Cupid has flown the co-op!

A seemingly easy topic to tackle, yet it took me several attempts to merely start this post, so many angles!
I have no feuds with celebrating love or even that little brat Cupid and it has nothing to do with the fact that I am single, so let’s make that clear.

My issue is more with the hundreds of couples that seem to have formed overnight, walking around town with a smug look on their faces, playing tonsil tennis on the streets, flaunting their “love” and their “in a couple” status. And when you cross their paths you have to wait for them to walk first because the pavement is not big enough for them and their love and you’re only a single person, you are nothing to them, a pest, and a waste of space. Today they do not envy your freedom.

This “couple” status that seems to give them the permission to take over the place with their balloons, chocolates, cards and public displays of affection, flowers everywhere, on the train, in the office, it’s their day, if you’re single (have flower allergies) It’s best if you stay home and out of their way, you’re merely an inconvenience, the town belongs to them, life belongs to them today.

Have you tried booking a table for dinner? IF you get through the busy line and manage to get a table for 10pm near the toilets, you’ll have to eat the Valentines set menu with heart shaped deserts and love potion chicken soup and other sappy romantic whatnots.

I give up – Chinese takeaway tonight it is.

Cupid did not strike this year, maybe he misfired his arrow and got himself in the ass! Or one would hope, but from all the love that seems to be spreading around the world, I’d say well done Marketing geniuses, you have truly done it.

How can people readily fall into these obvious traps and go ahead purchasing millions of pounds worth of perishable rubbish to commemorate a day (and presumably their love for each other) invented by marketers to help their clients craft targeted campaigns to take full advantage of the gift-buying frenzy, making it second to Christmas spending-wise.

I understand why there is no “I am single and loving it day”, single people are more cynical and think more clearly, their judgments are not clouded by love fumes etc, where’s the business genius in that! hmmmm
Actually…..that’s not a bad idea! I call dibs!

Oscar Wilde said “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”
so before pretending to love someone else and showering them with confectioneries and material possessions because of an ancient roman religious man called Valentine who may or may not have been gay or because of a couple of TV adverts brainwashing you into conditional loving, learn to love yourself (not in that way you pervs) and spend the evening with friends or yourself doing something fun or interesting but do not engage any couple you may pass on the street or the bar, do not wish anyone a happy Valentines day and for gods’ sake don’t cry about being single, because today is actually your day not theirs, they are the clowns who are being bled, pressured into spending their hard earned cash in silly chocolate boxes, silly red cards and lingerie, you’re single and in control of your cash, time and feelings, all year long.

Dz-chick…bring on the 15th Feb!

Smile-it-forward

Another dreadful journey on London underground this morning, amidst all the armpits, newspapers cutting into my cheek and stale beer stench, something strange and wonderful happened, someone smiled at me, it was puzzling at first, then uncontrollably my facial muscles contracted and produced a smile (a beautiful smile at that) and we both acknowledged eachothers’ wretched position, from that point on, I forgot the smelly armpit, the leftover curry and the bad cologne and just wore a faint smile on my face that relaxed my tense muscles and I thought: it’s not that bad

So I went on about my interminable journey to work, my facial muscles relaxed and poised, I smiled at the next person who held my gaze, she smiled too and then it hit me…

It’s infections, you can catch it like the flu, it spreads like it was airborne and changes the atmosphere. It reminded me of a movie I watched once that made me weep like a child “paying it forward” based on the novel by the same title by Catherine Ryan Hyde starring that little cutie pie of a boy who started a movement called pay-it-forward, whereby he does one act of random kindness to three people and instead of having them pay him back, he asked them to 'pay it forward' by helping three other people, who would then each 'pay it forward' by helping three other people, who then go on to do the same in the hope of changing the world, of course the little boy died and it was all very sad and Hollywood like. 

I started reading on smiling, the physiological and emotional side of it and I became fascinated with smiling, in Islam, it is said that a smile in the face of others is considered charity or a good deed, and I thought that was so beautiful and I can see how a small facial contraction as it were can have huge effects on a whole group of people, a bit like a butterfly effect.

So I take it upon myself to always smile and smile back when people smile at me and sometimes you don’t know why you smile at some and not others and no it has nothing to do with being attracted to that person, notice how it is always women who initiate the smiling, old people smile, children smile and sometimes they stare at you in fascination (in my case it must be due to my striking beauty), don’t get me wrong, I am not walking around like a smiling moron flashing my teeth, the wrinkles are just not worth it, I endeavour to draw the line at a faint smile but certain people you cross on the train or the shop insist on sharing a thought or a joke with you, so again you smile (showing teeth this time) and nod in agreement but secretly hope it'll be the end of this chapter, but it usually never is!

Notice how it’s always women who smile at other women, children or older people, never at men, a women smiling at a man could be perceived as an open invitation or forward flirting and vice versa thus people of the opposite sex seem to refrain from this odd behaviour, unless there is an actual attraction but seeing that we live in England and males behaviour is fuelled by beer, women will continue to smile and support each other, I don’t want to hear anyone whinge about what a waste it is a lot of beautiful women are lesbians though.

In Graph 1.1 above, I have demonstrated clearly and with obvious elegance and skill, how this is going to work for the recently lobotomised and the ones who don’t’ speak English (no correlation between the two).

I smile at three people a day, in turn these same people, will each smile at three other people and so on and so forth and we watch the wrinkles grow and good mood spread…maybe this will shift the energy around us and ……(insert more Anthony robins crap here)…making our worlds better.

Are you cringing yet? Well you should be.

The point I am trying to make is: smile it really isn’t that bad.

Despite all your cynicism, frustrations and hormonal imbalances, smiling is the only thing that is consistent and can alter all the negative feelings you may have and it really is an inexpensive way to change your looks, I mean have you ever seen a smiling face that was not beautiful?

See? Beautiful

Dz-Chick…smiling always :-) but with good anti-wrinkle cream 

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NB: Do not attempt to psychoanalyse me through the handwriting - you don't know it's me.
Also, the last picture gives me the icks!

Appraise THIS!

Appraisal week is underway; most of the team members have had theirs and came out looking less pleased! I too have had mine and luckily for my line manager I happened to “meet expectations” nothing more, nothing less! Fucking jobs worths!

Other people have not been so lucky including those who have had two maternity leaves in one financial year (gestation of a monkey) and moonlight as a part-time grass.

For those of you not from the investment banking/Finance industry; the game goes something like this;
They work you hard all year (they block your blog, they give you a phone then record your conversations, they talk to you about objectives, motivation and assessments – none of my favourite words), then close to the end of the year they announce results, point some fingers, fire a few people and announce further bad news and budget cuts like no Christmas party and bonus pool to be reduced by 30%.
When appraisal time comes, they score you based on the last time you came in at 8.05 instead of 8.00 and on the last time you didn’t pay attention on a certain meeting, or where you could have made more efforts and have been more pro-active! So they mark you down to “below expectations”, which of course will be reflected on your already diminished bonus and you can forget about the pay rise.

Below expectations?? How about you kiss my ass?

Outrage and resignation reign, Patrick wants to change profession, he reckons opening a funeral parlour will be a sound investment, people will never fail to die he said, Marie vouched to become a call girl, “at least I’ll get laid” she said, Laurence dreams of owning his own catering business, to poison bankers he laughs but I know it’s because he loves to decorate cupcakes, of course I (wa a3oudou bellahi min kalimat I) just want to fly with the fairies and sing lalalalalaaaaaa denial!

Most people work for their monthly salaries, weekly wages, some work for tips, some for a commission, some for fame, we work for the yearly bonus.
When the situation gets to you’re lucky to even get one this year , then it’s time to rethink your career, unless you can swim upstream like a salmon.

Dz-chick….a very strong swimmer, I’ll have you know!

What I wouldn't do for London!

This morning on the train journey to work, standing in between two armpits, dandruffed shoulders and someone who forgot to brush his teeth,  I stood breathing cautiously suppressing my gag reflex and waiting for the train to move after what seemed like an endless stop between stations, caused by some signal failure, fatality or severe weather conditions or whatever bullshit they feed us on a daily basis (I lost interest), my mind wondered from my interminable book which failed to grip my attention four weeks in, I thought about the upcoming summer Olympics and how many more armpits I could be under and uncontrollably mouthed under my breath “ well that’s gonna be something” causing some nervous shifting amongst passengers and some dandruff to snow on me – GAG!

The Capital has been gearing up for the most awaited (and dreaded) event of the year, undergoing a very costly makeover ever since the bid was won in 2005, major works were undertaken on Olympic and non-Olympic infrastructure such as the London underground, travel links, bridges, sewage, cycle highway (God bless Boris and his love for biking) etc... amounting to a colossal figure estimated at over £9.3 billion (in 2007) which kept going up every quarter, arguably, we cannot blame poor forecasting, budgeting, or bad management, in view of the Market situation and inflation in the building industry, with steel and cement prices going up etc…

And this is as far I would go to argue the London Olympics side.

London will be heaving this summer, millions of people are expected to flood the capital, driving Londoners away, most employers have issued new Olympic related policies, allowing holidays during the fortnight or working from home as a solution.

People with a business mind and flare for opportunity are busy finding ways to generate income and making the most of this long-awaited opportunity, whilst others like me are thinking of ways to escape the London underground and its sweaty armpits.  It is disappointing to see how an avid Olympic supporter like myself and many others are put off and are planning their escapes, leaving our athletes with less supporters, especially Algerian athletes who I hope will spot a couple of DZ flags flying about the stadiums IF anyone can get tickets or indeed be bothered to queue up to get into the arena.

Of course we are fed the Olympic legacy bullshit; Olympics leave a major sports legacy for the community etc..., let me tell you about the legacy we’ll be left with; Debts, Debts and white elephants, ladies and gentlemen.

I can’t exactly say “there’s always next year” can I? We may never get to host the games again and let’s face it Algeria is not the best candidate out there to host the event, so for a HUGE Olympics buff like myself, I am going to grin and bare it, because I love London and having the Olympics at my doorstep makes me proud to be a Londoner.

But here’s a thought: Anyone knows where the Olympic flame is and if still burning? And If yes, who’s paying for the fuel?

Dz-Chick….Get your Union Jacks and your Sandjaks!

http://www.londonolympics2012.com/

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Sandjak  =  Old Ottoman name for Flag = used in Dz dialect to refer to the Algerian flag (anyone has a name for the DZ flag?)

Normal!

When you have two weeks holiday and you’re broke, where do you go?
To the bank of mum and dad.
 
My old room no longer exists; I had to sleep in the spare room!! I was woken up by someone snoring on the bed next to me, assuming it was my sister; I ignored it until come morning I found the next bed empty! When I told my mum she smiled and told me it was nothing to worry about! Spooky!
 
Ghosts apart, I planned to have two uneventful weeks in Algeria, just sleep, eat, relax and try not to pile on the weight.
 
My friend Reda and his friend Fifi (short for Malika – whaaa?) suggested we watch a movie, aired by the Chrysalide Ciné Club, entitled Normal by Merzak Allouache, it talks about the disillusion of the Algerian people, exposes corruption and bureaucracy, and it was playing at the local cinema in Ryad el Feth, happy days!
 
Weather was nice, sun was shining, dust flying, my black shoes look now beige, Fifi is driving, quick introductions, Fifi talks fast and non stop, she drives without really looking at the road, she incessantly touches her hair and doesn’t seem to have a care in the world, I envy her happiness, lightness and non-OCD behaviour!
 
The old banger (the car not the girl) looks like it belongs in the museum, yet Fifi is talking about buying an AUDI A3, she doesn’t stop, rants, cries, the equivalent of £23,000 in cash are ready for the transaction she says, we can’t get hold of the lady selling it, the girl brakes down in tears “I am so unlucky, why is my luck so shit”, she doesn’t fail to mention that she lives on her own and what she does for a living to remind me that she’s not totally vacuous…
Whatever made you think I am interested honey, I am only here for the weather.
 
Traffic is heavy, after what felt like an eternity of inhaling fumes, we make it to the origin of the problem, I felt privileged, how many times do you ever get to the origin of traffic congestion?
Riots break out in the neighbourhood!
Inhabitants of the popular area of Salembier are rising up against the social re-housing procedures and the shortages of social housing, the social estate of Salembier was being moved somewhere else to make room for more business centres with glass facades presumably and revenue making commercial properties, but the future-ex-tenants are the last to know, I feel sorry for them, “yes but they’re getting properties for free” Reda notes but they riot because they want a three bedroom not a two, because they have seven children and no jobs! Fifi baffled “what the hell are you doing making seven children when you don’t have a job?” but she quickly remembers her own problems “I am so unlucky” she says, “why does everything happen to me”.
 
Roads are barricaded with tyres and bricks, riot police stopped traffic, we’re in it, Fifi driving and still moaning about her bad luck, she can’t get the car she wants, her mattress is uncomfortable from so much dosh stashed in it, she touches her hair every other sentence, she hits a motorbike, the biker and his passenger get stuck between the old banger and another older banger (Algeria is the open air museum of automobile antiquities), he punctures her freaking tyre with his something or rather, he apologised, huh? Yeah apparently it was his fault! Whatever, I don’t care whose’ fault it is, I just want to get off the death mobile.
Traffic comes to a halt, people get off their cars and start trying to entangle the motorbike from the old banger, the motobike drivers’ leg is stuck, he’s screaming, the old banger is worried about her car, she’s screaming at him; she almost slaps his leg because it’s in the way of her life! by now five cars in each direction are empty, they’re all around us trying to shift the car with me still in it.
We manage to free the leg (big thighs), the tyre is sliced open, I am scared of Fifi and make myself scarce in the back of the old banger (not an easy job I tell you), we hobble to the nearest vulcanisator, she’s still ranting about her damn Audi A3, “I am so unlucky” she cries, of course all I cared about was not missing the movie.
“When the tyre is fixed, we’re going to get my Audi”
 
Movie cancelled, no one can get through to the cinema, but Reda promises we’ll watch it before I leave…
When your tyre is fixed, I want to go home please and thanks, as for the movie, frankly, Merzak Allouache eat your heart out, you might have filmed it, but I just lived it.
 
Dz-Chick…can’t wait to move back to Algeria!
 
Movie and Cine Club info:
http://forumdesdemocrates.over-blog.com/article-normal-de-merzak-allouache-95916286.html
http://www.dna-algerie.com/culture/normal-de-merzak-allouache-prix-du-meilleur-long-metrage-arabe-au-festival-doha-tribeca
 

Algerian vs. Algerian

A few Algerian congregations I partook in recently led me to notice a pattern I felt compelled to explore and write about, I even received a few requests to write on the subject but I fear I cannot pretend to offer any solution on the subject only the findings of my very modest research and personal opinion …here goes!

The Algerian men who have lived abroad for long periods of time exceeding 7 years, and particularly those who immigrated early on, in their late teens or early twenties, it seems find it hard to look at Algerian girls any other way than their sisters…

Samir says: “I don’t know, I guess I just seem them all as my sisters”, whilst Rayan declares “I would feel guilty if I was to go out with an Algerian girl and then it didn’t work out, or if there was anything physical than I feel I used her”

When questioned, if they’d felt guilt or this feeling of fraternity towards females of other nationalities i.e. English or Moroccan, answers were as predicted;

They seem to regard European girls as more able to accept that a relationship may or may not work, it is part of the culture and way of life, being and Arab or a Muslim however does not always affect the decision, “a girl is a girl” one of them said, "but the fact that she is Algerian changes things, it brings it close to home, I think of my sister and if someone would do anything to her".

Another one said “I would feel bad if I had to leave an Algerian girl after dating her, because if she’s heart broken and alone abroad, I am not supposed to be the one to break her heart….”, Kamel who is 40 says “I would consider an Algerian girl but only for marriage or a serious relationship not for a casual thing”, Ali says “If we don’t marry our own girls, who’s going to marry them”.

To cite only a few, and so far; a mixed set of opinions here, leading me to believe that these men grow to love and respect their female counterpart and revere them like sisters and mothers, they haven’t been able to make the jump over to the more romantic or sexual side of their feelings for these women who are somewhat baffled...see next

When Algerian girls living abroad (mostly in London) were questioned on the topic, reactions were divided between “I would rather be with an Algerian guy, only he would understand me”, ”I wouldn’t mind being with an Algerian, but other nationalities are also considered, namely from the Middle East and Europe” another one was indignant as to what these Algerian men are doing dating and marrying non-Algerians, when there is a huge number of single Algerian girls available and looking.

Another NON-Algerian girl said the following: “I haven’t met any Algerian guys or girls who are not single, you guys are all single” quite the statement coming from an objective outsider.

My research on the subject is not extensive and mainly targeted Algerian professionals between the ages of 28 - 40 who are living in London over the last few years since London has been identified as the common denominator for the imposed singeldom Londoners have been suffering.

Arguably, Algerian men who grew up in Algeria up to a certain age, that is to say over 22, have had some kind of dating experience with Algerian girls (back in Algeria) and have managed to cross the line from fraternal love and respect to opposite sex attraction and romantic feelings; the former seem to be able to look at fellow Algerian girls as suitable life, sexual or dating partners and girlfriends, whereas the consensus dictates that the Algerian young men who left Algeria very early on, having encountered only their mothers, sisters and cousins in their lives post-Algeria, tend to view all Algerian ladies as such (family) and thus are not naturally attracted to Algerian women and will not look to them for romantic relationships, however, some would consider forming serious relationships akin or leading to marriage with them as they (Algerian men) would see their mothers or sisters who represent the prime example of a life partner, in these candidates.

Algerian women living abroad, on the other hand, regardless of their living situation or length of life abroad, would seemingly consider Algerian men as suitable candidates for a serious and non- serious relationship.

One of the people questioned on the topic suggested an answer for this “these women look for their fathers in other Algerian men and prefer them to be authoritarian, old fashioned perhaps, even jealous”, but one cannot slap ones research candidates so I lets move on, the same slapable individual mentioned the following “these girls date European boys for ages, snob us then when they reach their 30s they want a nice Algerian man to marry”.

Perhaps the case is that Algerian girls who moved away from home at an early age, found a very small Algerian community (to the UK), had to date and marry men form other nationalities, the ones who remain single now look to Algerian men but are met with “ah now you want an Algerian man”, the judgmental stance some of these men have towards the Algerian girls is to respond to their own feelings of rejection by these very same girls.

Certainly what springs into mind is that Algerians grew apart here in London and the UK, with advancing careers, financial stability, has their mind set shifted so much that they can no longer recognise each other as potential life partners? 

And with advancing in life, do they feel their choice needs to advance accordingly?  Implying that opting for an Algerian partner will set them back a step? 

Perhaps it's worth to mention that none of the people who participated in this modest "research" have any issues with Algerians of both gender dating or marrying other nationalities, they're merely wondering what the non taken ones are thinking!


One more thought, when these men meet Algerian girls out there, before realising they're Algerian, they could easily be attracted to them, would they change their minds when they realise they're Algerian and feel guilty of being attracted to their so called "sisters"? 

This is certainly a new dilemma of mine and of every single and sometimes married Algerian out there, and as you have guessed, I offer no solutions, only more questions…jolly good!

Dz-chick….enough said this time around!

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Names have been changed for anonymity reasons.

A similar post albeit from a different angle here  - from Dz-Chick

Caravan to…..London!

“If you haven’t seen the Sahara, you haven’t lived” if I count how many times I heard this, I would be sipping Kahwa(1) with Bill Gates, God rest his soul…oh sorry that was Steve Jobs!

Everybody’s panicking about New Years Eve plans, because we all know, if you don’t have cool plans that involve Taghit, Tamnraset (aka Tam – shoot me now), then you’re going to be crossed off the TchiTchi (2) list which the TchiTchi committee keeps updating but rumours are they are overwhelmed, the list is rumoured to be ever growing and the standards ever dropping…

There are reports of panic amongst Algerians, Tunisia is out of the parté plan, unless for a Mas’haf (3) convention, the French consulate has taken its leave and Libya is just not as fun as it used to be…La TchiTchi committee had to convene an urgent meeting to discuss - Le Reveillon 2011– Taghit is deemed mainstream now as more TchiTchi imposters have embarked the caravan to Taghit and everyone listens to Gnawi music now… Convention deemed it “like so last year and like totally unsuitable”, Tam is still vogue though, it’s extortionate, exotic and superior, but a new destination has to be found, the vodka is not going to drink itself, the gendarmerie would be bored, think of the police! Traditions must be upheld.
Caravan diverted to ….London baby!

Meanwhile, in London, Algerian Londoners are hating the cold December and the shopping frenzy, they shop online and all are partied out, they want to go home to Algeria and stay indoors with the family and the dog, eat couscous and sleep before midnight
So not TchiTchi….

Dz-chick….excommunicated TchiTchi

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(1) Coffee
(2) La TchiTchni = posh Algerian posse
(3) Holly Qu'ran

I just called to say....NO!

Ahhh friends, friends, plenty of friends…

Good friends, shit friends, needy friends, childhood friends, coffee friends, cinema friends, travel friends, work friends, sex friends, drinking friends and finally forced friends.
One day you wake up, after having spent a whole evening with a friend, a substantial amount of money matching what the "friend" wanted to do, you sit there; laugh and talk, all the while feeling a twitch at the back of your mind, but you discount it and continue having a "nice" time.

You continue with this, laughing at unfunny jokes, swallowing and nodding the condescending comments, humouring the know-it-all attitude, the emotional blackmail, the neediness, the blatant use of your time and kindness, but do you say anything? nope....

You continue being a good friend, by good friend I mean a push over, until one day you feel angry and resentful as to why you have to spend a minute more with this so called friend.

How many of you out there, find yourselves badgered into friendships with people who target you because you represent something they aspire to be, or you have something they need, like attention, help, time, love or simply financial gain and popularity.

You know how the saying goes; you can’t choose your family,

Well then I am well bloody going to choose my friends, and since I am not 15, friendships don’t tend to form overnight and despite you having my phone number or address, knowing my birthday or my favourite meal doesn’t make you my friend unless I allow access…FROM NOW ON I mean.

I now know, all it takes is to say NO.

Yallah – al abarani barra as my dad says

Dz-Chick ….in a cleaning mood!
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Yallah = come on
Al barani barra = The outsiders, out

If I could turn back time…

If I could turn back time, what would I do differently?
I often declare proudly NOTHING, NAFINK I TELL YOU
But gloomy hormonal days like these make me rethink the answer and ….seriously, how many days a month do you suffer from hormonal imbalances? Because with me, it seems to be 25 out of 30. Hormones will be the death of me.
 
If I could turn back time, I would do just that;
If I could turn back time; I would wind back the clock to when I was 12 and developed a sweet tooth, I would have taken more pictures since my parents seem to have been busy making more children, I would have learnt to say NO, I would have prayed to be like Peter Pan and remain forever young and forever happy.
 
I would have known better and bought yahoo shares, I would have created facebook myself, I would have told Boudiaf he was about to be assassinated, I would have cheated on many a one exam, I would have told my dad I hated physics, let me play my damn Guitar, I would never have taken the first razor to my legs and made a mess of myself, I would have opened my eyes and avoided colliding with the lamppost that marked me for the rest of my life (mentally apparently – I’d gone a bit mad since), I probably would not have moved to London or have moved back after my studies had ended…so many regrets and so many things to do….but hey so much time still, I am only 34 right? Gold help us next year.
 
Unsurprisingly I never regretted starting this blog, this post I might reconsider however, when the cloud of hormones has dissipated and I’ve gone back to my “normal” self.
 
Dz-chick…in a probing mood

The Algerian dream - Altered

Dreams like plans are often altered; yesterday I dreamt I was swimming in a beautiful calm blue sea, when a singing dwarf appeared and started howling the national anthem, I told him to shut up so he transformed into a shark and chased me then I woke up….
 
My Algerian dream was of moving back to Algeria, farm broccoli and Brussels’ sprouts and import Salmon which lets face it, sounds like hard work and I am Algerian, I like to know where my next income is coming from, I am not the one to take risks, I like to get paid at the end of each month whether I showed up or not, and I stash my money in the mattress bank.
 
Nowadays I dream of working in Algeria, get a job in Algiers at one of those big Banks in Hydra or some major Oil company that pays double my fucking London salary…seriously! I work my butt off; I pay exorbitant rent to live a poxy flat that I have to share with someone and their needy cat.
 
I am not done – I have to pay bills on top of that, water, electivity, gas and then come a series of taxes; Council tax, Road Tax, VAT on nearly EVERYTHING, TV Licence because you own a TV then you have to pay Virgin or Sky to rip you off with lousy Internet connection and a bunch of encoded channels that scramble on a windy day!
 
My little cousin, who has the IQ of a garden pest and who is about 10 years younger than me, has a job that pays almost the same as me after tax!! And I know this because in Algeria everybody discusses salaries in cafés, restaurants, buses, doctor’s waiting rooms, everybody knows everybody’s salary, your mum will boast about it when her friends come around, your brother will inform his friends as a reference and your friend will tell her other friend your salary not to sell you short. Good catch!
 
My little cousin who’s name is Celia - since when do we have names like Celia? -  I make a point of calling her Sellia to bring out the Arabic in her,
 
She lives with her parents – rent free - no bills, utilities or taxes are imposed on her, her boyfriend pays for her phone bill (flexi) because she’s only supposed to be calling him! - Chuckles - she drives a brand new Seat Leon and doesn’t have to pay for petrol because the company gives her coupons to pay for her “commuting” – honey, 15 minutes drive to work isn’t commuting!
 
Sellia is getting married this winter to the young man by the name of Massinissa who sends flexis to her phone, he drives a black Audi Q7, lives in a Villa in Hydra (with a pool), his mother is a gynaecologist and his father is a high ranking government official, naturally, Massi has a great job, his job title is “Superintendant des operations internes et chargé de synthese techniques” (What??) and he makes around £7000 a month. Good catch!

Sellia tells me I ought to move back to Algeria, she’d introduce me to some “interesting” guys (by interesting she means rich and speak good French) and have me married by next year, all I have to do is bring my booty, my charisma, IQ, fun and my fur coat she wants, another inflicted tax…roouuuh
 
I tell her I am angry, cynical, mostly moody, and lunatic
I don’t even own my own flat and I am 34 going on 35. The jig is up! NOT a Good catch
 
 
Dz-Chick…Chief Operating of interactions and data Guerilla!