Oh, Twenty Oh Six

Meretricious and a Happy New Year.

- Gore Vidal (1925 - ) U.S. novelist and essayist.

New Year's Eve isn't that big a deal in our household. The only one time I really celebrated it was last year when most of my brothers, my sister, and I were finally in the same place at the same time. It was more of an impromptu reunion than anything, really.

But anyway, just for the heck of it, here's a fresh batch of New Year's resolutions to back up the ones I wrote down not two months ago [most of which I haven't even started doing]:

1. Minimize the fronting. One day, all my little untruths will rise into one huge whale that would swallow me whole. The funny thing is, I come up with the most outrageous lies. Those are the ones I feel really good about. LOL.

2. Keep my room organized for a minimum of 12 hours at the very least. [Good luck with this one].

3. Drink 8 glasses of water a day.

4. Be less absent-minded to improve my memory and attention span.

5. Stop being such a wuss. More often than not, when faced with something I'm not capable of overcoming, I whimper and retreat to a pathetic corner. Be more tough. Think G.I. Jane. Think "Suck my d*ck."

Now that I've got them down, they all sound so simple. Easy-peasy. But knowing myself, I'll be lucky if I can achieve at least one of them.

So, like I always say, baby steps. Baby steps.

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny

Is there anyone in my immediate circle of influence quite nearly as sexy as Johnny Depp playing Roux in the film Chocolat?

Stupid question, of course. Let me rephrase that.

Is there ANYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD so on and so forth?

I can only think of one other person:

Johnny Depp in Once Upon A Time In Mexico.

Or... or... Johnny Depp in What's Eating Gilbert Grape?.

Or else, Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Carribean.

Well, I don't know. He surpasses himself. I'd like to have him for New Year's Eve.

Watching TV

Outrageous

Well, there you have it. My secret mundane obsession with showbusiness packaged in one little trendy reality show that I will follow religiously from here on till its expected television demise.

I've been watching Britney and Kevin Chaotic, and despite the fact that I'd been trashing her about jumping on the Reality TV bandwagon prior to this, I find that I'm immensely enjoying it. I should've known I'd be so into it since I "secretly" admire and look up to the pop princess (as does Jhie, with whom I've spent many a weeknight watching Britney's concerts on video). Besides, her show is a far, far cry from Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey's now-defunct NEWLYWEDS, an utterly annoying sitcom that warrants a whole other blog entry. Anyway, it has me thinking that even if and when Britney and Kevin's relationship ends up in divorce, it looks like they had fun in the amount of time it took them to videotape their lives. And Kevin's kinda cute. Of course I can't help but feel sorry for him, because he is surely going to feel inferior at one point or another, especially when he realizes that there is nothing he can do that Britney can't do (and pay for) better. Right now, it's all well and good since he's obviously still in that starstruck phase. Oh, well. I've only just started Season 1.

What's even sillier than this obsession is the fact that now, I have this ridiculous notion in my head that Britney and I are a lot alike! Minus the body, minus the dance moves, minus The Face, minus the fame, minus the wealth, the energy, and the voice [what-the-fudge there's nothing left]. I mean, she's goofy just like I am. Aren't we so alike?

Parental Guidance

I love my dad to pieces. But if there's one thing I hate, it's watching movies at home with him. I was watching Unfaithful the other night when he saunters in and settles comfortably on the bed (I sit on the floor). Enter the wild fornication scenes. It's not exactly porno, but I can feel my dad watching my face for some reaction. I mean. Dude. Can't a girl watch the hot scene with the hot Italian guy in peace? So I hold my breath all throughout the obscenities and pray that my face wasn't beet red.

Otherwise, my dad's real cool. Here he is mocking me:

Pity She Doesn't Know

"Answer me this:
When I see the sea once more,
Will the sea have seen or not seen me?"

- Viggo Mortensen as the Master Chief, G.I. Jane

Pity she doesn't know
Songs were written for her,
Pages were filled with words that worshipped her.
Does she know tears were shed for her?
Nights and twilights spent staring at the ceiling
In remembrance of events that would've taken place
Had she known.

Pity she doesn't know
The mind she has plagued, the place where she's lived, not knowing,
and the people she lived with in that colorful vastness.
I wonder if she knows how many times
Her name has been written,
Or if she knows what heart holds her.

She doesn't know the stories told about her,
Who has heard of her.
She's never seen nor felt the pedestal she's been put up on,
Never looked into the eyes of the mind that sees her.
She's never closed her eyes against the dizzying whirlwind
The romance that attempted to break her free-fall.

Pity he never told her.

Pity she never knew.

- November 2005

Boys, Boys, Boys, Boys

What I've Learned From The People & Things I Love, Part II

I have always surrounded myself with boys. Boys of varying natures, men, guys, boys-who-think-they're-men, boys-who-like-girls, and boys-who-like-girls-to-be-boys.

Bond. James Bond.

** My Brothers. I have a special bond with each of my brothers.

Omar - the one I can speak to about love and life in general. We wax political, we discuss books, and watch indie films together. Our bond is: complicated love stories.

Amir - the one I sing with. He has a beautiful singing voice, MashaAllah. Our bond is: karaoke.

Waleed - the one I share a circle of friends with, He's also the one who gets all my jokes, bland, lame, or otherwise. Our bond is: common friends and humor.

Zen - the one I've never had a fight with. We just never clash. He's also allegedly the best-looking from among them. (sure, man). Our bond is: laughter, and good & bad times.

Adnan - is the one I clash with the most. He's also the best writer in the family (second only to yours truly, of course). Adnan is also very sensitive. Our bond is: creative writing and Hanson's "Penny and Me".

Pollock - is my adopted son. We have five years between us, and I was always responsible for him. I check his grades (in college), I check his asthma medication, and we share a bedroom and a bathroom. He's the best guitarist in the bunch. Our bond is: movie one-liners and music.

Ayman - is the one I have the least in common with. The only thing we can do together is smoke. Also, we trash silly Korean soap opera plots. We have too many years apart, so we don't really hang out a lot. Our bond is: trashing people and soap operas.

Othman - our baby brother, is possibly the wierdest. Othman has a keen attention to detail, and in fact, borders obsessive compulsiveness. Our bond is: food and watching movies ten times over.

** My nephews. As if I didn't have enough brothers to bodyguard me, I adopted these two as my additional siblings.

PJ - my maternal nephew. He grew up with us in the same household, and shared a childhood. We were inseparable during in freshman college. Our bond is: college life.

Khaldon - a.k.a. G.I. Joe., a fantastic guitarist. We were partners when it came to sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night for a game of billiards. Our bond is: guitars and rebellion.

** My "boyfriends". I gravitate towards guys. In grade school, I had several girl friends, but twice as many guy friends. In college, I had a group of rowdy boys as buddies.

Onat - is my oldest guy friend. He is the only guy outside of my family that I would trust enough to live with and even share a bedroom with. Our bond is: money and road trips.

Alfie - My brother Waleed's best friend. We share a Saudi history. He would drive me around in his white jeep, and he would do me special favors, like the one time I craved pizza in the middle of the night and he helped me look around for a 24-hour pizza place. Our bond is: driving around and Maranao culture.

Nebil - also Waleed's best friend. He educated me in the ways of music. Has been my friend since 1st grade. Our bond is: life and music.

Tam-Tam - my nephew. We share a family history, and we were good friends in grade school. In college, we hung out together, went broke together, and flunk college together. Our bond is: post-adolescence idealism and R&B.

Kaka Archie - also my nephew (Tam-tam's older brother). He was my rock. He literally picks me up whenever I trip, and he's the most reliable among my friends. Our bond is: techie gadgets and family scandals.

Yahya - my drinking buddy. We deny knowing each other to avoid unnecessary gossip. Our bond is: fortune tellers and phone conversations.

Micks - the lover boy. He's very picky about girls, and has a cruel sense of humor. He's also very loyal. Our bond is: conversations about the "future" and stupid jokes.

Khalid - the sweetest guy in the group. He's the resident pretty-boy, too. Our bond is: foreign films at the university cinema and a pair of white-stained shorts.

Yamani - possibly the funniest guy I know. His sense of humor will take him places. Our bond is: serious conversation laced with crazy-ass jokes.

Ibnu - the 5-second man. He's the one I call for academic advice. Our bond is: career paths and long-standing jokes.

Majed - a relatively new friend. He has educated me in the ways of the Saudi. Our bond is: Saudi Arabia and the Arabic language.

** I have learned that guys tend to bullshit less when it comes to true friendship. I hang out with them because they treat me with respect and at the same time treat me as an 'equal'. I've also learned that it is much easier to talk to guys because they give it to you straight.

All Things Random

20 Random Things About Myself:

1. I hate when my brothers squeeze the toothpaste tube right in the middle, and then NOT replace the cap.

2. We laugh at Kevin Bacon, his "Now what?" films and silly heartthrob roles, but I very secretly think he's HOT.

3. You know those ridiculous romantic scenes where lovers play around, usually with a hose, spraying water at each other or running along the beach in SLOW MOTION, with some old school funk / R&B or soul track playing in the background? I've always wished it would happen to me. ESPECIALLY the slow motion part.

4. Sometimes when my nails are long, the nail on my right index finger [which I use to write with] digs into my middle finger, so I wrap a tissue around my middle finger while I write to cushion it.

5. My favorite pair of shoes hurt like hell, but they look so fabulous that I wear them nonetheless.

6. I've memorized ALL the words to Air Supply's greatest hates BECAUSE I hate them.

7. I can't close my eyes when I'm singing a song because I always have to look at my fingers while I strum the guitar.

8. I list the books I've read, including the date I finished reading them, to get an average of how many books I read in a month. My average for the last three months is 3.

9. I buy cassette tapes [in Jeddah] at record stores because my CD player is not working [hasn't been for years now] and I've never gotten around to having it fixed. Tapes cost less, anyway, so it works for me.

10. I make most of my critical decisions in the shower.

11. I sneak out office supplies from my workplace: bond paper, board markers, glue sticks, paper clips, etc. The key word here is: UNCONSCIOUSLY. [sure]

12. I arrange the books on my bookshelves according to their publishing house[s], from Bantam to Random House.

13. My greatest fear in a Karaoke bar is that someone picks and sings the song that I've practiced singing for the longest time.

14. I am alternately embarrassed and insulted by bad films and bad actors. My favorite bad film is: Solaris, which starred George Clooney.

15. I have dreams of my best guy friend [nothing sexual, you pervert]. Sometimes I dream of him getting married [where I'm his best "man"], sometimes of him becoming a millionaire, sometimes of him getting shot.

16. I'm still very unsure of when and when not to use the word "whom".

17. My best guy friends think that my ultimate flirtation pick-up line is LAME. But it's worked for me EVERY SINGLE TIME.

"My one greatest dream is (to) ___________ [insert activity that guy-being-picked-up does best].

Worked once with a DJ at a club when I came up to him and said: "My one greates dream is to get inside a DJ's booth and get a panoramic view of the party below." That DJ has been a great family friend to this date, and we have been on guest lists at parties and getting free drinks ever since.

18. At "hard-core" Maranao parties, I can't think of anything to say beyond "How are you?" since everything you say to a Maranao can and will be used against you. Most of the time I just smile and pretend I don't speak Maranao.

19. I love MINT. Mint chocolates, mint on my tea, peppermint, mint lotion, mint shampoo, and mint green.

20. Sometimes I grin at myself in the bathroom mirror for about 5 minutes, then abruptly turn off the lights to freak myself out. I always expect someone standing behind me when I turn the lights back on.

Do you know a random thing about me that I don't? [Not you, Druggie, I know what you're going to say. Hahaha.]

In Memory Of

Dear Nhurzy,

It hurts.

Everytime I hear your name it hurts me, a dull, numbing, physical pain.

I look at our photo albums, any album, and it hurts. It hurts when I go through all the photos I've accumulated throughout my entire life and I realize that for the first 15 years you were in every other photo.

It hurts like hell when everything in my life has a connection to you because of our shared history.

When I turn on the computer, when I open all my online accounts, my websites, and I see how you're ever-present, everywhere, it hurts.

Everytime I cry, there's a hollow, right in the middle of my heart, where it hurts the most.

Remember when we used to dance? The Pandanggo Sa Ilaw, was it? The Itik-Itik dance? The crazy dance steps you taught us?

Remember our stupid Boyzone parties at Suad's house? Where we'd spend all night watching their music videos? Oh, I remember now, you hated them. You were there to make fun of us and how we loved those "faggots".

Remember our football jerseys in Sophomore High? Go Lakers? You used to wear the jersey bunched up at the tummy and tied in a knot to show off your abs.

Remember the Detroit Pistons and the love of our life, Grant Hill?

Remember when we used to wear nothing underneath our abayas because no one would notice anyway? You taught us how to wear our tarhas a certain way, like a trademark, you me, Ice. You know, press it against our foreheads then tie it at the back? So we look gangsta while we walked around and around the school campus under the sweltering sun?

Remember our middle-finger photos?

Remember the videotapes we made? Spoof music videos, speeches, dedications, dancing, head-banging, monkeying around?

Remember the times we were all together as a family? Suad? Jehanifah? Latifah? Ayesha? You? Me? At Ayesha's house eating Indomie after skipping classes? The Busaw Family? Do you remember?

Do you remember how much fun we had?

Do you remember when we suddenly grew up? When we suddenly had breasts and our periods and suddenly Mozi was the "cutest" guy in the universe?

Do you remember your cats? All six or seven of them? I don't remember how many, but I'm sure YOU remember. You had names for every single one of them, remember? They were your babies.

Do you remember that time you and your baby sister came to spend a night in our house and she cried because we didn't have corn flakes and she wanted to eat corn flakes?

Remember how we used our brothers as postmen for our letters? Remember what your letters said? "Ness, if you really like Allan, I'm sorry but he just came to my house and asked me to have sex with him." Crazy-ass stuff like that. My father once received a letter from you on my behalf coz I wasn't home, and he was outraged. We were 13 years old then.

Remember the fights? When we fought? We were divided then. Latifah fainted. Suad and Jehanifah were screaming obscenities. Ice was just whimpering in the corner. You and I moved left and right and screamed obscenities, too. Putangina mo!! Miyabunu ka!! No one would come near us because we were the Maranao girls and our rage terrified the shit out of them.

Remember when you first came to Manila and you sent us that voice tape? You hated Manila. And your first day in your new school was a disaster. You sent us pictures. Lots of them. Then we sent you back a million voice tapes and a huge bottle of Jeddah's finest and cheapest shatta Hot Sauce, your favorite.

Do you remember when things changed in college? The incident with your ugly-ass maid? How we laughed about your foolishness?

You were always mischievous, but you were NEVER DISHONEST.

Do you remember when you came to our Manila townhouse and we locked ourselves in my room with two packs of Marlboro Lights? We didn't even have Coca Cola to cool our throats with, but it was alright, we couldn't afford it anyway.

Do you remember the last time we'd ever be together? Our reunion right before I came back to Jeddah not six months ago? At the karaoke bar with Jehanifah and Jiehan? Beer, song, and cigarettes? The stupid tambourines ever-present at Korean videoke bars? I was in my "tennis-slash-badminton" outfit then, because I had to pretend I was going out to hit some balls when I was really going out with my friends. Remember how you drove Jiehan's car?

Do you remember last week how we chatted on Yahoo? You were teasing me about my love life. I was teasing you about your new car. Dude, I love your car and I haven't even seen it. "Fuck you, Ness," you said.

Do you remember the last words you told me?

"Miyasokaran ka, Baboy. Love ya, Nessreen."

I didn't reply. I signed out because you were pissing me off royally, you freaking bitch.

Do you remember?

Because I do. It hurts to remember. I choke. I'm out of breath. With the pain.

Do you remember two days ago how Jehanifah and I talked on the phone and cried and laughed at the same time, saying how this sounded like the kind of prank you would pull on us to get our attention?

Do you remember how she and I, we said, "This is unreal. This is a dream. She can't be gone."

Do you remember last night how I cried and my parents didn't know what to do with me? My grief had taken residence in my room. It stayed with me and followed me around the house. I cried because I lost you. We lost you. I cried because I didn't know how painful it was for you and I wished and wished and cried and wished some more and prayed that you went quickly and painlessly.

Do you remember?

No?

You don't?

Is that why it hurts?

It hurts me that I have to ask for your forgiveness now. Forgive me for all the wrong I've done, for anything I've said to hurt you, for any gesture that made it look like I don't want you in my life anymore.

It hurts me like fucking hell that you will never read this.

We love you, sister girl. Always have, always will. We are family.

Rest in peace, Nhurzy. You're our number one girl. Sister. Friend. Soulmate. Yosi-Buddy. Family.

A Few Good Deaths

I've been having weird dreams lately, and I couldn't figure out what they were all supposed to mean, or if they had any meaning at all. But yesterday, I think I found my meaning. We could've perished in a domestic accident had it not been for my weird dream. In my dream, a friend and I were headed home from work and hailed a taxi. As soon as we got in, an awful smell immediately assaulted our olfactories. I signaled to my friend this discovery by waving my hand rapidly up and down whilst pinching my nose. It was an unnecessary gesture, as she already had her hand over both her nose and her mouth. It smelled of sweat and gym socks in that there cab, but we were already moving, and it was so hard to get a taxi in those parts. So we stuck it out. We were laughing quietly a little later when the smell changed. It became smoky, like barbecuing a pair of overused gym socks. I mouthed "Geez!!" to my friend who chocked back her laughter. The driver raised his eyes to the rearview mirror and looked at us. Suddenly, he turned into a burnt piece of flesh, and I screamed and screamed as a great smoke took over the whole cab.

Then I woke up. There WAS smoke in my room. I ran out to the hallway where there was MORE smoke. I stifled a scream, just so I wouldn't inhale too much of the smoke, and ran back inside my room where I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my head [at this point, I felt very heroic and smart about grabbing the towel, like those gorgeous firemen in Third Watch would've asked me to]. I slowly made my way to the kitchen where, on the stove, a pot of shrimp was smoldering. My mom had fallen asleep while waiting for it to cook. Being a sissy, I ran to my mom's room, screamed my head off to wake her up, and told her that she needed to do something quick. My poor mom jumped up, turned off the fire, turned on the exhaust fan, and started to right the house. My brothers were in their room, which was right next to the kitchen, sleeping like babies.

So. Am I a hero, or what?

After that close brush with death, I felt so thankful for surviving the potential fire. I mean, if I was going to die at the age of 22, I would rather it be of something a little less domestic. Something more amusing, perhaps. My friend Marj suggested a few good deaths, to which I added my own:

* Death By Chocolate - But that's awfully over-rated, I say.
* Death By Repetitive Music-Playing
* Death By Potato Chips -Some of which are on the chin still at the time of death. But how unglamorous.
* Death By Korean Soap Operas -Possibly in the middle of a confrontation between the poor leading lady and the leading man's rich snob of a mom.
* Death By Lack Of Imagination
* Death By Arrogance
* Death By Excessive Celebration of Youth
* Death By Confusion
* Death By Conceptual Overload
* Death By Excessive Thought
* Death By Hardened-Booger Pursuit [i.e. pangungulangot]

"Dying is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well."

- Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963); U.S. poet and novelist.

Hair Ye, Hair Ye

What does a good hairdresser have in common with a bad hairdresser?

They both possess the tremendous [and sometimes evil] power to change your life: One for the better, the other for a whole lot worse.

For hair mavens such as myself, finding the right hairdresser is like finding the right guy. You want to rely on your instincts; you can always tell what the hairdresser is like from the moment you sit on her chair. The way she talks to you, the way she examines the shape of your face, the way she sifts through your hair and parts it this way and that.

So I don't understand why I went through with the haircut anyway. There were tell-tale signs right from the start. For one thing, she never asked me any questions about how I wanted it cut. She had a magazine ready, and as soon as I pointed out the hairstyle I wanted, a-snipping she went, no examination, no sifting, no "where do you usually part your hair?". And there I sat, submissive, cowed, while she scooped generous handfuls of my hair, snip snip snip. At one point, I started to resist. But she very quietly pushed me back into my chair, and carried on cutting away my life, my hair. See, I didn't think I could fight her off. She was very insistent and noiselessly rough. Of course it was when I got home safe and considerably far away from her evil, abusive clutches that I started entertaining thoughts of having her murdered. I mean, I was violated! She practically RAPED my hair!! No foreplay, no sweet nothings, just reckless clipping!

When I came into the beauty parlor, I had in my head visions of Drew-Barrymore-hair, Fever Pitch-style. After all, we had the same hair type, and so it would be so much easier for me to emulate her, sweeping bangs, waves, and all. What the witch [her name's JOSIE] gave me was 80s-inspired bangs. The type that reminds me of when I was 6 years old and my "dalaga" aunts would come visit us with their overpowering perfume, crimped hair, and bangs that looked like hats. The kind that makes you think of Madonna in Material Girl. Especially since I have frizzy hair. It's not all well and good, because this is just one of those trends that never made a comeback. And there's a reason why: it's horribly unflattering. I look like a freaking... maid. With outdated hair. I got out of the parlor with Helen Hunt's hairdo in her ancient sitcom Mad About You.

I am fuming, outraged, livid right now. But let me tell you something. Just like we never learn from past relationships with Asshole-Syndrome characters, we never learn from our mistakes with a terribly under-experienced hairdresser. You'll be reading about another horrible experience at yet another untried and untested beauty salon in six months, perhaps after i see yet another film that stars Drew Barrymore or Mandy Moore with that great, star-quality hair.

Oi, vei. Women.







"You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair."
-Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898) British writer and mathematician.

The Desk Has Spoken

What's on my desk:

* A glass full of colored paper clips.
* Post-its in leaf and arrow shapes.
* A Starbucks Arabia mug full of pens and pencils.
* Berlitz instructor's manuals for adults and kids.
* A Berlitz magazine.
* Ikea's 2005 catalogue.
* Arabian Woman and Emirates Woman magazines.
* Unmarked essays in a folder submitted by my freshman college students.
* Lemony Snicket: A Series of Unfortunate Events VCD I borrowed from BemBem.
* A tube of Mentos Mints.
* A lilac-colored lighter.
* A bunch of mismatched socks and stockings.
* Grocery receipts.
* Books: "Longman's Synonyms Dictionary" and "The Right Word At The Right Time".
* Juz 'amma [Qur'an] tapes my Mom left on it.
* My 2005 appointment diary.
* A mini Nivea hand lotion bottle.
* An oversized calculator.
* A red stapler that doesn't work.
* Index cards with a list of irregular verbs.
* A bag of 5-week-old nuts.
* A heart-shaped dish with potpourri.
* Folders and files.
* Scratch papers.
* A little notebook of quotations that I compiled.
* A picture of the Elephant Rock in Saudi Arabia that my student Yazeed gave me.

What I think they say about me:

* I'm an English teacher. [Tsk.] And apparently, not a very good one.
* I attempt to organize my stuff by using cliche office supplies. Some of which don't work.
* I'm in charge of matching the socks in the fresh-laundry basket but I've never gotten around to doing it.
* My students think I'm an elephant and therefore am interested in my fellow elephants.
* I read glossies when I should make lesson plans.
* I watch movies I've seen over and over again.
* I'm a boring, bored nerd.

What does your desk say about you?

Enough About Me...

... let's talk about me. *Hihihi* As it turns out, I don't know myself half as much as these quizzes do! Let's see, shall we?


You're Andie Anderson(Kate Hudson - ('How to Lose A Guy In 10 Days')
You're smart, beautiful, and ambitious. You have
life going for you in every possible way.
You're true to yourself and to others. You may
make some mistakes along the way, but you don't
cover them up.
Your vintage styling and girl next door persona
makes you an instant trendsetter and everyone's
friend.
You feel just as confortable in silk and heels as
you do in blue jeans on the back of a Harley.You're a wonderful friend, looking for ways to
bring sunshine and laughter to people's lives.You take yourself seriously, but not too seriously.
You express yourself through a public medium,
encouraging feedback and honesty.
All in all you're the Ray of Light.

Which Romantic Comedy Heroine Are You?

** Won't you look at that. Kate Hudson. I wanna be like her when I wake up.

What I've Learned From The People and The Things I Love

The most important things we can learn in life are in the people and things around us. It can be found in the periphery – in-between classes while waiting for the next professor, in those moments while you’re walking from here to your destination, or in brief elevator rides. It can be found in the seconds right before you burst into tears, or in the recurrent beat of a song. In this ultimate age of epiphany, I have unearthed a treasure of discoveries from those I love.

Friends

“It is important to our friends to believe that we are unreservedly frank with them, and important to friendship that we are not.” - MIGNON MCLAUGHLIN

I am blessed with a multitude of friends. From them, I have learned that we have various friends for the various aspects of our personalities. The only people I am ever truly honest with [outside of my immediate family, of course] are my three closest friends.

Jiehan and I get along because of our tastes in fashion and the other superficial aspects of life. We have always been dedicated to the cause of popularity for popularity's sake. I have always been obsessed with the tangibles and the superficial. This may not always be understood by my more philosophical friends, but Jiehan does, and she indulges me. Being slaves to the retail industry, we bond in beauty parlors during hour-long foot spas and hair treatments, reading glossies, watching MTV and fashion TV, and frequenting night-haunts in plush clubs of our generation, armed with our chandelier earrings and excruciatingly high stilletoes. We also have an unbreakable faith in Chinese soap operas.

Marjorie, on the other hand, is my ally. We share principles in life. We wax political, intellectual, and spiritual. Our friendship was concretized in college where, side by side, we fought for our rights and stood our ground against people who did us wrong. We were not always successful, but we can say we tried our best. If I was a lawyer, she’d be the judge in my courtroom. If she was a nurse, I’d be the doctor in her emergency room. I’ve spent N-Thousand hours on the phone with Marj, talking about the philosophical implications of The Lord Of The Rings, and the possible life and times of Arnobi The Rabbit, the mascot of a junior supplement that comes with a leading newspaper here, and Paalle Bukhari, the man who faithfully served us soggy French Fries with Vinegar and Hot Sauce for most of our high school life. We spent several thousand hours more at the Sunken Garden of our university, lying on the grass, staring at the night sky, and weeping at our insights, new-found convictions, and lack thereof. It seemed highly unlikely back when we were 9-year-olds together in our grade school, but we now find ourselves always in the same country at the same time.

To balance this relatively good side of my personality, I have Jehanifah to help me disturb the peace. The only existence we know is in trying to fix something, some situation, some crooked idea or other. So that when we run out of things to fix, we inexorably destroy something, anything, in order to fix it. Jehanifah is my partner in crimes of passion, like when we stole romance novels from her sister’s collection and from this other girl who happened to have the book we’d been looking for. Much later, we would steal out into the night and belt out sappy songs at the local Karaoke bar with much fervor, boozing and burning sticks in-between songs. She and I suffer from – and revel in – the curse of friction, being too alike at times and too different at others.

I have learned that there is enough love to go around. When you make a new friend, you don't necessarily lose an old one. It's time we never have enough of.

… to be continued...

Trippin

Yup, ladies and cats, I'm still tripping about my teaching experience. I'm only realizing that teaching is a lot like acting on stage. You're up there, and all those people peering at you from behind their under-used books are under your mercy. You can cheat, steal, and lie. You can tell them your mother smuggled your brother in from Vietnam. You can give them grades based on your whims. [I did all that]. I'd like to share some of the best moments of my short experience.

** Earlier today, a student came up to me and said, "Teacher Nessreen, I miss you. I hate my new English professor. She's 57 years old and she doesn't know how to work an MP3 player." Aww. Sweet. All those times I was supposed to be teaching them gerunds but taught them how to browse the internet in English instead paid off. At least she hates the new professor more than she hated me.

** On one of review sessions with Level 1 English students, a girl was asked what she would say if she needed to ask information at the Heathrow airport in the UK. She said: "First, I would say, Execute me, Mister, can I ask?". Capital.

** Last summer, the cheekiest kid in my class [read: the student I hated most] asked me, tongue-in-cheek of course, "Teacher, what's the one thing you would like to eat right this moment?" I replied, "A big mac. Why? You gone whip it up, magic-like?" He didn't. What he DID do was call up someone on his mobile, and in 20 minutes, I had a Big Mac meal in my hands. Awwww. That was the best burger I had in my life. He was 9 years old. How can I hate him?

That's off the top of my head.

Life And Times

I am DONE teaching college girls up in here. The only good thing I had going was this office space I was loaned. On my last day, one of my students asked if I had really wanted to be a teacher ever since I was a kid. I did what any self-respecting non-teacher would've done: I swept my hand and snapped my finger at her face, and yelled "Heeeelllllll, naw!! Now, git! Git outta my face! You better work on that gotdamned book report before I whup you up and down with my grade book, you piece of shit." I mean, what, now I'm not good enough for them? Asking me all kinds of nasty shit like that? What was that question supposed to mean? That I hadn't been doing my job? That I hadn't been a good teacher to them and it showed? Well she'd right it gotdamned showed, they the worst students I had ever had the opportunity to teach! Hehe. Not really. I was just real hungry when she asked me. Afterwards, I was so guilty that I snapped at her that I went and did her book report for her. I buckled. I mean, something's gotta give, man.

Yalla, bye.

Ramadhan Mubarak

Trendy Al-Fayhaa District, where Dar Al-Hekma is situated. This is probably the smallest house in the area. The rest are versions of Michael Jackson's Never-Never-Land. Now, if I can get into one of them and just count the rooms, I'd be happy. I imagine there are at least 14 rooms in this one. At the very least.

Kullu 'amun wa antum bikhair!

Ramadhan 2005:
A chance to start over and maybe fast for the whole month for the first time in my life. I'm saying maybe. InshaAllah. It's not as commercialized this year as it was the past couple of years here in Jeddah, but the spirit is definitely out there. I have to work nights like a horse, but I'm fine with it. At least I get the days off, and I can finally catch Interview With A Vampire on Jeddah's very own HBO - MBC 2. Also, the Ramadhan sale season is just around the corner. That should be fun. The days are short for now, so we don't have to wait that long for iftar.

Ramadhan 2004:
Not even. I spent it with my brothers and Kaka Suge at our Manila townhouse, and it was crazy. I was working the graveyard shift at a call center, and there was a Muslim mohawk-hairstyled character who stalked me all over the office. I prayed Taraweeh at the Capitol Estates Mosque an amazing total of 2 times.

Ramadhan 2003:
Even crazier. Most nights were spent at the apartment that my brother Waleed shared with Dudut and Kaka Archie. I distinctly remember the lovely Oreo shakes Kaka Archie would whip up, the "Tram" card games with Kaka Sunny ["pi!" Sssssiiiinnnnoooonnnnggggg tatay mo, Kaka San-eh?], and sharing a pack of Marlboros with Kaka Omar to break our fast. Shameful. But good times.

Shariah has signed me up to be a member of her circle's book club. I'm pretty excited, because I've never been in a book club before. I'm not sure how it works, but I'm guessing book discussions [no duh]. It might be a little embarrassing once I fess up about my occasional Fabio indulgence. Currently, though, I'm reading Rani Manicka's Touching Earth, which I recommend to fellow book-people. It's a fantastic read on the search for truth, a quest we have all tried to embark on at one point or another.

In other news, my Dar Al-Hekma gig is almost up, and I am marra relieved, like you wouldn't believe. I've had it with bratty freshmen girls. For the record, Bitch, I did flash the middle finger at them, so many times in fact that my students have picked it up [you know how we flash the middle finger inside-out in Jeddah]. And for the finale, I am flunking two of the nastiest sumbitches in my class. Haha. They'll be kicked out of their program because of the F that I WILL give them. Thanks to you and me. I call it "making the world a better place". Sorry, Druggie, I couldn't resist. I wish I coulda been more like you.

Photo Op

For my brother Adnan, who's been asking for pictures.

Turtle Power
Anyone who's been to Sarawat [aka Souk Aj-Jiddah Ad-Dawlih], knows this old bastard. He's been around for the past two decades.







Chillin' At Chili's
I don't like the food at Chili's. In fact, I don't even like this cup of capuccino. But isn't it picture perfect?

Brought To Us By...

The closest thing to an alcoholic beverage here in Jeddah: non-alcoholic malt. I remember back in high school, when my clique [Joan, Jiehan, Jehanifah, Michelle] and I would sneak out of the school grounds to get our daily dose of Lemon Barbican from the baqalah. This was before we discovered the alcoholic variety in college.

Paging Roger Bus-Riders...

Who can ever forget Roger the bus driver and the crazy-ass records he used to play on the bus radio? "Brother Louie Louie Louie...." used to haunt my dreams. It was in this bus that I made my first best friend: Sarah Saifullah, Pakistani national. She spoke English and I spoke Maranao. Friendship transcends language.

To Teach A Mockingbird: Kill It

"Those who can't do, teach. And flunk those who can."

I hate teaching. I was always meant to be a bad student, not a good teacher. My students hate me, and I hate them twice as much. I bore them, and they bore me. They judge me by my heritage, and I judge them back by their physical appearance. No love lost here, can you tell? My friend and colleague Summer tells me I haven't been teaching long enough to complain about it. I don't need to be in this profession for long to know that I'm just not cut out for the job. But, Goddamnit, it's the only job available to me in this country! The only thing I can't complain about is the pay. I know I sound like such a brat just saying this, but I guess it's my exhaustion speaking right now. And it's getting tired, I know, but I want out. The search is not over.

The dialogue at Dar Al-Hekma College earlier today was a complete rip-off, IMHO. Where do they come off calling it an open forum when all the questions posed were left unanswered and skirted? What a disappointment. It could've been a great step forward for Saudi women, especially since the cream-of-the-media-crop was present: BBC, Fox, CNN. But questions such as "Why does the American media continue to project Saudi society in a negative light?" were obviously not the ones they wanted asked. Ambassador Hughes sounded nervous and fake the whole time. I can just imagine my students' reactions to the whole affair tomorrow in class when we discuss their feedback. They're probably expecting me to defend The West, since I'm teaching them Western culture and linguistics. I hate teaching college students [in addition to hating teaching in general]. I want to be on their side, not up there on the spotlight.

My faulty memory is a disgrace. I met a lot of people earlier today at the college, most of whom I have already met at some dinner function or other, apparently. Is there any way to ask a person his/her name when he/she remembers yours? Apart from the awkward one?

I was seated beside this obnoxious American lady during the first half of the dialogue; she's been in Jeddah for a month and already she wants to leave. She says her tarha [veil] is considered a hazard in Wisconsin where she's from, because some thief or mugger may easily come up behind her and strangle her with it. Thus her extreme distaste for it. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone attacked in such a manner. Hmmm... Death By Tarha. I had to leave her by herself, I was very uncomfortable with the ocean of difference between her and myself.

Death by Film

5 Films I Watch A Lot:

5. Pulp Fiction. You know what, any movie by Quentin Tarantino is worth watching hundreds of times over, IMHO, of course. His films have a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am feel about, sort of a no-bullshit bullshit approach. But Pulp Fiction was fantastic. I loved the soundtrack [Al Green's I'm So In Love With You], I loved the dialogue, I loved the humor, I loved Samuel Jackson's Ezekiel 25:17 speech, I loved Uma Thurman's OD scene, I loved Quentin's cameo, and I love John Travolta.

4. Snatch. Director Guy Ritchie is crazy. Cool, funny crazy. His films have a straightforward quality, just like Tarantino's, and I like that. Swept Away starring his wife Madonna was good, even though the people over at the Box Office didn't. His earlier film Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels is almost as good as Snatch, except it didn't star Brad Pitt and his crazy-ass Gypsy accent. This is probably the only film [before Troy] I liked that starred Brad Pitt because I really don't like Pitt in heartthrob roles. I wasn't bothered to watch Legends of The Fall, and I hated Meet Joe Black and Pitt's stupid peanut-butter-licking character. Sorry. Anyway, Benicio del Toro also starred in Snatch, and it featured his now-famous squint. The only other person who can squint as well as del Toro does is the original squint-er Bruce Willis, who in turn lent his squinting prowess in Pulp Fiction.

3. Face Off. Because I love John Travolta. I just do.

2. City of God. Man, that was some serious film-making there. Every time I watched it, I learned something new, some new insight, some new emotion, some new poignant conclusion, what-have-you. Plus, the soundtrack was fantastic. You can never go wrong with James Brown.

1. Pretty Woman. Who doesn't watch Pretty Woman over and over again, anyway? It's the classic Cinderella Story, made so much more special because it seems absolutely impossible and far-fetched.

Of Cowardice And Imminent Doom

Well, there you have it. A Filipina works so hard she busts her non-existent balls and where does it land her? A spot at the American presidential kitchen as chef. Congratulations. My hardworking fellow countryman is your fellow countryman's chef, cook, maid, ho, and whatever else degrading work you can hide behind a euphemism. I'm sorry if I sound very cynical or negative about it, but if I hear anyone telling me to look at the bright side of it one more time, I will burn my eyebrows, so help me. President Gloria is doing all the looking-at-the-bright-side for all of us, at that UN meeting where the microphones picked up her blushing comments to the American Presidents praises. Isn't it sad that we're doomed to be kitchen-people for the rest of our lives just because we happened to be the little-brown-brothers of our Caucasian superiors? We need our very own Martin Luther King, Jr. if that's the case.

I can't believe this guy, I swear to God. Bitch, you gotta help me. He was YOUR BOYFRIEND, too!! Hahaha. Okay, here's the lowdown on the downlow. Ten years ago, I had this nauseating crush on one of my distant cousins. You know, the cousins you have that are 400 times removed you wonder if you're even related at all? He was very good-looking at the time. Understand that he was maybe 13 years old back then. He had a striking resemblance to Ahmed Ash-Sharif, this Arab popstar. Anyway. Fast forward to a hundred years later. He has now become this obnoxious, dumb-ass, Usher-looking muthafucka who slings soap-opera one-liners my way every now and again. The worst part is that he keeps calling me Coz. The thing is, he's ten years late. If he'd thrown his bullshit at me when I was as dumb as he is now, I would've swooned and sacrificed my youngest brother's blood to a makeshift altar of his image I would've made in my room. So. How do you stave off unwanted attention and disgusting amorous advances? I mean, if he looked anything like Andy Garcia in The Godfather III, I wouldn't mind him calling me Coz, you know?

If any of y'all have information about this guy, please notify me immediately. He is wanted for causing personal unrest. His full name is Ragheb Alama, and he can be identified easily because his songs contain nothing but Habibi and Bahebbak, words that are potentially terrorrist-ic.

I am....BATMAN

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder where you're at!
Up above the world you fly!
Like a tea-tray in the sky!

- Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
British writer and mathematician
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

After watching four Batman movies one after the other in one sitting, I've decided that I've gathered enough vital information to make my own Batman movie. I know I am no Joel Schumacher or Tim Burton, but I know of no rule against wearing their shoes.

So, to make my very own Batman installation, I will need the following:

** Your support. Bear with me, it's going to be a box office hit.

** A Leading Man, of course. To play Batman. He would have to:

1. Be good-looking - the man every woman wants, and every man wants. To be, that is. I'm thinking along the lines of Post-Troy Brad Bitt. If Kevin Costner wasn't so old now, I would consider him for this part. We should remember that Bruce Wayne is eternally 30-something, so it was probably a mistake casting George Clooney who was fast-approaching 50 at that time. Val Kilmer was okay, except there was something disturbing about his nose... Oh, well.

2. Have nice, distinct lips, for when he's wearing his mask and the damsels in distress are staring pointedly at them. Perhaps no one can better Michael Keaton in that area.

3. Be tall. Batman was always referred to as the 6-foot-something bat. Tom Cruise is, of course, out of the question.

4. Have a six-pack and a nice rear end, for those close-up frames while he's getting into his bat-suit.

5. Have a prominent jaw to flatter his masked mug.

6. Have a troubled, pre-occupied look about him, so that he is contrived as someone of grave importance to the society, someone very wealthy and intelligent, and also very busy and sought-after. This would divert the attention from what it is exactly that he does when he's not flying around [for example, we can't help but wonder how it is that he maintains his Wayne Enterprises when all he does is sulk about how his parents were murdered 700 years ago]. A pair of Gucci eye-glasses and a pencil with a rubber end that he can bite on in contemplation would be crucial for this facial expression.

7. Have a quick wit and a sense of humor. He should be able to pepper his conversations with smooth puns and mild sexual innuendoes.

8. Know the exact moment to utter key one-word commands to non-living things, like his study furniture and his automobiles, to name just a few. Lock. Chair. Shields. Women. Oops.

9. Master robot-like actions with his head and shoulders to support his apparently very heavy head gear, so that he looks like he's going to keel over any moment from the weight of his pointed ears.

10. Know how to suppress smiles and laughter because, after all, Bruce Wayne [and Batman] isn't a stupid, smiley dolt. He is a very serious and intriguing man.

11. Look like a man who is very at-ease with the prospect of having a slave... no, scratch that... a 'gentleman' butler, that he manages to retain by occasionally referring to as 'family'.

** A villain is of great import, too, of course.

1. The villain part should be played by an actor of high-caliber, such as the ones in past Batman films: Christopher Walken, Danny de Vito, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Tommy Lee Jones, and of course, the father of all Batman villains, Jack Nicholson. For my movie, I'm thinking John Travolta, who outdid himself in Face-Off as a maniacal baddie. I mean, his ridiculous [and disarming] chin alone is all the make-up he needs! John Malkovich is a good choice, too, but he's too mean. Batman might not be able to fight him off.

2. The main villian should have had a horrible childhood so that he grows up to be a freak of sorts. This family background is essential, because it's the only way Batman would get through to him, having had a horrible childhood himself. Towards the end, they would swap sob stories right before the villain is hied off to Arkham Asylum where he would either disappear in obscurity among other former villains, or emerge later in a spin-off movie where he gets the chance to give a dragged-out version of his sob story.

3. I would be needing a Co-Villain to stretch the script and provide Batman with more opportunities to impart wise-ass one-liners seconds before he doles out punches and high-power kicks. The co-villain would emerge right after Batman's first encounter with the main villain. He must have a psychological problem [as does everyone else in the movie, anyway]; someone who is actually angry at Bruce Wayne and not Batman. The co-villain would eventually team up with the main villain [whose target is Batman] and together, they discover that GASP Batman and Wayne are one and the same! [Oooh, love that rhyming. Will include in script.] There are two kinds of villains:

a. Male Co-Villain = someone absolutely outrageous, who desires nothing more than world domination. Or Gotham City domination. Same thing. To play this part, I want an actor capable of over-the-top theatrics, like Jim Carrey was in Batman and Robin. Someone viewers love to hate, like Alan Cumming [oh, but he's too cute], or someone viewers just HATE, like Ben Stiller.

b. Female Co-Villain = someone very sexy. At the beginning, she is actually a well-meaning woman who wants good things to happen to the world, but is ultimately wronged and killed by a man. She comes back to life as a sinister, vengeful, and darkly stunning she-villain, so she should be someone who has miles and miles of leg and looks good in designer villain garb and goth make-up. I would consider Milla Jovovich or Rachel Weisz. She would have a plain-looking alter-ego, so she should also be able to pull off huge-rimmed glasses and disheveled hair. The female co-villain is very crucial to the script, because she could double as the love interest of both the main villain and the hero. Cut costs, if you know what I mean. After all, I'm casting high-profile actors here.

4. All the baddies should master the requisite evil laugh. Buhuwahahaha... Muhuwahahaha... Or something like that. Maybe take lessons from the poster-child of villainhood himself, Dr. Evil.

5. I would be needing a slew of supporting thugs and outlaws in motorbikes, dressed up in face paint and muted versions of the main and co-villain's suits, whichever one they're supporting.

6. Villain's characters should be based on a mutated animal, plant, or anything else from nature. I'd probably base one on a monkey [Mojo-Jojo style], and another on a sequoia tree [Yawn].

** Now, it gets ridiculous by the minute, so I would need another person to add to the fast-growing Bat Family. Let's call this person a Co-Hero. I mean, of course, there would be moments when our hero is suddenly trapped and seemingly doomed. This is Bat-Brother or Bat-Sister's cue to come crashing down some glass ceiling or other and save him. Also, I need this Co-Hero to cause inner conflict. The Co-Hero should be someone younger, with a rebellious streak and a smart-alecky nature, who'd fall madly in-love with another Bat-Person [another spin-off idea]. Colin Farrell comes to mind. If it's to be a girl, who better to play the role than It-Girl Mandy Moore?

** How would Batman and his posse go from one place to another without their bat-mobiles? Of course, we would need them. I don't want to be James Bond-ish about it, so I guess I'll just keep the classic Bat-Mobile and Bat-Bike. Maybe have Mercedes Benz or Honda sponsor the whole affair, so that the new Co-Hero may have his or her own Bat-Wheels. We can't have any of them riding shotgun in His Royal Batness' coupe, can we?

** Alfred is getting old. He needs a replacement. Besides, he won't be able to cope with not one, not two, not three, but four [possibly even five, God help him] deranged humans prancing about as bats. But we all love Alfred. Plus, he knows everything; his know-how is priceless. So I'll maybe just give him an assistant. I'm sure Lara Croft wouldn't mind my borrowing her butler. She can afford another one after the success of her last movie.

** There should always be a love angle. After all, Bat-Wayne is very attractive, a ladies' man, a man's man, a man-about-town, a most eligible bachelor. The leading lady would be someone interested in the mysterious and possibly very kinky Batman but is invariably drawn to the filthy, filthy rich Bruce Wayne ["Tricky, tricky... Hmm... Let's see... Who shall it be?"] She would be a journalist, a reporter, or an expert on something, maybe on monkeys and sequoia trees. Catherine Zeta-Jones fits the profile. Glamorous, vogue, stunning. A classic Wayne-trap, he loves to wear beautiful women to dinner galas. She should be smart, yes, but not smart enough to notice that GASP Batman and Wayne... are one and the same! [sorry, just had to say it again], even though she has kissed, spoken to, and been up-close and personal with both, more than anyone else in the film.

** Now, I would have to use gloomy Gotham City as the backdrop, of course, which is really a cross between Chicago and New York City. The city would, as usual, come with the same incompetent, lazy policemen who depend on the Winged One to do their job.

** To top off my movie, I would employ The Neptunes to produce and perform every single musical score on the film. The original Batman was successful with the talents of The Artist Formerly Known As Prince And Also Formerly Known As An Unpronounceable Symbol But Is Now Known As Just Prince [I have utmost respect for the one man who could pull off a name like that. Boo-Yah, Master Chief!]. The Neptunes Who Were Formerly Unknown should be able to give the chase and fight scenes a rock feel, pipe in some sexy beat for the female villain's entrance, and then finish with a catchy rock-hiphop theme for the credit roll.

Fantastic. Absolutely marvelous. I can just see it now. The opening credits. The fabulous premiere gala. The red carpet. The swift celebrity interview with Joan Rivers. The rave reviews. The movie awards. The MTV music video. The behind-the-scenes documentary. The magazine cover and feature. The action figures and merchandise. The offer for yet another sequel. "Batman Lives". "Batman: A True Underdog Story." "Batman's World." "Batman and Batwoman".

Phew. Well. I gotta go give Joel Schumacher's shoes back, he'll be wanting them.

There you go, Schumacher, my man. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.