Two confessions

1. I just drank from the carton of milk. It was both delicious and liberating.

2. I am about to sleep in the clothes I've worn all day...which just happen to be the same clothes I slept in last night.

Being on vacation is amazing. :)

I'm going to drive right outta here and right into the arms of a stranger. It is truly my plans. I must not be like the other girls with their hopes and dreams and lovers. I must not be like the girls who can commit to a man and just go for the heartbreaking loss of loneliness. I must not be like those girls who make it out of here with a solitaire. I am the one who leaves on an epic journey to loving matrimony with my own problem lover. That's right, he's going with me. I am my own problem. Sigh.

It's just that I always want something I cannot have.

It's just that I don't want what I can have.

I am constantly chasing that which I cannot have.

It's funny because I have always thought of myself as a fairly rational person. Rational, it seems, in all ways except love. And I find myself rebelling in as many ways as I will let myself. They are fairly small ways, but they are my own way of being rebellious. I know I am unhappy. So unhappy. I have found a deep dark place inside of myself and I don't necessarily like it. I think I may like it well enough though for it seems that I could get myself out of it if I wanted. But maybe I don't.

I don't want to marry a FOB. It worked for you? Cool. Great. Congrats. But I don't think I can do it.

I want to fall in love.

I want to date. Maybe not in a horribly modern sense, but in a romantic "his hand brushed mine" and a "he held the door open for me as we went into the restaurant" type of way.

I want to feel pretty and I want to be pursued.

I feel so desperate and yet I am not willing to settle at all. It is totally ironic, I know.

My friend is gone. I miss her. Though I know I can't talk about this with her anymore. I can't talk to anyone about it anymore. And so I turn to you again, blog. I turn to you so that I can vent to someone, cause God knows I can't use Facebook or my friends or family. I can't show my biggest weakness there and and I cannot talk about this anymore for it is the only thing that I seem to want to talk about. I am becoming a recluse. A social recluse. A paradox, I know. But I am always alone in a group of people. And always talking to those I love, but never love in the way I wish.

I know I am loved. I know that I am lucky. But I am so lonely I can feel it weighing down on my face.

I am bitter these days...but not in a horrible way. Just this way:

A divorced woman remarries, and I wonder what's wrong with me.
A widowed woman has suitors she denies and then decides to marry, and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
Divorced for two days? No biggie, there's a man for her too. And me? I'm still single.
What? Cheated on your husband? That's okay, here's another for you. Yep, you guessed it: I'm all alone watching.
Eighteen and getting married? So happy for you. So sad for me.

I do not begrudge my sisters their love. I truly rejoice in their happiness. I just revel in my own sadness. I am wallowing in self-pity and hate it.

This is not me. I know it is not me. I know that there is something so wrong with me. Maybe it is all this country music I am listening to :). <----that. That is me. That joke and that smile, that is me. And that is what I do so that a serious issue does not define me. That is what I do so that the moment doesn't kill me. And that is what I do all the freaking time. I am tired of it. I need friends my own age. I need to find love. Immediate, happy, true love.

I know what I think I want.

But whatever, it's all good. I will go on. I will be presumably happy. I will smile and I will stay busy. I will rejoice in one more day. Maybe a day closer to happiness.

Alhamdulillah. Always alhamdulillah.

It's not a normal attraction.

Or maybe it is.

It's not solely
about physical attraction.

I just want to be
protected by him.

Don't tell me what to do...

Don't tell me what to do.
Who do you think you are?
You are not my father.
You are not my friend.
You are not even my lover.
You are a potential (and no longer that).


I cannot stand it when a guy says he wants his wife to stay at home. I mean, it's all fine and dandy....for someone else. I have a job (one a bit better than yours) and it's a good job (working with kids and all). How can you want a partnership, a relationship, if all you want to do is tell ME what to do?

I know, I'm being lame. I probably won't even want to work. But I am too independent to let someone tell me I can't.

Or maybe I need to fall in love first. Maybe I have to really (and I mean REALLY) like the guy to let him tell me what he wants in life without taking offense. Maybe that's the key. Maybe it's too soon to let him be honest. Maybe honesty should come later?

What am I talking about? I abhor games! I don't like to mess around with feelings if the basics aren't even taken care of.

Then again, I don't want to follow the rules anymore.

Screw the rules. Let's see how far this takes me.

Just this far. I can't really break all the rules. Though I wouldn't mind breaking a few. Okay, so maybe I already break a few here and there. Okay, so maybe I have done some things that were breaking the rules only to unbreak the rules and then feel all crappy. Okay, breaking the rules isn't win-win.

But then again, neither is this.

Man, I have missed you blog. :)

Not quite a kilt.

I need to clarify a few things:

I did go out to meet a guy.

I did meet him on an online dating site.

The guy wore a skirt to this "date" for coffee.

There is a fantastic story here.

It makes everyone laugh.

I just don't feel like sharing now.

Wait for it. It's a great story.

MATCH

I don’t know. I guess I thought it would make me feel better about myself in the end. Maybe I just thought about the story. Or I assumed it wouldn’t hurt.

It did.

And now I’m nursing a faux broken heart from a pseudo date.

No, it wasn’t the dude in the skirt. It was the one in the hummer. Yeah, the freakin’ hummer.

So what’s a girl to do? I can’t live like this. I can’t go on without any hope or prospects. I don’t want to change. There are a billion people out there. Surely I’ll find what I’m looking for.

And is it too much to ask that he be Muslim?

And maybe educated?

And speak English?

Okay, so now I’m being stupid. Now I feel like I am whining. I am, but it’s okay. I mean, I didn’t love him. How could I love him? I only met him once and the games were for fun. So why does it hurt?

I feel a bit numb. I feel like my head is spinning and I am not sure what to do. Well, I know what I want to do. I also know what I have to do.

“I’m sorry. I can’t go out with you because I like you. And you’re not Muslim. And I don’t play games. I’m really sorry.”

For me, I am sorry.

Day of Firsts

I want to do another day of firsts on the eleventh of January (1-11-11, see?). I am super excited! Here are my goals:

1. Get at least one person to play with me who has never played before (a first, you see).
2. Possibly make it my first skip day of the year (school year and calendar year).
3. Go out on a first date sometime that day. (Hey, now. Don't judge me. I'm just ready to get out there already and meet someone.)
4. Play something I've never played.
5. Possibly eat something I've never eaten before (this is almost a must for a day of firsts).
6. Visit at least three places I've never been.
7. Possibly turn this into some kind of timed tournament of sorts. (Anyone interested in forming teams?)

I recently played a modified version of day of firsts with a friend of mine and we had a blast. We had to make points throughout the day (for instance, each new experience was five points) doing all sorts of things. Our goal was to make 150 points. We made well over 160. Yay for us! :) Can't wait to do this again? Now, who will join me? Hmmmm....

Online dating

January brings with it the end of
one online dating venture
and the beginning of a new one.
This will be interesting.
It already is.


Now I have a question that I would
like answered: Are there
no more good men who actually
speak English and live in
my country anymore? It
seems like all my "hits" have
been men who cannot communicate
or don't live in the States
or can't live in the States
(the last one has to go
back for two years per his
contract, but would I mind
moving to Yemen to be with him,
the man I hardly know and have
never actually met?)
or don't pray
or drink (but only socially)
or use colorful language like
bright M&M candies.
I am not ranting. I am
simply wondering.
Surely there is someone
like me out there who
might actually like me,
right? Surely someone wouldn't
mind living in Oklahoma
(at least for three years)
in a house owned by me
(with a swimming pool).
And is it too much to ask
that they speak the same
language as me? At least
decently?

Thank you for your time.
It was so good to chat.
I enjoyed it.
Honestly.

The Year in Blurbs (freehand)

December 25, 2010
7:10 p.m.

2010 was the year of
online dating
a new blog
beginning of the end of hope

2010 brought with it
a new home
for half off
and a new TV

2010 was the year of the
nose ring
and the year a
friend lost her ring
(only to find it in
someone else's bed)

2010 gave me
tears and heartache
for a friend
and uncle

2010 was the year
I didn't get married
and the year
she didn't have her baby

2010 was the summer
of broken promises
and loss of innocence

2010 belongs to
Saleem, winter dreams
and Matt, summer romance
and other internet flings
ending in dings

2010 was lonely
2010 was also hopeful

2010 warranted the return
of brotherly love
and completing the unit

2010 gave another road trip
and lush-ious reasons
to be joyful

2010 was the year of
hugging shoe

2010 was the year I went
into the tunnel and
was enveloped in darkness

2010 was the year of commitment
to my book

2010 is the year I made
my first fire in a
fireplace of my own

2010 was yellow and green

2010 was the year of the
Indian summer

2010 gave me a glimpse of
what a true eclipse is

2010 was the year I had
an accident that
ended well

2010 is the year I bought
a dead man's bed

2010 is the year my father
wept for the unwed me

2010 is the year I
felt reckless

2010 is also the year
of confessions

2010 is the year a cut
sounded crazy good
again but only in jest

2010 was the year of loss
but not total

2010 is the year I am glad
to see gone

2010 is the year I hurt my
knee unknowingly

2010 was when a flame burst
forth from what we all
thought was ash

2010 was the year of
disappointing chess moves

2010 was the year I lost
touch with a friend
It's also the year I tried
to get it back

2010 is when I realized I
knew how to play
the game

2010 is the year I realized
I've also lost my youth

2010 is the year I've learned
that it is ironic that one
you have experience, you
can no longer make the
same mistakes, that
knowing what I now know,
I cannot remedy the
past mistakes

2010 was the year that the
me of today did things so
the me of tomorrow wouldn't
have to

2010 was the year work really
began to hurt

2010 was the year of remediation
and lack of meditation

2010 was the year of the
test and retest

2010 was the year of Zain
(both of them)

2010 was Dallas, St. Louis,
Kansas City, Chicago,
D.C., and Los Angeles

2010 was beach time and
Jay Leno

2010 was Glee and Grey

2010 was sunshine and
a dash in sleds

2010 was bridge mending
and burning

2010 was the year of girls
day renewed with polish
and movies and cheesecake

2010 was the year of love
for book of unfaltering
goodness and evil

2010 was the year of purging
and splurging

2010 was the year of the
first teacher prom

2010 was the year of
righteous wrongness

2010 gave me a good few weeks
of desolate isolation

2010 was the year I
kept a secret--
and wished I could've
kept it even from me

2010 was the year of
skin dipping,
chocolatey goodness

2010 was the year the divide
grew on

2010 is the year of yearning
and flirting with emptiness

2010 was the year of bike
riding and a new passion
growing

2010 was the year of the iphone
and a larger bill

2010 was the year of tank tops
and new jeans

2010 was the year of strength

2010 was the year of firsts,
twice over

2010 was the year of netflix
and gmail

2010 was the year of green balloons
and gold ribbon and lights
and help from good friends

2010 was the year of engagement
parties and weddings for
fun and work

2010 was the year of absolving
partnerships

2010 was the year deemed
"over my dead body"

2010 was the year of half our deen
and eharmony and misterandmisses and,
if she'd had her way, Shaadi too

2010 was the year of #2's--
husbands and children

2010 was the birth of water
and the death of pop

2010 was the year of Georgetown
and seniors

2010 was the year of bagel
sandwiches and OKC

2010 was the year of Sarah and Yasmo

2010 was the year of looking in
and other Masjid funness

2010 was Laylatul Qadr
at the Masjid by accident

2010 was IHOP and little brothers

2010 was haunted houses
and ripped flip flops

2010 was mystery men
and canopies

2010 was HeyTell and
iPray and iQuran

2010 was t-shirts--lots
and lots of t-shirts

2010 was two more classes
of future teachers

2010 was phone calls and
evaluations

2010 was Alaskan money

2010 was lock-ins and a hopeful

2010 meant remembering the
leave and cold heaters

2010 was an opening of a
gashing wound I am
constantly trying to heal

2010 brought new shop
and bonding for them

2010 was rats and roaches

2010 was a rekindling of
writing on all surfaces-
napkins, journals,
ticket, receipts, old
agendas, schedules, hands
and jeans

2010 was a broken laptop
(or was that 2009?)

2010 was Obama and
Brittney and Madonna

2010 was the year of discontent
with fast food nothingness

2010 was wheat thins, sandwiches
and chocolate fountains

2010 was remembering how
to almost fall in love

2010 was.

8:08ish (phone dead, lights out)