You know, there are enough negative generalizations out there, so let’s do the opposite.

Or something.

Without further ado, ta-da, etc:

1. Arabs have spectacular food.
Of course I would kick off this list with food. You may already be familiar with popular items such as hummus and falafel, and if you somehow are unfamiliar with either hummus or falafel (or both) then you should do what you can to familiarize yourself with these things right away. They are so good. Oh man. But there are other things, things which I have no idea how to spell, in English or in Arabic. But I know what they are and dudes, I’m not kidding, Arabs have some of the best food ever. So what I’m saying is that you should have Arab friends on the off chance that they invite you over for dinner. And what kind of Arab friend wouldn’t invite you over for dinner? I don’t know. This leads smoothly into point number two…

2. Arabs are hospitable.
Say for instance I was taking you with me to visit my relatives. I’m not exactly sure why I would do this, not because hanging out with my relatives isn’t entertaining, because I assure you it is. It totally, totally is. But I’m more likely to go with you to the movies than to hang out with my cousins. And I think that’s kind of universal: movies before cousins. In fact, pretty much the only reason I can think of that I would be taking you with me to visit my relatives would be if we were dating and it was time for you to meet my dad because certainly I have to come to a point with someone when it’s time for him to meet my dad, right? Sure. Anyway, if we were dating and I was taking you to meet my dad, I would promise you that even though my dad might try to intimidate you silently with that dark intense stare of his that has a tendency of making people nervous he’s actually very nice (and he is really very nice, I swear, and also funny) and then we would arrive and after kicking off our shoes (because we are polite) you would immediately be overwhelmed by the kindness and hospitality of my family. They would try to feed you (and if you’re hungry at all you should take them up on this… see point 1) and if food is not your thing they will offer you something to drink. And even if you say you don’t want anything, a few minutes later you will be given a beverage: juice or tea or a room-temperature can of Pepsi. And if you go with tea (just go with tea) it will be served in a glass, not a cup. No handle. It’s scalding hot and if you’re not careful when you pick it up you will burn the shit out of your hand. But it’s all worth it because the tea is so good. And then there will be a lot of talking, entirely in Arabic, and let’s face it, it will probably all be about you, but I’m sure it’ll all be positive, so you can just smile and drink your tea. And someone will gesture at the tea and ask “Is good, yes?” And you’ll say “Yes, good.” And then they will try to feed you again. It’s very important that you’re comfortable and having a good time. And my dad will like you eventually. Probably.

3. Arabs know how to party.
It’s true. Arabs? Party people. There’s music, there’s food, there’s laughing, there’s dancing. Arabs are totally good at busting a move. In fact, one of the things that attracted my mom to my dad: his smooth moves on the dance floor. I, on the other hand, am a terrible dancer, but my awkwardness and lack of rhythm have never ever stopped me. Who cares? Life is too short to waste it by being a wallflower, right? Exactly. Anyway, who doesn’t love a good party? Crazy people, that’s who. Do you want people to think you’re crazy? Hmmmm?

4. Arabs are passionate.
If you’ve ever listened to spoken Arabic, then you know that it’s a powerful language. It’s full of strong sounds. This makes perfect sense, considering the people who speak it. Arabs are passionate and fiery and we get worked up about things, things like… the weather or traffic or commercials on television. We enjoy this. If life is worth living it’s worth being fired up about. The thing is, people mistake this fire for anger, but it’s not. Sure, everyone may be yelling, but we’re not mad, it’s just conversation! Do you need a little more passion in your life? Befriend an Arab. We will feel deeply about things you didn’t even know it was possible to feel anything about and this will amaze you, and that sense of amazement will propel you toward more passionate living. Somehow. I haven’t worked out all the details but I’m sure I’m right. Plus, we tell good stories and we talk with our hands a lot. Is good, yes? Yes, good.

So there you go. Are you persuaded?

Hi. How are things? Busy and exhausting? I’m sure. I can’t even imagine maintaining the kind of schedule you have these days, but that’s just one of the reasons why I will never run for President of the United States. Or of anywhere else for that matter.

Anyway, you might be wondering why I’m writing to you, so I’ll tell you. I first heard of this a few days ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Remember?

I get it and all. I do. I get that you didn’t mean it like that right? I mean, I’m sure that when you heard the word “Arab” you thought you heard the word “terrorist” because it’s an easy mistake and they practically mean the same thing so you were really defending Obama by saying that he was a decent guy. Totally understandable, yeah? Exactly.

I’m an Arab, Mr. McCain. And let me tell you: if there is one thing that’s true about my people it’s definitely that we hate our families. Oh, we may pretend to be a family-oriented culture while we sit around and eat with our hands like barbarians and talk about things like the weather and work and sometimes we watch football soccer on TV. And of course none of us will rest until you stop eating with a fork.

I bet nobody’s ever told you that’s the Arab agenda. But I can’t keep it a secret anymore. That’s it: no forks for anyone in our brave new world where every McDonald’s will serve falafel and you will drink hot tea even during the sweltering heat of August and you will like it.

Seriously, you will like it. The tea is magnificent.

If I may be serious for a moment, instead of being a jerk like I was in the preceding paragraphs, I want to tell you that I do get it, Mr. McCain. I do. You don’t actually want people to fear Barack Obama. That’s awfully nice of you. But here’s the thing: your reaction to the word “Arab” is seriously not cool. It is not a slur, and should not be reacted to as if it were one. Because you know what? That makes it a slur. Very smooth on your part. Way to go.

The only problem with calling Barack Obama an Arab is that it is incorrect. He’s not an Arab. It would be okay if he were though, right? Just like any other ethnic group on the planet, Arabs are just people. Some of us are assholes and some of us are cool, and it takes getting to know us individually before you can tell. Perhaps this was an accident, on par with my fellow prisoners. Or maybe it says something about what your opinion is of the approximately three million of us living here in the United States. Either way, I just wanted to take the time to let you know that I am decent, I am a citizen, I love my family, and I am not voting for you.

Sincerely,
Jamelah

P.S. Isn’t falafel at McDonald’s a horrible idea?

————————————————–
One: Just like the insult comic dog

An admirable business morality and an appetite to triumph. First of all, shouldn’t that be an appetite for triumph? And what about an appetite for destruction? Or for Snickers? Hmmmmm?

————————————————–

Two: (No one will get this but Caryn) Can you imagine?!? DRINKING YOURSELF?!?!

I wonder if this job is to replace Jared as the Subway spokesperson. You know, because you have to lose weight first and then you have to be the advertisement for… whoever these people are. Also, the tone of the last line seems a little bit confrontational to me. Do you even KNOW how powerful the web is, dummy? DO YOU? These people are mean. I don’t like them.

————————————————–

Three: Gots to get paid

Five dollars an hour? Doesn’t minimum wage beat that by more than 50%? Sign me up!

————————————————–

Four: I wonder what the health care package is like

I’ve never been to that kind of meeting before. Ahem.

————————————————–

Five: We want… a shrubbery!

And then finally, I saved this one for last, because it is indeed the best. The title of the ad was “ladies” and I thought “I’m a lady!” though I will admit that I clicked with some trepidation.

And with this single-line ad, my trepidation was rewarded most handsomely.

1. As it turns out, I didn’t need anybody to kick my ass because I seem to have been able to shake off the funk I’ve been in for the past couple of weeks and get some things done. Applied for some jobs today… we’ll see how it goes. Cross your fingers for me. And your toes. Sure, walking with crossed toes might be kind of awkward, but when you have my undying love and gratitude (and you will, I’m sure) it will all be worth it, no?

2. Spent much of the morning cleaning the house because sometimes I have an overflow of energy and what better way to get rid of excess energy than by scrubbing the bathtub? I ask you.

3. I very rarely download the iTunes free single of the week but I downloaded it this week: “Detroit” by Black Gold. Cannot stop listening to it.

4. I was digging through some writing I’ve done over the past few months and found a note to myself I wrote, presumably because I intended to come back and turn it into something at a later time, but I never did and now I have no idea what I meant. It was amusing though. Want to know what it said? Of course you do:

MAPLE SYRUP. So embarrassing!

See? I make no sense even to myself. There is a part of me that doesn’t even want to know what I was thinking.

5. It’s Friday, kids. Have a fabulous weekend.

Hope it’s all rainbows and happy bunnies and whatnot.

Phase 1. Elapsed Time: 10 minutes.

It’s late at night on Saturday. You come home after having a few drinks and you should probably just go straight to bed but you’re not tired! So what to do? Well, check your email, obviously. And you’ve been kinda sorta flirting with this guy but it’s a little weird, because maybe you’re just friends, but maybe, just maybe, he really likes you. But you don’t know and you haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask, because how do you ask that question anyway? “Is this just friendly, or do you actually want to get into my pants?” seems a little too direct, and that makes you nervous just like you’re that shy teenager sitting behind that cute boy in math class all over again. And then furthermore, do you really like him, or would you rather just keep it at a friends level? You’re not sure, so you pour yourself a glass of water — gotta avoid the hangover — and consider the situation. And then you do something a little crazy, and you know it’s crazy, but you justify it by telling yourself that certainly everybody does this at one time or another and the only reason why it seems crazy is because nobody ever admits to doing it: you search your email and pull up every message he’s ever written to you and start analyzing them for hidden clues to see if you can decipher whether or not he actually like likes you. Somewhere around the third email you realize that you are more drunk than you thought you were and you further realize that all your friends are married and here you are, drunk and alone on a Saturday night, reading emails from a guy who probably doesn’t even like you that way — he’s really cute, and it’s been casual, you don’t even know, maybe he already has a girlfriend — and you look at yourself in the mirror and notice that your eye makeup is smudged and you can’t help but wonder how your life has gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

Phase 2. Elapsed Time: 5 minutes.

“You know what it is?” you ask your eye-makeup-smudged reflection. Your reflection waits patiently for you to expound. You say, “It’s because you are not taking charge of your own destiny. And that is unacceptable! You are young, and attractive. And… SMART! You are very smart. So you know what I’m gonna do? I AM GOING TO WRITE HIM AN EMAIL. I’m going to find out what the hell is going on here because it would be better to know than to keep not knowing that he really thinks I am awesome and if he doesn’t think I am awesome then you know whatever I am so over it. Good! I have a plan! I have to pee! Okay!”

Phase 3. Elapsed Time: 30 minutes.

After returning from the bathroom, you get another glass of water and put your hair back in a ponytail and sit down at the computer. You start to write:

Subject: so, hey…

Message:

dude, I jsut got back forn\\m the Bar and it was Aw esmoe!2!

You sit back and think about what you’re going to write next. You’re suddenly kind of nervous! And also you have to pee again. Damn vodka! After returning from the bathroom again, you get another glass of water and start writing once more.

You totoally should have been there becuase it was so so fuun and there was a band and the bnad was reakly good. I think you wolud have liked them becasue remeber that time we were tlaking abuot music>? it was lkie taht.

You don’t actually have to pee again but you get up to go to the bathroom anyway because now you’re at the moment of truth and you want to consider your words carefully. You get halfway to the bathroom before stopping and saying “No! I have to do this right now!” and marching yourself back to the computer where you once again begin to type.

Listen, i jsut wantd to say taht I think we shuold go out. You are so cut. I am drnuk. But still. Ok.

XO.

And before you lose your nerve, you hit Send.

Phase 4. Morning.

You wake up with a start. You know something horrible happened but you can’t quite remember what. You think back to the night before: you went out with your friends, you drank too much, you can’t remember any wardrobe malfunctions or attacks of clumsiness or any other horrible gaffes. And then you look over at your computer, which is still on and the truth begins to settle on you uncomfortably like a very heavy wool sweater in July. You throw back the covers and run awkwardly across the room, careful not to trip over your shoes. You look at your mail. You have no new messages, save a little bit of penis-enlargement spam. You cautiously take a relieved breath and then click over to your sent messages. And there it is. “Oh shit,” you whisper at your monitor. “Oh shit shit shit shit shit.” You take a deep breath and click. And read. Are you anxious? Nauseated? Both? You don’t know, so you say, “Oh shit,” one more time for good measure and consider the possible outcomes:

1. He will think it’s funny and charming and you will fall in love forever and ever.
2. You have ruined everything and you will die alone.

And as you walk to the bathroom to wash your face and start the day — you really need breakfast — you think “I am such a raging idiot. Why does anybody allow me to use communication devices for anything ever?”

Okay, so I hope this scenario is clear to you. Because now we must think about how it would be different if our purely hypothetical girl in this scenario had Gmail Mail Goggles enabled:

Phase 3a. Writes The Email.

Before you lose your nerve, you hit Send.

And then! To the rescue! Gmail! It says: “It’s that time of day. Gmail aims to help you in many ways. Are you sure you want to send this? Answer some simple math problems to verify.”

You look at the math problems. What? You can’t even do math when you’re SOBER. “Fuck this,” you say, and go to bed.

Crisis averted. Well played, Gmail.

2. Seriously. Kick me.

3. Earlier today, Caryn sent me a link: World’s first testicle cookbook. There are many things I could say about this but um, haha! Cooking with balls! So disturbing! Here’s what I wonder: if you invited a guy over and said you were going to cook dinner and he saw that cookbook on your shelf, how long do you think it would take before he figured out a way to leave? (Please note: Ljubomir Erovic, the cookbook’s author, says “All testicles can be eaten — except human, of course.” Of course. Insert jokes here.)

4. Another link: Yet Another Bullshit Top 10 List. Here is a post and, if you read the comments, a discussion of a list posted on Spike TV’s website of movies guys won’t admit they love. Some of them make sense, sure. But some of them, not so much. And honestly, I don’t know if I can love a man who does not love The Princess Bride, because I think not loving The Princess Bride speaks to deep character flaws such as an inherent inability to appreciate awesomeness and Andre the Giant’s mad rhyming skillz.

5. This morning I got some comment spam that said the following: Halloween mens costume from the haunted house. Avoid Premarital Sex. I have been trying to figure it out all day.

Onward.

If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?
The answer to this question depends on about a million variables. What kind of betrayal? Did he trump my ace in a game of euchre (why am I so obsessed with euchre lately?) or was it something else? Because if it were the euchre thing then the obvious answer would be to kill him and dispose of the body in a cornfield somewhere, whereas if it were something else, then perhaps I could be more diplomatic. I’m joking.

If you could have a dream come true, what would it be?
I’d finally get a pony!

What would you do with a billion dollars?
Buy a pony. In fact, ponies for everyone! Get me a billion dollars right now and I’ll prove it. I’m a giver.

Will you fall in love with your best friend?
WILL I? Who knows? What a cliffhanger! Seriously, though: no. First of all, I don’t have a best friend. I have friends to whom I am close, and I love them dearly, but I don’t love them that way. Have I ever fallen for a good friend? Yes, of course. It never worked out though, and I’ve come to some conclusions about why. My relationships with others are defined by certain cues. I know where I stand with people. And while my relationships grow and change and become closer or more distant depending on billions of factors, I still know where I stand with people and those relationships are still defined by certain cues. And when a guy enters the picture, then yes, I have to be friends with him, absolutely. I have to like him as a human being. But there had better be something else there, pretty much entirely from the beginning, even if all it is is an open-ended question, a silent understanding of perhaps. But silent understandings only go so far, and at some point you have to talk about it, even if it’s only to acknowledge what exists. If you wait too long on this, the whole thing becomes riddled with questions and uncertainty and then it just gets too weird. Too Weird: the place where fledgling interest goes to die.

All of this to say that by the time it gets to a best friends situation, it’s already been tested, it’s already been proven. At that point, let it be what it is.

Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
Both at the same time is pretty damn amazing. Otherwise it’s more like unrequited pining or being stalked, both of which I’ve experienced, and I can’t really recommend either.

How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?
To what? I’m not an impatient person, but if I’m waiting for someone to get out of the bathroom or something, then I might get a little testy. Especially if I really had to pee.

If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
Me getting a billion dollars and going on a pony-buying spree.

What takes you down the fastest?
Um? I don’t quite know what this question means. So I will guess a sniper. Or a ninja. Or a velociraptor.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
What is this? A job interview? Next are you going to ask me what my strengths and weaknesses are?

Do you believe you have a soulmate?
Yes. Sort of. I believe in soulmates, but I don’t believe it in the Hollywood romantic way. I believe we all have more than one. I believe that different people are soulmates in different ways. I have friends who are soulmates, absolutely, and becoming friends with them was, in a way, like coming home. I guess, not to be too big of a dork, it’s sort of like Anne of Green Gables and her concept of kindred spirits. Some people are kindred spirits and some people aren’t. Kindred spirits are essential to life. I am not a relationship expert, and the thought of being one, even for pretend in this paragraph, makes me giggle. But when it comes to relationship relationships, then yes, I think that person should be — has to be, even — a kindred spirit, but ultimately I don’t think it’s wise or even healthy to place the entire burden of soulmatehood on one person.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Not very skilled in the art of vodka watermelon-making, that’s for sure.

Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
I would rather be a superhero. I don’t care that this was not one of the options.

If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who would you pick?
I don’t believe it’s possible to fall in love with two people simultaneously. That is not how love works. So let’s switch things around and say that two people fell in love with me simultaneously, because that could happen. Right? Totally. What would I do in this situation? Simple: Reality show.

Would you give all in a relationship?
I’m having a really hard time not being a smartass in response to this question, but that’s because the truth cuts too close, for one thing, and I want to know what it is that I have to give all of, for another thing. All of my love? All of my Pringles? What? Anyway, I wrote a good post about this once, over on my ex-blog, but it’s gone now, so um, hey. Yes, I try. I fail. I do the best I can. I worry. I make things unnecessarily difficult. I apologize. And, perhaps, repeat.

Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing s/he has done?
Forgive, yes. Forgiveness is essential to my own health and sanity. Sometimes it’s easier to do this than other times, but it’s so necessary, and as I’ve learned time and again, it has less to do with the other person and more to do with me. As this one preacher once said, holding bitterness in your heart is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die. Very true, that. As for forgetting, I don’t know how possible this truly is. Forgiveness removes the sting (and I think being able to remember something without it hurting all over again is a sign of having gotten to a place of true forgiveness) but memories have this way of lingering.

Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
Considering my relationship history, single. Maybe someday this will change. I hope it does.

People you want to tag:
I don’t want to tag anybody. So there.

Well, I am all kinds of incredulous, people, because okay. I like oatmeal. A lot, actually. Mmm oatmeal. And you know what goes well with oatmeal? Toast. I like oatmeal and toast. And I like dry toast because, um, I put the oatmeal on the toast? I do. I put the oatmeal on the toast. Not like all of the oatmeal, but you know, I’ll eat a few bites of oatmeal, and then I’ll pick up a piece of toast and put maybe a spoonful of oatmeal on the toast and eat it, and then I’ll repeat the process until I’m done. It’s a delicious nutritious breakfast. Shut up. It is.

I had it pointed out to me last night that this was not normal. So I asked Caryn about it this morning and she also said it was weird. WHAT? I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

So, here is my question. Please answer:

Oatmeal on toast? Is that bizarre? Seriously, have you never thought of doing this, not even once? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? Ahem.

Okay, maybe that turned into several questions. What I mean is, quite simply, oatmeal on toast: yes or no?

Thank you.

Anyway, here goes:

4 Things I did Today:

1. Forced myself to go for a run even though I wanted to sit around in my pajamas.

2. Took the following photograph of my post-run hair:

I will never stop being amused by the craziness sprouting from my scalp.

3. Wore a sweater and actual shoes (not sandals) and was still cold all afternoon. So cold that I had to go get coffee and all that was left was the mega-caffeine kind and so now I’m still all “Whee! Caffeine!”

4. Ate some squash. Mmm. Squash.

4 Things on my To-Do List:

1. Because I haven’t worked out how to get paid for existing, I still have to get a job. I’m perfectly fine with getting a job, and in fact I prefer working to not working because I hate that useless feeling that comes with being a no-good layabout, but [rant deleted]. To sum up: drat.

2. Finish editing those stories that I have been a slacker about.

3. Get a trim.

4. I don’t know. Read some books, or something.

4 Things that are my Guiltiest Pleasures:

1. That show on the Discovery Channel with Josh Bernstein who is such an adorable dork ohmygod.

2. America’s Next Top Model marathons. When the WB combined with whatever other station it was to form the CW, my cable company decided I didn’t need that channel, so I don’t get to watch it until it comes on in marathon form on MTV or someplace long after everyone else has already watched it and I have to spend a lot of time trying to avoid spoilers, which is hard. Not having the CW means that I also don’t get to watch Gossip Girl, which I am sure would be a wonderfully guilty pleasure, but my cable company is an asshole. Anyway, when it comes to ANTM, I miss Janice Dickinson.

3. Snickers.

4. Awful Top-40 radio.

4 Random Facts about Me:

1. Every time I notice a gray hair, I pluck it from my head. I realize that a time will come when this will no longer be feasible but for now I’m going to keep doing it.

2. I’m better about this than I used to be, I think. I’m sarcastic anyway, but when I’m mad, my sarcasm turns lethal. It almost got me fired once.

3. I’m allergic to cats. Achoo.

4. Man, I just did a list of 100 of these so I’m having a hard time thinking up new ones. Um, how many times have I told you that I had braces twice? Eleventy billion? Right-o. There really is a finite number of random facts about me, and I think I’ve covered them all.

4 Bloggers I’m Tagging:

Mmmnope. But if you’d like to do this meme, then consider yourself tagged.

History:

I did some research, because that’s what I do. I research things. Things of great importance. Like me, you may believe that “drat” is mild curse, along the lines of “Oh, darn!” or “Aw, shucks!” but in researching the word’s etymology, I discovered the following:

drat: 1815, disguised form of exclamation God rot (something or someone).

So it happens that if you say “drat!” you’re really saying “God rot you!” which gives the word a whole new sheen of awesomeness, wouldn’t you say?

Well, you ought to, if you know what’s good for you.

This is a very clever word, evidence in four letters that speakers of English have become somewhat lacking in subtlety with their swearing over the past two hundred years. I mean now, if you wanted to say “God rot you!” you’d probably just say “God rot you!” Which is fine, I suppose, but it lacks something. How could it possibly be lacking, you may wonder, considering the fact that it has several more letters than its abbreviated counterpart, but I would argue that it lacks style. It lacks panache. It lacks the complete satisfaction of uttering a four-letter word, which indeed is one of the greatest pleasures life has to offer.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Uttering four-letter words is one of the greatest pleasures life has to offer? Whatever, you potty-mouthed wench.” And I would reply, “Did you really just call me a wench? I didn’t know we were on such familiar terms.” But anyway, yes, I do believe that cursing is a pleasure. Think about it logically for a moment if you will, and you will, because you enjoy logic as I do. I’m not really talking about it when it’s every other word, but more like when you’re having a bad day, and it’s one frustration after another, all day long, and it builds and builds and builds until finally you let loose with a string of curses you didn’t even know you were capable of putting together, and suddenly, you feel better. Build up and release. It’s a very elementary principle, really. I’m sure you can think of your own examples.

The point of all of this being that “drat” is a clever word, and don’t we all love to be clever? You can say “God rot you!” and people will think you’re kind of sweet, using such a seemingly antiquated word with no bite. It’s like a code. Brilliant.

Application:

So, now that I have explained to you the true meaning and some of the merits of using the word “drat” it is time to think about ways to apply this word to situations in our daily lives. I’ve thought up several handy examples. These are just to get you started. To get the ball rolling. I have every faith that once you’ve read these examples and thought about the ways that you can put this word into action in your own life, you will be ready to drat up a storm. As it were.

Example 1:
Situation: You’re building shelves. You hit your thumb with a hammer.
Use: Drat!

Example 2:
Situation: You’re on your way to a very important [meeting, job interview, presentation, etc.] and you discover you’re having a wardrobe malfunction, like a button comes off your shirt, or the zipper in your pants has decided it suddenly doesn’t want to work anymore, or the heel breaks off your shoe, or you get a run in your stockings. Whatever.
Use: Drat!

Example 3:
Situation: You check your phone and you have two text messages. Only two? What’s up with that? I don’t know either, but anyway, you have two messages. One is from your best friend and the other is from this boy on whom you have a crush. Your friend asks you if you would like to go out for drinks after work. The boy asks you the exact same thing. You think you’re replying to your friend when you say “Can’t. Boy finally asked me out. So nervous! Drinking is good for cramps, right?” You hit send, only to realize too late that you actually just sent that message to the boy. You look in horror at the phone in your hand.
Use: Drat!

Example 4:
Situation: You’re R. Kelly, and you’re trapped in the closet.
Use: He walks in the bathroom
And looks behind the door
She says, “Baby, come back to bed”
He says, “Bitch say no more”
He pulls back the shower curtain
While she’s biting her nails
Then he walks back to the room
Right now, I’m sweating like hell
Checks under the bed
Then under the dresser
He looks at the closet
I pull out my Beretta
He walks up to the closet
He goes up to the closet
Now he’s at the closet
Damn he’s opening the closet…

Drat!

Example 5:
Situation: You’re traveling alone through the American southwest and you stop for the night in a shabby motel. Your room has an odd stench. You search for the source of the stench and find a dead hooker stuffed in the box springs under the mattress. Along with the dead hooker is a suitcase full of money. You take the suitcase and run. You are being pursued by the hitman of some angry gangsters to whom the money belongs. The hitman nearly kills you several times before you wise up, become a master of life on the lam, learning how to change your appearance, your accent, your walk, with each stop you make on the road. You run for weeks, months, years, exhausted, it no longer is about the money you stole, it’s about winning the complex game of cat-and-mouse between you and the hitman, who wants nothing more than to shoot you, perhaps in Reno, just to watch you die. One night you check into yet another shabby motel, your life has become a string of nights in shabby motels it seems, and as you lock the deadbolt you hear a sound behind you. It’s the hitman! You struggle, and you come out victorious. You spend the night carefully disposing of the body, and then you realize you are free. You take the money and go to Mexico where you live a comfortable life, though you’re lonely, oh so very lonely, and nothing can erase the horror that comes for you at night, because whenever you close your eyes, you are haunted by the dead face of the hitman, and the horrible things you did to make sure the body was never identified. And finally, one night, you wander out to the desert alone, you and a bottle of mescal, and you trip and break your leg. You know there’s no way you’ll ever make it back to civilization, and you further know that a horrible death awaits you in the coming hours. Instead of being afraid, you shrug. And drink. And remember back to that moment when you discovered the dead hooker and the money and you think if only you’d gone another direction, if only you’d left the money where you’d found it, you could have a decent life somewhere, maybe have a family, maybe have cookouts on Sunday afternoons while your children laugh and play frisbee with the family dog. As the morning light approaches and you think of your body, which will eventually be at the mercy of vultures and wolves, you decide it’s time to let go. You sigh, and utter a final word.
Use: Drat.

Conclusion:

As you can see, “drat” is very versatile and can be applied to any number of life’s wacky situations. I’m sure you’ll have no problems using it in your daily conversations, and it is my dream that you do. And that someday years from now, I will be somewhere, perhaps a Denny’s restaurant, still completely unable to order “Moons Over My Hammy” because I can never bring myself to utter the words “Moons Over My Hammy.” And as I peruse the menu, perhaps a waitress will drop a tray full of dishes, and I will hear her mutter “Drat!” and I will know that my mission has been accomplished.

It’s up to you.