Preservation

Have you ever gone to a party , and there, at the party, there’s this really really delicious snack, that you want to have lots of, but you can’t, cause either there are people watching you, or simply there is not enough of the snack?

OK, let me tell you what happened. I went to this family party, and I’m talking to people I haven’t seen for ages and all of a sudden I see “it” on the table. I finish my discussion somehow, pick up a plate, and slowly walk to the table, trying to look not-too-excited. And there it was: crabs, my favorite snack, and I never knew that one could buy crabs at a local supermarket (and I wish I’d never realized).

The problem, though, was that there was only 6 pieces of crabs, and there were already 20 people at the party. So I took only one piece and took very small bites off so that I could have it as long as possible. When my crab was done I wanted another piece so bad that I started seeing the people at the party as crabs: crabs walking, crabs talking, crabs dancing, crabs drinking … . At some point I found myself sitting on a couch, right beside the crab-table, while gazing at the crab-dish longingly, and singing Madama Butterfly to myself : “Adesso voi siete per me l'occhio del firmamento. E mi piaceste dal primo momento che vi ho veduto”. Honestly, what was the host thinking? Only 6 pieces for that many people?

The next day I got to the supermarket ASAP and bought a package of crabs. I ate so much that after that day even a picture of crabs makes me nauseated and I can’t even imagine eating one. People, please, buy enough snacks for your parties; Not all of your guests are perfect but they deserve to be happy.

Women , Men, Children : What’s the difference?

Why do they have to show dead children and women before we realize that the war is getting really nasty? Dead-men is as bitter as dead-children or dead-women. Dead-soldier is as bad as dead-civilian. Death is death; it’s losing a beloved, a sister, a brother, a child, a mom or a dad, or Akbar Agha my favorite colleague. Why does gender or age matter?

When I see us (human beings) at war, I wonder what we’ve descended to. No living creature kills for stupid reasons that we kill each other for. It would’ve been more convincing for me if we killed one antoher, at least, to be able to eat each other afterward.

Time to Torture

I’m not exactly the busiest person at my job; I usually have plenty of extra time to do other stuff. Few days ago I was going swimming with my friends right after work, but I didn’t get the chance to do the pre-swimming-Barbaric-ritual (in other words “waxing”). I had two options: to introduce myself to my friends as Lulufar’s twin brother they’d never met, or wax at work. I chose the latter since I didn’t find the first option convincing enough. So I took the wax to work. I went to the back room knowing that if someone comes I’d hear the door. I put the wax in the microwave and heat it up. Took off my clothes and spread the hot wax on my skin. It was so hot that I started jumping like crazy and all of a sudden I hear the door.

I froze for a second, reached out for the napkin and stuck it on top of the hot wax, wore my clothes on top of the wax-napkin jumble, and ran out of the room. I’m facing the people who came in and I’m trying with all my might to hold my tears of pain. I’m burning like a liar burns in hell while melted lead is poured in her throat (I never got the chance to ask my religious teacher which one burns more: melted lead or hot wax). While I’m talking to these people the wax is cooling down and stretches my skin and every hair in the area. Now I have to reach up and give these people something from the top shelf. While I stretch my body the wax slowly, one by one, pulls hairs off my skin. I start coughing to avoid shouting from pain, and in my mind I’m cursing all the women who started the waxing tradition and the men for not having this tradition.

To make the long story short, I finished with the clients and ran to the back room. I had a lot of fun removing that gross mixture of wax and napkin off of my poor skin. But I learned a good lesson which I’d like to share with all the women: when at work never ever heat up your wax too much. Warm it up just enough to be able to spread it. This way it’s faster, easier, and less risky.

"You’re a disgrace, but for now, how much for a B.J.?"

I’ve never been able to find anything wrong with the concept of prostitute and prostitution. Prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone; It helps sick, out-of-shape, old, or whoever who can’t find a partner for a need that can’t be ignored easily. It might even help reduce abuse: Imagine this guy who really wants to have sex but can’t find a partner and there is no such a thing as prostitute; Don’t you think it’s possible that some of them start abusing people around them?

Prostitution is not worse –if not better- than many jobs out there. Compare it to these guys who buy and sell stocks, wearing lovely suit, carrying genuine leather briefcase, walking in wall street, stealing girls’ hearts, and being respected overtly by the society. That guy’s hand probably shakes from being sick-worried about the price of stocks (literally- it's a common sickness amongst them), they have amazingly high rate of suicide, and their job does no good for the general public.

And yet? Prostitutes are still the morally corrupt ones. “Morally corrupt” is actually the funniest thing I’ve heard about the prostitutes. Moral- what moral? Corrupt- what part of it? Morally corrupt is that F*&$ing policeman who hits a black guy because he’s black. Morally corrupt is the owner of the Starbucks for paying shit for the coffee beans they buy, morally corrupt is the 17 year old who doesn’t pay a prostitute after doing the job. Morally corrupt is not the prostitute who has chosen or forced to have sex for money. What happened to dear North American "autonomy"- my body, my will? Or autonomy is passé when it gets to a job that is female dominated? Why is prostitution more stigmatized than drug dealing? I don’t understand. Why do we make prostitutes to be ashamed of what they do, while their work is vital to the society?

God’s Tomb

Possibly god is dead. I mean don’t you think it’s probable that people knew who or what the creator was and, at some point in time, they got so angry at it that they killed or destroyed it?

I mean, think about it. If God was to come to earth today, how many fans would it have? How many would forgive it for the things it has done to them? We live in world that people kill for no reason, let alone when they have plenty of it.

Norepinephrine, Serotonin and Dopamine complication

Dear friends and family, this is a goodbye letter. I’m JUST KIDDING. Sorry for worrying you with my recent posts. I’m fine; really. I just thought it would be cool to play Hedayat, Choobak, Rushdie, or Kafkaesque a bit. I thought it’d make me famous and glorious. It obviously didn’t. Becoming famous takes a bit more talent which I obviously lack.

But honestly we all have our gloomy days, don’t we? And for me it happened to be now. Look at the bright side though. I’m actually, for once, sitting quiet at your parties and not making a scene; isn’t it nice for a change?

Hold'em

Opportunities are a pair of cards. You have to make the best combination of those two cards with the five cards of life, laid on the ground. And if you’re lucky (?!?!?!), and if you have the techniques and the experience you might make it. And the stingy person folds for 20 cents, and the rich guy abuses you with his/her power, and the drunk guy gives you her/his money, and the guy in front of you gives you that sexy look (the look that makes your stomach twitch), and that guy who shouts ‘mother fucker’ and you hope s/he wasn’t invited. And all these, and there you are, knowing what others think of you, and it’s time for you to give up, and you’re sick of life, of all the games, of all the pain, and you say ‘I’m all in’, so that it’s over, so you can go, just to stop seeing the stingy, the cruel, and the nasty guy. But then you win, with a deuce and a six offsuit, and you have to go on, living the fucking life.