literally months of being sick or close to sick or feeling just ‘off’ and then adding to it the fact that at work I’ve basically been thrown into the deep end, I guess things were going to come to a head whether or not I wanted it to.  Adding to all that general grossness of being a woman and the stresses that come with it, I was so over it. 

Going home after a long (stressful) day of working like a slave (maybe I’m exaggerating a bit) I wanted to do nothing more than sit on the couch and veg.  That wasn’t to happen.  At some point during the day I had gone to the ladies room and much to my horror I spied with mine eyes, grey hair.  We’re not talking about a few strands here, people.  We’re talking about what closely resembled a white rug, a toupee even.  I was horrified, pair that with the varied other things that we have to do in maintenance of ourselves and the evening took an abrupt turn for the worse.  Happiness was not to be had, at least my definition which would have been fuzzy pants, favorite slippers, a warm blanket and Adam Levine looking F-I-N-E on The Voice. 

As I stood weaving with exhaustion in the bathroom, slathering my hair with dark brown goo, I thought to myself, ‘how much easier would this be if I were a dude?’  Please tell me I’m not the only person on earth who wonders this!  Anyhow, it was just about this time when my aforementioned buddy pinged me and I told him about altering my state.  He pointed out that being a man was no easier than being a woman. 

Normally I have enough equilibrium and sense of fairness to recognize that sure, we all suffer our own realities.  Men, women, dogs, cats, penguins, wombats, we all deal with the lot that has been dealt to us and every one of these possess aspects of the negative.  But at that moment, with the world coming down upon my shoulder (or so it felt) I just couldn’t agree that men could possibly have it quite as hard as us women.

As I practically pulled half my hair out of a very tender scalp in the effort to make it resemble some sort of style, I told my buddy, in-between loud ‘ouch’s’, that although I understand that men had their own burden to bear and that sure there were probably a host of issues that were being dealt with on a psychological and physical level (to be honest I wasn’t being this prolific in that response), the female species had the males beat. 

Don’t be outraged.  Think about the following:

Girls are born with a whole heap of responsibilities from the get-go.  With boys no one really thinks, oh he’s not that cute but with girls they look at the wee babe and studies her closely to see whether she’s fetching, and in India/Bdesh/Pakiland?  The skin color.  The lighter, the better, sad enough.  She’s brought up with the understanding that she’s not quite as intelligent as her male counterparts (of course she is but she shouldn’t flaunt it because then they wouldn’t like it and run away) yet she has to figure out how to not only get a man, but hold onto him as well as learning to cook, clean and take care of the male members of her home.  This is only as little girls, that’s how soon we start to become brainwashed.

As we ‘bloom’ into adulthood, it just continues.  Are you pretty enough?  Are you smart enough and well rounded?  Be careful of what you eat for it all leads to not being able to get a good husband (funny how people say ‘good’ but can a man be ‘good’ if he’s judging you due to your weight anyhow?).  Can you make roti which are perfectly round?  Or cook daal and a meat dish?  Can you speak the language which your in-laws speak, even if you didn’t grow up in the same land mass?  Have you learned to keep your room clean because one day you’ll have to deal with a whole house, after all?  Make sure you’re always well groomed, always well dressed and well spoken.  Make sure to hide any rebellious streaks because men don’t like that, god forbid that you should think for yourself or function independently and if you can (and of course you’re a woman so you will) don’t let him know that you are. 

Don't go out alone, don't hang out with the wrong people, always dress modestly, stuff your feet into uncomfy shoes that give you corns and deform your toes damning you to a life of eternal agony but it sure will make your butt look good.  Pierce your ears because that will attract attention.  Do not be too boyish however don't be too girly.  Be one of the guys but wait...don't.  Make sure to work out, maintain a figure that will be pleasing to the eye (not your own silly, your opinion doesn't matter, remember?).  If you can't make that happen, then forget it, you're screwed.  If you can, then try to ignore the fact that as soon as you have a kid, you'll never quite get that figure back again, no matter how many hours you spend in the gym sweating and dying and chewing on celery.  It just won't happen but you're expected to try anyhow.  

When it’s time to get married be open to it, make sure you don’t have too high expectations.  Basically settle for the first man with a degree and who seems like he showers.  Totally ignore the fact that you have nothing whatsoever in common other than possibly the fact that you both breathe…the point is you got yourself a man!   And if you don’t compromise your expectations as well as dumb down your requirements for a life mate, just remember Sweetheart, you do not want to be without a husband to ‘take care of you’.  Never mind that you may just be intelligent enough to be able to do so anyhow, all on your own.

And after marriage?  It still doesn’t end, does it? 

Start to prove yourself worthy of the diamond on your left hand ring finger.  Indeed employ all the lessons of cooking and cleaning.  Make sure you have good taste and can impress everyone with your decorating skills (on a budget), how well you cook and how gracious a hostess you are.  Pop out a couple children within a few years (some are expected to do so within mere months of saying ‘I do’) and then bring them up right with the same values you had been (the same values which now are actually quite out-of-date but again do it anyhow and ignore your evolutionary gut instincts).  If you’re arguing with your husband, don’t let anyone know.  If you have a complaint, keep your mouth shut.  Put up with everyone’s opinion, no matter how degrading or negative it is because you’re a woman after all, that’s what you do.  Don’t be a shrew.  Be liberal.  What is good for the gander is in fact not good for the goose.  Keep them in-laws happy because if you don't...well welcome to the gossip mill.

Cook, cook, cook.  Do not complain.  In fact, while you’re cooking, look enthusiastic and over the moon happy that you’re doing so but don’t forget to make sure you look pretty because otherwise your husband will get bored thus becoming uninterested in you.  Oh, also please shave, pluck your eyebrows and torture yourself with wax all in the effort to keep his attention. 

Let’s not forget work.  No longer is it okay that you’re the caretaker of the house and hearth.  Oh no, now you, little one, must pull on a pair of dress pants and head off to work, fighting traffic and dealing with the same issues that any man anywhere deal with (while of course not being paid as much).  You will be expected to excel at whatever your chosen profession is and bring home the ‘bacon’.  If you want to give it up and stay home, guess what, you probably can’t because by then you’re used to the extra ‘bacon’ (alright for my Muslim counterparts ‘halal bacon’). 

However, unlike a lot of married men who come home to a plate of hot food, you’re most likely not doing that, are you?  No, instead you’re entering your house to a bunch of hungry ravenous folks staring at you with anticipation.  Even if all you want to do is sit your butt down on the sofa and lapse into a vegetative state, you can’t, Buttercup, so suck it up.  Instead you spend the next hour or so creating something consumable as you try not to fall asleep at the stove or burst into hysterical sobs.  After which there’s still a lot to do like dishes, cleaning up the kitchen, gathering and putting (rather actually wrangling) the kiddies to bed, laying out clothes for the next day after making sure everyone else’s stuff is good to go and finally going to bed yourself.  

Wait, did little Joey/Krishna/Ahmed/Ireen/Mary/Maya/Shanequa/Jerome/Axel/Rose get his/her homework done??  Crap! 

In-between all this, you have to deal with any personal issues (like the ones I spoke of in the beginning of the blog) which saps your strength and makes you want to just give up. 

These are all the things that zipped through my brain while having the convo with my friend.  It’s a lot, right?  Yup.  Damn skippy.

But let me reiterate (one more time) that I fully recognize that men have their own situations to deal with.  Yes, plenty of you are single fathers or share the burden of the household with your spouse or in some cases the only sole income.  You too come home to cook dinner (no, not just pick up KFC or order Domino’s…this is not considered cooking, in case you were wondering) and you too have to mentally prepare yourself to be rejected by the woman you want.   I know you suffer from identity crisis as well as self-image issues.  However the difference is that you have this bizarre ability to bounce back a bit easier.  You don’t have a whole host of hormones that invade your body once a month for a week that takes all your insecurities, unhappiness, niggling doubts and magnifies them by a bazillion.  You don’t recall every horrible, terrible, mean, or even some ‘well meaning’ comment thrown at you.  You don’t agonize over what it all means or why someone said something.   

I also know that most of what I’ve said through this blog doesn’t apply to everyone.  I’m not that nearsighted nor do I like to generalize, I don’t have a gigantic paintbrush in which I go around painting the world.  I believe I’m a fairly level-headed individual who can very easily play devil’s advocate and for the most part am non-hypocritical (notice how I said ‘for the most part’…I too am human).  But I also think that I’m right in this, for the most part. 

Anyhow, I think y’all should be thankful that I went only this far and didn’t add the joys of pregnancy to the list of things women have to deal with (seeing as how I’ve never been knocked up, I can’t really speak to it accurately but having known plenty of women who are little breeding machines, I sort of get the gist and think I can make some sort of commentary regarding it).  If I had spoken at length about that particular biological joy, all the other stuff I wrote and any arguments against my point would have been trumped in one fell swoop.

Booya!

Argument totally won (or lost, depending on your gender, I suppose).

Okay, I'm exhausted.  I thought of more and more things that I could write as I proofed but became woozy. Besides it's late and I have work tomorrow.  Y'all sleep well and for you men out there, hug the next female you come across and thank her for all she has gone through for you and what she's probably still going through.  Um...wait, don't go hugging a stranger.  That may land you in jail.

Have a good night.  

Some People Just Shouldn't Reproduce

Have you ever seen one of these things?  It's a child carrier when bike fanatics want to be one with nature.  I've seen them and I have to say I'm always a wee bit impressed.  The idea that anyone loves exercise enough to want to lug their kid around with them while they do so?  Yea, impressive. 

 

You can probably agree that I'm pretty honest about my aversion to working out.  Recently P has been on this gym kick which means he, not so subtly, tells me I should get my butt moving and possibly consider sweating it out an hour a day.  I nod, mutter something like 'next week' under my breath and go back to playing Whirly Word on my handheld.  He simply rolls his eyes, grabs his gym bag and hauls bootay.  I want to point out to him that whenever he gets home from the gym, he doesn't look totally pumped or endorphin-ed out hence why the heck would I want to put myself through that but I refrain.   I certainly don't want to discourage him with my negativity.  And yes, I do admire him for his dedication.  What I don't get are those days he wakes up at 4:30am to work out.  What?  Oh hell no!

 

But I digress...so this thingie above.  I've seen it plenty around these parts, not shocking at all.  With a city full of health fanatics, you get used to all sorts of bizarre contraptions appearing.  Around the spring and into summer and fall, bikes like these are everywhere.  You gotta watch your step if you want to go running or walking cause these suckers will mow you over in a heartbeat.  My theory is that if there's a kid rolling around in the back of one of these thingamabobs, this gives the false impression to cyclists that he/she has the right to turn you into road kill.  Fair enough, I don't mess with children. 

 

Still there is a time/place for these to make appearances if you ask me.  And today wasn't the time at all.

 

Now folks, not to blaze off down another path of a weather related rant, I can tell you this much:  it's snowing.  Let me show you:

 

Yup, that's this morning.  In case you've been living under a rock for a bit now and therefore don't possess a calendar, allow me to tell you what todays date is, March 25.  Spring officially 'arrived' last Thursday.  Clearly spring is of the male species, lost its way and refuses to ask for directions because it is snowing IN MARCH.  Also, this snow isn't falling for an hour, oh no.  Why would it be so gracious?  It's going to snow throughout today and into tonight.  Some reports say 7pm, others say 12am.  It doesn't matter.  Why?  Because it's MARCH and it is NOT supposed to snow in MARCH.  I don't know how to stress this enough.  (For those who are thinking 'yea but it's snowed before back in 19__ or 20__ in March, please zip it, I need to stay morally outraged here). 

 

Wait, I felt myself slip into a rant.  Let me refocus.

 

I'm driving to work scowling through the windshield at the driving snow.  It's not sticking to the ground and had it I wouldn't have cared because I refuse to stay home one more day for snowy reasons.  Besides, my baby Stella (otherwise known as my Audi) would blow through any snow anywhere *insert smug smile*.  But as I'm muttering darkly to myself wondering what precisely Mother Nature is pissed about, I'm crossing the Memorial Bridge heading into the city where to my right, there's a bikers/jogging path, I see something that causes my brain to stop functioning.  

 

Craning my neck almost out of joint so that I was sure I wasn't hallucinating (since I hadn't had my morning java up to that point) I spot some insane person riding one of the contraptions above (the first picture).  He was peddling straight into the slanted snow, head down, covered up so that only his eyes peered through.  And attached to the back of his bike?  Yea, a carrier.  So I figured, no way he's got a kid in that.  He's probably carting it around to add some oomph to his exercise routine.  Maybe he's got like a 10lb potato sack or onion bag back there to add weight?  There is no conceivable friggin' way he had a child in that contrivance, not in these frigid temperatures and ridiculous sideways snow.

 

I can't say many things surprise me now.  After 41 years of breathing, I've seen a lot.  Let's not go into all that I've witnessed but it's enough to leave a few scars here and there as well as turning me into a hard-hearted cynic.  I can't seem to put anything past the human race.  And between my own experiences and those of my friends/family/strangers/stories, sure, I've heard it all.  Some initially may take me aback but for the vast majority I take stuff in stride.  This however was not one of those instances.

 

As I came around him, I had an opportunity to espy a small face in the carrier.  There wasn't a heck of a lot of opportunity to study the countenance but what I saw was that the kid was red cheeked and...small, I saw that clearly.  Oh, I also noticed that the poor thing was cringing.  I'm not making this up just to prove my point.  I don't like to make up stuff for you bloggers.  If I don't have evidence, I won't even bother trying to argue it. Outrage shot straight through me like a lightening bolt.  Folks, I'm not a parent.  I am not going to sit here and tell you people out there who are, what to do.  However I am a human being and I have common sense (most times).  And my common sense told me that this was super messed up.  What the HELL was this man thinking?  If he wanted to be outside trying to resemble a popsicle then more power to him but why was he torturing his child?  And if it wasn't his child, then why was he out in the cold torturing someone else's kid?  I wanted so badly to pull over, whack the guy straight off his nearly frozen bike and call the cops on him.  My normally zenocity (sure, that's a word) went straight out the window.

 

What really worried me was that if this guy had a wife/partner/whatever out there who was (let's just assume this) well aware of what this moron was all about, then well dang, can there be a bigger dumber couple on earth?  These two need to be thrown into a cage, doused in honey with hungry fire ants.  'Just sayin''  I can't help but wonder though, why did God think it was a good idea to allow people like this to reproduce?

 

Maybe I'm wrong.  There is a remote possibility that I'm lathered up into this snit without reason.  Maybe these people know precisely what they're doing.  Heck maybe it's even okay (even recommended by some pediatrician somewhere) to haul your baby/toddler outdoors in a storm so they can get some 'fresh air' while you work it out.  To me, this seems simply off.  And yea, I'm judging.  Hopefully the lil cutie got back to a warm safe place where snow isn't pelting them in the noggin while their...parent...does something useful, like go swimming with sharks.

 

Okay, that's enough for today. 

 

 

 

 

All is Right with the World...Welcome Home Mommy and Daddy

About two months ago my mother got onto an airplane and went to visit family in Bangladesh.  A week after her leaving, my father followed.  He would be back a month later; she would spend another month and then come home.  In the grand scheme of things, 1-2 months may not appear to be a vast amount of time to be gone from home and hearth, not when one is visiting the motherland but let me tell you, it has been pure agony for me.

My dad returned two weeks ago and my mother is coming back on Monday.  I cannot freakin’ wait.  I spoke to her last night and was a bit worried.  She has been sick throughout the majority of her vacation.  This didn’t worry me for the normal reason, her health is always important to me and so knowing she was sick and so far away made me severely unhappy anyhow, but more importantly there could have been an off chance that she would have to cancel her return flight.  NO!  This just would not do.  But thankfully I heard the magical words coming from across the miles, “I just miss and want to come home”.  Oh thank Allah.  I responded with a repressed, “yes, you should definitely come home”.  I don’t like putting pressure on anyone, much less my parents, however this doesn’t change the fact that I need my parents around.

First though, before I write on, let me ask for pardon from those of you out there who are without yours.  My heart goes out to you and this blog isn’t meant to be painful.  It’s not intended to cause you discomfort or even jealousy or cause you to say to yourself ‘at least you have yours, suck it up”.  Yes, I know this and I am blessed and thank God every day for their presence in my life.  I cannot imagine a day in which I will be without them and frankly do not wish to.  Please understand that this blog is only about my feelings towards my ‘rentals and my love for them.  It’s as simple as that.

So back to what I was saying:  my mother assured me she was coming back after which I put the phone down and breathed out a great sigh of relief.  I started to mentally calculate in my head the next few days.  Saturday I would grocery shop, Sunday I would cook, Sunday night I would drop the food off to my parents place, Monday I would wait anxiously for her return and be sad that I couldn’t go to receive her at the airport but reasoned with myself that next Friday I would go and spend the whole blessed weekend next to her.  This is what I do.  I'm a planner.  I can’t help it.

During their absence though, the one good thing was that Dad took his iPad with him and somehow figured out how to FaceTime me.  By the time he got back I felt like he had never left, that they were but one click away, which they actually were, however when he returned he brought his iPad back so I guess I’ve missed seeing my mommy’s face.  Anyway during one of these video sessions with them, I was at home sick, eyes sunken, fever high, hacking cough shaking my body.  The minute my parents saw me they both gasped, voices softening, sounds of concern coming from over the distance.  And guess what I did?  I reverted back to a 10 year old.  My eyes filled with tears as I tried to convince them that I was fine but that wasn’t happening, not through the sniffling and the ginormous lump in my throat.

Why is it, when it comes to our parents, we instantly hop into our mental Delorian’s (is that how one spells the name of the car that McFly used in Back to the Future?) and are reduced to needy, crybabies.  Don’t tell me it’s only me?  *looks around a bit frantically*

I can’t lie, folks, I’m a ‘parents girl’.  I didn’t write that incorrectly.  I’m not differentiating between my mother and father here.  And no matter how this admission may make me sound lame, I have to have my parent’s approval.  I don’t care what it is, down to the smallest thing, if they don’t nod and smile, I never quite feel complete.  The whole world can give me kudos but if they haven’t, it’s just not the same. 

So these last few months of the parents being gone has been challenging.   There was of course the whole being sick and needing (actually wanting) to be babied.  But other moments were as tough.  For instance, I missed daddy every Tuesday for music class.  I missed him calling me and saying ‘do you even remember this poor man’ or informing me (with smugness) how he discovered a cool new app on the iPhone that I shouldn’t be able to live without.  I’ve even missed him reminding me endlessly to practice singing.

As for Mom, well I’ve missed her asking me where I am, what I’m doing, telling me to eat right, sleep well and basically everything else under the sun.  A mother’s love, if you ask me, is unlike any other type in the universe.  Not that dad is any less but moms?  Well, whatever God granted upon them is indescribable.  Their very presence makes a house a home (as clichéd as this may be). 

I love my big bro, but he doesn’t make my childhood home the home I know, that’s all my parents doing.  Which explains why I’ve gone ‘home’ only once in this whole time and that too only to gaze up at the basement ceiling.  Don’t ask.  After which I sort of ran away.  Without my dad downstairs giving classes or my mother upstairs cooking up something that smelled so good that drool would pool in your mouth, it’s just not the same.

With the return of the two, under the same roof, I look forward to going home.  I’m sure to have those moments when I’ll want to escape them (and which kid doesn’t?) the fact remains is that my parents…totally rock.  Yup, I said it and I may have just dated myself for saying it and coming off sounding totally lame, but I own this proclamation. 

Anyhow, have a great weekend folks.  Hope it’ll be more restful than mine. 

Male Fashion Oppression

Today I was out enjoying the sunshine with 2 colleagues, as I’m sure most of us in my fair city probably is or will be doing.  Needing a much deserved break from sitting at my desk staring at a computer screen, I was more than relieved to make the trek outside in order to soak in some vitamin D.  As we stood there, letting the wind have its way with us and not cringing away from it (oh happy day), one of my colleagues looks down, carefully picking lint off the left pant leg.  It was persistent in being one with his person so it took a bit of doing.  As he does so, he explains to us how his mother recently gifted him with khaki pants.  He then goes on to say how much he hates khaki pants. 

I look at the pair he’s presently wearing and ask, ‘are those the pants?’ 

He nods sort of glumly.  I profess not to understand why he hated the offending garment so very much.  They were nice, fitting well.  But he had his reasons, which he shared.  He said he felt like a ‘douchebag’.  Now folks, you know how much yours truly j’adores this word.  I’ve used it liberally in the past and therefore had to bite back a laugh of glee at his use of it.  Why did I withhold laughter though?  Well because this was serious.  By all indication of body language and intensity of voice he did feel like a douche and since I understand what that’s like (well I’ve never felt like a douche but I’m a female and deal with a whole other host of things that I may experience due to clothing choice such as believing that I look (but not limited to) bloated, fat, gross, ugly, etc…) sympathy was quickly in the offering with a nod. 

It’s funny though, how we look at ourselves.  Yes, I’ve written about this before, so stop rolling your eyes.  This is my blog which means I can be redundant.  And I think this topic is worthy of multiple repeats. 

The clothes we choose on a daily basis actually do lay the groundwork for how we will possibly feel throughout the rest of the day.  Haven’t you ever realized this?

For me, when I walk out with ‘those’ pair of ill fitted pants and a shirt that is slightly wrinkled, I guarantee you the proceeding day will not be full of sunshine and roses.  Or at least my attitude won’t be.  Those are the days it’s best to just avoid me.  You see me walk in with my hoodie (the infamous one) then just turn right around, Cupcake, and walk away.  Trust me when I say, you do not want to deal with me.  However when I stroll in with my sassy boots, the cute new top that fits just right and a skirt that swishes around me, oh yea, come talk my ears off, I’m liable to welcome it as well as encourage it.

Side bar: In my youth, fashion wasn’t particularly important to me neither did I understand its significance.  That probably explains my lack of popularity as well.  While other gals were buying stuff from The Limited or Gap, I wasn’t.  In fact mom had to drag me to the store and force me to try on clothes.  To be honest, to this day I hate doing this.  If I wanted to undress, I’d do it at home and make sure I have way more comfy clothes available in which to get right back into, preferably a ratty t-shirt and a pair of almost falling apart sweat pants (totally yummy mental image, right?). (You’re wondering why I side-barred this?  If I don’t somehow squeeze some random childhood trauma/experience into each and every entry of my blog, it isn’t really my blog, now is it?)   

This conversation got me to thinking, which always leads to a blog.  Have you ever noticed how you may have a different hop to your step when you know you look good (although some of us would first perish before actually admitting that out loud).  And when you feel bad or just simply ‘meh’ that too reflects only but too clearly in your outward appearance.  Maybe M (the colleague in question) wasn’t feeling too up to scruff?  He did point out that this particular dislike of khaki’s stemmed from the fact that they are common.  In fact even as he said this two men strolled by and I bit back another smile.  But this got me thinking even more about men’s fashion.  You guys really don’t have many choices, do you?  Women have a plethora of clothing options that can boggle the mind while for men, well it’s a shirt, a jacket, pants, shorts and…well okay if you’re super adventurous (and a Scott) a kilt, other than that…not much, right?  May be faced with such limited options, I would be depressed too?  May be those darn khakis are representation of men’s fashion oppression?    May be I’ve finally lost my senses and am ranting. 

Btw, here’s an interesting fact about my desi male counterparts: they do love themselves some khaki’s.  It’s like their fashion go-to.  I can’t prove this to be a fact, I mean there are no studies floating around out there that Harvard has conducted providing scientific evidence and if there is, seriously find something else to research.  But based on pure observation, I can tell you this is true enough.  If you have 10 desi men standing around, I can assure you at least 7 of them are wearing khakis while the rest are wearing ill fitted nasty jeans.  Did I drop a knowledge bomb on you?  I think I did.

Take yourself off to absolutely any IT company here in the states (I can’t speak for the international crowd since I don’t live internationally) and you’ll see a bevy of brown walking around with their crisply pressed light colored pants, tucked in button down of any various color (mostly plaid or white) and perfectly combed locks.  These are men who always have a slightly ruffled dazed look about them as if they’re lost without a computer monitor in front of them and they smell slightly, not totally, of masala.  Or they reek of cologne.  There is no good in-between for my peeps, clearly.

Anyhow, thanks to this colleague of mine, I probably will start noticing the plethora of khaki wearing dudes about DC.  And will sniggle in the process.  I do profess to wonder still why he thinks wearing these particular pants make him look like a douche.  I guess I’ll have to have a follow-up convo regarding it and I’m also fairly positive that I’ll report back.  Look for the update in case you had a burning desire to know as well.

Oh, side note, when this work buddy asked me to send him my blog link (which I did so with haste) I warned him that he could become blog fodder.  I don’t know if he totally believed me but now he knows, I ain’t playin’.  Absolutely anything at all in the world can become a topic in which I will wax on about.  I know, you guys can send him notes of gratitude since he was the engine that drove this blog.  Try to keep the hate mail to a minimum.    

Give Me a Break

I’m one of those people who can easily become obsessed with anything.  Like once I went through a time of my life where I did nothing but scrap booking.  If you know me as a person, you’d know this hobby does not in any way fit my personality but I took it on with enthusiasm and subsequently spent way too much money on stuff that go alone with such an expensive habit.  That lasted a few months, almost a year.   Then there was the jewelry making phase.  Let’s not relive that.  It was financially not such a good time for me. 

But my obsessions do not only lean towards random interests like those I mentioned above.  It extends far beyond.  If you bring up a topic in front of me and I’m fairly uneducated about it, I will spend hour’s googling and trolling the internet for information, not to be a know-it-all but for general knowledge.  A good example:  a few weeks back someone mentioned that Shirley Temple had passed on.  Ironically enough this was before she had actually moved on to the good ship Lollipop in the sky but I had been fairly sure that she had died years back.  I went back to my desk and spent a good hour researching only to find out that she was alive (at least for a few weeks more).

During the Olympics, I’m up till 2am watching every commentary under the sun regardless of if it is a school night or not.  Any presidential election is torturous because I absolutely need to know what every political Pundit has to say about anything at all.  When a disaster happens somewhere around the world, my butt is sitting on the sofa watching riveted to the TV.  Yes, I can be a media junkie however I try not to be too partial.  It’s not like I stay tuned into CNN and ignore FauxNews.  I am thorough in my ‘awareness’ which includes jumping online and seeing what bloggers have to say.  Yes, can you say ‘obsessive’?

It’s no different with this airplane that mysteriously vanished.  For days I’ve been running home, flipping on the news and watching the news cycle for hours.  Actually, once you’ve done this enough you realize how dang redundant the news truly is.  How much do these anchors get paid for saying the same thing 1000 times over the span of 1 hour?  Can I get some of that dough?  I can do that!  Heck I’ve done that, endlessly repeated myself although my audience is much smaller, pretty much just P.

But a few days ago, and I believe it was Sunday, I abruptly got ‘over’ it.  Not because I didn’t care anymore.  I can’t help but care.  It was the fact that the investigation swung from being a sad tragic event to another terrorist plot.  The plane, instead of having plunged into the sea, had instead been hijacked by the pilots and was now sitting somewhere comfortably waiting for the right time to what?  Ask for ransom?  A big ‘tada!’ moment?

Being a Muslim, and a fairly educated individual who isn’t ignorant of spotting patterns, I wondered how long it would take before the terrorist theory would materialize.  I won’t lie, when the news initially broke, I was equally guilty of wondering whether it was my Muslim brethren (and believe me, I use that terminology super loosely in this instance).  But as the facts emerged I breathed a sigh of relief.  You’re probably sitting there slightly outraged at me.  How can I be ‘relieved’ to learn that it wasn’t a terrorist act since the fact still remains that those 300+ folks are still missing?

The tragedy to me is only too heart wrenching.  I’m not dismissing that, not by a long shot.  You’ll be interested in knowing that the reason I’m writing this blog at all is simply because over my cup of coffee this morning, as I was reading Yahoo news, I saw a picture of the mother of a passenger broken down sobbing hysterically during a news conference.  The article said she was crying out that she just wanted her son back before they removed her from the room (and before the police could get her).  My heart twisted into a knot.  I cannot even come close to understanding the anguish these folks are feeling.  Haunting the airport every day, looking for answers to questions that had been asked one too many times, wiping away tears of complete and utter helplessness.  The mother who waits for her child, the spouse who sits with baited breath for their loved one, a child waiting for his/her parent to come home to scoop them up and hold them tight and the friend who prays for the reappearance of a beloved buddy…who can ever understand what must be running through their head unless you’ve been in their shoes? 

But by now, you who have been reading my posts long enough know also that my empathy runs deep.  Yes, I’ve sat and wondered whether they replay memories in an endless cycle, whether every little piece of news becomes a reemergence of hope, whether they actually pray that terrorists had hijacked the plane because in some twisted way those folks would still be alive, may be not in the best of conditions but alive nonetheless.  So no, my relief wasn’t in that sense, I wasn’t thinking ‘better dead than alive and captured by terrorists’.  I could never be so cruel or selfish.

I was relieved because I’m tired of my religion getting a bad rep.  I’m sick of the disgusted looks of my fellow citizens when they look at me or my brown ilk.  When will it stop?  Some of you are saying to yourself ‘when they stop’.  You’re right.  I will not disagree.  When they stop is correct.  But when will they stop?  I don’t know.  Heck, will this question ever be answered?  As long as there are humans, there will be psychos.  There’s your answer.  Never.

But I ask you, when will we (Muslims) stop being accused of every tragedy that happens around the planet that isn’t associated with a natural ecological occurrence?  It’s as if things die down for a bit and whammo, something happens and Islam is back under the spot light, whether it’s warranted or not.  The first though is immediately ‘the Muslims strike again’. 

Again, I’m assuming you may be sitting there thinking to yourselves, ‘yes but you asked for it, look at what’s happened in the past.’  And yet again I would respond with 1.6 billion Muslims around the globe are not terrorists, only a few nutcase fanatics are and they do not represent the rest of us who are just trying to live, much like you non-Muslims. 

Even if in a few days/hours/minutes/seconds we discover that it was in fact terrorists who were able to not only hijack a big ass plane like that and steer it off course while in the meantime disabling all means of communication and radar tracking and then landing that (lemme repeat, big ass plane) somewhere which has a big enough strip of land…then wow.  I mean just wow, they are friggin’ geniuses.  And to top it off, no puffed up egotistical ‘we are the shiznit’ terrorist group has popped up anywhere to say ‘yeah, this was so us, booya biatches’.  Right, this is likely.

Seriously though, for a minute, unless it’s been proven so, can we just lay off the Muslims?  I’m one of them; you’ve gotten to know me long enough.  Do I seem like a terrorist to you?  The most I could do is terrorize you with my bad grammar and equally horrendous vocabulary as well as the occasional 2-year- old like sketches I insist upon posting.  You’re staring at the words of an everyday Muslim, in case you didn’t realize this already.  I am the same person you walk by on the street, who sits at the table next to you when you’re eating, who goes to the grocery store and is outraged over the price of onions or tomatoes, who gets excited about the next release of Star Wars (oh yes, and I am geeked) and who cries over stupid sappy movies.  I fall in love, in anger, in sadness, in frustration, I look to become solvent, I spend too much money on stuff I do not need, I fight with my family and I love my parents.  We say prayers for those suffering, give generously of our money and time to help in any which way possible and yes, we supplicate to Allah to ask for forgiveness and hope that we get into heaven.  You’re eyes focused on the word “Allah” didn’t it?  Well okay fine, replace it with any other word and we’re still yet the same person, aren’t we?

 I say a prayer every day for the passengers.  I can’t imagine the terror they lived through, or may be possibly living through.  I hope whatever has happened to them, there is some sort of closure for those hundreds of loved ones around the world awaiting some news, any news.  And yes, I’m also praying that it wasn’t a terrorist act and if it was, then let it be proven without a shadow of a doubt, not just blown out of proportion as news fodder and just another conspiracy theory. 

Give me a damn break.

Have a good day folks.