Received a surprise call from A.
For those of you who do not know my blog, A. is the guy who laid the golden insight about men in love when he said : Men fall as easily in love as women but hate to admit it, and when they do, it is almost always too late.
Well, A. called out of the blue. He said he was in town and would love to meet up for a drink and he added "a post-Valentine commemoration."
I like A. He is charming and a great story teller.
One thing, that really, really, really, irritates me about him, is his pseudo-cryptic fashion when he speaks. I will tell you why later, I qualify it as pseudo.
His cryptic fashion requires an expert decoder...like some top notch specialist who can decipher his coded language.
Take for instance that opening line -- "a post-Valentine commemoration."
Post-Valentine commemoration presumes that we: 1) celebrated Valentine together to start with. 2) that we are in the reminiscing stage of some Valentine get together.
None of the above holds true. I have never celebrated Valentine with A. So how can I post-commemorate ?
Unless of course, A. uses the word Valentine to mean "Love", and hence, wants to commemorate some love we had together.
But then again that does not hold. A. and I never had a love affair. So what is there to post-commemorate ?
You see, this is what really, really, really bugs me about men in general and Arab men in particular. They cannot talk straight. Which reminds me of a saying my best female friend makes ample use of -- poop or get off the potty.
A. neither poops, nor gets off the potty.
But as I said, I like A -- despite, in spite of his cryptic language. And he really has a wry sense of humor, which suits me fine...Besides which, I was in the mood for some coded language deciphering, a question of sharpening up my skills in the art of decoding. So I agreed to see him for some "post-commemoration" of God knows what...
We met in some newly opened café and thank God, A. is quite generous, so I did not have to languorously linger on tiny sips from one single cup of espresso, like in the past...
I was a woman with a mission - mission impossible (used to watch that series when I was a kid) - that of decoding A.'s language. I was going to render the impossible, possible...a bit like Batman or Superman.
Come to think of it, have not met a super man yet...except one. But that shall be kept a secret -- besides it's none of your business.
I was going to use this meeting time, to understand, unveil, reveal, pierce through, dig into -- why did A. say "post-Valentine commemoration."?
And yes, I can be very obsessive at times when I am eager to understand...I can switch in no time and tap into my mental reservoir of "private detective". Something that gives most pleasure, once I have "solved" the case.
So I listened to A. for over 60 mn. Yes, I was timing it. Detectives always keep track of time...
In the space of 60 mn, A. mentioned his ex-wife about 7.5 times. I say 7.5 because I interrupted him at the 7.5th time -- at "ex" -- so he could not finish his sentence, his 7.05...and he was left hanging with an 0.5 of some ex-wife.
He also spoke of his 3.5 kids about 7.5 times. And as if that was not enough, he also talked of his mum and dad, his siblings, his in laws, the extended family...and had I let him continue, I might have had some more insights into his tribal/clan origins, as well...
Fuck, I was getting bored to tears.
But I had to keep an "open mind" and crack his code...
Then it hit me -- the guy had a bad case of cold feet. Cold feet as in being "not available." Emotionally unavailable. Anyone who mentions his ex-wife and kids over 7.5 times in the course of 60 mn is unavailable in my dictionary.
But at that point I still did not manage to crack the "post-Valentine commemoration" introduction line -- the one I received earlier on...
Then it hit me again...
The guy had built in his own head a fully directed romantic film, in which he was a Cupid with a whole sack of love arrows. Not only that, he was also at a stage where he had run out of arrows and wanted to post-commemorate the film that unreeled in his own mind...Talk about a flight into fantasy !
And they say only women are capable of that, ha!
Yet still, I found the whole episode to be most entertaining. He was no difficult nut to crack...But I must admit, the thrill was gone...
Another thing worth mentioning, that kind of did me in...did me in like some captive, held in a metal cage...it was the fucking music.
I don't know who, but some motherfucker working in this café changed the music to some techno/house/punk, I don't know what you call it exactly....and it started hammering in on my head, like some Guantanamo torture.
You know what I mean ? The kind of music they play in American humvees that circulate in Baghdad and run people over. The kind of music they played in Abu Ghraib. The kind of music they play in Guantanamo and drive you fucking insane...
Someone played a similar kind of music that night, and it hammered away at my head...
A's face suddenly became distorted, and his words drowned away, sinking away and getting lost into a medley of demoniacal tunes that were assailing my ears....
I decoded the post Valentine fantasy lover, in his fantastical mind love quest, there was only one thing left to do - Go home.
So I said to him -- this music is driving me insane...
I felt the onset of a migraine setting its foot right behind my eye, settling in its orbit and aiming its arrows at my right temple...
Pictures of Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib also raced through my mind...I must be suffering from some chronic PTSD translating itself through migraine onsets. It is called -- a co-morbidity factor.
I said to him -- We have commemorated Post-Valentine, I need to go home now...
He smiled in his wry manner, the manner that first attracted me to him and replied
Home ? Which Home ?
And I, blinded by the light, harassed by the noise surrounding me, managed to conjure up a reply, some reply -- Wherever I can lay my head -- away...
Painting : Iraqi artist, Ali Al-Tajer.
For those of you who do not know my blog, A. is the guy who laid the golden insight about men in love when he said : Men fall as easily in love as women but hate to admit it, and when they do, it is almost always too late.
Well, A. called out of the blue. He said he was in town and would love to meet up for a drink and he added "a post-Valentine commemoration."
I like A. He is charming and a great story teller.
One thing, that really, really, really, irritates me about him, is his pseudo-cryptic fashion when he speaks. I will tell you why later, I qualify it as pseudo.
His cryptic fashion requires an expert decoder...like some top notch specialist who can decipher his coded language.
Take for instance that opening line -- "a post-Valentine commemoration."
Post-Valentine commemoration presumes that we: 1) celebrated Valentine together to start with. 2) that we are in the reminiscing stage of some Valentine get together.
None of the above holds true. I have never celebrated Valentine with A. So how can I post-commemorate ?
Unless of course, A. uses the word Valentine to mean "Love", and hence, wants to commemorate some love we had together.
But then again that does not hold. A. and I never had a love affair. So what is there to post-commemorate ?
You see, this is what really, really, really bugs me about men in general and Arab men in particular. They cannot talk straight. Which reminds me of a saying my best female friend makes ample use of -- poop or get off the potty.
A. neither poops, nor gets off the potty.
But as I said, I like A -- despite, in spite of his cryptic language. And he really has a wry sense of humor, which suits me fine...Besides which, I was in the mood for some coded language deciphering, a question of sharpening up my skills in the art of decoding. So I agreed to see him for some "post-commemoration" of God knows what...
We met in some newly opened café and thank God, A. is quite generous, so I did not have to languorously linger on tiny sips from one single cup of espresso, like in the past...
I was a woman with a mission - mission impossible (used to watch that series when I was a kid) - that of decoding A.'s language. I was going to render the impossible, possible...a bit like Batman or Superman.
Come to think of it, have not met a super man yet...except one. But that shall be kept a secret -- besides it's none of your business.
I was going to use this meeting time, to understand, unveil, reveal, pierce through, dig into -- why did A. say "post-Valentine commemoration."?
And yes, I can be very obsessive at times when I am eager to understand...I can switch in no time and tap into my mental reservoir of "private detective". Something that gives most pleasure, once I have "solved" the case.
So I listened to A. for over 60 mn. Yes, I was timing it. Detectives always keep track of time...
In the space of 60 mn, A. mentioned his ex-wife about 7.5 times. I say 7.5 because I interrupted him at the 7.5th time -- at "ex" -- so he could not finish his sentence, his 7.05...and he was left hanging with an 0.5 of some ex-wife.
He also spoke of his 3.5 kids about 7.5 times. And as if that was not enough, he also talked of his mum and dad, his siblings, his in laws, the extended family...and had I let him continue, I might have had some more insights into his tribal/clan origins, as well...
Fuck, I was getting bored to tears.
But I had to keep an "open mind" and crack his code...
Then it hit me -- the guy had a bad case of cold feet. Cold feet as in being "not available." Emotionally unavailable. Anyone who mentions his ex-wife and kids over 7.5 times in the course of 60 mn is unavailable in my dictionary.
But at that point I still did not manage to crack the "post-Valentine commemoration" introduction line -- the one I received earlier on...
Then it hit me again...
The guy had built in his own head a fully directed romantic film, in which he was a Cupid with a whole sack of love arrows. Not only that, he was also at a stage where he had run out of arrows and wanted to post-commemorate the film that unreeled in his own mind...Talk about a flight into fantasy !
And they say only women are capable of that, ha!
Yet still, I found the whole episode to be most entertaining. He was no difficult nut to crack...But I must admit, the thrill was gone...
Another thing worth mentioning, that kind of did me in...did me in like some captive, held in a metal cage...it was the fucking music.
I don't know who, but some motherfucker working in this café changed the music to some techno/house/punk, I don't know what you call it exactly....and it started hammering in on my head, like some Guantanamo torture.
You know what I mean ? The kind of music they play in American humvees that circulate in Baghdad and run people over. The kind of music they played in Abu Ghraib. The kind of music they play in Guantanamo and drive you fucking insane...
Someone played a similar kind of music that night, and it hammered away at my head...
A's face suddenly became distorted, and his words drowned away, sinking away and getting lost into a medley of demoniacal tunes that were assailing my ears....
I decoded the post Valentine fantasy lover, in his fantastical mind love quest, there was only one thing left to do - Go home.
So I said to him -- this music is driving me insane...
I felt the onset of a migraine setting its foot right behind my eye, settling in its orbit and aiming its arrows at my right temple...
Pictures of Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib also raced through my mind...I must be suffering from some chronic PTSD translating itself through migraine onsets. It is called -- a co-morbidity factor.
I said to him -- We have commemorated Post-Valentine, I need to go home now...
He smiled in his wry manner, the manner that first attracted me to him and replied
Home ? Which Home ?
And I, blinded by the light, harassed by the noise surrounding me, managed to conjure up a reply, some reply -- Wherever I can lay my head -- away...
Painting : Iraqi artist, Ali Al-Tajer.
