Arab and the City

Dear World,

My life is nothing like Sex and the City. I never minded ever watching Sex and the City, I wasn't against it like some people, but it wasn't something I was obsessed with. I can say, "hey, that reminds me of that episode where Carrie...." and say what happens next. But if there was ever a game about the show, I probably wouldn't win.

I couldn't get on board with how much sexy-time these people had with strangers. I was raised Muslim. Heck, I couldn't even write "Sex". I had to write "sexy-time". That tells you where I'm coming from. But I consider myself a feminist to a certain extent. I don't think I should tell these fictional characters how to live their lives. No one should say what they're doing is "slutty" and then watch Entourage and cheer on Johnny Chase's extracurricular activities. I hate hypocrites.

Plus I love shoes. What woman doesn't? The fashion was groundbreaking! Carrie wore big flower pins, we all wore big flower pins. Carrie wore patterned panty hose, we wore patterned panty hose. Carrie wore kuffiyahs and, well, Arabs were already doing that...but STILL! Americans started wearing kuffiyahs! The reason I could never feel fully rah-rah with Carrie's life is because of her Big obsession---pun intended. I never liked him. He's a jerk. A cheater. Gross. Anyway...I've lost my train of thought. Oh yes, Muslims and our romantic lives---

I face quite the conundrum. A humdinger, if you will. I don't know how to snag a guy. And I'm not the only one! I have plenty of girl-friends in the same boat. I can also tell you how this situation came to be. Growing up, I remember my mother saying we couldn't have friends who were boys. I would say, "Keith is my friend!" and my mom would say, "Ma-fishee (There is no) Keith! We don't have boys who are friends!" Now, don't get me wrong, mama wasn't a dictatorial arab mother who locked me in my room and didn't allow me to have a social life. She was actually pretty lenient and trusting. I have Arab friends' whose curfew lasted well after high school and worked like this, "If it's night time, you should be at home."

But what about winter, you ask? What about those nights when the sun sets at 5 pm or even earlier? Doesn't matter. Still applied. This always upset me, because these girls were supposedly mature enough to be married and raise families of their own, but not mature or responsible to lead rumor-free social lives!? Never mind rumor-free, because people (and by people, I mean Arabs) always talk...but at least lives their parents could be proud of? I think I've done pretty well. Especially compared to some of these Arabs out there who the elders adore but don't really know, yet insist they've lead saint-like existances. (Gag). I know better. That tells you all you need to know about our elders' ability to judge character.

But I can never claim my mother followed the ways of extreme Arab parenting. But the fear of male friendship was instilled in me. Don't get me wrong, I had guy friends growing up. It's natural to befriend friendly people. (<---You can quote me on that.) But I could never say, "Hey mom! I'm going out with Mohammad and Ahmed!"

We all treaded our friendships very carefully. The Arab guys would hang out with their non-Arab female friends and the Arab girls might have their non-Arab guy friends, but it wasn't easy for the Arabs to mingle without there being a lil' drama. Btw, having platonic relationships with the American friends didn't mean I could bring these guys back to my house and say, "Mom, Dad, meet my friend John!" because my parents would hear, "Mom, Dad, meet my friend John, who will destroy my 'honor', become my lover and be responsible for the down-fall of this family! I'm sure this will inspire a made-for-T.V. movie based on my life as an Arab girl who has to run away from her family with her American boyfriend, only to be abandoned by him months later after the media circus, left with nothing but a damaged reputation and bastard child!"

By the way, you'd have a fun time asking my mom about a girl's "honor". After questioning, you'll soon realize "honor" probably means "virginity" and that they don't care about the boys' "honor". Good times.

There's also this new phenomenon of Arab boys who might share the same goals, values and general lifestyle of some Arab girls, but who are going for white girls instead. Yes, you've probably seen this episode on Tyra about the black girl who's mad that her college educated, decent black brother/friend is dating a white girl. This is a new thing for us. And it makes some of us angry. I get it now. The educated Arab girl has a hard enough time as it is, but her limited choices are limited even more because he decided he could date a white girl!? There aren't a lot of you out there! You're messing up our chances for happiness even further!

Ok, back to my learned behavior. I would scoff at Arab girls who flirted heavily with the boys. By the time I got to college, I had plenty of more guy friends, but I was especially careful to keep it at that. I didn't tattoo "Friends Only" on my forehead. But I might as well have. I have practiced the ways of a "Good Arab Girl" quite well. I feel embarassed for the girls who flirt. I see them flirting and know the guy knows they're flirting, and I feel embarassed by the whole situation. Good job, mom. Good job.

So here I am, a 25 year old unmarried Westernized, yet proud, Arab girl. In Arab years, I'm like a 39 year old unmarried woman. Some people are thinking, "Whoa, why didn't she get married? What's wrong with her?". Yes, they ask what's wrong with me. I'm either some hideous creature or too picky. As if Prince Charming walked into my door and I said, "You know what, Princey-boy? I'm not having your charming, attractive ass seizing my heart today! No! Not me!"

I'm not attracted to guys who think women are good for nothing but reproducing, cooking and serving kahwa (coffee), or guys who have trouble saying their "P's". That rules out 99.8 % of men born in Palestine. But I'm also wise enough to know that I must find a respectable Muslim man who shares the values that our parents instilled in us.

So here's the conundrum. I want to meet a guy, but I don't go around meeting guys because I am a good Arab girl. But I also don't want to meet a guy the old fashioned way.

In case you're wondering what the old fashioned way is, here are a few situations that evolve into the predictable Palestinian engagement. A.)the guy is interested in you because he saw you on a wedding tape. B.) the guy is interested in you because he saw you at a wedding C.) The guy is interested in you because he knows your family and someone suggested he come to the family and pick one of the girls.

Yes, all very romantic. I know. It's all very infuriating to me because in all of these situations, the girl is not picked based on her personality, morals, or because the guy likes HER. He likes how she looks, or he heard the family is cool so he wants this to be easy. "Shallow" and "lazy" are not qualities I look for in a man. I've always questioned this method. What if you get a Jeffrey Dahmer situation? By all accounts, the Dahmers are a normal family. Except for that one guy, Jeff. Some might consider him a (really, really) bad apple. I'm not saying guys are picking out serial-killing cannibalistic Arab girls. I'm just saying your methods for choosing a wife are questionable, at best. Now reverse this. I've known situations where the girl is wonderful and beautiful but the guy's parents didn't approve because they didn't like her parents. So they veto her. It's all very messed up.

Ok, so here's the predictable Palestinian ending to this old fashioned way. The man comes to your home with his parents, even though you have never spoken to one another and you may have never even seen him, and you serve them coffee. So he gets a better look at the cow on the farm at work, if you will. I don't like that! I can't do that!

Back to our conundrum: On the other hand, I don't go out and date guys. Shocking to my American friends, but normal in the Arab world...except for the Arab girls who've taken initiative and decided to test the market. I used to question these girls' character. "She's crazy!" I'd think. "What does she think she's doing, dabbling with the guys! Didn't her mama teach her better. She's making the rest of us look bad." And then something happened. Many of these girls started marrying these guys. I was torn between my bitterness at my mother for teaching me to follow an old path that I obviously was never going to skip down and my bitterness at these guys who talked smack about the girls who date and gave them demeaning nicknames and then MARRIED THEM!

Where the flippity flap does that leave me? I'll tell you where. My mom is NOW trying to teach me new tricks. "Get on the email," she says in her sweet, Arab accent. (This is her way of saying get on the internet). "Get on the email and find someone."

Huh? What? Pardonez moi, maman?! Since when has it been ok to go out there and snag a guy on your own? I didn't know the rules went out the window once we ordered the internet! I tried explaining to my mom that it's not easy, just getting on the internet and picking someone. "Would you like me to get on the internet and type in a guy's name?" I ask mom, sarcastically. "Yeah!" mom replies, as if it's that easy. Oh, mom.

And on top of that, there aren't a lot of good, Arab guys out there. Many have left their religion/morals and still expect things to work out because they have their culture and can speak Arabic. Is a good, Muslim guy who doesn't live with his mom too much to ask for? Or a guy who doesn't expect me to ask permission before I leave the house? Or a guy who doesn't work at a liquor store? Or isn't my relative!?!?

I have a theory. In fact, I think it's an excellent theory! I believe the ratio of good, Arab girls far exceeds the amount of good, Arab guys. I'm not saying there aren't any good, Arab guys out there. I said the RATIO is disproportionate. The amount of suitable men are outnumbered by the number of available men. So here we are. I will leave it at that today.

This conundrum is yet to be solved, but it felt good talking about it.

Sincerely,

single Arab female

Looking for work IS work.

It's the end of October. Halloween doesn't scare me. No, no....it's the jobless thing that scares me. Geez, not working sucks. I mean, it is no fun waking up early. Anybody who knows me knows I do not like waking up early. But I hate not having something to do. I'm trying to be positive. At least now I'm getting some responses. I had an interview for a job I'm dying to have. We'll see what happens.

You know how they say, "when it rains it pours"? That's what it feels like when you're not working. It feels like, "man, I'm single, I'm not working, the Rams suck AND the Cardinals got swept outta the playoffs? What the hell?!" As if the Cardinals would help me find a job. But at least it feels good when they win.

And the Rams? Don't get me started. I want to help you understand what it is like being a Rams fan and watching their games. I want you to visualize a person in a wheelchair. There's another guy wheeling this person around a swimming pool. You recognize the guy in the wheel chair. You're thinking, "hey, didn't that guy used to be an olympic gold medalist in the 100 yard dash? What happened?" The guy pushing wheel chair guy around seems pretty stupid, cause he's in panic mode and starts running around the pool like a maniac. You're thinking, "wow, this doesn't seem right." But you don't have control. This guy's obviously the one taking care of wheel chair guy. Suddenly, the idiot pushes wheel chair guy into the pool. Now watch wheel chair guy try to get out. It's probably not working. Plus, the idiot who pushed him is screaming, "Help! I will die if Chlorine touches my skin!" There you have it. You have just watched the Rams this season.

Finding work is like that too. I feel like I'm not in control and someone's about to push me in the water. Or maybe I'm the idiot in this metaphor and the wheel chair guy is my life. Who knows?

I mean, Mark McGwire has a job in baseball. Mark McGwire is going to be the St. Louis Cardinals hitting coach and I can not find a job.

Maybe I should become friends with Tony La Russa. He'll find me work no matter what.

Or maybe I should shoot up with some steroids.

Don't Stop Believin'

There are a lot of things that kept me from contributing to my blog over the last few months. Frustration. Laziness. Fallouts. Cover Letters. Unemployment. Disappointment. But I'm back. (Not from unemployment, but laziness) I need to give a run down of All Star Weekend before I address the elephant wearing a Cardinals hoody in the room.

All Star Weekend feels like a dream that happened months ago. It did, in fact, occur months ago but it still has that dream-like quality where sometimes I remember details I had forgotten, relishing the recollection of something I didn't know I had lost.

At fanfest we recorded a hilariously pathetic "buckle up" ad (that I hope no one ever finds on the internet), took pictures in a dug out and on a baseball card that I took home, posed as if we were robbing home runs with Edmonds-ish over the wall catches, and received free tacos (thanks Taco Bell).

The Home Run Derby held its own magic. Not wanting to go home but running out of time to watch it anywhere, the siblings and I took a pilgrimage/speed walk to the center of baseball heaven, Busch Stadium, and found ourselves lucky enough to sit on picnic benches right outside Busch, switching our heads from the big screen State Farm had placed in an open field that used to be old Busch to the loud crowd and jumbotron inside new Busch where we could see replays and live shots. The weather, mind you, was perfection (perfect weather, and not sweltering heat and humidity, in July? This is a miracle in St. Louis) and the stadium was surrounded by baseball fans. It was merry. Yes, I said merry and it wasn't Christmas.

Did I mention I attended the All Star Game? I didn't? Oops. My cousin was leaving town and bequeathed her ticket to me 2-3 hours before the game. The game and pre-game hoopla was surreal and flew by. I can honestly tell you I don't remember many parts of the actual game. I remember the pre-game more than anything else. I can remember the PRE-pre-game standing in line to get in for 2 hours. I can remember the snipers stationed all around Busch. I can remember Obama throwing out the first pitch. Or Stan's underwhelming tribute by major league baseball. Actually, I think, besides the unbelievably loud ovations Pujols, Molina, Franklin and St. Louis native Ryan Howard got (you had to be there to feel how loud it was), that was one of the things I remember most vividly...the great Stan "the Man" Musial coming out on his cart, receiving an ovation, the baseball players clapping for him, then nothing. How disappointing. Here I thought he would at least get a video for everyone to absorb his stature in baseball, but nothing. Well, I took pictures and maybe I'll post them soon. You get more of a story with the pictures than my words. Plus the National League lost. I thought the magic of Busch would come through for us. But here's the thing, the magic was lost on the Cardinals too. And that's our segue...

The Cardinals were swept in the first round by the Los Angeles Dodgers. Ouch. And Matt Holliday, a key figure who was traded to the Cardinals at the end of July and helped propel us to become one of the best teams in baseball, at least record-wise, made a key error in game two, basically misplaying a catchable ball with two outs in the bottom of the 9th and the Cards up by one run. When you lose a superbly pitched Adam Wainwright game like that and go down 0-2 in the series, this is not your year.

Well that's all I have to say about that. What? Thought I'd lament some more. Nope. Done. 2009 was not our year. In the end, one team wins it all and the rest are disappointed. That's the way sports goes. That's not to say the drive home from Buffalo Wild Wings after game two wasn't difficult, it was, and that's not to say that week that the Cards were eliminated, the Rams lost AGAIN, the Missouri Tigers choked in the 4th quarter and the Blues, well, completed the bridge jumping loss-filled week wasn't depressingly sad, it was. But it was a bad week. Gotta look past it and move on. Silver lining: If, as an STL sports fan, you can get passed that week, you're a real fan. You can't experience the highest of the highs without the lowest of the lows. This is what separates the fans from the bandwagoners. Can you spot them now? Did they say they weren't really a Cards fan after all? Check bandwagon next to their name. Use it against them when the Cards get back to the play offs. Because they will.

This is our moment to regroup and accept the simple fact that no team wins every single year. No team. Take comfort with the fact that every single person who is reveling in our loss has experienced a painful sports moment that, when brought up, brings an acute pain to their heart that takes form in the most bitter of words when prodded just right.

There's always next year to go crazy, folks. Next year will bring new heroes, nick names, games that will be embedded in your memory for the thrown seat cushions and Big Mac Land letters knocked into darkness, and witnessing first hand feats of greatness that can only be achieved by a fellow whose name has become synonymous with great. Pujols.

You gotta take the bad with the good , the errors with the web gems and the early departures with the curtain calls. Take a bow gracefully. Get ready for next year's show. Know that when you stick around long enough, you see it all. You see the disappointments, and that makes the sight of your beloved team hoisting that trophy up high above their heads all the more special. ...unless you're a Cubs fan. You will never see that. You might as well go find something else to cheer for. **bows out**