Attention Readers!

As requested by the family tyrant herself, Munchkin is hereby rechristened "Bloft".

Thank you.

November One-Liners

Bubba: you know what I like [about work]; it's how my biggest real concern is lunch.
I don't think I've ever given lunch this much importance in my life.

Bubba: There's a really nice herbal tea that's like peach and rosehip. It's RED. A happy color.
Like... blood.

Roonies: My mental farts are mad cool.

Daddy: Munchkin, I hereby rename you Li Fu.

Nesticleez [after reading an article about a U.S. judge who had everyone in his courtroom imprisioned due to a telephone ringing]: Wow, someone totally peed in this guy’s cheerios.

Heaven & Sex

Eureka: If I were a man I'd definitely want to go to Muslim heaven. All those hot virgins. In Christian heaven we get stupid little wings and hymnals. I can't even sing. So I'll be demoted to cloud sweeper.

Bubba: Muslim heaven? Yes the virgins... fuck virgins. I want to sleep with virile HOT men.

Eureka: Do women get hot men in Muslim heaven? Or are they transformed into the virgins the men are promised? We must ask about that.

Bubba: Depends on who interprets it. I assume the whole idea is you get what you want. So yeah, virgins, ho men.
Hot*
Whatever

Eureka: I prefer ho men. They tend to be better in bed.

Bubba: really?

Eureka: I'd assume a horny well practiced man would be more capable than an inexperienced one. An inexperienced one will a) want to please himself, and b) not know how to please the woman.

Bubba: Although I'm sure there are experienced men out there who suck ass.

Eureka: Oh, of course there are. Those are called the impotent and the selfish in bed.

Bubba: Asses.

Eureka: Yes.

This Could Only Happen to Eureka

Somebody kindly EXPLAIN how a mosquito managed to get INSIDE my ear canal and bless me with a killer bite that I

a) cannot reach, and
b) is irritatingly painful whenever anything goes anywhere near it.

I'm so suing God if this (say that with extreme disdain) is how I get malaria and die the slow, miserable death He promised me.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

So you know how it is considered courteous to express condolences to someone who loses a loved one? You know, call them up or go to the memorial service or something to show your support at a difficult time.

I'm not doing that anymore.

Why?

Not because of the extreme discomfort and uncertainty it invokes, not because it is depressing, and not because my Mummy didn't raise me right, but because of a little but mortifying incident I inflicted upon myself last week.

I have a friend who currently attends an East Coast university. Our parents have been good friends since before we were born, so it is natural that we know each others news pretty quickly. His grandmother passed away one morning last week, so as we are practically family I offer my condolences as soon as he pops up on my MSN.

The conversation went something like this:

Eureka: Teeth, my condolences.
Teeth: Your condolences? What? What happened? What are you talking about?
After a pause during which Eureka has simultaneously pissed her pants, banged her head repeatedly on the keyboard, and inflicted irreparable damage to her cranium, all she could come up with was:
Eureka: Oh, fuck.

Smooth, right?

So I told him what had happened. Turns out he'd just woken up and hadn't returned his parents' phone calls.

Eureka, you stupid brainless git, of course he didn't know! It was something like 7 a.m. on the East Coast; he was in deep sleep when it happened.

Idiot.

Now that was the easy part. I obviously had to add insult to injury (literally) by calling his mother to inform her that I had fucked up. I braced myself for the insults as I dialed.

…

Ha! Got you there! You expected some Eureka bashing, didn't you, you sadist. His mother was so busy with the funeral and people paying their respects and all that jazz that she really didn't have time to deal with me.

Phew! Thank the Lord Almighty! Hallelujah God doesn't spend all His time plotting against my every waking moment.

Sigh…

Murphy's Law should be renamed after Eureka.

Insultingly Funny in That Cute Sort of Way

Ahmed the Terrorist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouDRDzqTu0M

First three minutes are what's worth watching.

Indignation

In yesterday’s Al Masri Al Youm, an independent Egyptian daily newspaper, Mohamed Salmawy wrote an article entitled “Long Live Free Egypt” about an important milestone in Egyptian and Arab literature.

This week marked the fiftieth anniversary of Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz’s Cairo Trilogy, what is arguably his most famous work.

Salmawy wrote this about the celebrations that took place to commemorate his trilogy:

A critical scholarly symposium commemorating Mahfouz brought together, among other things, literary masters from around the world in order to shed light on the different facets of the trilogy and some of its previously unknown aspects. This symposium won an equally critical coverage on the part of the international press.

A wonderful literary evening was also organised, during which the talented actor Yousif Abo Warda narrated excerpts of the trilogy accompanied by original Arabic musical recitals played by the talented musician Albert Elias.

The literary evening also drew heavy attendance despite the fact that it was a paid, rather than an open event, which cost LE40…

Such a literary legacy is also a source of pride for the nation… and [this celebration] enshrines the eminent value and ranking of Egypt’s most renowned literary figure, Naguib Mahfouz, before the whole world.

So, have you heard of this commemoration?

If the answer is in the negative, then it would not be your fault, for the anniversary was not held in Egypt, the birthplace whose alleys and narrow streets Mahfouz immortalized, but in Israel.

Yes. The commemoration took place in none other than Israel under the title “Cairo Yesterday and Today”. It was organized by the prominent professor of literature, Sasson Somek.

I read those last two paragraphs twice in disbelief. No, no, I must have misunderstood since my Arabic is weak (read: practically illiterate). I asked my mother to read it to me again to make sure. I then asked her to translate because I must just not understand the sentence structure. I looked for the article online, and found it in English. With no other possible reason to doubt my understanding, I hung my head in shame.

I thank professor Somek for putting literature above politics and celebrating this work. I thank the attendees for putting their own prejudices aside.

Unlike many who view “Cairo Yesterday and Today” as having a hidden political agenda of mocking the Arab world, and specifically Egypt, I choose to view this as positive appreciation of a literary masterpiece.

I thank you, Israel, for this slap in the face.

A slap in the face we brought upon ourselves.

This should be seen as a wake-up call. We do not deserve to parade Naguib Mahfouz as an Egyptian if we do not have the courtesy to celebrate him and his work.

We do not deserve to claim the Ancient Egyptian civilization as our own if we insist on using it as an excuse to never move forward.

We deserve nothing more than having the very country the common Egyptian has been indoctrinated to believe is our arch enemy teach us what is right.

Yesterday, I was ashamed of my country.

Rather than call it yet another Israel conspiracy, I pray that tomorrow, my country takes this as a lesson learned, and offers praise and recognition where they are due.

Maybe then our country’s talent will stop fleeing to more civilized pastures.

Imperial Dictionary Entry #2

Diva (conflicting emotions), n.: 1. Public and International Law professor. 2. mentor to Empresses (see Hendika) and FSEs (see FSE). 3. mean, unbearable, inconsiderate, tyrant/bastard, yet entirely loveable and loved hilarious person who teaches as a hobby and likes to push Empresses and FSEs to the very ends of our limits; claims to think of them as the children he never had. 4. has a deep, repressed ambition of starring in a movie with or as Julia Roberts.

HEAR FUCKING HEAR

Bubba has a genius (therefore obviously female) friend who said the following:

"There are three sexes: male, female, and Jolie."

Damn straight.

Idiot Box

Now usually, I'm a patient person. I have no problem queuing at the drug store. I have no problem giving pedestrians the right of way. Even the little old lady who takes a good 15 minutes to come down from the pavement, then helps her even smaller husband and his cumbersome cane. I can wait if the valet takes a little longer than usual bringing me my car. And the mid-season hiatus most shows take doesn't bother me, all because I know that everything will go my way eventually.

Patience is a virtue.

But this writer's strike? Now that's more than I can take.

This uncertainty is killing me. I might have to wait till 2009 to find out what happens next on Desperate Housewives, Weeds, Nip/Tuck, Dirty Sexy Money, Grey's Anatomy, Dexter, Prison Break, Private Practice, 30 Rock, Heroes, One Tree Hill, Scrubs, and Gossip Girl, just to name a few.

I'll have finished all my trusty reruns in the first two months of waiting.

This can't be happening to me. Make it stop.

I never used to be like this. I was the occasional Friends watcher. I rarely watched TV. Didn't have the time, really. But then these new shows started to trickle into my system. First it was the O.C. yes, I'm not afraid to admit it. Then it was Prison Break. Then, before I knew what hit me, McGrey's brought in a flood of 15+ shows.

Now I need my shows at lunch, at dinner, in the bathroom, in the car, at the bar, at my best friend's wedding, at my grandfather's funeral, and in bed with me.

I even have a colour-coded schedule for when each episode airs.

My name is Eureka, and I am addicted to my TV characters.

Studios, pay the writers for the worlds they have created. You'd have nothing without their genius.

Please.

I want to live vicariously through my TV characters again.

Deep and Profound Brain Things Inside My Head #1

Would you rather know a lot about a little bit, or a little bit about a lot?

Scary Sea Monsters Are REAL!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/7104421.stm

Introducing the Empire of Hendika

During inane classes where a monotonous drone explaining the workings of Egypt's Supreme Court lulled and ushered us into the land of fluffy clouds and unicorns, a couple of us struggled to stay awake by establishing a world where I was (and still am, by the way) supreme ruler of all you survey. This utopia is known as the Empire of Hendika.

The Empire of Hendika was co-ruled by yours truly and my good friend Hendo-Nintendo, who insisted on having a hyphenated name as she was jealous of my own given name's hyphenated glory.

The Empire was complete with Ministers, who comprised of other people suffering in class, a coat of arms, and all sorts of things befitting the Empire of the World.

Among our more unique creations was the Imperial Dictionary, in which Her Imperial Highness Eureka, Ruler of All You Survery, compiled all the made up words and phrases we concocted in our boredom. The Imperial Dictionary of the Empire of Hendika is currently in its 7th Edition, and is updated regularly.

In order to acquaint you, dear readers, with the Empire, HIH Eureka will occasionally post definitions from the Imperial Dictionary.

Today's word is: Empire of Hendika

Hendika, Empire of (Ooooooh, aaaaah), n.: Hendika and the territories under its control, which continues to grow as its Co-Empresses Eureka and Hendo-Nintendo pursue an aggressive expansionist policy. Currently embraces over a quarter of the world’s population and land surface. The Empire's official colours are orange and brown, representing the Co-Empresses' personal preferences. It enjoys a unique system of rule, combining the Co-Empresses whims with the advice of the Grand Master and Spiritual Leader (GMSL) and the requests of the Faithful Subjects of the Empire (FSE's) who have ministerial posts.

Highlight of My Day #2

Eureka: University of Oxford scientists are trying to harness the energy released when bubbles burst to kill off cancer cells.
Bubba: And to THINK all those bubbles we popped as kids. So many lives lost.
You know, that's actually pretty cool. I mean, chemo and radiation is... pretty damn nasty stuff. I wonder if this is any better in the long run.
Eureka: I'm glad they're finding alternatives.
Bubba: Me too. Maybe by the time we need this they'll find a way to kill tumors with love.
You know, coddling the tumor, making kissy faces.
Because really that's the most noninvasive there is.
Eureka: I'm pretty sure tumors hate kissy faces, so that'll run them off pretty fast.
Bubba: That's what I was thinking, too.
Eureka: Curing cancer, one kissy face at a time.

Family Follies #1

My aunt is driving my 11-year-old cousin to a friend's house the other day. Upon arrival, my cousin opens the car door, scrunches her face, lets out a whopper fart, jumps out with a big goofy grin on her face, looks at her mother and says, "so you remember me all the way home."


"Eureka, Eureka, come quick!"
Eureka grudgedly gets off her ass and shuffles to where Munchkin (aka the younger sister aka the Devil Incarnate) is sitting.
"What is it, loser?"
Munchkin grabs Eureka's left boob and *squuuuueeeeezzeessss* while pinching Eureka's right.
"No, mine are still firmer. You can go now."


Space Cadet (aka the youngest and the boy): Munchkin, where's the baby?
Munchkin: Under the bed.
Space Cadet leans over and peers under the bed expectantly. He finds no infant.
Space Cadet [in same monotone]: Munchkin, where's the baby?

I WANT!

Seeing as I am in a self-centred, childish, and wholly materialistic mood on this fine Sunday evening (meaning I feel like shopping and my next flight out of here isn't for another month at the very least), here is my current list of impossible things I ardently desire.

1) I want to BE Meryl Streep. I am not satisfied with being anything less than on par with that kind of talent, intelligence, wisdom, and iconic status. Move over Meryl and allow me to take over your body, mind, and soul.

2) I want a huge library in my house. It will be the biggest room in the house. With infinitely high ceilings covered wall to wall with mahogany bookshelves, stocked to the brim with books on everything in the world, and those huge ladders with wheels to reach the top, and a fireplace with comfortable sofas to sit on, and a beautiful desk, and Prince Charming who of course paid for it all serving me hot chocolate and cookies, while I was lost in literary heaven. I'd live in just that room. No need for a house.

3) I want to meet a man who appreciates the beauty of the English language and the importance of using your vocabulary, so he'd understand why I can fawn over a sentence. Why is that so hard to understand?

4) I want Egyptians to pronounce my name correctly. My name has been distorted and mutilated beyond repair or recognition because people cannot seem to pronounce certain vowel sounds, turning a perfectly good name into a string of elongated E and A sounds that resemble a kindergarten sing-along.

5) I want to take the international publication industry by storm with the greatest of ease… using my flying trapeze. I’d love to wake up one morning to find myself in NYC and editor-in-chief of some glamorous and intellectual monthly, where I am revered and idolized by all and sundry. Megalomania is fun, you should all try it.

6) I want Haagen Dazs to grace my freezer with its presence. I especially want their chocolate ice cream to set up permanent residence in my mouth and stomach.

7) I want a certain three letter unmentionable (as it is a taboo in Egypt and is considered a topic unfit for respectable ladies like myself) that shall remain unmentioned. Said unmentionable pops into my head approximately once every three seconds (which is probably akin to the average teenage boy) and really should be at the top of my list. I’m hiding it here in the vain hope that it goes unnoticed. Because it is an unmentionable. And shall continue to remain unmentioned.

8) I want an iPhone. One that actually works here without the hassle of having it unbricked every time I plug it into iTunes because Apple hasn’t sent any properly working ones to Egypt yet.

9) I want to be able to teleport. Saves on gas, saves time, decreases traffic, and generally makes my life a lot easier.

10) Most importantly, I want to exchange my current DNA for a set without mutated pyrin variants A726 and L479. In plain English, I want those geniuses busy cloning sheep and discussing the merits of human cloning to focus on using their knowledge of the human genome to actually cure stupid disorders like Familial Mediterranean Fever and other more deadly but definitely less annoying diseases. Get on it!

"The Lord made Adam, the Lord made Eve, he made ‘em both a little bit naive." - E.Y. Harburg

Every morning, I eat an apple for breakfast in the car on my way to work. This morning, in my grouchy stupor, I open my fridge and reach into the apple drawer, blindly groping for a round, red, succulent apple.

Right then and there, catastrophe.

Lo and behold, there are no apples in the drawer. Some poor unfortunate soul committed the sin of sins and ate the last apple. They ripped away my only source of pleasure during the time of day I despise the most. I had nothing to eat for breakfast. Somebody had to pay.

Fuming, my mind listed the countless forms of torture, cruel, and inhuman punishment I could inflict on the perpetrator.

Should I bind them to the Metro rails and watch giddily as they were shredded by an oncoming train? Should I pull out their toenails with a pair of tweezers? Or maybe dangle their mangled, bleeding bodies over a pool of lunging great whites. Ooooh, waterboarding's another option, and quite appropriate in a region infamous for its creative torture techniques.

In what must have been an intervention from the tummy Gods on behalf of the apple-stealer, I turned around and found a bountiful bunch of beautiful bananas in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. The starving tyrant otherwise known as my stomach appeased, my brain slowly revved to life, the squeaking, rusty cogs churning.

With the themes of those ten minutes being apples and sins, it was only natural that my mind move on to think about the origins of sin, Adam and Eve, and the Garden of Eden.

In a nutshell Adam and Eve first sinned when they disobeyed God and ate the forbidden fruit. God incensed, He banished them from the Garden of Eden and forced them to live on the lowly land of planet Earth. From then on, the human race was destined to sin and sin again, stealing my breakfast as I peacefully slumbered.

With all the sins we commit each day, I would love to know just how wracked with guilt Adam and Eve must be. With every act of adultery, murder, theft, etc… I can just see their faces contort, wincing with regret.

Yes Adam and Eve, it is because of YOU and YOUR inability to control your urges that MY apple was eaten by someone else, that Bubba's pretty rainbow mug has mysteriously disappeared from her office kitchen, and that thousands of people may go without a whole season of prime time television because studios won't pay writers a percentage of DVD sales.

Eve would definitely have castrated Adam if she knew that this was what would become of their progeny.

To Thine Own Self Be True

One would think that a national identification card would be issued with accurate, necessary information informing the authorities of your name, rank, and serial number. The basic information that serves as evidence to your individuality, to avoid mistaken identity or whatever.

If my memory serves me correctly, in the majority of the world – that is, the civilized world – the requisite information would be name, possibly physical characteristics, social security number, address, and some other form of emergency information such as blood type.

No where in the world is RELIGION designated as a requirement.

Except in Egypt, the land of civilization.

Why?

Why is which faith – if at all – I follow at all important to the policeman writing up my parking ticket? Or the bartender looking at me with suspicion because even though I'm a university graduate I still look no older than twelve? (Except for the boobs. Those give me away every time).

Assuming (and this is a long shot but I always give people the benefit of the doubt. Even the Egyptian government and it's phenomenal stupidity) that a plausible reason can be established, then any faith should be allowed onto my ID card, right?

WRONG AGAIN, BUCKO.

Not only must I allow my private, personal beliefs to be branded and publicly displayed to all and sundry to see, but I must fall under three distinct categories, those of the three "revealed" religions: Judaism, Christianity, or Islam.

So if I'm Buddhist, tough cookies. I have to pick one of the aforementioned.

Can I leave it blank? Uhhh, no.

Can I have it say 'other'? Nuh-uh.

Can I put in atheist, non-believer, apostate, or even infidel? Nope. Nein. Non. La2.

This is a dramatic debate in Egypt at the moment, with entire communities being shunned, tossed into bureaucratic limbo, or worse. Thousands of people, including Baha'ai's, atheists, and those wishing to convert from Islam are being denied the fundamental human right to choose their personal beliefs.

Now Egypt has signed and ratified the UDHR, the ICCPR, and the ICESCR; documents collectively known as the International Bill of Human Rights. In more than one article, these documents specifically guarantee every human being's right to believe in whatever they want, whenever the want, wherever they want. Islamic Shari'a calls for tolerance and acceptance of those outside the three "revealed" religions.

Thus Egypt, as a Shari'a implementing country, as a member of the international community, and as a signatory of countless human rights conventions, has no right or reason to limit individual freedoms.

Aside from finding pleasure in ball breaking and generally creating more problems for an already struggling populace, what benefit or reason allows the state to use religion as a way to further torture us?

Highlight of My Day #1

Eureka: I need to get out of Cairo.

Female J: I hear Aswan is nice.

Eureka: I was thinking Jupiter.

Nesticleez: Uranus is nicer.

Oh but the strawberries will never taste so good again and the thighs of women have lost their clutch!

Now that the initial rush of being gainfully employed has passed, I have a bone or two to pick with the powers that be, the almighty Job Gods, sitting in their spacious corner offices in the sky.

1) If you're not going to give me anything to do for two weeks, why am I required to sit staring at a computer screen reading random webpages for 8 hours? Why not allow me to be more productive, like sleeping till noon or sitting on my throne for an hour? (Believe me, it's where I do my best thinking).

2) Administration and HR departments must die. 17 times. If you're going to demand that all employees present their office IDs upon entering the goddamn building, then fucking issue IDs promptly. Don't make me stand down there convincing the security guards that yes, I do work here, we have this conversation every morning. You know you speak to me every morning because if you could undress me with your eyes any faster I'd be missing three layers of skin. And stop biting my boobs. That doesn't turn me on anymore.

3) As one of the biggest MNC's in the country, you really should have faster internet. You can afford it. C'mon, be wild. Go for broadband.

4) Give me the motherfucking office you promised me 3 months ago. The rest of the analysts have offices. FIND ME ONE NOW, BITCH. I need to be able to read my beloved Perez without the office boys staring at Lindsay Lohan's side boob.

5) Get me Illy's coffee. This Nescafe poison doesn't do it for me.

6) For that matter, add more restaurants to our immediate vicinity. A girl cannot live on Casper & Gambini's alone.

7) Seriously, the stock talk over lunch needs to stop. What's wrong with more conspiracy theory talk? That was fun. Or more on how King Juan Carlos told Chavez to shut up. Or that Italian football fan who was shot by police a zillion miles away. Or Xbox. Or hot chicks. See? I'm even giving you hot chicks. Just puhleeez, no more stock talk over my penne.

8) So this one hour of work a day? I'm still not over that.

Aside from all the aforementioned, I really must stop mumbling "I love my job I love my job I love my job" a la Emily from The Devil Wears Prada in the vain hope of actually indoctrinating myself. Grasping at straws never looks sexy. Even in a suit.

Middle School Matrimony

Last night I had the (insert moan here) pleasure of attending yet another wedding. Wedding season has just refused to end this year. Not only am I fed up with having to stress over wearing a dress that:

a) Is considered appropriate, which is impossible to gauge if you don’t know who’s invited;
b) Hasn’t been seen to recently by those invited; and
c) Insert debasing comment regarding my weight here,

but I cannot believe the diminishing ages of the brides and grooms. We’ve returned to playing ‘Wedding’ in our elementary school playgrounds.

Although I’m a staunch proponent of marriage, I cannot understand the current Egyptian trend of marrying straight out of university.

I believe graduation ushers entry into the real world, and thus, adulthood. But funnily enough, Egyptian society seems to believe adulthood is not marked by university and then entry into the real world, but instead that process is merely a tool used to gain access to the real ‘real’ world – marriage. Why is marriage the only truth or acceptable path?

Why is it no respected when one chooses career or personal growth over such an institution – one irreparably marred in our society? Marriage is no longer a happy union but a necessity; a new age debutante ball for the couple, introducing them as eligible, veritable adults worthy of membership in society.

Otherwise, no matter what you do, or how old you are, or how successful you become, you’re still a child living under the care and protection of your parents.

Care to ‘splain, anyone?

My Blue and Green Polkadot Debauchery

In the midst of a conversation about the joys of slacking off at work with my friend Bubba, the other day's upskirt adventure came up.

Eureka: that was such an embarrassing 2 minutes of my life
Bubba: was it really as bad as it sounds?
Eureka: I'm talking flew up in my face instead of covering my crotch bad. And I was wearing revealing underwear. Because I'm an IDIOT like that.
Bubba: HAHAHAHAHA
Did you flash your leopard thong to the public?
Eureka: yes…
Except it was blue and green polka dots.
Bubba: HAHAHAHAHA
How could you NEGLECT to mention that in the entry?

Let's all applaud Bubba's unique title; chapeau!

Don't You Just LOVE a Good Conspiracy Theory?

Sometimes, you’re faced with the curse (or blessing, depends on which way you look at it) of a slow day at work. That’s not a particularly bad thing to have to endure if it is a welcome respite in the midst of an otherwise hectic week, month – what have you. I have been blessed with several slow days recently.

Mind-numbingly slow days.

So slow that I have actually managed to read every single available article on the New York Times website.

Yes, even the classifieds.

And the society pages with those nauseating wedding announcments.

And even the corrections.

It has been so slow recently that the boys and I have been enjoying wondrously long lunch hours, where our discussions have deviated from normal stock talk to a medley of unlikely topics.

Today’s topic: Freemasonry. For those unacquainted with the Freemasons, they are basically a secret society (read: fraternity) established sometime in the seventeenth century for powerful men, on an astonishingly large scale.

This initial mention of the Freemasons led to a conspiracy theorist discussion of how the world’s major decisions are controlled by the desires of the Grand Master of the Freemasons, who – after hand picking world leaders – has them follow his commands, lest he has them killed. Because that’s the rule. If you’re a Freemason, you have to follow orders. Or else they kill you.

So, good ol’ George Dubbya invaded Iraq because the Freemasons told him to. Israel was created because the Freemasons declared it so. The conversation went on, declaring several influential families to be of the Freemasonic clan.

Now, I don’t claim to believe in a conspiracy theory involving a higher world order dictating international politics. But, I have to admit, the idea of some old geezers sitting around with cigars and whisky in some historic lodge playing a game of chess or Risk – and using the entire world as their playing pieces – would explain a lot of the stupidities Man has concocted over the last four centuries or so. I just think it makes for a pretty funny mental image. Hmmm, if I kill off 6 million or so Jews, that would lead to a FUN four year war culminating in the deployment of the atomic bomb. Good times!

In other news, the baby spit up into my cleavage. Again. He finds pleasure in doing that. Little bastard.

Upskirt Moment #1

There are those rare days when I wake up in the mood to wear a skirt. To the average female reader, skirts shouldn’t be a problem. On the contrary, they are rather comfortable little things that allow one to feel quietly pleased with oneself all day. A sort of mini pick-me-up if you will.

Sadly, skirts are also prone to morphing into quagmires.

Aside from the obvious harassment issues so ubiquitous on the streets of Cairo, I feel it is imperative that I warn all skirt-donning women that – thanks to Al Gore’s version of the weather forecast – November in Cairo is now blustery (read: gale force winds). Yes, that is when the air comes up from underneath you and decides to assist you in the undressing process. In the middle of the corniche. Thereby giving everyone exiting my office building prime view of me in all my glory. Thereby also allowing the security guards to audibly snicker and snort with glee. Early Christmas present, folks.

Special thanks to the three men on that rickety Vespa who decided I was in need of a firm reprimand as they puttered by.