apropos of anything

It was not as cold tonight as I’d thought it would be. In fact, it wasn’t really cold at all. My toes are just fine.

The Curse of Captain Doom may be showing signs of weakening. He prophesied this afternoon that I’d have a great time at the party tonight, and I did. I know, I’m shocked too!

The story begins with my boots, which I accidentally forgot in my parents’ car on Sunday. Since I bought the boots, I have worn little else by way of brown-colored close-toed shoes, mostly because I adore the boots. With them, I can wear any color sock I like and nobody will know it doesn’t match the rest of my outfit! However, I do own at least one presentable pair of shoes that I could substitute in a pinch.

Anyway, boots in car. Brain on downers, apparently, as I must have lost the message wherein I told myself it was COLD outside, and therefore I should wear something closed-toed that required socks.

Yup, that’s right. I showed up to work today in SANDALS. My toes are about to fall off, they’re so cold. I am dreading this evening, when there won’t even be the hint of sunshine there is now, and it will be even colder. The upside to all of this is I must have already done my dumb thing for the day, so it’s all downhill from here, right? Right?

It’s easy to be grateful for snow if you live in the sunbelt and only make it north of the Mason-Dixon line once or twice every winter. Also if you don’t have to stick around for the ice and the slush, if you don’t have to shovel it, if you don’t have to wade through knee-deep drifts, if you don’t have to worry about your car skidding out of control. In short, if you are me, it is easy to be thankful for the snow on your Thanksgiving weekend.

We drove to Chicago this year, the first time in a while that we didn’t do a Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house. And while I missed my mother’s style of turkey and the usual assortment of Augusta folks who gather at our house, there was a different sort of contentment in being able to spend Thanksgiving with family, as per the age-old tradition we have adopted. There was food all weekend and so much to do that I don’t think we managed to get it all done.

My aunts and mother made me and Uzmaa go to a matrimonial function thing at the Islamic Foundation yesterday. It was as horrible as I expected it to be, but at least now I have ammunition when I decline to go to another one in the future. I would have refused to attend this one as well, but they sprung it on us so carefully neither one of us had much time to formulate a good argument. Sumaiya and her mother were of the opinion that at least I could write it up for the site, but at the moment I am so tired I can’t even begin to describe it accurately or interestingly.

Apologies to Khurram for missing his party tonight. We were supposed to be back early, considering we left Chicago around 8 (EDT) last night, but there was a small mishap (flat tire, which conveniently happened while we were stopped for gas) outside of Nashville that slowed us down for about two hours. Today I learned there’s only so many times you can walk around a Sam’s Club before you begin to get really bored.

Of course, I’m thankful we had a Sam’s Club to walk around in, as I think I’d like circling the car while it sat on the shoulder of a busy interstate far less. I think I may have been more thankful for the snow, though. Just a tiny bit. It was so pretty!

In Chicago, life’s a little different than it is in Atlanta. In Chicago, we stay up late and get up early. In Chicago, we play to win, not for fun, and we pulverize our competition in the process. In Chicago, we don’t believe in porch sitting. In Chicago, we put Worcheshire sauce and bell peppers in our qeema, and we LIKE IT. In Chicago, sometimes our stool gets stuck. In Chicago, there is more family than we know what do with; sometimes we find out we are not the favorite niece or nephew, but in Chicago, it doesn’t matter. In Chicago, we make cupcakes for babies-to-be nicknamed Peanut. In Chicago, we go to three-story masjids for jummah prayer and we see more Muslim people in one place than we have since ISNA. In Chicago, we spill secrets and throw snowballs and have doughnuts for breakfast every morning. In Chicago, we take hundreds of pictures, so many that every time you turn you see a camera flashing somewhere.

In Chicago, there is so much love you could reach out and touch it, like on an AT&T commercial, and there is so much laughter your abs are always getting a good workout. Those are theBalbale Rules.

Last week, I read on Jessica’s blog about 101 in 1001. I thought it was a great idea, and I’m on board to do it myself. I am still finalizing my list of 101 tasks, but you can find the beginnings here. Check back regularly for updates!

I have in the past accused Ivan of being a Portent of Peril. I did not know then what I know now, namely that I was not actually exaggerating in the least because Ivan really is Captain Doom. I should probably have had a clue when they named a hurricane after him and that hurricane proceeded to wreak havoc over the entire eastern seaboard and then again in Louisiana.

On Thursday, as I was preparing to leave work and frantically go shopping for gifts and such before making an 8:30 birthday party, Ivan said, “Traffic’s great! And you’ll have a great time at the birthday party!”

I experienced a slight feeling of nausea. He’d said it so cheerfully. Nobody spoke that in that tone unless they actually meant the exact opposite of what they’d said and were secretly wishing for hailstones the size of potatoes to fall on your head. I left work around 5:45 and promptly got stuck in the worst traffic mess I’d seen in ages. Cars were backed up three signal lights before the interstate on-ramp — for both possible entry points. The surface streets were no better as everyone who didn’t want to wait in the highway mess was now on them instead.

I finally made it to the Borders in Buckhead around 6:45 (a mere seven miles, for those of you who may not be familiar with Atlanta proper) only to get stuck in a traffic jam in the PARKING LOT. Let me repeat that: A TRAFFIC JAM IN THE PARKING LOT. Apparently Rachel Ray was doing a book signing, and not only was there not a parking space available for love or money, it took an entire thirty minutes to get out of the lot once I’d gotten in.

And then, there was the rest of the evening that I will not recount so as to be kind to my friends. It will suffice to say there was much lateness and some weirdness, all courtesy of my friend Ivan.

Fast forward to Friday afternoon. Ivan denied any responsibility for the various Thursday evening debacles and prognosticated that I would have a “great” weekend. Apparently Ivan defines “great” as “horribly excruciating” because so far this weekend I have had multiple arguments with my father, I have been late to two events, and I got a SPEEDING TICKET. For going 75 mph on I-285, which is posted as a 55 mph despite the fact that nobody ever drives under 70. I’ve never had a speeding ticket in my entire life. I’ve never had a ticket in my entire life. And I certainly never expected to get pulled over when driving with the flow of traffic in the middle lane… and especially not by a cop who was using neither a radar gun nor a laser gun. This particular member of Atlanta’s “esteemed” police force eyeballed my speed. When I got back into traffic, I had to do 75 again just to keep from getting run over.

I’m probably going to plead no-lo and pay the ticket even though the principle of the thing bothers me. I don’t want to risk having it on my driving record. And I think I may hide out at home the rest of the weekend (I’d wanted to go hiking up Kennesaw mountain as the leaves are changing colors and it’s GORGEOUS outside, but it’s pouring down rain) to avoid being hexed further. Tomorrow, I am going into work with incense, some strings of garlic, and some holy water, all of which I will strategically place around Ivan’s cube.

It seems you can never be too prepared where Ivan is concerned.

	Bob (aka Mr. Incredible) isn’t bad either, even if he is a little dim.

You can groan if you like. I’ll wait.

If you haven’t gone to see The Incredibles yet, please go do so now. Yes, now. Work can wait for this fun, hilarious, and intelligent movie. It’s not just for kids!

I think Jack-Jack is my favorite character, although I like Dash’s powers the best and identify with Violet the most.

May they be upon you. Eid Mubarak, everyone!

Way to unify, Mr. President. I can totally see how you have a “mandate from America” because of this last election. This is truly a sign from God that YOU were meant to be our leader:

If we wanted to be led into a minefield, maybe.

Perhaps it’s the lack of political motion (although: Bye, John Ashcroft! Don’t let the door hit you in the hiney on the way out!) (Am I going to be hauled into a CIA office for that?), or perhaps it’s general lethargia, or perhaps it’s sheer tiredness from my exhausting Ramadan routine that’s caused my recent bout of silence. I’m not sure, so I suppose y’all can each pick out your own excuse.

It may also be anger. At the people who voted Bush for inane reasons (moral values my ass; come talk to me when your alleged moral leader isn’t the man responsible for the deaths of upwards of 50,000 people), at people who can’t seem to find their common decency, at people who think poverty isn’t their issue because the it’s the poor’s fault they’re poor. Apparently not only have I not let go of all my residual anger from the election, I am also slowly building even more resentment and fury. Maybe soon we can have a pool on who will erupt sooner: Mt. St. Helens or me.

I’m a little sad and disappointed in myself that even in the holiest of months, the one where God repeatedly reminds us to forgive, forgive, forgive, I am still cantankerously stewing in my own juices. It’s hard to forgive. And it is even harder to forget, I am discovering.