Phooey to Martha Stewart

Today I find myself trawling through various websites of domestic goddesses such as Nigella Lawson and, of course, Martha Stewart. These women all seem to have tons of spare time during which they churn out copious amounts of awesome food, which they create in their disgustingly gorgeous kitchens. Said kitchens are spotless, with expensive-ass appliances, fabulous marble-top counters, and huge pantries which are filled with things which my pantry hasn't even heard of, let alone seen (on a side note: people, who the hell keeps tahini, vanilla bean paste, Moroccan spice mixes, and dried mushrooms in their pantry?).

I have come to the conclusion that such women are either; evil pod people, or ....ummm.....just evil pod people. I mean, come on! Who has a craft room? Who neatly lines up all the ingredients for a meal in attractive, decorative bowls etc and then artistically mixes, blends and purees to perfection? Some days, all I can do is sit in my pyjamas and trawl through take-away meals, while eating dry cereal. Who looks as bloody gorgeous as Nigella while chopping vegetables, de-boning chicken, and rubbing spice mix into steak? If any of my non-existent readers do, I hate you...:P

Anyhoos, such women just make the rest of us females look pretty damn bad. Henceforth, I will aim to be the  living embodiment of everything that Martha Stewart is not. For starters, I am not a felon, and will hopefully never be one. I will never have a craft room, I will never make cupcakes (couldn't make them even if I wanted to), I will never have or do a "good thing". Ok, that last bit was really weird. 

All women, unite under the banner of "domestic Goddesses can kiss my $%#$%#"!!!!!

Moneyball: Oscar nomination or Brad Pitt trying too hard?

What ho, people!

Ahem.

After yesterday's angst-filled post, I have luckily come back to my senses (if only temporarily), and have decided to stop being such a whiny self-pitying pathetic git for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately foreseeable future in my case usually means 24 hours, but what the hell.

Last night, hubs and I watched Moneyball. I could very easily copy-paste the wiki article on the movie and impress all y'all with my amazing knowledge, but i really cant be bothered. If anyone is lazy enough not to access Wikipedia, then here is the link.

(On a side-note: HAH! my first linky thing! I never knew how to do that, but with my fabulous intellect and superior mind, I figured it out in approximately 35 seconds. Of course, the big bold link button on the toolbar probably had something to do with it) 

So, what about the movie? Down-in-the-dumps loser under-dog team? Check. Manager who has a sad back-story of how he wasn't good enough, yet is gutsy enough to try new things, a.k.a. desperately clutching at straws to make his team win? Check. Nasty people such as coach and the other guy (no clue who he is) who all laugh at Coach and say he can't do it? Check. Supportive family who is there for Coach, in this case, his daughter? Check. No flames, people, but isn't this just any typical sport-associated film where everyone roots for underdogs and emotionally wipe away their tears when the team miraculously wins? Don't get me wrong, I liked the film, but I just thought the Brad Pitt has been in many MANY other films where his acting shines, and in this film, apart from a few touching scenes with his daughter, all he does is sulk, act like a jackass with his team, and make phone calls in which he is selling off his team like they are a bunch of hookers, he doesn't do shit-all. 

Now, this is not a reflection on the real Billy Beane's story, or the acting in general. I think everyone did a damn god job. Especially Phillip Seymour Hoffman. That guy has the ability to, I don't know, BECOME the character he plays. When I see him in a film, I don't say, "oh, its Phillip Seymour Hoffman playing whoever". He becomes the character. Its almost spooky, like he is possessed by the role he plays. Unfortunately, with Brad Pitt, no matter how hard he tries, because of his good looks, charisma, or just the fact that he and Angelina Jolie are the world's prettiest couple with the prettiest babies, one always says "Oh hot damn! Brad Pitt!" and THEN they look at the character he is portraying. He is never subsumed by the character he plays. the character is subsumed by the actor. 

All in all, a feel-good movie, with the requisite number of "Oh shit!" moments and the tearful finale. Brad Pitt, I hope you win an Oscar, just not for this film. 

Listening to emo music and drowning in self-pity

God, could I be more pathetic than this? Sitting in front of laptop, listening to Dido, and about to note down on this blog all my deepest insecurities which usually result in me feeling really sorry for myself, which then leads to chocolate binges and lots of online shopping. 

Actually, online shopping sounds pretty damn good right now...

Anyhoos. I don't even know how my mood suddenly soured. Actually, I do know. Its called envy, that God-awful green eyed monster who no one wants to admit is lounging in their head, making every single damn thing not f***ing good enough. Allow me to explain. Lets say you've just had an awesome time, or you are hanging out with mates, or you've just gone shopping and picked up some darling things. However, when someone else who you don't really like end up doing the same thing, or getting something better, or is just having a good time, you feel resentful. You don't want them to have fun or do the same things you are doing because damn it its your scene, your shopping, your friends, NOT THEIRS. Who the hell are they? What the f*** are they even there in the first place? Actually, i don't think this comes under the definition of envy. It is more along the lines of.... possessiveness? Whatever it is, its not nice at all. 

Damn I sound like a spiteful shrew. And that, dear ones, is the damn problem. Being self-aware of one's flaws    is a real drag. You know you are being a nasty awful cow and you just can't help yourself. You try really hard to be chill and relaxed with said irritating individual but it sticks in your throat. I can't fake niceness. 

I'm actually debating as to whether I sound even publish this post. Oh well. F*** it. 

Later

How it Should Have Ended

People! Whatever you're doing, just STOP. Whether its watching crap on t.v. (unless you're watching Vampire Diaries and mentally undressing Damon Salvatore), reading depressing shit in the news,  or making a typically boring dinner for darling hubby and bratty children (no insult to those with said brats, as I happen to be one, by which I mean having a brat, and not being a brat. Actually I think both apply in my case!). 

Stop. 

Go to your computer. Pray the internet is working (everyone living in Pakistan will totally relate to that statement. People elsewhere will wonder how the Pakistanis can live under such barbaric conditions)

Go to youtube.

Type "How it Should Have Ended"

If you have watched Predator, Twilight (blllleerrrghhh), Lord of the Rings, Resident Evil, Harry Potter, Titanic, Inception, ANY of the big blockbuster movies, just check out how they SHOULD have ended.

My personal favourite: Predator. I love it when the Predator tries to get the commandos to pick up their weapons. Priceless!!!

Later.

Aftermath

Headache: check
Aching feet: check
Crazy bed hair: check
Clown-like makeup on face: check

Ergo, a kick-ass Sindh Club Winter Ball. I'm still woozy from the drinks, the smokes, the general craziness of it all. Fabulous people, fabulous ambience, great music, and, of course, amazing company. You guys rock!

In which I panic over ball attire

Sindh Club Winter Ball, bitches. Its happening this weekend and Sam and I have been invited, courtesy Aamir, good friend and bitching companion. You rock, baby!

Now, here's the issue. I have never ever bought a damn gown/cocktail dress/frilly crap because:

1.    I look like shit in frilly crap. A lady boy from Thailand would look better than me.

2.    Hubs aint the ball type. The fact that he wants to go to this Ball makes me think he has been kidnapped    and the Sam currently with me is his evil but socially active clone.

3.   I am a lazy ass twit whose idea of dressing up means changing out of my Hubs' t shirt and putting on a loose, comfy faded shirt of my own.

Luckily, cousin-in-law and an irritatingly lovely, adorable and totally cool woman, M., has bailed me out of my quagmire, and has graciously loaned various sexy, slutty clothes for yours truly to prance around in. You go, girl!

Yeah, so this was a totally shallow post based around my wardrobe (or lack thereof). so what?

Later.

I obviously have lots of spare time

Wow! I have posted on this new blog three times today. Obviously, I have very little to do. Actually, I have tons of stuff to do, but little desire or inclination to do anything.

Oh well. May as well blab on about my life. I live in Karachi, in a joint family system with my in laws. Now, before any of my non-existent audience gasps in horror and revulsion, its actually not that bad. Then again, its not all peaches and cream. God, I would love to sit and bitch about all the fallacies and idiocies of said in-laws, but the fact that this is the World Wide Web, where any of said in-laws can read bitchy comments made by yours truly, stops me from doing so. sulk.

I have an interesting group of friends. In fact, its thanks to them that I started this blog in the first place. I need to do something other than focus on my lovely dundun, or do "householdy" stuff. I actually think I'm spending too much time at home coz the smallest issue makes me mad. No insult to housewives (of which I am now one), I have total respect for the work they do. I just don't think I'm cut out for this kind of existence. I love all the time I'm spending with my son, and I will truly treasure this time, but I swear to God, I need to do something, ANYTHING to keep me busy, and stop obsessing on the smallest things.

It interesting. Our identity is made up not so much of who we are, but more as to what we do. God, this post is turning into a weird mixture of different topics and issues. I should shut up before a horde of outraged housewives (including my mom) beat me to death with a "jharoo" (urdu for broom).

Later.

the seven billionth viewing of Independence Day

Ahem.

Firstly, stupid last post was not justified. I'm irritated just looking at the damn thing. 

Secondly, I'm currently watching Independence Day for the zillionth time. TODAY WE CELEBRATE INDEPENDENCE DAY!!!! Go America! Save us from evil nasty aliens. And obviously an alcoholic alien abductee happens to destroy huge-ass mother ship. In fact, lets list the many many reasons I love this movie.  

1. Will Smith is f***ing gorgeous. Every film contract he signs should have a clause which states that he should take off his shirt at least 7 times during the movie. 10 times if movie sucks. At least that way, us chicks have something pretty to look at. 

2. Chess players are so clever that they can deduce what evil nasty aliens are plotting. If stupid aliens actually do show up, the UN should immediately conscript all the top chess players and make them plan our strategies. This way, we actually have hope that we can survive, rather than freaking out and running for the hills. 

3. Bill Pullman is such a confused little puppy dog in more than 85% of the movie. Aww, don't worry. Alcoholic Alien Abductee will save you!!!!

4. Speaking of puppies, the dog survives! Yay! I think all animals depicted in movies should survive, and have happy long lives. Hence, the makers of "Marley and Me" can bite me. 

5. Back on the topic of how clever we are, and how stupid the aliens are. We can write a computer virus which can take down the central computer system of beings who are way more advanced than us and have systematically destroyed all major cities of the world. Go Humans!

6. Will Smith is too cute. 

7. The dialogue is just so damn corny. For example:

President: What do you want us to do?

Nasty Alien: Die. Die (cue evil laughter)

8. Alcoholic Alien Abductee dies and kills evil alien mothership. Everyone celebrates, stops, spends 0.00000001 seconds thinking about Alcoholic Alien Abductee's family, and then starts celebrating again. TYPICAL. Next time, don't bother saving these douches by sacrificing yourself. Ungrateful much?

9. Will Smith. Nuff Said. 

Later. 

Who, What, Where and When

Wow. After all that procrastination, which is such a fundamental aspect of my personality, I have actually started a blog. Go me!!!

Of course, it took me around 45 minutes to decide a name for said blog (which I'm still not completely happy with), and around half an hour of debating what I want this blog to be about. Do I want to be a diarist? Shall I tell everyone all about my life? or shall I write about religion, fashion, books, the life and times of a Pakistani housewife who is desperate to prove that she isn't the average typical housewife? As always, I haven't made up my mind. But then again, why on God's green Earth should I limit myself? This is MY blog, my little piece of real estate on the internet. If I wish to write about the mating habits of blow flies, I shall do so. Again, go me!

Who am I? I'm a corporate lawyer based in Karachi, currently on sabbatical, due to the birth of my own little piece of sunshine, my son Dundun. Of course that isn't his real name and thank God for that, otherwise I may as well start putting money aside for his many many psychiatrist visits. I love him to bits and am already jealous of the nasty cow who will marry him and take him away from his mama. The fact that he is only three months old MashaAllah and that his marriage is at least 25 years in the future (and most likely more, if I have anything to do with it!) does not in any way lessen my hatred of said woman. I warn you now, I will be an AWFUL mother-in-law. Anyhoos, after over 7 years of working, the whole lifestyle of stay-at-home mom is very difficult to adjust to, regardless of bright eyed, bushy-tailed darling dundun. Hence the creation of this blog, through which I will attempt to entertain my readers (am hoping there will be someone who is bored enough to actually read this!) with stupid, silly updates on my life.

On a completely irrelevant note, while typing this post, my husband has suddenly decided to over-share by stating that his guilty pleasure is watching "The Devil Wears Prada". Hmmmmmm. Should I be worried? Or should I use this to justify blowing up a gazillion dollars on net-a-porter while explaining to the light of my life that I am trying to emulate Anne Hathaway's wardrobe?

Later.