not a techie
My husband informed me last week that not only has my blog content taken a turn for the worse, but that my pictures are random and crappy. Since he can apparently do better, I suggested that he take over this week. And here’s what he came up with*:
I Am Not a Techie
Hi Everyone – this is Ali. Ameena is preoccupied with work/whatever it is that keeps her busy and she handed the reins over to me. So I figure this is an ideal time to absolve myself of at least one of her many unfounded accusations. And in this particular post, I’d like to show you why I am not a technology geek.
Just because I happen to have a few extra devices, cords, and cables, doesn’t mean I’m fixated on them. Or that I even know what all of them do. I just like to keep these things around in the event I have to connect to something new or different.
Example: A few weekends ago we were at a friend’s house and they wanted to connect their iPod to their stereo. And guess what? I had the perfect cable stashed in my trunk. (Ameena thought this was hysterical but I’m not sure why being prepared is such a crime.)
I bet you’re all thinking, okay fine, I sort of see the point of cables…but what’s your excuse for all the devices you collect? Well what my wife fails to mention is that I’m not waiting in line for 2 hours to get the latest gadget. I just happen to be in an industry where I have access to these things.
After all, if I sell technology, I have to test it and know how it works, right?
So there you have it…I’m not a techie but a person who is involved in technology for valid, work-related reasons. Much in the same way Ameena claims watching HGTV is “research” for her work in reality TV.
The only difference? I don’t have a blog forum to make fun of her obsession with Million Dollar Listing.
*This post was (of course) somewhat edited by Ameena for truth, clarity, grammar, structure, focus, and length. The picture was beyond help.
i’m on repeat
So this latest installment of “Only Ameena Would Be Irritated By This” features my husband making me repeat everything I say. Everything. I. Say.
We could be sitting at a table for two and he’ll ask me to repeat myself. We could be on a walk with no other noise than the chirping of crickets and he’ll ask me to repeat myself.
Or – more realistically – we could be sitting in our living room with no noise but the staccato of our respective laptop keys and he’ll ask me to repeat myself.
Random weekend pictures: I bought roses. For no real reason. My dad is both shocked and disappointed in me for wasting $6.99.
Some days I get a “What?” Other days I get a“Pardon me?” And sometimes I just get a glance. No words, just a glance. With raised eyebrows.
There are obviously (and unsurprisingly) many things that annoy me about this situation, including the fact that the words, “Pardon me?” rub me the wrong way. (Am I the only one who finds them passive-aggressively rude?)
A downpour in Los Angeles AND a rainbow? For a fantastic minute I felt like I was on the East Coast.
But here’s the most frustrating thing: I know that my husband hears me. He hears every single word.
I have my theories on why he makes me repeat myself anyway:
- He thinks it’s funny.
- “What?” is a reflex for him, in the same way that throwing up is a reflex for Maya.
- He has a processing problem and it’s time to upgrade to Ali 2.0.
The best salmon at True Food Kitchen in Santa Monica. I just eat around the (macademia?) nuts.
You are likely thinking okay Ameena, what’s the big deal? People get older / develop a hearing problem / are lazy, and why-must-you-fight-everything? Why not just repeat yourself?
Well I wish I could. As a matter of fact, I tried. I swear I did. But here’s the thing: I find it physically impossible.
Not sure how to remedy this latest situation but I do know this: I’m suddenly seeing the benefits of texting.
heartless
Maya is a pack rat…just like her father.
I’ve already discussed how she collects things. Little things, big things, useless things, nice things. She folds these things and puts them into other useless things, and then hides them in random places.
Random Piece of Art with Plastic Utensils stuck in it? Check. Pocket Organizer Stuffed With 1,523 crayons and markers? Check.
A few weeks ago, for example, I found a piece of paper with a $100 bill rolled up into it. Yes, I know you have questions.
Q: Where did Maya get the $100 bill?
A: I’m going to guess her grandfather.
Q: What made you open that particular piece of paper?
A: Sheer luck.
Q: How many other hundred-dollar bills do you think you’ve unknowingly thrown out?
A: I’m trying not to think about it.
Dirty/Autographed Ballet Shoe Purchased By Mom in a Moment of Weakness? Check. Manila Folder Labeled “Fun?” Check. Like New Subtraction Flashcards? Check.
Anyway, now you can see why restoring order to Maya’s room requires enormous concentration and energy.
But during a particularly intense clean up session last week (which involved me getting rid of things like Starbucks lids, an impressive collection of buttons, a variety of rocks, and one rather scary replica of our family), Ali decided to hover around making judgmental conversation.
Ali: “How can you throw that away? Maya made it.”
Me: “Yes she did Ali. She made this and 5,000 other pictures and projects.”
Ali: “You are heartless.”
Me: “Maybe. But we can only keep so much. Would you be interested in taking the rest to your office?”
Recycled Art? Check. Skull Purchased By Ali When Mom Wasn’t Around? Check.
And then silence, as expected.
Look, I’m not happy that I have to throw Maya’s creations and collections in the trash but if I don’t who’s going to? Nobody that’s who.
At least I don’t do it in front of her. I think that’s pretty considerate, right? Right.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 