I <3 Stuff

November 25 is Buy Nothing Day.

But i'm not promising anything.

I've chanted the slogans, stuck the stickers, signed up for the newsletters...but i harbour a dirty, nasty, little secret.

I'm a materialist. And a hedonistic one at that

*quick comrades, douse her with an environmentally-friendly alternative renewable fuel source, and recycle her*

I love Stuff. Stuff makes me happy. Stuff fulfils me. I lay oblations at the altar of Stuff. Stuff is what rips me awake before the sun has even brushed it's teeth, and steels me to face the Schlep of Formal Employment. Stuff is honest. You buy it and it's yours, for as long as you want it. Stuff doesn't tell you that it's confused. Stuff doesn't have issues. When Stuff malfunctions, you fix it or you discard it, guilt free. And if you experience a breakdown in communication with Stuff, you don't have to 'talk about it', you just go out and buy an upgrade.

So I'm a mindless consumer. So what?

Four billion happy shoppers can't be wrong.

no ads, no money, please help, God Bless

Hello Saaleha Bamjee,

It has come to our attention that invalid clicks have been generated on the Google ads on your site(s). We have therefore disabled your Google AdSense account. Please understand that this step was taken in an effort to protect the interest of the AdWords advertisers.
A publisher's site may not have invalid clicks on any ad(s), including but not limited to clicks generated by:
- a publisher on his own web pages
- a publisher encouraging others to click on his ads
- automated clicking programs or any other deceptive software
- a publisher altering any portion of the ad code or changing thelayout, behavior, targeting, or delivery of ads for any reason

Practices such as these are in violation of the Google AdSense Terms and Conditions and program polices, which can be viewed at:https://www.google.com/adsense/localized-terms?hl=en_UShttps://www.google.com/adsense/policies?hl=en_US

Publishers disabled for invalid click activity are not allowed further participation in AdSense and do not receive any further payment. The earnings on your account will be properly returned to the affected advertisers.

Sincerely,
The Google AdSense Team


(ah well, can't afford the insurance premiums on that Jaguar S-type now... let this be a lesson kiddies...crime don't pay out. Guess this isn't really the time to slam Google for their un-PCness)

back to the future

If you could write an email to yourself that would deliver to your inbox twenty years from the day you sent it, what would it read like?



Assalaamualaikum Saaleha,

You've changed.

Was-salaam,
Saaleha



http://forbes.codefix.net/capsule/

Another arb moment

What did the viviparous tell the oviparous?


It's not fair, I never get laid.

seeing the forest for the trees

Yesterday's sleep deficit, the three cups of full strength caffeine before 10 am, the two hour long status meeting (my status - leisure is now a cruel and laughable concept) and the compounding of twelve years of inadequacy; all contributed to what could only be described as one heckuva lousy afternoon.

And then i get the phonecall. It's the mother of one of my closest friends. It disorientates me somewhat as this is not a usual occurrence and I hope to God that the ice beginning to develop in my stomach is not about to translate into something tragic.

And it doesn't. Alhumdulillah.

But what she asks of me is, nonetheless, overwhelming.

She says that she's always considered me to be this vibrant, happy personality and how these qualities could help in assisting her son's friend who's having difficulties at home. She wants me to be a positive influence on this girl, to be a friend to her and maybe osmotically transfer some of my 'bubbly spirit and optimism'.

At that moment, I feel so utterly fake. How could I say that I was by no means suitable to play life mentor, when the only thing stopping me from chucking it all, was that I still needed to get through my slab of Lindt 70% coacoa.

But listening to her go on about this girl and how I could play such a vital role, I did an inner double take. Why did I get this call today, at this time, at the very moment that I felt like destiny was just out to shaft me?

It was like I had taken a serious misdirection and was plodding along some alien path to nowhere, when suddenly this signpost grew out of the ground in Hogwarthish fashion.

Sometimes people have alot more faith in you than you believe.

And that Big Guy, hey, i gotta say, He works in crazy ways.

from my mouth to God's ear?

I must’ve released a grumpy genie when I last dusted through the trophy cabinet. Because I’ve gotten exactly what I wished for. And then some.

I’m depressed.
Seriously.
And it’s certainly not the whimsy I anticipated.

No decadent black mood, or the playlist of a cheated generation looping on my Windows media player, just a vacant centre and a feeling similar to that of dropping a vital set of keys in live lava.

It was lunch with the girls. After months of promises of meeting up, and the occasional miss call or sms to re-link, it took a friend going over to the UK for nine months and returning, to bring us all together, finally.

And it was just like old times, sparking flashbacks of campus scenes at the coffee shop and RAU carpark. Nothing had changed.
But everything had.

Two of them married, one three weeks away from being dispatched to domesticity, and the other two faced with what could be very promising prospects.

And me.

Sitting there, smiling at the right times, laughing in the right places and saying the right things. Being Saaleha and hating it.

It’s not that I’m lonely in that 'pathetic' sense. I count truly fabulous and genuine people as friends and I’m comfortable being on my own, without any sensation of the skin creeping off me to seek better company.

But I am alone.

And the scary thing is; well, this really scares me.

Nostalgia

I miss being depressed. I miss the despair, the gloom, the self-loathing, the bad poetry. Those were some good times.
I used to be dark, edgy, a swimmer flouting the mainstream. I had attitude; I was a rebel with cause.

And then I got happy.
Out of nowhere, the bitch sucker-punched me.

And I’ve never been the same since.

The first lesson

Shook from semi-solid sleep. No dreams the night before. Above me, the face of my aunt with invisible strings of some emotion tugging at eyes and mouth.

-come kiss your daddy for the last time.

Did she speak those words? Or do I use them now, as putty in the gaps of that day?

Still there he lay, still.

Eyes closed, a cruel imitation of sleep.

My grandmother with her eyes bleeding salt and furious prayer frothing from her lips, while my father’s brother, the Imam, ties a strip of white calico around my father’s head and jaw, wrapping a gift for Allah?

Because that was where daddy was, they told me. With Allah.

What six-year old knows of ritual and rigor mortis.

My aunt leads me to where he lay.

Sleeping daddy. With Allah.

Cold.

That I remember.

But not much of the rest.

Just the house, a haven for tears.

And the women, these nebulous shapes in black, on the blankets spread out where the lounge furniture used to be.

Tissues and tears. And prayer.

And a bulk swathed in white in the middle.

Where was my mother?

I found her in another room, looking small and distant, as only the bereft can.

I was held close, smothered by the heaviness, infused with her desperation and stifled by what I didn’t understand.

Not then.

lost the plot

I’m looking for that really crowded room. The kind filled with random people, four legs short of a fire hazard, and squashed bubbles of laughing, talk, and intimate exchanges. And me standing, amid the static murmuring and intermittent explosions of mirth, waiting for my moment.
When from across this room of crowd, stands another, and our eyes should meet…
One glance, held frozen, with the tacit acknowledgement of having found our kismet within each other.

What? What do you mean that’s not how it happens? I’m reading from the script here, and it’s pretty direct:

Crowded room, check.
Eyes meeting, check.
The smile-and-look-away, check.
The look-again-and-hold stare, check.
The subtle approach, check.
The easy-introductions, check.
The finding-you-have-absolutely-absolutely-everything-in-common-including-
mutual-interest-in-modern-poets, check.
The long-conversations-into-the-night ending with the numberswap, check.
The I-had-a-fantastic-time-speaking-with-you-this-evening-hope-we-can-
encore sms later, check.
Subsequent daily phonecalls/emails, check.
Feeling like you’ve found-the-missing-puzzle-piece-and-your-soul-is-now-complete, check. Meeting the parents, check.
Beautiful-lilies-roses-organza-memory-making wedding, check. Blissful-domestic-harmony-cute kids-candyfloss-pretty things-promotions-overseas holidays, check.

I’m just working off what I’ve been given. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t adlib through this. This is breach of contract.

Dammit, I’m getting a new agent.

Free prescription and Viagra overnight delivery.

I love it when spambots have a noir sense of humour. Here's a selection of spammer names that have delighted me amid the irritation.

Conflicted J. Breathe
Vicarage G. Toured
Gawky C. Handcar
Loathings D. Enjoys (like to be spanked do you?)
Counterclockwise B.U
Contesting O. Wino (when beggars get uppitty)
Gossiped R. Facing
Olympiad I. Sawdusting
Hateful A. Ruffianed
Missing M. Planner (happens to me all the time)
Revived I. Stifles
Coasters P. Dislikes (personally, placemats freak me out)