See you all at Nuit Blanche and whippersnapper ! Send me an Email if you wanna join my super crazy and super nice friends. Bring your swimsuits too.

Fire

Being a girl is becoming more and more painful with time. And it’s nobody’s fault but ourselves. See! as the time goes by, we, women, come up with more painful ideas to dress up ourselves - and this is exactly as opposed to men who are coming up with more comfortable styles.

Women… Oh women! Take waxing! It’s painful. Trust me. Some “parts” are so painful that when I remove the wax-strip, I have to take a look at the area to make sure those “parts” haven’t been removed as well as the hair.

Then there is the concept of piercing (which I never get what’s beautiful about a piece of metal dangling from one’s ears). Like ear piercing, the infections, the pain, and a stupid hole in the ears were not good enough, we decided :“Wow! Let’s pierce our bellybuttons…. And then our tongues”..... "whatsh shhhould [spit spray] we do nexshht?”.

I'm not going to even talk about high heels. It doesn’t need explanation. You know, or you can guess, how comfy and lovely they are.

Now we get to the latest invention. My favorite invention of the century: Thongs (aka g-strings). What the hell was the person who made it thinking? For heaven’s sake, while men are wearing boxers, why do we have to walk around with friction in between our arses? Wearing thongs reminds me of the old days, when they had to make fire by rubbing a piece of wood in between their palms. At a party, I was seriously waiting for sparks and flames in between my buttocks. I got so agitated that I wanted to stop the stereo, go on top of a table, take off the panties, hold it high so everyone can see, and yell: “Ladies and gentlemen, what do you think this triangle-with-two-strings-attached-to-it is? What’s the use? Tell me, why why why?”. While I was thinking about this melodramatic scene, I started crying for myself. People kept asking “Lulufar, what’s wrong?”. I told them “I’m gonna catch Fire from Within soon”. They thought I was being drunk and philosophical.

Ethanol (aka Alcohol)

I deleted one of my blog entries , called “Stupid and Typical”, and I owe an apology to all the people who left me comments on that blog. I hated that entry alot. It sounded like I was begging for attention … not that I never beg for attention; but naming a few authors and directors is really not my style; I’m more of an … whatever… let me tell you why and how I wrote that blog.

That night I came home from a party, and my friend Ethanol kept following me home. I had to invite her in. She wouldn’t go away. We went to my room and she saw a bunch of undone work on my desk. I ignored her and started playing with my Nintendo DS Lite when she grabbed the DS and said “very nice, you’ve conquered 7 Mario Bros. worlds in a matter of 2 days, but hasn’t finished your last book after 3 months”. So she jumped behind the computer and started writing the “Stupid and Typical” blog.

I wake up in the morning and find her gone. Her bed is empty. I look at the crumbled sheets. She’s left behind her bag full of headache and thirst. I yell “YOU SEXY BITCH! HOW MANY TIME SHOULD I PROMISE MYSELF NOT THE BE LURED BY YOU?”. It’s too late though.

I take shower, make coffee, sit at my desk, when I remember that I wrote something in my blog the night before. I can smell trouble. I turn on the computer. I’m so scared of reading my entry that I hide the blog window behind the news window and tell myself “people died in a car bomb last night; who cares about your blab in a blog”. It doesn’t help, since dying in blasts -thanks to our wonderful world- is not news anymore. So I read my blog -“bitch, bitch, bitch”- and I just hated it. I’d already got in a lot of trouble for an entry written by her; this one had to be deleted.

Moral of the story? Not only don’t drink and drive, but also don’t drink and blog - or if you’re like me don’t drink at all!

Matrimony

You know how each age-period has its own hot-topic-of-discussion; Like, I remember when I was 8 we constantly blabbed about amusement parks; At 15 we talked about the Mavara BBS; And at 18 -obviously- we analyzed and anatomized all the popular guys of the time. But if you’re 25, single, female, and from Iran, there is one and only one topic that will be discussed on and on and on and on … : marriage.

This holy gracious word: Marriage. Just repeat after me: Marriage, Marriage, … . Whenever I miss my family in Iran I do this exercise - marriage, marriage, marriage, …- cause it’s almost equal to talking to them on the phone (and it doesn’t matter who calls; my aunt, my second cousin, or the nice car mechanician). Here is a demo of 99% of the calls:

-:Hi Lulu, How’s your mom?

L: Good thanks.

-: So, have you found the right person yet? When are we coming to your wedding?

L: Heh! So how are you?

-: Good. Well (Here comes my favorite part. The part I want to knock myself out with a bazooka) you’re going to find a nice doctor in the hospital.

The problem is that you can’t even take refuge in your friends. Marriage frenzy is even hotter there; not only they talk about ourselves getting married, but they review the history of all the engagement, marriages, breakups and divorces of all the people we know and some people we don’t know (yes! Really!).

But there is one place and only one place that you are safe, that you can go to, that you can take refuge in. Trust me, there will be no mention of marriage, not even a hint, not even a movie that would encourage marriage, or any bodily emotions or nonverbal communication that would suggest marriage, or any rings to be seen anywhere. And that’s your boyfriend’s home.

I'm really sad that Steve Irwin died. I really like(d) him ...