random thoughts of the day
- There’s this woman who works at the cafe where I spend every minute of my life (on my laptop) that I don’t spend at home. She’s very nice, and everyday asks me exactly the same questions. (Note, she’s an immigrant and speaks verry little English). Khadija: “How are you?” me: Alhamdulillah. Then she says, “You okay?” (I suspect she repeats herself because these are the two phrases she knows, so she might as well use them both).Okay, I’m totally not kidding, just as I was typing this, she came up to me again, 15 minutes after her first questions, and asked me, “How are you then!” As if a change of tone made it a totally different question. And that of course is one of my peeves — since, at least theoretically, I’m working, and she shouldn’t be playing with my spoon anyway. Okay, I hear you all say I’m a biatch. Sure. Sometimes I am. I’m also a little short on patience these days. So don’t cross me. And don’t talk to me when I might be working. And don’t play with my spoon. I’m a bit like Adrian Monk on that one. How do I know you’re not one of them pee fingers folks? The other day she suggested something, either it was a) I should come visit at your house or b) You should come visit me at my house. And I said, “Yeah! Sure! That would be nice!” with not the foggiest idea exactly what the suggestion was. Then I thought to myself, goodness — suppose we do go visit her. Then what? When I socialize, I feel like I’m responsible somehow, for keeping the conversation flowing. If it doesn’t, I feel uncomfortable, responsible, awkward, clumsy. With people who don’t do a lot of feedback (uhuh. yeah! Really?) and just listen to you recite complete paragraphs in silence before they offer a considered response, - I’m lost with those folks. So what am I supposed to do if we do visit? Sit there and drink tea and smile? I guess I should be more comfortable and organic in the use of social-time, and that the meeting of eyes and smiles should suffice. Does this mean I’ve become really - er- White? Anyway. I just don’t think there will be any socializing with Khadija here simply because of the psychological exhaustion involved.
- Women rock. I got so many emails in response to an SOS I sent out here on this blog and on dcurbanmoms from complete strangers–okay, my regular blog visitors aren’t strangers, but still. These people took the trouble to type out entire sets of paragraphs to a complete stranger, with advice on gestational diabetes, the diet, ObGyns, nutritionists, carseats, strollers, etc. And these messages were warm and helpful. I think this is so amazing. Of course, allahu akbar and alhamdulillah for technology. But allahu akbar for the nurturing power of women. Except we also have Abu Sinan, who also left supportive comments and Svend who suffered with my GD issues, so I guess I’ll edit that to human beings rock. But still I do think that the fact that I’m a women’s mailing list resulted in so many emails that I couldn’t even reply to all of them. Mashallah. There is hope for the world.
- Cafes are good to work in. Quietly. Either that, or socialize. Or people watch, if you will Or just eat and drink. Cafes are not good places to do your PR work from. I just saw this lady with a laptop and a business suit come in at the table next to mine, and I’m like, Oh NO, not again. She always sits there and takes business call after social/personal call. She does not keep her voice down, drags chairs and tables noisily with one hand (because she has the phone in the other hand), and talks without modulating her voice . I want her to leave. Now. I have officially given her a couple of Looks. I don’t know if they are working. The thing is, if she were talking to a person present, it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s the whole, I’m going to sit here and take calls instead of going home and doing the same thing just because I can. Okay, you have decided I’m a biatch. See if I care. (Okay, not only does she make a racket, but she turns around, forces me to take off the earphones, and asks me “Are you going to be here a LONG time? Well, can you tell me when you leave because I want to move to that seat.” Get some manners, lady. It’s not your cafe or mine. I’ll stay here till closing time now, just to spite you. I’m just kidding. But I’m sympathetic–generally–to the need to move seats, as I’m picky about seats. But there’s a way to do it. I always just sit and monitor seats and go when they’re emptied. Don’t ask someone when they hell they’ll leave.)
- I’m having trouble sleeping these days. And I need to get my landlady a soft pair of bedroom slippers and a carpet. I swear she wears clogs around the house, from the sound of it, and gallops from one end to the other on what sound like wooden floors. She doesn’t seem to sleep much, and she gallops in at like, 12:30 at night, and then spends some time running back and forth. Then at 7am she’s galloping again. I don’t know what to do.
- The guy downstairs, Bob, is the same way, except he makes a habit of drinking and throwing up like, many evenings of the week. I don’t know what the home situation is, but it worries me because he lives only with a little 9-year old son. Should I be, er, knocking on the basement apartment with a bowl of pudding, Hi, I’m your neighbour, I know you’re a single dad and I’m the pregnant lady from upstairs — just not so very er South Asian to do so, get my drift.He might get the wrong idea. Especially considering er other things we’ve heard.
- Then at night and in the morning, there’s this darned dog in the house behind our bedroom window. He makes a habit of barking constantly when he’s outside. Early morning. Late night. Those are favourite times for him. I’m struggling to stay asleep with my aching back and my overactive bladder and my anxious mind, and woof-woof-woof-woof-woof-endlessly till you wish - … The other day, we were walking and we saw this enormous television through the window of this house. My God, it was so big, you wanted to say takbeer.I’m like, “These guys are our neighbours but surely they must be rich, look at that TV.” “It’s the dog they economized on,” Svend says.
- My belly is moving from side to side. (I believe Chhoti likes reggae after all, TwennyTwo.)
- I think I’m getting addicted to Thera-Flu. It clears up my cold (temporarily) right away. Except, I swear it gives me the munchies. Is it halal? Wait, don’t tell me.
- The barista had a cold too. As she was giving me my coffee, she lifted and tilted her head, giving me a full view of her nostrils, and squealed, “Oh no my nose is running!” That did wonders for my appetite, I can tell ya. Another thing I love: guys who form spit balls and toss them as far as possible away from them, and don’t bother to carry tissues, and don’t bother to do it in some privacy. I have retched because the sight of the ball flying makes me crazy. Why is it that guys spit so much anyway? Is there something about their lungs or throat? Okay, I’ve got to stop or I’ll retch again.
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baby stuff | humour | immigrants/immigration | uncategorized