I have the “Womanizer” song stuck in my head. It really is an annoyingly catchy song.
I’m still sleepy. And tired. I want to go back to sleep, instead of hauling my ass out of bed and heading to work. Things tire me easily nowadays. I’m no longer depressed, but I’m not exactly thrilled either. I’m in a ‘meh’ mood.
I want some excitement in life. Travel somewhere – do something new. Land into a windfall of cash perhaps. Get my Canadian immigration. Meet my soulmate. Something. Something better than the rut my life has become.
Another friend got married. Woopie. Good for them. I want to get married too. Well, no, it’s not about weddings, or even marriage for that matter. I want to settle down with someone – have a companion. I want the feeling of not having to try so hard in a relationship. Of feeling free to be myself without fear the other person will run screaming. Of letting myself fall, knowing there are arms that will not let me drop and hit the ground. Of going to bed next to the person, and closing my eyes knowing that when morning comes, he’ll still be there. Of knowing that its ok to be sick, because someone will let me rest and take care of me. And likewise, when he falls sick, he won’t shut me out and will let me take care of him. Of feeling like I’m the most gorgeous woman in the planet, even when I look like death warmed up. Even when he ogles some other chick, I’m still the one he truly wants.
*sigh*
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I feel sleepy and exhausted. I do get decent sleep – actually, I get rather poor, unbroken sleep.
My doc changed my meds, and for the better I suppose. The only side-effect I have is nausea, which I kinda had anyway. But moods have kinda stabilized, and the new meds have enabled me to start losing weight. I’ve dropped two kilos in five days. My back doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t feel hungry all the time – and I get very full on half-portions. I feel lighter – but nauseous. I suppose 1 out of god-knows how many side-effects I used to have is better.
I’m waiting for my lunch. We ordered Nando’s – and I like the food. It’s quite light and relatively healthy – compared to most junk places. I don’t feel like working until I have something in my tummy.
Something is bothering me though. I can’t quite place it though. I suppose its got to do with maintaining distances and feeling isolated, most of my own doing.
Where’s my food?
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I am rather angry and pissy today. My car has been in the garage since yesterday and the bill is piling up. I partly blame myself because I have neglected servicing it for quite a while now. My stepdad used to do everything and now that he’s gone, I’m struggling. And I get very pissed when someone tells me “Oh, I could get it cheaper/faster/better”. Well, if you could, then why didn’t you help me? So just shut the fuck up and let me do it my way. I can’t be running around allover Dubai just to save money. Too much stress. Hence I gave it to the garage about 5minutes walking distance from my place. And yes, I do think he’s fleecing me just a bit, but I don’t have much of a choice at this point.
My professor told me that there are three components to getting any job done: time, money and quality (in my case I’ll take that as location). Now, you can only pick two and have to sacrifice the third. So I chose location and time, sacrificing money. And I know I’m going to be screwed over financially this month too.
Anyway, if anyone says anything about how much I have to spend on my car right now, I’m going to scream. I’m so sick of people calling me incompetent. If they can do a better job, then they better do it instead of telling me how wrong I’m doing it. Fuckin hypocrites.
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This has been collecting dust for a while so it’s time I get it down on paper. I know this probably isn’t true carbonara, but I have no other name to call it. So Carbonara it is (serves 4):
- 500gm of fettuccine, tagliatelle or any ribbon pasta you fancy
- 1 pkt chicken franks or 1pkt turkey/beef bacon
- 500ml milk
- a mix of grated Parmesan and Mozzarella (adjust according to how cheesy you want it)
- 2tsp butter
- 1tsp flour
- 1 garlic clove, minced
- pepper and salt to taste
- olive oil
Boil water, adding salt and some olive oil to prevent sticking, and cook pasta according to directions. Stop cooking two minutes short of the actual time and drain under cold water.
Cut the chicken franks into thin diagonal cross-sections. In a pan, heat some olive oil and saute the cut franks in batches until crisp and drain on a kitchen towel. If using bacon instead, cook the rashers, drain, and chop to small, 1cm pieces.
Now, in a deep saucepan, melt the butter and mix it thoroughly with the flour and garlic clove and cook for about a minute or two to get the raw flavors out. Start adding the milk bit by bit, continuously stirring to remove lumps. If needed, add more milk. The sauce should be enough to be quite wet even after adding the pasta and meat.
Once the sauce is thoroughly mixed and cooked for about 5 minutes, add the meat and pasta and toss in the pan, while cooking. Switch the stove off and add the cheese. Serve immediately.
Nb: If there are leftovers, add a bit of water before reheating so as not to get a gluey, lumpy mess.
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In case you didn’t notice the bell logo at the bottom of the outdoor ad, I am talking about the one and only Taco bell.
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I am rather upset, to say the least. Perhaps there’s a better explanation, but I feel pushed aside and discarded. And that really pisses me off, and saddens me. But I’m not going to sit at home and mope. I could, and I have done so in the past. But I am going to take up an invitation to see a rather lame movie and dinner with friends. My heart isn’t in it, especially since the movie in question is High School Musical 3. But I’m forcing myself to not stew at home and mope and feel all sorry for myself and depressed. I don’t want to go. I’d rather just curl up into a ball and rot in hell. But I’m making myself shower (I don’t smell so good) and go out.
I’m broke too. I hope they accept cards. P can go to hell. Doesn’t have the decency to tell me he had other plans and cancel out on me last minute. Go burn.
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Today is going to be a very long day. A few tiffs at work. And a rather cautious dinner. I’m happy the dinner is happening, because it means a bridge to peace. But I’m still guarded.
I’m a bit unhappy at work. And it worries me. Not just the reason that I’m unhappy, but I’m rather worried about my job. And the fact that I feel I’m no longer being heard at work and the working dynamics have rather changed from a sense of equal input to worker-boss minionship. I’m no longer consulted on matters to see if its feasible, I’m just told to do things, whether or not its possible. And a bit of the “you expat, me local” thinking is creeping in. It makes me sad.
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I know this post will offend many people, but this has been milling about in my head for a few days so I need to get it out. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.
I realize that no matter how good or nice I try to be, or how open-minded, I do have prejudices. They’re not good, and they’re not easy to get out really. I’m not mean as such, but I get these weird gut feelings and no matter what I try to do, perhaps they’ll never really go away.
Anyway, here goes:
1)Intimacy. I suppose most of my blog has been about intimacy issues. But when things have not been going well for me, and I’ve had rather traumatic experiences, I haven’t reacted the way perhaps normal people would. Instead of shying away from touch, I embrace it fully. Perhaps so much so that I can’t communicate any other way except that. And that hasn’t helped me much. I’ve let myself get taken for a ride (literally and metaphorically!), and now everytime I do the nasty, I expect the guy to never call or see me again. Infact, I think I’ve mentally shut myself off instead of physically shutting myself off. I expect men to be jerks, although most of them are. I guess I don’t trust people and am waiting to prove I’m right and that they will screw me over, rather than proving me wrong. And the nice ones – they never liked me enough. I told you I have intimacy issues.
2)Races. As much as I’d like to say I’m not racist, I would have my back arched up and be hissing and spitting if I were a cat infront of certain people. I’m not antagonistic and generally quite nice to strangers, even those types. But I feel weird and as much as possible, be cordial and maintain distance. Just because they make me uneasy and make me want to throw up. I can’t control my physio-psycho connection. But mind you, despite whatever I feel, I’ve never, ever been mean to any of them because of what their race is. Anyway, they are chinky people, ‘mallus’ and a third kind, which I will get to in a bit (because I have a different reaction).
‘Mallus’ I suppose is because of certain relatives in my life I can’t avoid, as well as a past ex who screwed me over so much that I’ve repressed most of what I remember of him, but not enough to forget he existed in my life. And the fact that Mallus are so tight-knit that if you’re not one of them, then you never can fit in. And in university – I didn’t get along with the Indian crowd because of exactly that.
Chinky people – I suppose I’m rather jealous. It seems that most exs I went for liked the delicate lil things and rather ogled them when I was around. And my ex rather fancied their “happy ending massages”. So I feel threatened. And I see red anytime I spot one, especially females. I feel like I want to blame them for everything. I know it’s not their fault. But my body ends up reacting that way. And they seem so into their own kind they pretty much mirror “Mallus”.
The third kind – I have a rather love-hate relationship with them. Pakis. Anyone who knows me very well will probably understand why. Most of the guys I’ve dated, especially the super-serious ones, have all been Paki. I don’t know how it happens, but it just does. In spite of avoiding them too. I’ve been screwed over so many times that I’ve lost count. Yet I ultimately end up dating one. I guess what gets my goat is how even the smoothest ones of the lot have their balls lead by their mothers. They can screw around with whoever they want, but ultimately they marry whoever mama wants. Fine, I get that that’s their choice. But what I hate is the whole “I love you and I want you and I will lie until I have you” and then drop you like a sack of potatoes the minute you finally believe them. And then the whole “I love you, but you don’t fit what my mom would accept because you’re not Paki, you come from a broken home and (the list can go on..) so bubye”. And somehow, they still like their exs, who were Pakis but bitches who dumped them and either cheated on them or got married to someone else. And like Bollywood heroes, they went all the way to wherever they are to try stop the marriage. Ackh. I can go on and on. I guess I should avoid dating them. Fine as friends, but never date them again.
And there is a fourth one. Bongs – especially from Bangladesh. Can’t stand them. They all seem to be spitting images of my dad – MCPs. Fine as friends, but never date one.
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I used to have one for Arabs, but I don’t feel that way anymore because I work with most of them and I seem to have gotten over my gag reflex. Most of them are nice, although there are quite a few I don’t care for, but that’s because they’re just nasty and irritating personalities. I suppose many can point out that the same can be possible for the others mentioned above. Trust me, I’m trying. But some things are just too inbuilt. And some just end up digging it further, instead of convincing me otherwise.
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I have to admit I’m rather sucky at the ‘not eating’ thing. I barely lasted 12 hours before caving in. I have the willpower of a gnat. No, of a speck of dust on the gnat.
But I admit I do feel slightly better only having nuts, milk and water. And lighter. And my back isn’t hurting so much. Still twinges, but not so bad. And I’m supplementing a decently healthy one meal, while munching on the aforementioned nuts and milk throughout the day.
Had oatmeal in the morning. And ordered a salad with grilled chicken. And munched on unsalted nuts and dried fruits mix. And I’m sorry, I got nauseous on plain milk. So I switched to strawberry and feel better.
Got an appointment with my old doc on Saturday. Let’s see what he says…
I’m feeling rather anti-social today. Actually, I’ve felt anti-social for a while. Couldn’t be arsed. And I feel better now that mom’s home and she’s being all nice and nurturing without being overbearing.
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’nuff said:
“So What if Obama Was Muslim?”
Excerpt:
“So what if Obama was Arab or Muslim? So what if John McCain was Arab or Muslim? Would it matter? When did that become a disqualifier for higher office in our country? When did Arab and Muslim become dirty words? The equivalent of dishonorable or radical? Whenever this gets raised, the implication is that there is something wrong with being an Arab-American or a Muslim. And the media is complicit here, too. We’ve all been too quick to accept the idea that calling someone Muslim is a slur. I feel like I am stating the obvious here, but apparently it needs to be said: There is a difference between radical Muslims who support jihad against America and Muslims who want to practice their religion freely and have normal lives like anyone else. There are more than 1.2 million Arab-Americans and about 7 million Muslim-Americans, former Cabinet secretaries, members of Congress, successful business people, normal average Americans from all walks of life. These are the people being maligned here, and we can only imagine how this conversation plays in the Muslim world. We can’t tolerate this ignorance — not in the media, not on the campaign trail. Of course, he’s not an Arab. Of course, he’s not a Muslim. But honestly, it shouldn’t matter.”
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