My Life As An Imposter

VOMGATE 2012.

2012-02-16T03:40:00.002Z

So last Saturday night, I decided to have a few friends over to our lovely home for a terribly grown up cheese and wine evening. I went to Marks & Spencer and bought a gorgeous variety of cheeses and crackers and some more red wine.. it was the recipe for perfection:

Or so we thought.
My main failing in planning was inviting my formerly teetotal friend, let's call him, "Marcus Nay." Marcus has only really been drinking for about three years and so, in alcohol consumption terms, he is about 19.
The evening was going swimmingly and even Bob, who isn't a fan of big crowds of chatty people, was having a whale of a time. Many, many bottles of wine and champagne were on the go and everyone was laughing and merry as the incredibly pretentious jazz was tinkling away in the background. Perfect.... right?

WRONG.

Enter the Vompcalypse.
It all started when Marcus began getting a little rowdy and sloppily hitting on my gorgeous friend "Natalia."
His belligerent attempts at flirting started innocently enough.. we were at the table and, perhaps somewhat daunted by the fact that she was a smart, beautiful, confident doctor, Marcus began swigging back the wine for, what I can only assume, was Dutch courage. To his credit, there was a small window within which it actually looked as though it may have worked.. but then charming and confident quickly became sloppy and clumsy... This wasn't helped by the fact that, at one point, he just kept saying... "You're a doctor" AT her. Things ticked along in a similar fashion for quite a while; another gem being, "sex is brilliant isn't it?"

After cheese and wine, we retired to the lounge. I thought I might put a film on, particularly something in the horror/zombie genre as a nod to our messy youth.
As I was busying myself with this, Marcus began jumping around the house causing problems and reducing my "look at us, aren't we all terribly grown up" soiree to a club 18 - 30 holiday in Zante. He was jumping all over Audrey, Natalia and myself like we were a 3 person lilo and this was an episode of Skins.. it was most disconcerting. There are a fair few dodgy pictures floating about where it just looks like some horrible horrible sex pest has broken into my home and is accosting us. He then began ramming his entire hand into a pair of booties I had knitted and just began yelling something about gloves at the top of his lungs.

So.. just as I put on the, aptly named, film DEVIL Marcus turned a very peculiar shade of grey and told me he felt very unwell. Audrey then fetched him a glass of water.
One minute he is lying on the floor with his head back and the next, he is running out of the room like a llama with itchy feet..... and we just hear a fateful retching sound.

My friend, let's call her "Sandra", calls to me quickly and motions towards the hallway. A rush of fear passes through me as I contemplate what might have just happened. I look at Bob, he looks back at me at me; the tension is PALPABLE... people, in turn, begin looking at one another and nodding their heads solemnly in confirmation.

I edged towards the door and peered inside the hallway, my fingers curling tentatively around the frame.. and what did I see???

To be continued.........................

.

Today I love...

2012-01-24T01:20:00.001Z

Sonnets and pasta.. two of Life’s utter joys married together in one delicious triumph x

Fin.

A Merry Mooish Christmas Tree

2012-01-22T17:33:00.006Z

Hello and Happy New Year to one and all.

Looking back on this past year, we have celebrated Eid, Hannukah and Christmas. It was a glorious mishmash of food, menorahs and baubles.

Bob was so giddy for months because, being Jewish, this was the first year he was allowed to have a Christmas Tree. In fact, we raided the shops a few weeks prior to the holidays and bought festive slippers, footsie pyjamas, stockings, crackers, fairy lights and heaps of mulled wine. It was wonderful.

I've had Christmas trees in my family home before but only from the age of 17 or so and never real ones. But this year, we drove to a tree nursery and sought out our wonderful, perfect little tree. It was truly one of the happiest days of my adult life. There's nothing like sharing the holidays with someone you love, especially when it's full of firsts. Bob was so happy and excited I must confess, it made me melt a little.

After safely housing our tree in a snug little corner of the lounge, we continued on in a twee festive fashion until everyone around us just wanted to throw up.

The holiday came and went and it truly was wonderful. Afterwards, Bob's work schedule was absolutely hectic and I was dying of flu so we kind of neglected to handle the tree...... for WEEKS. Until this week to be exact :/

The poor lovely thing was slowly collapsing in the corner like a botched souffle, begging to be put out of its misery. Wheezing and gasping for breath, adorned in baubles still.

And I am a terrible woman.. a terrible terrible woman. I walked past the Ghost of Christmas every day and felt nothing.. and all along it's inner monologue was screaming this:

It was like we were playing chicken, Bob and I, neither of us wanting to be the one that packed up the last remnants of the holidays like some Bad Santa. We held out for as long as possible, but once our little tree started leaning over to the left a bit, edging towards the door, desperately trying to torpedo itself off the tree-stand, fairy lights and all, we caved.

And by God, did our little tree make us pay for it.

Every time we went near it, it vomited up wave upon wave of pine needles. They were EVERYWHERE. It was like some unholy flora based exorcism. All over the lounge, all over my shoes, in the hallway, in the spare room, in Bob's trousers. I've never seen so much plant-based debris. If that wasn't bad enough, it just kept wedging it's sizeable bum in all the doorways, apocalyptically expunging yet another round of needles all over the floor and generally causing problems during the entire process.

The whole flat was just littered with branches and innards. I wish I had taken a picture to show you. But to give you some sort of idea, it was something like this:

And me, crouching down on my knees in my pencil skirt and work blouse sweeping it all up was like this:

So I would like this opportunity to say, Christmas Tree.... Message received. I have learned my lesson. We shall be finding traces of you until Easter. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry we held on to you so long you developed Dendro-Alopecia and turned yellow. I'm sorry I ignored your consistent cries for help. And I'm sorry I got mad when you essentially shat all over my home.

I'M SORRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

Truly, I am. I promise your successor will have a much better time of it. I wish you well little tree.. in all your future endeavours.

Who knows, maybe we'll meet again one day when you're tissue paper or the pages of a wonderful new book I have yet to discover.

Until then little one.

Fin.

Cheeky cigarettes with Audrey Tautou.

2011-12-02T23:03:00.001Z

So now I live in my lovely little flat with the delicious "Bob" and our Mooish ways, I also have a regular little visitor in the shape of my best friend of 21 years "Audrey."
I call her this because, like her namesakes, she is adorable, classically beautiful and gosh darned fabulous.

I am joining her at a party once I wash the lingering remnants of a hideous work day off my body but, as is often the case, we have just had a brief interlude by my back door for a cheeky cigarette. Bob has lovingly placed little stools by the door so we can sit outside and partake in our frequent yelping and nicotine sessions.

You must be wondering why I'm bringing this up... because tonight, ladies and gentleman, Audrey rocked up to my house wearing little furry fingerless mittens made from rabbit fur. And, as much as I think they were glorious, all I could think of was THIS.

Oh, Bunny Massacres.. HOW YOU CONFUSE ME.

As a once part owner of Molly Socks (the best bunny in town) I was most perturbed.... and yet captivated. Is it wrong, or.... do I want to rub it on my face??

It's like the taxidermied dog from Scrubs all over again.

*le sigh*

Fin.

My life as a grown up.

2011-11-18T20:37:00.007Z

So my best friend (let's call her Audrey) and I have decided that we are the most hilarious people the world has ever seen. We established this one day whilst sat in our favourite restaurant making giant beards and moustaches out of our hair and drinking Bloody Marys. Or, as I like to call it...

LET'S SEE HOW MANY PENSIONERS SHAKE THEIR HEADS AT US AND PROMPTLY EXIT THE FUCKING BUILDING.

We subsequently went on to make the best video known to man.
It was late. There was rum. And I discovered a function on my laptop that let's you doodle over videos as you're recording. Needless to say, we didn't get much sleep that night. And felt rough as a bear's arse the next morning.

You would never guess I was in my late twenties would you? I have a job and a flat and responsibility but I constantly have the mischievous urge to feel like I'm 7 years old at any given moment.
This is what happens when you go to private nursery and so on. Conforming is so heavily ingrained in you as a person, that you need these glorious shots of revolt in your adult life from time to time in a desperate attempt to find some sort of equilibrium.
Either that, or you drive around in a white Jeep forever with perfectly boufant hair that just keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it eats your head.

Fin.

The Lark Ascending

2011-06-12T23:42:00.002+01:00

I have the fondest memories of listening to Ralph Vaughan Williams with my father. The Lark Ascending was our favourite piece of music and something we delighted in sharing with one another. I remember he used to play it to me in the car whenever we were driving home. The darkness in the winter months blocking everything else out but the swelling music as we would glide through the streets in his Jaguar purring its way through the roads like they were slick butter. Such precious time with my daddy.. I will never forget it.
We wouldn’t even talk.. and I loved that. Music has the ability to move me so profoundly and completely at times and I relished the fact that he was the same, that this was something visceral and synonymous between us. And whenever I hear this song I am reminded of him and I driving in the twilight towards home and I am exponentially happy.

Enormous rant.

2011-06-03T14:59:00.007+01:00

Hello.. So today I am completely shocked and appalled by this facebook group called "Fatal Mistakes Men Make During Sex" please, go and read the rules they've put up for men when having sex with a girl:

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5112194862

And I quote....

"Candles and music are good, lights on is a big no no"

"If the covers start to fall off the bed, pull them back over as we will be very conscious of the fact that we are in full view"
"The fact we are shagging you on the first night does not make us a whore, it just means we feel like we have to have sex with you in order to keep you"

What the hell is going on??

This whole debacle got me thinking about women today and our attitudes towards sex and men in general. When was it, exactly, that women were having such grave misgivings about being fully naked with someone and then had sex with them anyway?
This is such a disconnect of ideas for me... and having sex with someone on the first date in order to keep them???? No offence, but if you feel you are losing somebody when you first start going out, you most likely are, having sex with them is not going to magically tether them to you, it's just going to show them that they don't need to try any harder with you because they get to sleep with you anyway.

Some of my other favourites include:

"Don’t ever feel our legs because there is a chance we haven’t shaved them and we will be VERY aware of that fact"

"In the morning, do us a favour and leave the room for a couple of minutes because no matter how sexy we look naked or how much we need the toilet we will be very conscious about getting out of the bed in front of you"

"No morning kisses (we will probably be fully aware of bad breath particularly if we have been smoking/drinking/giving head)"

I don't mean to be insulting here, I just think that the right person should never make you feel any of these things, and the fact that there are women all over the world settling for this list of neuroses whenever they get close to a man just makes me rather sad I suppose.
These women are advocating wanting affection from men, but without being touched too much, they want to be seen and enjoyed, but only in the dark apparently, and they want cuddles but no kisses and then the man has to LEAVE THE ROOM in the morning so they can get out of bed. Is this what it's come to now? *facepalm* Ladies, we are so much better than this.

If you don't feel comfortable enough to be naked with a man and to let him see you pad around the room in your underwear or kiss you with full on disastrous morning breath then he is clearly not right for you. Being naked and vulnerable with someone is daunting, but when it's the right person, he should make you feel like a goddess, not someone who wants to hide under the sheets and is worried about her back fat. If he is making you feel this way, then he doesn't deserve you.. and you should probably stop giving him a backstage pass to your vagina.

All of these little things that this group is telling men to avoid are what I like to call the good stuff.. sex should be fun and loving and hilarious and ridiculously hot and uninhibited. Why should we settle for any less than that? Perhaps I am coming from a different perspective here, seeing as I prefer monogamous sex within a relationship and this group seems to appeal to the more casual variety. But some of the same principles still hold..

Take Bob and I for instance, before we were together I had been abstinent for two years. I didn't want to be in a relationship and casual, anonymous sex has never been something that I've felt the need to partake in, so I decided to remain stone cold single until I felt it was right for me to change that.

During this time, I went from looking like this:

To this:

But having sex with Bob makes me feel like this:

Like these hot bitches on the cover of Italian Vogue.
Now, surely that's the whole point?

And so I urge you, women of the internet..
Never settle for anything less than someone making you feel like the incredible sex bomb that you are.

(I did try to express all of this on the facebook page itself, but they blocked me immediately... go figure.)

Fin.

I heart Jew food

2011-05-16T21:23:00.003+01:00

Whenever I stay over at my boyfriend's family home, or we attend a religious Jewish event, I have the treat of a lifetime. I'm talking about the sweet unmitigated joy that is the gefilte fish ball.

If you put one of these bad boys on a plate in front of me, I basically attack the buffet like a fatty on roller skates.. I'm just an over eager, nomming blur. They are so moreish and tasty and the perect combnation of salty/sweet. I don't know how they do it, but they somehow manage to turn me from this:

To THIS:

It is quite the spectacle.

For more information on fish balls or if you'd like to experience this Hulk-like transformation for yourself go here:
http://www.mydish.co.uk/recipe/1036/fried-gefilte-fish-balls
But, I warn you, your life will never be the same. I once saw Bob polish off 15 at an engagement party.. true story.

Fin.

Cohabitation.. taking the plunge

2011-05-11T16:34:00.007+01:00

So, as much as I've unofficially moved into a boyfriend's place before, I've never actually lived with a man properly (I'm talking, let's sign a lease and get a joint bank account for bills etc...) In fact, the prospect of this terrifies me so much that I inexplicably start getting the sweats when things have to be put down on paper. I remember when I was at university, I nearly had an anxiety attack when I had to sign my housing contract. I just don't like feeling enfettered to things, especially legally. It makes me feel very flustered and suffocated.

Having said all this, I am very much in love with my boyfriend (let's call him "Bob") In fact, I adore him; and as much as I want all these exciting things to happen for us and to take the next step, the paperwork side of it all still fills me with such dread.

I don't think I'm worried that things will go tits up financially because Bob is very good with numbers and will always keep us in check. I also don't worry that we might break up or things will go sour in the relationship. I am completely happy with him and confident in our life together.

I, therefore, genuinely believe that the root of my fear is the act of signing a contract. Any contract: consent forms, leases, mortgages, cheques.. I don't even like using my bank card in those strange hand held devices people wave at you in restaurants.

It's too much pressure!!

So how do I explain this to my darling Bob without sounding like a total moron or making him feel like it is specific to him?

Also, another major reason for this anxiety is the religious aspect *thunder clap*
Yesterday, my mother told me she was: "worried about the religious status of my relationship" and it pretty much gave me the willies.

Although my family are fairly liberal, none of us have ever legitimately broached the subject of "living in sin" with a partner before. In all honesty, I'm surprised it's gone down so well. My mother has known that I would never marry someone I hadn't lived with before but it was always a far away idea that none of us really had to deal with. I had been with a man for five years before and still never felt the need to move in with him. So I think my mother assumed that when I do live with a man, it will be my husband.

So now I feel as though I may be doing something that will make her unhappy. Although she has been nothing but supportive of our plans, I can tell that she would prefer us to be married first. And this makes me feel like a complete tosser. Is this a bad idea? Will it make God angry? Will he punish us by giving us bad crops this year? (I really want a vegetable patch.) Is my mum going to get punished for raising me wrong? Am I the bad seed?? (more vegetable analogies.)

Once again, the Muslim Guilt Monster has reared its ugly head.. and I am beside myself. One thing about being raised within an organised religion... you never really know if you're pissing someone off :/

Fin.

Moo..ish?

2011-05-07T23:46:00.005+01:00

So I was raised Muslim and my boyfriend was raised Jewish.. and we want to get married and have lots of babies. So does that mean our children would be Jewslim? Or... Mooish??
Maybe we can celebrate Christmakwanzaramadanukkah:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Christmakwanzaramadanukkah&defid=2161655

I'm not entirely sure where Kwanza comes into it but, all in all, it sounds like fun times.
Basically, our children will never be in school and will probably end up being raging fatties, what with all the ethnic food afoot.
High cholesterol times..

Fin.

The Burkini

2011-05-05T12:23:00.003+01:00

So now that I have two Asian friends and am not generally being shunned by the community, I am learning a great deal more about Islam and modernity.
The most amazing discovery I have made thus far is the prolific "burkini." I cannot believe something like this actually exists. And, I'm not going to lie, as fabulous a concept as this is, I did nearly wet myself when I found out about it.

Take one burka:

And one bikini:

Cross pollinate:

And I give you.....

THE BURKINI.

Look at her all happy and splishy splashy.. you go aqua brown lady.

Fin.

The unholy temptation of the bacon sandwich..

2011-03-03T12:10:00.002Z

It is no secret that bacon and, in fact, any meat from a pig is basically outlawed in Islam. So, coming to terms with the fact that you enjoy the smell of (and generally want to rub your face all over) this unholy concentrated evil is no small thing.
I remember the first time I tried a bacon butty.. I couldn't bring myself to succumb until I was 20. I was reluctant at first, wondering if someone would know, if God was watching; but once I took that first bite- fleshy bacon, buttery toast and ketchup melting in my mouth. It was a zingy, salty gorgeous combination of flavours I had never experienced before.. Heaven.
Oh how I devoured that sandwich.. I practically made out with it. And then when my heart was content and my belly was full, the psychological shame spiral ensued.

All I could think about was how I had sinned.. how SIN was coursing through my veins, I felt suffocated and out of control. I could feel my mother, father and all my grandparents watching me and shaking their heads solemnly, my Nanna, clutching the Qur'an, fainting with the shock of it all.
It was as though, any minute now, a giant sandal would descend from the sky and clap down on me, ending my misspent life.. a life of lies and pork products.

It took me a long time to overcome this feeling.. every time I was peckish and reached for the bacon I would flinch as the words on the packet morphed into STOP THIS. YOU WILL BURN IN MUSLIM HELL. I felt like a watched pot, like a cheating wife, like someone ready to snap at any moment.

But the fleshy goodness, the playful saltiness, I wanted to try it with ketchup AND brown sauce this time, nay, ALL the condiments... and maybe top it all off with a glorious fried egg. Oh God.. I couldn't handle the temptation. Perhaps this is how Eve felt when trying to resist the elusive apple.. perhaps it was wrapped in bacon? I couldn't take it any more.. I needed it in my life and nothing else mattered.
So I grabbed the packet and I ran. I ran head-first into the fray and I didn't look back.

I ate 17 bacon butties that week. Seventeen.

I have never been so ashamed.. or full.

Fin.

Love, sex and organised religion..

2011-03-01T15:02:00.005Z

It’s a very strange thing to have to straddle two completely different sides of yourself. Culture versus religion, culture versus culture. I was born in the UK but was raised a Muslim. I can identify with Asian culture as well as the culture and traditions of the religion I was raised in; but I enjoy a good whiskey, smoke like a chimney, I collect really shit songs on vinyl like Bruce Willis’ timeless classic “Respect Yourself”, I genuinely think I may well be in love with Yannis from Foals, I love to knit, I make a killer steak and kidney pie. Oh, and my current boyfriend is Jewish.

I suppose you could say I am as western as they come but I am still so proud of my cultural heritage, all three strands of it.. But it cares very little for me.

A friend once asked me what my conclusion was, when it came to bridging the gap between these ideologies and I responded with: “I don’t think there is an answer, just some kind of haphazard equilibrium.”
Unfortunately girls, this is the best we can hope for; some rationalised way of putting the “Muslim Guilt” monster to sleep. For those of you that don’t know, that’s like the Catholic guilt monster, but with more sandals.

Often in my life I have found myself at a crossroads where I have had to think long and hard about what I feel is the right thing to do and it rarely satisfies all three sides of my cultural upbringing. An extremely complicated example of this can be found in my dealings with the opposite sex. It is no lie that I am a far cry from the blushing Asian introvert but unfortunately, this tends to make you go from nought to whore in 5 seconds in the eyes of the Asian community.

There is no respectable line drawn in the proverbial sand when it comes to a woman’s reputation in Pakistani culture, you are either pure or ruined. And it seems that I would fall into the latter category. Even though I am a gentleman’s daughter, had a top notch education, don’t take drugs, don’t sleep around and have, in fact, only slept with three men, all of whom I was in committed relationships with and one of which I am marrying in a few years. All of this means I am doomed.

I'm not going to lie, it’s a difficult pill to swallow. It’s hard to find something pure and beautiful with someone you care about and then feel as though expressing that with them physically is debase and wrong. It seemed to me to be the most natural thing in the world.

But, it took me a long time to get there. I remember when I first started having sex with my first serious boyfriend, I was so wrought with guilt, I ended up in a Catholic Church of all places (as I assumed I wouldn't find a sympathetic ear if I took this problem to a Mosque). In any case, this genius idea didn't end well either. I was sat down by a lovely, benevolent Irish nun who gave me a biscuit and then told me I was going to BURN IN HELL.

Not Ideal.

But quite funny.. or at least my boyfriend thought so when I called him in tears afterwards.

Fin.