Carmen's Web

Celebrating Eid in New York

2008-09-30T17:54:00.004-04:00

My brother called me ten minutes before iftar last night to wish me a happy Eid. I thought he was messing with me. Yesterday was the 29th day of Ramadan and for the past four years we've always fasted 30 days no matter how much we wished and prayed for 29. Yes, I know...if one has fasted for an entire month one extra day doesn't really make a difference. But it's always nice when Eid sneaks up on you.

Of course it was not going to be easy declaring that Eid was today. New York City and Long Island claimed they had seen the moon while the Islamic Society of North America insisted that Eid was October 1st. This caused problems in my hood with my neighbor maintaining that she was going to fast one more day. It took us a while to convince her otherwise. For the past 20 years we have followed the 96th Street mosque and its sightings. Why, this year, was she going to follow another institution? We finally got her to relent when we told her that we'd wake up early and go pray Eid prayers at the mosque, thus making it Eid officially.

I got lucky this year with Eid coinciding with Rosh Hashana, giving me two glorious days off work in the middle of the week. I woke up early and went home to pick up my mother, my aunt, neighbor, and the kids to go to the 96th Street mosque. It was the kids' first time to go and they were very excited.

It felt like Eid when we drove up to the mosque. You could hear Quran recited through the speakers, Muslims of all shapes and sizes walking in and out, children running across the lawn. Activists were there making sure people were registered to vote and the police were wishing everyone a happy feast. It was lovely.

I've detached myself from the Muslim community for years now because I simply found it too difficult to conform. It was easier (and less aggravating) to practice my faith alone but it's contributed to a growing feeling of isolation that, with time, has left me entirely dissatisfied. I try to do what I can do to form connections and what better way to do this than spend Eid with friends and family.

I was hoping that we all (men and women) would be able to pray Eid prayers together, in one room and was pleasantly surprised when we were allowed to walk in through the front doors. But once inside it was clear that we were to go down the stairs to the ladies' quarters. It was clean and beautiful and they even had TV screens up for us, but the forced segregation was a reminder of why I feel estranged from this community.

We prayed our prayers and went on to eat, play, and laugh for the rest of the day. It was a wonderful Eid.

Happy Eid (and Rosh Hashana) to all who are celebrating!

Ten years and a nominal conversion later

2008-08-30T21:17:00.005-04:00

Palestinian Hip Hop Live in NYC!

2008-05-09T23:11:00.000-04:00

Back in April I went to see Slingshot Hip Hop, a documentary that chronicles the explosion of Palestinian hip hop, at Lincoln Center. I had heard about it from my colleague whose friend worked with several of the volunteers who helped get the documentary ready in time for the Sundance Film Festival and was told that it was a must-see.

I didn't go expecting that this was something that I would enjoy. I've never really been big on hip hop. When we first came to this country it was the Beatles who taught me English and the Oldies that I clung to. It was lovely existing in Motown where most of the problems centered on matters of the heart. I could relate to that. I could never relate to hip hop as I was growing up. Tupac was too raw for me, too confrontational. I couldn't understand his pain and frustration. I may have enjoyed the rhythmic style of Kurtis Blow, but always preferred the lyrics of the Temptations.

I have no doubt in the world that my life would have turned out differently if I had immersed myself in hip hop. I may have ended up less broody and more assertive as a teenager.

Anyway, this post, for once, is not about me :)

It's about the emerging voices of Palestinian youth, how they use hip hop as a new form of resistance. Slingshot Hip Hop chronicles their journeys and if it's showing at a theater next to you, run and grab a seat. I promise you will enjoy the ride.

For those of you in NYC you can (MUST) go and see DAM and Sabreena da Witch live next week. They will be performing in Brooklyn (Park Slope) on Tuesday, May 13th at 8pm at Southpaw. While I myself may not be in love with Arabic hip hop, I have much love for these talented young performers.

Buy yourself a ticket and go support these boys and girls who are giving a new face to resistance.

A (Very) Long Engagement

2008-05-08T17:33:00.003-04:00

R and I just realized the other day that we've got less than a hundred days to our wedding.

A hundred days.

It might as well be a hundred years.

When we first got engaged we both thought it would be a good idea to have a long engagement. I had to deal with my parents, they had to learn to accept us, we had to figure out a way to save enough money (we're paying for EVERYTHING...no financial aid here). A year would be good enough for significant changes to be made and have all parties in question happy.

A year, however, has proven to be more stressful than I had anticipated. I'm not a bridezilla...my issues with the wedding have nothing to do with whether the color palettes match or how the invitation is worded. I worry, instead, about whether my mother (who hasn't spoken to me in over two months) is even going to come to my wedding. Shopping for a wedding dress without her was painful. Deciding on a menu for the reception without her made me sad. I kept trying to think of all the food that she would have wanted at a wedding and I hated not having her advice. Registering for household items without her was confusing - Do I need an artisan mixer? How many pots and pans should I actually own? What about place setting?? Who the hell knows about this shit? I don't know what I need in a kitchen! I have one pot, one pan, four forks and spoons, and a handful of cups. That's all I, as a person living by myself, really need. What does a family need??

Planning the wedding by myself has been hard. There is no joy in it. If I do manage to find an inkling of joy, it gets sucked out right away the minute I think of my mother. It's frustrating. Because at 32 I DO NOT want to have momma issues. But here I am, full of them.

A long engagement has only exacerbated the stress of a wedding. I have cold (frozen) feet, doubt, fear, and anxiety. I have panic attacks at least once a month and those are NO JOKE. My chest tightens and I struggle to breathe. It really is a frightening experience. I wake up every day scared because I have no idea when another attack is going to hit. Ugh.

A couple of years ago a close family friend's daughter was getting married. She was nineteen years old and I couldn't believe her parents were going to let her get married. I refused to go to the wedding. Nineteen is too young and I didn't want to be happy for her. Yes, I was being judgmental. And I was probably a little obnoxious when I voiced my disapproval. But the whole thing just felt inappropriate.

My father, in the midst of my very long rant, told me that this was the perfect age for a girl to get married. Any older than this, or say 25, was too old. When you're young love is fresh and you're blind to the bullshit of marriage. You are less likely to miss your independence or worry about compatibility. Women over 25, he said, don't really fall in love. They may grow to become comfortable with someone, but they don't fall in love. They marry out of necessity or a fear of being alone.

My father is also a man who firmly believes that women have no sexual appetites.

I wonder, though, if i would have had the same cold feet if I were getting married at a younger age. Take away the interfaith and the family drama - that's enough to drive anyone crazy, young or old. But at this age I am so comfortable with my independence. I fought tooth and nail for it. I broke away from unquestioned traditions and cut an unhealthy umbilical cord. I've EARNED my independence and I fear that this will diminish once I get married. I won't be able to do everything I want to do. I have to worry about how things will affect my significant other.

I'm so set in my ways, as is R. We're both in our thirties and have been doing things our own way for years. Now we have to learn to compromise and I ABHOR that word. I like things MY way. I now have to worry about how HE likes it?? Please.

A hundred days away. I'm excited, but please pray that I get through these days with my mind intact.

Cabbie luv

2008-02-12T13:08:00.001-05:00

Step into Ahmed Ibrahim's cab on Valentine's Day and you could get a lot more than a ride from A to B ; you could also land a date.

The self-proclaimed cupid cab driver has spent years driving around the city looking for New Yorkers with lonely hearts.

He has swapped numbers between hundreds of couples, helped organize more than 70 real dates and at least 19 of his romances have lasted more than a year.

This Thursday, Ibrahim will be decking his yellow cab with red and white hearts and roses in the hope of matching up yet more Mr. and Mrs. Rights.

"I've organized so many dates, and it really makes me feel good about it. I've not had one complaint," Ibrahim, 53, said.

"It's really fun. Driving a taxi in New York is not an easy job so I just try to create some fun."

Ibrahim, who lives in Borough Park, Brooklyn, only offers his services to a select group of passengers who settle into the back of his cab.

He listens to their conversations, asks them a few questions and then, if he thinks they are suitable, explains his matchmaking services and asks for their number and e-mail.

"I want to know if they're the real deal or just a player," he said. "If you're a player, then forget about it."

Ibrahim knows all about the challenges people have finding love in the city.

He is recently single and says his advice to people is simple - it's all about common sense and being down to earth.

"When I was in high school I was looking for Miss Universe. In college I wanted Miss America. Now, Miss Brooklyn would do," he said.

"There's no perfect 10 but it's very, very difficult.

"Everybody's working so much, the time just passes by so quickly."

Martin Karamon was one of the lucky passengers who found romance thanks to Ibrahim.

He is no longer dating the woman he was set up with, but they were together six months and are still good friends.

"When you live in New York City, nothing is bizarre, but it was a unique experience for sure," Karamon, 37, said.

"He's incredibly friendly and funny, and I have no regrets," Karamon said.

"I met a great guy, made a new friend - but I might have to get in his cab again because I just broke up with my girlfriend."

Because we need a smile...

2007-12-27T22:28:00.000-05:00

Benazir Bhutto

2007-12-27T09:09:00.001-05:00

I met Benazir Bhutto when I was in grad school. She was a very powerful speaker and it was hard not to want to be part of her entourage. I asked her where she got the strength to deal with fear and she told me that convictions go a long way.

I think she saw that I was asking this question to find answers for myself and so she added, "You have to stand out for the principles you believe in. If you believe in your principles, your strength will come".

My Christmas Day

2007-12-26T10:12:00.000-05:00

It was really easy to fall in love with Marji in Persepolis. I loved Satrapi's graphic novel and will buy anything she creates. But if you don't emotionally connect with her in the movie then there's something wrong with you.

My brother, R, and I went to see Persepolis today. Poor R was scared. I told him we were going to watch a French cartoon about the Iranian Revolution that was only playing in two theaters in NY known for showing independent films. His friends mocked him (which is probably why they're all still single) and he made me promise that he'd like it. Which he did. It's hard not to enjoy your time watching this movie.

Listen to a great interview with the fascinating Satrapi here:

The only negative thing? The Americans in the theater with us. People who now think they're experts at the Iranian Revolution and Islam because they watched a movie. Ugh.

R, my brother, and I also spent the day looking at wedding venues and I'm beginning to become truly overwhelmed with all this wedding planning. The costs and the logistics are taking away any pleasure that it supposed to be derived from this special day.

My Own Archie Bunkers

2007-12-25T08:38:00.000-05:00

Sandmonkey's heart-rendering family tale on this lovely Christmas morning stirred up memories of my own ridiculous family and the values they hold so dear.

My brother and I were raised by incredible and tolerant parents. Actions, not skin color, sex or creed determined an individual's worth. My father was always very fond of reciting the verse in the Quran that he believed preached tolerance:

O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise (each other). Verily the most honored of you in the sight of God is (he who is) the most righteous of you. And God has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things).

We grew up in diverse neighborhoods, went to Catholic school, celebrated Christmas with our Christian friends, Diwali with our Hindu friends. I had white friends, black friends, pink friends, green friends. I didn't differentiate between people because I never saw differences. (I did LOVE "The Beatles" and thought anyone who didn't was an unworthy human being, but was often able to put that aside).

My brother and I learned about bigotry not from our parents or even the community we lived in, but from my extended family. The racist gene that skipped BOTH my parents apparently developed fully in our aunts and uncles.

I have one aunt that's pretty much an equal opportunist. She thinks everyone, save her immediate family, is disgusting. Egyptian men are barbarians, Hispanic women are whores, Pakistanis are dirty, Indians smelly, Africans...well, Africans she avoids. Really avoids. If she's on the subway, she will move as far away as she from anything black. It's embarrassing. You know how in cartoons and sitcoms there's an extremely well-behaved dog that only barks at black people? That's my aunt.

And if you're not Muslim? Forget it, she won't have anything to do with you. And so because God don't like stupid, here's what she's ended up with: Her youngest son is dating a half-Barbadian, half-Hispanic Christian girl who he's gotten pregnant three times. Guess which pious Muslim paid for the abortions.

I have an uncle who is pretty tame, but every once in a while spouts out racist shit. When I moved out last summer he came and visited me. He loved my apartment, thought I was paying too much for it (I had to remind him that it's 2007, not 1977 when he told me rent should never exceed $600) and then asked me if it's a nice neighborhood. It's a great neighborhood, I replied. It really is. I LOVE LOVE LOVE living here. While I'm looking forward to marrying R,
the one think I'm dreading is leaving this neighborhood.

Anyway, I tell him it's a great place and then he looks at me seriously and asks, "ya3ni, mafeesh barabra?" (So there are no niggers?) Now, there's been much debate over whether "barbari" translates into "nigger". In my dictionary it does. It's not a nice term to use when referring to "darkies" and I recoil in horror when someone uses it. My uncle saw my face and told me I was being sensitive. "Barbari" simply means black, he said, and I need to stop being so politically correct. He then proceeded to sing a ditty he claims all the Sudanese sing in the streets of Cairo, "ana barbari, ana barbari". I couldn't get him out of my place quick enough.

His punishment? His 11 year old daughter has a mad crush on the only black student in the WHOLE school.

One aunt who still lives in Egypt made my brother and I get out of a pool once when an African man jumped in. I must have blocked that incident out of my mind because I had completely forgotten about it. In the past six months I've spoken to my brother a great deal about my struggle with R and the racist comments I'd been hearing from my family. He was surprised that I was surprised by these comments and reminded me of that incident.

The funny thing is that my whole family prides itself on being such good Muslims. Islam, they say, is the only religion that is all about tolerance and acceptance because we acknowledge all religions and races. When I told my father about R, he told me that I'd never be accepted by his family because their religion does not even recognize ours.

My Dominican Catholic fiance and his family are a million times more tolerant than any member of my family. They make sure that if I'm invited to dinner there's food for me to eat, going so far as to making a chicken dish available JUST for me even if they spent the whole day roasting their pig. When it's Ramadan, they'll all wait for the sun to set to eat with me. They don't allow anyone push liquor on me and will always have a great non-alcoholic drink for me, not merely give me water or soda.

What does my family think about all that love and acceptance? They're not following their religion properly. If they were I'd be persecuted by them.

You can't win with Egyptians.

Coming back (hopefully)

2007-12-22T13:01:00.000-05:00

The past six months have been the most difficult, stressful, unbearable months of my life. I've been used to living a pretty tough life. Navigating through it has been unpleasant but I think I've managed well for the most part. When things got tough I'd be able to pull myself through by connecting to something pleasurable and so the bad times didn't seem so horrible.

This round of depression, however, has plagued me with a physical sickness that turned me into a walking, talking zombie. I really have no idea how I survived the past six months. How I managed to continue to go to work and perform my job, drive without getting into an accident (I'd blank out A LOT), not blow up into a blimp (I've gained 20 pounds, but it all went straight to my boobs so instead of looking fat I now look seven months pregnant), not lose all my friends. I've had terrifying panic attacks that made breathing difficult. I haven't been able to sleep.

I haven't tasted joy in six months. Not even fleeting joy.

And for what? For wanting to marry a man outside my faith. My mother hasn't spoken to me since June. We've gotten into loud screaming matches a couple of times between then and now, but she refuses to acknowledge me as a daughter anymore. My aunt hasn't cut me out, but I kinda wish she would. She's horrible! If I hear one more bigoted comment come out of her holier-than-thou mouth I swear I'll cut her tongue off.

My father has proven to be much more agreeable, but only after R said he would nominally convert. I explained to my father why I did not want R to convert, why I believed it to be unnecessary and hypocritical. He listened to me but told me that sixty years of indoctrination could not let him believe the way I believed. He didn't tell me I was wrong...he left room for individual interpretation but repeated one of his favorite quotes, "you can't teach an old dog new tricks". "Do this for me", he said, "and then live life any way you want". I hate compromising my principles but I've really got to pick and choose my battles right now.

My father, unlike all the other Muslims in my life, did not give me the bullshit that only Muslims will go to heaven. His objection to my impending marriage was not that Christians are infidels. When I mentioned to him the bigoted comments my aunt made about non-Muslims he told me not to listen to her madness. His objection did not even center on what the community or his family will think. His main objection was that he could not find an instance in Islamic history or sunnah where a Muslim woman was allowed to marry outside her faith. He wants to spend his last days on earth in the black-and-white realm, none of that gray area. I may not agree with the way he chooses to follow the majority but he's treated me with nothing but compassion so I have sympathy for his cause.

Poor R. He bore this time with much dignity. How it must have felt knowing your woman is always unhappy and you can't do a single thing about it. How it must feel "changing" your religion when you're so secure in your own.

I got really nasty with him at times and am sure attempted to push him away, but he stuck around valiantly. He gave me the strength I needed when I was just about to fall apart. He let me cry on his shoulder but refused to let me wallow in self-pity. And as corny as it may sound, he showed me that love really does pull us through the bad times.

So here I am now, attempting to start writing on this blog again. There was a time when writing here was pleasurable. Even if it was superficial and self-obsessed. Isn't that what diaries are for anyway? But when things in my life started to get really bad I was unable to take the criticism and bullshit that accompanies the airing of dirty laundry to the world. Now that my cobwebs have cleared (a little) I'm hoping my "I don't give a flying fuck what you think" attitude returns.

Empire State Eid!

2007-10-11T20:43:00.000-04:00

The Empire State Building is going to be illuminated in green for the next three days to commemorate Eid. First time in history. Sweet gesture, really, in a city constantly preaching tolerance but still has people demonizing Arabs and hanging noose s outside black professors' doors.

So yeah...Eid tomorrow!!! Forget the negativities for now - HAPPY EID TO YOU ALL!

Headaches and Bicycles

2007-09-24T21:57:00.000-04:00

I was plagued with a killer headache yesterday. It hit around noon and kept getting worse and worse as the minutes passed. It pounded behind my eyes. I couldn't sit, couldn't sleep, couldn't read, couldn't watch TV. All I did for five hours was lay on my couch waiting for iftar. I couldn't stand myself. The pain was so excruciating and I couldn't do a single thing about it. I considered breaking my fast but was convinced that doing so wasn't really going to help with the headache. It was here and was here to stay.

I broke fast with a veggie burger and some oven-baked fries. I finished half the sandwich before feeling quite sick. I ate a little more only for some nourishment. It made no difference how much I ate because exactly 20 minutes later I ran into the bathroom and threw it all up. I felt horrible. I hadn't felt this way since Barcelona. I sat on the bathroom floor for about ten minutes, throwing up, crying, feeling sorry for myself. It's amazing how much like a kid you feel when you get sick. For a split second I was transformed into the little five year old girl who vomited all over her mother's clothes after her first plane trip and cried for hours.

Damn headache. I wish I could say it went away after I threw up, but it didn't. It kept me up till 3 in the morning. I didn't manage to eat anything afterwards either and so I spent quite some time contemplating whether to fast today or not. Part of me, the stubborn part that thinks it's invincible, insisted on fasting. I've never been sick enough to not fast. What is this? A friggin headache was going to make me break my record? The other half, the rational one, understood that there would be no possible way to fast today without causing some serious damage to my body. After all, I had thrown up everything that I ate. Not only would I be starving, but I was risking getting that headache again.

So I didn't fast. I woke up in the morning with the headache and couldn't go through that pain again. It's still lingering right now as I write this, but I managed to hold it at bay throughout the day.

Lunchtime felt like an inquisition. I had all my colleagues' eyes on me as I was heating up my food. "What's going on? Is Ramadan over?"

"No, I'm sick today."

Ten minutes later. "What happened? Is Ramadan over?"

"No, I'm sick."

Five minutes after that I was asked the same question once again so I decided to go into the schoolyard to eat in peace.

No such thing.

I sat on the bench for about a minute and a half before one of my Pakistani students came running up to me.

"MISS!!!!!!! YOU'RE EATING!!!!!??"

"Uh, huh," I mumbled as I stuffed the Pad Thai into my mouth. (Trader Joe's, Toots...they make a mean Pad Thai!!)

"But Miss, it's Ramadan!!"

"S, are you fasting??"

"Ummm....."

"Don't 'ummm' me. It's a yes or no question."

"Well, no Miss, but it's because...." He went on and on about some basketball game he likes to play during lunch and when he sweats he gets tired and thirsty and so...blah blah blah. I wasn't really paying attention. I've learned how to selectively ignore my students when they're spouting out bullshit.

"Miss, are you on your bicycle??" he asked sheepishly. Bicycle??? He saw me sitting on the bench. What the hell was this about a bicycle?

"S, what are you going on about? What bicycle? Didn't I tell you to think before you speak?? Do you have any idea the kind of impression you give to people when you do that diarrhea talk??"

"I'm being serious Miss!!! You know, in Islam, when a woman is on her bicycle she doesn't have to fast."

Bicycle? What the hell was this idiot talking about? And what kind of Islam are they teaching him??

He kept going on about the bicycle before I finally shooed him away. We get 40 minutes for lunch and I had a class to teach afterwards. Miss needed her quiet time.

Ten minutes later he comes to me with his science notebook. "LOOK!! IT SAYS CYCLE! A WOMAN GETS HER CYCLE EVERY MONTH! And so when a woman is on her cycle she doesn't have to fast."

My kids provide much entertainment.

Reaching Out for Familiarity

2007-09-22T13:05:00.000-04:00

Ramadan has been really lonely for me this year. Really, really lonely. It's the first time I've been observing it alone. My brother went to San Francisco this past week and so without him acting as a buffer between my mother and I I've simply avoided going home. Poor brother. He's stuck in the middle trying to make sure mother and daughter continue to have some form of communication though being used as the messenger is aggravating him.

He's also now bearing the brunt of religious "advice" from my mother and my aunt, both of whom consistently stuff holiness down his throat since I'm now a heathen. Before he left for San Fran he got trapped into a nearly 45 minute conversation via Skype with my aunt who informed him that his fast would be invalidated if he went to San Francisco since he was going to be staying with a female friend. She spent 30 minutes trying to convince him not to go, or to at least stay at a hotel, 5 minutes telling him that she would ask the sheikh if it would be permissible for him to stay with a woman even if she was just a friend, and 10 minutes chastising him for choosing to become an anesthesiologist rather than a surgeon. Fun times.

Anywho, lonely Ramadan. I come home from work every day, watch whatever Netflix movie has arrived in the mail, killing the two hours till sunset. A couple of minutes before sunset I turn to the Arabic channel so I'd be able to hear the adan, heat up my food, drink my amarredin, eat, drink tea, sit and watch TV for the rest of the night. It's boring. It's lonely. It's so lonely that at times I open my window as I'm sipping my tea just to listen to my next door neighbors. They're an older Egyptian couple, which means their conversation is quite audible to anyone living on planet earth. I like listening to their ART. Everyday she serves him his tea and he's always complaining that it doesn't have enough sugar. I think she does it to fuck with him. They provide really fun entertainment.

Last night I strolled down Steinway Street, aka "Little Egypt", where middle-aged men had comfortably plumped themselves outside the coffee shops. They puffed on their shishas while drinking their tea and engaging in idle talk. One man, as large as a truck, complained that his wife was making him fat as he stuffed basboosa into his mouth. As I walked I passed a man fervently walking to the mosque, eyes fixated heavily to the ground. He was on a mission; the man was going to pray and no beauty was going to distract him. (Steinway is also home to Latino hang-outs and the Latinas can be quite distracting, particularly on a warm Friday night)

I loved walking down the street. Loved seeing the lanterns hung outside all the shops and for a moment wished I were closer (close) to the Egyptian community. To listen to the jokes, to hear the language, be part of the sarcasm. I wish they weren't so judgmental, so hard, so righteous. I don't know how or when I detached myself from the community, but this detachment is beginning to have a strong effect on me. It's throwing me off-balance and perhaps that's why I was drawn to Steinway last night.

Before I headed back home I went into a deli to buy some fuul. I've been feening for it recently, and for some good konafa, and decided it was about time I satisfy my cravings. There were a couple of teenage girls in there, in really cool higab. They couldn't have been more than 14. Let me tell you, they were LOUD. At one point, one turned to her friend to show her the title of a CD. "Yo, take a look at this CD! It's called "Turkeylicious" son! Son, ain't this great son!!!?"

The girls were infectious. I loved how comfortably they existed in both their worlds - the traditional Arab one and the ghetto New York one.

Just wasting time...

2007-09-17T18:01:00.000-04:00

It's 6:03pm. I've got another 61 minutes to kill before eating. I finished all my lesson planning at school, I've cleaned my place, I've done some yoga, I've prepared my plate (it's sitting in the microwave), and now I've got nothing to do with myself.

So I moved out last month. After dealing with my mother's nasty, dirty looks (seriously, if looks could kill...) and her passive aggressivness I decided to pick up and leave. I did a lot to try to break the ice before I moved on but the woman wouldn't budge. She wants to stay angry. She doesn't know how else to act. And it became increasingly frustrating to deal with a woman who didn't know how to be an adult.

One afternoon I went to a mosque downtown to attend Friday prayers. It was a Sufi mosque led by an imam who I would constantly "run into" when doing some research online. Somehow all roads led to him and I wanted very much to go to his mosque. Unfortunately, he was in Malaysia on business that day but his mentee led a beautiful prayer. It was a mixed-sex mosque and I have never felt as comfortable around other Muslims in prayer. The men didn't bother the women, didn't pretend like we didn't exist. It was a beautiful moment and even though I feel awkward praying in general, that day I felt connected to something.

I went home that afternoon and found my mother sitting on the porch. I dragged her in the house and told her how much I loved her. I told her I had just come from the mosque and was filled with love for her. I want to fix our relationship, I said, a relationship that has been broken for decades. I told her I'd stop seeing R till we fixed "us", that for me the most important thing right now was us. She was a little resistant at first but then seemed to melt. She said that she wanted that too...to fix us. We stopped talking because guests came in, but I was hopeful, positive, and optimistic. I thought that it was going to be the beginning of a new relationship.

The next day, she ignored me.

The day after that, she ignored me some more. It was as if I hadn't even said anything. I waited for two weeks before finally asking her how long she was going to keep the silent treatment up and she said, "till I know what you're going to do with R".

I exploded. What the fuck was the point of approaching her and asking to fix our relationship? I wanted us to talk about how we could overcome our negative past, but she still just wanted me to "come to my senses" and leave R.

I walked out on her when she said that and immediately starting looking for a place.

I am now the proud resident of Basil's former place. And I'm loving it. I love my neighborhood. I LOVE LOVE LOVE my apartment. It's beautiful. It's cozy. It's intimate. I come home and I feel at peace.

I've felt much better since I've moved out. I haven't spoken to my mother much and I know that's wrong. I shouldn't give up, but the summer killed me. I need some time away from her. It hurts me when I think that we're never going to have a decent relationship again (if ever we had one) but I don't want to worry about that anymore.

6:28. Time moves awfully slow when you're waiting............

Ramadan 26

2007-09-12T21:29:00.000-04:00

I've been spoiled the past couple of years, Ramadan hitting us during the winter months when the sun set at the wonderfully decent time of 5pm (4 for my brother up in Maine). Ramadaning in winter is always a treat. It's too cold to get too dehydrated and it's just a matter of trekking through the afternoon hours before reward hits you. Even teaching didn't seem that tough last year. Sure I spent the whole day talking (drying up my mouth in the process), but I survived.

But now the sun is choosing to set at 7pm. And I know that's not horrible. I mean, my parents, when they first moved to Germany, fasted till nearly 11pm one Ramadan. So I know 7pm is cupcakes. But it's still no fun.

Ramadan is going to be different and difficult for me this year for many reasons. For starters, I eat when I'm stressed. Comfort food allows me to focus on something other than my problems. You know how people drink away their problems? Well, I don't drink so I needed to find another vice. And let's just say I've gained about fifteen pounds over the summer.

I don't just eat. I binge. My father once caught me doing this. He was shocked by the amount of food on my plate one evening. He was thrown over the edge when, after polishing a plate that would have fed at least three people, I went for seconds.

I feel disgusted with myself after I eat like this. Physically and emotionally disgusted. I get so full that I can't even breathe. Emotionally I'm grossed out at my inability to abstain from making myself feel like this. But when I eat, I'm not thinking about my family problems. I'm not worried about future. And so although I feel disgusted, it at least takes my mind off my bigger issues.

I'm hoping Ramadan this year helps me nip this addiction in the bud. Sure there'll be chances to binge at night, but I'm hoping to keep myself occupied enough to keep me from doing this.

My binging isn't the only reason Ramadan will be different for me this year. This will be my 26th year fasting. I've been fasting religiously since I was five. Never once cheated, never swallowed water by "accident", never took a day off when I was sick. This will, however, be the first year I fast as a doubter.

I've become disenchanted with religion. All religions. Religion makes people judgmental and cruel. Instead of bringing people together, it tears them apart. Mine is better than yours, mine is truer than yours. If you don't follow my way then I can't know you. This is what religion does. It makes one self-righteous. It makes people fight over stupid ideologies.

And yes, I know I'm brining my own baggage into this. My mother still doesn't want to talk to me because she thinks I'm a heretic and my aunt has joined the bandwagon. Auntie continues to bully me into believing in her way. It is religion that is making them do this and it disgusts me.

I'm a doubter. I don't doubt that there's a Creator. I'd like to think that there's something out there, but I firmly believe that no one has gotten "it" right. And in the process of insisting that there is only one truth, we all lose out.

I'm not sure how this is going to affect my Ramadan at all. In all honesty I don't think it'll have much of an effect. I never fasted just because I thought it was religiously required. I did do it to please God, but I also did it because it made me a better person. It showed me that I COULD discipline myself if I wanted to. It forced me to refocus my life, if even just for a month. It slowed me down and I liked it. Still like it. I look forward to Ramadan with much fervor and although being without food or water makes me cranky and irritable, it's also uplifting and centering.

Waiting...

2007-07-20T11:56:00.001-04:00

Egypt, Mother of the World

2007-07-20T00:33:00.000-04:00

I sulked for weeks when I was sent off (also read as deported) to Egypt. I felt as if I were living through a tragic movie and that at any moment I could just switch the channel or, better yet, turn the TV off. This isn't really happening, I would constantly tell myself. No way would my own flesh and blood mother send me away like this. Shit like this only happened in books or to other crazy families. I thought that if I gave my mother some time (sound familiar??) she would realize how much better off I would be back in New York and that she was slightly overreacting by sending me away. There must be a better way to handle this crisis, I believed.

After all, what had been my crime? I was a good student, I got accepted into both NYU and Columbia, and, for the most part, was a pretty dutiful daughter. So I had a boyfriend. So I got into fights with my mother. What teenage girl hasn't? My crime didn't warrant banishment. I had a great future ahead of me and my mother would never steal it from me.

After a couple of months I finally succumbed to the fact that the woman wasn't going to change her mind and that I was stuck in that god-forsaken country.

I know a lot of people like to think that I'm a self-hating Egyptian. That I hate my people, my culture, my heritage. Because I became so immersed in the Dominican culture, I was accused of trying to abandon mine. But what these people never knew is that I fell in love with the Dominican culture precisely because it reminded me of my own. I severed ties with Egypt not because I hated it, but because it fucked me royally, and not in any pleasurable way. The Dominican Republic merely came in to fill the void and keep me connected to Egypt somehow.

I had always been in love with Egypt. I can still remember the despair I felt when I learned that we were going to leave it for good. I was only four or five, but I can still recall, with accurate clarity, every single moment of my last day there. They tried to assure me that I would return in no time, that this was just a temporary matter, but a single glance at my grandmother's face told me that they were full of shit.

Living in exile wasn't too bad and I adapted to my surroundings quickly. I never stopped missing Egypt though. I missed my grandparents, the blazing heat, the corner store. I would dream of our modest apartment building every night. My street was dirty and dusty and the sewer would ALWAYS back up, flooding the street almost every other day. We had no AC, I shared a room with several geckos, and our TV had three channels. But I loved living there. I can still remember our phone number (285-095) and can walk around that neighborhood with my eyes closed. I cried when my grandmother moved from there, but it had been about time. The neighborhood started to decline in the 1980s and we had to go. To this day, however, if I find out that someone comes from the same place I get a sweet flutter in my heart.

My parents constantly told us stories about growing up Egypt. The way my father played soccer with his friends in the streets. How he would sit under a street lamp and study for exams because they had no electricity in their home. My mother would tell me how much trouble my aunt used to get into in school for talking back to her teachers or how her father would take her to the Capritage for swimming lessons.

I lived the Egypt of my parents and I loved it. Life seemed simple in their stories.

My lived reality was the total opposite. I had to struggle with new languages, had no close friends, and couldn't go out because it was always "dangerous". I longed to move to Egypt. To have the freedom that my mother had. The type of friendship my father developed with his pals. My parents always tried to send my brother and I back for the summers, but sometimes we'd be strapped for cash. Those would always be my most miserable summers.

I tried hard to convince my parents to send me to CAC. Although we had been living in America for quite some time, I never felt like I fit in. My family always made it a priority to remind me that I was not American and that I had to avoid falling into the trap of becoming one. We're here to take the good and leave the bad, my father would say. My aunt always mocked me during my summers in Egypt when I'd mention anything about American culture. "Culture? Homa el Amrikan 3andohom culture aslan?" (Do Americans even have a culture?) Americans ate hot dogs and hamburgers, had no history to speak of, and were fat and stupid.

I remember once going to Sharm with her and my brother, Sharm when it was still a virgin. We had dinner in one of the only hotels on the strip and afterwards they had a pop music trivia game. My brother and I owned that game and won all the prizes. When asked where we came from, we both replied, "New York". My aunt frowned and immediately corrected us, "You're Egyptian!!" As if one couldn't be both an Egyptian and a New Yorker.

Obviously this did much to tear my identity into bits. I was encouraged to be proud of my Egyptian-ness and squash anything American.

And it worked. I never thought of myself as American. I was an Egyptian with a greencard who just so happened to live and go to school in America. I was an extremely proud Egyptian. Which was why I was so confused when people called me "the American girl" everytime I went back to Egypt. In Egypt, I was seen as American. In America, I was seen as Egyptian. I seemed to be able to assert my Egyptian identity much easier when I wasn't in Egypt.

When I was 16, I decided that I wanted to go to the American University in Cairo. Egypt was my home and I'd prove to everyone there that I was just as Egyptian as they were. I was going to finish high school in New York and then go back "home".

Things changed as the years went by and I became more comfortable here. When I got accepted to both NYU and Columbia, I had a vision of a great future. And I wanted to stay. I still loved Egypt and was going to return to her, but I wanted to start my future here.

So it's not as if I've always hated Egypt. I loved Egypt. I longed for Egypt. I loved everything about Her. She was my home, She ran through my blood.

But it all changed when I was forced to go there. When instead of a choice it became a sentence. When it turned into an Azkaban prison. A place to send girls who misbehaved and suck the life out of them. Egypt became a prison when my aunt, who I trusted more than anyone else on earth, intercepted my mail. I once went into her bag to borrow a couple of pounds for a taxi and found seven letters addressed to me, all opened, all hidden from me. I had begun to think that all my friends had forgotten about me because I stopped hearing from them. And it's probably exactly what the women in my family were hoping would happen. That I'd realize that I had no life here and would eventually accept my life there.

Everyone around me was betraying me and I just couldn't deal. Add to that the dirty, dirty comments I'd get from men on the streets, the daily physical assault, the nasty rumors and subsequent drama (to be discussed in a near-future post) and a bizarre culture (AUC) and it's really not surprising why I have such negative feelings towards Egypt.

I've tried to get closure and have never succeeded. My Egypt doesn't exist anymore. It exists in the memories of my youth, the dreams and aspirations I had, and the whipping nostalgia that Dalida always, ALWAYS conjures up.

Books

2007-07-16T22:55:00.000-04:00

In order to stave off depression, despair, and violence (I've had really, really strong urges recently to punch my mother in the face...she hasn't done anything, but I just feel like punching her...I'm sure the feeling is mutual), I've taken to reading. I haven't been able to read a book in a little over a year. We had silent reading in my school, but I spent most of that class period peering over my book to make sure my students were doing some kind of reading. Silent reading was the bane of my existence last semester...how can you force kids to read?

The benefits of being a teacher is that you've got an entire summer to do whatever you feel like doing. I've spent most of the summer catching up on books. Lahiri's "Interpreter of Maladies" is the best collection of short stories I have ever read and I finally got around to reading "The Kite Runner" and "A Thousand Splendid Suns".

I was really resistant to reading "Kite Runner". I had actually refused to even buy it because everytime someone learned I was Egyptian and Muslim, they'd ask me if I'd read "Kite Runner". They'd follow up by saying how much they learned about my culture by reading that book and would want to pick my brain. Explaining to them that Egypt and Afghanistan were two distinct countries miles away from each other seemed to upset them. It's as if I were raining on their parade.

It's a great book though and I wish I hadn't waited so long to read it.

Up next is the most highly anticipated book, the one, the only "Harry Potter". I've reserved two copies at my local Border's (a couple of months ago my brother suggested we only get one copy and share it...I laughed at him) and will be first on line Saturday morning to get my copy. Two years ago I was nearly run over while crossing the street in Paris finishing the last couple of pages.

I've got a long summer ahead...any book suggestions?

2007-07-15T16:54:00.000-04:00

On the 4th of July R and I went a family BBQ. His sister came up to me and gave me a huge hug. She hadn't seen us since we had gotten engaged and she looked like she was on cloud nine. R is the youngest of 12. The baby of the family who's finally getting married. She grabbed my hand and looked at my ring, beaming. "My little brother is getting married!" she squealed. Then she looked at me solemnly, still holding my hand. "I'm so happy for you guys...I really am. You're so special and this was meant to be. I know this is meant to be. I pray for you two all the time. Every Sunday I go to church and pray for your happiness".

The image of her (and all of R's family) praying FOR us and my mother and aunt praying AGAINST us made me laugh. One wonders whose prayers are going to reach God first...

I've been offline for weeks now trying to deal with all this bullshit in my life. I think the most disappointing discovery is learning how deficient my family really is. My mother and my aunt have really, really disappointed me. They refuse to even listen to me, and my aunt last week went on an anti-Latino rant that would have made Newt Gingrich proud.

My mother and I are still not really talking, even though I've tried to break the ice several times. We just have so much history to overcome and I don't either one of us knows where to start. I've stopped fighting with her because the entire battle now seems to be centering on whose Islam is right. And you can never win a battle like that. Both my aunt and my mother also have me believing that if I say anything to my father I will kill him.

Which is why I've been procrastinating in telling him. That and I'm trying to find an apartment to move into before saying anything. While the "right" thing to do would be to stay at home and fight the battle there, I simply can't do it anymore. The prolonged silences and venomous accusations have taken their toll on me.

Staying in the fight

2007-06-21T23:40:00.000-04:00

I hate the nighttime. It's at night that everything hurts so much more. The emotional pain becomes amplified and starts manifesting itself physically; it's when the tears flow harder and the convulsions and shakes start. It's when the self-doubt threatens to creep in. When the fight just seems to be too hard and throwing in the towel becomes incredibly appealing. It's when I have my breakdowns. I can't stand the nighttime.

My mother is proving herself to be very difficult. While I wasn't expecting her to embrace my decision, what I DEFINITELY did not expect was the cruelty that she has been throwing at me. I honestly thought that if I gave her enough space and time to process all this we'd be able to have a fruitful discussion in which we could talk about things as adults. But it seems that the more time I give her, the more time she has to become mean, unreasonable, and unnecessarily cruel. She's fighting dirty and is resorting to tactics that are disappointing me in her.

I'm trying hard to put it all in perspective. She's grasping at straws and is beyond desperate. She's afraid and confused. And everytime I get really angry I have to stop and remind myself that this is not the same woman who raised me. Not the same woman that my friends respect and revere. I have to stop and remember that she really does love me, even though she acts hard and is closing herself up. I make excuses. And excuses. And excuses. But there's going to come a time when I can't do that anymore and all I'm praying for right about now is that we don't get to that point. Because I WILL lose respect for her.

I am doing everything in my power to keep this woman in my life. To keep my parents in my life. I'm not allowing my mother to sever ties with me. I am letting her humiliate and degrade me, drag me through the fucking mud. And why don't I leave? Why don't I just pack my bags and go? I have never allowed anyone to shit on me like this. NEVER.

I stay because I'm trying to show her that it's not ME that's going to do the severing. It's going to be her, them. I stay after all this humiliation because I will do whatever it is that I can to prove to them that I value them, that I love them, that I'm willing to fight for them just as much as I'm willing to fight for R.

Delayed reactions

2007-06-10T09:41:00.001-04:00

While I didn't feel any better after having exposed myself to my mother yesterday, I didn't feel any worse either. I was calm, proud to have taken that big, huge, no-going-back-now step. Proud of having faced my demons head on. The stress of having kept it a secret for so long was gone, but it was replaced with new stress so it wasn't as if I shed any burdens.

I left the house after telling her. It's not that I didn't want to face her. I needed to clear my head in different surroundings and needed to NOT think about it. I didn't want to wallow. I didn't want to think of what I could've done better, how I could've said things better. The head needed to be cleared immediately.

R and I went to catch an early movie so my mind could be occupied by something else. As we were driving back home he suggested we go visit his brother's house. I love his family and being around them is a blast, but yesterday was simply not the time for me to socialize with anyone. He parked in front of his house and insisted we go inside. I told him that I just couldn't see anyone today, at which point he said that I'm always doing that and we should just go inside. I didn't feel like fighting and was planning on walking in and then leaving his ass there. I was really pissed.

When I walked in I saw the entire family there. His brother's wife, their daughters, the daughters' boyfriends, and a bunch of people I didn't know. Hang in there, I told myself. One go around of hellos and you're outta here.

It was then that his niece made the announcement that her boyfriend had just proposed and I realized that's why R was so insistent on going in. I was very happy for her and my mood lightened up a little. I was still slightly angry because, well, he should have given me a heads up so I didn't go inside like a sour puss.

I didn't leave right away though, in retrospect, I should have. I stayed through her father's speech, "We're happy to have you in our family, E", her mother's tears, the sisters' screams, the family phone calls. I watched the elated faces and the happy hugs. It was such a sharp contrast to what I had just went through with my mother earlier.

I kept checking my phone throughout this entire time to see if best friend or Toots sent me any texts...they were both worried and proud of me and I needed any words of encouragement that came round my way. R noticed and asked if I needed to go home. I told him that I was just checking for texts. And told him also that best friend was really angry with him.

She called him two days ago to tell him about a party she wanted to throw last night to celebrate our engagement. She wanted to get his family's info so she could invite them. I, of course, called her earlier in the day to tell her about the saga with my mother and canceled. I felt bad, but she understood. He, however, had not called her back and so is now on her shit list.

He insisted he never got the call, but when he checked his voice messages heard a really long one from her. Apparently he had forwarded his calls to another phone which doesn't send along voice messages. He felt AWFUL and then gave me the message to hear.

Her voice was the trigger to my subsequent breakdown. She didn't say anything in particular..."I need e-mails, I want to throw a party"...but just hearing her voice, hearing that she wanted to celebrate me pushed me over the edge. I became instantly quiet. R kept asking me questions and I couldn't answer him because if I opened my mouth I'd start crying. My heart started beating faster and all of a sudden I felt the tears about to come. I ran off to the bathroom. Got off my seat and ran. And started crying. Bawling.

It was just too much. The celebrating vs the lack of celebrating on my part, the happy faces vs my mother's face, how easy it was to welcome people to the family vs the shit that I'm going through. It just seemed too much to take in.

I managed to compose myself just enough to get my keys and run out to my car where I had my nervous breakdown. I started hyperventilating (which scared the living shit out of me) and couldn't stop the tears. I didn't realize how painful this would be. I knew it was going to be hard, I knew I'd be hurt in the process, but I never dreamed of the extent of pain that would be involved.

Round one

2007-06-09T16:41:00.000-04:00

Thirteen years ago this month, my mother banished me to Egypt. Her Egyptian daughter was becoming too American and college in New York would only allow this transgression to worsen. She had to nip it in the bud. She waited until the day after my high school graduation to inform me that I was to go to and stay in Egypt for an indefinite amount of time.

I didn't go willingly. I yelled, pleaded, and cried. I appealed to her maternal instincts and threatened life-long hatred, but nothing worked. She didn't want to be responsible for the trouble I would get myself in if I stayed. What that meant is that she didn't want to get in trouble with my father, who would've blamed her for not raising her kids properly.

I hated her for a very long time. Real, genuine hatred. I stopped talking to her for nearly two years and things returned to "normal" only when my grandmother died. It was hard to hold grudges then. By that time, I had become the daughter she wanted and expected. I spoke more Arabic than English, was devoutly religious, and met and got serious with a proper Egyptian Muslim man. No more reason to worry about me.

Until now. Now my mother finds herself in the same exact situation she found herself in over a decade ago. The only difference now is that she finds herself without any kind of ammunition.

I told my mother about R earlier today. I didn't plan on it. I certainly didn't wake up thinking, "I'm going to do it today". There were a number of factors at play that led to the big bang. Last night my next door neighbor (who's Egyptian and is essentially extended family) invited me to her brother's house for game night. I told her I had plans with R and she told me to bring him. I wasn't comfortable with the idea because I haven't exposed him to anyone on my side, but she told me that it's about time I do it.

So I called R and asked him if he wanted to go. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea but agreed to go. As we were driving I noticed him become fidgety. I had never seen him like that. It was as if I were taking him to meet my parents!! I told him to stop being so nervous, that we were going to hang out with people our own age. He should be nervous when he meets my parents, not these people.

The pep talk didn't help much. His discomfort was so palpable and we nearly got into a fight because of a stupid comment he made about meeting my family. I had to control myself though because this is all my fault. I've put him in this situation. I've kept him a ghost for so long and have put this fear in him. I vent so much about my parents, Egypt, Muslims...how can I expect him to carry even one positive thought?

I dropped the conversation and we went to my friend's house. He had a great time. He was uncomfortable at first, but everyone welcomed him warmly and he took to them immediately.

This morning I woke up feeling frustrated that I contributed so strongly to his discomfort. And started hating myself for not being able to muster up any strength to get this part of my life going already.

I went to the gym to release this frustration. An intense workout and a surge in adrenalin had me very restless. As I was driving home, Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield" came on the radio, which put me in an unexpected trance. When that video came out in the 80s (and if there's one thing that made the 80s what they were it's music videos), my brother, who couldn't have been more than six, told me that regardless of what happened in life, he would always love me and would never abandon me.

I came home, lay down sweaty on my bed and tried to control the millions of thoughts forming in my head. My mother was in her room talking on the phone and I just couldn't take it anymore. I've been waiting and waiting and waiting for the right moment, but there is no right moment. I'm either going to tell them or I'm not.

So I went into her room and asked her to get off the phone. I told her I needed to tell her something. She sat down and listened intently. I began by telling her that I've known someone for a while now and she said "I know". Which wasn't a surprise to me. She's not an idiot. She just chose not to say anything about it. I told her that he's not Muslim and watched her eyes grow a little. Again, she knew but the fact that I was confirming everything like this kinda shook her senses.

She asked me how I could put myself in such a situation. I told her that what's happened has happened and that I needed to tell her. I then dropped the nuclear bomb...we both want to get married.

I have never seen my mother's face form the way it did. Her eyes weren't full of anger or rage, they were full of pure fear. She asked me what I was thinking and that this could simply not happen. I explained to her how I came to my understanding that it was not haram and she simply wouldn't hear it. It's haram, it's haram is the only thing that came out of her mouth. Every religious class she took say it's haram, all the sheikhs say it, thousands of years of fiqh say it. It's haram.

I expected all her arguments, thanks to the anons that wrote their fabulous comments on previous posts. I had an answer for everything. Of course she simply wouldn't hear it. She said that she couldn't approve of such a thing. I told her I wasn't looking for her approval but just didn't want her to cut me out of her life. She repeated again that she couldn't approve, which basically means that she won't have me in her life. We had to cut the conversation short because my father walked into the house but not before I asked to read her books on sunnah. We'd talk about this again, but when we were both slightly calmer.

The confrontation went exactly as I expected. I could've scripted it. It wasn't a success, but it wasn't a failure either. My mother didn't get hysterical and I didn't break down. I was tempted at one point to throw a shoe at her head as she kept repeating, "it's haram" but I maintained composure. I mean, it's taken me two years to get to this point where I'm comfortable with my decision. I can't expect her to be comfortable with it in two minutes.

So there it is. The wheels are now in motion. I thought I would feel a weight lifted after telling one of my parents, but I don't. I actually feel kind of sick. Butterflies keep forming in my stomach. I also hate that I have now afflicted my mother with the same terrifying thoughts that have plagued me for the past two years. Now SHE'S going to get the sleepless nights and the stomach knots. I never wanted to do this to her. I kept putting this shit off because I simply didn't want her to go through this.

Egyptians just don't get no luv

2007-06-09T12:05:00.000-04:00

via The Superficial:

Martha Stewart was on her way to make an appearance on The View Tuesday when she noticed she was being followed by a police cruiser. When her car stopped at the studio, it was surrounded by officers and her driver was promptly arrested. Page Six reports:

"A visibly upset Stewart went up to her dressing room and, according to a source, "started shouting loudly to an assistant over the phone." The domestic diva yelled, "How could you do this to me? Don't you do background checks on people? He was Egyptian! What do I pay you people for?"

Hmm, right, so apparently Martha Stewart pays her people to make sure she doesn't hire any Egyptians. I'm pretty sure that's illegal. As is cutting off somebody's head and wearing it like a mask. I think.

Why I Can't Talk to Muslims

2007-06-04T19:56:00.000-04:00

I took some of my students to Columbia University last week for an internship. It took us nearly two hours to get there from Brooklyn. We didn't mind it so much though. The trip on the subway was fun. I always like interacting with my kids outside school; they drop their inhibitions and start acting like real people.

Somewhere between Canal Street and Union Square, an African-American Muslim woman jumped on the train and started preaching. I've never seen Muslims proselytize (lecture maybe, but not active proselytization), except for scattered members of the Nation of Islam on random city streets. This woman, dressed all in black and wearing black gloves, stayed with us till we reached uptown. I'll admit, she was a great orator, but it was getting too much at one point.

She started by extolling the virtues of Islam. Which was fine. It was actually a pretty good lesson for my students. She practically gave us an entire history unit in twenty minutes. We got a great history of Islam, an overview of the five pillars, and a useful comparison of the monotheistic religions. The flyer she was handing out was also a handy resource I had my students save it to study for the history regents they're going to take next week.

My students were mesmerized. It was hard not to be. The woman just wouldn't let up and even if you tried to ignore she'd manage to suck you in. At one point though she started talking about how Islam is the only true religion. My Argentinian student looked at me and whispered, "Miss, that's not nice what she's saying. It's...what's that word you taught us last week??? It's 'intolerant', right?"

"Well, what makes it intolerant, J?" He gathered a group together and analyzed the intolerance of her statement. It was really cute. I would've never in a million years thought a subway trip would serve as a teachable moment.

The woman kept on talking about the only true religion. She wasn't trying to be insulting, but for a group of adolescents who usually hear only what they want to hear she seemed quite arrogant. I stopped her as she walked past me and suggested that maybe she should drop the whole "true" religion bit.

"What do you know about Islam? Are you Muslim?" she queried.

"Yeah, I'm Muslim and you will continue losing your audience if you make them feel like they're .... "

"Sister, before you start preaching to me you should go and look at yourself in a mirror. Muslimahs don't look like you. Learn to cover up before you preach to me."

This is the umpteenth time that I've had someone dismiss me because I don't look Muslim. Last summer, a fellow classmate took issue with my breasts. Last semester, my West African students couldn't understand why I didn't veil (and I couldn't understand how they managed to veil but were fine wearing such tight clothing to school). On this blog, people will always resort to personal attacks to try to put me in my place. When trying to have a debate on hadith or religion, people will hold their own for about three or four emails/posts before resorting to something like "well, if you're such a Muslim you should be veiled", "you can't be a Muslim and have a boyfriend", or (my favorite) "you're going to hell". Dialogue ends immediately.

The thing that bothers me is that there's no way that anyone would attack a Muslim man in such a personal way. I've read Muslim male bloggers write about fucking strangers while on vacation or drinking themselves to oblivion, yet there is never a comment directed AT them. My cousin, who my father is financially supporting, is an alcoholic and a womanizer. My other cousin, who my father was also financially supporting, had three daughters with three different women (all of whom he was married to and divorced within a year) and doesn't support any of them. They don't get personally attacked. But I always do.

My students got very angry at the preacher woman. The Islam they knew and learned about would not put someone down like that. Besides, how dare she insult their favorite teacher! One of my tenth grade girls stood up and told her, "This woman comes to teach us everyday even though we drive her crazy. She stays after school to teach our parents how to speak English. She feeds us, pays us compliments, and is much more decent than you."

She then came, gave me a hug, and whispered, "You're beautiful Miss. Inside and out."

A sweet interview

2007-06-04T19:08:00.000-04:00

This woman put a smile on my face as I was driving into work this morning.

Coming out of the closet

2007-05-20T00:44:00.000-04:00

When I moved back home five years ago it was supposed to be temporary. Six months tops, I told myself. Enough time to save some money, find a new place sans roommate, and maybe bond with the parents. Six months, however, slyly led to a year, which then led to two, three, four, five.

Around year three I finally resigned myself to the fact that I probably wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I had quit a job that was giving me ulcers and was stuck in limbo trying to figure out what direction my life should be heading. One weekend I decided to finally unpack some of my boxes that had been gathering dust for three years and found a batch of pictures that I had wanted to put in a photo album but just never had the chance.

As I was organizing my pictures I realized that I had inadvertently placed them into two piles, which I subsequently named the "halal" and "haram" pile. The "halal" pile included pictures I could keep out in the open. My roommate and I unpacking boxes, friends at the top of the Empire State Building, innocent pictures that couldn't get me into any kind of trouble. It represented the side I revealed to my family. The demure, dutiful daughter who knew her place and never dreamed of straying from it.

The "haram" pile consisted of pictures that needed to be kept locked up in the closet. Pictures with cleavage, tight hugs with famous singers, sitting on friends' laps, kisses with boyfriends. Pictures that would horrify my parents. I once told my friend that if I were ever to die in a freak accident, the first thing she would have to do was burn it all. No traces of this side of my life can be left behind.

This need to compartmentalize my life stemmed from an incident that occurred in the 8th grade. It was graduation time and my friends and I borrowed our parents' cameras to record all our precious memories. I took one picture with one of my male classmates. Nothing inappropriate. He was standing next to me. There were no hugs. As a matter of fact he looked like he didn't even want to be in the picture. My mother discovered it while rummaging through my bookbag one evening and snipped him out of it. She then spent 30 minutes lecturing me on how I should never be in a picture with a boy. What if this boy used the photo to blackmail me (????) or, worse, superimposed my face over a naked a woman and sold it (!!!!!?????!!!!!).

I was confused. I didn't know what I had done wrong and her ideas seemed so preposterous. It was the first time that I began to think that my parents were not only weird, but deranged. I had done nothing wrong but at that moment I felt the split that my identity would take. I could have become a rebellious daughter, acting out and simply doing what I wanted to do. But I loved my parents, worshiped them, and I simply couldn't do it. At that time, the only logical thing for me to do was embrace this split.

I've lived an entire life with fractured identities. None of them whole, all of them representing merely a quarter of who I really am. I've hated it. I've hated living parallel lives, not knowing who I was, who I could be if I simply allowed all the identities to come together.

Three years ago I woke up, looked in the mirror, and didn't recognize myself. I know that this not only sounds cliche, but stupid as well, but I really couldn't recognize myself. I wasn't happy. I hated life, hated myself, couldn't stand what I had become. I never thought I'd have had to lie so much for so long. Never knew what it would do to me.

I never believed that happiness could be mine. I mean, how could I ever be happy if I could never be me? How in the world could I find happiness, tranquility, and peace of mind if I could never be true to myself? Toots once told me that until I bravely decided to pursue my own perception of happiness, I'd always be stuck in this rut. Do it, not think it, he said.

I've decided to go with the honest route when I confront my parents about R. I'm sick of lying about everything in my life for the sake of self-preservation. I'm sick of the double identity. I'm sick of being so fucking pathetic. There are times when I can't even stand myself. People are supposed to lie when they're doing something wrong. I have never done anything "wrong", yet have always lied because I've always been afraid that the people in my life would stop loving me. That if they knew the truth they would turn me away. And needy old me needs to be loved.

I love R. I've loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him. And if this were merely a case of being love-struck, I wouldn't for one second go through with marrying him. While I believe in the power of love, I've never believed that it alone can conquer all. I've known R for eight years. We've been through a lot together. We've managed to get past all the bullshit and came out stronger and this is why I'm not afraid of fighting for him. This is not just about love.

The lying is going to stop. I don't want to keep being this victim who's constantly afraid. I hate this weakness. I'm 100% convinced that I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm spiritually at peace. I've prayed five istakharas (yeah you freaks, I pray), read the opinions of four sheikhs, read the Quran for myself, and while I don't expect others to come to the same conclusion as I have I do expect others to back off and leave me to live my life so I could carve my own happiness.

I'm going to come out of the closet to my parents soon, and I know it's going to be a doozy. I'm prepared for the absolute worst. I do have a tactic and am strategizing every day. I know who I'm going to confront first, where I'm going to do it, what I'm going to say and am merely waiting for a day where I don't come home at nine in the evening (I'm working two jobs...haven't been able to rest properly since March).

I try to be optimistic, but I have a feeling that my heart will be broken and that this will be a pretty wearisome battle. I'm not looking for my parents' blessing or approval. I don't expect them to sanction something they are not comfortable with. I'm looking for their acceptance of a choice I've made that doesn't fit into their reality. I'm looking for them to love me. To keep me in their lives. It's not much to ask for, is it?

Tell you what I'm really looking forward to...I'm looking forward to the sweet relief of finally being unshackled from all my lies. Even if my family stops speaking to me, I would rather deal with that unhappiness than the unbearable misery all my lies have brought upon me.

The Fellowship of the Ring

2007-05-13T07:49:00.000-04:00

As per Toots' suggestion, I have decided to refer to my engagement as "The Fellowship of the Ring". Since there's no bigger LOTR fan than the boyfriend, it seems appropriate. I suppose he needs to be called the fiance now...

Apologies for keeping you guys waiting on updates and thank you all so much for all the wonderful comments. They've been the frosty icings on top of a very sweet cake. I've been on cloud nine for the past two weeks and even though I know I've got a lot to deal with, I've never been this happy.

I'm happy. Really, really happy. My cup runneth over happy. I didn't think I would feel this way. I thought that when we got to this point nothing would really change. But I've been basking in this post-proposal glow for two weeks.

All this while still not having uttered a word of this to my parents--two people I see every single day. I thought it would feel strange. I mean, I've lived parallel lives my entire life. I'm used to it. But this is BIG. This is official. It is now real. I thought that taking the ring off before I get home everyday would've gotten me down and out, but it hasn't. I don't feel as fractured as I felt pre-proposal. You'd think it would be the opposite, no?

I'm planning on telling them early this summer. I need to get past these four weeks of school before I break it to them (FOUR WEEKS OF SCHOOL AND I'M DONE WITH MY FIRST YEAR OF TEACHING!!!! AM REALLY, REALLY EXCITED!!!) I don't know who I need to sit down first, the father or the mother. Or if I should do a dry run with my uncle. I'm torn between lying ("he converted") or standing up for myself. My brother tells me that if I choose to lie I shouldn't really look down on myself. Self-preservation, he says. It doesn't mean that I've sold myself or my beliefs out.

The problem with lying about novio ("fiance" in Spanish) converting is that he wouldn't be comfortable with it at all. While I'm comfortable presenting different faces to different people, what you see is what you get with him. I can't imagine him wearing a different mask when he's around my parents.

We've been talking a lot about the wedding, novio and I. He needs a big wedding (the youngest of 12 and all), I need one NOW. I don't want to wait for him anymore. While I would love to have time planning something beautiful and unique, I don't feel like waiting another year to start my life with him. He wants to have a ceremony at an obscure hall in the Bronx, I told him that if an idea like that was ever mentioned again I would call the whole thing off. Vineyards, pseudo-castles, Central Park, the New York Public Library, and the Brooklyn Botanical Garden are all high on my list of wedding venues. Which means I need to either win the lotto or rob a bank.

I'm happy. Despite the inevitable storm that's about to hit, I'm just happy.

The ring

2007-05-12T09:33:00.000-04:00

Here's what my beautiful ring looks like. Platinum setting, princess cut solitaire, clear, colorless...and it fits!!! He picked it out all by himself and it is perfect :)

Happy Day :)

2007-05-01T22:54:00.000-04:00

It was boyfriend's birthday today. I had such an awful headache at work today that thought I wouldn't be able to take him out to the restaurant at which I made reservations. Steakhouse. I hate steak, but a couple of months ago he mentioned that he'd never eaten at Peter Luger's so I figured it would be nice to take him there.

I left work early because I thought that my brain was going to explode and ooze out of my eyes. Nasty, nasty headache. Came home, took a nap, and still was in pain. I could've cancelled on BF but didn't really want to. My brother, future doctor, insisted to try out a massage technique he learned in school. Carmen, who just can't seem to see her brother as an adult, reluctantly took him up on his offer. I mean, what's the worst he could do?

I lay down and he took my neck into his hands, stretching the muscles. He manipulated my neck, pressed on some spots, and five minutes later the pain was gone and it was as if I never even had a headache. Little brother made everything go away!!!

Refreshed and rejuvenated I went out to a really nice dinner with BF. On our way back home we drove by a marina and he stopped the car for a little bit so we could enjoy the view. He actually wanted to go and sit on the benches, something he just doesn't do...he's very impatient. I've never been able to get him to just SIT and enjoy passing time. He always has to be doing something.

The marina only had private parking, so we couldn't go and sit on the benches. We parked and watched the view, just enjoying each other's company while listening to the Mets game on the radio.

"You know what would make my birthday complete?" he asked.

"adlkajf;lksdjf;il" (I cannot repeat the dirty thing I said to him).

He chuckled and said no.

"My birthday would be complete if you married me."

I didn't really hear him...it was almost a whisper. But he whipped out a box from his jacket pocket. I looked at it and still couldn't comprehend what was happening.

I took the box, opened it, and closed it immediately. You know how in the movies women always open the box and close it?? I always thought it was so fake, so stupid. No one would react like that.

But that's exactly what I did. I thought he had gotten me earrings, my favorite accessories. But it was a diamond. And I couldn't process what had just happened.

I closed the box and clutched it tightly, grabbed him and hugged HIM even tighter. I didn't say anything, just kept hugging him. I needed time to process all this, to make sure that this was happening, to relish in that moment. I was scared, surprised, happy...name the emotion, I felt it. It was such a surreal moment.

I never needed a ring. We both knew where we stood and where we were heading. Who needs the formalities?

After a couple of minutes of silence, he asked, "um....yes, no, maybe? It would be nice to have an answer." Again, something I only thought happened in the movies.

"OF COURSE!" I told him, still clutching the box in my hand and him in my arms.

I finally let him go, he took the box because it was apparent that I was just not going to open it, took the ring out, and slipped it on my finger. It's beautiful. He's beautiful.

We drove to his house afterwards where he called his family. Within ten minutes, fifteen people were over at his house, screaming, squeeling, hugging. It was....strange. Here are all these people, rejoicing, and my family doesn't even have an inkling. I pushed that thought out of my mind because, frankly, I don't feel like thinking about this now. All I want to do is enjoy this moment, which has been a long time coming.

What a kick-ass woman!!

2007-04-17T21:36:00.000-04:00

Buthayna Nasser is awesome. You MUST watch this.

Star-crossed lovers

2007-04-15T20:31:00.000-04:00

And I thought my romance was complicated...
________________
Star-crossed lovers quit West Bank
By Matthew Price
BBC News, Jerusalem

She is a 26-year-old Jewish Israeli. Her name is Jasmine Avissar. He is a 27-year-old Palestinian Muslim, Osama Zaatar. Jasmine and Osama's is a love story, and it tells you so much about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

They met when they worked at the same place in Jerusalem, and three years ago they got married. First they tried to live in Israel, but the Israeli authorities would not allow Osama to join his wife there. Then they tried living in the occupied West Bank, but some Palestinians made life difficult for them. Now they've given up and are moving to Europe.

Strangers

"We ran out of choices of finding any solution to live in either Israel or Palestine," says Jasmine as she packs her bags. "We were naive and thought we could win this fight but we can't. So we have to go abroad and start a new life."

Jasmine already has permission to go. Osama hopes to follow her soon.

We go up onto the roof of their village home. The sunlight is so harsh you have to squint to look at the view. Stone walls hold earth terraces onto the hillsides, olive trees hundreds of years old are dotted across the landscape.

"I feel like a stranger here," says Osama. "Even in my homeland. This place is a holy land, but they're killing each other. It's like it's already a lost cause. Here there's no chance. I just want to start again."

Under investigation

They are an almost unique couple.

Neither Israeli nor Palestinian society has accepted their marriage.

On official Israeli documents, Jasmine tells me her marital status is described as "under investigation". "Our marriage was a human thing. We just fell in love," says Jasmine. "The society around us is making it political."

"I feel like a refugee. The moment I decided not to be part of the mainstream I was told that I was not a part of my country anymore," says Osama.

A taxi turns up, and Osama helps Jasmine with her bags. The drive takes them through occupied Palestinian lands. They pass a tall grey Israeli army watchtower. They drive through army checkpoints. Israel has been in control here for almost 40 years.

Given up

"Even here in Osama's homeland I am superior as an Israeli," says Jasmine, as she looks out the window. "It's easier for me to move around. The soldiers let me through checkpoints. They don't arrest me like they might arrest Osama."

Jasmine has given up on her own country.

"Jewish people were abused for thousands of years, but my nation has switched from being victims to being abusers. That's hard for me to acknowledge. The Jewish people are occupiers now, and we are racist."

The car arrives at a final checkpoint.

We stand next to it, and Osama tells me why he has also given up on his own people. "There were threats. People said if I brought my wife here we'd be in danger. Even my friends said that. They say I am a traitor."

"It makes me wonder whether I want to be a Palestinian any more. Some see me as some sort of Israeli envoy. It's a shit feeling."

Seeking safety

They turn and walk the short distance to the checkpoint that leads out of the West Bank and into Israel. They put down their bags, and hug one another. There's a short kiss.

I ask Osama what he hopes for from his new life.

"I want to be able to walk in the street and not be stopped by the Israeli army or police. I want to feel safe. I have never felt that."

Jasmine smiles. "I just want to be a normal couple, with normal problems about rent, and money. I don't want to have these huge gigantic problems interfering in our marriage."

Even now though they are not quite free.

Osama cannot go through the checkpoint with Jasmine. They don't know when he will be able to join her in Europe.

They are still a couple caught in the middle of the Israeli Palestinian conflict.

"Islam and Interfaith Marriage"

2007-04-14T18:31:00.000-04:00

BeliefWatch
By Lisa Miller
Newsweek

April 9, 2007 issue - Unlike Judaism, Islam is passed down through the father. The Qur'an even grants a Muslim man permission to marry a Jewish or Christian woman, so long as she is chaste. "A believing maid is better than an idolatrous woman," the holy text says. Thus it was for centuries: Muslim men married other women of the Book, who were permitted to practice their own religion but were absorbed into their husband's family along with their Muslim children.

Fast-forward to modern-day America. An entire generation of American Muslims, whose parents emigrated here in the 1970s, is coming of age. They've been to elite colleges, they're in the professions and they're ready to settle down. And so the cycle of hand-wringing over intermarriage begins again. For assimilated Muslim men, intermarriage doesn't present too big a dilemma because the tradition endorses it. "I'm actually a big proponent of intermarriage," says Arsalan Iftikhar, national legal director for the Council on American-Islamic Relations. "I plan on marrying someone who does not look like me."

But American Muslim women face a thornier challenge: how to marry outside the faith and retain their Muslim identity without the sanction of Scripture or history. Daisy Khan, executive director of the American Society for Muslim Advancement, has counseled at least 100 interfaith couples over the past few years and, in a growing number of cases, the Muslim partner is a woman. Like the Jews and Roman Catholics before them, all these couples have to balance their commitments to their families of origin against their new lives. "He likes bacon," says Shekaiba Bennett of her Lutheran-Jewish husband. "I told him he could have it outside the house." Bennett's son Strider Rumi, who is 3, celebrates the Muslim holidays, as well as Christmas and Passover. "We live in a global world and we're all interconnected," Bennett says. "The idea that Muslim women should only marry Muslim men is ridiculous. It's outdated."

More-traditional American Muslim women complain that they're losing their men, too—not to Christians and Jews (or even Hindus) but to Muslim brides summoned from abroad. "All the guys here can go back home and find a nice girl from India, simple and obedient," says Nadia Khan, a junior at Georgetown. Even in the most conservative circles, the collision of traditional religion with educated, independent women is bound to force a change.

Egypt's Dr. Ruth

2007-04-11T22:09:00.000-04:00

Here's how my mother gave me the sex talk:

I was sixteen, on the phone with my best friend (probably comparing notes about what happened on 90210), when my mom threw open my bedroom door, scowled at me for three seconds, and proclaimed, "sex is haram" before slamming the door.

I wasn't sure what to make of the episode. It was so random and just had no context.

I've never heard of Heba Kotb, but she will be on Nightline tonight to talk about one of my favorite topics: sex.

"Kotb is a devout Muslim who has one unique mission for the Arab world: have more sex."

Can't think of anything else I'd want to watch tonight!

"A Long Time Coming"

2007-04-11T21:44:00.000-04:00

Got this e-mail from a friend last month announcing her engagement. I can only DREAM of writing an e-mail like this to my family and friends!!!

---------------

To my family and friends,

I would like to share some exciting news...last night Kristan (my boyfriend) and I got engaged to be married. About 30 of our friends were witnesses and helped us celebrate at the Shabu-Shabu restaurant.

We are going to have two small ceremonies. The first will be in Korea with our friends here; we are planning to exchange vows on March 24th at Haedong Yonggungsa Temple and then a party after. When we get back State-side we will be heading down to Kristan's brother's house in Mexico where we will be married in front of our friends and families (those of you that can make it.)

From there we will be honeymooning down through Central America and hopefully to South America. We plan on spending the summer back with our friends and family in the US and Canada. (Mostly mooching off their goodwill!)

Anyways, I love you all so much and we can't wait to see all of you soon!

XOXO,

Kristen and Kristan

Why you should always look your best

2007-04-10T20:50:00.000-04:00

You never know when HBO is going to come knocking on the door.

A couple of weeks ago I had a particularly hard day at work. I've created a blog and a wiki for my class that seem to be taking up A LOT of my time. Integrating technology in the classroom is a great idea (makes for great learning), but it takes up SO MUCH time and gives you a lot of sleepless nights. I am, however, the technology trailblazer at my school, something that's made my principal quite happy with me.

I've impressed everyone with the technology I'm using. So much so that a prestigious university, who's working on a project with Spike Lee, invited me and a couple of my kids to a workshop a month ago that's using technology to teach democracy. It was an amazing workshop and my kids did a kick-ass job there.

So kick-ass that the producers decided to create a documentary about the project for HBO. They used a lot of clips that they filmed at the university, but also wanted to interview some of the teachers.

That brings us back to the horrible day at work. Little sleep, lots of work, and I had just finished teaching four classes in a row. After my last class I kicked those kids out as fast as I could and locked the door behind me. I ran to sit down. I had been standing for four hours straight and my back was about to give out on me. Other than waitressing, I can't imagine a job that forces you to stand for so long.

Five minutes after I sat down I heard a knocking on my door. Please don't let it be one of the kids, I prayed. They love to come and hang out in my classroom, but I was worn out and adolescent company was the last thing on my mind. I peeked through the panes to find one of the producers from the workshop standing outside the door with a camera and a tripod. I let him in and he asked if he could interview me for the documentary.

It was the worst possible time to do something like this. I was parched, my lips were chapped, I felt disheveled. My hair was up in a bun (the librarian look) and I looked my absolute worst. I told him that it was not really a good time, but he insisted. Can't have a documentary about teaching democracy using technology without the woman who's using this technology.

So I did it. And hoped that they'd just cut me out.

I just received an e-mail from the producer with a copy of the final cut and watched it. I look like ass!!! First of all, I'm not photogenic. Whatsoever. I've never photographed well and it's why I hide when I see someone with a camera. The librarian look, as well, apparently doesn't work for me. My lips also have this funny thing they do when I talk...they kind of curl up or curl to the sides. I've always hated it, though have been told that it's cute and sexy. But let me tell you, there is NOTHING cute and sexy about that friggin documentary!

Having said all that, I'm proud as hell of my work!!!! Not bad for a first year teacher, huh?!!

Teaching Matters

2007-04-07T21:59:00.000-04:00

I've been on vacation for the past week, with three more days of freedom to go before I return to work. I'm quite disappointed in myself that I didn't go anywhere. I tried, though. I tried to plan a trip but things just kept coming in the way. It seemed less stressful to just stay at home and mope. I think that's maybe something that I needed. To just be lazy and do things that don't require any type of thinking at all.

Teaching has taken a lot out of me. I knew becoming a high school teacher would be tough, but I never thought it would wear me out like this. You spend five days a week, six hours a day leading classes full of adolescents. You spend most of your day talking to teenagers, fighting with them, yelling at them, that by the time you get home you forget what it's like to talk to normal people.

I realized this past week how anti-social I've become since I started my job. It's just that when I finish a hard day's work, all I want to do is NOT talk. It becomes very difficult to keep friends this way and I think that's why I've lost so many. Sigh.

A couple of weeks ago my friend's husband sent me an e-mail with a job posting from Human Rights Watch. There was a position they'd just posted that was perfect for me, he said. I've got all the qualifications...it's what I went to grad school for. Researcher, women's issues, lots of traveling, prestigious job. My friend told him that I already had a job that I was happy in and his reply was, "teaching? Eh teaching? That's not a job. She should get a better job."

I hate it when people belittle educators. Teaching is a profession no one chooses apparently. It's a profession you're forced to take because you can't do anything else. Teachers have an easy life. We work from 9 to 3, report to no boss, and have "all that time off". What a J-O-B!

What nobody seems to understand is that we don't work from 9-3. We work from 9 to whenever bedtime is that day. Papers to grade, lessons to plan, new things to discover to try to bring to class. You think we teachers just walk into our classroom and do improv??? As pleasant as it may sound, there's NO WAY we can ever get away with that. Sure, the more years you teach, the more you're able to just "wing it" on some hangover days. But enter a battlefield without a strategy?? No teacher in the world would think of doing that.

Report to no boss? We've got to report to our principals, parents, and (most important of all) our students! You screw up in the class and you WILL be held accountable. Adults may let things slide, but kids will be constantly up your ass.

"All that time off" (ATTO)? Well you try teaching five classes a day, five days a week and see what happens to you. Just before vacation I was about to call one of my students a nasty bitch, fantasized about slamming one of my kids' head against the wall and watching his blood splatter, and prayed that another would fall into the subway tracks on the way home and become decapitated. I'm not exaggerating. These were the exact thoughts running through my mind. If we didn't have ATTO we'd either commit suicide or homicide, neither of which is a pretty good option.

Teaching is tough. And it's unappreciated. There are days when I just want to throw my chalk against the board and walk out of the classroom, never looking back. There are days when my students say such mean things that make me want to cry, days when I hate my life. Days when I come home and want to crawl into some little space where no one can find me.

I stay because I know that my work is making a difference. It has meaning. Value. I don't have to wait to see the product of my labor. We are the real superheroes! When one of my kids succeeds, my heart swells up. It's like watching your baby take its first steps.

I love my job, as difficult as it is. Going to Barcelona was truly a life-changing experience and the ripples of its effects continues till today. I wouldn't leave my job for the world. And if I complain about it too much, please remind me of this post!

2007-04-02T12:13:00.000-04:00

I want to detach myself from the world, for just a little bit. I want to go somewhere where I can just lay and stare up at the sky. Doing nothing. I want a week with no cell phone, laptop, internet. No news of Iraq or a corrupt presidency. I don't want to know about protests in Egypt or exorbitant gas prices. I don't want to keep worrying about my parents, stressing over my relationship, or stress about my finances or current living situation. I don't want to think about the exes I've hurt or friends I've lost. I want to be free from all this. Because all the issues that keep gathering in my head are just about to drive me crazy.

Friends

2007-04-02T12:10:00.000-04:00

Best Friend recently returned from her year-long stint in Taiwan. I missed her immensely and am ecstatic that she's back, but I haven't really been able to express it really well. Or at least express it in the way she wishes I would.

I've never been an overly expressive woman. I hate confrontation and am much better on paper than I'll ever be in person. This is a result of all the moving I did between the ages of 4-8. From Egypt to Germany, where I didn't know the language, then from Germany to America, where AGAIN I didn't know the language. I remember sitting in classes with such a tightness in my stomach that I thought I would faint. I'd come home everyday with an excrutiating headache, the result of being bombarded with an alien language. By the time I finally learned English, I had spent too much time in deafening silence. I was never really able to communicate with people the way I wanted to. Talking has never really been my thing.

I've never told best friend, for example, that I love her even though (outside my family) she's the person who's been in my life the longest. She's loyal, she's true, and even through the arguments we've never said or done anything to hurt each other. Piss each other off, absolutely. But never, ever hurt each other.

She's been gone a year, but when I saw her last weekend I felt like she was gone for merely a day. We picked up right from where we left off and it was wonderful.

But I didn't greet her with the fanfare or excitement I know she was waiting for. So I don't think she's been able to adequately understand how happy I am to have her back.

I don't do fanfare. I'm very reserved. There was a time when I was in high school where best friend and I were very lovey-dovey. We wrote notes that we passed to each other between classes and I think I may have been more emotionally available or expressive than I am now. When I graduated high school and went through my own private hell I did close myself up and never opened up again.

I always assume the people in my life know how much I love them without me having to express it. I assume they know and don't have insecurities if I close up every once in a while and don't give them the kind of friendship they want. I always pray that they'll tap into the friendship reserve that we filled up together and realize how much I really do love them.

For Book Lovers Everywhere

2007-04-01T20:31:00.000-04:00

I have approximately 400 books in my house. It drives my mother crazy because I don't have a library. The books are often scattered all over the place. Today I went to Borders and bought six new books (educators get a discount!!!!) The minute my mother saw the bag her voice went supersonic. Too many books, she yelled. They're all over the place.

I recently joined BookMooch. It's a book lover's delight. You give a book, you take a book. Of course, some of my books are in my permanent collection and I wouldn't part with them for the world, but others are gathering dust. What better way to get new books than by trading old ones!

It's okay to beat your wife if you're Moroccan

2007-03-27T17:24:00.000-04:00

A judge in Germany refused to give a woman who was being beaten by her husband a speedy divorce because Muslim women should be accustomed to abuse.

"In January, the judge turned down the wife’s request for a speedy divorce, saying that the husband’s behavior was not an unreasonable hardship because they were both Moroccan. “In this cultural background,” she wrote, “it is not unusual that the husband uses physical punishment against the wife.”

Cultural relativism and ignorance at their absolute worst.

The best are found in New York ;)

2007-03-17T10:51:00.000-04:00

Via Adfreak

The difference between men and women

2007-03-17T10:26:00.000-04:00

I received a lot of e-mails because of my previous post. People wrote in to make sure that I understand that while women are equal to men, they are certainly not identical. Quite profound e-mails I must say. I had certainly never known that women and men were NOT identical.

Here's one difference between men and women:

A recent article in the Online Journalism Review measured where men and women's eyes linger when they see a picture. Women look first and longest at the face, while men look at both the face and the "private anatomy."

"[Researcher] Coyne adds that this difference doesn’t just occur with images of people. Men tend to fixate more on areas of private anatomy on animals as well, as evidenced when users were directed to browse the American Kennel Club site."

I always knew that you men were dirty, dirty creatures...but dogs????!!!!!

Female judges

2007-03-15T10:11:00.000-04:00

Sexism is so worn out. The whole "women can't do this because they get pregnant" spiel is just so old. Egypt serioulsy needs to get out of the dark ages and stop stifling her girls.

No, I take that back. Egypt needs to get rid of the idiots that reside there, that's what she needs to do.

_______________________________________

Mar 14, 5:04 PM (ET)

By SALAH NASRAWI

CAIRO, Egypt (AP) - Egypt's judiciary chief has named the country's first female judges despite opposition from conservative Muslims, according to a decree published Wednesday.

Mukbil Shakir, the head of the Supreme Judicial Council, appointed 31 women to judge or chief judge positions in Egypt's courts, the official Middle East News Agency said, quoting Shakir's decree.

The move is expected to give a boost to President Hosni Mubarak's political and social reforms that have been widely criticized as too restricted. But others said the announcement still falls short of providing women equal opportunities.

The decree said the women, who previously were state prosecutors, passed a special test before being named to their new posts.

Women's rights advocates have been pushing for female judges for decades, but the government had refused, fearing angry reaction from conservative Muslims opposed to a move they consider un-Islamic.

In 2003, Mubarak named a female lawyer, Tahany el-Gebaly, as a judge in the nation's constitutional tribunal, a post which does not include overseeing civil or criminal court cases. It was not immediately clear what courts the 31 women would preside over.

Some hard-line critics said Shakir's decree contradicts an article in the constitution that states the principal source of legislation is Islamic law. They base their argument on a Quranic tenet that holds that two women are equal to one man if they are called as witnesses in a court. A woman, they argue, cannot be a judge if she cannot be a sole witness.

Yahia Ragheb Daqruri, president of the judges' syndicate, has vehemently opposed appointing women to be judges.

"Women must not sit as judges because it would be against Sharia (Islamic law) as they would have to spend time alone with men," he was quoted as saying in a recent interview in the independent al-Masri al-Youm daily.

Others argue that female judges might become pregnant while serving on the bench and that would affect the judiciary's prestige.

But a leading Egyptian cleric, Sheik Mohammed Sayyed Tantawi, has ruled that there is nothing in Islam's holy book, the Quran, that bans women from becoming judges. Tantawi is head of Al-Azhar, the leading Sunni Muslim center of religious thought. His rulings carry substantial weight in the Muslim world, and his statement may have lent legitimacy to campaigns by feminist activists to get women on the bench.

But others said the decree did not go far enough. Fatima Lashin, a lawyer whose request to join the judiciary was turned down solely on the grounds she is a woman, called the move cosmetic because the women who were named were chosen from among state prosecutors and excluded defense lawyers and civil servants. She also contended the government
intends to send the female judges to family status tribunals and not criminal courts.

"The government should open the post for all women, not those of its choice," Lashin told the Associated Press.

Spring Forward

2007-03-12T22:59:00.000-04:00

I'm the kind of person who, when traveling, suffers from severe jet lag. It's one of the reasons I'll never visit Egypt for just a week. Most of that time is spent sleeping all day and tossing and turning in frustration all night. It takes about a week or two before my internal clock catches up with my environment.

I know a lot of people who are able to reset their internal clocks and I've always envied them. Me, I can't do that. I'm addicted to my creature comforts - mess with them and you mess with your life. Toots gave me this shout-out once:

"Fierce...like a snarling wolverine, especially if you slight her a) gender b) friends c) the weak and the ugly. The plus side is you know she has your back. What's intriguing is that she's as sweet as a hostess twinkie and just as soft...if you can ever get past the snarling wolverine bit. Generous to a fault, curious mind and all about her creature comforts: mess with her food, her sleep or her head and she will engage 'cranky' mode and you'll be sucked in like a fishing boat in a whirlpool..."

So when daylight savings hits and my internal clock gets screwed with, I'm a pretty unhappy person. Daylight savings crept up on us yesterday, three weeks ahead of schedule. I hate it. Hate it. I love the longer days, but I hate what it does to my bodily rhythm. Couldn't get to sleep at all last night. I usually try to get to bed by 11, but 11 last night was really 10 and so I was tossing and turning till nearly 3! It drove me crazy! Woke up at 6am, which my body still recognizes as 5am. The crank was on all day long.

Right now I'm EXHAUSTED. But it's too early to sleep!! If I get myself into bed right now I'll toss all night. Grrrr.

The Polyandry Fatwa

2007-03-11T22:37:00.000-04:00

This made me laugh :)

One of my favorite paragraphs:

"Christian Syrians in this 15% Christian country say they do not wish to get involved in what they see as a intra-Muslim issue, but privately, some think the Muslims have gone nuts (“We had the good sense to ban all multiple marriages by the third century after our faith started, and anyway we see abstinence as the ideal to strive for; you folks seem to swing the other way”)...

NOTE TO THE NUTTY ANONS OUT THERE: THIS IS SATIRE.

-------------
The Polyandry Fatwa
By Mohja Kahf

(AL-TAL, SYRIA) Women in this small Syrian town have had absentee husbands for decades, like women in many other poorer Arab states, where the lack of livable income drives many men abroad in search of work. Now, thanks to improved DNA testing and a fatwa from Syrian ulema that some think will soon be followed by the ulema of other countries, women here have the option of taking a second husband, even if they do not want to divorce the first one.

Polygamy in Islam has traditionally been a male prerogative. The preservation of nasl, or paternity, is cited as the reason why the Quranic verse allowing polygamy for men cannot be assumed to apply in both directions. This has always posed an interpretive problem, since Quranic commandments phrased in the male gender case are not generally assumed to apply exclusively to men. Many verses commanding prayer and fasting, for example, or detailing how zakat must be distributed, are offered in the male pronoun, but apply equally to women.

With enhanced DNA testing now making it possible for paternity to be determined non-invasively from the moment of conception, in a process accessible to everyone in this socialist state, where all health care services are considered a universal human right, ulema in the small, Muslim-majority country are relieved to be able to extend the blessing of polygamy to women. The secular government has not played a role in devising the fatwa, but a representative of family court says such marriages will be recognized.

“It solves a real stress that is on our society,” Sheikh Habib-uddin says, as one of the scholars who was instrumental in coordinating the ijma effort. “We have political prisoners who are arrested and never seen again by their wives. We have men who migrate to the Gulf for work, but send paychecks once in a blue moon, and God knows what wives and families they have taken there.”

His own daughter, Carima, was married for four months to her cousin Rafik, in a match that had been arranged and happily celebrated by the two families, when the state police hauled Rafik away for political activism.

“I don’t want to divorce him,” Carima says. “even though my mother and father said that would be okay. He’s my cousin, and I’m fond of him.” She blushes. “He should come out of prison and find an empty room? I can’t do that to Rafik. I should be there for him if he gets out one day. When. When he gets out.” She pauses to wipe the tears that have sprung to her eyes. “But—I should put my life on hold? Not to be able to build a family of my own? My younger sisters were having babies, and I had none to cradle in my arms.” She cites the example of another woman in the extended family who lived on tenterhooks for twenty-two years because her husband, also a political prisoner, was reported alive by a prisoner who was released. Five years later he was said to be dead, then alive again. Doubt and hope went on for more than two decades, with prison authorities unwilling to release information.

“Divorce is allowed in such circumstance, of course,” Sheikh Habib says. “But the woman refused it as long as a shred of hope remained.” Finally it became clear that her husband had been executed the first year, in one of the repressive massacres of the Baathist state.

Carima waited three years after Rafik’s arrest before allowing her parents to arrange another marriage for her, to neighborhood shopkeeper Abu Tosheh. She still goes to the authorities with Rafik’s parents at the start of every year to file an inquiry, and meanwhile is pregnant with her first child and glowing.

“This is exactly the sort of difficult dilemma God created polygamy to relieve,” says Muslim Brotherhood representative Aqil Fahim, a Syrian dissident who lived in Riyadh for four decades. “I’ve seen men in the Gulf who are supposed to be there to support wives and children back in Syria, but they end up finding a nice local girl and settling down. What happened to sending money back home?”

More than money is on the mind of Um Wisal, whose husband is one of those deadbeat dads in Riyadh. Abu Wisal’s father and clan were willing to support Um Wisal and her eight children, given the abandonment of their son, who wouldn’t divorce her. Rumor had it, he’d married two women in Saudi, a Moroccan and a Somali. Whenever she sent word asking for a divorce, he’d wire money, along with the words “Baby, don’t go.” So Um Wisal had no case for divorce on the grounds of non-support, plus the words made her remember his charms. “That was our song,” she says, pulling the edge of her veil over her mouth to hide a smile. “Maybe he’ll come back some day, and we’ll have us some more good times.” She puts her hand on her ample hip and says, “But I wanted a man by my side. A woman needs support in this world. I wanted the weight of a man.”

She found one, in the hefty shape of a truck driver from Ifrin, Farris al-Youm. Her husband’s clan was furious. They tried to take the children, but she wasn’t divorced from their son, so they couldn’t. “I’m halal married,” she says triumphantly. She sends the children to their father’s clan after school, at dinnertimes, and for breakfast and lunch on weekends. Asked whether she is a good mother despite her second marriage, she insists that she is; Farris’ driving schedule allows her time to give them plenty of motherly affection, as well as to tend her two goats and to harvest her seven walnut trees.

Advocates of the Polyandry Fatwa insist that it’s not just about sex. Areej Basaleh (who, with a Ph.D. in Islamic Studies, teaches at Damascus University’s Islamic College) says it’s about companionship, being a couple, having a mate at the dinner table, for some, while for other women it is also about finding a provider and a protector in a world that is still tilted toward male power. Others want to balance between family obligations incurred with a first marriage, and personal inclinations addressed by a second spouse. Sometimes the first spouse is mentally instable, or infertile, or brainstem dead, but the wife wants to keep the bond out of loyalty, or for the children or inheritance issues.

And then there is also sexual need, she admits. “Marriage is a sexual outlet, among other social glues it provides.” Some first husbands have prostate problems and cannot take Viagra because of heart conditions, she explains, or simply are unable or unwilling to understand how to bring a woman to climax, even though her equal right to orgasm is, nominally at least, recognized by Islamic jurisprudence. They want to clamber on top of a woman without the foreplay of “kisses and words” advocated by the Prophet Muhammad. Or they master vaginal sex in one traditional position, but are unwilling to adventure further, leaving her frustrated and bored, staring at the ceiling. Yet other aspects of the marriage may be fine, and the wife may be willing to stay in the marriage for those reasons, seeing it as cruel and selfish to leave, especially if there are children. She is thus left with a sexual dilemma.

“Marriage is the one place we, as a faith community, do sanction sex, right?” Areej continues. “So it’s supposed to fulfill that natural, God-ordained function, in a context of love and compassion.”

“When it’s not doing so for too many women because the men are not stepping up, something is wrong, and religion should provide a compassionate answer,” says conservative cleric Imam Hamid al-Fahl, who works out at the gym to stay in shape for his wife, and brings her roses on the anniversary of the publication of the book that founded the Shafi’i school of fiqh. “Something had to be done about all these restless women.” With the Polyandry Fatwa, men will realize that, for the first time in history, there are consequences for such shortcomings, Imam al-Fahl believes. Even those whose wives do not consider the polyandry route will be more motivated to try harder.

Opponents of the Polyandry Fatwa point out that it’s not just for women with absentee first husbands. Women with husbands who are present and accounted for make trouble in the family by marrying over them, they say. Feminists who would rather see polygamy ended all together are not pleased, but polyandry proponents say such activists are just not being realistic. Christian Syrians in this 15% Christian country say they do not wish to get involved in what they see as a intra-Muslim issue, but privately, some think the Muslims have gone nuts (“We had the good sense to ban all multiple marriages by the third century after our faith started, and anyway we see abstinence as the ideal to strive for; you folks seem to swing the other way”), while others say they were glad to see Muslims finally being fair to women on the multiple marriage thing.

Romantics who insist that marriage means a pairing of two souls meant exclusively for each other are outnumbered by those who say that is a highly individualistic view, contingent on specific economic conditions in other societies. They add that marriage in Syria, rather than being merely an individual act, is a societal institution at the center of a web of complex, pragmatic roles. Nature can be brought in to support either view, with romantics pointing to the lifelong pairings of monogamous animal species and polygamy advocates noting the proliferation of multiple partners in other species.

Conservative Muslim adversaries of the polyandry ruling, meanwhile, derisively tag it “the Slut Fatwa.” “Only a slut would want to sleep with more than one man,” says Mafini Dam of the Center for the Syrian Family in Damascus.

“Case in point, my neighbor Sharifa Izzat,” she says. “She’s got the apartment upstairs with her first man, and an apartment down in the basement with the second one.” There is a rhythmic rattling from the ceiling and Mafini, a widow, puts her hands to her ears. “A’ouzu billah,” she says.

Sharifa Izzat, 35, freshly showered, brushes aside Mafini’s disdain, as she enters the apartment house lobby. Sharifa’s upstairs husband is a respected contractor twelve years older than she, paunchy and bald, “but a dear,” she says, and a good father and provider.

The downstairs spouse is a long-haired starving artist with rugged good looks who takes her dancing on the town and paints loving portraits of her three children (from the first husband) in oils. Seven years younger than she, he made her feel alive after sixteen years of marriage had settled her into a rut. She was not willing to have an affair; it had to be halal and aboveboard. Nothing sordid: a clean, responsible act.

“Each husband satisfies a different side of me. I’m a complex woman in her prime,” Sharifa says brightly, pushing the “down” elevator button.

“One for the money, two for the show,” Mafini says of Sharifa’s two husbands, grimacing.

Sharifa is open to the idea of a third husband, “but only if the right man came along.” It would make her life even more complex, she knows, and while her two current husbands have adjusted to each other, a third might change the dynamic. “I’ve always had a soccer player fantasy,” she says with a wink, as the elevator door closes on her.

Islamic education materials distributed by imams in support of the Polyandry Fatwa remind women that the Quran limits polygamy to four spouses, and that they must be scrupulously fair in dividing their time and attention among them, an ideal men have had a hard time living up to. The pamphlets also note that monogamy continues to be favored implicitly in the Quran. Most Muslims, says Shaikh Habib, historically have been monogamous, and polygamy has been limited to small numbers in society, even if the spotlight often falls on those few. And most Muslims, he believes, will continue to be monogamous.

“But it’s nice to have options,” his daughter Carima adds.

Why I love NYC

2007-03-10T22:58:00.000-05:00

It's full of unexpected little delights!

I've been working like a dog recently. Have taken on a lot more responsibility than I need to AND am taking a class on Saturdays for the next five weeks. A six day workweek has left much to be desired. If I'm not working, then I'm in hibernation mode. No amount of convincing will make me leave my house once I return to it after a hard day's work. An evening well spent is one where I can watch "Rome" or "Heroes" in peace and fall asleep right after.

Last night, however, I managed to muster enough energy to go see a movie at the Paris. Nothing planned...I just so happened to be in midtown during the evening and just walked in. Probably the only spontaneous thing I've done in the past six months to a year.

I've always wanted to watch a movie at the Paris. Been in NY for 17 years and never once made it. It was the opening night of "The Namesake", the new movie by Mira Nair. I'm a big Nair fan. I think she's got a great eye and gives us great stories. I had read the book as well and Carmen likes any book that talks about the complex lives of immigrants.

Anyway, here's why NYC is so wonderful:

As I was standing on line waiting to get into the theater (the line was almost a block long) I saw a poster about a movie coming out soon on the little sparrow of France. I LOVE Edith Piaf. Her songs magically transport me to a cabaret in Pigalle.

I've always been an old, young woman. When my peers were listening to Debbie Gibson, I was obsessed with the Beatles and the Temptations. I've gotten a lot of flack for blasting Edith Piaf and Marlene Dietrich in my car. I had a friend try to get out of my car because she was so embarrassed by the music! But screw 'em all! The minute this movie comes out I'm going to be the first on line to see it. At the Paris.

So already I'm in a good mood. I'm entering a theater I've always dreamed of visiting and was warmly greeted by Piaf. As we're sitting waiting for the movie to begin, the manager comes out and introduces herself. The Paris truly IS a special theater! Thank you for coming to our theater and we hope you enjoy the movie, she said. Tonight we have a special treat for you. The director of the movie, Mira Nair, is here with us tonight!

By this point I'm beginning to remember why it is that I love New York and began wondering why I keep myself so busy that I can't seem to live spontaneously anymore.

After Nair talked to us for a bit the previews start. I'm already enchanted by the entire evening at this point. The preview just put the icing on top of the cake. "Paris, Je t'aime", a romantic ode to the City of Lights, should be coming out soon.

There is no city in the world that I love more than Paris. I love traveling, I love playing in various cities. I've got several favorites and several that I wouldn't mind moving to. But I am in love with Paris.

"The Namesake" was great and had the entire audience in tears, especially those who never read the book. I've never been to a movie where EVERYONE was crying.

It was a great Friday night full of unexpected surprises. I need to do this more often.

Snow Day

2007-02-27T20:36:00.000-05:00

This is what my street looked like on Sunday. Pretty, but not what I was hoping for. I was praying for a snowstorm that would devastate the tri-state area, closing down all New York City public schools for three days.

Instead, I got this pretty scene. Mother Nature simply has got something against me.

A quoi ça sert l’amour?

2007-02-19T22:20:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite clips.

The perils of love, Edith Piaf, Paris, and cute animation...you can't go wrong with that combo :)

Oink Oink!

2007-02-18T08:45:00.000-05:00

Happy Chinese New Year!!!!!

Today is Chinese New Year and this year is the Year of the Pig. According to some fortune-tellers, it is going to be the "Year of the Golden Pig" which comes every 60 years. It ends the 12 year cycle of the Chinese zodiac. It's supposed to be a very, very special year and I've been gearing up for it for months now!!! According to Chinese astrology, this year is going to be MY year so I've been really excited about this day.

Last month boyfriend and I were walking around in the city and made our way into this delectable chocolate shop. I'm not big on chocolate. I LOVE white chocolate, but I don't really care for chocolate so much. It used to infuriate my would-be mother-in-law so many years ago. For each big occasion she would get me a box of chocolate. I'd accept it graciously, but the fiance would always tell her that I didn't like chocolate. She'd look at me and ask me if I liked chocolate, I'd say yes, he'd tell her I was just being polite, and then I'd tell her that chocolate really isn't my thing. "Rubbish," she'd say, "ALL women like chocolate".

Anyway, this isn't about that. Boyfriend and I walk into this chocolate store and all of a sudden I started to salivate. The chocolate looked so..........no words can describe it. We weren't planning on buying anything, but we saw that they were displaying pig boxes with a piece of chocolate inside. And since we'd been talking about celebrating the year of the pig, he bought the little box for me. Cute, no?

I put cochinito on the dashboard of my car. Last week I took my girls to McDonald's after school and as we past my car one of my Muslim girls said, "MISS! You have a pig in your car!" Here we go. "Yeah Y, it's a pig". "But Miss, you're Muslim! You shouldn't have a pig!"

I knew when he bought me the little piggy someone would have a comment eventually.

China, a couple of weeks ago, banned any ads that contained images of a pig so as not to offend Chinese Muslims. Photographs, cartoons, paper cutting silhouettes, and even "Happy Year of the Pig" slogans were banned. Advertisers scrambled to figure out a way to represent the year of the PIG without mentioning, referring to, or showing a pig. How in the world is one supposed to celebrate the year of the p-g without the p-g???

Seriously guys, isn't this a bit too much?? Are we really going to have the "pig" debate? I appreciate that China, who has often oppressed religious groups and violated even the most basic of human rights, is trying to "protect the harmony between different religions and ethnic groups". But is this not a little ridiculous?

Are we Muslims really going to have to talk about the "pig"??? Last year I went with my friend and her kids to a farm in Queens (YES, Queens still has farms), her daughter wanted to feed the animals, but when she came near the pig my friend grabbed her and told her that pigs are disgusting, dirty animals. We should not feed them. The poor little girl, who had just read Charlotte's Web and thought the pigs were cute (albeit making horrid noises), was traumatized. When she saw my little pig in my car last week she seemed very uncomfortable.

Seriously, the pig? Can we please not have a dialogue about the pig?? Aren't there other issues we should be worrying about? We're not allowed to EAT the pig. Why the big hoopla over the actual creature? Did not God create the pig with love? Is the pig not one of God's perfect creations? I say we all go out and pet a pig. Take pictures and send it China. Send them to all the newspapers who think we Muslims are a bunch of freaks because of the acts of a few nutty ones.

Oink oink guys...HAPPY YEAR OF THE PIG!!!!!!!

My Breast Friends, part II

2007-02-14T21:40:00.000-05:00

My mother bought me my first bra when I was ten; a pink Care Bears bra that I cherished dearly. She bought it for me after weeks and weeks of whining on my part. I had watched an episode of "Who's The Boss", the one where Tony had to buy Samantha her first bra, and I was adamant to have one of my own. My small ten year old breasts felt wonderful in that bra and I wore it night and day.

At that time, I still hadn't had a real understanding of how private breasts were. Yeah I knew you weren't supposed to flash them, but I never knew that there could be shame associated with exposure. Breasts were just another part of your body, like your arm or something. I thought bras and swimsuits were decor, a privilege we girls had, not necessary coverage. Poor boys couldn't get as dressed up as we could...they HAD to walk around naked.

That summer, however, I discovered just how powerful breasts could be.

The local community poolhouse was gearing to open, an annual event for the kids in the neighborhood. We would stand outside its' gates and watch as they filled the pool with water. On that particular day I had gotten on my bike, rode around a bit, then went to watch. One of the girls, two years older, started picking on me. Her younger cousin had had a crush on me and I, not even realizing what it meant to have someone like you, never reciprocated the feeling.

So she started taunting me, and I ignored her. She kept on talking more trash, and I continued to ignore her. She came by my bike and pushed it. I was beginning to get angry (and scared...this girl was twice my size, vertically), but I didn't do anything. When she pushed me and nearly knocked me off the bike I just went bonkers. I knew that if I fought her I'd get the crap beaten out of me, but she was relentless. I had to do something.

I pushed at her with my bike, which prompted her to pull me off it. She pushed me against the gate and all hell broke loose. We just started hitting each other. At first it was a girly fight (slaps, hair pulling, lots of screeching) but pretty soon it got all raw and dirty and punches started being thrown. I had no idea what I was doing, but knew enough to know that if I stopped for a second she'd have the advantage. So I continued throwing punches.

The fight just wouldn't end. I didn't know how much time had passed. It felt like hours and my heart was pounding. I had no idea how long the torture would last, but I wasn't going to be the first to stop.

At one point she pulled on my shirt and ripped it. There I was, in my bra, for the whole world to see. She started laughing triumphantly; she had physically exposed me and, in her eyes, humiliated me. Little did she know how proud I was of that bra and instead of running in shame, I was secretly happy! I knew that there was no way I could've shown anyone my bra. Here she was doing it for me!!

I was, however, also really angry. Enraged, I should say. I didn't do it on purpose but something made me reach for her shirt and rip it. And there SHE was. Exposed. BRALESS. The girl stood there, breasts hanging out and if black women could flush she would've looked like a beet. She was 12, but had the full breasts of a 21 year old woman. I thought they were spectacular, big and perfect. She immediately recoiled, covered herself, and ran off. The fight was over. Victory was mine.

I took my bike and headed home. I was still a little frazzled. It wasn't my first fight, but the first one in which I fought back so ferociously. My adrenalin was still pumping. There was one thing I couldn't figure out...I couldn't understand why she had run away like that. Why she was so humiliated.

Her breasts were the first breasts that I can remember seeing. I'm sure I must have seen my aunt's or my mother's at one point, but if I did it didn't really mean anything. Breasts were breasts...it was like having a nose or an ear. But when I saw this girl's reaction (and that of the boys) I came to realize that there must be something more to breasts.

When I got home my father told me that her mother had visited him to complain about what I had done. "These were my daughter's breasts, Doctor. Your daughter exposed my daughter! I found her sitting in our staircase, bawling. Do you have any idea how that feels?" My father told her that I would never pick a fight and that if things got so heated it must have been because I was provoked. He told the woman to keep her daughter away from me because he would not be responsible for what happened next time. (There was never a next time...she apologized to me the next day and avoided me for three years.)

That fight stayed on my mind for a very long time. Why was it that this big bully of a girl, who could have plummeted me to the ground if I weren't being so feisty and jumping around like a chihuahua, immediately ran for cover when her chest was exposed? She looked fabulous. If I had had her breasts, I'd have been walking around naked!! It was then that I realized how private breasts were and how they could be used to humiliate women.

Today's horoscope......

2007-02-14T07:46:00.001-05:00

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): I was watching Oprah's TV show at 2 a.m. "Take off your shirt and look down," she told me. I don't automatically do everything the World's Wealthiest Woman tells me, but I trust her a lot. So I did what she suggested. What she said next, however, revealed that she wasn't actually talking to me. "Eight out of ten women are wearing the wrong bra!" she exclaimed. "Are you?" She then gave tips on how to select an undergarment that's just right for a woman's shape, size, and
posture. I watched in perplexed awe. How could so many people be ignorant about such a fundamental thing? Later, while meditating on your astrological omens, I realized there's a comparable phenomenon going on in your world. You're missing something important about one of the basic facts of your life. Please find out what it is.

My first love

2007-02-13T21:31:00.000-05:00

I was four years old when I was separated from my grandmother. I can still remember how awful I felt. My father had finally gotten settled in Germany and sent for the rest of us one summer. It was the first of many heartbreaks I'd experience in life. No child should ever have its heart broken like that if one can help it.

My grandmother was my first love ever. I loved her before I even knew how to love my mother or my father or the myriad of family members that doted on the first baby of the new generation.

She was a kick-ass woman. Tiny (my 5'10" frame towered over her 5'4" body), but stubborn as a mule and incredibly strong. She had an unforgettable, shining personality. If you ever had the good fortune to come across her, you'd be left with a very strong impression that you've just encountered greatness.

I don't say any of this because she was my grandmother. I've got several family members that are good, but don't really qualify for words of praise. But my grandmother...I was in awe of her. I'm convinced that if I had spent my years growing up with her, I'd be a completely different person right now. No worries though...a lot of her did rub off on me, so at least I've got some residue.

Wishing you all a very Happy Valentine's Day!

Lunches and Superbowl Sundays

2007-02-04T16:47:00.000-05:00

Hit the gym earlier today. The good thing about a dose of depression sprinkled with anger and frustration is that it gives you an extra spurt of energy, so I had me a good workout.

I was famished and thirsty after the gym so I went to Starbucks across the street, then played in Barnes and Noble for a little bit afterwards. As as I was by the magazine section, a little boy (about six or seven) came up to me and yelled, "You have a vagina!"

Uh.....

"Um, yeah, sure. I have a vagina," I responded, moving to another section, hoping that the kid would get lost.

"And I have a penis," he said proudly.

"Yes you do. Good job!"

He beamed. I kept on moving, but he kept on following.

"My mommy has a vagina. And my daddy has a penis. The penis and the vagina meet for lunch sometimes. And when they eat lunch, they can make a baby. If it's a good lunch it's delicious, but sometimes not all lunches make babies. I'm a lunch baby!"

This was one I'd never heard before.

"Does your vagina eat lunch?" he asked, looking up at me.

It was at this point that I asked him where his parents were and walked him over to his mother because "Daddy is watching the football game with his friends."

Something was off today in my neighborhood. At the gym, there were only women. The only people working at Starbucks were women. The Barnes and Noble cashiers were all women. One was grumbling that this was supposed to be her day off.

"It's not fair," she growled at a fellow cashier. "I'm always here, I never take days off, and they force me to come in today".

"It's that stupid NFL bullshit," her co-worker replied. "Haven't you noticed? All the guys called in sick today."

And that's when I realized it. Barnes and Noble was full of nothing but women. The gym was full of women. The row of restaurants where I parked my car was full of women. The men were nowhere to be found. How easy would it be to start a revolution right now?

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

2007-02-04T13:29:00.000-05:00

No relationship is ever perfect. Or lifetime proof. There's no guarantee that the people in your life will always stay in your life, but with some people you kinda just hope they will. You hope that you meet people throughout your life journey that'll always stick around and that no matter how bad things get, they just don't go anywhere.

I read an article once that discussed how our friends are now the new husbands. Women no longer become adults within the context of marriage. As we delay marriage or struggle with relationships, we mature with our friends, experience adulthood with them. They're the ones who become our mates, the people who know us better than we know ourselves. Lovers can never even come close to the connection one has with their friends, unless they invest some serious years into the relationship.

The article hit home. I spent my twenties connecting with a select group of friends. These friends know my deepest, darkest secrets, my fears, my ideas, my dreams. They can read me and understand me better than I understand myself. They're the ones I lean on. When I was living in Barcelona and had a breakdown because of a personal problem, it was a friend who talked me off the fictitious ledge. When the boyfriend's mother passed away two years ago and I was a wreck because it just brought to the surface too many laden emotions (we weren't together at the time), it was my friends who came with me to the funeral and held my hand. They made me laugh and took away the pain.

My friends are my family. More than family. I've placed a faith in them that I've never even placed in my own family. You don't get to choose your family, but you do get to choose your friends.

There's nothing more heartbreaking than losing a close friend. I've lost two close friends in the past fifteen years. One because she turned out to be a selfish cow, the other because she betrayed me. While I was sad at losing their friendship, I wasn't devastated. I was upset that they had betrayed my trust, but the fact that they did something horribly bad helped ease the break-up blow. I also hadn't invested years into them, so it was pretty easy to move on.

A long-time friend and I recently "broke up" and it's been having the strangest effect of me. I've been experiencing an entire spectrum of emotions and fluctuate between them all at the drop of a hat. I'll be fumingly mad one second, cursing her existence under my breath, then utterly depressed and on the verge of tears the next. I get nauseous when I'm reminded that we're not going to be friends anymore.

I also often go into a daze without even realizing it, scrunching my face into a permanent scowl. This, by the way, will do nothing for the wrinkles I'm trying to avoid. I had lunch with a couple of my students last week and one of my girls asked, "Miss, why you look so sad?? What's wrong?" I averted her question by giving her a lecture on grammar. (I've learned that the best way to get rid of my students, who are constantly latching on to me now, is by correcting their grammar).

Friend and I broke up for inconsequential reasons. Neither one of us betrayed each other or talked about one other behind our backs. Nothing malicious. We're not the type. Just differences. Irreconcilable difference apparently.

I've been going through the five stages of grief pretty rapidly.

Denial: Nah...this isn't really happening. She's just upset right now. She'll get over it, she'll see the situation in its context, she'll want to be my friend again. We'll still be friends.

Anger: What the fcuk is wrong with her? How dare she say those things to me??! How dare she see me like that!!! If she thinks I've never been a good friend to her, the fcuk her! I don't need shitty people like that in my life. Fcuk her!!!!

Bargaining: Okay. I'll call her. I'll call her and tell her that this was just a really big misunderstanding. That I take partial responsibility for neglecting our friendship and that I'll do anything to fix it. We're too good together to just throw it all away.

Depression: I'll never have another friend like her. If this friend can leave me like this, a friend who I thought I could trust blindly, then what does it say about the other people in my life? Who's going to abandon me next?
Acceptance: It is what it is. I can't change her mind. I can't make her see something she refuses to see. It was a great friendship, but if it has to end it has to end.

I drove to friend's house and parked near her building the other day. I sat in my car. I'm not sure how long I was there. I had so many thoughts racing through my head that I actually got a headache. I wanted to go in. I wanted to club her over the head and tell her that she's being stupid, that our friendship is something that's too precious to waste like this. That I'm not the kind of person she insists I am. That she needs to be more flexible, more trusting, NICER.

I didn't care that she insulted me the way she did. That she attacked me in the most vile of manners. Is friend worth swallowing my pride and beating her with a club in order for her to understand how important she is to me? Absolutely. Friend is very rare. And when you find someone like that, you keep that person in your life.

But she doesn't want to be my friend. She doesn't believe that I have the ability to be a good friend to her. That I've never had the ability. She's very particular, this friend. If she can't get what she wants, she won't settle for anything less. I've always respected her for that, but if she's got no room in her life for me, what can I really do? And if she doesn't want to be my friend, how can I fight to keep her?

I never got out of the car to knock on her door. I was sorely tempted to, but I wouldn't have had anything to say. I'd have just stood there. And she wouldn't have had the patience for that.

Quick Poll for the Men

2007-01-31T19:53:00.000-05:00

One of my father's oldest friends came to visit us last week. Pleasant fellow who thought I should receive a medal for working in Brooklyn, a borough he believes is overun by drug lords, gang bangers, and prostitutes. I wonder when that image of New York will disappear...

Anyway, couple of hours after he left I went to use the bathroom and noticed that the toilet seat was up. So now I know that this man pees standing up. TMI for me. At least he had good aim because the rim was spotless.

He should have, however, put the toilet seat back down. It infuriates me when men do that; the seat must come down guys, okay?

This incident got me to thinking: do the majority of you guys pee standing? Is there a difference between sitting and standing? Is it just a matter of what's quicker? What's more comfortable?

Boyfriend thought I was retarded for asking him these questions. "Why in the world are you asking me about this???" He seemed so weirded out that I didn't bother to ask follow up questions.

So, guys, enlighten me...

To all Anons

2007-01-30T18:52:00.000-05:00

An anon, in the previous post on my breasts, kindly supplied me with the Quranic reference that forbids interfaith marriage for Muslim women. Apparently he/she must have thought that I somehow overlooked that verse when I read the the Quran and attempted to enlighten me. After all, we women don't have the ability to be discerning readers.

Seriously, though, guys, would it kill you to post comments under the appropriate posts???

Anyway, I'm answering his/her comment here because I want all the anons to read this and BACK OFF. You throw verses at me as if I were an ignorant cow and offer opinions that have absolutely no basis in the Quran. You think you're doing me a favor, but all you're doing is confirming to me how many ignorant people really exist out there.

First of all, I will completely ignore anon's earth-shattering interpretation of 2:221 ("It is not permissible for a Muslim woman to marry a non-Muslim from any other religion, whether from among the Jews or Christians...") because there's nothing to back that claim up.

The Quran says that NO MUSLIM, man or woman, is allowed to marry a mushrik (2:221) nor a kafir (60:10-11). NO MUSLIM. Period. End of discussion.

What most of you anons are telling me here, then, is that God, by allowing Muslim men to marry ahl al kitab (People of the Book) women (5:5), abrogated 2:221 and 60:10-11 JUST for men and allowed them to marry a mushrik or a kafir. You really think that God favors men THAT much to give them that kind of license? "Sure guys, go ahead and marry a mushrik. They're not as bad as you think they are..ignore the basic spiritual message I'm trying to convey to you. You're exempt because you're men". It doesn't sound like something the God I know would do.

But that's not my main argument. Silence on an issue does not equal a prohibition.

What makes Christian and Jewish MEN kufar or mushrikeen, but not Christian or Jewish women? Why didn't verse 5:5 read, "made lawful to you are chaste mushrik women"? THAT would definitely have abrogated all the other verses (2:221, 60:10-11).

No where in the Quran are Jews or Christians referred to as kufar. Some of their practices may be considered a type of kufr, but Muslims can very easily fall into that category as well. A kafir is a "rejecter of the truth", a person who is convinced of Islam in his/her heart but for some reason or another rejects it. You are not allowed to call anyone a kafir because you do not know what is in his/her heart, what he/she is convinced of or believes. That's up to God.

That's one down.

No where in the Quran are Jews or Christians referred to as mushrikeen. A mushrik is one who ascribes partners to God. While a lot of you anons like to say that believing in the trinity makes one a mushrik, none of the Christians I know actually ascribe partners to God. And if you talked to any Christian and tried to explain to him/her that they are ascribing partners to God, they'd laugh in your face.

Furthermore, the Quran has NEVER addressed Christians as mushrikeen.

Two down.

Christians and Jews have been referred to as People of the Book. Why are you and your kind, who portend to speak for God, define them as mushrikeen and kufar, denied to ALL Muslims by God?

Since you're so fond of pulling quotes from the Quran, what about these:

"Those who believe (in the Qur'an), and those who follow the Jewish (scriptures), and the Christians and the Sabians,- any who believe in God and the Last Day, and work righteousness, shall have their reward with their Lord; on them shall be no fear, nor shall they grieve". (2:62)

"Those who believe (in the Qur'an), those who follow the Jewish (scriptures), and the Sabians and the Christians,- any who believe in God and the Last Day, and work righteousness,- on them shall be no fear, nor shall they grieve". (5:69)

"Those who believe (in the Qur'an), those who follow the Jewish (scriptures), and the Sabians, Christians, Magians, and Polytheists,- God will judge between them on the Day of Judgment: for God is witness of all things". (22:17)

Not all who call themselves Muslims will enter heaven. Not all who do not call themselves Muslim will be condemned to hell. Look at 22:17...are Christians referred to as polytheists???? That verse CLEARLY separates them from the polytheists, the mushrikeen you tell me I'm not allowed to marry, no?

What people like you, anons, are doing is filling in the silence of the Quran regarding the question of interfaith marriage for women. Neither the Quran nor the Sunnah explicitely forbid interfaith marriage for Muslim women. YOU are forbidding interfaith marriage.

"The halal is that which Allah has made lawful in His Book and haram is that which He has forbidden, and that concerning which He is silent He has permitted as a favour to you." Reported in Al-Hakim.

So now please leave me alone unless you've been given some clear directive from God to change His word.

My Breast Friends, part I

2007-01-24T16:35:00.000-05:00

My workday starts at 8:30am, which means that if I leave my house at 7:45, I can make it to school, park, and be in my classroom by 8:15. I try to leave a bit earlier, though, because I have the kind of job where the day cannot begin until I arrive. If I'm not there, everything goes topsy turvy. Kinda makes me feel all powerful and mighty, but also keeps me up at night because I worry about oversleeping.

Alternate side parking forces me, however, to leave my house by 6:45 on Wednesdays so I can be assured a parking spot near the school and not in the dodgier areas of the school's godawful neighborhood. My father always leaves the house before I do, but this morning we crossed paths in the kitchen as I was making my tea. I kissed him good morning, went to my room to put my jacket on, returned to get my tea mug only to hear him tell me nervously:

"When you teach kids at the puberty age, you should wear things that won't distract them. You have to make sure to wear things that won't make them look at things."

"Uh huh," I said. This is not what a woman wants to hear from her father. And I'm sure it wasn't something he wanted to say either.

He continued, "I'm being serious. Didn't anyone tell you this? Hasn't anyone said anything?"

"Uh huh," I said again and just walked out.

I admit, the turtleneck I was wearing at home was slightly form fitting but only because you're supposed to wear a sweater over it. I left said sweater at work and was planning on wearing it when I got there. I didn't tell him this because the entire conversation was already offensive. At this age and level of my life, don't you think I know what I should and should not wear?

My breasts have always invited more attention than they should have, and most of it has usually been negative. Remember last summer's confrontation?

It never really matters what I'm wearing. I could be wearing my 6'3" brother's x-large shirt and my breasts will still be there and someone will always have a comment. Now, I'm not saying that people shouldn't look at my breasts. If I'm wearing something that reveals cleavage, I KNOW that people (men and women) will look. If I'm wearing a tight shirt, people will look. I'm not saying that people ought not to look. People simply need to keep certain comments to themselves.

When I was younger and my mother was the one buying me all my clothing she'd always get me the largest size possible in tops. As a result, I would always be a walking fashion disaster. Certain clothes are meant to be form fitting. But because I had these mountains, she never thought them appropriate. When I finally started buying clothes for myself I was shocked when I realized that I wasn't the plus size my mother convinced me that I was.

I began resenting my big breasts. Having them denied me certain clothes I wanted to wear. When I would buy the large shirts, I'd look like a librarian. If I bought their medium counterparts, I'd be subjected to the "you want to show off your breasts...you're an exhibitionist" bullshit.

I began to be extremely aware of my breasts. They were there, ALL THE TIME. I couldn't go through a day without someone saying something stupid. People have often assumed that I use my breasts to get attention when the only reason I choose my tops is because they look much nicer when they actually fit than when I'm swimming in them. The problem, according to my mother, is that I have an hourglass figure and tight tops accentuate that. If I were slightly fatter, the big breasts in and of themselves wouldn't be a problem.

I hid my breasts when I got to Egypt for college. When I was out in the streets I'd wear a shirt over my shirt. Not happy with covering up like that, I also bought sports bras to squish them into oblivion. I wore what I wanted to wear when I was in AUC, but after a couple of months of crap I even stopped that.

When I got back to NY it took me some time to "unveil" and when I did I was accused of showing my puppies off. I just could never win with these breasts. It was always something.

I think I managed to develop some ill feelings towards my breasts as a result. Subconsciously, of course. I was never consciously ashamed of my breasts. But last year something happened that made me realize what kind of feelings I was really harboring about my breasts. I was ashamed of myself for feeling like that and for allowing my subconcious to dictate so many of the choices I've made in my life.

I think what bothers me the most in this is the liberty 95% of people take with regards to commenting on the breasts, whether it was to do with my clothing, cleavage, or general size. It's highly inappropriate. I don't care if you think that my clothes are tight. I don't care if you think my cleavage is hanging out. You don't have the right to criticize. If they bother you so much, don't look.

Never a Bride

2007-01-21T17:52:00.000-05:00

Been invited to a bridal shower next month. I'm actually excited and am looking forward to it, but when I got the invite I just let out a long sigh. Once again I'm reminded that everyone around me is getting married or settling down and I haven't even been able to introduce the man in my life to my own parents.

It's time, I tell you. It's time I get off my lazy ass and do something about my static situation. Yes, I know I've complained about this a million times before, but forgive me. This is the heavy burden of my soul. It's the itch that I can't seem to scratch and it refuses to go away.

Of course it won't just go away by itself. I'm a firm believer of not pushing things and giving events time to take their own course. And I thought (WISHED) that somehow, as time passed, my situation would perhaps resolve itself or that at least I'd become better equipped with the tools I need to fix my life. But as more time passes, the only thing that happens is increasing frustration at my fucking impotence.

What am I waiting for, you ask? Why don't I just rock the boat already and let things fall where they may? I mean, there's bound to be some calm after the storm. Maybe I need to finally let it loose.

I haven't been putting all this on the back burner. For the past few months I've been working frantically at figuring out a way to lessen the blow that's going to hit my parents. I've been talking with experts, sheikhs, and people who've been in this situation and have read every single opinion on the web. I've even found some sheikhs who would officiate an interfaith marriage such as ours. And while I've managed to gather more information than one's head should contain, I haven't found anything that would truly appease my parents.

I can't imagine a life without my parents in it. I can't imagine having a wedding without their presence. Can't imagine raising children without grandparents there to spoil them. It may never get to that point. I've been told that my parents may be angry for a little while and then perhaps they'd just get over it, but for right now I'm bracing for the absolute worst. I have not allowed a sliver of hope to enter my brain. Definitely better than thinking the best...at least if something halfway decent happens it'd be a truly joyous thing.

For the past two weeks I've had this inexplicable urge to walk into the house, sit my parents down, and tell them about my plans with the boyfriend. This urge started on my birthday. I had received some very bad news that day and as I was driving home I started feeling like I should just blurt everything out to them. I chickened out, of course, but this feeling hasn't gone away.

I have to plan all this carefully. I still live at home. It'd be really awkward to live at home after breaking this type of news.Was going to move out a couple of months ago, but it doesn't make sense if the BF and I are planning on doing this anytime soon. Better to save some more money and hopefully put a down payment on a home.

Uff. I can't even picture having a wedding. Planning a wedding. Having a shower. Being with family that's actually happy for me. I'm never going to have a normal engagement where the excitement builds up and the joy at finally getting to your destination is felt. This whole thing will just be a continuous struggle and I'll probably never feel what a bride should really feel. My cup will definitely runneth over when R and I finally make it, but it'll still be tainted by this whole drama.

So after all this ranting what am I going to do? I'm going to go make myself some hot chocolate, check out the gift registry for the bridal shower, put on a movie and wallow for the rest of the evening.

I promise you, one day I'll grow balls and you'll read a post entitled "I DUNNIT!". But for now, just let me enjoy my movie.

A Hair's Tale

2007-01-20T20:38:00.000-05:00

"Ya habibi, enti helwa by nature. Mish lazem teghayari ay haga, sha3rik, shafayfik, hawagbik...enti beautiful by nature" (Habibi, you're beautiful by nature. You don't have to change anything, your hair, your lips, your eyebrows). My father just said this to me as he was walking into his den, shaking his head at my latest hair"style":

Before

After
(highlights are MUCH, MUCH
lighter than they appear)

I spent five hours at the salon today only to come out with the second worst highlights I've ever had. The first has GOT to be the one I got in Egypt about four years ago...my highlights back then came out PINK. Seriously. HOT PINK.

So now I have JLo highlights and look like practically every woman in Queens. Apparently all hairstylists in Queens graduated from the same beauty school because at this moment there is nothing to distinguish me from Fulana.

My mother loves my hair. So does her best friend, our next door neighbor. But they're also the kind of women whose ideal of beauty is that of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, slim and slender girl-next-door.

My father, on the other hand, is mortified. I've never seen such disappointment on his face. "Blonde? Why blonde? What was wrong with your beautiful hair?" he kept saying as he picked at my roots. He added the above addendum later, I suppose, in an attempt to make sure that I love myself as I am and don't resort to more drastic measures to change my appearance.

I hated my hair when I was younger. I hated my unruly curls, hated the deep black color. I remember staring at my hair in the mirror when I was eleven and crying. Really crying. I wanted so badly to color my hair, to make it a bit lighter. Not blonde, but a shade of brown or something. My mother had walked into my room in the middle of my tears to put away some laundry, asked me what was wrong, and immediately told me to stop being stupid (my mother has never been emotionally able).

When I got a bit older I dabbled with henna and had reddish tints in my hair throughout high school. I never colored my hair till I got to college. I spent six months with highlighted hair before I dyed my hair black again. Six months later I got highlights again, only to darken them once more. This has been going on and off for the past ten years. And you know what? The happiest I was with my hair was when I had finally stopped messing with it and just let it be.

So why did I decide to spend my entire Saturday at a salon??? I don't know. I just wanted a change, I suppose. Birthday blues and all (my birthday was HORRIBLE though I must give the boyfriend credit for turning my whole day around). And although I've never been lucky with highlights, I really thought today was going to be different. The boyfriend's niece has gorgeous hair and I figured that her stylist could be trusted.

I hate my hair. Truly hate it at the moment. I went by the drugstore on the way home and bought some dye, but am terrified to put anything else in my hair today. It has suffered enough if you ask me.

I will never, ever mess with my hair again. If, after ten years, I haven't been able improve upon nature, maybe I should leave well enough alone.

Buffy's Back!

2007-01-20T12:57:00.000-05:00

I often get the "look" when someone learns that I'm a die-hard Buffy fan. What kind of normal person would even admit to watching a show where the heroine's name is Buffy??

For those of you who have never watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BTVS) you have NO idea what you're missing. This show was one of the greatest shows on television. Ever. Joss Whedon created a universe that can never be replicated and television has not been the same for me since Buffy and Angel went off the air.

SO, imagine how happy I was to see that Buffy LIVES!!! I can't wait for this series!

My Body is Mine

2007-01-11T20:50:00.000-05:00

Cute Daddy :)

2007-01-09T21:32:00.000-05:00

My father always forgets my birthday. It was really nice, therefore, to see this on the calendar:

This little heart more than makes up for past forgotten birthdays :)

Happy Birthdays

2007-01-09T21:29:00.000-05:00

My favorite birthday presents (at least the ones I can remember...)

Lladro flamenco figurine

I've always loved Lladro figurines. I never bought myself one because I didn't want to get a figurine just because it was pretty. I wanted it to represent something, have some meaning.

On a visit to Granada one summer I went to a gypsy flamenco show. And was floored. Right then and there, the only thing I wanted to do was change my name to Carmen, run off with the gypsy guitarist, and live my life dancing. I searched for such a long time for a Lladro flamenco dancer and my heart skipped a beat when I received "Carmenita" as a present.

Tickets to an oldies show

When I was 16, my brother bought me tickets to an oldies revival at Madison Square Garden. This was at an age when my peers were listening to Sir Mix-A-Lot, Kris Kros, and freestyle was still popular. For my 16th, I spent the evening with The Ronettes, Little Anthony and the Imperials, and Dion and the Belmonts.

My obsession with the oldies started when we first came to this country. It was the only English I understood. The lyrics made sense and the songs all told linear stories. Very easy for a kid like me to grasp. To actually see the performers who helped me learn my English was a very special treat.

Tickets to see "Mamma Mia"

The first time I ever left the country on a trip of my own was when I was 17. The Italian Department at my high school planned a trip to Italy and I begged and pleaded for months to be able to go. One of the greatest and most memorable trips of my life. We went from Milan down to Rome in 10 days and I felt like I would burst from happiness. What a trip for a 17 year old girl!

Anywho, when we got to Florence we went to a club. Till this day I have no idea how my friends and I managed to get into that club, the underage beings that we were. I also have no idea how we managed to get drinks. It was at that club in Florence that I had my first drink; Sex on the Beach. I had no idea what it was, didn't even know it was alcohol. Just wanted to have it because it sounded cool.

I was then dancing non-stop. And when Abba's "Dancing Queen" came on, I was in my glory. ("You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen"). It was as if the song had been written with the future me in mind.

For my birthday last year, the BF took me to see "Mamma Mia" on Broadway. I spent over a month after seeing that show listening to Abba. Or, as my brother would say, obsessed with Abba. I could not stop talking about the show, so much so that when Toots returned from a trip to London he gave me an Abba postcard as a souvenir.

Gold Snake Bracelet

This bracelet is one of the most valuable things that I own. My grandmother died exactly one month before my 20th birthday. When we started clearing out some of her stuff from the drawers, I learned that one of the bracelets she had promised to give me was gone. She was in dire need of money and was too embarrassed to ask anyone for anything, so she ended up selling a lot of her own jewelry. I was really sad. Not because I necessarily liked it. I HATE snakes. Snakes and geckos bring out the banshee in me. But it made me feel special that she wanted to give me something that belonged to her.

A few weeks later, on my birthday, my mother and my aunt handed me the bracelet. They found the shop that my grandmother had sold the bracelet to and they bought it back for me. Made my heart melt.

$100 gift certificate from Barnes and Noble

My ex wasn't a rich man. He made barely enough to keep himself afloat. But we always had amazing times with each other and always found things to do that cost no money. The $100 gift certificate meant a lot for two reasons. One, coming from a man who lives from paycheck to paycheck, it was worth a fortune. Two, he could've gotten me a gift certificate from anywhere. But he knew that I had a special love for books. (He learned that the hard way when we spent close to an hour one evening at a bookstore...) It was good to know that he was paying attention.

Sony camera

Small enough to take anywhere. Brother went out of his way that day to make sure I got a special present. He had already seen how mopey I was with the prospect of turning 30 and wanted to make a grand gesture to get me out of my slump. He took the day off of school, visited three Best Buys before he was finally able to get me the camera. It's taken a lot of pictures since.

A party at FM

French Kitty planned a great big party for me at a local bar/club for my 26th. The boyfriend and I had broken up a couple of months before and I was feeling really down. Once I got to the party, though, I couldn't stop dancing. It was then that I realized that the best antidote for depression is dancing. To merengue.

Card from my grandfather

My grandfather used to send me the greatest birthday cards. He was such a fabulous man. I keep this card in a frame and this would definitely be one of the things I grab if my house were on fire.

Alice

2007-01-08T21:19:00.000-05:00

Reading the New Yorker used to be a weekly pleasure of mine. I always looked forward to receiving my copy in the mail and would spend the entire week leafing through its contents. I recently let my subscription lapse and have been on withdrawal since.

I was looking for a book this past weekend in my "library" and found an old copy of the New Yorker that I had saved from March 27th of last year. I kept it because there was a piece in there that had knocked me off my feet. Calvin Trillin, longtime journalist, had written one of the saddest, loveliest, funniest stories I have ever read. I couldn't put it down. And I kept rereading the twelve pages it over and over and over again.

"Alice, Off the Page" was a posthumous love letter that Trillin wrote for his wife who died from cancer five years ago. I was jealous. No man will ever love me the way this man loves his late wife, or at least be able to express it in that way. (The boyfriend loves me, for sure, but he loves me in a sort of Santa Esmeralda "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" kind of way).

I just learned that a slightly expanded version of this essay has been published into "About Alice". I can't wait to get my hands on that book.

Here is the essay as it ran in the New Yorker. It's very, very, VERY long, but definitely worth a read.

Winterless Winter

2007-01-06T09:42:00.000-05:00

We're supposed to hit 70 degrees today (20 or so for my celsius friends). 70 during a month where the maximum average temperature should be around 40 (4 celsius).

This has been the warmest New York City winter I can remember. Four years ago I literally froze my ass off on January 10th. It was so cold that day, icy cold, and I was convinced that all my extremities were going to break off. It's one of the reasons I hate winter and wish I could migrate south like the birds every year. So far we've only had four icy days since the start of our winter.

Trust me, I complain not. I'd much rather have this kind of winter than our usual one. It's a little worrisome with regards to the ozone and all, but since I can't do anything about it at the moment I'm going to take myself into the city and enjoy what will probably be the warmest day of winter.

Babies on the Brain

2007-01-06T01:24:00.000-05:00

Went to see the Bond flick tonight (which was really good, but awfully long) and as I drove home I started feeling some strange emotions, like there was something I was supposed to have but didn't. When I parked my car outside the house I couldn't get myself out. I sat there listening to a song and reclined the seat back a little bit.

Is it possible to miss something you never even had? Because at that moment I started missing my unborn daughter. It sounds ridiculous even as I write it.

I never wanted to have children. When I was younger, there was none of that tugging at the heart or biological ticking going on. Why would I ever want to bring a child into this world? I didn't have the best of childhoods and I know it's had a huge impact on the way I live my life today. I simply did not want to have a child and make it go through the bullshit I've had to go through.

Two years ago, however, this resistance to having children began to disappear. I saw my curly haired daughter in a dream and I was in love. I've been aching for this girl ever since. I've got a song for her all picked out ("mi dulce nina, tu eres mi vida, contigo nina quiero pasar los dias") and I've got all the love in the world waiting to be poured on her.

Am not sure why babies have been on my mind this much recently. I'm not worried about the biological clock. I think I've got another good six to eight fertile years left and even if they pass me by there's always adoption (if any Muslim even thinks of writing in and telling me that adoption is not allowed in Islam I will snap your neck. You've been given fair warning).

I'm emotionally ready to have children. I have things to offer them, stories to impart, recipes to pass on. I may not be financially ready at the moment, but who is? That gets sorted out along the way. My parents were broke when they had me. And they remained broke till I hit my teens.

Maybe the babies on the mind is due to the fact that I really AM ready. And am with the person I want to have them with. It's just too bad that we've got to jump over all these hurdles to start on our happily ever after.

New Years Blah

2007-01-01T20:15:00.000-05:00

Spent the entire day uploading music on my new iPod, an early birthday present courtesy of the boyfriend. He was trying to keep it a secret (my birthday is next week) but his brother slipped up during a New Year's Eve gathering last night and let the cat out of the bag. BF had no choice but to give it to me. Well, he had a choice. But my nagging kinda got in the way.

Uneventful day, really. I hate big days. Big arbitrary days that are supposed to demarcate your life. It's too much pressure. I felt like I should've been doing something today, enjoying it somehow. First day of the rest of your life kinda thing. Instead, my iPod and I got to know each other and I watched eight episodes of "Love Soup". And I didn't get out of my jammies.

I'm getting bored with the pace of my life. This job sucked me into a whirpool that I keep having difficulty getting out of. I can't remember the last time I went to the gym or did something just for myself. I don't even know what my hobbies are anymore, that's how long it's been that I've done something fun.

So here are some of my New Years resolutions:

1. Make quality time for myself

I'm dedicated to my job, but there is such a thing as TOO dedicated. I will try to do something different/fun at least once a week. I'll take a cooking class, art class, language class, anything. But it's got to be something that has nothing to do with my job. I'm open to suggestions.

2. Spend quality time with:

a. friends
Can't recall the last time I spent time with a friend. Shit, I can't remember the last time I SAW a friend.

b. family
I may live with my parents, but there is nothing quality about the time I spend with them. I'm not sure what I can do to improve it. My father is glued to his computer, my mother is addicted to her ART. It doesn't help, either, that I'm living a secret life.

3. Spend quality time with the boyfriend

I see him mostly for a couple of hours on the weekends and while it may have been acceptable for a while, it's beginning to wear and tear our relationship. All of the fights we've been getting into all revolve around the fact that I want to spend quality time with him. In either case, we gotta pick up the pace on this relationship. We keep treading carefully on thin ice, afraid to make any big moves but I'm afraid if we don't make them soon we're going to keep having problems.

Hmmmmm....seems "quality" is the buzz word for this year.

Eid memories

2006-12-29T21:43:00.000-05:00

I was in Egypt one summer during Eid al-Adha. I must have been eight or nine at the time. I had overheard that the sheep that we had just bought was going to be slaughtered. I begged and pleaded to be allowed to see the slaughter, but my grandmother refused. I moped for a while, hoping that she'd feel sorry for me and let me go but it didn't work.

So I went to my grandfather who suggested that this was something that I would probably not want to see, but he left the final decision up to me. And of course I decided that it was something I HAD to do.

Grandfather obliged and two days later I found myself downstairs in the make-shift backyard with some of the other neighborhood kids. The butcher came with his knives and started sharpening them in front of us. The sheep was dragged by its hind legs, held by two men and my eyes were not prepared for what they were about to see.

With one swift swing, the butcher cut the sheep's throat. Blood started spurting. Another swift swing took off its entire head, blood gurgling upwards. I can't really remember what happened afterwards. Between hiding my face in my hands and the fainting soon afterwards, everything just seemed a blur. One of the things I DO remember is the butcher blowing hard into the sheep's neck and I'm 100% convinced that I saw its body blow up like a balloon.

My grandmother was so angry at my grandfather for exposing me to this. Poor man didn't hear the end of it for weeks.

HAPPY EID ALL!

Buh bye Saddam

2006-12-29T21:11:00.000-05:00

My uncle hates Saddam Hussein. His lips curl up whenever his name is mentioned, "hell" and "bastard" always making an appearance in a subsequent sentence. My uncle was part of the mass exodus that left Kuwait when Iraq marched in in the summer of 1990. I was in Egypt visiting my grandmother at the time and watched her fear grow as the days passed with no word from her son. He managed to call us on the day Kuwait was invaded, but for days afterwards we heard nothing from him.

A week and a half later we were sitting on the balcony and saw an Alpha Romeo drive up our block. No Alpha Romeo ever even entered our city save for my uncle's, so there was no way mistaking that car. If I weren't there to hold my grandmother down I'm convinced that she would've jumped off go run to her son.

My uncle had packed up his family (wife and four-year old son) and left Kuwait City hours after making his first phone call to us. He was terrified and the rumors of soldiers raping and pillaging were more than enough to force him out. He drove from Kuwait to Egypt, stopping only for bathroom breaks for his son.

If there's anyone who would rejoice in Saddam's execution, it would be my uncle. But he hates the way this whole process unfolded and can't understand what would prompt the U.S. to execute this madman on Eid al-Adha. "I don't want to think about Saddam during the Eid. I don't want to talk about him, I don't want to rejoice in his death. That's not what I want my Eid to be about". Poor uncle. I think he feels jipped that justice hasn't been served. This rush and secrecy just doesn't do it for him.

It's really interesting right now, however, sitting here watching my family's reaction to the news. Al Jazeera is on and their faces keep changin from shock, horror, and disgust (coverage of Saddam's pending execution) to joy (coverage of the hajj), followed by excitement (reminders that Ahly and Zamalek are going to play tomorrow).

Forced Faith

2006-12-29T10:11:00.000-05:00

Devil's spawn and I are the only ones who usually get up early in this house. Which means I'm stuck with her alone for at least two hours before the rest of the pack decides to get out of bed.

We were sitting at the dining table right now, she eating her breakfast, me finishing a piece for a magazine, when her little devil eyes looked up at me and said,"are you hungry?" Simple question really, but I knew why she was asking it. Everyone is fasting today and so little devil spawn was trying to tease me.

"No, not at all," I replied.

She pets her sandwich (who in the world pets a sandwich???) and says, "Even if you were, you can't eat."

"Oh yes I can".

"No, you have to wait for maghrib. If you're a good Muslim, you can't eat before maghrib".

GRRRRRRR.

Why the hell do they put these ideas in this girl's head???

"H," I said with a voice a little louder than it should have been, "being a good Muslim has nothing to do with whether you fast today or not. Don't let anyone convince you of that."

My family has never been one to force faith down anyone's throat. We grew up knowing we had to pray, fast during Ramadan, the works. But no one ever tried to force you to do something or intimidate you into doing it. But recently, every single member of my family (save for my father who still believes that people should have a choice in personal matters) has been on a mission. We're all forced to get up and pray at the same time, fast at the same time, read the Koran at the same time. It's one of the reasons I don't enjoy big family gatherings anymore. All they've become are events where everyone waits for the moment to say, "Yalla, let's go pray".

I see it as harassment. The other day my mother and my uncle were practically riding my cousin's back because he didn't get up to pray when they told him to. "Yalla ya H!! OOOM SALI!!!" The kid is 18 years old. He'll get up when he gets up. Or if he wants to get up.

They don't just do it to the young either. They'll do it to each other. My mother will constantly nag my uncle to get up and pray, who'll nag his wife, who'll end up nagging someone else.

Sometimes it even turns into a contest to see who'll pray first. My mom will sneak off to the bedroom and upon returning to the living room will say, "ana salet!" (I prayed!), but in a na-na-na-na sort of way. I swear, as adults get older, their minds regress to kindergarden.

Last night, my uncle asked me if I was going to wake up to have sohour with them. Before I was even able to answer he said, "But you aren't fasting? You have that anemia." Before I was able to utter a word again he said, "But that's nothing. You can fast."

How infuriariting is that? What kind of satisfaction can you ever get from forcing someone to do something?

I've found that this harassment doesn't confine itself to my family or Muslims. The past two holiday gatherings at the boyfriend's house were rampant with this. After dinner, one of his sisters would usually announce that they're about to pray the rosary for his late mother (God rest her soul). No one was given a choice whether they wanted to pray or not. They had to sit and pray. I noticed some people attempt to sneak off, only to be intercepted by someone and brought back to the living room.

I told my uncle that I would not be fasting. He gave me a hard stare and asked why. I replied by saying that I just won't do it. He tried to convince me that I HAVE to and I ended the conversation by telling him that I have my period and watched his face turn beet red. Did I really have to go that route to shut him up? Couldn't he just have accepted the fact that I was not going to fast?

I doubt I would've fasted even if I didn't have my period. Does this make me a bad Muslim? According to the devil's spawn, yes. In the eyes of the rest of my family, I've crossed the line to bad Muslim a long time ago when I declined going on the pilgrimage because I didn't think I was ready. In others' eyes, I'm a bad Muslim for the fact that I'm very close to marrying outside my faith.

How nice would the world be if people just minded their own business and lived their spiritual lives in private.

Bush and Condi

2006-12-28T22:51:00.001-05:00

My father cannot get enough of this!!!!

Boxing Week Madness

2006-12-28T12:57:00.000-05:00

How happy was I to know that I have arrived at the perfect time in Canada!! Boxing week sales have made this trip absolutely wonderful! I've been shopping non-stop since I've arrived, though had to cut the shopping early yesterday because of severe dizziness. Damn that anemia. (Isn't it great when you have something to blame things on?!)

I'm not a big shopper. It's one of the reasons my friends are convinced that I'm not a girl. I shop once in a blue moon, and only when I'm really desperate for new clothing. Shoes? I haven't bought new shoes in nearly a year.

I've been going nuts here because of the shoes. I don't buy shoes because I can't find any that make me comfortable AND look nice. I don't wear heels and shoes without heels, for some reason, always look like granny shoes. So imagine my delight when I come here and find the most wonderful shoes and boots in the world, all flat! I wonder why these shoes haven't made their way to NY yet...maybe I need to get out to the stores more often.

Anyway, I bought a pair of expensive boots yesterday (expensive in my eyes is anything over $100. What can I say. I'm cheap). They were, however, PERFECT. Perfect boots. I couldn't believe my luck! There were four more pairs of shoes I wanted to buy, but they did not have my size.

Which brings me to another thing...what is it with Canadian sizes??? Are all the women here petite and dainty? I feel like a friggin giant in this country! I usually wear a size medium, sometimes small if I want it form fitting, back home. Here, however, I'd be lucky to fit one arm in a size large. I tried this shirt on yesterday and thought my breasts were going to be squished flat. I couldn't even breathe in it. Upon asking for an extra large the saleswoman, with a look of horror on her face, replied "we don't carry X!" Geez.

I am definitely in trouble when I get back home, though. I hadn't budgeted for any shopping on this trip.

Sick and Tired

2006-12-27T19:39:00.000-05:00

Brother, who's five months away from getting his medical degree, has just diagnosed me with anemia. A quick google search confirmed his assessment. Most of the symptoms are there (fatigue, shortness of breath, dizziness, headaches, **DIFFICULTY CONCENTRATING**) and I've had a very pale complexion for the past month. Whatever. I'm still exotic (see post below).

I'm also convinced that I'm suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder, as many commentators mentioned when I wrote about my depression. I've never had problems with winter before. I'm actually a winter baby and I've always loved the snow, the chill, the short days. I wait eagerly each year for the first snowflake to drop. New York City is also a lovely place to spend winter. There's always a lot to do.

I'm not sure why all of a sudden this year winter has taken its toll on me. I've managed to somewhat get out of the depression I slipped into, but I'm not totally there yet. The weakness I've been feeling from the anemia hasn't allowed me to do the things I enjoy doing during winter. I hate going out because it seems like such a struggle and I don't have the energy to do lots of walking. I can't hang out with friends because I can't seem to form coherent sentences. I can't find anything to say and I'm just TIRED to talk. The holiday gatherings have been tough on me because I don't have the physical ability to be social.

The boyfriend is the only one I've been able to hang out with because I don't have to talk with him. We don't have to catch up or make small talk. I can just sit there and ramble on without having to make sense. And the poor guy has had to put up with A LOT of nonsensical conversations.

Toots accused me of being withdrawn from myself not so long ago, but I knew that I wasn't. I knew that there was something wrong and was surprised that he picked up on it even though we hadn't seen each other in a while, but I didn't feel like I was withdrawing. Now I realize that I was just constantly tired.

So yeah...a lot needs to change when I get back to NY.

Thank you to brother, though, who made his diagnosis in front of mother, uncle, and uncle's wife, each of whom has different treatments for anemia ranging from eating brain to taking long, hot baths (don't ask...)

Mississauga, here I am

2006-12-26T15:37:00.000-05:00

Everytime I fly American Airlines to Canada I'm always left stranded at the airport waiting for a delayed flight. I don't know why I thought today would be any different. My flight was delayed for over an hour this morning. The good news was that I was stuck in the boarding area, not crammed like a sardine on a flight seat. I also had the boyfriend's DVD player which kept me entertained, as well as Lahiri's new book, "The Namesake" which turned out to be an interesting read.

I was hoping that Christmas break to be a week of non-stop sleep. I really need to reenergize before I go back to school or else the kids will drive me insane. My brother is the one who suggested we go to Canada to visit the family, wholeheartedly supported by my mom who spent a week guilting me into going. I'll be here for four days, which isn't a long time when you think about it, but I still would've preferred to lounge around my own home. Let's pray that the family behaves itself.

Anyway, here are snippets of conversations that flew past my ears between NYC and Toronto:

At the gate in La Guardia

Girl 1: "Do they speak English in Canada?"
Girl 2: "You're STUPID!! Of course they don't speak English in Canada! Why should they? It's Canada!"
Girl 1: "Well, what do they speak?"
Girl 2: "Canadian of course. Duh.You're really stupid."
(Duh indeed)
Girl 1: "You're the stupid one. You didn't even think of getting a travel guide so we could talk to people there. Now we're just going to look like stupid American tourists who can't even speak a word of Canadian."

***

The food court at La Guardia

Man: "I can't believe how easy it was for us to check-in! That was really fast!"
Woman: "It's crazy! All that talk about airport security and we check-in in seconds."
(Mind you, this is just check-in where you get your boarding pass. This couple hasn't even gotten to security yet.)
Man: "Goes to show you how easy it is for the terrorists to pass through."
Woman: "You know what I learned about the other day??? There are Arab CHRISTIANS!! Can you believe that?!!! Why would any Christian want to be an Arab??"

***

At the American Airlines gate, waiting for the plane to finally arrive
(They just announced that instead of flying out at 10:40, we'd fly out at 11:20)

Woman: "I've been sitting here for an hour! I want to go home! I'm tired and you people insist on making us sit here!"
Flight attendant: "Ma'am, there's really nothing we can do. The other plane was delayed because of bad weather, but I'm sure the pilot will try to make up for lost time in the air."
Woman: "But I have to go the bathroom! And I can't leave my stuff here!"
FA: "The bathroom is right around the corner. I'll personally keep an eye on your stuff while you go."
Woman: "But my teddy! I can't leave my teddy and I can't take him to that bathroom!"
FA: Blank look

She was holding a pink teddy bear that was covered in a baby's blanket. He (as did everyone else in the area) thought she was holding a baby. When we learned that it was a pink teddy bear we didn't know how to react.

***

On the flight

Man next to me: "First time to Toronto?"
Me: "No. I've visited before."
Man: "It's a nice city."
Me: "Yeah. I've visited before."
Man: "I'm staying at the ---- hotel."
Me: Silent
Man: "If you want, I can take you around the city."
Me: "Thanks, but it's ok. I manage well."

Five minutes later...

Man: "You're not American."
Me: "What?"
Man: "No, I was looking at you filling out your customs card. 'S' is not an American name."
Me: "Ok."
Man: "So where are you from?"
Me: "America."
Man: "You're very exotic looking."

How annoying is that??? What the hell, am I an African parrot?

***

At Canadian customs

I'm standing on line. The woman in front of me is sniffling.

Customs agent: "Are you sick ma'am?"
Woman: "Yes, I think I just came down with something."
CA: "What do you have?"
Woman: "I don't know. Maybe the flu."
CA: "What kind of flu?"

What???

Woman: "I don't know."
CA: "Do you have anything else? Any other sickness?"
Woman: "What is this?? Do you work for WHO??"

Chicken Dance

2006-12-25T19:29:00.000-05:00

I've only recently discovered the brilliance of "Arrested Development". May those who cancelled it rot in hell.

The chicken dance is one of my favorite recurring acts and always has me rolling on the floor!

My Own Private Christmas

2006-12-25T10:01:00.000-05:00

My brother and my mother went off to Canada last Friday for Christmas break. They wanted me to leave with them, but I really wanted to spend Christmas with the boyfriend this year. Plus, they were driving. Ten hours in a car gets me fidgety, so I'll be joining them tomorrow via plane.

So I thought that today, Christmas, would be spent with the boyfriend. I had all these elaborate plans in my head; breakfast, play in the city, maybe catch a movie. Basically I thought it was going to be an "us" day. But, as per a routine rut we have managed to get ourselves into, it's not going to happen. He called a little while ago to cancel the breakfast we were supposed to have at his sister's because he forgot that yesterday some of the guys agreed to have breakfast together and catch a movie. A boys' morning. He said he'd call me after the movie.

I'm slightly angered right now because I purposely waited until the 26th to travel so I could spend Christmas with him. So we could enjoy the day together. And while I dont want to deny him fun with his friends, I hate that fun had to be today.

I didn't say anything to him because I didn't want to ruin his morning. Because I don't want him to think that I'm trying to drag him away from friends and family or think that I'm being unreasonable.

I'll tell you this though...this is the LAST time I alter travel plans for him.

Whatever. My morning has been shot, but I refuse to wallow. I'm putting on "Love, Actually" to start my Christmas with a nice treat. I'll then be heading into the city to see the tree at Rockefeller, have a carriage ride in Central Park, and sip something nice at Serendipity, the place where bad moods melt. And when the boyfriend calls I'll let him know about all the fun I had and that I'll see him next weekend when I come home from Canada.

I really need to work on my passive aggressiveness.

Merry Christmas everyone!

2006-12-25T02:55:00.000-05:00

Christmas Eve

2006-12-25T01:46:00.000-05:00

If you ever want to spend a nice, quiet Christmas toasting marshmallows by the fireplace or sipping some hot chocolate while watching "It's a Wonderful Life", then you have to avoid the boyfriend's house during the holidays. Christmas Eve was packed with action at 6pm on the dot and is actually still continuing till now, nearly 2am. I, however, managed to slip away about an hour ago and am in the nice, toasty comfort of my bed.

This was the first Christmas I've ever spent with the BF. In the beginning of our relationship, we weren't close enough to spend the holidays together. When he finally managed to get his act together (last year), I had already bought tickets to spend Christmas vacation in Egypt with my aunt. I had no idea what to expect tonight, but I surely never expected this level of pandemonium!! I felt really odd for a while till his nephew's girlfriend, who noticed my subtle unease, whispered to me, "Don't worry...I was overwhelmed too when I first spent Christmas with this family!"

There seemed to have been 200 people at the BF's house tonight. I exaggerate, of course, but I think you get the point. Again, the BF is the youngest of twelve and he's got so many nieces and nephews that it's difficult to keep track of everyone (he even forgot to get presents for one of his grand-nephews. They just didn't show up on his radar).

I am not the kind of person who shines in situations like these. When I'm surrounded by too many people, I tend to shut down a little bit. I'm just not used to it. I've got a small family and have always envied the boyfriends' his but I simply don't know how to navigate through them just yet.

Plus, I've been really tired recently. So tired that the very thought of having to socialize makes my stomach curl. I tried hard to be social tonight, but failed miserably I think. I had three people ask me what was wrong and one niece who kept probing, "Are you pregnant? Cuz you know when you're pregnant you get really tired. Is it even a possibility?", and on and on and on. She kept staring at my stomach as well, which has expanded due to the Wendy's large size combo meals I've been eating everyday. "You know, if you're pregnant you can tell me, I won't tell anyone". Yeah. Because if I'm pregnant the BF shouldn't be the first to know. It seemed impossible to end the pregnancy convo till her son hit his head against the wall as he was attempting to reenact a scene from Spiderman. That kinda killed the discussion, but she kept eyeing me for the rest of the evening.

We started part one of the evening at the BF's house and made our way to his brother's house (up the block) around tenish, where the stereo was blaring merengue and the glasses ran full of wine. An hour later, everyone was drunk and I was sitting by the stairs observing them all. It truly was a wonderful sight. The whole family there, not giving a shit about anything, just enjoying each other's company.

I, however, couldn't stay there for too long. After midnight struck and gifts had been exchanged, I had to leave. I mean, how long can one stay if one doesn't drink? Have you ever been the only sober person in a roomful of buzzed/drunk people??? Not pleasant I tell you. I had myself a glass of wine only to try to loosen up a little, but all that did was make my stomach feel bad. What I really wanted to do was go back home with the BF and just spend some quiet time alone. We did go back to his house at one point, but that was only to give his nieces' their presents. I wanted to suggest that we stay a bit, but he implied that he wanted to go back to the party. So I let him go and just came home.

This becomes one of the very frustrating aspects of our relationship at the moment, the fact that we have no home. I hate that I had to leave to come home to a practically empty house. That there was really no other satisfactory alternative; I could either stay at the party or leave. Spending time alone with him was not an option. I wish he and I could form our own family unit. And I'm not talking about kids. I'm talking about "Okay, we've had our fun now it's time for us to go home" or "now it's time for our personal traditions".

It's taking us a while to get to that point.

His brother, however, came up to me before gifts were exhanged and said, "S, I'm going to make it a point to get to know you better this year. R has confirmed that this is the real deal and I promise to get to know you. Welcome to the family."

I feel like I'm about to lose my train of thought and think I'll be going off on tangents if I continue writing for another minute. Blame it on the wine, the hoopla, or the frustration. But to spare you the tangents I will sign off now.

Oh...the BF's niece's boyfriend? He actually DID buy presents...I'm beginning to think that his Egyptian sarcasm is not translating well with the family.

Christmas politics

2006-12-23T13:13:00.000-05:00

Shopping for Christmas presents can be very frustrating sometimes. I'm sitting here, a day before Christmas Eve, still racking my brain over what to buy for whom. I'm usually pretty good with this. I start Christmas shopping in October. It makes the holidays easier to navigate when you don't have to worry so much about gifts.

This year becomes a bit complicated because I'm spending Christmas with the boyfriend and his family for the first time. His large family. He's the youngest of twelve, so between his brother and sisters and nieces and nephews it becomes difficult to know who to buy presents for. He has the same problem as well each year. It becomes a very political process and often drives him crazy. Last year he bought each of his brothers and sisters board games. This actually turned out to be a great present because it got the families to spend quality time together throughout the year. This year they've all promised each other no presents, which has saved him major headaches.

I, however, feel strange spending Christmas with his family and not having anything for them. I mean, I know I can't buy something for everyone...it would be INSANE to even try. But there are some that I see on a constant basis and would love to get something for. The problem here is that I don't want them to feel obligated to give me something in return. And I don't want them feeling horrible about themselves for not getting me something. (Best Friend apparently had the same problem).

So now I can do one of two things; I can either buy them nice presents or I can run out right now and buy some stocking stuffers. I'm leaning towards the stocking stuffers because I really don't want to overdo it, especially since the present giving is curtailed this Christmastime at their household. Little presents won't make them feel so bad.

On top of all this, some of them really have no idea what to do with me at Christmas. The boyfriend's niece is dating a Muslim and he has informed them all that he in no way celebrates Christmas; he does not want nor will he give presents. They now keep asking me, very shyly, if I'm going to come over for Christmas. Not too long ago he told them that he doesn't eat the meat of sin. I tried to convince the boyfriend that he must have been kidding, that there's no way anyone would say "meat of sin", but I'm beginning to think that the boy was serious. That niece's boyfriend is giving me and mine a really bad name.

Excuse my language...

2006-12-20T14:39:00.000-05:00

...but what a bunch of cocksuckers:

"Goode spurs praise, outrage"

BY REX BOWMAN
TIMES-DISPATCH STAFF WRITER
Dec 23, 2006

From e-mails suggesting concentration camps for Muslims to messages bemoaning that all Virginians look like "a bunch of rednecks," the public is weighing in with mixed opinions on U.S. Rep. Virgil H. Goode Jr.'s letter attacking the migration of Muslims to America.

While Goode's political colleagues have mostly kept silent -- a notable exception being Republican Sen. John W. Warner, who gently chided Goode on Thursday -- readers of the Richmond Times-Dispatch have e-mailed reporters; posted voluminous comments on the newspaper's Web site, timesdispatch.com; and phoned in to voice their opinions.

While many expressed shock and horror at Goode's warning that "many more Muslims" could one day hold elected office in the United States unless immigration laws are tightened, others wrote or called to say "Goode for president!" and to express their belief that Islam is not compatible with democracy. The majority were supportive of Goode.

The political firestorm that has burned through the blogosphere and on cable news shows was ignited Tuesday when the Council on American-Islamic Relations called for Goode, R-5th District, to apologize. Goode refused.

Goode's defiance prompted one reader to write: "Someone has to protect our nation from being overtaken by immigrants who wish to convert the rest of us to their way of thinking. I say 'Go get them, Virgil, and God bless you for trying to save our country.'"

"My hat is off to Rep. Goode," another wrote. "What character and bravery to say what all Americans feel."

But Jeff Saxman of Richmond countered: "Attitudes such as those recently exhibited by Virginia's Congressional representative Virgil Goode are a good indication as to why we find ourselves in our current world situation. . . . Such vitriol and lack of either respect or empathy for anyone that differs from the traditional white male Christian ideal has put our nation on the defensive, both rhetorically and literally."

Goode has earned a reputation as Virginia's most outspoken advocate in Congress for clamping down on illegal immigration and curtailing legal immigration. He has pushed legislation to build a fence along the border with Mexico and also sought to make English the nation's official language.

At a news conference Thursday, Goode said he wrote the letter in response to hundreds of e-mails he received from constituents upset by Minnesota Rep.-elect Keith Ellison's decision to use the Quran, the Muslim holy book, in his swearing-in ceremony. While writing that he would use the Bible when he is sworn in for his next term, Goode used the letter to condemn U.S. immigration policies and to call Muslim immigrants a threat to American values and resources.

The letter didn't sit well with Steven McKinley of Richmond, a retired Marine colonel. McKinley wrote: "If Congressman Goode is so adamant about his feelings, I say pick up a rifle and volunteer for the reserves. We could certainly give a God-fearing man like him a waiver and let him serve his country in Iraq. Having spent the better part of 2005 in Al Anbar Province, I served with Marines of all religious affiliations. Funny how when you are fighting a war, you never get around to asking the guy next to you where he goes to church."

"It is so sad when someone so openly bigoted as Rep. Goode can be elected to office," wrote a reader who signed his note Jay from Richmond. "One of this country's real strengths is its separation of church and state. Clearly Mr. Goode does not understand the meaning of religious tolerance. He equates Muslims with terrorists. Oh how quickly we forget, that Christians can persecute and terrorize as well as any religion."

"Here we go again . . . another Virginia politician making Virginians as a whole look like a bunch of rednecks," opined another.

Writer James W. Leftwich disagreed, writing: "The Honorable Virgil Goode is on the right track."

"Somebody nominate Virgil Goode for President," another wrote. "And shame on John Warner. It is an abomination that a Muslim refuse to take the oath on the Bible."

Muslim Christmases

2006-12-15T09:44:00.000-05:00

I used to celebrate Christmas with a fervor that would put Santa Claus to shame. My house was always the prettiest on the block, my Christmas tree was always decked to the halls, and the gifts I would give people always the most unique.

It drove some of my family crazy.

"We're Muslim!! We don't celebrate this!! What you're doing is blasphemy!"

One of my cousins actually tried to take down my tree when he came over one day. When he realized that I was going to beat him to the ground if he did, he started on about how having a tree nullifies not only my Islam, but the Islam of anyone in the house. "I cannot stay in this house with this tree". I responded by turning on the lights and putting on religious Christmas tunes. When he heard "Christ the Savior is born" he just walked out of the house.

My mother had never been happier! I managed to single handedly get rid of an idiot that she'd been trying to get rid of for years!! "Everyday should be Christmas!"

My father felt bad so he went after my cousin and told him to stop being stupid. "Ya A, eh el moshkela? (What's the problem?) Don't we believe in Jesus? Didn't Jesus have to be born? What's so wrong about celebrating the day he was born? It doesn't mean that we believe in the entire Christian theology. Don't be stupid, come back."

"You're not a Muslim if you think like this! What you're doing is haram!"

My father is not big on people judging him. He wasn't going to continue a conversation with this man, so he turned around and just walked back home. When he came into the house he told me not to be upset (I wasn't) and that I could celebrate Christmas as long as I wanted to (I would).

We left Egypt for Germany when I was around four. Christmas is one of the only holidays that I remember from Germany. Every year my parents got my brother and I a Christmas tree and would fill it with as many presents as they could. We were quite poor, so the presents always consisted of things my mother would make herself which made the whole day so much more special. She would also take my brother and I out on the lantern walk...I can't for the life of me remember what it was called. (Anyone living in Germany, help me with this!!)

When we moved to America we continued our Christmas traditions. My father's sister, who had been living in America for over twenty years, always created lavish meals for Christmas.

These "Muslim" Christmases have always managed to confuse the people around us. When I first met the boyfriend, he had no idea what to make of my Christmas spirit. I had just shattered all his beliefs about Muslims. I was not a veiled woman, I traveled extensively without having a guardian, I wore bathing suits to the beach, and I celebrated Christmas. Just the other day he asked me if it's okay to send a Christmas card to someone who doesn't celebrate Christmas.

I've never seen how celebrating Christmas if you're a Muslim is so horrible. And I understand that the way I celebrate Christmas is not the same as a Christian celebrating Christmas. It's not as holy for me as it would be to the boyfriend, for example, but it's just as special. Maybe it's special for me because of that traditions my parents created for my brother and I. Maybe it's special because I like pretty things and cities during Christmas are beautiful. Or maybe it's because I love giving. I love making people happy and Christmas gives me the opportunity to create things for people to put a smile on their face.

Whatever it is, Christmas is beautiful. In the previous post, someone left a comment asking if American Muslims celebrate Christmas and I'd love to know what you guys do. Do American Muslims (or British Muslims, Western Muslims) celebrate Christmas or am I an anomaly?

The Moon and New York City

2006-12-08T20:42:00.000-05:00

I was inches away from getting into a car accident on the highway last weekend. It would've been my fault too (though that didn't stop my potty mouth from working overtime). It's just that at the moment said accident was about to occur, I had been mesmerized by the moon. It was floating above this building that was decked out in Christmas lights and for that split second everything else went blank. It was truly a sight for sore eyes.

I've always been fascinated, nay obsessed, by the moon. When I was a kid, I thought that I had a rare, mysterious bond with it. I'd constantly stare out our car window and watch it as it followed me home. How special I felt! Of all the people in the world, the moon decided to follow ME. When we'd get home, I'd go up on the roof and just lay down staring at the illuminated sky. This was before big lights, before we left Cairo and lived in a neighborhood that suffered from frequent blackouts. It made for lovely evenings.

My grandmother used to do volunteer work for the Red Crescent. I used to go with her often. When we left Cairo she was never on my mind as much as when the crescent appeared in the sky.

When I moved out of my house, one of the things I used to LOVE to do every month was sleep with the curtains wide open during the full moon. I loved to moonbathe and my window was optimally placed to catch moon rays.

This is one of my absolute favorite pictures:

I took it during one of my trips to the Dominican Republic. My friends and I had just finished eating dinner and when I looked up at the sky and saw that sight, I spent the next 30 minutes snapping away. I couldn't get enough of it.

My obsession with the moon is surpassed only by my obsession with Christmas in New York. Is there any other city that serves as a perfect backdrop for this season? I hate not being in New York City during Christmas time. When I moved to Cairo for college, my homesickness grew ten-fold once December hit. Yes, I know it gets crowded and it's hell to try to get anywhere in Midtown. Yes, I know that Christmas has become commercial. But I am at my jolliest during Christmas time. Nothing makes me happier than wrapping presents. As a matter of fact, one year I went to Macy's to try to get a job as a wrapper. It would've paid shit wages, but I wasn't doing it for the money. I just wanted to wrap. I decided against it when I saw who would be my fellow wrappers. Talk about a bunch of cranky shitheads. No way was I going to let them kill my Christmas spirit. Instead, I went around my neighborhood and offered my services. Didn't get many presents to wrap though. That's what you get for living in a Jewish neighborhood. Sigh.

Keeping the Faith

2006-12-05T17:49:00.000-05:00

My mother bought a new dining table a few weeks ago. It bothered my father a little bit because 1). we're financially constrained since he's practically supporting crazy aunt right now and 2). it would mean that he would have to take apart the original dining table and store it somewhere and while he's always been fond of manual work, the hassle didn't really seem worth it to him. He didn't make a big fuss about it, though, because my mother told him that the table reminded her of the one my grandmother used to own.

I wish I had a video camera the day they were moving that table. Between my father barking directions at my mother and my mother barking directions right back at him it would've made for great comic relief if that nasty depression ever hits me again. I could have helped them, but then I really wouldn't have enjoyed the show.

When I had had enough of laughing I went to try to help them and they yelled at me to leave them alone. It was the only thing they agreed on anything as they were trying to move that table. See what happens when you try to be helpful????!

I let them be and went into the basement to get some work done. At one point I heard the doorbell ring and then my mother telling me to get it. They had ordered pizza and were at that moment in the process of moving the top of the table. I went upstairs, paid for the pizza, swiped a slice, and then heard screaming from their bedroom. My father had somehow wedged his fingers between the table and the headboard of the bed and if one person had moved he would have lost those fingers. I quickly ran to the headboard and pulled it away from the wall, giving him enough time to get his fingers out before he let the table thump to the ground.

He spent the next couple of days thanking me for saving him. He kept telling me that he owed me a big one and he'd always remember how I was there to save him. Now, my father has never been one for the dramatics, so he must've really thought he was going to lose those fingers.

Of course, it wasn't just me who saved him. It was God. God put me at the right place and the right time. Usually when my mother yells at me from upstairs, I never respond. She has a tendency to ask me to do very silly, unimportant things and so if I just ignore her for a little bit she'll forget what she needed. That time when she called me, however, I went upstairs immediately though I'm still not sure why. Had I ignored her the way I usually do, I wouldn't have had enough time to help my father.

My father told this story to every one of his friends on the phone. God was looking out for him and this was proof.

Thanking God has been my father's mantra since he went on the pilgrimage three years ago. He came back a changed man. He seemed much more at peace with himself and the world, became much less judgmental, and seemed to realize that he did a lot of stupid things throughout his life. While he's always been wonderful to my mother, he realized that he did actually put her through hell sometimes and has been making up for that everyday.

Everything that happens now happens because of God. When I got this teaching job last May I had come up after a really bad day at my previous job. I walked in through the door to my father welcoming me home and asking me how life was. I muttered something and he said, "you should be happy!"

"What's there to be happy about?" I grumbled.

"Everything! Didn't God just give you a job you were desiring?!"

My first instinct was to tell him that God didn't give me this job. That I worked really hard for YEARS to get to this point in my life, but I didn't want to have a theological discussion with him.

Yesterday my father thanked God again. I've been sick as a dog for the past week. At first I developed laryngitis, but now I've got a full-fledged cold that's kept me home for the past two days. I REALLY wanted to go into work today, just to spite some of my students who have probably been praying that I call in sick, but figured another day at home would do me good.

So my father last night tells me how he brought home four flu shots over the weekend to give us for the winter season. I've never taken the flu shot and have been doing quite well without it. He didn't give it to us during the weekend because he forgot. He said he was really happy that he didn't give it to me because I probably would've blamed the flu shot for this current illness, therefore putting the blame on him as well. "God was looking out for me".

I can't remember the last time I thanked God for anything or even thought that God had anything to do with the fortunes or misfortunes in my life.

No, that's a lie. Five years ago I went back to Egypt to break off my engagement. It was a horrible time in my life and I felt like I was being torn apart inside. I wanted peace and so one day I prayed for it, just asked God for some peace. I didn't want Him to fix my life, I just wanted to stop feeling so bad. And after I prayed I felt instantly better. That had never happened to me before. When I returned to NY I started looking for a job and within two weeks I had been hired at a reputable non-profit. Everything was falling into place for me and it was the first time in my life that I felt a connection with God.

But for some reason this connection got lost somewhere between then and now. I don't think that I've stopped believing in a greater power, but I know for a fact that I stopped believing in religion. All religions. I admire people who have faith, envy it almost because I wish I had something to believe in. I continue to fast because it's the one thing that still connects me to my faith, I pay alms, I believe in the fundamentals of being good, I still believe in the big picture. But any form of religiousity, be it Christian, Jewish, or Muslim, makes me cringe nowadays.

Hmmmm....

2006-11-28T22:18:00.000-05:00

Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19)
Courtesy of Rob Breszny

As I see your situation, it's like you're acting famished even though the cupboards are stocked with goodies. You're pining and moaning to be close to a treasure that's right next to you. You've got 98 out of the 100 things you need, and yet you just can't stop obsessing on the two that are missing. If I'm wrong about this, Capricorn, just ignore what I'm saying and rejoin me next week. But if you suspect I may be on to something, please act fast to purge your delusions.

The Crusades in Brooklyn

2006-11-28T18:31:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a diverse migrant community and was exposed, at quite a young age, to the glorious poetry of the Quran, the miracles of the Bible, the borderlands of Gloria Anzaldua, and the double-consciousness of W.E.B. du Bois. I never believed that me or mine possessed THE essential truth, if there even is such a thing. I was literally able to have the best of all worlds (although many people claim that this potluck upbringing is what has led me "astray", with no solid beliefs).

I've always only felt comfortable when I was surrounded by immigrants. I need to hear different languages and savor different palates. When I got my current job, I was thrilled because it fit into the kind of world I have always been drawn to. I was going to have a bona fide global classroom. I kinda forgot that these kids are coming from places that haven't necessarily embraced this whole we-are-one-big-world idea. Instead of learning from one another, they seem to be forming alliances with their own kind and discrediting anything that doesn't fit into their worldview.

This becomes very frustrating for a global studies teacher, particularly when we're trying to learn about cultural diffusion. Last week, for example, we wrapped up our unit on the Middle Ages and were doing a final review. I asked the class to name someone from the medieval world who had a strong impact on the future and one Colombian kid, who had been researching the Islamic Empire, yelled out, "Mohamed! Because of him there are over a billion people in the world who believe in the Islam religion!" I put his answer on the board and he was so happy (he looked like a dolphin during feeding time) that he decided to create a rap song that went like this:

Mo-mo-mohamed was the man yo
Mo-mo-mo......

He wasn't allowed to continue. The Muslim kids in class were ready to pounce on him.

"STOP THAT! DON'T TALK LIKE THAT ABOUT THE PROPHET! STOP IT!"

R is not the kind of student who stops doing his thing when someone tells him to, so he continued mo-mo-mo'ing his way through his rap song.

The Muslim kids started getting really agitated. For some reason, I find it highly amusing when kids are agitated. That frustrated look they get on their face is just magic. I wish I had had a camera that day...

I told R to stop his rap song and asked the Muslim kids to explain to him why they were so bothered and found his rap song to be offensive. The problem with working with ESL students is that they don't have the language to express themselves properly. I think that even if they did have the language, they would've been unable to form their own opinions since all they've been doing recently is echoing what they hear at home.

This week we're talking about the Crusades, a very touchy topic when you consider the make-up of my school. Here are just brief snippets of the conversations:

When asked why the European Christians were so ruthless during the Crusades, the answer from one Bengali boy was:

"Because Christians are bad and hate Muslims."

When asked why the European Christians wanted to go on Crusades, the answer from my Israeli boy was:

"Because Muslims are evil and deserve it".

In addition to Christians being bad and Muslims being evil, Jews apparently were lazy because they just sat back and didn't fight.

It was good to see the prejudices come out of the closet (though these kids have been anything but subtle the past couple of months) because it'll help me battle them as we make our way throughout history. We dispelled a lot of myths today in class, but I know that this Crusade is definitely not over.

I'm a Macedonian Dwarf????????

2006-11-26T15:15:00.000-05:00

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Surrounded by a**holes

2006-11-26T15:14:00.000-05:00

When I was in the fourth-grade, my school had an International Food Fair. It was something I was very excited about because even at a very young age I was a food connoisseur. I spent weeks with my mother trying to figure out what kind of food to bring. We finally decided on kofta and I carried it proudly to school that day. On an index card I wrote a little history of kofta as well as how to make it in case one was inclined.

Lunch time took forever to come. But when we finally made it to the cafeteria it was a feast for the eyes. So much food from so many places! Isn't it great when the student body is made up of so many immigrants?!

Some time between stuffing my face with an Indian dish and licking dry an Ecuadorian pastry I heard some of my classmates giggling. I turned around to see one of them throw a piece of kofta on the floor and hear another say, "EWWWW! It looks like kaka!!!! KAKA KOFTA!! S MADE KAKA KOFTA!!"

I was so heartbroken at that moment. I didn't do anything. I didn't cry. I didn't try to stop them from making fun of me and my food. I just sat there. I hated what they were saying, but I couldn't do anything about. It was at about that time that I realized that the world was just full of assholes and that since there were so many of them it was inevitable that I come across several throughout my lifetime.

Last week my school had a Thanksgiving Feast. And a feast it was! I went through Africa, Asia, Europe, and South America like a tornado. My students were shocked to see their teacher down food like that! But I had to do it. For the kids. They did all this hard work and if I didn't sample their food they would've been sad. It's all about the kids.

I made grape leaves for this ocassion. I made it once over the summer for my co-workers and they loved it so much that they demanded I make it for the feast. We stored all the food in the teachers' lounge before moving it to the cafeteria and the grape leaves were under attack as soon as the teachers walked in. I'm surprised that there actually were handful that were finally able to make an appearance in the cafeteria.

So while I'm dogging down the food, three of my students appear behind me and start snickering. I turn around and it's my Egyptian crew.

"Ya Miss, el warak 3enab da wahesh gedan!!! (The grape leaves are awful!) If anyone eats them they'll have to be sent straight to the hospital!"

They continued making fun of me for a bit and one actually took one of the grape leaves, bit a piece off, then spit it out into the garbage. The rudeness of this entire act KILLED me. I couldn't believe the nerve these kids had. I couldn't believe that they had the nerve to come up to me and talk to me like that, straight to my face. This wasn't a case of kids joking with teacher or trying to give teacher a hard time. They were just being assholes. It was the worst case of bad manners I had ever witnessed. Their act was followed by two other students who thought it would be cool to emulate them and make fun of teacher and for a moment I felt like I was back in the fourth-grade.

One of my grandfather's favorite mantras centered around "if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all." He would constantly tell me that people have feelings and that it was very important to be diplomatic in your dealings with them. There are many assholes in this world, he would tell me, but I shouldn't be one of them.

A main reason I've been so unhappy at this job is because some of these kids have the worst manners in the world. They're rude, uncouth, and highly uncivilized to me and each other. I struggle everyday not to take some of the things they say personally, but it's hard sometimes. It's draining more than anything else. In the fourth-grade I had to deal with it every once in a while. Now I deal with this shit everyday. I don't mind the kids challenging me. I actually enjoy it if they frame their arguments properly. But the bad manners kill me.

I was about to lose complete hope in teenagers when a couple of my African girls came up to me and thanked me for always being around to listen to them. It's been really hard moving to a new country, they said, but their day is always better when they come into my class. I hugged them and wished them a happy Thanksgiving. As they were leaving, one of them turned around and said, "Miss S, by the way, your food was really, really good. Thank you for making it".

The world may be full of assholes, but it's good to know that there will always be good people walking in their midst that have the potential to make it all better.

Thankful

2006-11-23T09:23:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to turn the negative into something to positive, here are five things about which I am thankful:

1. I am thankful for leading a double life because it means that from 3-7pm today I get to eat the best Dominican food in New York City at my boyfriend's house and from 7pm-midnight I get to eat the best Egyptian food in the world at my own home.

2. I am thankful for the non-stop, annoying chatter of my students in the classroom because it means I can still hear.

3. I am thankful for waking up too early in the morning (and I'm SO not a morning person) because it means I have a job.

4. I am thankful for crazy aunt because she makes the rest of my crazy family look so normal.

5. I am thankful for still living at home because it means I have more disposable income.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING ALL!
And to my New Yorkers, have a happy, wet one today!

Q & A's

2006-11-19T18:02:00.000-05:00

1. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Whom would you blow up?
Crazy aunt. God must have been on vacation when she was created.

2. You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Which one will it be?
This question is not really fair. There are lots of bands that put out crappy music. But I think I'd wipe away all those artists that use half-naked women in their soft-porn videos. It's getting old already.

3. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?
Bigots of all shapes and sizes.

4. What is your favorite cheese?
I LOVE any and all kinds of cheese. If I had to choose one, though, it would be Gouda. Extra-aged. Toots took me to a bar once that served a slamming cheese platter...I tried to save some for him, but I'm not very disciplined re: food. What can I say, I'm a glutton.

5. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your immediate disposal. What kind will you make?
The chicken sandwich they make at Boca Chica (1st and Houston). Yummylicious.

6. You have the opportunity to sleep with the movie celebrity of your choice. We are talking no-strings-attached sex and it can only happen once. Who is the lucky celebrity of your choice?
Maria Cuccinotta. I mean, if one were to ever dabble in lesbianism you couldn't pick a better woman.

7. You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who do you pick?
Alejandro Sanz, but he'd have to serenade me in bed.

8. Now that you've slept with two different people in a row, you seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk. Holy crap, a hundred bucks! How are you gonna spend it?
At a spa, enjoying a three-hour full-body massage.

9. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?
Taipei to visit French Kitty. But the minute I get there we're off to Tuscany.

10. Upon arrival to the aforementioned location, you get off the plane and discover another hundred-dollar bill. Now that you are in the new location, what are you gonna do?
Buy drinks at a local bar for the hot Italian men.

11. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?
There will only be three-day work weeks, with the fourth week of each month off.

12. You have been given the opportunity to create the half-hour TV show of your own design. What is it called and what's the premise?
It would be called "Rebel Grrrrl" and will highlight the lives of women who have stepped out of arbitrary boundaries and pursued unconventional paths in life.

13. What is your favorite curse word?
"F*ck". It is, grammatically, the most versatile word. Use it as a verb, a noun, an adjective...name it and you can use it.

14. One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?
Ask them to turn around??

15. Your house is on fire! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don't worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what's the item?
My laptop. It's got all my pictures and all my songs. One day, when I have some free time, I'm going to scan all my diaries and all the letters or postcards I've ever received.

16. The Angel of Death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the Angel of Death is pretty cool and in a good mood, and it offers you a half-hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. Whatcha gonna do in that half-hour?
Have toe-curling sex one last time.

17. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What's it gonna be?
The ability to read minds. No, the ability to stop time. Wait, the ability to have premonitions. Wow...I think I just named three powers that the sisters on "Charmed" possessed...

18. You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?
Over five years ago one of my friends from Egypt came to visit. We both love Latin music so I took her to a local club one evening. We were there from 10pm to 4 in the morning. At around 3am, these five guys came in and headed to the bar. As soon as the merengue came on, one pulled me onto the dance floor and we danced and danced and danced. Then, in a move that would have made the Mambo Kings jealous, he twirled me over to his brother who then twirled me to his cousin and we danced like this till the club was ready to shut down. It was exhilarating. Nothing sleazy, nothing perverted. Just pure dancing.

19. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool stuff... you can move to anywhere else in the world! Bitchin'! What country are you going to live in now?
Tough question. One of my dreams has always been to move to the Dominican Republic and teach English, but Italy, Spain, and France are high (if not equal) on my list.

20. Hopefully you didn't mention this in the super-powers question.... If you did, then we'll just expand on that. Suddenly, you have gained the ability to FLOAT!!! Whose house are you going to float to first, and be like "Dude, ... I can FLOAT!"?
Toots'!

21. The constant absorption of magical moonbeams mixed with the radioactive vegetables you consumed earlier has given you the ability to resurrect the dead famous-person of your choice. So which celebrity will you bring back to life?
Dalida. I hate that she died depressed.

22. The Gates of Hell have opened, and Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person, etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?
My grandfather; he was the greatest man to have ever walked on this Earth. They don't make men like him anymore.

23. What's your theme song?
"Girls Just Wanna Have Fun". When you really think about it, that's all they really want.

Sad

2006-11-18T07:32:00.000-05:00

Every once in a while I fall into a really bad depression that threatens to shut me down. I'll have no taste for life, I'll be unable to see the point in anything, and I'll begin to withdraw from people (even those I live with) because I simply won't have the ability to be decent company. When someone is talking to me, my mind will be elsewhere because, well, it has shut down. I appear aloof and uncaring to these people and then it takes some time to repair the relationships. So it's better that I just stay away, regress into my cocoon till the depression ride is over.

When I was living in Cairo I had these depressions much more often (if you knew the shit I went through in Cairo you'd commend me for not offing myself). And when they did hit they stayed for months. I was plagued with these depressions on and off in my early/mid-20s and I think that's why I never really took the initiative to dramatically change my life. The depressions made me impotent and useless and I basically wasted a lot of time feeling sorry for myself.

This past week has threatened to throw me into this depression and I'm struggling like a fish out of water to keep it at bay.

The lifestyle I'm currently living doesn't really help the situation either.

I eat extremely badly, for example. I can't remember the last time I had something of nutritious value. I eat too much and I eat too much of the wrong thing. I know my body. If it's not being treated properly it won't cooperate with me. I have to start eating properly and I need to head back to the gym.

I need to move out of my house. The living situation with my parents is not bad. They're sweet and I love spending time with them. But I treat every single second that I spend with them as if it's the last one. And it's wearing me out. Everytime I talk to my mother I think, "Once she finds out about the boyfriend she'll never want to talk to me again". Whenever my father throws in a "habibi, enti 3arfa ana bahebik ad eh? (Habibi, do you know how much I love you?)" in the conversation I start to hurt. I need a healthy distance from them. I need to be out of this physical and emotional space.

My job...I don't even want to talk about my job. I dabbled in many jobs in my 20s and was ecstatic when I finally uncovered the teaching bug that had been lying dormant in me for so many years. First year teaching is the worst. I know this. And the winter breaks are just around the corner. I know that too. But everytime I look at the face of a teenager all I see is a punching bag.

Most of the teachers at my school are two or so years away from being able to apply for sabbatical. And of course I'm hating. At this rate, if I stay in this career, I won't be able to apply for sabbatical until I'm much older. And so, because depression is rearing its ugly head, I start to beat myself up every day for not being able to settle on a career early on in life.

I can go on about every single facet of my life, but let's call it a day and say that my life is just toxic right now.

Okay. It's 8am on a Saturday morning. I cried a little bit last night and was able to release some toxins. I'm going to go have a healthy breakfast, drink a bottle of water, and head to the gym. I'm then going to come home, take a warm bubble bath, wait for my hair to dry, and attempt to do something to break myself out of my usual routine.

Wish me luck.

This is how I've been feeling all week

2006-11-16T19:57:00.000-05:00

I can't wait for tomorrow. TGI-friggin F.

No. I take that back. I can't wait for Thanksgiving weekend. This will actually be the first year I'll be beyond thankful for four days off.

NY, NY

2006-11-12T11:41:00.000-05:00

My late uncle's wife from Kansas has been visiting us every year since he passed away four years ago. She comes to stay with us for two weeks every November. I'm glad she still feels connected to us and continues keeping in touch, especially after the hell her step-daughters (my cousins) put her through. If I were "A", I would've cut the Egyptian race out of my life forever.

It's always amusing to watch my mother interact with English speakers. She'll always pepper the conversation with bits of Arabic and assume that they'll understand. Or SHOULD understand. At times she'll just even switch to Arabic. The other day she made "A" sit and watch Egyptian soap operas all day. "A" now says things like, "Khalas! I won't have this conversation with you!" and "Bas I don't know if I can make it that weekend" when speaking with her daughter on the phone.

"A" was sitting in the living room when I asked my father to help me buy a car. She offered me some good bargaining advice and then said, "Whatever you do, do not take the subway." I told her there's no way I could take the subway to work. It would take me around two hours to get myself to work via the subway. By car, I'm at work in twenty minutes. This job is not subway friendly.

"No, I don't mean about the time it would take you to commute. Didn't you hear what happened in the subway?" "A" asked.

"Yeah, you told me. Wasn't there a stabbing?"

"That was last week! Yesterday there were TWO stabbings in the subway!! In QUEENS!!"

My father and I stared at her and shrugged. "'A', this is New York. A subway stabbing is nothing."

"Nothing! In Kansas it would be front news for days!"

"A" was horrified at our New York hardness. How could a subway stabbing not affect us as profoundly as it affected her? How could we even consider taking the subway again?

Other issues that horrify "A":

The prices of homes.

I've been looking to buy a place for the past two years. Yesterday my mother told me that one of her friends is selling a junior 4 around the area for about $280,000.

"$280,000 is way too much money for a junior 4! I can't pay that much! One bedrooms go for about $180,000-200,000. It won't make sense for me to pay 280."

"A" again was part of the conversation and I thought she was going to have a convulsion.

"280 THOUSAND DOLLARS!! My brother in Missouri bought a house with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, huge living room, and a swimming pool for $250,000!"

The rent

My next door neighbor is getting married next March. He and his fiance are looking for an apartment in the area. They inquired about a one bedroom in one of the buildings around the way and learned that the rent was $1900. For a one bedroom. "A" is currently paying $650 for her two bedroom.

The New York attitude

"A" comes from a town where people are actually cordial to each other. "Thank yous" and "please", followed by genuine smiles, are part of the everyday vernacular there. When I went to "A" and my uncle's wedding I was in shock at how super friendly everyone was.

My mother took "A" to the flea market last week. "A" came back with a look that I've never seen before on her face, but I recognized it immediately. She had had her first encounter with the New York attitude and she had that frustrated, hard look on her face. Now, even though she comes from a saccharin town, she knows how to hold her own. So when the vendor gave her an attitude, she exploded and gave him one back. Bless her little heart though. When he started being nasty with her, her reply was "Well, you don't have to be so rude!! I can't believe how rude you are!"

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.

Birth of a Car

2006-11-12T09:31:00.000-05:00

My car died on me as I was driving home on Friday. Again. This time, however, I knew how to pop open my hood and pour anti-coolant into the radiator. See, I'm learning. The car wouldn't restart right away so I had to sit in it and just wait. I had picked up Chinese food on the way home and it started getting cold. And then I got really frustrated.

For starters, I had a headache. I've had a headache every day since Wednesday, November 1st. The one that day KILLED me. It felt as if someone had drilled a hole in my head and didn't bother to repair it. At one point I was convinced that my eyes were going to explode. I went to sleep early that night after overdosing on Excedrin and woke up much better. But as I made my way through the day I realized that I still had headache residuals. No big deal. It'll go away. I had another headache the day after and have had headaches every day since. They're not bad headaches; I don't have to take anything for them. They're like rainstorm headaches. But the one I had on Friday was about to develop into a tsunami and having my car die like that in the middle of the street did nothing to help.

So as I was sitting there waiting for the car to cooperate with me I made a decision. I had to buy a new car. I've had to buy one since the summer, but I've been too cheap. I try to save every single penny I make so I can buy a place to live (or travel). The thought of me dipping into my savings for a mere car made me sick to my stomach.

When I got home I told my father what happened and asked him if he could help me buy a car. I can only imagine what the car salesmen would've done to me if I had attempted to go car shopping by myself.

Fast forward the boring details. I am now a car owner. Well, car leaser. I pick it up tomorrow after work. I leased a 2006 Nissan Altima, color pewter. Never thought I'd ever use the word "pewter" in my life.

This purchase has made me highly uncomfortable. I thought I'd be happy and excited when I got my first car. Instead the butterflies in my stomach are working overtime. I've never had to pay such a high monthly bill. I'm very unhappy with that commitment.

**UPDATE**
I offered my Taurus to my next door neighbor right now who nearly squealed with delight. Even though it's an old and crappy car, she acted as if I just handed her a BMW. What's wrong with me that I can't appreciate my new car????

Shake it like Shakira

2006-11-10T18:38:00.000-05:00

I mean, even during my heyday when I went clubbing four to five times a week I wasn't nutty enough to get up on a bar and risk injury. And if I did, I'd probably be too embarrassed to sue.

"Have a Happy Period"

2006-11-07T18:04:00.000-05:00

There's no such thing as a happy period. And if anyone ever tries to use a line like that on me when I have my period I will probably shoot them. I have to admit that they've gotten much, much better since I've been on the pill, but periods are not happy moments.

A couple of months ago I saw this on my maxi-pad:

Apparently Always is printing these up and sticking them on the adhesive side of their pads with wings. I had cramps, I was tired, I was cranky. But for some reason when I saw this message it put a smile on my face. Not so for others though.

Pic for Cairogal and Leilouta

Lousy Day

2006-11-07T17:17:00.000-05:00

I was in a lousy mood yesterday. Absolutely lousy.

It started when I received an email from my best friend. A while ago, she emailed her ex (a Bosnian Muslim) and told him that the boyfriend and I are close to making our relationship work and that we're talking about marriage. He replied by telling her that struggling against my family is un-Islamic and that my struggle is against my own self, not my family. I will never be happy if I defy them. If I do marry the boyfriend, my kids will not be raised right since I am ignorant of my background.

The e-mail contained a lot of other shit that had me fuming at one point and for some reason just got me down. I've been trying so hard to understand why it bothered me so much and I still haven't been able to wrap my head around it. It's really easy for men to judge women like me. It's easy to attack our faith and beliefs and it's something that I need to get used to. I already know that I will be ostracized from the Islamic community and my family. I know this. And so I don't know why it bothered me so much to read his e-mail. I need to grow a thicker skin.

In either case, I accept no religious advice from an alcoholic, promiscuous bastard. I'll never understand how Muslims who clearly don't follow their own religion have the nerve to comment on the way others practice it.

Things didn’t improve much when I got to work. I won't even bother commenting on the high school bullshit I had to deal with, but suffice it to say that I'm now officially unhappy at my job. I'm really, really sad that this job is so unsatisfying. I know the first year of teaching at school is the toughest, and I don’t think I would mind the tough bit so much, but there’s something about these kids that’s just so…uninspiring. I feel like my workday is a burden and I’m afraid that this is going to start showing pretty soon if things don’t get better.

During lunch I went to check my e-mail and found one from my ex. Five years ago I dated this guy who cheated on me. It was a bad time in my life not because of the cheating but because my friend knew that he was cheating on me and never told me. To deal with his betrayal was hurtful. To deal with hers was devastating. It took a while for us to get past it and become genuine friends again.

So, five years later he sends me an e-mail with his phone number asking me to call him. It took two seconds for me delete his e-mail and put it out of my head. The memories that were stirred, however, added to the lousy day.

End of the workday. Nothing else can go wrong, right?

I had to go into the city after work for a doctor’s appointment. After my appointment I was walking back to the subway, ignoring the world, basically hoping that the day would just wrap up. A short, olderish man tried to stop me and said, “excuse me”. I ignored him and kept on walking. I just wasn’t in the mood for anything.

Seven steps into my stride I started feeling guilty. What if this man needed directions? What if nobody stopped for him? So I turned around. I wouldn’t have been able to have slept through the night if I hadn’t.

“Sir, do you need any help?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “can you look at this?”

I looked down to the paper in his hand to see a picture of his penis. Son of a bitch.

Perfect ending for a lousy day, don't you think?

Just one of the many facets of my job

2006-11-06T19:40:00.000-05:00

My class is currently finishing a project we're doing on the Middle Ages. They were assigned to be roving reporters who have traveled to the past in order to find out how societies impact the future. The unit has been taking much longer than I expected and we're finally in the process of wrapping it up. The next couple of days will be spent on creating our newscasts and then we can move on to experience the fascinating world of the Crusades.

Last week they were getting their newscast transcripts together when one group, out of nowhere, started screaming and jumped away from their table. I asked them to calm down and tell me what was wrong and one girl managed to tell me that she saw a roach on the table.

Great. Remember what happened the last time I saw a roach?

The rest of the class (mostly girls) started screaming and jumped on their chairs. The boys were laughing, but I saw that they were uncomfortable too.

I demanded they all relax and quiet down. I looked at the table and couldn't see the roach. When I looked under the table it was there, chilling. I started looking around for something I could use to kill it. I couldn't take off my shoes quickly enough since I had boots on. The only other things around me were books and there was no way I was going to abuse a book like that. I'm trying to teach these kids that books are treasures and using one to kill a roach would have undone weeks of work. I managed to find a file folder that I use to put the kids' homework in, so I opted for that.

I took out their homework, folded the folder in half, and looked under the table. The roach was not moving from its post and so I had to shake the table a bit to get it excited. It finally moved and made its way to the top of the table, prompting another round of screams. I, of course, was screaming in my head but remained composed in front of the class. I yelled at the kids again to relax and took my folder and wiped out the roach.

It was squished onto the folder so I just threw the whole thing out. I got a paper towel, wiped off the remains, and got the class back on track.

The girls now think I'm awfully brave and the boys think I'm totally cool. During lunchtime I had a fleet of students, both mine and others, come to my door and ask if it's true that I killed a giant roach with my own bare hands. Others asked if it was true that I killed a battalion of roaches without blinking. It was as if I were Mickey Mouse in The Brave Little Tailor.

And They Say Chivalry is Dead

2006-11-02T19:40:00.000-05:00

About a year ago at the gym I got into a fight with this troll of a woman who gave me a nasty attitude.

I was on the treadmill, running, adrenalin pumping, feeling good, when she tapped me on my waist. I took my headphones off and heard her say, "excuse me, but how long are you going to be?" I pointed to the time on the treadmill; I was too out of breath to answer her question. "Well, I need to use the machine and you're taking too long. You should get off."

I was so taken aback that I told her I'd cut the time short and that I needed just another ten minutes. I put my headphones back on and as I was running I started wondering what the hell possessed me to acquiesce to her inappropriate command. I had never been spoken to like that in my life and I guess the demand just threw me off balance. Who in the world talks to people like this?

I ran faster, pissed off at myself for having allowed this horrid woman to talk to me like that. I saw her reflection in the mirror standing behind me, waiting for me to get off. When exactly ten minutes had passed by she came and tapped me on the waist again.

"I'm not getting off. Go to another treadmill," I managed to say between breaths.

"But you said you only needed ten minutes!"

"I am NOT getting off. Use another treadmill."

"BUT YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO USE THE MACHINES FOR SO LONG IF SOMEONE WANTS TO USE THEM!"

"Listen. You see that sign right there? That sign says machine use is limited to 30 minutes during PEAK hours. We're not in peak hours. And what's more, there's a treadmill right there you can use."

"But I don't like that treadmill."

"I am NOT getting off."

I couldn't believe her nerve! WHO DOES THAT??????! What I really wanted to do was get off the treadmill and say, "Here you go ma'am. You need this workout more than I do." But that would have been rude and if there's one thing I'm not, it's rude.

I went to the gym after work today to release a lot of pent up frustration. Between shit at work, home, and with the boyfriend this past week I've been just about ready to take a gun and shoot myself in the head. It was either going to the gym or to the morgue.

I'm on the treadmill again. And guess who shows up. I saw her from the corner of my eye and although bad memories crept up I didn't think that our paths would really cross. Fifteen minutes into my workout I find her standing next to the treadmill.

"Excuse me, but how long are you going to take?"

NO WAY is this happening again. I stared at her and told her I had 45 minutes left. She looked at the time on the treadmill and said, "but that means you'll have been working out for an hour. You can't do that."

NO WAY IS THIS HAPPENING AGAIN. I mean really, what are the chances?

"I'm not getting off this treadmill. Use another one."

She recognized me and muttered something under her breath.

"Excuse me, I didn't hear you." I'm still running, not skipping a step.

"I said I remember you. You've been working out for a year and you've still got a fat ass."

Oh no she didn't. She did NOT just talk about my ass like that.

I slammed my hand down on the emergency stop button. Now, I'm not a fighter. The last time I got into a physical fight was over 20 years ago and it was only because I needed to defend myself. But my fat ass was about to pound her shitty one into a pulp. Blame it on the pumped adrenalin and the horrible week.

The only thing that saved this woman was the man working out next to me. As I was about to step off the treadmill I heard him say to her, "If you had this woman's ass maybe you'd get laid more often and you wouldn't have that nasty attitude".

I wonder if it's still chivalry if a man defends your honor from a woman's catty remarks...

Let's Talk About Sex

2006-10-31T17:12:00.000-05:00

Here's how my Advisory class went today:

Me: "Okay ladies, let's settle down. We have a lot to discuss today since last week you were whining, crying, and wasting time. Today we are going to talk about sex."

Stunned silence, immediately followed by:

"Miiiiiiiiissssssss, I don't wanna talk about sex!!!!"
"MISS, I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT SEX, WE DON'T NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT!"
"But Miss, this is embarrassing!"
"MISS!!! We can't talk about this! We're girls! Boys talk about sex all the time, but we can't!"

I hated hearing that. Sex is not something girls talk about. It's just something that's done to them apparently.

Me: "Ladies, sex is on our agenda today. While I don't want any of you having sex now or anytime soon, you need to know this information so you can make informed decisions in the future. If only the boys know things, and I guarantee you that everything they know is WRONG, you will be at a disadvantage. I am here as a trusted adult who will try to answer all your questions as honestly as possible. Who else are you going to be able to go to for real answers? I know this is a very personal topic, and we are not going to go into your lives. This is a general discussion about sex."

I then put the girls at different tables, gave them small sheets of paper, and told them that they could to write any question in the world they had about sex anonymously. They'd then throw the papers into a bag and I'd answer them as much as I could.

I have to admit I myself did not want to have this conversation. As they were writing and stuffing the bag with their questions, I was getting very nervous. While I've never shied away from sexual talk, I've never had to sit in a room with ten teenage girls to talk about the birds and the bees.

I started our discussion by asking them what they thought sex was. One of the major problems we've got with teenagers in NYC right now is the fact that the boys have managed to convince the girls that oral sex is NOT sex. The boys have also managed to convince girls that it's not sex if they just put the head of their penis into their vagina. That would preserve virginity, they say, so it's not sex. And they wouldn't be able to get pregnant.

So we went through a brief definition of what sex is and is not and I introduced them to Monica Lewinsky and the infamous blow job. They were SHOCKED to know that a president of the United States was involved in such a scandal!

My poor girls. Everytime I said the word "oral sex" their faces turned 342 different shades of red.

Here are some of the questions they threw in the bag:

Why do boys like to have their thingies sucked?
How can you get pregnant? Be specific please.
Can a girl get pregnant if she has sex standing up?
Can you get pregnant if you have sex when you have your period?
How do gay people have sex?
Does it hurt the first time you have sex?
Does it hurt more for girls or boys to have sex for the first time?
Why do boys get horny?
Why do boys like to masturbate?
Why do we have to suck boys' thingies?
Why do boys like touching girls' bodies?
What is a wet dream?
Why do people have sex before marriage?
Why are boys stupid?
What happens if a girl never has sex?
What happens if a girl has sex everyday?
What happens if a girl has sex with many different people?
Is it true that a boy can die from blue balls?

Now, this is just a SHORT collection of the questions in that bag. We managed to get through only three questions in our hour together. We could not go through one question without the girls giggling, turning red, and hiding their faces. When I said the word "ejaculation" I thought they were going to drop dead. They were SO uncomfortable, but were also genuinely curious about the answers.

Even though they pretended like they didn't want to listen you could see the antennas come up, especially when we were talking about pregnancy. It was so hard and so uncomfortable talking to these ladies about pre-cum. I myself didn't learn about pre-cum till my 20s. I've got some male friends who still have no idea what it is. Granted the chances of getting pregnant from pre-cum are lower than ejaculation, but it's still something they need to know. Especially since boys will try to convince them that it's not so important to use a condom until they're almost about to "burst".

So, my ladies are absolutely disgusted by oral sex. I've never seen a group so grossed out by something. And I guess it makes sense. A 14 year old girl can never see the appeal of something that sounds so repulsive; putting a boy's thingie in your mouth??? The same thingie they use to pee with???? GROSS.

You wanna know what the boys did in their Advisory class? Our boys made balloons out of the condoms and stuck them around the school. I told my girls that when they are embarrassed, they blush and giggle. When boys are embarrassed, they act stupid.

Next week I bring in pictures of the vagina so the girls can know what their hidden parts look like.

Herlock, where you be at?

2006-10-31T07:42:00.000-05:00

I subscribe to the feeds of some blogs that I read regularly and was surprised not so long ago when I received a published feed from Herlock that talked about poker. I couldn't understand a word of it. I thought Herlock was just trying to be funny, but it's obvious that his blog has been usurped.

Herlock, wherefore art thou?