Financier, Extrordinaire

This ladies and gentlemen, is procrastination at it’s finest.

It is 4:29 PM on Thursday afternoon and the weekend is only one hour and one minute away from me, I smell it.

Sitting in this little box of an office with no light, other than artificial, naturally, has got me thinking about work.

I often think how to run away from my responsibilities, I’ve been the queen of skipping class since the 9th grade. The lady loves her sleep (high five if you got the GoT reference).

Ninth grade - Dwight School

I always figured once I was in University doing something I love, I would be much less likely to skip class. Hah! It got worse, I had the audacity to skip 2 PM classes, same reason though, the lady loves her sleep.

And now I work, lol. Who in their right mind would hire me?

I am now bored of this current topic and will move on to..


I can’t even procrastinate right anymore, jeez.

There are a lot of funny videos on YouTube, I’ve watched a lot of them today!

Oh right, I should explain the title of this post.

I work as a financial copywriter and no I will not write where because the lady needs to eat.

Yes, even though I live with my parents they both have very different food ideologies.

My mother likes incredibly bland food and will eat a tiny portion once or twice a day. My father on the other hand, enjoys extremely, traumatizingly grotesque meals and that leaves me, to fend for myself.

At least I save on rent.

It’s only 4:37 PM. Thank you, theory of God damned relativity.

I shall continue my YouTube fun.

But here watch this, and don’t come chasing after me with pitchforks -

Until my next nervous breakdown!

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Eye to Eye. No, unfortunately not the internet sensation.


First let me get this out of the way,  this is the original – the don, el padre.


I have harassed my loved ones for pictures of their eyes. Why? Well it’s silly but I was walking through the mall today and for some reason I kept making eye contact with everyone I passed.

I looked into the eyes of a little kid, he was crying but stopped for a second because he realized that someone was staring at him. He was a little ashamed, but I suppose his lust for the remote control car overcame his momentary self-awareness.

I looked into the eyes of the woman who works at Baskin Robbins, she accidentally messed up my order but we laughed it off and it was really quite pleasant. She had a strange name, it ended with Yin. I wondered what she did when she went home after her shift. I wondered how many people she came across during her day, I thought about how much of a blunt contrast it is to my job.

I looked into the eyes of many salespeople, who metaphorically dragged their feet, dug up and planted an insincere smile on their face offering me to try perfume, to try this hair straightener, to try this coffee.

I looked into the eyes of the taxi driver who dropped me home. He turned around and said, “Madam, please, if you don’t mind, can you tell me how to exit this area.” How is a 22 year old girl madam?

I looked into the eyes of a Russian I know, who I have known for a year, who is always confused about what mood I am in. I wonder what it must be like dealing with such a temperamental person. I wonder what it feels like to be pressured by a woman to do things that you may not want to do.

I looked at my own eyes in the mirror and thought to myself, I really need to share this feeling.

Mother of Mothers

Mother of Mothers























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My Latest and Greatest Obsession

Hellow all,

Jesus, do you see that? I’m starting my blog post like it’s an e-mail. What is the world coming to?!

But on a sparkier note, because frankly I have to note this down, I have been electrocuted. It was hardly a Benjamin Franklin, but I got zapped nonetheless, damned iPhone.

And now that that’s out of the way I can begin gushing over this new project/blog I have found. Well okay, it wasn’t a chance encounter, it was on my Facebook timeline, semantics.

Back to my discovery! It’s the Americas for a 22 year old girl (not to mention a hopeless romantic turned cynic) – a boy and a girl who are just friends, start dating for 40 days to see what happens.

It is every so aptly named 40 days of dating

It is a controlled documentation of what both parties experience everyday with each other. Reminds me of the movie by Kurosawa called Rashomon (self hi-5 for the witty film reference)

It is a very interesting account of the same events by two separate people of the opposite sex. They are very cleverly only revealing a blog post a day at a time even though the 40 days are long over. They could be dating right now, they could hate each other, they could be married or having a baby! Ah, the excitement..


or it’s been a very slow Sunday at the office

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Quds Day

You are insistent, calling again. You want me to tell you the story of Scheherazade, who rocks the sad king on her knees as she sings him tales from wonderland. Yet you know that I am not Scheherazade, and that one of the world’s greatest wonders is that I am unable to enter my country or pass through the region around it - Liana Badr

No people anywhere in the world would accept being expelled en masse from their own country; how can anyone require the people of Palestine to accept a punishment which nobody else would tolerate? – Bertrand Russell

If you are asking for my point of view, I would say that the Palestinians should go back to Palestine - Hassan Nasrallah

The victory march will continue until the Palestinian flag flies in Jerusalem and in all of Palestine - Yasser Arafat

You cannot continue to victimize someone else just because you yourself were a victim once—there has to be a limit - Edward W. Said

It would be my greatest sadness to see Zionists (Jews) do to Palestinian Arabs much of what Nazis did to Jews - Albert Einstein

How much longer is the world willing to endure this spectacle of wanton cruelty?- Bertrand Russell

Do you know, Mother, that Haj Salem was buried alive in his home? Does he tell you stories in heaven now? I wish I had had a chance to meet him. To see his toothless grin and touch his leathery skin. To beg him, as you did in your youth, for a story from our Palestine. He was over one hundred years old, Mother. To have lived so long, only to be crushed to death by a bulldozer. Is this what it means to be Palestinian? - Susan Abulhawa

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Old Is Not Gold

I’ve  waited my whole life to be 21, and now I’m 22.

When I was younger  life seemed like it would be infinitely better when I grew up. I don’t know what gave me that ridiculous idea.

I live in a country that is 40 degrees, and I have a 9 to 5 job. Safe to say I was not expecting this. BUT, instead of being a complete douchebag, I will try to find the perks of being older.

1. The most important – I make my own money. Although Dubai is 40 degrees and a bona fide hell on earth, it currently has one of the most stable economies. I can afford pretty things and mommy can’t say no.

2. I can enjoy traveling – When I was younger you couldn’t pay me enough money to enjoy the Louvre, but now, now I tell ya!

3. I’m not as big of an idiot as I used to be – I was an imbecile. My wardrobe had a number of halter tops, with lace embellishments, enough said.

4. I like learning – School was a disaster, everything I learnt then was forced down my throat. Now, knowing more means being cool – I am cool.

5. I know what I like and what I don’t like – How many days I would spend talking about things I abhorred. How many nights I couldn’t sleep because of one stupid horror movie. ASK ME TO WATCH THE EXORCIST, I DARE YOU.

6. I like documentaries – Preach!

7. I know how to use idioms.

I suppose it doesn’t suck that bad to be 21, but like I said, I’m 22 now.

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Look at my blog, my blog is amazing. 

The Amazing Todd

The Amazing Todd (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Horse lickin’ goodness.



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I no longer know what to say. I no longer have commentary on the Middle East.

I am starting to give up. The notion of peace is hilarious when faced with such atrocious barbarians.

Lebanon – Lebanon is on the verge of being destroyed, again. I cannot comprehend the rationale of religion. I am not here to insult your God, but surely killing someone in His name is something that He would not approve of. Surely killing anyone would not be approved of. Religion in politics, what? 

Armed militia roaming the streets and could be in the apartment next door. Days with no electricity in Saida after citizens homes have been wrecked by the illegal arms flowing through the naive country. No cell service either, great!

One day the military men are honorable and the next they are despicable. 



Egypt has awoken and that fills me with joy.


Syria is broken.

Iraq is broken.

Salafists multiply by the hour. 


This is 2013. We have access to any information on any subject at anytime. Something needs to be done. 


Every God in existence needs to lend us a hand. 

For every injustice that has ever been done to every Arab, to every human being. To every oppressor that has ever existed.

Never under estimate the power of the people.

(Insert Che Guevara quote here)

And on to a brighter day, goodnight.

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Nadim Gemayel, Yalli Khallaf… Meit

Originally posted on A Separate State of Mind | A Lebanese Blog:

I grew up hearing about Bachir el Gemayel – the man of hope for many people – a hope in a country they wish they had. Many of the people I know still look upon his memory and get an undeniable feel of nostalgia on the days when they really believed in the potential of the place they call their land.

I never got the hype. I always thought it’s better to live in the “now” than in the memories of days long past that will not nor can they ever return. For many though, the hope of Bachir lived on with his son Nadim. Today, however, I have to tell those same people who look upon Nadim Gemayel and say “Yalli khallaf ma meit,” hoping he’ll be the man his father was, that on the contrary, yalli khallaf mesh bass meit… Meit w sar trab kamen.

I’m not sure…

View original 490 more words

Peeping Toms

And my cursor blinks prompting me to write.
And it flashes on this brightly lit screen, and my drug induced euphoria makes my eyes roll back in my head.
And the man on the other side of the telephone waits.
And so I write about my – charged dreams of the odd Cuban woman and a Russian man, and so I wait.
And I stare in the mirror and my skin is dead and my eyes are dead and my days are dead.
And they pass with no meaning and with excruciating heat and redundancy.
And I reminisce on my better days, had I know those days were the best I would have stopped more often.
I am glad I stopped at all.
And I froze those moments and now I look back and reminisce, in front of my blinking cursor.

And my hair falls out from chemical enhancements to make me beautiful, but my skin is dead and my essence will follow shortly.
Must I be so bitter and so jealous?
Better days will come, like the drawing of an arrow I will shoot forward.
The destination is irrelevant as my perfect pair will always be there.
And the colors will be beautiful and so will the breeze.
In its picturesque perfection I will be and I will make sure to freeze.
In the months that will follow I will start at my cursor and it will prompt me to write.
Prompt me to share my adventure from an Asian land.
Possibly a Caucasian land, we have yet to depart.
The mate of your soul has the same bad habits as you do, and you indulge together which makes it all the more blissful.
My oh my, I sit in my loneliness amongst boxes of my childhood in my drug induced euphoria and I escape for an hour or so.
And still the cursor blinks.

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And I tried again.

The medicine man, the medicine man he comes knocking on our door.

He takes our money and laughs when we are poor.

The medics are here to save our souls while the man behind the curtain patents our genomes.

He’s here to give us our high and he’s here to save our lives. He watches as the fluids wither us dry.

The cancer is in my chest but the medicine man cannot get it. He says he needs a case of gold before he can test it.

How can we stand by and watch our world crumble and fold and die
While they turn all possible resources cold.

“The last mass extinction is on its way folks, open up your wallets wide” said the snide, fat man.

Our water is salt and our petrol dis-eases.
The plants they wither and do not return with the seasons.

The medicine man now owns your genes and if ever there was a kind soul, his work would now exist only in dreams.

The medicine man took our homes that we willingly gave to save our sisters souls.

Our parent’s screams form the pollution while we sit and stare at the needle sharp solution.

This passive generation is soiled with complacency and the middle child wails at its never-ending infancy.

We assume our lives are necessary when in fact they are not.What matters most to the medicine man is that they can watch us rot.

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