It’s Raining Men

Last week I got two proposals.  One on Tuesday, and the other on Friday.  One was a hand down, from my cousin.  She called me to explain that a guy had come for her hand, and she wasn’t interested, but because he was such a good catch she thought I should have him.   Now my cousin isn’t the type of person to do anything from the kindness of her heart.   She was sending me her second hand in the hopes that I would agree to meeting him, just so she can sit at my wedding (hypothetically) and say with a smirk that he had come for her hand first.  The second guy on Friday was a tax driver.  A friend of a friend, whom had seen my pictures and fallen in love.  He was described to me as tall, dark, and handsome.  What I saw was hairy, big nose, and bald.  But that’s besides the point.  I was told by my mother I should be lucky that not ONE but TWO guys had shown their interest in me.  Because at 26, I am expired and apparently so are my eggs.


I have found him! My prince charming, whom not only is tall, dark, and handsome, but utterly open minded.  Did I mention he lives in Paris?!  Well, I did now.  Yes, he lives in Paris, the city of love and romance, the city of yummy cheese, and cheap delicious wine.  I was ecstatic!  How did I meet him, you’re wondering?  I haven’t! Like I SAID, he lives IN PARIS!  This was a set up by my cousin, and not my mom thank god!  He had seen a picture of me, and had mentioned it to my cousin, whom was more then happy to introduce us via Skype.  He was from my country, and even the same city!   So you can see, I was super excited about this.   I even spoke to him a few times over the phone, and it felt like we’ve know each other for years! We even made plans to meet up in January.  I was going to go visit my cousin whom lives there, and then meet up with him.

I imagined wearing a beret and red lips, sipping a cup of cafe-au-lait, while my lover looked deeply into my eyes and spoke to me in beautiful French.  I pictured us walking hand in hand, and getting kissed on top of the Eiffel Tower.  Oh, the things your mind can conjure up!


That was my original post.  It was way more cheesier then that, because I had truly thought I’d found someone whom had a lot of the qualities I was looking for.  What I didn’t realize was that he had a French girlfriend whom he has been with for SIX years! Yes, six years and they have even been living together!  I found this out through my older sister when I mentioned my so called Prince Charming.  So this guy was just dating her, until he found someone from his culture and then he would dump her for me.  So first he’s looking for a wife while he has a girlfriend, which means he’ll be searching for a mistress as soon as he gets a wife!  Frankly I was pissed, and when I mentioned this to my cousin he waived away my anger, saying every guy does that.  How can every guy do that?   Anyways, that conversation didn’t go anywhere, and you can bet your ass I ignored him.  I didn’t even give him an explanation as to why I just stopped replying to his texts and calls.   I am sure my cousin updated him.  I don’t even feel bad for leaving his ass hanging, just like he didn’t feel bad about keeping his options open while being in a six year relationship.

Mistress Preeti

After the last spat I had with Preeti, I didn’t think I would hear from her again. After all she didn’t even come to my goodbye dinner when I moved to a new city.  I was pissed frankly, and was sure our friendship was over,   thatand the fact that I hadn’t heard from her in months confirmed that notion.   However a few days ago I got a face time request from her.  Not even a call to break the ice, but a face time call.  I felt obligated to pick up the call, for some unknown reason.  It started with an awkward silence of me making faces at her, and her throwing me kisses.   Clearly the bitch was drunk out of her head, and was face timing me to say she was sorry, and misses me so so much.   This wasn’t Preeti talking of course, it was the tequila shots.  Drinking ever does one thing to most people, and that it makes you speak the truth.  After her apologies and the ice shattering between us, she confessed that she has officially become tangled with a married man, and he was going to leave his wife for her.  Her only confusion?  She wasn’t sure why a man that was about to leave his wife for his mistress, kept updating his Facebook profile pictures to new pictures of him and his current wife. Confusion to a drunkard in love, like queen bee said. But it was clear to any idiot, that wasn’t Preeti, that this guy would never leave his wife for her and was only wanting to get into her pants.  To which Preeti denied and stated that he wanted to wait until they were officially married to sleep with eachother: RIGHHHHHTT!  I can tell you the details of our entire conversation but frankly it’s a bore.  Just imagine any girlfriend you have had, whether past or present whom made the dumbest excuses for their boyfriends, fiances, or husbands and you will know EXACTLY what I mean.

Friday Lights

Ohhhh Friday:  The dream of the working class.   From Monday to Thursday you dream of Friday,  and the occasional dreaming of it on a Sunday.  For me,  I no longer dream of the weekend, as every day is a weekend for me.  When you have no job, no money, and very little ambition as of right now there is no such thing as excitement for the weekend.  My old Fridays were packed with outfit planning, hair tutorial watching, and pre-drinking.  But lately its filled with nothing but drinking tea, watching soap operas with my mother, and gossiping about who’s daughter got married, and who’s daughter got divorced.  It’s also packed with packed with making tea, and instead of hair and makeup tutorials, I now watch baking videos on youtube.  Which BTW I can tell you is not helping my weight at all.   My mother on the other hand is enjoying all of this.   For once she doesn’t need to get up mid-way through her soap operas to make fresh tea, or get a glass of water.  She has a live in maid, which when questioned she says its why she brought me into this world.  And so for now I will live in her world, until I can pack up and go into my own world.  A world of heels, music, and champagne glasses.


I know it’s been a while since I posted, but that’s because I haven’t had the time to breath.  So you’ll have to bare with me for now, as I am still in the process of figuring out my life, as well as moving to a new city.  Yes, you heard right.  I am trying to convince my mother to allow me to move again.  But that’s a whole other topic I’ll be telling you about later.

After months of my mother whining about me dying alone, I finally agreed to go on date last Saturday.  He was pretty much everything I was looking for: TALL.  Tall enough for me to be able to wear heels, and tall enough to not haunch when I walked beside him.

I got ready like every other girl does.  Now because my mother had shown him old pictures where I had looked at least 30 LBS lighter, I chose to wear all black in the hopes of appearing slimmer.  More over I skipped the skimpy outfit for a much more conservative one.   To hide my double chin, I contoured my face to look like I had some great cheek bones.  My mother was ecstatic that I actually took a shower and put some make up on.  And by some, I mean caking on my entire make up collection.  And with that I was ready to leave, but not before my mother read me her 12 commandments. But I’ll only bore you with a few.

1. Do not under any circumstance tell him you lived alone.

2.  Do not tell him you travelled so often and alone

3. Do not mention drinking or give off any hints of being an open minded, liberal young woman.

As for my date he picked me up like a true gentleman would, in his BMW (OF COURSE).  I could tell that he had washed the car inside out, by the horrid smell of those free air fresheners they put in your car.  His hair had so much gel in it, that it looked like a cow had licked it and left a dollop of his phlegm in there.  But all in all he seemed like a nice, tall looking fella.  You see, I’ve heard of bad dates, but I never believed in them.  I thought people exaggerated when they told you about their HORRIBLE dates!  I assumed they wanted sympathy for wasted time, or the explanation of why at 35 they were still single.  So bad dates, I did not believe in them until this guy here. The conversation was decent.  Decent for someone who did NOT shut the fuck up about themselves, his stable manners questionable, and his humour? Dry as a bad roasted turkey.  He kept talking about his accomplishments, and how much money he had.  Did I mention that while he was doing ALL the talking not once did he look at me?  His eyes averted all over the place but to my face.   And the worst part of all this?  When the bill came, I (fake) offered to pay, and he actually let me! Even the waitress stood there staring at him for a minute, while he fidgeted with his car keys.

On the way back home, he was full of good spirit, even making plans for this up coming weekend.  Fuck, I would be full of good spirit too, if I just got a $200 meal for free.

He called my mother this morning, asking if he can come and take me out on Friday.  To which I replied, ‘OVER MY DEAD BODY’!



Ohhh my life can’t get any worst as of right now.  I have started the horrible task of job hunting.  My mother thinks I should do anything, even if it means working at McDonalds because I keep spending money I don’t have.   Even my Visa card has started to hate me for swiping his ass when its reached its limits.  OHHHHH to be poor and pretty!  JK!  If I was super pretty I would probably make my occupation: GOLD DIGGER.   FULL TIME.  But that’s not the case.  My sisters took all the beauty, and I was just left with a great personality (rolls eyes), and a mouth that talks before thinking.  I guess I just say whatever I think, and then deal with the consequences later.  Thanks DAD!

So, back to this job hunting.   It’s going horribly wrong not because there are no jobs, but because I can’t imagine working in this shitty city and living with my family.  I am so so so soooooo SICK of sleeping on the floor, and listening to my mothers snoring EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT!   Oh where is Prince Charming when you need him?!


Ohhhh Halloween.  One of my favourite holidays of all time.  I adore this holiday, because you get to see who you’re friends really are.  Especially the slutty ones!  Not that I have many of those, but the few that I do, always end up dressed as a sexy nurse or a sexy anything.  This year I wanted to be a Vampire or Elphaba.  I even went costume shopping,  and spent a hundred dollars of money I didn’t have for a costume.   Only problem I had forgotten how against Halloween my mother was.   She made a huge deal when she found out I was going to be attending a Halloween party.  No daughter of hers would be allowed to celebrate a holiday that honors the devil (?).   If you’re rolling your eyes at this, you have every right.  I have no fucking idea where my mother gets her information from, but I do know its probably from her nosy friends, or some part of her brain.  The problem with my mother saying ridiculous things is that she never ever shares her resources.  Like where does this information come from??   When she told me I couldn’t go out for Halloween, she was surrounded by a few of her friends whom nodded when she mentioned that this holiday honors the Devil.   They just nodded their heads in agreement like it was the most natural known fact about Halloween.  To this I was speechless.  How can you argue with that?!  My mothers problem is not only Halloween,  but EVERY holiday that is not a muslim one.  To make it worst I wasn’t even allowed to give out candy.   So when kids knocked on our door, we had to pretend not to be home, even though you could see the glare of my mothers tv from the living room window.

As for the hundred dollars I spent on a costume?  It was final sale, and could not be returned.  I lent it to friend to wear, whom decided to butcher it and make it a skanky Elphaba.   And instead of green skin, all you could see was green panties.



Living at home is nothing like living alone.   I miss the days of looking at the wall and wondering what to do with my Sunday morning, or the feeling of being lonely.   I even miss the mice playing in the above apartment of my neighbours place.   I miss the noise of my neighbours late laughing, and loud music on the weekends, and mostly I miss the silence.  At my mothers house there is no such thing as silence, there is only yelling, and cooking.  Cleaning and gossiping, washing clothes and ironing, making tea and coffee.  It’s an exhausting way of living.  There is no such thing as relaxing.  I told my mother on Friday that we should take it easy on Sunday, go for a nice long walk, smell the fall air, and look at the beautiful fall colours.

“What, what, what?” she asked confused. “Sunday is when we have people over for tea!”

And so is every other day of the week.   I haven’t had time more then a few hours a day to hear nothing but and that’s usually in the middle of the night when my mother is snoring.   Every single day she has something to do for me.  It’s like she made a huge to do list for the four years that I was away.  Cleaning the basement, re-organizing every cabinet in the house, throwing old clothes, repainting furniture, changing curtains, and so on.  The only thing she hasn’t asked me to do is to paint the house, or do a flip. When I ask why she hasn’t asked my older sisters to help her with this, her response is “They’re married’.  At the mention of my little sister? “oh, she’s in school”.  When you’re single you’re at the bottom of the food chain in my household.  Or i should say, when you’re expired to be more correct.

For now I am still sleeping on a cot, at the end of her bed.  Neither one of my siblings are willing to share their room.  As for you, well. I hope your life is more exciting then mine.  Filled with crip fall air, beautiful Sunday walks, and yummy pumpkin lattes.  I also hope you’re not expired yet.

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving my lovelies! I hope, unlike me you are enjoying a beautifully cooked turkey with yummy stuffing and mouth watering turkey.  I asked my mother if I could prepare a Thanksgiving dinner today, and she out right refused me. She stated it was haram to be celebrating a holiday that killed so many, and instead of a turkey she offered to make me some rice and meat. Where my mother gets her information from sometimes I have no idea, and so this year I am not celebrating thanksgiving or any holiday it seems.  When I lived alone I celebrated every single holiday from Hanukkah to Christmas to Diwali. But now I’ll just have to settle on eating rice and meat for the rest of my life, without stuffing or gravy.  But please, DON’t feel too sorry for me.  I was invited to a Thanksgiving dinner.  When I asked my mother if I could go, she gave me the look of death.

” What, what, what?! Friends house? You just got back yesterday and already you want to leave your family and go spend time with your friends? Well this is something I never thought I’d hear in my life time! And who will eat all this rice I cooked?!”

And with this she huffed and puffed at the same time rolling her eyes.  And yes you heard right.  At 26 I am back to being 11 years old, asking my mother if I can go outside and play.  I went from an independent girl living a lone, paying my own bills, running a house hold according to my own rules, and coming and going as I pleased , back to this.   My mother doesn’t even acknowledge that I lived alone, let alone that I have even left this house.  Ever since coming back her priority has been to get me married off to just about anyone.  Next weekend, I have a proposal from a doctor.  “A DOCTOR!” my mother exclaimed.  Can you believe it a doctor!?  My worst nightmare really.  I went on a date with one before.  Frankly it was horrid.  All he talked about was himself and occasionally he would look back at his Audi that he had parked in front of the restaurant just so he could keep an eye on it.  The worst dates that are very worthy of writing about have been with Doctors.  I think the only reason my mother loves doctors is because she just wants to see and this is my son in law and HE’S A DOCTOR! Which I doubt very much will happen.   But for now, my mother insists after today I have to go on a diet and I should start the gym again.

“You don’t look like your pictures anymore, and now I have to send your auntie and them new pictures.  And you know how hard this face thing is to send picture on.”

By this face thing she means Facebook.  But anyways, back to Thanksgiving.  As usual I am off topic again.  But happy thanksgiving to all the people out there who celebrate it.   And if you are dating a doctor who is indeed great, and doesn’t only talk about himself, then kudos to you my friend, because in my mothers eyes you definitely have hit the jackpot!