I call bullshit!

I always had high and renewed hopes for the New Year, I always excitedly jot down a list of things I wanted to achieve, countries I dreamed of visiting, kilos I desperately needed to lose and I go about my year working on my objectives with such optimism you’d think I was American. But this year feels different, something is definitely missing…I didn’t even make a list! I am consumed by something else, less superficial than a few kilos or some Hollywood-inspired objective.

First day back in London after the long Xmas break, I already know I don’t want to be here and it wasn’t the lack of sunshine or morning coffee at home or the familiar safety of my parents’ house. This time it’s different and I can feel a chasm opening and slowly widening.

As I proceed with my usual work commute, the sky is a dull grey unpunctuated by anything, I can’t see where it begins and where it ends, people are so quiet on the train you’d think they’re on their way to their executions, the only sounds coming through my headphones are coughs, a lot of coughing!

In the office, I sit at my desk and as I look around, I see my colleagues milling around the floor, repeatedly wishing each other Happy new year, nobody knows when it’s appropriate to stop, the media hadn’t spoken on the subject.  They sit in front of their screens, they run to meetings, they hold papers in their hands and discuss business, I feel part of the engrenage and simultaneously out of place, something nags at my brain, the feeling of being trapped is strong, like a lab rat, I think of the long hours we’re expected to work for nothing in return but the boss’s own pleasing, of the work-week that seems to be designed subtly enough to send us home lobotomised for the evenings and comatose for the weekend.

Resistance is futile, I am part of this system, this modern society that transformed us into new-world slaves, I am a slave, an agent of the system, a slave to the matrix.

The feeling is stronger in the last few years, all I see is flaws, this modern society model we live in is flawed, it works only to enrich the ruling elites and enslave the masses, full of social conventions put in place to control us, transforming us into sheep. Once you wake up and see it, you can never go back to “normal”....either that....

 

…or I am getting my period soon!

Space-filler, time-killer....

Life has been good lately (please take a moment to look into the above picture for 2 seconds), hence the lack of blogs posts. You’ll forgive me I am sure.

 

A little recap is due I think:

 

Work:  Going good, typically getting in when it’s time for coffee, lunch mostly al-desco, gym when ALL my muscles don’t hurt at the same time, this age thing is really inconvenient.

On the plus side, I get a lot of stationery here so that’s a win.

 

Love life: No update for you on this front I am afraid but my soulmate is out there, pushing a door that says pull, I just know it, so until such times as sub-zero temperatures in hell, I shall hold on to my virginity sanity – thank you very much.

 

My period – still flowing like the red river of doom with cramps that could push a baby elephant out, and that’s ok, because it means I am healthy and young and it means I can always complain about period pain and make people uncomfortable until such times they get over themselves.

 

My hair – still curly – I refuse to straighten it to look more corporate or more European or mainstream. It’s not a statement, it’s not rebellious and it’s not crazy, it’s just my hair.

 

It’s all about me.

 

Hasta!

Ramadindong D3

Might resume my Ramadan diaries, mostly because time slows down a lot when you’re not eating.

I understand now why they feed us so much on long haul flights, what else are you going to do!

Ramadan in the office is business as usual; incessant yawning and looking at the clock, always accompanied by the ever annoying question “what, not even water?” of course we covered all of these questions in the many Ramadan posts from previous years so I am not going to get into this again but my answer tends to be the same “nope, just air”.

Of course when you’re observing Ramadan, you get extra horny, extra bad thoughts and you can’t even blame it on the devil because presumably he’s kept at bay during this holy month. So you live with the fact you might be a pervert, who gets pervier when hungry. Almost like Hunger and Thirst weren't enough..

Anywho, if I have the inspiration, I will write something actually meaningful tomorrow

Dz-Chick ...so far, not digging it

August...Sort it out!

Image via Flickr user Jesus Leon

August is proving a challenging month this year lifetime; it’s like the Tuesday of the week, the middle of a book, the second year of college, the dry bit of a sandwich!

You wake up with no real purpose, you know you have to go to work but you hate your work and “activity” seems to have come to a standstill, hardly any shouting in the office these past couple of weeks, Thank god for Greece, it’s really keeping us busy this summer; in, out, in, out and no climax to show for it! (You’re welcome)

Trains are full of either single or barren people, you know, because all people with kids are on holiday ….it’s summer holidays or half term or whatever it’s called! YAY! Which means trains are mildly bearable, sometimes I even manage to get a seat if I stick out my belly enough and hold my hips. The weather likes to pretend it’s summer but really we all know summer has come and gone during those 5 days in July (during Ramadan).

Tube strikes and general disruption to your life seem to be finding a niche with August like it was the only month of the year where making your life miserable was ok, it’s like a punishment for not having kids and not going away on holiday like normal Homo sapiens!  Even the IS has gone quiet thankfully, perhaps their president is on holiday too, I hear Hell is cheap this time of year!  

As for me and I am sure you as well, no holidays to look forward to, apart from the ones my boss takes, I really look forward to those and he’s French so we know he’s gone for at least 5 weeks!

5 Sundays is a long time “must not waste time”, “must not waste time “(in a robot voice)! So I ogle my friend Cheraz’s DAILY holiday snaps! She seems to be living in a bikini this year, provides valuable entertainment to all my facebook friends who enjoy her toned ass every time I give her a like! (You’re welcome).

I will finish this article when my conclusion comes back from holidays, until then…don’t forget the sunscreen and always use a pseudo when commenting.

Dz-chick…Thank you for your comment, I am out of the office myself until September, I will however get back to you upon my return, Bestest regards, Me!

Confession: I am so bored, I played the lotto! Twice!

A carefree life

There’s a strange feeling around, like the silence before the storm or perhaps the silence when you’re in the eye of the storm, you can feel the general uneasiness of the conscious people, those who know the world is broken.

I have to keep going, have to keep fasting, keep working, keep living deafened by the ticking of my biological clock and the shootings of innocents, I continue planning my future holidays steering clear of certain areas of the world where as a woman I am not really tolerated and realise soon there’ll be nowhere safe, I continue planning my life as if there were no Wars, no double standards or apartheid occupation in the 21^st century and have to keep smiling and be happy.

Feels like a full time job trying to keep as a normal life as possible, to feel the need to adjust certain aspects of your life so that your own friends can see you as the same person you always were and not this Muslim potential explosive person who they look at with bewilderment and suspicion.

Sick of this topic, so let’s just change the tune!

Day 13 of Ramadan today, only another 16 to go! Piece of cake!! I’ll just spend my time reading the news through the main source: Facebook, read irritating comments and dumb opinions that offer nothing but agreement with the first opinion for lack of a better one like “No comment” and “totally agree” and “you said it all” and “ha ha ha”.  

Watch funny videos posted every 3 seconds on various topics, failed hidden Cameras and Muslims trying too hard to show the good side of Islam by overdoing charity and trying tirelessly to mend their tarnished image!

I stalk some old friends on facebook; I find therapeutic the routine they give me, I wait for their 5 daily selfies, posted generally in the changing room of a Luxury shop, at a restaurant, in a bikini at the beach, in the car carefully positioned to show off the horse-logo and of course in bed because they wake-up looking impossibly fresh and gorgeous.  They look good; they’re rich and have more money tide-up in promiscuity futures, they lead extravagant lives full of luxuries, careless fun and beauty, free of Don’ts and Harams (sins)!  They make me loathe my self-destructive thoughts, religious-guilt and deep existential questioning; I am jealous of how careless they seem so I find it easier to question what they would be like if they looked on the outside as they did on the inside. Jealous much!?

Online shopping also proved a good time-killer; I don’t always press on the Purchase button but I do so enjoy to collect items in the basket and drool over them before my anti-consumerist broke self takes over, I shake off the shopping urge and resume actual work which I hate passionately and carefully.

Of course blogging and whining also helps!

 

Dz-Chick…pressed on purchase eventually!  

Day 8: Practically half way..innit?

Today is day 8, and like every morning I had to fight the urge to go and buy a large coffee and a chocolate twist! I don’t even eat chocolate twists in normal days (non-Ramadan time), it’s fascinating the things you do during Ramadan that you don’t do in regular times…

Like fast, pray? , stop drinking, stop , sleep at normal godly hours, and quit masturbating? , trying not to think about sex,  don’t tell anyone to f*ck off when they really out to, be tired and have bags under your eyes without your boss blaming it on Ramadan and generally just behaving like yourself, without the guilt and forgetting the hunger, thirst and general depravation! Another thing you do in Ramadan times is attempt to cook; actually concoct a recipe not just bang a salmon fillet in the oven!

I generally call my mum at the beginning of the month to enquire about recipes, the same she gave me last year but it’s nice to hear them again from her, I have them written in a notebook entitled fondly “Les Recettes de Mama” but I still ask her every year, it’s like a ritual to call my mum and ask for her help when I am sure I can probably (NOT) work it out myself. Then I attempt to cook it, take a picture of it (if it looks good) and send it her to make her proud, although admittedly the last time I attempted to make Galette bread (which is a round flat bread) it came out triangular.

There are a few Algerian restaurants in London! Just ask google

 

Dz-Chick....ceinture bleu!

Practice makes near-perfect!

Perseverance makes good, makes perfect. I decided to continue fasting, sticking to an as-per-normal lifestyle, work, gym, out with friends, park, shopping, drooling over stuff and dinners amongst friends when the sun decides to piss off!

I rationalised it as a challenge, if not by faith in something out there than by faith in me and my abilities to complete what I started and maybe my faith in God will come back as they say practice makes perfect.

Around the office, only my French colleagues seem to be aware of Ramadan, it made first page on Le Monde, big news in France! it’s the time of year they can hope to catch Muslims slip up or lose it or something and point out really how different/weird/crazy/uncivilised they are.  In the office they come to ask questions, of the annoying kind like “Alors, tu as faim?”.  I feel like I have to prove something to them, like I am unphased by my strong desire to march into the kitchen and ingest a café late fresh off the machine, unphased by the interminable hours I have to fast and yet remain chirpy and alert just to prove them wrong and prove to myself that I am strong. In the end it’s more exhausting to act for their benefit and put on this smiley nonchalant face than to actually fast. Hmmm I see a negotiation plan is born here…

My English colleagues on the other hand, are still offering me cups of teas, totally oblivious to Ramadindong and frankly it’s refreshing, I’d rather take the cup of tea and smile than go through the usual explanation and the awkwardness of it all, of people not knowing how to react and the follow-up questions like my favourite “what not even water?” . Yep, just air and good will...

...And London weather permitting, a beautiful promissing SunSet...Ahh Ramadan Porn!

Dz-Chick…5 days in!

Slowly...but surely?

Everybody seems to be concerned about Ramadan, more so than me, my boss who is a royal bitch has a massive issue with Islam and isn’t afraid to say it, he keeps calling me into his office for lectures on how Islam has a problem with modernity, how none or very little Muslims ever won Nobel Prizes…he says a bunch of other awful things too but it’s harder to repeat and be funny!  

So my Boss is Uber gay, so naturally he thinks the whole Muslim world wants to stone him to death, I am also pretty sure he’s subscribed to some fascist website of sort that keeps him updated on all matters “Islam” , because he always has all the scoops on anything even remotely related to it, the decline of the Muslim world or Muslims causing trouble and he doesn’t shut up about it, he comes out gloating, pointing and laughing, making jokes, some people laugh awkwardly whilst gaging my reaction, others just laugh and shake their heads at the same time, thereby condoning and  reprimanding which really cancel each other out, so nobody says anything and it really doesn’t matter because he’s actually really funny …but also because he’s gay and one must be careful apparently not to offend minority groups …ah the irony!

Dz-Chick...Love thy gay neighour!

The Time Thief

When I went to work this morning it was the 10^th January; then a hundred hour later I looked at the clock to drool over my favourite digits of the day (18h00) flashing at me in that glorious fluorescent green and was met with the 11^th June…Where did it go? Who stole January? Give it back!! Give it back I say!

So I started thinking (more thinking aaaahhhh) about the notion of time, I researched Einstein because I always fancied myself a woman of science (Tozz*). I wanted to understand what makes time feel like it’s passing quickly, flying by and leaving me with unfished tasks, unticked lists and an unfulfilled life …so I started to read about theories!

Apparently this can be down to the different methods the brain uses to judge the passage of time, like the more fun you’re having the faster time is perceived to pass and the more bored and anxious you are, the slower it seems to be, but in reality it’s about the memories you’re making during the passage of this time, so if you are sitting in a waiting room and you’re at all thinking you’d be repeating previous thoughts and it will seem like nothing really happened, a waste of time, and that’s a fact, nothing did happen, nothing new, it’s the same memory so the only indicator of the time is really the making of new memories like it’s 4 o’clock, now it’s 5 o’clock then you look again and it’s the 11^th June.

So if this is in any way sensical and if I go by my random yet effective analytical methods, it would mean that my life is a busy one, full of joy, new memories and stuff! This would explain why time seems to be flying so rapidly and extraordinarily, or there’s a time thief lurking around me stealing my precious time and not giving me memories in exchange!! Well come to think of it, thieves never give you anything in exchange except for grief …and germs!

So that led me to think about how time is somewhat subjectively constructed within the brain…bla bla bla….Gawd I am boring myself!

So the point of this is really to say, I am kind of bored and time is not playing fair! Bored of constructing the same memories or similar ones to the point of having a life of Deja-vus and jaded repetitions, bored of fooling myself into thinking I am leading a worthwhile life (ok maybe I am too hard on myself), bored of waiting for change when I am not doing anything about it and frankly I am boring myself with these same repetitive thoughts and the same faces in the same trains in the same places, even across the globe in distant continents and different time zones, finding the same faces with the same annoying angry ungrateful and uncultured features fill me with dread – thank you shallow globalisation, you bitch!

So whoever stole time; stole particularity and individuality and turned us all into a mushy cloned mess which is getting in the way of my happiness and making me cranky and random. Thank you again mushy cloned brains!

Anyway, I better get on with some stuff or time will never move and I wouldn’t have marked its passage like a needy little achievement-hungry little brat ! Also you know what they say “A watched pot never boils”…

Dz-Chick….time really is of the essence

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*Tozz = a noise that could mean “yeah right”, it could also mean fart but I am too much of a lady for that shit! Obviously...

Are we there yet?

 

I have been known to moan and whinge a fair amount, I've also been known to be sarcastic, ironic and a tad bitchy and that as you all know has served me… and you by extension very well over the last few years.
Unfortunately I have grown out of it, I let go of a lot of my negativity and anger which gave way to sedation and boredom. Dull dull dull

So much to whinge about, so little will to do it, I seem to have developed this thing where I see the better side of things, good side of people, of shit, as a result I became what some would consider a wise person, I try to excuse every prick that says something stupid, I don’t slap the slapables, I smile when annoyed now, I almost made friends with a stingy busy little bee God forbid, I say things like “it’s ok they’re just kids”, or in other words I became a pushover and to overcome that problem I thought it's safer if I stopped hanging out with people who would take advantage of my Buddha-like demeanour (whaaaat?) and eventually I stopped going out altogether.

London has become a challenge to overcome, like a purgatory waiting to know where you'll end up heaven or hell, or maybe that's a bit dramatic!! Alright ....it feels like a groundhog day, repeating itself tirelessly waiting for something to change to break the cycle. Taking the same train to the same job, working with the same insane boss, doing the same workouts yet looking exactly the same even when I dye my hair orange and think I dropped a couple of kilos, walking the same streets, hearing the same natter between the same idiots who still to this day rave about the 70% Sales, about Big Brother and XFactor.

So I take a different walk, try to do something new, see if I can trip this groundhog day up, I decide to walk, I walk in the park, see so many faces and I get the feeling that they’re all new here, I keep walking until I find myself by a pond, I don’t know where I am but you always know you’re in the royal borough when they’re throwing ciabatta at the ducks, so I don't roll my eyes and I just move on, I want to be around people who aren’t fooled by status and possessions, I want my feet to take me somewhere I can meet someone interesting and fun who stands for things and doesn’t run a mile when I open my mouth, who looks beyond what is expected of us and dares to be different.

There’s no shame in saying, I always felt it was ok to talk about this as long as I was writing anonymously but pretty soon everyone else will know who I am and it’s about time I took responsibility for Dz-Chick, maybe Groundhod Day will soon be over…

Until then…still walking in the hope of stumbling on a different path or waking up on a different day!

Day 2: Yes yes it's RamadaM, get over it!

Ramadan is ahead full steam, I am not, I am more like an old locomotive running out of coal but who keeps going on pure motion power.

My only problem with fasting is the non-stop yawning at my desk; I could sleep at any time.  I could actually close my eyes at my desk and fall asleep. The smell of coffee literally hurts me, anything else I don’t mind.

At work, you don’t talk about it; you don’t complain (we all do) openly about it, you’ll yawn openly and noisily though.

You don’t mention it’s Ramadan or that you’re fasting, you strive to keep it private, not let it be used against you in a situation where you’d hear the usual “you’re not focused”, or “you don’t have any energy”, or “bound to happen, you’re not eating” even on the smallest most common mistakes, you want to prove that fasting really doesn’t  affect your mental or physical abilities, that it doesn’t to a certain extent or time of day where your face has turned green and you could paper-cut with your tongue, that you are in fact Robocop.

A few comments that come back a lot like a bad smell, to count a few:  “not even water?”, “so, did you stuff your face last night?” and again “you can’t even drink water?”, “so only air then? And my favourite “oh jesus, is it RamdaM again?”

People seem to be concerned, about something, about you, about the job perhaps, or about witnessing a fast, some feel uncomfortable, others prefer not to know, either way, you are different and they don’t understand why you would willingly inflict that on yourself.

It plays as your cue to wake up, prove them wrong, be energetic and a little hypocritical.

Isn’t Ramadan hard enough as it is, without having a bunch of ignoramuses coming back with the same questions over and over again, you’re always reassuring them that the answers are the same from last year and no you are not moody because you aren’t eating, you’re moody because they’re being stupid. The end.

Dz-chick…no assumption, no consumption!*

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*lame I know!

It all adds up!

There is always an upside to all the dreadful events that happen to you in life; like loosing a job so you can land a better one, getting dumped, so you can depress, loose the weight and gain more confidence (I know: I am shallow) or in my friend Lyna’s case put on the weight (reasoning behind this: somebody has to eat the Ben&Jerry’s), cry about your luck and play victims, loosing a grip is the only one I haven’t found the positive reasoning behind. The search continues…

This is how sayings like “things happen for a reason” and such came to exist.

When things aren’t going your way, like debts AND weight piling up (not me – I am a model I am), country in political perdition, when work is sucking out 10 hours a day of your life, you’re certain of never getting back and dreadful existential questions popping into your head like: “What am I supposed to be doing with my life and what is going to happen to me followed by other nonsensical questions like how it is hanging and who let the dogs out!”.

Right now and after a long, blissful and anxiety-free period, the anticipated wave of gloom strikes! Hurrah I was getting worried my writing Mojo would be gone forever, my evil friend whom I shan’t name, warned me that writers thrived on their tormented souls and that I was far too positive, it was getting worrying.

The upside to this wave of unexplainable (hormones, pre-mature mid-life crisis, low funds, poor faith; to name a few probable sources) is my writing MoJo is back and Safia should be on her way again in no time.

Before we conclude; here’s another nonsensical question for you: Do hummingbirds hum because they don't know the words?

Dz-Chick…so who really let the dogs out?

Drama mama!

We girls love a bit of drama; we create it, crave it, we thrive on it. Very lucky few are drama-free. I am of course; a major drama queen but not very proud of it, although it could be endearing to a very crazy few, I myself rarely find it funny and more often than not, will try to share my issues with my male friends more than with girls, in an attempt at soaking up that drama-free attitude and dismissing none-issues with a shrug of the shoulders.
Girls are saved for the days when I am not prepared to snap out of it and the need to dwell on things is ever present, so my girlfriends will listen to my non-issue issues and cry outrage and disgust, fuelling my already high emotions, I weep, their eyes water a little, we group hug, share a drink, a cigarette or chocolate cake and call everybody a bastard, men, bosses, men and that annoying paper boy with his City AM, shoving it in my face EVERY morning!

Drama 1
Oh my god, Sara didn’t put a kiss on her last text to me, do you think she hates me?
Drama 2
My boss didn’t make eye contact with me this morning, am getting fired aren’t I?
Drama 3
I have an itchy left boob, do you think I have cancer?
Drama 4
I though we really hit it off, why didn’t he text me, it’s been an hour already!

Don’t you just love to indulge your cravings for drama? It’s a way of shaking things up when life is a little dull, this Catastrophising makes you feel alive, drives away boys and keeps you young or at least juvenile, but a life without drama is not a life worth living. Say AMEN.

Now as a major drama queen who once cried (with tears and everything) out of fear of a cockroach, I shouldn’t be saying the following but I feel I need to balance it out a little and give you ways to avoid being a hypochondriac, a drama queen or a bitch…

- When you feel a drama moment arising, only hang out with boys, you’ll soon feel ridiculous

- Think of the worst that could happen: if a guy doesn’t text you, just think he might have died of Co2 poisoning in his bathtub or has tripped on his oversized ego and fell into his empty hole of a soul – harsh? Nonsense, it’s wickedly therapeutic.

- “sniff sniff everything happens to me, the only skirt left is a size 8 and doesn’t fit by big bum” …. Context it all and think of someone you know who has cancer or hasn’t had a job in five years! You’ll soon resize your problems appropriately and snap out of your short lived drama

- Do try to snap out of it quickly by crying it out, if you can’t, then you may lash out at your close friends, they’ll take it, especially the boys, tears always confuse them.

- Do not listen to melancholic music that pushes you further into self-pity, like Adele and what not, on which let me tell you, she should have told them all to jog on but no fingers required! I was quite disappointed in her diva attitude; she’s another drama queen you see…

- Don’t go through your whole contact list and call them one by one, in search of more pity and attention – it gets tedious and I will be washing my hair.

- And remember boys almost all prefer drama-free…

The point of this post you ask? Well it’s a funny story really… Sara does hate me, I might actually be fired and there is a lump in my breast. The only non dramatic thing is that guy did text after an hour and half and I decided I didn’t like him.

Dz-chick…a big drama mama!

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!

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!

Philosophical week!

After an angry, busy, hated, dreaded and awaited end-of Monday, comes Tuesday, if Tuesday was a person, he would be a hypocritical character who has no purpose, a bit like a train station where nobody gets on or off at but your train still stops there, Tuesday doesn't belong to the beginning or to the end of the week, I know you're thinking that sounds like Wednesday, but Wednesday is more of a neutral character, sits in the middle of the week, pacifies between Monday and Thursday, you can't really get angry at Wednesday, he comes across as a nice placid dude, I imagine him holding out his hands, palms facing up and shoulders hunched in a friendly stance that disarms you and you find yourself saying (or maybe it's just me) 'ehhhh Wednesday, you're alllllllriiiighhtt'

Thursday is like a cool chick, everybody loves a Thursday, she wears a skirt above the knee and has a lot of charisma, is playful and inviting, she tells you to “come out to play” and you would often oblige, she is relentless and leaves nothing for poor Friday who thinks he’s everybody’s best friend but in actual fact, he’s the dregs of the week, Thursday has sucked out the energy out of everybody and with “I can’t wait for Friday to be over” spends his day reminding people how cool he is because he’s bringing the weekend, but nobody cares, they’re all hangover and waiting for him to go away, besides Saturday has already stolen his thunder.

Saturday being the star of the show is like an angel, a dark angel. Who knows where he’ll take you or how much money will he suck out of you!

We all love Saturday with his many faces, relaxing, inviting, smiling then teasing and pleasurable…best friend for ever! Until you end up in a cell or in a dark alley with a stranger wondering how you got there or with a £300 bar bill.

Saturday is toxic but he is so superior, we’re star struck and feel obliged to please him and do as he says, he puts pressure on you but nobody ever resents him for it, you're devoted to him, so much so that you eat into Sunday and pretend it’s still Saturday…

Poor old Sunday, Sunday is the old fart, not in the least as fun; reminds people of their obligations and of Monday and Tuesday, like a parent, nurtures your wounds and hangovers, irons your shirts and makes you roast, he glances at the clock a lot, dreading the end, he doesn’t want to go and after a while you don’t want him to go either, you want him to stay until you're fully recovered and the Roast is eaten and digested.

It’s midnight, Sunday is on his way, he warns you of Angry, demanding Monday and says take care see you in seven days, so you curse Sunday because he brings back Monday.

Dz-chick.....in the mood for cool Thursday!

Monday Blues and Friday Jazz…

On the lift up to the office on a moody Monday morning, when all you want to do apart from satisfy the urge to kill is to stand quietly in your spot until that grating voice announces ‘2nd floor, lift going up’, get to your desk unflustered by hellos and questions like “how was your weekend?” give me a minute for fuck sakes

In an ideal world (mine) people would be satisfied with a nod, a glance or a smile and wait until preferably after lunch to address me, never call my extension, only contact me by email, do not pretend to give me pressure with such things as ASAP and at your earliest convenience because to me that means:  after I come back from the gym ON Tuesday , also refrain from asking for a read-receipt because you know I will never give you that satisfaction of knowing, when talking in the office, speak at a low volume that is acceptable at the cinema or the  library, being on a trading floor is no excuse and when I am having my lunch at my desk and say sorry I am at lunch, I am usually not joking.

When later on you meet me at the water fountain, if I stand behind you queuing up it is not your queue to ask me about my weekend or give me the weather report because I really don’t care, I always carry an umbrella and spare pair of knickers

If you catch me on a good day, I promise to tell you how my weekend went as quickly and unenthusiastically as possible so that you can start telling me about yours, because we all know that’s really the goal, I promise to listen, nod and say wow cool if you make it quick so I can go back to my desk and mong

Fellow considerate, polite and interested parties; I ask you; should I consider it a rhetorical question from now on or bore you with my weekend details until you never ask me again? Or just suck it up and be nice! This is definitely a rhetorical question, I already know which way am going…

Sarah: how was your weekend?
Me: I don’t really want to talk about it; it gets a bit repetitive after the 2nd time
Sarah: well who did you tell; I’ll go and ask them
We both laugh because it’s ridiculous

By Thursday, comes the next question “any plans for the weekend?”
Are you just being polite or do you really care about my weekend? and if my plans are awesome, are you going to invite yourself along? Are you going to be jealous and start making up some story about “ice-skating in Somerset house with Will and Kate?” or my favourite “I was in Paris for the weekend” is that right? Did you get the Eurostar from Victoria then?  Did you see the Coliseum?

By Friday, it’s a freaking circus of happy people and I am the clown, I am happy but only smile on the inside, I NEVER ask anyone if they have plans for the weekend because I don’t particularly care but I will happily chat to people as long as I get to talk about myself avoiding small talk because small talk is a waste of time and is only cool when I do it like: soooo you’RE tall!

This Mondays favourite water fountain subject: Clocks changing followed by Halloween talk– oh dear lord!

Dz-chick....strong coffee please!!!

D5 - TGIF

Indeed, I always thought it was a bit cliché to screech OR grin the old thank god it’s Friday, and that it was soo last year or (5 years ago) but boy do I mean it today!

Tis the holiday season, the office is emptying of its clowns, the market is in turmoil, Dollar, Euro and Sterling have crashed, let’s all take a long beach holiday and celebrate shall we!!

Another crisis means, low activity, quite office, longer days and harder Ramadan, fasting is all about the attitude, the more positive you are the easier it is to do, I am getting hunger pangs as I am writing this whinge, you see, it’s all in the mind, but based on my observations over my last few posts, it seems people respond better to miserable posts than to happy ones, I get more hits and more comments when I whinge, I am miserable or sad, for the same reasons people love to watch Eastenders, makes them feel better about their lives somehow.

Yes you are not the only ones with a shit life, though I couldn’t possibly qualify my life as shitty I am always content with what I have, but we’re humans, we’re greedy, ambitious and mostly ravenous …right now  anyway!

Aya Saha ftourkoum

When? Until when? how? why?

How many times do you hit a wall or an obstacle at work or in life and all you want to do is run away, give up, curl up in a foetal position and retrieve to your mums lap? No? Never? No one? Just me then…

Why can’t people just work together in harmony, why the backstabbing, the competition for the boss’s affection, the brown nosing, the scheming, I am too naïve for such practices, I usually don’t even see them coming until they hit me and by then it’s too late, it could also have to do with the fact that I just don’t care about my career anymore, I want a change of career, I want to explore my more creative side, you know paint a naked fat lady (I find the fatter the easier, something to do with big lines), write short stories, design my own wedding dress or other people’s since mine will probably never be, decorate my actual house and not some rented property with mismatching IKEA furniture, paint a mural on my wall;

Things that make me happy, never do I want to wonder if my office chair is ergonomic and complain from RSI because I blog a lot (well used to) or if my colleague is in with the boss complaining about me and saying dz-chick is not focused, which lets face it, I am not anymore and I find myself having to defend myself but not having quite the energy or the argument for it so I give up.

It has nothing to do with love or with my new man, I know where your mind is going, I am just getting bored with the rat race and the competition, and if I cannot do something I love, I will retire back to Algeria and live a life of a hermit, I am sure my dad will be happy to support me….for 6 months at least before he kicks me out.

Melancholically yours....Dz-Chick

Running with Bulls

D day is today (and tomorrow), the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge sets off, lycra blazing, sporting the highest tech running gear, frantic preparation, the best heart rate monitors on the market, each group representing their Bank and huddled like a pack of bulls (was tempted to say Wolves, but wolves are fierce and loyal, Bankers are not) about to attack in matching logo printed t-shirts.

5.6 KM(3.5 miles) of fun running around Battersea park with a bunch of Bankers, tis simply suicidal, testosterone is airborne, competition; rife and aggressive, fun; inexistent, smiles; banned, eye contact with other competitors is considered bad form and they are all taking it just way too seriously, get over yourselves and despite what they make you believe...you are not IT.

I took the challenge a couple of times, runing for my firm, I ran alongside a colleague who tried to kill me with his pace, I separated from him panting and wheezy with a look that says “what are you crazy???” then I got pushed and fell on my hip, scrapped my clothes and some skin came off, but the show must go on, they all jumped over me like a hurdle, they fancy themselves as Olympians, don't they know they’re just a bunch of lycra-wearing pack of bulls.

I had finished the race in under 35 minutes despite the limping and the incessant pain in my thighs, hips and head (damn I thought I was fit).

What I got out of it? Nothing

Is it utterly useless? why yes, it is to me and don't give me that crap about promoting health and fitness at work

Will I ever do it again? Over my dead body

Dz-Chick…She won't be fooled!