The Proper Way to Eat Rice

First, let us set the scene:

Picture a bright, creme coloured dining room with about 8 large round dining tables, seating about 10 each. Picture a semi-filled table seating me, Mile-A-Minute, and 5 strangers, about to tuck into our lunch. 

Now picture me removing a piece of chicken from a skewer with my knife. Note that there is a large spoonful of rice two centimetres away from said knife action. 

As you can probably foresee, I now ask you to picture said knife slipping off the chicken and slamming into the helping of rice, sending most of the rice flying off my plate and scattering it all over the table. 

Now picture three waiters tutting over a plainly embarrassed Eureka and hurriedly cleaning the table up. All I could do was sheepishly keep eating. The rest of the people on the table pretended not to notice anything at all, which obviously made it all the more cringe-worthy. 

Props to the waiters, though. They cleaned my mess up in 4 nanoseconds flat. 

Remind me never to eat at any work-related function ever again. My bruised ego couldn't handle another dining etiquette castrophe. 

Highlight of My Day - Inauguration Special

If there was one reason to watch the inauguration, this was it:

“REV LOWERY: Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors
rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day
when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around, when
yellow will be mellow, when the red man can get ahead, man, and when white will
embrace what is right. Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen.

AUDIENCE: Amen!

REV. LOWERY: Say amen --

AUDIENCE: Amen!

REV. LOWERY: -- and amen.

AUDIENCE: Amen”

The Little Things

Some people's idea of a good day is getting to experience the adrenaline rush of adventure. Some people strive for the satisfaction of a job well done. For others, it is power, or money, or sex, or any combination of the aforementioned. 

Me? It is the little things in life that totally make my day. 

Like finding EGP 2.00 (equivalent to US$ 0.36. You can basically buy a packet of crisps with EGP 2.00) in a forgotten Longchamps that no one's touched since early 2006. 

Better yet, discovering said Longchamps hidden inside a ratty school messenger bag you were about to throw out. My mother told me to make sure it was empty. I rolled my eyes and flattened the messenger bag to prove it was. She told me to check anyway. Sure enough, the good-as-new Longchamps was inside. I felt sheepish accordingly. It's like that woman has the entire world's superpowers combined. Freaks me out, every damn time. 

Another little thing I love about life is how the powers that be sometimes decide to give me a break. Like today, when they graced me with just enough clairvoyance to save myself (and probably save Bloft) a lot of parental aggravation. 

Last night, Bloft told me that I might have to pick her up from Zamalek on my way home from work. She said she'd call me the next morning to confirm. I nodded, not really listening, but listening just enough to pick up the "I'll let you know tomorrow" bit. 

Tomorrow, being today, came and she never called. I, of course, forgot all about the previous night's conversation. 

Around 4:15 pm, I did something I've never done in my life. I called my sister to ask where she was. I don't know what possessed me to call her. May have been my boredom, or it may have been divine intervention. All I know is that rather than text her ordering her to start downloading the latest episode of Gossip Girl, I decided to prank call her from my office phone, the number for which she did not have:

[Telephone rings. Bloft Answers.]

Bloft: Hello?

Eureka: Hello, masa2el kheir [good afternoon]

Bloft: Aywa meen? [Yes, who is this?]

Eureka: Momken a3mil order, minfadlik? [May I please give you my order?]

Bloft: Hahaha hi Eureka. That's MY JOKE!

Eureka: Oh really? I didn't know. What can I say, great minds. 

Bloft: Yeah. What do you want?

Eureka: Where are you?

Bloft: What do you mean where am I? I'm at my friend's house. You're supposed to pick me up.

Eureka: Edah, begad? [Oh, really?] I was calling to tell you to download GG. 

Bloft: I can't believe you forgot me!

Eureka: I can't believe you didn't even tell me!

Bloft: I told you yesterday!

Eureka: You said you'd confirm today. Idiota. 

Bloft: Tab ok pick me up on your way home. 

Eureka: Fine, I'll call you. 

[Both hang up] 

This is an insanely uncommonly cordial conversation between two sisters who usually refer to each other exclusively as asswipe and "you fucking whore". Our last MSN conversation consisted purely of German curse words. And a lot of LOLing. Healthy relationship, yes? 

Unfortunately, I didn't forget to pick her up. She has just walked in bragging about having been just emailed tomorrow's maths exam, stolen by a friend in class. My sister is hooked up, yo. 

Mindless Materialism

Have I ever mentioned just how important the art of shopping is in a woman's life?

Men buy clothes when they need to. A tattered t-shirt here, a torn pair of jeans there, a hole in the left sole of a pair of shoes. Things eventually are worn past their expiration date and must be replaced. Men have enough clothes and shoes to only need one wardrobe to store their things in. This is how you can tell carpenters are men. They build for practicality, not fashion.

Women, on the other hand, have a divine affinity for all things pretty. We like to be surrounded by beautiful items of clothing and leather goods. Those women who do not are either superhuman or have moral or ethical beliefs that trump their natural attraction to pretty things. Good for them, for they are better than me.

It is not that we lovers of pretty things are stupid enough to be duped by the commerciality of the fashion industry. We know we're being gypped. We know full well that Prada or Tod's are making something like 500% on every item we buy, and that's when the item is on sale. Hell, we're probably the ones who budgeted that 500% margin into Temperley's books in the first place. We know that all things pretty are overpriced. However, we realize that prettiness and exclusivity come at a premium, and we are willing to pay that premium for the joy we get out of owning these items.

I bring this up because of the way I spent my weekend. I spent a good 3 months' worth of pay in the space of 24 hours on a variety of overpriced clothing and leather goods. 50% off, but overpriced nonetheless. Now, I admit to being a generally prudent person when it comes to personal finances. I border on being stingy when it comes to spending money on myself. But this weekend, I rediscovered the joy of buying pretty things.

Usually, I only experience it in London, when grandpa's the one spending the money on my pretty things (also, up until very recently, you couldn't really shop in Cairo even if you wanted to. Over the last couple of years, an exponential number of foreign brands set up shop here, much to all credit card bill payers' collective chagrin). For once, I actually gathered up the balls to spend some money on myself rather than scrounge every penny for some hypothetical rainy day. What am I even saving so carefully for anyway? It's not like I have to worry about anything resembling bills, utilities, or credit ratings. I have dear old Daddy to take care of all that for me. One of the perks of living in the Middle East and it's patriarchal mentality.

Score one for the ladies, there.

Men, always remember that women are not stupid. We just find joy in different things. You like nothing more than a cold beer in front of a football game. That's fine. We don't knock you for it. We love shoes, bags, coats, and dresses. It is those expensive shoes and dresses that make us feel great, and thereby sexy. And when we feel sexy, you know that means you're going to get some. So shut up and don't dare make fun of our spending habits, because at the end of the day, you're benefitting anyway.

Score one for the men, and a million for the ladies, there. What could be better than a win-win situation?

Self-Absorbed

For some reason, I've found it extremely difficult to log onto this page. I can't seem to wrap my head around writing something somewhat funny about nothing at all. Maybe it's because the big bad job is not so bad at the moment. Maybe it's because I've run out of things to talk to you about without being repetitive - which I have been on more than one occasion already, anyway. It feels like my posts have been redundant at best. And I don't like being boring, or redundant, or anything resembling myself in the virtual little world I've built myself here. This is the one place where I can highlight the more entertaining bits of life without having to pass through the mundane as well. Now there aren't even any funny bits to post here. 

Not that I'm unhappy. Nor am I depressed to any extent. Life is comfortable. That's just it. It is nothing out of the ordinary. I don't really want to write about ordinary without it being uplifting somehow. My recent posts haven't been uplifting - aside from the links to comedic sketches that aren't even mine to receive any credit for. 

Even with life changing, everything continues to be the same. People come and go, and its like their presence had no impact. They are seldom remembered or missed. You're here, great; you're not, doesn't make a difference. Drama erupts and is eventually resolved. I'm not better or worse off because of it. Some days are good, others are bad. At the end of the day, I go to bed the same as I'd gotten up. Content, normal, comfortable. I have no drive or reason to change, even though I know I should. I believe I can do a lot more. I am certain I can become so much more than the path I am currently on will allow me to be. Yet I have no reason other than that arbitrary belief to change. Am I obligated to shake my life up purely on the basis of some self-awareness of potential? Why risk it? 

I Ain't A French Oral

Tip Jar: Tinkerbell, kindly introducing me to the ROFL that is The Catherine Tate Show.