Emo Tales.

Guest post by an Anonymous friend.

I’m stupid. You’re stupid. Everyone’s stupid.

The ability to get yourself into shit on a daily basis without fail has to be a commendable trait. You do things you already know will get you into trouble, but that “knowledge” obviously is of no good. So, what do you do? You go right ahead and shove your head back up your ass anyway. It’s when you do this that your brain disowns you. Oh, and people annoy me. I hate people. Loathe them.

I hope this isn’t a case of “mild” brain damage (if there is such a thing that is) because I’m quite sure I do these things to myself out of boredom. And then I beat myself up (no, not physically, you dumb ass) for it. Stupid and hypocrite. I wonder why people find it hard to take me seriously… I’m not THAT stupid, right? *chuckles*

I was listening t…. so who wants to get high? I’m too lazy to finish even this. Sorry, Maryam.

PS: On a lighter note:

Of Boobs and Not Lemons.

Guest post from Uncle Fu who seems to dislike lemons intensely. 

What would I do if life gave me lemons?

I wouldn't take them. I don't want lemons. Not really.

What would I do if life made me take lemons; just handed them to me and ran away?

I'd just stand there awkwardly with lemons in my hand for a bit. Then put them on my table and forget about them. And they'd stay there for a while until they go all brown and rot and start to smell. Then I'd throw them away. I really don't want lemons.

I really really want boobs. Not for myself - as in, I don't want to have boobs on me. I just want them.

On a person.

Life should give me a person with boobs. Preferably a person who won't mind if they see the shallow useless side of me. The side that chooses to let lemons rot and not make lemonade. So what I really want from life are boobs. Not lemons.

Knots.

Guest - I refuse to call this 'post' - sentences by the brilliant Nushay (also my boss).

"You'd think our relationship was as weak as a thread

One would think you tied six knots to it instead."

I Am Definitely Getting Old.

Guest post by my friend Adeel who seems to consider himself a buzurg already.

Age is but a number.

Sun sets in the far off horizon on the west side as I get comfy on my terrace with my laptop to write this guest post. It is a chilly November evening hence fun. I love winters in Lahore just for the record, but then who doesn’t. It brings with it, dry fruits and steaming cups of coffee/Tea (whichever you prefer of course) along with ice cream sneak outs which lead to Mom later saying “or khao maa baap say chup kay ice creamain gala kharab kara liya hai na ab”. Ironically the song that randomly begins to play on my iTunes is ‘Endless summer nights’ by Richard Marx. I like his music from the late 80s when I was kid. All my elder teenage cousins used to listen to him, George Michael, Michael Jackson, Madonna etc. Naturally as a 5 year old I liked to do everything they did lol. Fashion sense of the 80s would actually require a whole another post which you may get to see on my own blog =D

That makes me wonder it has been nearly 24 years since I was 5. I will be 30 in a year. Yes you read it right its 30. I know ‘meri harkatain’ aren’t of one (which you will think too once u are done with this post) but ….oh well there goes my 20s. Now that you think about it when it’s all gone, you wonder how the hell did that happen so fast, Or….well did it? All that time spent and only few more years to go provided I die a natural death. Sounds depressing doesn’t it? Well I am not here to depress you guys so no let’s not go down that road. 

I do think I did ok in these years. Criterion of success, for me, involves my relations with people. I am not very ambitious career wise. I like to have a steady job and earn well and provide for my family and take care of them. That’s about it. I never get people who spend all their lives working so hard that they actually end up just working and nothing else. What is the point really if you don’t get to enjoy life you are earning for? I guess everyone makes their own choices. I don’t like to judge anyone for their choices. Success for me is about how good I was with people that came in my life.
I have, luckily, made friends all over the world. It’s fascinating to talk to them. Discuss their cultures, day to day lives. Also the people I have met on the blogosphere. I like most of them. They speak out their minds on their blogs. I read what they write, observe them (not synonymous to stalking), think over their ideas. They are all like different colors in my life. They may not know it =D or I may sound freaky while I say this but no harm in being honest. I prefer avoiding fights and arguments in general though. I guess if you let people be, generally it helps. There are days when you don’t want to talk to anyone but it’s all part and parcel of life. You take it with a pinch of salt and move on. 

Moving on is my favorite thing by the way in life =P . It has helped me so much so many a times from wasting time over stuff that one should not. Although I can’t move on just like that if see any baked stuff or a pizza. I just can’t. I am sure a lot of you would agree with that.

I have no idea where this post is going by the way. Maryam must be wondering
‘why the hell did I ask this guy to write a guest post in the first place when his own blog was last updated one month ago” =O.  “maro sab mil kay isay’

But Like Ya’alls Moms would say
“Beta koi badtameezi nahin karni in say ‘Guest’ hain” =P
Also I would like to take this opportunity (with both hands) and invite you all lovely folks to come visit my blog (http://eddiesdomain.wordpress.com) for a change too. Maybe then I’ll be able to update it at some point =P.

Now that I am finished with the real purpose of writing this post and that is to advertise my own blog, I better run before I get beaten up by the blog owner. (who is my favorite parosi by the way)
Adios Amigos and Amigas (I know this much Spanish at least)

Ed

Oh and that’s me in the middle.

Retarded Couples On Facebook.

Guest post by the gorgeous guaranteed-to-crack-you-up blogger Furree, also my adopted (brilliant) kid sister. 

They always catch me by surprise.

There I am, minding my own business, when their romance is shoved up my face.

What romance?

It's a trap created out of a massive web of low IQ, slang and symbols. Their romance, which is quite out of the ordinary - and not in a good way. The romance of...

RETARDED COUPLES ON FACEBOOK.

That's right, folks. There is nothing more disturbing than the immense amount of childish PDA that can be witnessed on some people's timelines and news feeds. The more I 'hide' the posts of these crazy-in-lurve people, the more of them pop up out of nowhere. I'm scared that there's a possibility of an actual Retarded Couple Machine birthing these freaks.

An example:

So apparently the guy doesn't want her to care for him and the girl doesn't want him to care for her but she wants to care for him and then the guy calls her 'madam'. Okay. This relationship is going REALLY well.

That was just the beginning, folks.

I don't... I don't... I DON'T UNDERSTAND

I seriously do not understand why people would be so public about their love lives. Half my friends on Facebook are convinced that I don't even HAVE a love life. This is because I do everyone a favor, and not shower them with unnecessary updates about whatsoever is going on in the romantic front of my life. I mean, apart from the fact that it's nobody else's business, I care about the feelings and sentiments of the intelligent friends I have, who totally condemn this kind of behavior.

Sure, sometimes these couples provide a little entertainment for the onlooker, but when your Facebook news feed is infested with crap like this:

this language... it is so foreign.

You'd rather the earth opens up and swallows them all.

The Suicidal Cat.

This is a morbid story of a suicidal cat written by a mad genius (read: crazy idiot). 

Once there was a cat.

It was a suicidal cat.

One morning it woke up

Had breakfast as usual..

And then just killed himself.

Said cat was also by far the most bipolar/narcissistic animal, ever. I mean, Jesus Christ on a unicycle, did you see the amount of times that thing changed the color of its fur?!

The end.

When The Levee Breaks.

Guest post written by a close friend who wishes to remain *sigh* anonymous. 

Whenever we imagine what the perfect life would be like, those visions are always external. We imagine the things we'd have, and the places we'd be and the people we'd be with. We never really think about how we'd be feeling really. We just assume that these things, places and people that enamor us so much; the desire of some sometimes consumes us, would guarantee contentment happiness.

Isn't that magical in a way?

Objects we don't possess, people we don't have, places we've never seen somehow magically hold the key to our bliss. We knowingly turn our lives into a wild treasure hunt and everyday from dawn till dusk and beyond we fight monsters and cross oceans in search of these treasures.

Here's the catch. This isn't good magic. This is magic that thrives on deception and feeds on your contentment. This is the magic in the beans sold to Jack; the magic that made Ariel human. Deceptive, dark, all-consuming.

So should we stop wanting things, places, people? The heart wants what it wants, right?

Well, sadly, yes. The heart wants what it wants. We can't really do much about that. What we can do however is temper the desire a bit. Put up rules on what we're willing to do for it and what is out of bounds. Give it a bit of restraint instead of letting it bound free and consume us. How much of us we're willing to give up for this all-consuming need for something. And then hold fast to it.

Because if we don't, then one day some desire will climb the banks of our restraint, break through the levees of self-preservation and flood our lives completely. And in its wake it'll leave a person that resembled who we were but covered with patches of regret and a new desire: to turn back the clocks and have another roll of the dice.  

Sepia Toned.

You think you're doing okay, a cautious truce, a gentle understanding. Suddenly, you hit a speed bump but its okay, you're okay, no damage. Then you hit another. And another and another until its a series of one bump after the other, going up and down and sideways. You're afraid and frustrated and panicked and angry. You don't know what to do and how to do it. You go in and out and in and out until finally it gets to be too much and you just wrench the wheel and flip it all over and you crash and burn and it ends. A never ending cruel, cruel circle.

I think in colors. 

Color Me Striped.

It is so surreal. It feels like you're looking through glass that's frosted over and you can't get a clear picture. Like the glass wall is fogging your memories and the more you try to wipe it, the thicker it gets. The more you try to get to that memory, it fades. The more frustrated you get, the more unreal it seems.

Did you dream it all, or did it actually happen? 

Khaak.

Someday, you'll learn not to kill yourself for people. Especially people for whom you don't matter. Someday, you'll learn that people who don't feel sad about you leaving or not being there don't love you. Someday. You'll learn to stop yearning to beg those people to love you. Someday soon, you'll man the hell up and grow a pair. Till then... God help you, child.

Muharram 2013.

Every majlis we attend this year starts with the same sentence.

This might be your last majlis. 

With each passing day this Muharram, that fact becomes more and more real. Its only the 8th of Muharram today and as Ashuur comes closer... Most people are wondering if they'll even get to live past it.

Most of my friends and family keep telling us not to attend majaalis, not to participate in juloos. This is exactly what the terrorists want. Yes, I'm scared. Yes, every time I attend a majlis I wonder if I'll get home after this. But I'm not going to stop attending and neither is my family. If anything, we're all more determined to attend. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of Shias hiding in their homes away from all the terrorism.

If this is how I die, while attending a majlis for Imam Hussain (A.S)... Then I can't think of any better way to go.

Rahbar.

I can't believe I have only the last 3 weeks left of being a mentor in the Rahbar program. Even though we go only for one day every week, time flew by.

I wish I could say its been a divine experience that gave me a purpose in my life, etc. but its not. Its much more real than that. The biggest thing I felt in this entire program was that you have this huge, huge responsibility on your shoulders and you cannot escape it or just let it be. You have to actively work to fulfill that role that you chose and you can't back down. That right there changes you in tiny ways that you'll notice only when you're done with the program.

I have 5 beautiful girls to mentor. One of them is a total diva and I love her confidence and enthusiasm. Yes, she's bossy and tries to dominate the other kids but that's where I step in with my *pops collar* veto power.

The other girl with her is her best friend. She's fun and friendly and loves to connect with different people. She tries to find common ground with almost everyone she meets. But Diva loves the limelight and sometimes the BFF is shoved to the side. Friend/ peer dynamics in action.

The third girl is tiny and sweet. She doesn't talk much but she smiles a lot. She's soft spoken and appears to be a pushover but she isn't... not really. She thinks and over thinks and makes up entire scenarios in her head.

The fourth girl is quiet and even more shy. She speaks only when spoken to. She's intimidated easily and is the epitome of the perfect obedient young lady. She likes it that way so I guess I can't really encourage her to stray away too much from that shell. But plus point - she's started speaking up voluntarily and some of her ideas are very well thought out for a young girl with little exposure.

The fifth girl. The most fascinating as far as I know. She needs to be forced to speak. She will not otherwise. She is crushingly shy and eye contact for her is a form of rebellion which she doesn't really engage in. She's serious and humor isn't something she understands. This girl has held my attention ever since the first Saturday I met her. She wants to do something great and noticeable in the world. In her own words: "Meine Arfa Karim jaisa kuch karna hai. Lekin mujhe abhi nahi pata ke wo cheez kya hai." I think she has a depth to her that has yet to be tapped.

They all have great hair (and I'm seriously envious). They are brilliant actors and perform any role play I give them with spot on dialogues and behavior that they make up on the spot. I love seeing them interacting among themselves and other people in the program. I don't know if they've changed me. I don't know if I'm changing them in any way. What I do know is that this will be something both of us remember for the rest of our entire lives. I wouldn't have given this up for the world. Like I said, its not a divine experience but its something that I still don't have a word for.

This is not something you do only once. Here's hoping we all get more chances to actually understand the purpose and then start making those expected changes: within the kids as well as ourselves. 

Cracked.

Lord, give me the strength to go on. Because right now, I don't think I want to.

FP.

I refuse to write about you.

"20 Ways To Be Popular At An Expensive Liberal Arts School"

1. Despite your Jewish upbringing, support Palestine at all cost. Disregard any and all other atrocities happening across the globe. Palestine is fresh and hip. Not only do you seem engaged and political, you get to rock a Keffiyeh.
2. Smoke Parliaments.
3. Under no circumstances support the school your parents are paying exorbitant amounts of money for you to attend. School spirit and pride is for squares and bros. Square bros.
4. Complain frequently. The vaguer the criticism the better. Say that the problem with your school is “systemic” or “institutional.” Offer no suggestions or constructive criticism.
5. Take over a building. Why not the library? All you need to do is show up and then refuse to leave. It is the most effective way of getting your point (perhaps justice in a far away land) across and in no way inconveniences other students. Make sure to bring your nalgene full of greentea and your macbook, because you may be there for hours!
6. Smoke weed and avoid homework.
7. The more things you take offense to the better. Throw terms like sexist, racist, and homophobe at everyone/everything that has the audacity to disagree with you. The more you use these terms the more valid they become, so try to squeeze them in every other sentence.
8. Attend class as little as possible. Don’t worry you probably don’t have grades and none of your classes actually count as credit.
9. Frequently talk about transferring to NYU. The louder the better. Of course, this will never be a reality because your noncredits don’t transfer.
10. It doesn’t matter if you’re from Long Island, New Jersey, or the Hamptons. At school you’re from “the city.”
11. Take Adderall, Ritalin, Vivance, Dexedrine, etc for every task requiring the slightest bit of effort. Cleaning your room? Take some speed. One page response paper? SPEED.

12. Smoke weed and take downers to relax from all the speed.
13. Never do assigned reading. In the rare event you actually attend class, spend the whole time talking about completely irrelevant books/causes/ the dream you had last night. Anything that has nothing to do with the curriculum. The people in the class aren’t there to learn, they are there to listen to you.
14. Take Philosophy courses. Nowadays, a philosophy degree is worth its weight in gold. When someone calls you out on the fact you never did the reading, respond cryptically with phrases like: “Well, your entire point hinges on the false assumption that a physical reality actually exists.”
15. Wear a bandana.
16. Remember those designer jeans you bought? Cut those bitches off.
17. Remember those shirts you wore in 4th grade? They’re definitely cool again. People will find your Spongebob Squarepants shirt refreshing, ironic, and above all absolutely hilarious. Match it with a scarf and nonprescription glasses (the thicker the frame the more serious you are) because you’re not all fun and games. You’re an academic, a political activist, and a poet/author/musician/artist.
18. Having fun at a party is for frat dudes and conformists. It’s best to stand outside in the freezing cold clutching a Pabst and smoking a cigarette. This equals instant respect. If you decide to ingest drugs, tell everyone about the drugs you are on as they will all certainly be impressed and fascinated.
19. Use words like ‘solidarity’ and ‘governmentality.’ Learn to love Foucault and Derrida. While you’re at it, pick up an obscure instrument. Perhaps the kazoo or the banjo. Wake up your neighbors by practicing said instrument early and often. When neighbors accost you, hit them with some deconstructionism. They will be impressed.
20. Get a tattoo. If anyone gets/understands/relates to the tattoo, you did it wrong.

I absolutely love this. By http://thoughtcatalog.com/