NOT FAIR!

You win this time, America. You win.






Amreekans: 2
Desis: 2

I cannot help myself

ULLU KE PATHEY!!! KAMINEY KUTTEY HARAAMCH-


Whew. That felt good.









Desis: 2
Amrikans: 1

Blogging my visit to the doctor's

Since the first month of Health here is free, my mother, in true Desi spirit, wasted no time at all in carting me and my perfectly healthy siblings to the doctor's. I should explain at this point that I have always been unnaturally afraid of doctors and places that smell like something from a horror movie, so this visit was particularly cruel on my mother's part. It was, needless to say, horrible. And no, I am not going to cut my mom some slack just because some random stork decided to throw my newborn, white blanket-enclosed baby body into her lap. But I digress. The doctor's appointment was at 3:30 PM. Here's how it went:


3:32 p.m. - I rush into the reception, vaguely registering the lime green baby chairs in the waiting area and the receptionist's neck tattoo. Get informed that the doctor is busy.

3:33 p.m.- I try sitting in aforementioned baby chair.

3:40 p.m. - I spot someone about to come in through the tinted glass door. I cannot at this point tell if they are hot or not. Get off the baby chair and hurriedly sit on grown-up sofa.

3:41 p.m. - Strike a I'm-so-bored-but-still-oh-so-hot pose. Dude comes in the door. He is so not hot. Go back to staring gormlessly into space.

3:50 p.m. - Receptionist calls me to the dreaded inner offices. To distract myself, I try to figure out what her neck tattoo is. It is a heart. She sees me looking and gives me weird looks.

3:51 p.m. - A nurse tells me to take off my boots. I am confused. What are they doing in here? Strip club? Shoe smuggling? She makes me get on a weighing scale. Oh.

3:57 p.m. - My height has been recorded, my temperature taken. I am now ready for the doctor. I cannot help but feel like one of those sacrifice victims, who were dressed up and fed and left on an altar just moments before their still beating hearts were plucked out from their bodies.

4:00 p.m. - I wish I hadn't thought of the heart plucking thing. I can hear the doctor approaching. I imagine her having huge snake-like fangs with saliva dripping off them. This is bad.

4:00:49 p.m. - The doctor is Desi too! This is really bad.

4:03 p.m. - The doctor cheerfully informs me I need two shots. I look at her with hate-filled eyes. Boy, if looks could kill. She pretends not to notice, and tells a nurse to get the injections.

4:04 p.m. - I swallow my pride and ask for my mom.

4:10 p.m. - The nurse comes in. I close my eyes. This is it...

4:11 p.m. - Hey, that wasn't so bad! I smile.

4:11:32 p.m. - I faint.

4:14 p.m. - I register the patheticness of the fact that I fainted.

4:15 p.m - How do I put this? I meet the Doritos I ate for lunch for a second time.

4:25 p.m. - It takes me ten minutes to convince everyone in the room I am not about to die (or meet my Doritos for a third time)

4:27 p.m. - I walk outside, where the receptionist gives me extra candy, and the nurse pats me on the back for being "so, so brave."

4:28 p.m. - The doctor tries to console me by saying that we will meet again. Really, lady? I don't think so. I look at my mom with pitiful eyes. She gets me more candy and whisks me out of the clinic.


Well, at least it looks like I won't be going back to that place any time soon.

Tie-in!

I finally saw some hot guys!
There is a store called Safeway here. Safe, I think, because it saved me from going completely insane at the lack of hot guys to look at. There is a really cute employee here! And he found me little muffins with blue-berries in them, which counts as plus points for him. I never knew I liked blue berry muffins.

As Barney would say, momentary bit of grudging respect.







Desis: 1
Amreekans: 1

Chaat houses and booze

As things turned out, it took me just about...4 minutes into amreekan land to find alcoholic drinks: they were on the plane. Seriously, you begin to wonder at the credibility of an airline where the air-hostesses smell of booze. Nevertheless, we somewhat miraculously survived the plane ride (despite being seated next to an old Indian alcoholic who managed to find an r-rated movie on a kids-friendly airplane) and took our first steps into the land of opportunities. I then tripped on the horizontal escalator, something I wasn't even aware is possible. After being helped by some creepily cheerful employees, we found our way outside, where our relatives were waiting. My first thought was, I am ashamed to admit, something that went like "OMYHOLYGODCOOOOLD," but then my mom distracted me by pointing to a lady and her dog who looked startlingly alike. This amused me for about five minutes, after which we were already in our cars and headed home.


Home is my grandparent's new place. They just moved in, so it was highly confusing and disorganized for a couple of days, until we figured what to do with our ten suitcases worth of stuff. All this time, however, we happily introduced ourselves to America's favorite past-time: eating. Because I am Muslim, I can't eat meat here, a serious disadvantage that has ruined my tummy's image of America as heaven. There are, however, a lot of Indians here. And I mean, a LOT. So yay, Indian food!


There is a chaat house near our place. The "chaat" is in orange, the "house" in green, and the background is white: they take their nationality seriously. The interior was deliciously Indian (all the more delicious because of the hot desi dude at the cashier), with a t.v playing Tamil songs and a miniature Taj Mahal at the entrance. The chaat was surprisingly good though, considering the restaurant looked more like a place for ugly desi college dudes to hang out rather than some place selling home-prepared Indian food. There was daal there too. Disappointing, since I crossed the seven seas to ESCAPE from daal. Well, I guess we all can't have everything.


More later, keep up the desi-ness. Take care!

And the first score goes to...

The desis!
Seriously, pink trees? What is wrong with you, America?
Oh, and the electrical switches turn on the other way round. Retards.











Desis: 1
Amreekans: 0

And the game starts...now

Most of my readers (in other words, everyone I can physically threaten into reading my blog) know I'm leaving for the USA really soon. It's going to take a while to settle there, considering I'm planning to be as desi as I possibly can just to annoy the hell out of other people - I'm even taking suggestions, guys! I've lived in Karachi all my life, and we have some pretty well-developed standards about a lot of things. For example, there should be Mountain Dew and hot guys to look at available at any given time during the day, and I should be able to park my car any damn where I want to (when I learn how to drive, that is). So, I'm starting a new feature on this blog, desi versus the United states of America. Minus marks for the amreekans for anything we desis to better. Right now, the score goes like this:




America: 0
Desi: 0


May the best man win!

Serious Post #3

"Oh man oh man oh man what am I gonna dooo?"





"Your mom"

An ode to Google

I love Google. Google is the BOMB. If not for Google we would all be drooling, armpit scratching, barely developed orangutans without Facebook.








Yes, that bad.

This post is completely dedicated to the awesomeness of Google, and you know why? Because you can find about 5000 pictures of Orangutans on Google for no apparent reason at all. And because Google has actually saved my life. Multiple times.


See, in the Days Before Google (B.G. for future reference) I used to wake up at 4 AM in the morning and have a full fledged panic attack because suddenly, I could not remember how to spell "cat" and all at once it was of absolute, utmost importance to the very future of humanity to spell the word cat. It used to go a bit like this:


"Hmmm. I think I need some wat- wait, how did you spell cat again? It went like k, then a. No, that can't be right. It started with k, right?! or was it c? Oh man why didn't I ever pay attention in kindergarten, what kind of a kid forgets how to spell a three letter word for chrissakes! Brain, tell me how to spell freaking cat RIGHT NOW, GODDAMIT! Tell me or I will- I will fish you out with that hook ancient Egyptians used for mummies and turn you into soup I swear I will OH MY FREAKING GOD WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!!"

Don't judge me.

So, it used to get so bad that I got up and started walking around in dazed circles like some unique sort of drugged zombie-mummy. And then when my mom woke up for breakfast I grabbed her, giving her half a heart attack in the process, and asked her to spell "cat" for me, please. I then used to calm down and be normal again for a while until another morning when I couldn't remember what word it was that lighted up wands in Harry Potter and what the name of my fifth grade Science teacher was (it was Miss Ansari, in case you're interested). In the B.G. era, my mom used to live in a perpetual state of fear for my sanity...and her heart.



And then, in one amazingly glorious moment of rainbows and unicorns and golden sparkly thingys, God made Google. I'm writing God here, because I really have no idea who came up with the idea for Google and I'm too half-arsed to actually do research before writing a blog post about it.


The next time I woke up in panic trying to remember what those big animals who looked like monster lizards were called, (Komodo Dragons, by the way. You're welcome) instead of threatening my own brain with a fish hook, all I had to do was boot up my computer and type in www.google.com. Those three magic words. It was amazing. I had a world full of information and hot guys' pictures at my fingertips. It even corrected my spellings. And made me hot chocolate and got me pretty dresses and made me invisible when I wanted to be and gave me immortality.

No, really.

And ever since then, me and my sanity and Google were the very best of friends, and we all lived happily ever after.

The end.

Why I should be kept away from guests (and normal people)

Because I'm an axe-wielding, fire-breathing half shark half dragon half voldemort monster thingy who eats whoever dares to enter her magnificent abode and rips out their still beating hearts and takes all their candy, of course.


Wait. Was that too many halves?



Anyway. No. The truth is much, much more sinister. Behold, THE GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN!


Admit it. Sounds cool.


What is the GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN, I hear you ask? Well, my desperate driven-to-being-hair clawing-screaming-mad men (and women, we don't discriminate here) hosts, it is a sure-fire way to get rid of all unwanted guests clogging up your house. And all that unwanted hair clogging up your...okay, lets not get into that. It looks a bit like this...




and this...






combined. And for an additional $19.99 you can get more knives and shiny stuff. Blows your mind, doesn't it?



So what does the GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN do, I hear you ask? Well, firstly, besides looking extremely cool and being a must-have decoration piece for any living room (seriously, who wouldn't want one of these lying around), it also intimidates the hell out of your guests. It'll make sure that once a potential guest enters your house and sees this baby, he'll never want to come over again. EVER. Even on the threat of gruesome death. Even if your house is a zombie shelter and there's a zombie apocalypse going on. Even if they really, really need to go to the bathroom. Even if you have THIS in your house:







And there's a money back guarantee for the last one. Cuz its not like any of you are remotely capable of getting Megan Foz to come inside your house. But still, beat that.

But if this doesn't work, you can still try the ripping out beating hearts from bodies thing. Good luck with that, and make sure to keep the blood off the sofa!

Serious Post #2

I just realized. Megas xlr counts as serious. It is, in fact, the serious-est of them all. The serious of the serious. The mother serious of all baby serio....I'm sure you get the gist. Heck, it contains answers to the one of the greatest human mysteries of all time in its theme song.



Why yes, chicks dig giant robots, yes indeed.



*Sigh*...If only more men understood that, wouldn't the world be a much better place? Well, that, and if people didn't get fat when they ate chocolate. Or if people's cats understood that they weren't supposed to eat the chocolate that said people were saving for themselves. I SWEAR cats are out to get us, and when they've taken over the world through a combination of smelly kitty litter and unnecessary arm-scratching and...zombie kittens with hand grenades, they're going to grin with their sharp little kitty teeth and make us worship them and make us construct monuments for them - hey, the ancient Egyptians didn't listen to me, and you know what happened to them, don't you?



Oh. Wait. We were talking about Megas xlr. Right.



BUT. In case of a kitty invasion, our only hope would be Megas xlr, who would karate chop those kitties and tie their tails up and throw them deep into the recesses of outer space, while playing an uber cool track on its sound system.



Or we could just throw a ball of thread at them and watch them fight each other to death to get to it, I suppose... But that wouldn't be half as fun now, would it?

Serious post #1

So um. I like noodles. Do you like noodles? I had shrimp flavoured noodles once. They tasted like chicken.


oh GOD I cant do this. Let's talk about Megas xlr

Eighteen today! ...or not

Ok, I admit it. By 00:01 on 27th July 2010, I thought I'd be a much more mature, responsible, nicer (psh, like that'll ever happen), more sophisticated version of me. I mean, come on, after 17 years of being the wimpy, nerdy, overly hyper kid, something's GOT to give! Instead, Tuesday morning found me eating Hershey's Kisses while watching the Legion of Heroes cartoon (which, by the way, is Awe. Some.)

But I guess it's different for everyone. I know people who've been really really mature since they were 5...or something. And I know me, who still can't apply eye liner. I've always wanted to be like the I'm-so-cool-check-out-my-eyeliner variety. I wanted to be the one people resort to in an emergency. I wanted to do debates and stuff on stage in school. I wanted to be someone who helps their mom with dinner, and then goes on to help their siblings with homework. I wanted to be the person who can be relied on to get things done. And most importantly, I've wanted to be someone who breezes into a coffee shop wearing kickass clothes in a red sports car, and then look around with superiority at the inferior souls who aren't old enough to own red sports cars yet.

Really. I AM old enough to old a red sports car. Today. But since even the mention of me getting a car around here gives people coronaries, I will refrain from talking about it. Much.

Instead, I get to be the one people look at when there's chocolate missing from the fridge. I get to be the one who knows the names of all Ben10 aliens. I get to be the extremely bitchy one who gets things just by being mean. I then get to be the one who then cries over the death of fictional animals in movies. I get to be the one who claims that every fourth guy she sees is hot. But then I also get to be the one who is perfectly content reading a book in bed eating junk food all day. I get to be the one who would never admit to the fact that I want a fairy-tale ending, but who readily scoffs at emo love songs. AND. I get to be the one who is hell awesome at video games.


And all I can say is...Its a damned good life.

How to pretend you know stuff when you have no fecking idea

1) Wear a suit.

2) Talk about something so random and with such complete assurity that even people who do know what theyre talking about believe you. ("OFCOURSE pumpkins were used as missiles during world war! EVERYONE knows that! where have you BEEN for the last 100 years?!")

3) Any back bencher worth his salt knows this one: nod intelligently. Yeah, that's right. Keep nodding that head and you're home free (hopefully NOT after detention 'cuz your teacher thought you were on drugs, due to all that nodding) This does work most of the time, especially if you have a tie on. Plus, if you can manage to throw in a 'look of disdain' while you're at it, your teacher will be completely convinced this is kid stuff for you. However, and don't blame me, this may lead to you getting more homework than your equally clueless pals, just because you "know so much about the topic!"

4) I will now give you the secret of all secrets, the Holy Scripture of knowing nothing while pretending you know fuck-all: keep on taking those notes. 'Cuz while you were drawing cartoons of her freakishly large head, she was glowing inside at the OBVIOUS importance you were paying to her each and every word. With luck, you'll look so busy making notes that the teacher wouldn't dream of disturbing you and making you answer that question. And these doodles of that hot hunk who lives next door MIGHT not help around exam time, but what the heck, you FINALLY caught a glimpse of him without a shirt on.

My Neighbours

So. They just had their house renovated. Out of three, one bedroom is now the kitchen. The kitchen is a storeroom. The second room is their kid's room. The third got turned into a gaming room. What I'm wondering is...where the hell do they sleep?