Un-Dodo-Esque Confession

I must admit, I lied in the other post. Sorta. Kinda.

Yeah it's all exciting and interesting and flattering and all that, but really, it's just soooo not me!! Not for The Dodz at all!!

All this arranged marriage crap is gnawing at me. I think about it 24/7. I've been having constant nightmares about it all week.

Is there some sort of database in this country, where when a girl reaches a certain age, or reaches a certain point in her life, be it academic or professional or career-wise or whatever makes a girl eligible for marriage, and all this information is fed into a kha6aba-type (matchmaker) machine, so that her folks get bombarded with incessant phone calls inquiring as to whether their daughter (in this case moi), is up for sale, i.e. marriage?

Coz seriously, in all honestly, where did they hear about me from? How do they know I even exist? I think I keep the lowest profile ever, never go to weddings, or attend females-only type functions, hardly ever visit with family. So I can't really say I strutted my stuff half naked at a ladies only party type event and someone's mom fell madly in love with my tush or anything...

So what's the deal here?!

I'm thinking this guy is either well into his late 30's, or has some form of physical deformity. Maybe he doesn't have facial hair!! Or chest hair!! Or.. or... or?!?!?! Oh the horror, the horror!! I mean, who does arranged marriages any more anyways?! Why isn't he able to go out and find a girl by himself, why does he need his mom to do his dirty work for him!?

I'm up to seeing the guy, sitting down with him, having a chat, you know, the works. But the thought of ending up with a guy I know jack shit about is the last thing I, of all people, would ever want to get into!!

You see the irony here? Dodo, ending up in an arranged marriage?! It's almost comical. Actually I don't think it's funny at all. This whole situation's left me crapping in my pants :( And what's more fucked up than that is that I'm sitting here, giving all this a serious think!! It's the only thing that's been running through my head all fucking week long!!

So a few friends of mine suggested I do things like.. umm... not shave my legs and wear a teensy weensy skirt when he comes to visit. And mess up my hair real bad. And umm.. really hideous white clown makeup. But then it'd be obvious that I was doing all this on purpose, and he'd only enjoy the show and come back for seconds coz he'd have caught on :(

Or I can be really nasty, a la Japanese girl in Babel, show him my hairy monster while I lick my lips in a perverted way, crossing uncrossing my legs a la Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, but in a bad way, what with my hairy legs and all. Ooooh I'll top it off with white nurse stockings and my jet black, wiry fuzz peaking through.

Hmmm...

Or maybe I'll just go with the black and white Egyptian movies trick... come into the room with the drinks tray, and I'll wear 12 inch high stilettos (I can't walk in heels if my life depended on it), and exaggerate the shaking, only to spill everything on his brand spanking new clean white dishdasha. But that one's been overused so I'm not so sure it would work :(

I got a serious jitters issue. Why did this have to happen to me, and now?!?!?! Do you realize what this could mean?! No Aussie for me!!! And there's no way in hell I'm delaying or changing or putting my plans off for no one. NO ONE. If this isn't bad timing I seriously don't know what is :(

Maybe I'll just show him my array of piercings. That should scare him off.

Girls, any advice, pointers, anything?!

OK besides how to scare the poor sod off and getting rid of him. What do you talk about in those first few minutes when you first meet the wannabe-groom?! What do you ask, what don't you ask, what do you saaaaay?! I think this must be the most awkward most uncomfortable situation any girl would go through in her life, ever.

Imagine the guy might not even know his mom is going around wife shopping for him. Wouldn't that be a hoot?!

I'm giving myself a massive migraine here :(

Lu6feyaat

Bored? Long weekend but nothing much to do? Wanna waste a few minutes of your day, make the time go by a bit faster? How about you download and give this podcast a listen and let me and Lu6fy know what you think :)

Download and listen to Lu6feyaat here.

I Wonder...

A recent arranged marriage proposal, mind you very much rejected, and Brava Valentia's recent post, along with endless hours of watching The Insider and Inside Edition got my brain ticking and some of its cob-webs to clear away.

How is it that women who undergo epidurals are more prone to baby-blues than women who opt to go au-naturel? Am I the only one who's noticed the correlation here?

Think about it. Having a bun baking in your oven for 9 months, then suddenly you wake up, "happily" pain free, as if nothing had happened, yet your baby bump is missing, you find yourself mentally, subconsciously unprepared if you will, for the "loss" of this integral part of your body is sure to leave anyone somewhat depressed and disturbed.

Doesn't it then make sense, that your body would want you to experience birthing pain, and feel every moment of the labor, as to prepare you emotionally, and prepare your mind for the fact that this baby is no longer physically a part of you?

Shish Ka-Bop

Congratulations to me!! Monday I received my conditional acceptance into the University of Western Sydney to study Masters of Arts in Translation and Interpreting studies, which I went to pick up this morning from the IDP office in Salmiya. Exciting or what?!

WOOT, WOOT!!

As a way of celebrating, I decided to spoil myself and go for the one thing I have always wanted to do since FOREVER. On my way back home from Salmiya, I stopped by Salwa and got this:

This was the primary clamp/needle inserted into my nape.

And this is the finished result. I opted for teflon instead of a bar-bell, but we'll see how it goes. I just might go for permanent metal if need be. Anyways I love it, I think my man did an excellent job. It's totally hot and shmexy!!

Random Thoughts

Today was the first time I seriously sit down and consider having plastic surgery. I woke up to the sight of the biggest, fattest, blackest, fugliest bags under my eyes. If it wasn't for fear of losing my sight I would've gotten a knife and cut myself right there and then. It's prolly a combination of lack of sleep, bad weather, and the weight loss but still too ugly man.

I'm as racist as they come. I wont deny it. It's not like I'm proud and boasting. It's just a fact, that I'm racist, that's all. I got issues with bedouins, Persians, 7athar, sunni's, sheites, the works. It's not an "issue" per se. I just like to know, you know what I mean?

We have this girl in school. White as snow, raven black hair, and an accent and Arabic from hell. I always thought she was Persian. She looked and acted like typical Persian girls to me I guess. 'Til I saw her park her car today and her license plate read "Ahmadi". So I think to myself "hmmm odd, didn't know there were Persians out there". Being a typical Kuwaiti nosey-parker, I had to go and ask a Mutairi friend who was in class with us "hathee shasilha??" (what's her ethnicity). And true to form, Mutairiya had all the dish. "Oh didn't you know? You'll be as shocked as I was when I found out. She's Azmiya!!". Im like "what what whaaaaat?!" I wasn't shocked that she was Azmiya, as much as it was just so unexpected. Capiche?

From Persian all the way to Azmi. That's like the difference between, umm, well you know the difference. It's a good thing I suppose, how people all look the same now and you can't differentiate.

Interesting, I guess.

Vicious Cycle

After having had a blood test done on Saturday and receiving the results on Sunday, mom decided it was time I got off the detox before it turns against me and I end up with renal failure. So that agenda's been in remission since Sunday evening.

Ever since I came off the detox, I've felt nothing but rage. Rage is an understatement. I'm seeeeeeeething with anger. My mood is so foul, I'm starting to scare myself.

Even the slightest thing is enough to make me scream at the top of my lungs, my eyes to go red and lose my voice, all resulting in a splitting killer headache, which only makes for fodder for an even worse mood and more fury.

Yikes!

Gucci Grief

Mom is an avid collector of limited edition bags and collectors items. Unfortunately, a few months after she bought the bag pictured above, the pins holding the "85th Edition" plaque in place fell off, and sadly enough the pins got lost too. Mom still has the plaque though, thank goodness.

Anyway she took the bag to the Gucci shop in Fanar, who said that they don't fix bags, nor do they ship them off to get fixed. They recommended she try Villa Moda, who in turn refused to fix the bag even though they are fully capable and equipped. This is because mom bought the bag at Heathrow, and the only way you could get your bag repaired at Villa Moda is to have had initially bought it from them. Cheap aren't they?!

So can anyone help and point us in the right direction as to how we could get this problem resolved?

Muchas gracias in advance :)

Master Cleanser Update II

I started out on the Master Cleaner last Wednesday with an initial weight of 78 kg, and a BMI of 30.5, i.e obese.

10 days, 10 liters of salt water, 3 liters of herbal laxative tea, 6 bottles of maple syrup, and an average of 18 liters of lemonade later, my weight has come down to 68 kg, and a BMI of 26.6, i.e overweight.

Granted my stomach isn't flat as a washboard, but it's the flattest it's been in years. I got energy like a dynamo, don't feel the need to sleep half as much as I used to, and my appetite for junk and crap has all but ceased to exist, besides the slight lapse the other night due to mom sitting right next to me with a cup of boiled corn, causing the smell to waft up my brain and giving me a seizure (I had a ciggie the other day, tasted gross).

The plan was to come off the detox tomorrow by starting a liquid diet, but I've decided to postpone that part and keep going with the detox a little longer.

If the only thing I walk away from this detox with is a slightly flatter belly and cured case of chronic piles, then I'll be one hell of a happy Dodo.

Seeing how successful the detox has been, as well as being safe and free of harmful side effects, mom and I have decided that I will translate the book into Arabic, and take it to a publishing house. This little project of mine shouldn't take too long (I hope), so for anyone who's interested in the detox, be sure to check your local bookshops soon.

Niagra Falls A-Gushing

Cheese... mmmmmmmmm

boiled corn with salt pepper and a lump of hot bubbling grease... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

french-fries-and-corn-dog-smelling exhaust pipe that I can wrap my lips around... mmmm uuhhhh ooohhhhh aaaahhhhhh...

Orgasmic!!

If Looks Could Kill...

Remember that viral video of the contestant (Emarati??) on the Arabic version of "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" on MBC, the one who lags when asked a question worth 2000 SR I believe, and the question was "how many World Wars were there to date?"? Remember how hard we cracked up, how unbelievable it was that someone didn't know the answer to such a pathetic question, and how we watched on, bewildered that he actually chose the answer "3"?! 3 World Wars!!

Anyway, I had a personal, first hand experience with a bimbo of the same calibre as the aforementioned contestant this week in school.

"Seminar in Linguistics" is a class where we explore the development of written language, from logograms and pictograms ("picture" writing) to what written language looks like today. Anyways, so the professor was explaining how Greek and Arabic are closely related, and have ultimately stemmed from the same mother language. The best examples were as follows:

Alpha= ox= "alif"
Beta= house= "bait"

and many more that I can't remember right now (my notebook's prolly in the trunk of my car, if not stuck under the passenger seat).

Of course, we have all come across the Greek alphabet in some form or other, at least in physics during grade school. Come on now people, who hasn't come across these symbols!! Alpha α, beta β, gamma δ, delta δ, epsilon ε, etc. If you haven't, you shouldn't be reading this blog, coz you're an imbecile and I don't tolerate imbeciles.

So the retarded bitch sitting next to me in class, in her layers and layers of chiffon and silk and multicolor clown makeup, has the audacity to ask me "Dodo, are those symbols Japanese?" JAPANESE?!?

JAPA- FUCKING- NESE?!?!?!?!

I wouldn't have been pissed, had this question come from a freshman, or the average person who doesn't know much about linguistics. But to hear it coming from a Linguistics major senior, in her last semester, was just plain criminal!! It's like someone asking you whether chocolate is yummy or not, and whether you came from your moms belly or a donkeys ass!!

I couldn't help but glare at her for a moment, before the words "intay 7mara?!!?" slipped out of my mouth, then turning around and pretending that she didn't even exist.

I can't believe that there are people who are this stupid out there in the world.

The nerve!

Master Cleanser Update

For those who are interested in how I'm doing so far: please be advised, this post is not for those with weak stomachs, nor is it meant to gross anyone out on purpose. We're all mature adults here (I hope).

The first day went very well. Massive bowel movements as expected, which was a good change since I considered myself lucky if I have one once a week (yes I'm that unhealthy). I barely manage to down a glass when I find myself making a dash to the bathroom. I didn't have any difficulty drinking the liter of salt water either. Tasted like cold chicken soup, minus the chicken flavor. No hunger pangs. no cravings. The lemonade was rather yummy too.

The second day didn't go as well as the first. I couldn't sleep, making a mad run for the bathroom every 10 minutes or so (very exhausting). I also chucked up the salt water. Tried to drink the stuff a second time, but that garnered the same results. I figured I must be doing something wrong, and referred back to the book. Yup, I was drinking 2 TABLE spoons of salt with my water instead of the 2 TEA spoons. And I was wondering why the water was giving me palpitations. Hmmm.

Today is my third day doing this. Right now I'm forcing myself to drink the first 300 ml of my 1 liter. I'm putting off that tedious task by writing this post. I'm not finding drinking the water as easy as it was on the first day, especially since the thought makes me queasy and on the verge of barfing. I don't know how I'll manage tomorrow at school, I'm practically an "oily shitting machine" as someone so eloquently put it. It's a good thing I only have one class, so maybe I'll put the stuff off 'til I get back home as to prevent any humiliating "accidents". It would have been wise if I had done this last week during the long weekend we had. Then again, I never claimed to be wise. The thought of going out while doing this scares me shitless at this point - literally.

I Can Sing A Rainbow, Sing A Rainbow, Sing A Rainbow, Too

Lately Abood's had an inexplicable fascination with hi5. I wouldn't have found this behavior odd, had it not been for the simple fact that he's looking at Kuwaiti transsexual profiles, of all things. (Abood isn't gay, he's straighter than a rod up a Brit's ass, I guess he's just finding this all rather interesting is all).

Now, I'm not a homophobe. Nor does the thought cause me discomfort, and I do not condemn homosexuality. On the contrary, I'm an advocate of "live and let live". This is only bothering me because I've seen nothing but thousands upon thousands of transsexual "Muslim" hi5 profiles all week long.

And when it comes to some things, I got my limits too.

Take this example. Meet Miss "Still A Virgin". How can you consider yourself a Muslim, and a shemale at the same time? Isn't that a contradiction in and of itself?

Be as gay as you want, wear what you want, chop up as many of your reproductive organs as you please, talk and dress like members of the "opposite reproductive organs" sex, just don't try to sell yourself off as a "Muslim". Please. You are breaking some fundamental, basic rules, and had you been a "Muslim", you would've known that. And I find that incredibly insulting, if not downright offensive.

At least someone's getting a good laugh out of those wacky profiles :/