Finally

After 20 years of secretly hoping someone would say it, I've finally heard it.

'Abeer, I wish I had your dimples. I love them.'

I might be paraphrasing the love part, because I was obviously too ecstatic from the dimple comment to know any better, but YES. FINALLY.


The person also said that something else that made me very happy.

Thank you Person S.

IKEA

A line I just read from their 2011 catalogue:

'It looks better in frames than on a memory card'.


I couldnt agree more.



As a side note, a wall dedicated entirely to frames in my dream home. Most definitely.

Abeer Y

Name: Abeer Y

Cause of Demise: Bled to death as a result of incessant mosquito bites

Distinguishable Trait: Mane capacity of being able to hold itself together without the need of so much as a rubberband or scrungie.

(oooooooooooooo yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah)

AFC

Is it just me or does AFC has the best culturally-themed music?

I love food. No, like you have no idea what it does to me.

Proposition to Wordsters

So I've thought about it and I think we really need to do something about the word 'brunette'.
Call it rigid of me, but whenever the addition 'ette' is well, added to a word, it automatically becomes a femininesque addition in my mind (im using the word add alot arent i? better stop).

Therefore, in light of the following equation:

Dudette = Dude
Brunette =

I'd like to propose that we call brunette-haired men 'brunes'.

Dudette = Dude
Brunette = Brune


Now I know it sounds like prune, but you can also refer to men as prunes, can you not?


A.

Intervention- Air Kissing

Hokay, so after the umpteenth time this has happened, I’ve just about had it with air kissing. Seriously, why does this happen all the damn time?

Why is there no written code or procedure as to how many times you’re meant to simultaneously hug and air kiss the person you’re meeting? One of the most hilarious images I remember from my own childhood is my mum misappropriating the person she was air kissing, thereby landing in an awkward position, reminiscent of a kiss that doesn’t involve much air. Hee hee.

Every time I meet someone, I have to go through the pressure of judging them. Its easy enough if they’re from the Middle East- 3 times. Once on the right, then left, then right. And scene.

But noooo, they gotta go and be all immigrants and shit, and now I don’t know how to greet the visiting Indian aunties who’ve been settled in Dubai since 1986. The pressure on the kiss-initiator is just immense- should you go with 2, in case they have still retained their Indian roots or should you go with 3, in respect of the new land they now call home? Or should you just hug them and be done with it?

If you go for 2 and they’re going for 3, they end up literally kissing the air. If you decide to go for 3 and they’re going for 2, with the last kiss you look like an abandoned fat kid who just wants a big hug and told ‘everything is going to be okay’.

Okay, maybe not fat, but definitely abandoned and desperate for human contact.

This is worse than selecting which dream house I'm going to live in. Honestly.

Hypothetically Speaking...

So for a blog post’s sake, let’s imagine I have a boyfriend (yes, I know, imagination is all I have- but you know what? One day my luck will turn around and he’ll enter my life and it’ll be awesome).

Now, to make things scandalous, let’s imagine I’m breaking up with him. Here is a list of curses, jibes, and witticisms I’d say, express, wish, and even images I’d send his way. Well, not really send because that’d be the crazy psychotic ex-girlfriend thing to do, but just, keep it within his field of vision.

• Buy a spine the next time you’re at the store.

For the gutless boyfriend. Would sound amazing when screamed out loud non?

• If I had the money, I’d buy you a personality makeover. After getting you a plastic bag to cover your face.

I don’t really know what the plastic bag is doing there, but my intention with that is to jibe the boyfriend about how bad he looks.

• I’m sorry, I think there’s a face on your pimple.

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

• I hate you like I hate Robert Pattinson- enough to rot tomatoes and eggs and then throw them on you.

The idea here is that you hate someone so much, you’d actually make an effort to go out and do something more than just horrible to them. Normally if you don’t care much for a person, you just don’t do anything about it, but when you hate someone with a passion, you go the extra mile to make them feel that. So not only would I actually fork out the money to BUY some very thanks-to-inflation-expensive eggs and tomatoes, I’d actually rot them at home, keeping the eggs and tomatoes out in the sun and treating them badly so they just turn putrid. AND then shower the guy in them.

• Okay, I’m all out of ideas already. Man, I really cant hate anyone for nuts. Rest assured, this post WILL be updated very often. I also welcome suggestions woohoo!

Also, if you’re interested in being my metaphorical other half*, please don’t forget to send in your applications to:

Abeer Y

[insert address for creepy blog stalkers]

[insert phone numbers for creepy Darth Vader-breathing like stalkers]

[insert full Facebook name for endless creepy friend requests which start with ‘hi. want to know you more.’]

[insert Twitter name for minute details of movement :inbathroom-inroom-eating3rdsliceofbread-watchingantsfly]

*Terms and Conditions apply- one of which is we cannot be in a relationship if you don’t have the same telecommunication line that I use. I wont waste 10 sen of my credit on you if you’re from a rival network.

The New Water

Seasons Ice Peach Tea.

Now water will just never do.

Ever.

(ooooo yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!)

e.e.cummings

in honour of this man,
i wonder if he'd be upset if i followed him and went about using lowercase for my blog and facebook address.
or would he be happy that someone was following his lead and being a total fan?

Peculiarity

Nobody does me like I do.

Oldies Meet Even Older Oldies

So our School was having this *thing* and I basically went for the free pizza and laughs.

Dr. Y was there.
Following is the conversation that transpired.


Y: Abeer, have you done something to your hair?
A: No Dr. Y, why? Its still the same.
Y: Are you sure? It looks different.
A: Aah. Good different or bad different?
Y: Just different. It looks more curly and fatter.




Is it just me or does it sound like he's talking about the Curly Fries from A&W?

All I Want For Christmas, Eid, Yom Kippur, Diwali, Kwanzaa, And Lent (Yes Lent!) Is...

This.

Beautiful, isn't it?

Yes, ladies and gents, this lush green book your pupils are currently resting upon is nothing, but the world's BEST book ever, designed as a limited edition cover.

Yes, it is The Secret Garden, by Frances H. Burnett, that same author that gave you the delight that was and is A Little Princess.

Yes, this is ALL I want for all those holidays. Easy peasy? Maybe not. Each one of these beautiful intricate babies costs a cool [insert pound sign on invalid keyboard] 100 pounds. This particular book, designed by celebrated picture book author, Lauren Child, is one in 6 covers that has been especially designed by designers.

This book unravels more and more as you open it, giving the impression that you are in fact untangling a garden.

This book, is also the reason why I will one day build a beautiful creeper-infused, fountain-complete, flowering hydrangeas-replete, garden. 

One day.

Pictures taken from the original site here.

A Brilliant Open Letter to All Muslims

Below is a brilliant article I stumbled upon while on Twitter. It has been reproduced without permission, with hopes that I wont get royally sued. All copyrights belong to Miss Parker and the Washington Post.  Here is the original link.

Enjoy.

Dear Muslims, let's all agree to reject hatred

Your browser's settings may be preventing you from commenting on and viewing comments about this item. See instructions for fixing the problem.

By Kathleen Parker

Sunday, September 12, 2010; 12:00 AM

Dear Muslim World,

I am writing you today as an American citizen who is deeply embarrassed by current events in my country.

First, let me say that I am not representing anyone. I can't claim to speak for anyone but myself, though I am certain that many others feel as I do.

I want to address the current controversy over the proposed Islamic center and mosque near Ground Zero and the so-called pastor "pastor" in Florida who had been threatening to burn a Koran.

I'll begin with the easier of the two: Please ignore Pastor Terry Jones. I wish we had. He may live in the United States. He may have a building with a cross on it and call it a church. And he may know 50 or so people who care what he says, but he's nobody. His threat to burn a Koran was a desperate attempt to get attention and nothing more.

Anyone can call himself a pastor, but there's a reason Jones leads such a tiny congregation. We have a long tradition in this country of letting people speak their thoughts in public, but we don't take many of them very seriously. We laugh at characters like Jones but figure it's better to let fools reveal themselves in the light of day than to let them fester in the dark.

I know this is hard to understand. We have trouble with it sometimes, too. Freedom is a messy affair, and sometimes people get their feelings hurt but we think the trade-off is worth the aggravation.

What we hope you understand is that most Americans were appalled by Jones's proposal, too. Many of us would like for him to crawl back under his rock and stay there, never to be heard from again. Alas, our laws do not forbid stupidity. A few decades ago, Jones would be standing on a fruit crate on a street corner, where children would point at him and be scolded by their parents: "It's not nice to make fun of crazy people." Today, thanks to the miracle of mass communication, he can command a broad, if undeserved, audience.

What our laws do not require, of course, is that we give him our attention, and that's where we have failed each other and ourselves. As a member of the news media, I am sorry that we handed him a megaphone, and I apologize. Please be patient. In a few days, he will be forgotten.

Of more pressing concern, and less easily resolved, is the controversy in this country about the proposed Islamic cultural center in Manhattan. I understand the sensitivity, as I'm sure many of you do. When we were attacked by terrorists nine years ago, our hearts were broken. They still are.

Nevertheless, we don't hold all Muslims responsible for what happened any more than all Christians should be held responsible for what Pastor Jones has been saying. Muslims also died when the World Trade Center towers collapsed. To say that an Islamic center can't be built near Ground Zero is to say that all Muslims are to blame. I don't think that most Americans believe this, even though a majority now say that they would prefer the center be built elsewhere.

This can't be explained rationally because this is purely an emotional response. Obviously, Muslims have the same right to worship when and where they please, just as any other group in America. The same rules of tolerance that allow a Florida pastor to preach his message also allow Muslims to preach theirs.

We may never be able to agree on some things. That is life. But let us all agree to some terms. Let's agree not to tolerate hatred -- toward Muslims, Jews, Christians, atheists or any others. Let's agree not to use inflammatory language. Let's agree to call out and condemn those who would incite riot, whether it's an imam who orders the death of a cartoonist or the preacher who wants to burn another man's holy book.

Let's agree that sometimes we will disagree but that none of this makes any sense if worshiping the creator means we must destroy each other in the process. Anyone who believes in God can't also believe that his divine plan included his creation's mutual destruction.

Peace be upon us all. Or as we say around here, God bless.

Sincerely,

An American 

kathleenparker@washpost.com

Open Letter to Miss Nelly F.

Dear Miss Furtado,

As a young adult who has recently discovered some of your older work, I would like to ask you to revise your song 'All Good Things Come To An End' and add to the current lyrics:

Flames to dust
Lovers to friends
Why do all good things come to an end

the following additional line:

Flames to dust
Lovers to friends

Harry Potter to Twilight
Why do all good things come to an end

Now I know the rhythmic progression will be difficult, but for the greater benefit of  mankind, I plead that you consider this change.
Aside from that, I love your new look and can't wait to hear more of your upcoming work. Keep breaking rules of lazy lyrics. Also, if it is possible, please create more songs with whistling in them. There's something quite magical about whistling in tunes.

Love,

A fan.

Abeer Y

Name: Abeer Y

Cause of Death: Frozen to ice

Distinguishable Trait: Beyond Legendary Human Eyeliner Applicator

(ooooo yeaaaaaa!)

Movenpick

What came first- the hotel or the chocolate?

Khushiyaan Mubarak!

Good Food Mubarak.

New Clothes Mubarak.

Old and New Friends Mubarak.

Family Mubarak.

Embraces Mubarak.

Happiness Mubarak.

 Mission Complete Mubarak.

All in all,

Eid Mubarak.

PS. Is it just me or does everyone seem to wish each other Eid Mubarak with more gusto than wishing each other Ramadhan Mubarak?

Dear You,
I put you through so much pain. I make you go blob blob (or dhak dhak dhak if you were asking Madhuri Dixit) at the most randomest of times. I give you a scare so often. I dont care for you at all.

Dear heart of mine, lets escape. Just me and you, no one else.

Sincerely,
The Person In Which You Reside.

The Social Network

I, Abeer of a non-alcoholic surname, feel like a baby Mark Zuckerberg.

The reason being 48 hits in less than 3 hours. 

'This could be worth a million dollars.

Or a billion'.

Basically, whatever that quote from the trailer was.

Want To See What I Look Like?

This, isnt me.

This, is what I wish I looked like.

This is what I wish I looked like growing up.

This following picture however, is what I look like.

Purrrdy, aren't I?

(from the top:
ms. z. deschanel,
Queen Rania,
honor marie warren,
and
a weird balloon-ing indian girl)

Hello, I am a Blog Post. What Are You?

Hi there.
Yes you.

My name is Blog P. (P is for Post, obviously). You can call me BP for short. I am about a few hours old, and I live at www.justabeer.blogspot.com. You can visit me here anytime you like. Mind you, I had to take up an address that was convenient for everyone to remember and visit, since I know you'll want to see a lot more of me, now that I'm here.
That's a funny story you know, how I and my address came to be. I was first conceived in the mind of my Supreme Creator, Abeer, and delivered through Blogger.com, my Creator's doctor. I was planted into my Creator by a delightful human being called Hiba T., as well as various other inspirational individuals, who slowly worked overtime in the mind of my benevolent Creator, convincing her that I would be a good idea.
While that was a simple enough task, my poor Creator had a very hard time establishing where I and my future family ought to reside; after all, there are going to be very many of us (haw haw). So She set about furiously calling Her closest and most creative friends. None of them picked up unfortunately.
But mercifully for Her, one of Her best friends picked up the phone, offering the suggestion of kaalimaa.blogspot.com, as my Creator is known for some legendary facial expressions. Rejecting the idea on the basis of a potential lawsuit, they moved onto the next name, dolceabeer.blogspot.com, but it didn't quite have such a ring to it, so the next option my esteemed Creator came upon was missmerryflippins.blogspot.com. This also happens to be one of Her monikers, my cute adorable pumpkin of a Creator!
Relentless in the pursuit further of a perfect name that probably didn't take up so much character space, She then decided to open the floor to everyone and anyone, desperately calling for help. The call was answered by 4 noble people, who offered (in no particular order) the following suggestions:

toabeerronottoabeer.blogspot.com (Too long! It would take me moons to go around telling people that's where i live!)

abeerfullof______.blogspot.com (yes, my Creator wasn't too amused with that innuendo)

HA!ABEER.blogspot.com (I would sound too excited to be living, which I am actually, but there's something very intimidating about CAPSLOCK non?)

tellmesoabeer.blogspot.com (which sounded a lot like tell me sober, so no.)

meetabeer.blogspot.com (which sounds like a marriage/online dating mission)

writingsofabeer.blogspot.com (which wasn't too bad frankly)

simplyabeer.blogspot.com

fromabeer.blogspot.com

beabeer.blogspot.com (which the Creator's mother actually came up with, the ingenious gem who gave birth to the diamond that you and I both have the privilege of knowing. Despite the brilliance of this name, it could not be used, as it sounded conspicuously similar to a certain sheboy)

handmeabeer.blogspot.com (which some tool came up with)

thoughtsofabeer.blogspot.com

queena.blogspot.com (I thought this was perfect too, but as always, my humble Creator's humility humbled me, and we decided to keep looking)

sheisabeer.blogspot.com ( She sounds like the Hulk, doesn't she?)

insideabeer.blogspot.com (my sentiments exactly)

bitchybee.blogspot.com (this was suggested by the kind Creator's best friend. This friend is definitely not being invited to her Greatship's wedding, as said friend further insulted her by pleading to her in CAPSLOCK that she ought not to use her alliteric email address as an address. Pfft)

Meanwhile, 2 diligent friends of her Greatship worked simultaneously to proffer my Creator adjectives, which try as they may and fail in encapsulating the exact amount to Greatness that is Her (for there are no words that do her due justice), were put up to spin off a potentially creative address. I present to you the words:

crazy, mental, sillyface, cheery, pretty, beautiful, chatterbox, fun-loving, kind, cute, popular, and tapping material (yes, my cheeks flushed too).

Somewhere in there though, there lay a gem of an address, thought of by a highly intelligent individual -justabeer. Yes. In that moment, it was as if the Gods of the Bandwidths were smiling from up above, and the stork dropped one beautiful bundle for all of you to enjoy- me.

________________________________________________

Now that you have been entertained, lets switch the narrative to 1st person. Its been roughly 2 years since I stopped blogging; reasons of which include complete exhaustion while keeping up with school, laziness, hatred of the written word courtesy of thick Readers and complex jargon and a lack of enthusiasm of storytelling for my ghost fans. But as I proceed to my last few days as an Undergraduate, I feel that the sad circle of my online life has become complete. My last entry on a blog was in my First Year 2nd Semester. I am now in my Third Year 2nd Semester. It is only fitting that I begin to jot down my thoughts, my frustrations, my epiphanies, my stories, all and sundry. I must thank Hiba T for encouraging me to begin a blog, having tantamount faith in what would create creative entries (I hope I don't disappoint) and Hunaina and Su for sitting through the name perusals. Fi, Priyanka, Shreya and Amir for endlessly suggesting names in a span of 20 minutes (fyi, Amir came up with justabeer. (:) I would also like to thank a few unnamed bloggers whose work I've been reading and enjoying of late.
While I will be using this as an outlet to vent my occasional frustrations against life and the people that go along with it, I hope it becomes The Blog That Will.

The Blog That Will Make You Smile.
The Blog That Will Make You Think.
The Blog That Will Cause You To Reach For A Tissue
and most importantly,
The Blog That Will Make You Come Back For More.


PS. This is also the first and last post that makes near-proper use of punctuations and capital letters. While I pride myself in being an unemployed-grammar-Nazi, I am also aware that the size of my impatience is akin to that of a tiny oil spill off the coast of Mexico. Let's get started then, shall we?