It's the Most Wonderful Time of The Year...Until

It's the most wonderful time of the year. The time when Kay Jeweler commercials, Christmas mendhis, New Years shaadis and holiday parties at newlywed couples' houses remind my mother to nag me to death about how I'm "doing nothing for my own future." It's like they just forget that just because they had an import-export marriage and wafted over the US to join a complete stranger, doesn't mean it's going to be that way for me. Unless of course I plan on wafting over to the UK or Singapore or some-other Muslim-friendly habitat. Which honestly, these days I'm tempted to do just to escape the squabble. It's a fruitless battle I know, but one that is still waged onto us like it's going to help in any way whatsoever. It actually used to make me livid when the flood gates opened but now I just think its pathetic. What is this fascination with the being "settled?" It'll happen when it does and these repetitive complaints ain't gonna speed anything up!
And really, what happens after I've "found a future for myself?" I know what - BOREDOM! Boring day after day routines and at best, boring lives filled baby talk and lack of sleep and what brand the best feeding bras are and boring "quiet nights" at home in front of the TV with dirty pots of biryani filling up the kitchen sink! And if that's what they think is the crux of life, then so be it, but when I'm too busy for 10 years straight with my 'own future' to even call anyone anymore...hey don't blame me...I'll be busy mopping or vacuuming or doing some other mundane activity that prevents me from picking up the ringing cell phone!
This is all also due to the fact that nothing is open on Christmas that causes families to focus on mundane conversation topics that makes desi kids who don't celebrate Christmas want to throw themselves out of a moving vehicle! We don't open presents, we don't have a Christmas dinner, we don't do any of the fun stuff but are still forced to suffer the wrath of holiday-talk. They should make it mandatory for gyms to be open on Christmas Day. Some of us would like to get out of the house excuse ourselves from this primitive practice. The sad thing is that I'm a really huge Christmas fan. I love everything about it -- the lights, the interfaith tree I've decorated, the songs, the peppermint mocha lattes and random holiday breads, the feel-good movies and of course, all the sparkly clothes you can wear!! All of it being dimmed by the exhausting dim-wittedness of typical Pakistani women and their dumb chopped mirchis.
Lastly (to wrap up my whine-fest) is it just me or does it feel like the holidays are the time of the year when parents start comparing you to other people's kids? What is it about desis that they just can't help but to always be envious of everyone else? We seem to have the biggest case of the "Joneses" out there! Dear Lord, just be thankful for everything you have and are and feel blessed but NO...so-and-so's daughter bought this for her mom, and so-and-so's son does this for his family's house. And regardless of the fact that their kids might be raging alcoholics on the weekends and consistently cheat on their husbands/wives (oh yes, it happens kids)...they are perfect and you clearly are flawed. What's the point I ask? The point of belittling your offspring?
So therefore I'm proposing a solution to the desi-drama-whine-and-saga deal. I think every desi mother should be made to switch lives with mother who's child she's compared you to. The next month, onto the next family and so on and so forth. I think this experiment would teach them that everything is only perfect on the outside.
Alas, there is some silver lining though - you know the lasting effect this has had will make me be the exact opposite with my children, right? Those little rugrats will be told over and over again how proud we are that they are who they are (unless they develop drinking/gambling/drug addictions and then perhaps physical violence toward them will ensue but that's for another blog). And if you're reading this, please do the same with your children - they deserve better than the sad brainwashing's of our third-world country parents who came here for "a better life" but ended up making it worse for us through their rigid ways and "old world" thought-processes. And one more thing to the parents...this whole ABCD thing...its getting really old. Seriously. It's not like we had a choice in the whole 'migration to the USA' matter so it'd be much appreciated if you would put a cork in it. Thanks.

Showing Appointment 1 - Wed Dec 2.

I showed my 28th Row condo today and boy was it a nightmare. Not the condo. The condo is absolutley fabulous mashallah se. Amazing...you'd love it. 10 ft ceiling.. 8 ft doors, custom granite, 7 inch baseboards, cast iron tubs, porcelain tiles, soundproof insulation, stainless steels, washer, dryer, fridge AND an LCD!
No, the nightmare are the people who keep calling to try and rent it. For example, the people who asked to see it today...a lady of gentle nature but a croaky voice and an abscent-minded personality who walked in and dropped Marlboro lights out of her purse giving me visions of a smoke-infested property upon her departure. She brought her kid who, due to being part of a sadly broken home, had no manners and refused to stop dancing and slamming my newly painted 8 foot doors in each room. The daughter is undoubtable cute but the hellish part started when the mother started neglicting that she was there to see a place to live with her child and instead proceeded to join the child in the dancing in one of the bedrooms. Not just "let me entertain my child so she'll be quiet swaying of the hips dancing." Full-on, whirling about, staring at the ceiling fan, arms out mother and daughter dancing during a showing appointment. If I could have made a video, I would have. A-trocious.
She also brought her father, a sharp-shooting Southern gentlemen who remained chewing on the same oddly thin piece of plastic for the entire HOUR they were there just seeing the rental. I think he left his Skoals Wintergreen in the car. The second part of the debaucle started when the father started questioning each object in MY condo like HE was about to put down a $20K payment to BUY the place! Smart-alek smirks through the rooms and when he kept questioning how much bigger one bedroom was then the other and I told him the difference was 6 whole inches, he shouts "I knew it! I could see it from a mile away!" Really sir? A mile away? 6 inches of air space you could see? That's lovely.
And then just when I didn't think anything else crazy could happen, oh it did. Fo sho. As I explained that I required a fully refundable deposit upon accepted application, I heard a tinkling in the almost finished bathroom that I knew had no toilet paper. Oh yes, yes the little girl did. She peed in my bathroom. My new bathroom that hasn't been fully sanded down yet. And no, there was no toilet paper so yes, yes she drip dried all the way into the bedroom. Best tenants ever already!
Then, I get to asking the lady's occupation and I get a story about alimony from a former husband that makes her ends meet. Say whaaaaaaaaaaaat? Oye. My head hurts.
While the father gave me the evil eye to make sure I bought a matching stainless steel fridge, the daughter threw Holiday sprinkle (yes, I said SPINKLES) oreos all over my new stained concrete floor and the lady told me about her separated relationship, I realized...I have GOT to start screening better.
So I get back home and I get yet another phone call about the condo and this time its "Lamar" who keeps giggling and says..."uh...I don't know where this is (its in the ad)...let me get a pen so you can tell me how to get there (heard of googlemaps?)" But Lamar, the address is in the ad. Twice. Lamar why are you giggling? Lamar why do you just go silent and talk to others in the background when you are asking me for information. Sorry Lamar, I think I'm just going to tell you its no longer available before you come through with a little one and a mamma and drags me through an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm Part 2.
Oh jeez...NEXT! NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXT!