Gay Heaven

I passed out at Frank’s last night, and his house smells like flowers and sunshine. Instead of passing out on his couch, he offered me his bed, to ease his conscious for ruining yet another night. He never allows me to sleep in his bed, unless he did something wrong, no matter how much I complained of neck pain. It was either we slept in the same bed, yes he loved cuddling, even with a vagina, or I had to sleep on the couch. No, I frankly didn’t care about sharing a bed with a gay friend, but I knew my mother whom lives at least 400 miles away would object. You see even when you live on your own, the quilt of your mother follows like you a constant companion. And so I chose the couch at all times rather then sharing the bed with him. In the morning I would lie beside him, and we would talk about the night before. Sometimes hitting the gym together, but mostly buying junk food and eating it.

Last night we went out, got super drunk, and he ended up dancing on some random dude’s VIP table. We got kicked out, him for being an idiot, and me for being with the idiot. We walked all the way to his place laughing our asses off, until we woke up this morning and realized what he had done. I had a huge bruise on my arm, from being escorted out. This would be my second or third time being kicked out of a club because of him. The last it was because he threw a beer bottle at his ex’s head. He missed, but we still go kicked out. The third I don’t remember. I’ve also almost got arrested once for drinking in public. I wasn’t drinking, I was already drunk out of mind, but the police caught Frank with an entire bottle of Girls Night wine: Our favourite. He ran away, as I stood like an idiot in shock. The police did two thinks to me. They made me freeze, and the made me freeze. So I stood there like an idiot, in my heels, contemplating to run as the officer was a chub chub, only to realize my heels wouldn’t get me very far. And so I stood, looking around frantically, hoping to be saved by someone. Yes, that was the kind of friend he was, he would leave anyone behind to save his ass. And so I had to give up his name or get arrested. I did neither. I pretended not to speak English. How I came up with that idea? I have no fucking idea. It was one of those genius ideas that comes to you when you’re intoxicated. They kept asking me what language I spoke and so I kept saying no English and die. Eventually they got tired of me, and let me go, but not before giving me a ticket for public intoxication. That was the way with Frank, when he drank, he was a bucket of fun. It was always just him and I. I liked going to gay clubs way more, because it make me feel less quilty. While in heterosexuals clubs you had to worry about some sleeze laying his dick on you, in the gay clubs the gays didn’t care about girls. If ANYTHING they wanted them out of their clubs. Gays were there to get laid, but the straight girls were taking away their thunder. Every time we went out Frank complained that people noticed my outfits more then his.

Aishhh I told you to dress down! You’re getting all the compliments again!”

But I never listened to him. A gay’s approval was worth a 1000 straight mens approval. And so we frequented the gay clubs dressed to the nines, because A, no one would find me there, and B I didn’t need to worry about some creep creeping behind me. Frank, however wasn’t impressed. He needed all eyes on him, and I hardly let let that happen. I can tell you some of my best nights was hanging out with that fun asshole, but I can also tell you that his friendship was like a bad relationship of ups and downs. Nights, where he would leave me all alone with out a word, and nights where he would make me run in heels, because he kept his pee in the whole time at the club (he had a thing against peeing in public). Who the hell has a thing against peeing in public when you have a penis? Yeah, I don’t know anyone either.


No calm down, I am not saying yes to no dress, when last night I was pigging out on Oreos, and telling you about my broken heart. Admit it. You were thinking it too. I heard you say it. “ohhhh not you too! You got engaged as well!” Yes, I know all of your friends are, and so is everyone who is on Facebook apparently. Before, you only had to worry about seeing those sort of updates (babies coming out of vaginas,rings on middle fingers, that sort of shit) on Facebook, BUT NOW, well you see the same damn SHE SAID YES picture on everything! Instagram, Whatsapp, Viber, some people even make vines about it. As if posting it on Facebook and all the social crap apps wasn’t enough, you really had to go out of your way to Whatsapp, Viber, and Imessage me the same god damn picture?! AHHH you got to be fucking kidding me!

Sorry, where was I? Yes, so the show SAY YES TO THE DRESS. God, that is the most angering show in the history of television shows! I mean for God’s sake, have you seen some of the dresses those girls choose?! It makes you jump off your couch with your hands reached at the screen, screaming NOOOOOOOO NOT THAT ONE! Some of them choose the MOST AWFUL, EYE HURTING dresses I’ve ever seen. And you know what’s worst then the brides whom choose these hideous dresses (?), is the so-called consultants! The smile on the consultants, when picking out those hideous dresses. I mean how? How can you do such a terrible deed with a smile! That by far, is worst then anything I can imagine. And because at this very moment I can’t imagine anything worst, I deem this deed the worst of all deeds.

Post-Break Up Weight

Its 4 am here, and about 7 am where the bastard whom broke my heart lives.  I just woke up, and realized I was fat. I tried to sleep on my side, with one leg forward, but I couldn’t because my fat was in the way of my breathing. Then on my stomach only to have my now won’t-even-fit-in-two-hands-boobs in the way. I tried on my bra only to realize the last clasp is broken, meaning my back fat has stretched my bra into suicide.   It too, no longer wants to hold on.  Yes, at this time I also tried on my white leather skirt: won’t budge past my thighs.  I tried to weigh myself but I forgot I threw out the scale batteries, another way to check out of reality.   I took out my remote control batteries, also about to die of course.  I read somewhere if you heat batteries it recharges, but too tired to heat water, I instead chewed on them (read this online as well).  I put the batteries in, and at first my scale seemed angry at being denied the hold it had on my emotions, but I think after stepping on it, it realized it was back in control.  So back in control, that the motherfucker had no mercy on my tattered soul.  170 LBS it read!  How I had gained that much weight, I have no idea!  I went to bed thin and comfortable only to wake up fat, and a size 12.  Starting tomorrow a new diet! I won’t allow my mom to add TOO FAT to the list of why guys won’t want to marry me.  You bet your ass, I won’t be giving my mom that satisfaction! Oh, did I mention I just finished an entire box of Oreos today?  Those little fuckers get you every time. Every damn time.  If Oreo’s could talk: “all day, errrrrrrr day bitches.”

Last Chance

Just got off a 45 minute call with my mother, and told her to tell Murad’s family I have said no to the marriage proposal.  I don’t feel like changing everything that I am to mould into everything that he wants. A huge mistake my mother argues. Compromises must be made in order to make a relationship work. What she means by this, is that I make all the compromises, while he makes none. No thank you. This is my last chance at a good marriage proposal,she says. After him no one will want to marry me. She says this like its a fact, and list off all the reasons I won’t be a wanted bride.

  • Getting too old
  • too picky
  • too independent
  • too white washed
  • no guy/family wants a girl whom lives on her own
  • no guy wants a girl whom has so many guy friends
  • no guy wants a girl whom wears a bathing suit in public
  • no guy wants a girl whom travels all the time
  • no guy wants a girl whom doesn’t own a car or her own place
  • no guy wants a blabber mouth
  • no guy wants a girl with dark skin
  • too skinny more meat on you ( even though she called a whale last time she saw me)
  • no guy wants a girl whom says everything on her mind

And I can list off all the reasons a guy from my culture would want to marry a girl. Actually, only one thing on that list: be a bobble head and say yes to everything he says. I’ll leave that to all the girls whom are afraid of dying alone. The only thing I am afraid of, is giving up everything that I am, for someone whom is everything that I never wanted.

Mr. No Balls

I just got home from having Sunday brunch with Preeti who’s admitted to being in love with a married man. Are all of my friends now suddenly in love? It seems like it. Not that I have anything against people in love, I just have it against the bastards they fall in love with. Especially the bastard she has fallen in love with. It saddens me to say that we met this married bastard together at a friends wedding. You could tell he was into her by the way he looked at her, even with his wife standing next to him! This to me was beyond disgusting, and when I had excused myself back to our table, stupid Preeti had just stood there. I had to drag her away. Now months later she’s admitting to giving her number to him that same day.

But he’s married Preeti! What is wrong with you?!”

Well technically, he’s only engaged!”

Yeah, engaged to his cousin! Do you know how hard that type of engagement is to break off? They were set up by their families, there is no way he will leave her for you!”

He doesn’t love her! At all! He just did it because he felt pressured from his family!”

So you think he’ll leave her for you? You’re fucking dump if you think he will. He’s playing you, and thats it!”

NO! He’s going to talk to his family, I know he will!”

You can bet our brunch ended with a sour note on both sides. She was just telling me this now, because she couldn’t help it and needed to tell someone. I wanted her to put herself in the fiance’s shoes to see how she would feel. But I think I was already too late. They have been seeing each other for close to 7 months now, and whatever I said fell on deaf ears. I was shocked that she would stoop to that level, to fall in love with someone whom is as good as married. His wedding was only a few months away, for god sakes! For a girl form such a strict background all the guys she chose ended with heartbreak. You may think I was rough on her, but this wasn’t the first time she was fooled by some good looking guy driving an Audi. It always ended up with her crying , and me mending her broken heart. Her excuse was he didn’t love his fiance and was forced to marry her. Which made him sound like a pussy, with no balls. But apparently, I am a judgmental Debbie that can’t be happy for her finding love, because I am a bitter old hag whom got cheated on. Yes that was her exact words to me. And with that, I left her to pay the cheque for our brunch. You can’t waste my Sunday with stupid shit, and then expect me to pay for my own meal, you know? That and also realizing that you can’t be someones cheerleader, when they’re always passing the ball to all the wrong bastards out there.

Fire Me Heels

When I got into work this morning, I got ambushed by my colleague Frank. He showed up with a cup of coffee in hand-for ME! That’s pretty shocking, because he’s such a cheapo!  Going all the way to Starbucks instead of Tim Horton means one thing: he has some very, very, very juicy work gossip.

Send out an email and say you’ll be away for meetings all morning! I have so much to tell you!”

Ugh crap, I can’t. Have to catch up on a ton of one-on-one meetings. Not to mention all the emails I need to reply to.”

No no no! You need to trust me on this one! We had a meeting yesterday at work, and it was all about YOU.”

Oh great, so the gossip was about me. What a fucking surprise. When you work in a big corporation it feels like you’re back in high school. You’re either part of the cool crowd or you’re not. I was part of neither. My main focus was getting paid, doing as little as possible, and getting out. Did I mention I hated almost everyone I worked with? Except my team of people that I managed of course. I had no expectations of them, except to bring in the numbers. I was the don’t-give-a-fuck type of manager, whom all the other managers tried to have fired, and the employees wanted to work with. Apparently, I was bad for company morale.

Frank, I probably know what you’re going to say. And honestly its way too early for your dramatics!”

He rolls his pretty blue eyes at me, and lets out an exasperated sigh. I’ve known frank since day one. He was my trainer whom had gone out of his way to show me “the ropes”, ropes that he knew nothing about. He had fallen in love with my heels, and thought we were best friends. He had told me, with the excitement of a school boy, that he was so happy to work with someone whom also loved to dress up. He looked like a run way model and smelled like gay heaven. At first I was in love with him, but as the years rolled around I got tired of his dramatics. Frankly, I was pissed off at him still, because on a drunk night, while I was passed out on his couch, he had tried on my expensive pair of heels. And you know what happens when a size ten tries to fit their feet into a size 8? Well, what happens is the front of the shoe ripping in half. I cried for weeks over those heels, and the fucker wouldn’t even pay for it because it wasn’t in his budget. NOT that I asked him to pay me back for it. But a part of me had wished he would, because after that day I couldn’t look at him the same way. Yes, maybe I am a bit dramatic too, but who isn’t when it comes to shoes? So maybe, I didn’t dislike him, but still loved him a bit. On nights out when we got drunk together, I was comfortable enough to pass out on his couch, because I knew that I didn’t have to worry about being raped in the middle of the night. The only thing that had gotten raped was my heels. So now when I do pass out at his place, I make sure to hide my heels.

You know you can’t leave, right?! Right??” he says this twice with as much exasperation as he can muster.  I just roll my eyes, because we’re each others reason for lasting at this job for so long.  

I know I won’t be getting fired. You see when your work ethic sucks, yet you still bring in numbers, they won’t fire you. What they want to do is mold you into their ways. Show no mercy for those you manage. The problem with this though, is your sensitiveness tends to get in the way of no mercy. Example, I don’t even like cats, but if an employee needs the day off because her cat died, not only will I give her the entire week off, I’ll throw a funeral for the cat as well. This was one of the things they had mentioned at the meeting. I give too many days off, I allow my agents to get away with murder, and I don’t reprimand them when they are late.  The gossip Frank shared, I already heard about from another manager, also a friend.  Not to kill his excitement, I let him go on as if I knew nothing.

When I was done with Frank, I met with my supervisor for our meeting, which lasted more then two hours. There was a lot of concern that I didn’t give a fuck about the job.  Yes, my team is performing, but they also have the highest rate of lates, highest rate of sick days,  and most bereavement days taken. I knew some of my employees made up family relatives and killed them off months later to get days off. But who was I, to judge their pain over made up dead relatives? I don’t need to go into more details. You know the work bullshit. At the end of the meeting he says to me.

You know off the record, I think what you need to do is start firing people.”

You mean make an example out of people who need their jobs, to save my ass?”

To this he nods and smiles at me. What a fucking asshole I think to myself. The only person that needs to be fired is the prick himself. This is the moment that I wish he would just fire me.  I really thought today was the day I would be getting fired. I had even bought a new pair of heels for it.  You see I buy heels when I think that life changing moments are about to happen. Every pair of heel I own, has a milestone attached to it. I have my first apartment pair of heels, and when I got dumped pair of heels. I wanted my heels for today to be, when I got fired heels. I feel like after 4 years of being at the same job, it might be time to change paths. I might just have to be the one whom fires myself.  After all that happened today, I’ll just HAVE to hit the mall to buy a new pair of fire myself heels.

August 20th?!

I feel like I’ve been in a huge haze lately. I didn’t realize today was August the 21st. Which is why I left work 4 hours early, without realizing all the meetings I had in the afternoon. This has put me on very, VERY thin ice at work. So thin, that my high heels have already put a huge crack in it. On top of that, Layla calls me constantly to tell me EVERY SINGLE little detail of her love life, Preeti (believe it or not) is now in love with a married man, and my friend Jia is still googling vagina stitching. Oh and lest we forget my mother! Whom has been calling me non-stop about this whole Murad thing and a few other proposals as well. Yes, the once a year proposal has now become three in the last month or so. Which clearly indicates, that my mother has harassed my aunts, and anyone whom will listen to her wails, to find me a husband. These usual include anyone back home, whom is looking to get a green card. With all of this rubbish (shit) happening, I haven’t had one dinner invite from my friend Sana. The only one of my friends whom can cook. She has left her husband for now, due to more cheating allegations (I feel like a reporter on E! News). In other stories, it seems like our dear blogger (me) is about to get fired! But for what you may ask? Stay tuned after the break!

No really, I mean you’re going to have to stay tuned until tomorrow. Those meetings I missed were all meetings about my job performance, which won’t take a genius to tell you that I suck at. BUT, onto some good news! Oh wait, I have none! With this my lovely readers, IF there are any of you that is! I bid you adios, and a goodnight!

Work Rant!

My thought process during the length of my career…….

Week One Thoughts

  • Omg I LOVE everyone here. I know I will be best friends with most of these people. AHHH I cant wait to see them tomorrow.

First Month:

  • Shit?! This is my pay cheque?! Is this for real?! ( looks around frantically*) I am getting paid this MUCH to do NOTHING?!?! OMG I love, LOVE, MY JOB! I think I am making a difference in someone’s life!

Second Month:

  • OMG what do I do with all this money?! Buy more heels, of course!

Sixth Month:

  • Fuck I can’t buy more heels, no more closet space……Wait I know! Get a bigger apartment, maybe? Shit, shit , shit I cannot afford a bigger apartment. Why am I getting paid so little?

Eight Month:

  • Who can live off of this pay? This sucks! I need to get paid more. Fuck, that bitch is pissing me off. What is SHE smiling about today? What the fuck is everyone so happy about?! Helllooo have you seen where we work?!

A year into the job….

  • Fuck I am getting paid nothing to do the HARDEST job in the world! I need to get a different job with WAY more pay. I hate these fucking happy employees! I hate everyone here! Ahhhh she’s so annoying. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!

Second Year:

  • Ah someone please kill me now! How am I in so much debt!? This job sucks! People in china are getting paid more then me!

Third Year:

  • Please fire me. Please fire me. Ohhhhh SOMEONE PUH-LEASE FIRE ME!!!!! ANYONE?!?!?!

When higher up wants to have a meeting. My thoughts..

  • OH GOD PUHLEASE let today be the day he fires me and puts me out of my misery! Please please please!!


I got home about an hour ago, and the long drive has left me tired and annoyed. My one sick day turned into a mini-vacation. Thank god, for knowing a doctor whom was able to give me a few fake notes, other wise would I have been fired a long time ago. That’s another good thing about being an immigrant, you can always get fake notes for almost everything.

When I got home (moms house) early Saturday morning, the first thing my mother asked was if I had gotten hit by a whale . Little did she know, that this weight gain is from heartbreak. The second thing she did was to announce we had people coming over for lunch. I was already tired from my drive and assumed it was the regular relatives, or my mothers nosy friends visiting. After taking a nap, then a shower, my mother made sure that I dressed VERY nicely. Because I was hit by a whale, and not caring to impress anyone, I put on a pair of jeans and a white shirt, not even bothering to brush my hair. My older sister came up twice, to make sure I wore something else and I kept assuring her I would. But with all of the commotion downstairs, I was soon forgotten and fell asleep again. I was awoken with my sister telling me I better change and go down stairs. She made sure to watch that I did indeed change into something nice. I took off my top, and pants and pretended to look for something else, while she took out some make up for me to put on. When she thought I was going to do as she requested, she went back downstairs. As soon as she was gone, I picked up my jeans and top from the floor and put them back on. The only difference is that I put my hair in a bun and applied chap stick. In the living room was an entire family dressed for a wedding. You see, when you live in a small town and have no where to go, even going to Tim Hortons requires dressing up.

Going to a wedding?” I say as I walk into the living room, to which everyone laughs way too enthusiastically. I go over and shake hands with everyone. They ask me the usual questions, about work, school, and what I’ve been up to. To which I lie, lie, and lie. The first realization of the day hits me. These people have no idea that I have been living on my own! Carrying a tray of tea, my mother looks me up and down disapprovingly. My sisters are in the kitchen preparing lunch, and I know she will scold them later for allowing me to come downstairs looking like a mess.

You know Mr. so&so’s son Murad.” Says my mother looking at me with a smile on her face.

The second realization of the day dawns on me. This so called emergency that required my presence, is a marriage proposal. I say nothing, but smile over at Murad whom has blossomed in the last three years since I had seen him. During lunch, I try to make conversation, even though I am annoyed. Murad keeps smiling at me over his cup of tea, while my mother does the exact opposite. I can tell I am revealing too much about my travels, by the way mother keeps looking at me. A fact she wants hidden. She does not want to come off as a liberal mother, whom had allowed her daughter to travel ALONE. And so every time I reveal too much, she gives me the eye to change the subject. She doesn’t want too much revealed about me as to no scare off the proposal. After 4 hours of trying not to reveal-anything-conversation, they leave (thankfully).

For the next five days my mother harasses me about giving an answer. The truth is I am going to decline as soon as I get back to my life. My mother on the other hand refused to let me get back, and wanted me to think it over with her. After 5 days, I had to lie and say I would get fired if I didn’t go back to work tomorrow. She finally let me leave, but not before lecturing me for at least 5 hours.

The rest of the weekend was an endless conversation of back and forth back and froth. Come home, enough is enough, you’re way too old, start a family, get married, have kids, eggs dying, save money, buy condo, family honor. I am exhausted thinking about it and writing about it. I will elaborate tomorrow as to why I won’t say yes to Murad’s marriage proposal despite his dreamy eyes, and lengthy legs. For now I am off to bed.  I would like to thank all the doctors out there whom write fake sick notes for people whom hate their jobs. Thank you so very much, from the bottom of my heart. 

To Go Home Or Not To Go Home

I did exactly as my mom said and stayed home today.  My mother gave me a wake up call at 7:20 am to make sure I hit the road early. Hitting the road was the last thing on my mind. Instead of going back to bed, I went for a run, came home, showered, and went for a latte. By the time I did all that, I had six missed calls and 6 voicemails all from my mother. As if the caller ID and the first voicemail wasn’t enough to identify that she had indeed called. I was going to make the drive today, but quit frankly the idea of visiting her seems so daunting. Not only do I hate small cities with a passion, but I also hated visiting my family, especially now that I have gotten older. Most people whom live on their own feel lonely, and miss everything from home cooking to the sound of their mothers voice. I, on the other hand after three years of living alone missed none of that. I loved the silence, and the alone time even more. I loved the freedom of going out at 3 am to the corner store, and sleeping in without my mother shrieking for me to do the laundry, dishes, mopping, and all the house chores a common cultural girl is supposed to do. At my place I rarely did dishes, rarely vacuumed, and rarely cooked. I do not believe in doing things that are repetitive. Example cooking, doing dishes, and so on. I eat from plastic plates, use my kitchen cabinets for heels, and listen to african american music without my mothers judgment. I knew going there a day earlier would mean one more day of sitting through lectures about who said what about me, and what the new gossip about me is. The last gossip that was going around was that I was working on a street corner and made a ton of money, this was the reason I wanted to live on my own. I wish I could work the corner street, I would be rolling in dough instead of being worth negative a lot! And so I procrastinated about leaving, and by the time I wanted to leave (now) it became way too dark to drive. Not that I can’t drive at night time, but my mother believes all accidents happen during the night. So I called my sister just to avoid speaking to her, and told her I would be leaving tomorrow at 5 am. I called all of my friends to see if anyone wanted to spend Friday night watching trash movies, and eating crap food. Of course, I only called my miserable friends and not the happy ones. I called the one with the cheating husband, the one who is cheating on her husband, the one whom isn’t a virgin, the one whom leads a double life, and so you get my point. To my disappointment none of them were available. They were all trying to deal with their crisis in their own way. The only person whom was available was Layal and she was the last person I wanted to hang out with. Her love story is the last thing I want to hear about, when I myself am in revenge land. In the end Layla won. She will soon be coming over, and I will have to sit and listen to how much prettier the world seems, while I eat my emotions away.