Sarah Looked Hot All Wet part 2

“Come on chicken legs!” she said.

I didn’t listen. I embraced the rain. It was cold, cold rain, and the sky had become a darker hue of purple. We had to rush home, but I didn’t want to go home. I loved the rain.

She pedaled ahead of me, and I had to follow suit otherwise I would have lost my way back to the house. The rain was pouring hard enough to even cloud my vision. And the fact that I wore eye glasses did not help my perception of my surroundings in the least bit.

Remember the movie “Singing in the Rain”? I actually never got to watch it until three weeks ago. It was a brilliant movie. I loved the acting, the singing, the atmsophere. The love story was intense. The best part was close to the end where the two were on the stairs of the stage, the lady looking ethereal with her long, free, angelic gown and the surreal atmosphere. I also love the fact this has nothing to do with my post.

Not now anyway.

The road dragged on. A lightning blade sliced through the ominous clouds above, thundering the air. The rain hit hard my face and body. I could no longer ride with enough speed to follow Sarah. I told her to go easy a little bit.

“If you tilt sideways the rain won’t hit your face in the front,” she instructed. Of course, why would it? It didn’t occur to me. I had to swerve left and right as I biked.

But I enjoyed the rain. I was drenched far beyond drying. My gray shorts and white shirt turned darker as they soaked. I became heavier. The bike became heavier.

“Wait up!” I shouted. She didn’t listen; she kept forcing her way through the heavy rain. I put some effort to up my speed, but, with all the water on my glasses, I didn’t see the end of the pavement. I clumsily stumbled but steadied the bike; my glasses, however, just fell off. Not being able to stop to find them, I just carried on without them.

I should have lazik eye surgery sometime soon. It is a completely different feeling.

We eventually rounded up around the house, discarded our bikes in the backyard and headed to the warm inside. Or, maybe, it just seemed warm relative to the freezing rain and wind.

It was then that I realized that Sarah was wet.

It isn’t like I am that mentally handicapped to not think of the obvious, it just did not occur to me that she would get wet (if this sentence doesn’t make sense don’t try to decipher it). Women never get wet. Not when men want them to. But she looked… different.

I was 13.

She wasn’t the perfect figure. But why would a 13 year old care anyway? This is the best chance. Two soaked individuals, one juvenile 13 and the other around 10, in a hot kitchen.

There was only the orange juice bottle and some leftover cereal on the kitchen table. This is going to be really really hot.

I think it was in those few months in the States that I actually felt I have testosterone. After I turned 14 and went back to my regular, boring life, it took me 2 more years to self experiment and 5 years after that to have the greatest dream of all: Banging Angelina Jolie TWICE (once in a void and once on a kitchen table, with no cereal), and satisfy her (and myself) both times.

Nothing sexier than beating Brad in his game.

“Oh my God Sarah, you are wet!” I stupidly highlight the fact to her.

“Well, like, I don’t know Kinan, I think I THINK I was outside in the RAIN. And you KNOW it is made of WATER, so, like, of COURSE I will be WET DUUUUUUUUUH!” She noted that I am stupid, in a plainly American way.

She grabbed a towel and flanked it over her head.

“Well I just think that you’re kinda, I mean, wet,” where the hell was I going with this? Note to women: I am still that stupid.

“Kinaaaaan, ewwwwwwww, you are DISGUSTING! Get a LIFE!” She instructed. Note to women: I am still told to get a life. She stomped upstairs.

Oh, she wants to play hard to get now huh? Well, the bedrooms are upstairs, and so are the bathrooms and showers. It is going to be awesome.

Note to men: I had not seen porn before then.

I followed her upstairs. This is going to be a blast. Of course, I had no idea what sex is, much less how to do it. I don’t even recall I had an erection, and even if I did, it would take me some years to know what to do with it.

I went up anyway. I am sure she would show me the ropes. Even if she were 10, who cares! That idiot Tom/Bob thing had a crush on her… it is either me or him. And I had to take this opportunity.

Of course I am now speaking in retrospective.

I went up.

“It suddenly rained on us!” she said. To whom?

I continued up the stairs. Surely this must be the female way of attracting inseminating men. First by complaining, to draw attention, then by playing victim, to draw sympathy and sex.

Of course. This had to be it. I couldn’t possibly be wrong. She had been giving me hints so many times and I just overlooked them. I played the role of the forbidden fruit. She wanted me and bad. Really bad.

It is all text book.

I reached upstairs.

She was talking to her dad.

Sarah Looked Hot All Wet part 1

One of the many often lovely yet disturbing facts about NY is that the weather changes several times in a single day. What starts off as a sunny day with brilliant sunshine changes into a depressing thunderstorm followed by a tornado warning and then back to sunny, some fog, then it clears, followed by another thunderstorm, then it clears.

Of course all this happens in 2 hours.

Not having a template of clothes to wear for a given weather, NYans simply wear whatever they feel comfortable with (men going out shirtless or women out with only bras is perfectly fine) and they just deal with the weather as it comes.

I was completely bedazzled by the very phenomenon that weather actually CHANGES. Having lived in KSA for a considerable period of my childhood, I only grew up knowing the following four seasons: Hot Humid Summer, Hot Summer, Cool Summer, Cool Humid Summer. The idea that I can witness all icons of the weather channel in one day was not something my brain found logical (keep in mind of course my brain functions on its own set of logic that has nothing to do with actual logic).

Sarah and I (yes yes I was her boy toy get over it) went to a general store one day to grab a gift for my sister after she had her operation. The store was several blocks away from our house (omg, did I just say OUR house?) and there were many churches and Burger Kings in between. We always went to places with said outlets because, if we needed sanctuary, we would head for a church (remember this is pre-Dan Brown) and if we were ever hungry (which we always were) there would be a good junk food place to eat.

As a side note, I always found it interesting that I always ordered two Big King sandwiches and a Hershey’s Pie. In the US though the Big King is as big as a Big Mac so unroll your tongue and snap back your jaw.

Anyway, when we entered the store it was PERFECTLY sunny and there was NO POSSIBLE way of it being otherwise. We emerged from the store because it had to close at 6 PM. And it was raining. Pretty hard. Big fat blots of water, more like arrows, piercing everything on earth. I swear I was so worried to step outside and have my head decapitated by water.

I could already see the headlines: Juvenile Shot to Death by Water Bullets: God Pleads Not Guilty

The store would not allow us back in, and, in some miraculous feat I still have to understand, everyone in the store just vanished, despite the fact there was only one main door. Everyone in the store dematerialized, the lights went off, and Sarah, myself, and a stupid gift stood out beneath some ridiculous hood waiting for the rain to end.

But it didn’t. In fact, it only got worse, but maybe that was because it also got darker, and, as with everything when it is dark, things seem more sinister.

Stupid human psychology.

We grabbed our bikes, took a deep breath, and pedaled out into the waterfire.

It was warfare. I felt like a soldier in the frontlines. I felt like Neo in the 3rd Matrix movie during the final fight with the agent (of course I did not know of Neo in 1997). There was water everywhere. I worried the streets would be clogged with water; I anticipated people fleeing, others crawling out of their floating cars; I expected an enormous wave to just topple everything and I would drown, and be eaten by Flipper.

My sister was not worth all this.

Don’t tell her – she will ruin my Xbox. She is going insane with me having 4 different consoles corded up to the TV.

But it was anything but all that.

It was the most brilliant experience I ever had. In the wild anyway. Well not the wild, but I mean something to do with nature. Ok even better when I didn’t pee for 36 hours on a field trip then let it all go. Well, almost like that.

I could go on forever describing how amazing it was. I will in my next post.

So wait for part two :D

Tagged (with images!)

A Available or single

B Best friend

C Cake or pie

E Essential item

F Favourite color

G Gummy bears or worms

H Home town

I Indulgence

J January or February

K kids

L Life

M Marriage

N Number of siblings

O Oranges or Apples

P Phobias

Q Favourite quote

R Reason to smile

S Season

T Tag 3 people

U Unknown fact about me

V/W Worst habit

X/Y Your favourite food

Z Zodiac

How To: Stop Being A Compulsive Cleaner

While there is nothing wrong with being clean, going overboard with it is an entirely different matter. Below is a scenario (from personal experience) which, if you identified with, means you are an obsessive cleaner – although not necessarily mental, but rather, just too much of a perfectionist. I am going to offer you some tips to overcome it, and you can apply it to other things.

You wake up early morning in the weekend. You go to the bathroom, you wash your face, brush your teeth, take a dump, etc etc. As soon as you finish washing, you notice that some soap lathered the tap. Now you know, of course, having the soap dry on the tap would leave white flakes and residue. Which isn’t a big a deal – except that it is to you.

The flakes are your worst nightmare. Although technically soap, they would not allow for the wonderful shine of the tap to show.

You sprinkle some water over the tap to remove the residue. Gone! Your amazement is only marred by the horrendous outcome that occurred after you cleaned the tap – now there is water (and some soap) all over the basin of the sink.

My God. Disaster.

You start removing and wiping, only to think that, hey, since you cleaned the basin, you might as well clean the sink. So you do – with a little bit of Dettol and Jif, everything is shiny again.

But lo and behold, your clumsy cleaning technique spilled water on the floor. Oh my, this will cause a big mess! So you clean the floor, and, since you cleaned a spot only, now the other tiles would feel jealous. You wouldn’t live with a half cleaned bathroom floor now would you? You end up mopping the whole floor.

I am going to stop here, although at times I found myself cleaning the toilet seat as well as the bathtub.

All at 8 or 9 AM on a weekend.

Sick right?

So here is how to get over it:

  • Acknowledge the fact that you are sick. It is ok; no one will judge you (yet)
  • Acknowledge the fact that you have better things to do on a weekend morning, like sleeping for example, than cleaning the bathroom (which can be postponed till later that day)
  • Catch yourself in the act. Make a mental note of why you were going to the bathroom in the first place (eg brush teeth) and see what you ended up doing.
  • Know what causes you to stray from your path.
  • Try to be aware of the moment of when it happens, and then stop.
  • It is good if you put another priority in the same time slot (like, say, sleep). So when you wake up to pee, you actually go back to sleep after you do rather than clean the whole house.
  • Remove all cleaning materials from the bathroom. So when you go out to fetch them, make sure you don’t return.
  • You can keep a towel to wipe off the tap in a simple swipe instead of redefining hygiene.

I also discovered that if you change your lifestyle, it will reflect on your house. For instance, if you only eat in expensive (and often pretentious) food outlets, only because they are “clean” with “good food”, try to eat at a terrible looking place. You will be surprised that a lot of those small, disgusting places offer the best food around (along with Typhoid).

Once you accept to be filth, you can start accepting the soap flakes on your tap.

Simple, right?

Bored at 9 AM in the office. Sorry :D

Crispy Rationale

Humans have conquered 3% of their brains; they conquered each other’s lands, they conquered the immediate space and even conquered what they think is accurate science, psychology, philosophy, and everything related to being human.

What humans failed to conquer, however, is thinking in a rational manner. Case in point: Entomophobia, or, simply put, fear of insects.

Let us assume for a moment that insects are inanimate objects, much like pebbles. Would you fear a pebble? That is 1 cm in length? Probably not.

Animate that pebble though, and it is a completely different issue. Suddenly, 1cm long insects threaten an entire race of an average 167 cm tall humans.

Back in college I lived in the same dorm room for 4.5 consecutive years. During those years I had my share of experiences with all sorts of things (ghost stories in a later post) and lots of fun activities (mostly involving gaming marathons with Hamza over the breaks).

However, due to a little crack in the window, I had my share of non human visitors.

My first visitor was a spider, a particularly large one at that too. She was completely harmless and, to my utter delight, found herself a home at that very crack, to capture all other insects attempting to move into my room. I befriended the spider, called her Deathbringer, and assigned her that daunting task as part of rent.

Can I move in with you please? *eyes sparkle*

Over the course of the years, Deathbringer has saved me from countless invasions from the outside. The area near the crack was always filled with dead, webbed insects, many of which were later devoured or were left alone as a threat to newcomers.

One day though, a hideous insect crawled in from the outside. It looked like a cross between a grasshopper, a cockroach, and a mantis. Although it had wings, it never used them, and preferred to crawl slowly and rather awkwardly across my wonderfully clean and Dettol-polished floors.

When I first saw the monster I panicked. I did not know what to do. I had neither Bygone nor Pif Paf at my immediate disposal. I never even thought of resorting to these chemicals as long as I had the spider as my guardian. The thing slowly crawled across the room, often stumbling at its own disproportionate legs.

I backed against the wall, as if approached by non other than Alessa from Silent Hill. The disturbing 3 cm monster threatened my very existence in the room. I could not find the spider, and, even if I did, I worried that throwing it to battle the crawling grassroachantis thing would bring about an all-insect war in my very room.

I climbed on my bed in an attempt to escape it. I “rationally” thought that it would never be able to climb the bed, and, if it did, I would jump across the room and escape through the door, where I only would pray that the rest of the tribe would not be waiting outside – that this was all a clever plot by the grassroachantis clan to lure me outside and then capture me.

I also “rationalized” that I could just drop something on it and it would squish into death. But what horror would that bring – I could not even begin to fathom the suffering I would bring upon the grassroachantis as it slowly crushed into its death, and, more horrific, of the cleaning I would have to do after.

Then it dawned onto me. My ultimate savior. The only “rational” thing to do.

I had a blue-flame-throwing lighter. One of those “jet lighters” that burn off half the cigarette by the time you take the first puff (note to readers: I don’t smoke, I use the the lighter to light up the awkwardly placed incense candles).

I grabbed the lighter from the side table and flung in an acrobatic maneuver over the grassroachantis in an attempt to catch it off guard. Bewildered, the grassroachantis froze in its position as if to play dead and dumb on my rather intelligent and quite “rational” mind.

I approached it from behind.

The grassroachantis twitched.

I turned on the jet lighter.

The grassroachantis instantly coiled and uncoiled as it silently screamed in pain, which, to my “rational” mind, was more forgiving than having to squish it. To my utter surprise, the grassroachantis suddenly became all red, like iron, before turning into white, all while at the same time twitching uncontrollably.

It lay there, dead, deformed and crisp.

Deathbringer moved out shortly after the incident.