Stalker-ish or Southern?

Today I debated the relative creepiness of adding random other internationals who seem interesting as my facebook friends. I haven't done it yet, added people with whom I have no real world contact. The trouble is it seems 1 part pathetically friendly and 1 part webstalking...in the absolute best case scenario. I suppose I have to grow a pair and track down the crazy expat parties instead.

Making web friends does seem far easier, though, not to mention incurring far less transportation cost.

Care to weigh in?

The Birmingham series

Some friends here visited the states at Christmastime and visited some of my favorite cities, including the one in which I lived for 4 years. By and large, they were underwhelmed, and my theory is that they simply didn't know where to go.

Thus, I've decided to start posting favorite places on occasion in the hopes the future visitors will heed my excellent advice.

This inaugural set of photos is from The Garage, one of Birmingham's premier bars that was supposedly voted one of the 10 bars worth traveling for by GQ magazine. But who knows, that might just be an urban legend.

Regardless, it's the perfect place to sit and chat with friends; engage in cute, flirty conversation or climb a tree, Zaccheus-style. However you choose to enjoy it, don't you dare miss it should you happen to pass through Birmingham, Alabama.

Life lessons

Of course it was never going to be that simple -- coming home and NOT crying. As Gloria would say, I'm one of those people who "has lots of feelings", and I was never going to be cool enough for a graceful transition into "just friends".

I appreciate that he's trying, but I hate him for making it seem so easy.

He told me before he left the first time that he'd end it if things got too hard. I should have ended it then, as that is clearly the wrong attitude for a successful long-term, not to mention partially long-distance, relationship. Instead, I cried.

In his arms.

I am SUCH A GIRL.

Eid al-Fitr

taken in al-madbasa and in the old city of bethlehem, 2007.

feeling oddly intact

it's strange feeling happy again and thinking about being with other people. i'm starting to back away from all of those inherent questions about relationships and expectations and what you thought you had versus what actually was. at the end of the day, i think we loved each other, but love didn't exactly make us perfect partners. and whether it's a matter of timing or of me just not being that extra special person, i can't know.

as the great justin bobby is wont to say, "truth and time tells all."

but in the meantime, i'm not really a masochist. not even in the service of love. i want to be happy, and that may mean being happy alone or happy with someone else. either way works for me.

say it with me, for justin bobby...

what i've gotten used to, is that, for the foreseeable future, i won't be happy with him.

and that's surprisingly okay.

The caffeine hangover

Lately I've given up coffee in favor of a rapidly-expanding addiction to energy drinks. My current favorite is Power Mix, a Saudi-produced mix of effervescent goodness sold in a subtly-designed black can. Its light taste and herbal infusions make it seem good for me. I mean, ginseng! It's herbal. It's healthy. It's TOTALLY mitigating the fact that I can't stay away from my crack in a can.

Yesterday, I had the brilliant idea to mix my energy drink with soda water. Think about it: all that flavor with more effervescence. (And yes, I DO love the word "effervescence".) So I poured 1 part energy drink into a cup and mixed it with 1.5 parts soda. Then I realized why they sell that stuff in opaque cans: it looks like a fizzy urine sample. And yet, I kept drinking it.

Unfortunately, I had also eaten enough hummus and falafel for breakfast to feed the entire staff, so in my stomach there was now falafel and fizz. The fizz, oh my God the FIZZ.

This morning my stomach feels like my 5th grade science project, the one where you build a volcano replica, fill it with baking soda, top it with vinegar and stand back to watch the flowing chemical reaction. With nowhere to explode just yet, my volcano of a stomach is inflating faster than Nicole Ritchie.

The experience is, suffice it to say, MOST uncomfortable. In fact I might have stayed home on such an occasion, but that's not so feasible when you have stomach problems of the chronic variety. If I stayed home every time my stomach hurt, I'd have to put "couch potato" on my resume.

Speaking of menstruation...

When I got back to the land of milk and honey and falafel, I realized what I'd left at home. Cotton balls. Not a big deal. Certainly they're available here.

But buying more required a trip to the store, and we all know how I love to procrastinate.

Faced with the prospect of stubborn yet chipped nail polish and no cotton, I searched for something else that would be durable and absorbent. What, I thought, would a self-respecting girl scout do in this situation?

Adult diapers.

Cut into strips, I used them for two days. Everything from nail polish remover to clinique clarifying lotion went on those strips. And it totally worked.

The adhesive backing was slightly problematic, but you should definitely try them in a pinch. Unless you're not the menstruating type. In which case, I suppose you're just SOL.

Tampons would, of course, be more logical, but I can't bear to reenact those commercials that demonstrate leakage-stopping lateral expansion.