Procter has no gamble on my ramble

Slurred and broken nonsensical but real
I am told and I hear… but I lend a deaf ear.
The words do nothing.
No power to move mountains.
No euphoric high.
No butterflies and absolutely no hope attached.
Those three words tucked away, muted and restrained by reality
only now unleashed by the loss of inhibition.

I can not echo the sentiment nor turn a blind eye.
To you these words are genuine.
So genuine they are…
they are the sounds and letters that bear no weight.
The dal segno al coda brings with it, you think, a sure road to empathy and a sure way to make me see.
But I’ve been in these shoes before. I’ve stood behind these walls in the cozy of my own.
I’ve heard many come and go.

I cherish the words… but can not let them in.
Apathy and guilt however, are an entirely different sin.
Come in have a seat… but be sure to outstay your welcome.
I am angry and I am jealous!
I want to posses what those words have given you.
I want to bask in their glory and give in to the lack of control.

Circumstance is a shitty thing.
And a brain that recognizes it all is shittier still.

There will be no screaming for ice-cream today!
I can not live atop your sugar coated mountain lined with candy apple trees and shaded by your pink cotton candy clouds.
I will not suffer the pains of reality and later bear the crushing weight in order to temporarily frolic in denial.
I will not dance to out of tune keys and grimace at the lack of harmony.
I need rhythm and I need rhyme.
My mind needs to support my heart and my soul needs to absorb the beauty of tandem.
The soothing sound a white noise I will not do without.
I need that circle to exist and need it to exist for you.

So forgive me when I am told but do not hear.
And forgive me when I smile and lend a deaf ear.

CubicleWars and the like.

After my little incident with zee chi wawa noises yesterday I found myself daydreaming and a little nostalgic about the good old days. My through the wall buddy and his notes a la V for vendetta are no more. Bless him he got the physics of projectiles down to a T. He actually drew me an intricate drawing explaining his strategy with vectors and formulas once.
Oh so charming Mikey thinking he was the Don waging a prank war with me had a run for his money. Unplugging the speaker to my phone and having paperclips fall out of my overhead compartment paled in comparison to his shrink wrapped cubicle and his word perfect blinking a red 48 point times new roman “U SUCK” at the keystroke of any vowel. My manager sent me pre- licked pink Baskin Robbins spoons in confidential envelops with sticky notes that read “thinking of you” My poor tiger was also kidnapped by her and held at ransom out her window with a sheet that read “save me”. Jokers… the lot of them… I’m loving the work on this side of the building the sunshine helps but I miss the love and a little scared of the growling.

Me, the growling chi wawa and the 'ol

As if the world of taxes needs added excitement. I’m sitting here fearing for my life. As growling dog noises are being made from across the baffle. Strange smells of hydrocarbon chains decorated with hydroxyls are seeping through my fabulous pinkish, grey, recycled, reused and reduced wall. This man is harmless really, he’s a bit off his rocker and has a wee bit of a problem staying on the wagon but nothing to worry about. The growling is new to me though... He’s talking to his wife on the phone I presume… she’s 16 years younger than him. He made mention of it once right before he handed a coworker a letter confessing his undying love that forced him into a leave of abscence. Needless to say I thought he’d gotten his stuff sorted now that he’s back in the office but this heated conversation with the wifey has me thinking twice. It sounds to me like there’s trouble in tinsel land. I did all I could do to stay out of it… turned up my music and even tried to hum along to drown out the noise but he’s too loud. I eventually gave in and listen to what’s going on. “You’re a secretive sneaky person! grrrrrrr You will leave this country with disgrace. Some more grunting… the kind that exudes aggravation… he sounds like a chi Wawa that is showing its teeth to a Dalmatian that could swallow it in one effortless inhale. I’m so tempted to giggle but hold back and remind myself that I’m a peeping tom without the peeping or the tom. “No lucy! I’m not drinking.” I raise my eyebrow… and think maybe it’s the breath mint I got a wiff of. Listerine is after all very powerful. I feel like I’m violating this poor man by just being here. I need to get up let him have his space. Take a walk perhaps. Let’s do that. Go for a walk.

Babel

check out the trailor here

On my way into see trailer park boys today, yes I went to see that crap… don’t ask me why, I caught glimpse of this poster and was immediately captivated by its brilliance. A definite must see!
Not only is it directed by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu the man who directed Amores perros and 21 grams but it also features the motorcycle diaries’ Gael Garcia and fight club’s Brad Pitt. Besides the obvious fact that Brad Pitt and Gael Garcia are a sure way to bring hoards of people into the theatres, I thought the name was also sheer genius. The movie about the barriers of language and the misscomunications that arise in a world where as humans our basic need for shelter, safety, food and love are essentially the same if not identical. The first obvious observation was the phonetic similarity of the name Babel to the verb to babble. Defined as: To utter a meaningless confusion of words or sounds 2.to talk foolishly or idly; chatter: 3. To make a continuous low, murmuring sound, as flowing water. Not only that but babel is also the Arabic and Hebrew name for the city of Babylon. A city described in the bible, from my understanding and limited research skills, as a city where God confounded a presumptuous attempt to build a tower into heaven by confusing the language of its builders into many mutually incomprehensible languages. I only hope the movie has as much thought behind it as its title. Oct 27th I find out.

G I joes

G I Joes definitely need to come in play dough form. The cut nip and tweak option would be most beneficial. I hate that they’re prepackaged in short artsy funny smart and sexy, simple Buff quiet secure and sincere, young unjaded tall deep and emotional, Old wise religious and committed, looses interest quickly free spirited talented and dreamy or immature comfortable and similar. When does the preset four course meal portion of playtime end? Isn’t it just about time for the a la carte portion of the evening?

The Yalahwi.

I’ve always heard about the varying degrees of ya lahwi but never actually experienced it first hand except through my regular variety of Arabic dramas and soap operas. Noor il sherif’s one is particularly loaded with them… par example: news comes of the son having gone to school to avenge himself from some bullying when the mother hears word of it and suddenly starts to gasp and grab her chest. She of course chooses her “chicer” more socially acceptable version of “yanhar abyad” , literally translates into “oh white day!”.

Side note: Does anyone else find it odd that “yanhar abyad”, oh white day, and “yanhar eswid”, oh black day, both mean essentially the same thing? Why the reference to a color at all if they’re both just as equally cursed? Any hoots side issue…

Back to the yalahwing
So for the life of me I could never ever quite figure out what, how or why anyone in their right mind would feel the need to make that gasping inhale sound while yelling those words. Its not like it relieves any kind of stress … you are after all saying it on the inhale not the exhale and you’d think if it was meant to relieve any kind of stress it would be said on the exhale. I’ve heard Arab comedians make fun of it on endless occasion but never really quite got it. It’s totally funny that way. So with all that said…my phone bill arrived yesterday…. Now in any regular circumstance one would expect the bill to arrive… after all that is what bills do… they eventually find you. My issue however, isn’t that it found me but that now I had to open it and pay it. I knew all too well that I hadn’t been the smartest cookie this month. I made insanely long long distance calls directly from my cell phone and though I anticipated a hefty bill I know all too well that the good people at FIDO, my cell phone provider, love cheer and fundraise for sodomy like it’s an Olympic sport. I walk by back and forth back and forth by the counter top trying not to panic. I’m a big girl right? I should have thought of exactly this moment when I was racking up the minutes while engaged in useless banter. So I’m pacing back and forth when me madre walks in and starts randomly opening mail. I sigh.
I’ve been momentarily distracted.
I can walk away knowing that she now has the letter opener and that if she were to accidentally open my mail and anything in that envelope were to be extremely disturbing I’d hear a shrieking “Saaandyyyyyyyyyy!”
So I stand by the door in the other room just out of sight and clench my teeth and fists, wince a little, and hold my breath… I wait for it.

wait for it…

wait for it….

Wait for it……

I’m starting to sound like Mel Gibson’s William Wallice in Brave heart aren’t I?

Damn it focus sandy! And wait forrrrrrrr itttt…

wait for it….

But nothing… it doesn’t come…
My heart is pounding with that inevitable feeling of “masdoodon masdoodon masdoood” and not only that but now I’m faced with a dilemma in logistics… Do I go da3bis aka stir things up and find out why I didn’t get called into the kitchen to open my mail, could it possibly not have arrived yet?
or do I do my usual tanish ta3ish tanta3ish? I decide to preoccupy myself with something else… I go and get ready for my post fitar outing and dilly dally a bit… anything to keep my mind occupied really. I wander back onto the main floor and into the den all prim and proper casually tidying up here and there….but this of course draws suspicion my way…
“why are you dusting the leather sofas?” My brother asks in an obnoxious voice. I could strangle him just about now…. “Ohh nothing I thought I saw something” I respond with a retarded I’m soooooo bait but I’m gonna giggle and hope no one notices anyways kind of a tone. Fitar is done and I’m all hardcore into the clean up process… every spot has to be spic and span.. the dishes in the dishwasher perfectly aligned in perfect angles. No water around or in the sink for that matter and absolutely no crumbs in the toaster.
Yes you read right. I said toaster.
I decided to clean inside it to give me an excuse for not opening my mail. I’ve done all I can do and still its too early to go out… Its inevitable… there is no avoiding it! I have to do what I have to do. I get this sudden fit of bravery I work myself up and think: what’s the matter with me! Come on it’s just a bill!! Get a grip! All you have to do is open it! assess the damage and carry on as usual!

So I’m pumped and ready to do what I gotta do…my pep talk has me all riled up and ready to face the music. I rip through the thick paper not even look at all the pages upon pages of detailed history and go to the amount due.

Let me just say that small nations have survived on less of a budget than the amount my eyes caught glimpse of. Islands and small aircrafts have been bought for less amounts. The worlds internet servers have less cables than the number reflected on that sheet of paper. China houses less people with the last name chin, chan , changs or any variying combination of the three in comparison to the debit amount on that bill!

My eyes glaze over…. I feel the sudden onset of acute Arrhythmia… my palms go clammy the blood has quickly drained from my face and before I know it. I inadvertently and unconsciously see but not feel my right arm thud the palm of my hand on my chest and in one extremely elongated exasperated inhale I hear a voice which sounds identical to mine let out a colossal Yalahwiiiiiii.
And now it’s totally eureka. I get it.

In times of old

I called him today after I’d sworn off calling him. My unveiling and self exposition a couple of months back hadn’t quite played out the way I’d anticipated.
He’s started a new job just over two weeks ago and already I see a world of difference in his mood.
He’s happy.
It’s amazingly contagious when he’s happy.
We chatted for a bit about both our new jobs and the river he claims exists according to Google earth.
“I don’t understand why you don’t own a canoe?! If I were you I’d be paddling in the fog of dawn each and every day.” I think to myself: So this, I remember now, is what I loved most about you. The dreaminess. Your ability to see the world in much the same way I do.
He’s ecstatic to hear my voice but I can’t help but wonder if it is genuine or just a part of a façade. I ask about his latest femme fatale half bracing myself half curious… “she doesn’t have a fatale attached to her for nothing” he says with a sigh.
I am disappointed at his ability to fall in and out of love yet again so quickly. But who am I to judge? with my glass house and indecisiveness?
I can’t get over how right all this feels.
I can’t get over how comfortable it is to talk to him after I thought I’d hate him forever.
I can’t get over how just like that the things that pushed me over the edge and made me swear to never talk to him again vanished with the words hello.
I can’t get over how quickly I momentarily attributed it all to some irrationality or over reaction on my part.
I can’t get over how lucky I feel to be his friend.
I can’t get over how genuinely sorry I feel for him for some inexplicable reason….
And so….
just like that for the span of that phone call things briefly returned to the way they were.
In all honesty to myself I should confess that I do miss him and all the things he managed to move in me. I miss his ability to make things right with just the calm in his voice. I miss his whole hearted devotion to all my ridiculous hypothetical questions. Above all I miss how I realized how much I had to offer through him and through all he brought out in me. But I’m also thankful that things played out the way they did. I am thankful that I can sit here from the outside looking in and still manage to say all that I say. I am thankful and I am lucky.

The Lesbian Gay dinner conversation

This picture was the inspiration to a heated discussion over Iftar a couple of nights back. I was commenting about how I’d read or heard about groups like these surface across various cities in North America and was wondering what everyone thought. The issue according to old school granny was that these people were not Muslims. We all know about kawm loot “the people of loot” described as “ya2toona al regal shahwa doon nisa2” and how they were damned.
Cautious of plainly accepting such a statement, the family launched into a frenzy of arguments, rebuttals, questions and defenses. I find it a little tricky to discuss issues from a religious perspective because people grow easily agitated and all too often you get handed the “This is how it is in the Quran”. Unfortunately for me I’m not as knowledgeable as I’d like to be in that respect and it is difficult to logic and discuss from a religious perspective of you are not extremely well informed. The comment was received by someone claiming they grow intolerant of the alienation of fellow Muslims through grand sweeping statements like “that’s 7aram”. Ignorance fuels ignorance and people follow suite and soon enough everyone is in agreement without any proper validation. My sister proudly proclaimed she’d found a simple solution. The answer lies in the question “Can homosexuality be attributed to nature or nurture?” If it is nature then you face a problem when you try to justify God punishing a people for being what they are through no fault of their own. It sort of brings back the infamous question of “why does evil exist” in relation to the definition of A God who is all good. The opposite side of the coin is of course that homosexuality is a choice that is nurtured through culture and society. Homosexuality is not so easily looked upon even in north American cultures suggested my brother. “If I wanted to go against the flow I’d find an easier current to choose to swim upstream against” people definitely do not choose to be gay. What then of the person who feels the attraction to the same sex but suppresses the instinct or urge to act upon them? Does that then still classify you as gay? It’s the urge to want the same sex that makes you gay not the acting upon it.
Ok so the urge to steal something but not acting upon it makes you a thief?
And the urge to get inexplicably intoxicated makes you a drunk?
Of course not! You are judged by your actions. As long as you are not engaging in sexual activities exclusively with the same sex then you are not gay. So a group out on the streets claiming to be homosexual without providing grounds for active engagement in homosexual activity has not yet done anything condemned by Islam to be incorrect.
Take the argument up a notch and claim that they are actively engaged in sexual activity and the issue then becomes precisely that. It is that…. The activity… that is where the trouble lies. Last I checked sexual activity out of wedlock among heterosexuals was a no no in all religions not only islam. So what puts them in the “wrong”, if you will, is the activity and not the fact that they are homosexual.
Also, consider this simple fact. A kawm or a people is bound to have more than one descriptive characteristic. The lebaneese, for example, are known to be good looking and amazing mana2eesh bakers. To assume they will go to hell based solely on the fact that they were good looking and all the while setting aside that baking mana2eesh seems a little shaky to me. Their being damned does not necessarily imply that it was because they were gay. Just a thought really… I don’t know how valid my last argument is because I obviously have made no reference to the exact text but as a whole this discussion has me looking at things a little differently. If anyone has anything to say to all this by all means lets discuss…
I love a good brain bench press.