Monday, March 15, 2010

The Miracle of Life


A short film (or not)

Public restrooms are the worst! They're the reason why I stay imprisoned in my home all day! Why would I ever want to put myself through such anguish, seriously? One would expect the little boy’s room to be kind of a mess; but girls? Come on ladies! These are PUBLIC restrooms; people are going to be using them after you! You wouldn’t even treat your own toilet like that; so why torture others? Next to that little “No Smoking” sign, there should be a “No Showering” sign! Not once have I stepped foot in a public lavatory and didn’t find the slippery floor all disgusting and wet! Not to mention the rolls of toilet paper stuck on the floor, with footsteps all over them! Why on Earth do you have to shower in there? It’s a public place intended for rather soiling activities; how on earth do you feel comfortable enough to wash (and supposedly clean?) yourself in there?!?! Every time I have to use the restrooms, I need to fold my pants all the way up to my knees in order to avoid having them getting all wet (and so much more… yeuk!)

Note: I am NOT talking about the ablution before prayer time. Most malls have special locations for that anyway. I am talking about women who think it is OK to wash their; well let's call them "private areas" once they're done with their; err, let's call them "toilet businesses"... Yes, feel free to be disgusted now. I didn't want to go into that much detail but it was brought to my attention that what I had initially written could be misunderstood as an attack against ablution.

A short film II: The revenge

To add insult to injury, as I was washing my hands, a young, thin, pretty woman came in, stood at the basin right next to mine (although all the others were free as well) and decided to forcefully and loudly blow her nose inside the sink with her cute little fingers only, and splashing the whole thing with a little bit of water! Then she simply rinsed her hands (no soap needed) and proceeded to dry them… Need I say more?

Afraid to drink that damn coffee…
Wouldn’t want to have to go back through Hell’s Toilet again!

Ah Qu’Elles Sont Jolies Les filles De Mon Pays

Moving on from the charming toilet ladies to more “Beauty by Her”

Yes, they are beautiful les filles de mon pays; inside and out.
Not that they care much about the “inside”…

A friend recently heard the following discussion at a renowned café in Beirut:

Two 30-something women discussing their very first pregnancies:

Pregnant Lady 1 (PL1): I am so worried it’s going to be a girl and she’s going to be a little fatty like her dad! Her father was a huge baby and I don’t even want to imagine how painful it’s going to be to give birth to such a gigantic child!

Pregnant Lady 2 (PL2): What are you worried about, you can always have a C-section! I’m worried mine’s going to be a boy and he’ll turn out gay like his uncle! I hear it’s genetic!

PL1: What will you do if it’s a boy??

PL2: I’m going to have to be very careful and I’ll put him in a mixed school and pay extra attention to his behavior.

PL3: If it’s a girl and she’s fat, I’m going to be stuck taking care of her diet all her life!

Yes ladies, life’s tough.
Then again who could blame you?
Apparently obesity and homosexuality are not the only hereditary misfortunes; so is stupidity!

The future grandmothers’ don’t sound any better (which makes sense if you think about it). One of them was telling one these pregnant sweethearts: “My God, giving birth is going to be so painful and torturous and you won’t be able to sit for days” or something like that…

Nicely played mom.

First of all…

And to reassure everyone: the boy won’t carry any “gay gene”; and if he does turn out to be like his uncle, a mixed school is not what’s going to “straighten” him…

God I hate homophobia! Is there no limit to the amount of ignorance out there?!?!

I know some guys who don’t mind lesbianism, they actually find it quite exciting (and it probably turns them on but they wouldn’t say it in front of their wives); but the minute it’s two guys making love, all hell breaks loose!

Why? Because if one XY carrier could be gay, that means any XY manly man could potentially be gay; Oh the horror!

Conclusion: Homosexuality is a direct attack on their personal manliness!
(Ah, the bliss of ignorance; lovely…)


Who calls their unborn baby a “little fatty”???

What the hell is wrong with society?

The definition of beauty has become so shallow and dull that even a baby has to be compared to air-brushed-botoxed-surgically-enhanced-anorexic-barbie dolls? Seriously??


Mom, come on… You’re about to be a grandma’.
Are you out of your freaking (and obviously empty) mind?

The minute I heard this story, I couldn’t but think of my own mom.

Ma petite maman chérie who left everything and everyone and came to care for me the first time I got pregnant.

She was so worried I would get the same kind of pregnancy she endured: nine months of non-stop nausea and vomiting, with her arms constantly wired to an IV bag even in the delivery room! The vomiting stopped literally only once the baby (i.e. me) got out! She had the exact same experience throughout her three pregnancies!

So understandably, she got worried.
My aunts all got worried.
And my grandma started praying.
All of them together used more candles than the Vatican would in a year!
All that just for me…

I knew the stories too. And I got kind of worried too. Especially that once the pregnancy took its toll; I found myself unable to lift my head and nauseous every minute of every day and night!

My mom was not as bright as the mother I talked about earlier though.

No, my poor mommy simply stood by me, cooked for me, held my head when I couldn’t move anymore, and told me over and over again: “All pregnancies are not the same and they are not hereditary. Your grandmother and aunts all have had different pregnancies. You are not like me and you won’t be like me. You’ll be fine. Once the first trimester is over, you’ll be back on your feet”.

Then I had my miscarriage.

And then I got pregnant again (here, here, here, here, here and here). And I couldn’t help but think of my first pregnancy; and again, mom stood there, watching over me and telling me everything will be OK and even if I was in bad shape the first time, that doesn’t mean it’ll be that bad the second time (completely contradicting her own experiences by the way; I told you she wasn’t as bright as the mother in my story above).

Then I had my second miscarriage.

And as I sit here, sipping coffee; I can’t help but think:

I would have loved to have a cute little fatty or adorable gay-baby-boy sleeping next to me at the coffee shop, in one of these cute and oh-so-modern Ferrari or McLaren trolleys.

(Oh yes, I said it! A little gay-baby-boy! Every single time one of those homophobic ignoramuses thinks he’s outsmarted everyone, he throws the final argument that will supposedly end all arguments: “What if your son comes to you one day and says ‘Mom, I am gay’, what then?”… “Euuuh What, what then? What? I kill myself? No I kill him first, then I kill myself”… And going back to the initial XY theory above, it’s only gay men that scare them because never has any one of these geniuses asked me “What if you daughter came to you and told you she was gay”… Ah the bliss of ignorance - bis)

Anyway… Moving on.

Ok, fine, I’ll end up on a positive thought about those lovely moms-to-be because let’s face it, there’s nothing more beautiful than the miracle of life:

Those bitches are going to make wonderful mothers… And they’ll also make cute little complexes-obsessed-phobic babies who in turn will make a lot of therapists very happy. And rich.

That my friends, is the circle of life.

(What? That was positive… We’ve got at the very least two very happy parties: moms & therapists… Who the hell cares about the kids??)


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