Observations In Life

While starting another random day at my job, my co-worker showed me photos of the annual Muslim Festival of Ashura. Me being your average oblivious American, I wasn’t aware that festivals like these still took place in other parts of the world.

For those of us who are not familiar, among Shi’a Muslims, Ashura is a major festival, the tazia (ta’ziyah). It pays tribute to the death of Husayn (also spelled Hussein), son of Imam ‘Ali and grandson of Muhammad, on the 10th of Muharram, AH 61 (October 10, 680), in and around Karbala, Iraq. The events led to the split between the Sunni and Shia sects of Islam, and it is of central importance in Shia Islam.

For Shi’a Muslims, observances and rituals on Ashura consist primarily of public expressions of mourning and grief. Several Shi’as men express mourning by flagellating themselves on the back with chains, or by ritually cutting themselves on the head. This act is intended to connect them with Husayn’s suffering and death as an aid to salvation on the Day of Judgment.

Whoa! The pictures that went with the coverage of the festival were graphic and eye opening. Men dressed in white garments stand together while blood trickles down their steady bodies; and innocent toddlers are held by their smiling mothers displaying deep forehead cuts leaving a trail of cherry red blood, truly left me dumfounded.
I was surprised that people would actually torture themselves for the sake of a belief or praxis. It made me think of how I hate shaving my legs for the fear of cutting my ankle or knee and having little blood droplets on the bathroom floor. I hate pain and to view a people that welcomes it as a part of tradition and homage is hard for me to comprehend.
To the contrary, I ponder what it would be like to have such a massive and all-consuming belief system where I would endure pain to prove my devotion to a fundamental truth.

Are we religious enough? In our personal beliefs, do we exude discipline or an adequate passion for our spiritual leaders? Or do we live everyday under the premise that doing good deeds will get us a spot among the clouds in paradise.

Either way, I respect what other people do for their god. And if you don’t, I will pray for you.

Someday I will be able to partake in these pleasures:

• No having to wait for the bathroom.
• The only dirty dishes are MY dirty dishes.
• No obnoxious, unwanted company.
• No blaring Hanson, overplayed Gwen Stefani, screamo, or bad Alt Rock.
• No screaming in general.
• No one to yell at my kitty besides me.
• No wasteful living.
• No pile of garbage in the corner of the kitchen.
• No dirty, cluttered counterspace with crumbs and spills.
• No more crap strewn about the living room.
• No one using my milk, condiments, butter, cheese, etc.*
• Naked time is ALL the time.
• No using hand towels to clean up spills when they’re only there for drying your hands.
• And last, but most definitely not least, no sinking sinking feeling in my stomach when I hear someone open the front door.

God damn I can’t wait!

I thought about making this into a pros and cons list, but I realized I wouldn’t have anything to list in the cons section.  Some people claim that I would be unhappy without all of the social interaction.  Um, no.  If I want to see your face, I’ll call you.  I don’t need you all up in my business every damn day.

*UPDATE: Literally as I was typing this, my roommate just came in to tell me she stole a piece of my bread today.   At least she fessed up instead of everyone denying it when confronted.

It’s odd how quickly our personalities change and the effects said changes have on friendships and romantic relationships.

I personally never notice these transformations taking place until I happen to butt serious heads with someone I care about.  These types of situations and encounters force me to think about who I am and who they are, which is where the realizations come in.

I would say this could easily be considered a good thing.

Firstly, it tests the relationship you have with that person (or people) by putting certain questions out in the open.  Is it strong enough to accommodate both parties’ developments?  Can everyone involved still benefit from the relationships they have with one another?  And when I say ‘benefit’ I’m not talking about using someone to get ahead in life;  I’m referring to the spiritual, mental, and emotional gains derived from maintaining a quality friendship.  Let’s not forget the life lessons, either.

Secondly, which sort of applies to the life lessons aspect, is the the increase in confidence of who you are as a person.  The more you are faced with these circumstances, the stronger your faith in your own morals and values becomes.  I mean isn’t the purpose of life to shape who you are as a person, to work on being as perfect as you can be in your own eyes (without harming anyone else in the process, of course)?

I guess all that I’m trying to remind everyone is that you should never regret what happens in your life, because it all has an impact on the finished product.  It may seem really crappy while you’re in the moment, but I’m a firm believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason.

Just keep smiling.  As Cee-Lo Green says, “It’s easily one of the hardest things to do.”

So apparently, Lysol Disinfectant is the new Chanel No. 5, ‘cuz people have been sportin’ that scent like crazy recently.  At first, I thought it was me…that maybe i’d been using a new Lysol inspired bodywash/body spray combination by Bath and Body Works and had simply forgotten, but that wasn’t it. And then I thought that maybe I was just smelling things, or maybe people were spraying the Lysol up my nose while I slept, but I’m thinking that would’ve triggered some unhealthy reactions like sneezing, hurling, or…uhhh, what’s that other one? Oh yeah, death.

But I’ve been smelling it everywhere and it’s on people’s skin and clothes. People on the subway are sportin’ it, in the grocery store…at restaurants.

I worked with one lady who made it a point to reek of Lysol everyday.  EVERYDAY…and it wasn’t like it was her job to use this stuff. She wasn’t a custodian. She just apparently, loved to smell like Lysol.  It was like she lived each day to immerse herself in its antibacterial essence.  I could smell her 99.9% staphylococcus killing fragrance about 5 minutes before she even walked through the door…and I know I wasn’t the only one smelling it. Several people would mention it to me and we’d look at her like, “Are you aware that you smell like a sanitized toilet seat? Is that what you were going for?”

But the kicker, the moment that I knew that this Lysol fragrance trend was getting out of control, was when I ran across someone who must’ve been ingesting it, ‘cuz the scent of Lysol Disinfectant cleaner, was on her breath. I’m looking at her like, “Kay I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be taking that orally. I’m prrretty that that’s on a warning label somewhere.” Yet, here she stood, smellin’ like she used Lysol like Binaca. I had half a mind to press on her head like a nozzle and aim her in the direction of various non-porous surfaces.

…could see the TV ad for that one now…new Lysol Breath Spray…killing bad breath and samonella bacteria all in one spritz…

I’m pissed! In an effort to save money while being a bit brand conscious I bought a pair of Levis Jeans at Macy’s in Boston’s Downtown Crossing store.

I didn’t buy the most expensive über cool jeans, because that’s not me. I’m a no frills kinda guy who likes to dress well, but there is no way I am shelling out a couple hundred clams to prove myself to my friends by wearing the latest fashions and hottest brands. Hell they wouldn’t even know the difference. I buy things that work and look good and that are quality…or so I assume.

So why am I pissed? I just squatted down to tie my shoes and tore a hold in the left knee! What ever happened to durability?! I bought these jeans a month ago. I remember getting jeans in high school and having them last forever. If it wasn’t because stone washed jeans are out of style (o.k. and the fact that I’ve gained a few pounds and inches around the waist line), I probably could still wear them and keep wearing them for years to come. Now when I buy clothes at the store with money that I don’t have, they seem to last just long enough for me not to be able to return them.

It’s crap like this that constantly reminds me that we live in a throwaway society. Nothing is built to last anymore. Sure consumerism keeps the economy going, but when did it become to throw the expectation of quality right out the window? When did the social contract get edited to say that we no longer want things of quality. Or worse, when did we decide as a society that we will no longer produce things of quality?

I am absolutely appalled at the requirements so many “landlords” are listing for overpriced and more than likely illegal studios/in-laws in places like Ingleside and Sunset.  Give me a break, those are basically the crappiest places to live.  If you’re not getting mugged on the bus home to Ingleside, you’re living in Sunset where it’s always cold and overcast; it’s like a recurring nightmare.

“We are looking for one quiet, non-smoking, drug & alcohol free tenant with no pet.”

Sounds to me like you’re looking for an effing loser.

Lighten up, buttfaces.  I could understand drug-free as that seems to, at some point, have an effect on most people’s ability to pay rent and keep the house clean (Unless you’re doing speed, which is another story).

But non-smoking?  Alcohol free?  No pets?  What the hell do you care what I do in my free time?

I’ve already lived with my parents and I’m a grown-ass woman now.  I don’t need you bossing me around and telling me I can’t keep an animal or I can’t go outside and smoke a cigarette from time to time.  Plus everybody and they mommas drinks. Just like Vicky says, “I only drink to numb the pain in my worthless life so you’re well out of order.”

Just shut up and take your damn rent money.

I was walking around in Boston and believe it or not decided to pop into a Starbucks for a cup of coffee. Boston being the college town that it is, is filled with wanna be “originals” and students trying to carve out their identity proving that they are truly original and unique to the world. As I sat down to enjoy my overly priced Grande Vanilla Latter (a discussion topic for another post), I saw her! Who was she you ask? She was none other than the number one fan. The number one fan of what you ask? EXACTLY!

I suppose it’s only natural that people have the same clothes as the person next to them. It’s not like Banana Republic or Abercrombie & Fitch only made one original shirt for each person. What bothers me is what I’ll dub as the “self expression” shirt.

This girl probably bought the shirt thinking she was truly original and because it was funny. It expresses who she is as a person and identifies her to the world. The problem is, who is she a fan of? And what about the other 10,000 people that bought the same shirt? Is she the same as them?

I see these shirts everywhere. Everyone is trying to be funny and original these days and so they resort to buying poor quality, over-priced shirts with phrases and pictures that no one cares about to create their identity. So much for fashion. We’ve resorted to buying a t-shirt to carve our our identity in the world instead of buying clothes and creating outfits that truly identify us. We can now go to urban outfitters or shop online at busted tees to claim our little piece of originality. How convenient.

Who knows, maybe she is someone’s number one fan or maybe she’s not. I’ll never know because I never asked her. It goes to show you that being original is truly original. I guess it’s time for me to throw my shirt away…

Using a public restroom is an under-appreciated art, ladies, but don’t let that discourage you. There is hope for you less artistically inclined dames. While I hardly consider myself an expert, I do have a fair amount of experience in the matter. I’ve graced restrooms in thirty-seven different states, from gas stations to fat cat hotels. In other words, I know how to squat, girls. And you should, too.

But let’s begin ante-squat, shall we? Let’s start with the art of padding. All women must become skilled toilet-padders. After all, if you think your derriere is dirty, think of how filthy someone else’s birthday seat is! Or, rather, don’t. It’s not a pleasant thought. The point of padding is to create a barrier between your germies and the germies of all the women who have used this toilet before you. And chances are, there have been many…but let’s not get into that.

Start by washing your hands (preferably with your own travel-size anti-bacterial soap) and then grabbing several sheets of paper towel. If there is no paper towel, then you will have to use regular toilet tissue instead. And if that’s not available, well, then I pray you brought some paper with you, or else you’ll have to skip this step altogether. (Or maybe it would just be better to hold it, eh?) Now pad every inch of the toilet seat. I mean it—not one nanometer of that repulsive breeding ground for anal bacteria should be visible. (And you may want to do this while wearing rubber gloves, too.)

Once the seat is COMPLETELY padded, you must proceed to squatting because padding alone simply is not enough to ensure your absolute protection. There are three ways in which you can approach these commode gymnastics:

The first method requires you to place your feet on the seat and then, well, you know. The benefit of this method is that you are better able to control your aim than in the second method, which requires you to hover over the seat. Keep your feet on the floor and then position yourself over the seat without actually touching it. This method definitely demands strength, but unlike the previous method, you do not have the danger of slipping and dunking your shoes into the toilet bowl or falling off the toilet altogether (Ouch and eww if you’re unfortunate enough to hit the floor). So concentrate on the graffiti on the wall and focus those thigh muscles if method two is your choice, sweetheart. Method three is the least physically-straining because it requires no squatting at all, but will most likely result in you leaving the restroom with pee on your leg. Stand over the toilet bowl and just…go. This is a dangerous option if you’re 1) on a hot date, 2) at church with your Great-Auntie May, 3) attending an important business meeting. But if you’re on the go and your bladder won’t stop irking you, then do what you have to do. Just be prepared to wipe your inner thigh and spray disinfectant on your entire body afterwards. In fact, why not take a whole shower at this point? Call a taxi and just go home! Your company can wait! You should’ve used the toilet there in the first place!

But if your company cannot wait and you cannot use your own bathroom, remember this: whatever squatting method you choose, never forget that padding is ESSENTIAL. In case you do lose your balance, you can safely land on the paper, rather than the bare seat, which is far less icky. From a more altruistic standpoint, it also minimizes the amount of urine you leave on the toilet seat. And we all know how disgusting it can be to walk into a stall and find something yellow on the seat!

After you have gone about your business, you must clean up after yourself. Throw the paper away in the trashcan—not the toilet, as it may clog it—and then wipe any remnants of your visit with a paper towel. Also make sure that there’s no paper or pee on the floor. You may now exit.

Now it’s time to wash your hands. Remember—you must do this before you do any primping. (Applying lipstick without washing your hands after urinating is the near equivalent of drinking your pee.) Wait for the water to get warm (not hot, which will damage your lovely pores!) and then rinse your hands for a full fifteen minutes—not seconds, MINUTES. Count if you like. Then squirt a generous amount of soap into your palms and scrub your skin vigorously all the way up to your elbows. Bleeding is encouraged. Lathering should take approximately twenty minutes and the rinsing afterwards, ten.

Now you’re free to touch up your hair and make-up, but don’t set up an entire salon. Surely there are other women who want to pretty themselves up, too—or de-uglify themselves in more extreme cases. This should be obvious, but please do not bring blow-dryers, straightening irons, hair curlers, or exotic Indian elephants into public restrooms. Ever.

Once you’re done with your primping, you can leave. Oh, wait! I forgot! Spray some of your best perfume in the air before you go.

C’mon, be a lady. No one wants to smell your stench.

-Pulled from Christine Stoddard’s Content Producer page on AssociatedContent.com

I have never been so excited about an upcoming presidential election in my entire life.  Perhaps it comes with the territory of growing up.  Or maybe it’s just because this country has been stuck with a douchebag as President for the past eight years.  Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

I’m also very excited about the high chances of having a mulatto man or a dyke-a-licious (thanks, Leonard!) woman as the next President.

With that being said, I’d like to share my thoughts on all of the nominees for the 2008 Presidential Election, and I’ll stick to well-known names of the two main parties, Democrat and Republican, so this doesn’t get too lengthy.

DEMOCRATS

Hillary Clinton: Do ya thang, girl.  But I will confess (and I think I speak for the majority of America) that you are absolutely terrifying.

Barack Obama: What a dreamboat!  You are definitely going to give Hillary a run for her money with regards to getting women’s votes in the primaries.  Plus you were on Oprah, and errbody knows that everyone does anything Oprah supports. Gotta love television!

John Edwards: I don’t know what it is, but everytime I see you I feel like you’re just one big joke and anyone in their right mind shouldn’t respect you.  That’s just me, though.

John Kerry: Again? Really?  Your face makes me sad.

Al Gore: Okay, so you made a grand attempt to bring global warming to everyone’s attention, and I respect that, but you’re in the same position as Kerry.  Just let it go and keep up with your travelling slideshow.

REPUBLICANS

Rudy Giuliani: I already stated my qualms with you in my personal blog so I’m just going to say flat-out that I don’t like you.  Jerk.

John McCain: Man, your face makes me sad, too.  Except your face actually causes me physical pain, whereas Kerry’s just makes me want to adopt a hound dog and then strangle it.

Newt Gingrich: Newt, buddy, what are you doing?  You look like you should be preaching at a super church, then sneaking off to buy crystal meth from trannies.

I thought I had read somewhere that Dick Cheney was going to have a swing at it, but I guess I was wrong.  BUT, if he was I would probably vote for him out of fear. Fear of being shot in the face if I didn’t.

P.S.  Sorry for all of the below the belt, unfounded attacks on the Republican nominees, I started getting more and more angry as I went down the list.  I can’t hide my emotions.

I have been working at my job for about two years. Everyday when I walk to the office there are homeless people asking for money to eat, or even for some alcoholic refreshment. I really want to help them, and yet I don’t want them to rely on handouts and know I can’t give money to everyone everyday. Today while walking to work I noticed that one of the “regulars” was talking on a cell phone? It made me lose all faith in the honesty of people asking for money. You just never know.