Word.

Rosy's Poem

2012-01-21T09:36:00.000-08:00

And so the story goes

A tale of love and woe

A beautiful maiden

Her heart locked away

A striking young man

His burning desire to stay

She was from a land far and away

A child of beauty and fate

She was as a rose in the winter

Each petal of her more breath taking then the last

He heard of this maiden one day

And thought, "Now there is someone I would like todate!"

So he gathered his heart and set out to find her

And upon finding her he found that she was in factbeautiful...

But the beauty she held inside was infinitely more vast.

The two became good friends

And at times he thought she was a trick of the gods

But then she would smile at him

And he knew nothing about this could be fake

Time goes on and everything ends

If love was the vessel then they were the pods

The kind of love where the world around you is always dim

And he gave so much that she had nothing left to take

So when he set out to find more

Things to give her lest she become bored

It was not long before she learned of this and cried in bed

Took his hands and held his head

And this is what she said...

You are not the most beautiful man alive

You are not the smartest nor the richest

But when you are with me you are happier than any of thosemen

And for that I am happier than any other woman

And that is why I stay with you

He remembered her words

This gift from his beautiful rose

And when their grandkids asked how they met

All he could say was, "A man just knows."

My Personality Traits!

2012-01-16T19:20:00.000-08:00

Somewhere, as I write this, there is a couple that knows they don't have a future together and yet they continue the act. Whether it's for the sake of being with someone or the fear of losing something you have grown comfortable with is irrelevant.

As a relationship professional* I have a theory on why this happens. It is a scientific fact that when you begin a relationship everything is perfect. It's like the your brain has the mud butt and just releases all the serotonin it would have used over the next seven years. You go through the motions and eventually you figure out you don't really like who this other person is. You can only hide who you are for so long and that is why I am going to go ahead and list out the characteristics that make me Muden. As a relationship professional* I am positive that this is a good idea.

10. I am not a fighter.
If the shit hits the fan and we find ourselves in a situation where I have to get physical... I hope you are not afraid to get physical because chances are I'm going to try to hug the guy in an attempt to smooth over any hard feelings. Now I know that sounds bad but women like a man who is mature enough to stay out of jail. I consider this a pretty good trait. As a side note I have to add that I WILL fight if the other guy is smaller than you and white.

9. I will never be that guy who just wants a sandwich and sex.
I like to eat until I'm miserable and I hate food and you for giving it to me. I cannot plan out my dietary day because it's just chaos. Just eating and shitting all day at random times whenever the mood strikes. I can eat a full meal and be disgusted with myself only to turn around five minutes later and eat a Jimmy John because if I was not full and hateful at the moment that sandwich would be delicious. There are kids in Botswana who would do anything for that sandwich so who am I to let it go to waste.

8. I am not a planner.
Everyday when I wake up I do a mental to-do list and get to it. Everyday, like clockwork, I get about halfway through my list, say "fuck it" and end up playing video games until someone calls me four hours later and then I claim to be doing "work" even though I have been on winter break for three weeks and I only work on weekends.

7. I am passionate about what I say.
When I say something I mean it. If I tell someone to do something I expect it to be done. So when my 2 year old niece wants to talk shit you can fully expect to find me calling her a heathen because anyone who will eat off of my plate and tell me we are not friends because I prefer Diego over Dorah is going to get cussed out. That's all I'm sayin. Diego is real.

6. I am an expert on anything you want me to be an expert about.
A long time ago I decided that women want a man who can converse with her about anything. Carrying that knowledge with me I have formed an amazing ability to bullshit my way through ANYTHING. I will draw parallels between things that are so amazing nothing alike that you will question your own logic. When employers ask me what my worst quality is I walk out with their job. I'm that good. \

5. I am so loyal that I am paranoid.
I have convinced myself that you have installed spy cameras in everything we own. I will put all my pencils in a drawer before picking my nose because I don't know what's in the eraser. You know what, let me rephrase that. YOU have convinced me that you have installed spy cameras in everything we own. I should just change the title on this one to "I am trained."

6. I am trained.
I was raised by women and have mostly female friends. I am fully aware that if I don't wash my dishes I will get stabbed while I sleep. I know I will never win an argument and I am ok with that. When I am single an argument with someone random could get physical and then I might have to hug a bum over some Rolaids. I would rather have no hope than get bum AIDS.

5. I am easily tricked.
I have no concept of time as long as there is a chance that I might get to touch your boobs at some point during the night. You want to finish doing your hair and I am asking if you are ready yet? Just do that thing where you push up your boobs and blow me a kiss. I'll be on the couch for the next three hours with my hands in my lap swinging my legs singing the "I get to touch them!" song.

4. I am a hopeless romantic.
I know women like romantic comedies and you always make those cooing noises when the guy finally gets the girl. Logically, if I can replicate this in my life I will always get the girl. It makes sense on so many levels. That being said, I will absolutely never get all weird and serious on you. Not until an hour and a half into the night anyway. I will also try to accidentally take medicine I know I am allergic to so that you have to care for me on your couch and then we have that moment where you ask me if I have to tell the truth and I say yes and you ask me something deep and I say the right thing and then you love me forever.

3. I am not capable of yelling at the woman I love.
See number ten.

2. I know you just want me to listen.
When you come to me with a problem I know you just want me to listen and sympathize with you. I know you want me to take your side no matter what I and I know that when you say "I hate that trick!" what you mean is "We hate that trick!" I don't need to control who I like and don't like anymore, I already tricked you into sleeping with me. I have achieved everything I needed to achieve by having a social life. Also, as a man I genuinely have no idea how to fix anything that doesn't require a screw driver and/or a hammer.

1. I will never be grossed out by you.
If you do it, I can assure that I have done worse. When I decide to open the sunroof while we are driving it's not because it's such a nice day out. I know it's going to mess up your hair. I just sat on the couch for three hours why the hell would I mess up my whole operation? Use your head woman, I just farted. It happens all the time and every time it happens I have to make a life or death decision. I don't refuse to take romantic baths with you because I'm taller than the average guy. It's because if some misplaced bubbles were to appear you would be less inclined to let me touch the boobs.

I Would Pee On Them Too.

2012-01-12T17:33:00.000-08:00

Four marines peed on the bodies of three dead Taliban soldiers.

Naturally this threw the world into an uproar.

It wasn't because the Taliban likes to send us movies of our captured soldiers having their heads sawed off slowly. It wasn't because after being bailed out of the crater left by the recession we are right back where we started. It wasn't because someone hit my car with their stupid remedial inbred door.

It was because four Marines peed on the dead bodies of three members of a militia who want nothing more than to destroy anyone with white skin who eats pork.

And while that is a generalization the likes of which you have never seen, it's not even the point.

What I am saying is who the hell are you to judge what they did? Who are you in your Mercedes Benz and your size 56 pants stuffing chocolate cupcakes into your fat fucking face while these guys are purposely stranded in a hostile environment where not even the camels want to be friends and every time they blink they lose someone they called a friend to some uneducated half wit religious freak who doesn't know enough about anything to realize that he is in fact the bad guy to EVERYONE in the world but his little circle of pathetic heathen two tooth having cave dwellers?

And what about the code of ethics that is taught to all of our service men and women? What about the guy next to you RIGHT NOW who picks his nose and wipes it on his shirt while watching Star Trek reruns until 3 in the morning. What about the lady across the room who has fucked so many guys she is giving serious thought to going on one of those talk shows where she just rolls a big ass wheel and whoever it lands on gets to be the "baby daddy?" Somewhere in Vegas right now there is a guy peeing on another guy who is masturbating while watching a lizard eat three grapes out of a WD-40 can top. What about that guy? With an active roster of more than 3.1 million members I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that not every one of our enlisted soldiers is a chivalric knight just waiting for his or her chance to save a damsel in distress.

As for what would posses a human being to do something like that, I suppose there are a number of explanations. Maybe they were bored because all of their friends were systematically killed by the very people they are now peeing on. Maybe that's why they said fuck it and whipped out the junior Marine squadron. Maybe they had loved ones in New York on 9/11. Maybe they watched those men plant explosives on a young child only to send them into a crowded market. And then maybe they are just some good ol boy hillbilly card carrying members of the NRA from West Virginia who joined the Marines for no reason other than to pee on some A-rabs. Any one of those work I'm sure.

So the story hits the media and of course talk radio blows it up because what the fuck else do they really have to talk about aside from Romney and how much Obama has raised in campaign funds. Caller after caller expresses how peeing on someone is wrong and those Marines need to punished. Thank FUCKING God we have these ethical experts on hand to clear up that moral quandary for me. I had to call a few friends to find out if I should be peeing on people or not. And you want to punish the Marines? Sure. No problem. YOU GO TAKE THEIR PLACE IN THE DESERT WITH AKBAR TAKING POT SHOTS AT YOUR FACE WITH A GUN YOU PROBABLY SOLD HIM 30 YEARS AGO WHILE THEY SIT IN JAIL ESSENTIALLY DOING WHAT WE ALL WOULD HAVE DONE ASSHOLE.

I do not condone peeing on another human being. I am not saying they had every right to so. I AM saying that if someone was trying to kill me and I got them first... I may pee on them too. Hell I would probably pee on a guy for cutting me off in traffic. Whatever the reason they had, it happened and we need to move on. Instead we have these big wig politicians roaring and bellowing into the American public demanding justice. How about you focus on not banging little boys from Thailand and then we can talk about whether or not you are qualified to judge these four young men who are fighting your war for you.

New Year, Less Muppets

2011-12-31T13:37:00.000-08:00

     Every year for the last 2,012 years a new year has started on January 1st. Why this still surprises everyone absolutely baffles me. People are super surprised that 2011 is already over and asking where the time went and I'm thinking, "Really? Because I knew the EXACT TIME AND DATE that the new year would start and I still didn't do anything about it."

   And it's not that I'm lazy. I'm just a realist and I am ok with the fact that I don't have a 6 pack and a super fine girl friend who isn't also bat shit crazy. You can't have both. I know that. You either have super fine or bat shit crazy and I evidently signed something somewhere that said I always opt for the crazy ones.

     That's the thing though. I don't hinge my desire to better myself on the changing of the year that means absolutely nothing to anyone but calender makers and the Mayans. And the Mayans played basketball with peoples heads. I'm just sayin is all I'm sayin. I generally try to do the opposite of EVERYTHING they did. Calender makers aren't that bad I suppose. Not at all really. It's the consumers of these calenders that concern me. Any grown man who has a calender of women in bikinis in his bedroom is probably a creeper. Just a heads up ladies.

     Regardless of how many times you are surprised by the exact same date and time every year, new years eve is a time of celebration and I get that. Hell, I myself like to make glorious toasts at stranger's parties like I am the most famous person in the world. What I don't like is the awkward moment at 11:55pm when you realize you don't have anyone to kiss but the girl who looks like the cookie monster and/or elmo and you aren't sure how you feel about muppet herpes. There is no amount of hooker sex that can wash that away.

      So I wish you all a happy new year and a fresh start in 2012 aka Sunday. I hope at least one of you sticks to your resolutions and I pray to all the deities that have ever been worshiped that I don't make out with a muppet this year.

     Raise your chin and raise your glass,
     Muden

Stupid Is Winning.

2011-11-19T14:52:00.000-08:00

The stupid people are out-breeding the smart people by like 200 to 1 and it is going to take a natural fucking disaster of Biblical proportions to even the odds.

Let me explain how I got there.

To some degree, anyone who can differentiate between there, their and they're is unfortunately smarter than most of THEIR peers. Consider that a freebie. Now try and keep up.

It is a tragic truth that stupidity and ignorance have become the societal norm in American culture. One cannot explain the synopsis of Jersey Shore without first viciously slamming their face into a wall to knock a few brain cells loose to ensure that no words containing more than 2 syllables are used. Anything involving anything remotely Kardashian? Pathetic. The Kei$sha, Drake, Beiber pop music scene? Idiotic. With the plethora of intellectual movies at our disposal I am simply dumbfounded that the horribly juvenile and Disney-ish Twilight Saga remains the king. Harry Potter has more substance and that's kind of sad.

Harry Potter was written for children. Don't fight it. Just accept it. Twilight was written for preteen girls. If you are a guy and you like it, you are probably gay. Don't fight it. Just accept it.

Still with me? The paragraphs get big here. If you stop scrolling the mouse wheel it's kind of like a pause button for the internet. You're welcome.

With every passing conversation we are reminded that as someone who strives to achieve intellectual enlightenment we are the minority. When what starts out as a plan to visit an exhibit displaying the newest archaeological finds on subject X, Y or Z quickly deteriorates into, "Let's go watch airplanes fly in the sky!" it hurts in my soul.

And none of this is disputed. For the most part everyone likes to think that they are decently intelligent. These are the same people who use "know" instead of "now" or "no" and end every other sentence with a misplaced dot dot dot. But that's not the point. Nobody wants to admit that they are slowly circling the drain into mental retardation and that's probably because most people don't know that "mental retardation" is not a derogatory term. That's like telling a stripper she made bad life choices. It's not an insult, it's just the way it is.

So where do we lay the blame then? Surely in America we can find SOMEBODY to blame. The obvious first stop on the blame train is the educational system in our public schools. They would confute any arguments with standardized test scores and levels of extra curricular activity participation. Impressive enough. However these are the same schools that make you drive twenty miles per hour so that you don't run over the 14 year old crack fiends who barely pass English class while chewing on erasers. How the HELL do you almost fail your own language? How is that even possible? What other language could you possibly know that confused you so much that you couldn't even bullshit your way through a paper like everyone else? Unless your parents are crackerjack white and you can speak fluent Zimbabwean I have to wonder if the short bus was full that year. But back to the speed zones. They have to stop. If your child is 14 and has not figured out how not to get hit by a car it may be time to let Darwinism do its thing. Don't stand in front of things that are bigger than you when they are moving. How is that not obvious?

Do we lay the blame with the parents? I think it truly depends on the generation. Our generation grew up with imaginations and bloody knees. Playing outside was glorious and coming in for dinner was punishment. Now children are punished by being forced outside to interact with other children. Any chances of aliens discovering the ruins of our culture thousands of years from now and saying, "Hey wow these guys were pretty damn intellectual!" goes right out the window after my generation dies. There will be no authors. There will be no artists. There will be no composers. There will only be horrible hipster stick figure drawing self-diagnosed ADD having pill heads who carry a sense of self worth that is so falsely inflated it may have had everything to do with whatever catastrophic events ends our civilizations forever. Why? Because Stephen King has 126 NY Times best sellers and Kei$ha has more money. Fuck it. Because Stephen King has best sellers period. How the hell does an ugly ass chubby chick sing songs about how hot she is and nobody says anything but Kim Kardashian has a fake marriage and we flip the fuck out? Did you really think that was about love? Seriously? You kinda just proved my entire point.

We live in a time when having an intellectual debate on philosophy, history or science is "a rare treat" and for whatever reason we only date people who will never EVER be able to have a conversation like that with us. It's like we are genetically hardwired to only breed stupid from here on out and that's why I'm a big advocate of the avian flu. The stupid people are out-breeding the smart people by like 200 to 1 and it is going to take a natural fucking disaster of Biblical proportions to even the odds. Bring on the floods Moses, I'm smart enough to use parts of my fence as a boat. It's the guy next door who'll be wading chest deep in water holding an umbrella and taping straws to his kids noses so they can "breathe like elephants when they float on their backs" who you need to be focusing on.

How To Find Your Soulmate... Kind Of.

2011-11-05T15:04:00.000-07:00

I’ve never actually used a pick up line. I suppose I am what you call a friend-zone ninja. I come out of the shadows and stumble around in the hallways of your heart for awhile until I trip on a lamp cord and smash your favorite vase. At which point we both realize I have been here all along and we move right into crazy monkey sex. It’s not the most glamorous of methods but when I stray away from waiting for love to fall into my lap I always end up in situation like “the ex.” My God that was an awful experience. I had never actually used the words crackhead and heathen in the same sentence before her. Hard to believe. I know.

But there were a few lessons to be learned from that experience. First and foremost, if she looks like she’s been on a 3 day coke binge she probably was. And secondly, attraction and intellectual stimulation are two very different things. Unfortunately that is never really evident until it’s too late.

So how then do we as men (and those who watch Jersey Shore) make this distinction? That’s not really up to us. I mean, you COULD stay home on Saturday nights and hide behind the premise of saving yourself for the right one. But let’s face it, rubbing one out to some dumb ass blonde doing the pretzel on Bang Bus isn’t really the scenario any woman wants playing out while fate is slowly bringing you two love birds together. Imposing an unofficial house arrest on yourself is a slippery slope indeed my friends. Before you know it , you will find yourself sitting in front of your computer screen at 3 in the morning after a 7 hour session of World of Warcraft picking your nose with the “clean part” of yesterdays sock because it somehow feels more dignified than just sticking your finger up there and wiping it on your “sleeping pants.” Sure you aren’t spending money on drinks and you aren’t going through the motions of an ultimately meaningless relationship resulting in the waste of another year of your life putting you on the wrong side of thirty with no kids and no one to wash your booger socks. It’s totally worth it right?

The unfortunate fact of the matter is that women hold all the cards when playing the “looking for something that will last” game and we have nurtured that monopoly since the day we first stepped foot into a nightclub. What’s even more unfortunate is that when you really are in a place where you are ready to settle down and diddle only one person you have the horrible challenge of competing with guys who are absolutely not looking for anything but do a damn good job of pretending otherwise.

Do you then just give up? I mean, who WOULDN’T want a level 75 Mage with a flying unicorn and a magic wand of +100 stamina?! No. The truth is it’s a crap shoot. The same way that woman you just KNOW you would be perfect for is dating some ass hat who doesn’t know the difference between Rome and Athens because she has no choice but to throw her darts and hope she hits a bulls eye at some point before she hits 35. After that it’s pretty much a free for all on both sides of the gender wall and works on a first come first serve basis. (I am sourcing that information to Shayne’s Nightclub on FM 1960.)

The point I am making is sitting and waiting will get you nowhere. There is absolutely nothing working in your favor and sitting on your hands is an idiotic plan of action. There will never be a magic solution to finding your soulmate. You just very simply have to stand up and tell someone how you feel. I'm not saying tell someone you could see yourself married to them. HOLY SHIT DON'T DO THAT. But throw your darts out homie. You'll never find someone if you don't know how to make an awkward situation even more awkward and still come out on top. If they give you a chance, great. If they make a strange face and come up with an excuse it's perfectly ok to go all Buffalo Bill all over their ass. (That's not true.) If the woman you were “waiting” on hooked up with someone else... oh well, move on. If some woman in the grocery takes your breath away and you would like to get to know her... do it. If you find yourself unable to bare the thought of a life watching your female friend cry over other guys... maybe it’s time you stopped hiding behind archaic assumptions of what does and does not work. Love is a risk and playing it safe is a pathetic attempt at making something poetic out of something as mundane and bland as uncooked spaghetti. I wont lie, I’m not real big on approaching someone unless they give me a sign. I’ve been head over heels for someone and just let them walk right by and into someone else because while I’m all about taking a girl home from the bar, I’m not so good with putting my heart on my sleeve and hoping someone is careful with it. That usually ends with me in a couchless apartment staring out the window with an odd sense of calm as I watch them take the headlights out of my car with a 9 iron.

One day I’ll be able to follow my own advice. Until then I’ll see you guys Tuesday for the raid on Ragnaros. I’ll be bringing my Warlock.

Grandma Siddiqui

2011-10-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it is necessary to carry the pain for some time before you can process the sinister wave of sadness that crawls through your thoughts and over your heart. Sometimes it is better to rip a part of your life from yourself like an old band-aid. In either case the hurt remains.

I think you were the most giving person I have ever known. I think you gave us one last gift in your hesitant passing, and I do not think I know how to thank you. You gave us time to explore the hurt and step slowly into the reality of a world that will be a shade darker without your smile to ignite the fires that made the sun shine brightly on us all.

You granted us the chance to uncover our heads and reveal our souls. And in doing this you have given something so profound it leaves me breathless and lifeless in its enormity.

I am not ready to truly say good bye just yet. I do not know that I will be soon. Surely, I will carry this with me for some time before I can let go and talk about you or visit your home without falling from my facade. My victories. My failures. My strengths. My short comings. You were the silent judge who never passed judgement. It was a figment of my own mortal imagination and with your passing I am unsure of how to even finish that statement.

I miss you more than I thought I could.

When the matriarch passes I struggle to see the beauty that lies within the sadness. I do not see these tears turned to pearls.

But I am sure they are there.

Love Always,

Mohammed Kaleemuden Siddiqui

Muden Gets His Swag On.

2011-05-30T13:24:00.000-07:00

Swagger gets you laid.

It seems direct enough, and when you approach it logically swagger can only be defined as being a Don Juan of sorts with the ability to melt women at the mere thought of your swag.

The problem, however, is two fold. A) This definition requires the use of the word being defined to be explained, and B) I don't have swagger by this definition. I want to have swagger. No self respecting 6 foot 4 manipulator of the written word and dancer of the Salsa can walk around not having any manner of swagger. The next step down is walking out of the mens room with toilet paper trailing out of your jeans, and I'm just not ready to go there yet. If Jay Leno can have swagger then so help me God I must have it.

So I went and spoke to my long time friend, and Kracker Nutt brain child, Eddie Tantintgco. Tantinko? Tangtripyo? Clearly a man of great swag appeal (his girlfriend is smoking hot), I figured he would be my swag appeal spirit guide.

He was not.

We spent an hour comparing Google Chrome to the new Mozilla Firefox, discussing the nature of absorbing business practices and models from every employer we have ever had and lastly what class we would be playing on Diablo 3. Guys with swag don't discuss nerdy things and then eat a bowl of Pho before going home and feeding their rabbits. Eddie did make a few valid points that put the whole thing into perspective however. "When you were a promoter you had swagger." He offered through a mouthful of noodles (which looked very swaggalistic). "It just hadn't been branded as such yet." If returning to that lifestyle will get me a date with Olivia Wilde then call me Hunter S. Thompson and send this one man wolf pack to Vegas baby!

The next swag professional on my journey was a guy whom my call announcer has dubbed, "Poptropico." Poptropico, or Procopio if you know the guy, is one of the founders and strongest supporters of the swag movement. I knew this guy had real swag appeal because instead of having an actual conversation with me, he just kept shooting one liners at me like, "My swag is so stupid you can call me Kelly Bundy." Clearly the key to swag appeal is creating your own brand.

Done.

"The ladies call me Modem."

Instant swag.

Procopio quickly branded my brand lame, and explained that what I was looking for was a lasting impression for women to walk away with. "Your swagger has to make them remember you even if they have a man." This seems counterproductive to me. I thought the point of swag was to go straight from hello to crazy monkey sex. By his definition I could just pee on her car and the next week we would be having babies. Three of them. Side note: Peeing on your crush’s car is sure to lead to citizenship! Alternatively you could just say hello but I feel like this would be a much better idea.

The last stop, and final hope of swaggerlistic salvation was my editor, Beena Yusuf. I called her while driving my black BMW, wearing Guess jeans on the way to the bar. By all previous definitions, I was the towering pinnacle of swagger rolling on $1,200 worth of tires. She readily disagreed. “First of all, swagger is lame. You will never hear a woman tell her friends that some guys swag really turns her on.” Truly, she was crucifying any hope I had of reaching swagger nirvana. “And why are you looking for swagger anyway? You have tons of swagger, Muden.” I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. “Just be yourself. You make women laugh. You are a genuine person. That’s what women want.” Anyone else would have taken the compliment and ran with it. But she just told me I had tons of swagger so I felt the need to press the matter. “That’s what you want in a man.” I retorted, quite pleased with myself. “Not all women want the same thing.” She paused for a moment, no doubt overwhelmed by the weight of my swagger.

“The women you want to spend your life with want the same thing everyone else wants. This idea of swagger, if I can address it without saying it’s a real thing, is basically how good a guy is it at getting some.”

I agreed with this which made her happy and we hung up. Turns out I do know what women want.

At the end of my journey I still had no swagger to speak of. I had however discovered the path to attaining said trait. A feed sack full of cocaine, funny one liners and the desire to run down the street yelling, “The ladies call me Modem!”

In truthfulness, I do not know that swagger can be defined as a singular, defining character trait. In the book of Muden, the only one that really matters, swagger is the loose grouping of various personality traits and physical habits that attracts a woman to a man. That being said, every woman would have her own definition of the swagger that she is searching for. Or, simply stated, a type of guy she is attracted to. There is the “bad boy swag” personified by Poptropico, the “popular guy swag” personified by Eddie Tantigckoyo and finally my own version of swag. The grouping of my many personality traits all rolled into one all enveloping adjective. “Funnyhappyloyalhungryambitiouseducatedthoughtfulsarcastic swag.” Or as I like to call it, “The Modem Swag.” It may not get me any one night stands but I’m sure Meghan Fox will appreciate it.

Yes, I Am Listening.

2011-05-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

This is frustrating because I never know what to say when the subject comes up. This is frustrating because I hate laying my deeply ingrained personal issues onto someone else, as inevitable as that may be. I did not want to write this, much less on a public forum, but there is something that needs to be said and a responsibility to do so. Especially after all this time. Especially now that when we should have been forgotten you are still letting loose your tongue.

I suppose I should have said upfront how juvenile I thought the whole thing was. I should have told you that I thought you were a closet prude and not because you were afraid of intimacy but because you have the emotional availability of a mentally handicapped rabbit. There is a reason some people are never in relationships. I should know, I spent too much time with one. They never say no. Never commit. Never give a reason. They just drag people through the motions until one of the parties gives up and walks away. I can only assume that no one had ever walked away from you before and that is why you felt the need to tell everyone how madly in love with you I was. That must be why you are telling people you broke my heart and that's why I just stopped talking to you.

So after all this time of ignoring your game I stand in a place where the echoes of your words are directly effecting my life. And while I do not wish to hurt you any more than I assume I have, I can not stand here and take the lashings any further.

The truth of the matter is we never dated. We were talking. We shared a Coke once. We went to the park a few times. We hung out here and there and we once almost kissed. I told you what I wanted and you told me what you did not want so I kept it affable. When you edged closer to me I edged further away out of respect for myself and the emotions I did not wish to get involved. I grew tired of your insistence that you wanted nothing of a relationship while your actions spoke otherwise and so I walked away. I was not rude about it. I never spoke negatively of your character. I gave no false impressions when your friends inquired as to what happened.

Yes, there was a time when I humored the idea of a relationship with you. Even if for only a short time. But we did not take that path and it took less than an hour for me to move on. I would ask that you please do the same.

- Muden

A Tribute To My Friends

2011-05-03T08:06:00.000-07:00

What seems like an eternity ago I threw my middle finger in the air and walked away. I stepped out of the drama, the bad relationships, the rumors, the parasitic friendships, the self destructive weekends... and I grew up.

And then seven years later I came back.

For all of my eloquence and illustrious talent I cannot describe the wash of familiarity that has come over me. It is as though I can see the past setting with the sun just off the horizon, and across the way I see these people shuffling towards the future with only a few still looking back.. We all grew up I suppose. But it is that seven year gap that places a different perspective in my hands. We had children, got married, bought houses, got divorced, started careers, moved to different cities and countries... and we lost some a long the way. Despite all of this some haven't changed a bit, and to each his or her own. But for what it's worth I am deeply appreciative of the reforged bonds I have been able to so quickly create with Bunthy, Lizz, Amber, Bruce, Procoppio, Heap, Mai, Junior, Alfredo and countless others.

I made new bonds since I left. Stronger, more strengthening bonds that I do not dare discount. When I was down it was they who held me up and pushed me forward. I am blessed by whatever Gods above you choose to believe in by the people around me now and the idea of combining the old and the new simply makes me smile. There is no greater feeling than knowing someone cares enough to make you smile when you cannot help but frown. By no means do I consider myself a figure head in any respect, but I cannot help but to think that I am somewhere in here a good person to have so many genuine people around me.

I do not think I can ever forget the past. I will always hold on to the darkness that I know because I know that I do not have to move on to let go. (Thanks Kaskade haha!) Maybe it is that darkness we all shared that makes me feel so at home now sitting next to you at Bluewater, behind a bottle or in the garage. In any case I am happy to be back and while I do not allow myself the illusion that everything will be as I planned it, I am happy just knowing that for this briefest of moments time will allow us to stand still just this once while we catch our breaths and move forward together instead of apart.

Welcome back my friends. It's been a long time. Raise your chin and raise your glass.

Cheers,
- Mohammed Kaleemuden "Muden" Siddiqui

How To Catch A Man. IT'S A LIST!

2011-04-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

Everywhere a man turns he is being told how to catch the woman he wants. Everywhere a man turns he is being told that he is wrong, and this is how to get her. What happened to what men want? For all of the talk we hear about men catching a woman, you would think there would be some sort of discussion on what a woman needs to do to catch a guy worth catching. And yet there is none. Men are being told to evolve their way of thinking while women are still relying on shaking their ass and wearing revealing skirts to catch a guy with a stable bank account. Wait. Was I describing a strip club or one of the 15 females I will meet Saturday night?

Take a moment to let the gravity of that situation set in.

Aaaaaaaaand there it is. So here is the original blog: http://www.scribd.com/doc/2703893/Ten-Secrets-of-the-Female-Mind

And here is a rebuttal from Word.com

We rely on you to make us feel comfortable.

Really? How about you not go out of your way to make shit as amazingly awkward as you fucking possibly can when you see me across the room and decide you want me to come talk to you. In what heroine based world are you living where ignoring someone directly translates into "Come talk to me!" How about we play a game called men like confident women and nothing says confident like you growing out of the high school mentality, walking across the room and saying, "Hey." If you are relying on me to effect the degree of discomfort you feel in any situation then my dear you are in for one hell of a ride because 9 times out of 10 I don't have any semblance of an idea as to what the hell is going on beyond whether or not I'm hungry. If you want a man to make you feel comfortable, make him feel comfortable. We all have comfort zones. If you aren't brave enough to venture outside of yours then why should we step out of ours.

Lesson #1: Grow a pair and approach the guy you want to date.

We EXPECT you to respect us and YOU BETTER respect yourself first.

No shit. We aren't fans of disrespect either. So how about you not rattle off snap judgments like a machine gun within the first 60 seconds of us meeting each other. That guy in your office who obviously has a crush on you doesn't need you to ignore him. If you want to preach to us about looks not being everything, you are going to have to start believing it. Next time he is at the coffee machine find out how his weekend went. If you want us to respect you, offer it... don't just hold your hands out and expect it. Guys will respect a woman who deserves it. We will NEVER respect someone who doesn't.

Lesson #2: If you want respect get your nose out of the air.

We are not that complicated; we long to love and be loved.

Right so... bullshit. You aren't complicated? How did you write that and not have your face melted off by a lightening bolt from the Heavens. You live in the moment and remember the screw ups more than the good times? How does that not strike you as something that YOU need to work on and not me. Turn the tables and let me only remember the screw ups. Don't turn your faults into our challenges.

Lesson #3: Expecting me to deal with your "female personality traits" is not cute, it's juvenile. If you want a grown man, act like a grown woman.

We want to be high on your priority list; but not higher than your mission.

So when we say, "Baby I can't tonight I have to work on these contracts." night after night after night after night you are alright with that? No. You're not. You want to be on top of the list and so do we. Welcome back to reality. Men want a woman who can be completely independent but make us feel like a king. There is nothing sexier than a strong woman who can go toe to toe with your wallet, your intellect and your education greeting you with a hug and a kiss when we get home.

Lesson #4: Make a man your priority and he will be fine with you having to put him second when the need arises.

We don't want you to appear flawless, smooth or too perfect.

Alright, I'll give you this one. On both sides of the road the expectations are perceived as way out of reach. The fact of the matter is that all a man wants out of a woman when she approaches him is the ability to make him laugh. Yes, looks matter. However being amazingly beautiful but dumb as shit takes you right back to the level we put strippers in.

Lesson #5: We don't want the model from the magazine cover. We may want to sleep with her, but the word relationship never crosses our mind.

We want to be able to fully embrace the power and seductiveness of our femininity.

How does that have anything at all to do with us? The way you carry yourself is your responsibility and only yours. If a man is not letting you be sexy and feminine you may be dating a gay guy.

Lesson #6: Men want a woman not a dude. A woman who knows about cars is cool. A woman covered in 5 year old engine grease is not sexy.

We want to be emotionally swept away, and not just impressed.

I agree with this and it goes both ways. Men don't at all want to hear about your daily schedule. I'm sorry sweetie but we just don't care how often you go to the gym or what you are studying. Really doesn't matter. Men want to be excited about hanging out with their girlfriend. We want to laugh at the same things and share crazy experiences. If we aren't laughing withing the first five minutes of our introductions then welcome to the friend zone.

Lesson #7: You aren't the only woman we have ever spoken to. Say something to grab our attention that makes us smile.

The truth of the matter is that everything these lists say is over simplified and more often than not... wrong. Women are as diverse and different as men are and the idea that one can read a list to find his dream girl is nothing more than a way to get people to read something not involving Lindsey Lohan or Paris Hilton. I'm sorry Miss Scribd.com but your list was more fail than I have seen in a long long time.

Cheers,
- Modem.

Everything I Learned In Colorado.

2011-04-18T19:49:00.000-07:00

I hate hippies. I hate them the way Encyclopedia Brittanica hates Wikipedia. This is the sole reason I have never truly moved to Austin. Fuck hippies. Highlands Ranch is NOTHING like Austin. There are no hippies in Highlands Ranch. Let's not compare the two anymore. Thanks. Having set that precedent, we may now proceed with my return to the world of blogging.

I was completely and utterly fed up with my job. Not in the way that Gas Station Akbar hates it when you have no idea what pump you parked at. I was fed up in the way that Hitler was fed up with not being able to slaughter an entire race of people because of some pesky thing called being not fuck head crazy.

So when my good friend Matt Niiro told me a few other friends we made over the years were driving out to Highlands Ranch (the Sugarland of Denver), Colorado I took it as a sign from both God and the commission check fairy that I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. The next afternoon I told everyone I met a chick on Craigslist and was going to meet her just before I got on the plane.

On the plane I learned two very important lessons:

1) The "Fasten Seatbelt" light is also code for "The Arab Dude Is Trying To Get Up Again"

2) Paying $500.00 for your phone that has an airplane mode is pointless because flight attendants all still use the Motorola Razr and do not trust the voodoo magic that enables your phone to turn into a media player.

I landed, my friends did the wave when they saw me and then we went to the baggage claiming area. On a side note, paying $25 to not throw away my bottle of cologne was not worth it. That bottle of Light Blue now costs $150. Just saying. But that's not what's important here. As I stood waiting for my bags I was shadowed by a statue. A statue of a pirate. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people. There were statues like this all over the place. Silver-backs, more pirates, ninjas, blue horses with flaming eyes, giraffe antlers and a cucumber. After leaving the awkward gaze of the black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people I was asked what I wanted to eat to which I said the only thing I could say in this mystical land of giraffe pirates and ninja monkeys.

"I want white people food and I want to eat it with a snow bunny."

So we went to some place that was awesome (Fred's Buffalo House or some shit) and I learned a few more things here:

1) The 28 years of my life that I thought the Bison were extinct have been a lie. I ATE ONE OF THEM AND HE WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.

2) At over 5,000 feet above sea level walking up stairs is a life or death ordeal.

3) At over 5,000 feet above sea level 2 Crown & Coke's is pretty much where I call it a night and take home the first female that isn't a dude.

4) At over 5,000 feet above sea level, she is on top.

So that was awesome.

Then we went home and drank some more. I had a rough estimate of 4 Jagerbombs, which was a great idea so that when the temperature dropped to -3457578943 at night I could be awake for it. On a side note, when your friend from Houston asks if he should bring a coat your only response should be, "Yes bring all of them." and not, "You'll be fine."

Now we had to decide where to go. I wanted to ride the light rail which is like a subway except that its nothing like a subway at all. However the light rail didn't just run in circles all night where I wanted to go like I thought (as does everyone else in Houston I imagine) nor was riding in a cab a financially logical idea. This completely reversed everything I thought I knew about public transportation as taught to me from watching Seinfield and Friends.

We ended up driving ten minutes to a local spot called Lodo's. For my Houston readers, not Lobos. There were no Ford F150's with the Virgin Mary painted on the back. This is where the true differences between Houston and wherever the hell I was really came out.

I walked in and my first thought was, "Holy shit hot chicks!" They were EVERYWHERE! All of them! It was crazy and the ratio of guys to girls everywhere I went from that point on was very much in my favor. This made my soul happy. What made it even happier was not once... NOT ONCE... did anyone ask what kind of car I drive, what I do for a living or what part of town I live in. I just met a lot of really interesting ladies and made a lot of friends as I wondered around the two story building in a drunken haze. This was something new and strange coming from a city where the night life is full of people who want to play rich and have their noses so far up in the air you can see the rotting stump they call a brain. I had a discussion about politics, a discussion about reading a book versus a Kindle and I even shared my amazing discovery that the Bison was not extinct. I checked in on Facebook, saw a few chicks were there who had also checked in, messaged them and we shared drinks. It was pretty much exactly how it works in the movies except we didn't dance in the street on the way home and I probably wont see them again in 10 years and get married,\. I didn't really learn anything at this point because that part of my brain was busy not falling over.

We went home, grilled some Kilbaasa or whatever the hell its called, ate some pita chips with hummus and I eventually passed out in someones bed with a cat named Zoe and some chick who kept calling me Modem.

The next day was like a Zen awakening for me. I visited the mountains that make up the Colorado Rockies. That may or may not be the name of a baseball team and not the actual geographic object. I saw two great cliffs spouting from the earth to house a stadium that had seen the greatest bands ever to have graced our planet. I rode down a winding mountain road without using the brakes. I ate white peoples version of my peoples food. I almost died walking through Target. I drank a "cold coffee flavored drink thing" and I went on an expedition to find these ever elusive buffalo. I also learned that buffalo sauce is not made out of buffalo. Below is an artists rendition of the Red Rocks Stadium. P.S. I just made that name up.

I discovered mountains, cliffs, hills and everything else that inspires artists and authors to greatness. And so to did I find the inspiration that had all but fled from me what seemed like an eternity ago. And while this is far from the most poetic thing I have ever written, the flood gates have been reopened and the memory of a place where the weather doesn't kill old people, my car doesn't define me and the women aren't boring has been brought back and if that comes at the cost of losing the anger and sarcasm that made my style so entertaining... I'm ok with that.

Cheers,
- Muden

Saturday Night Conversations.

2010-11-21T18:35:00.000-08:00

Here it is man. I told you I would post it. Classic.

There can be no introduction this. There are no words to describe the awesomeness. There is no under current of a lesson learned. There is no closing paragraph to leave the reader with a sense of (compassion, joy, etc.) This is simply the unedited conversation between my friend and I. The only set up I can offer is we started at Bronx Bar in Rice Village. I am in bold.

"Man we just have different tastes in women."
"Yeah... I like em to look good."
"Whatever, you're just too damn picky."
"You do realize we don't HAVE to scrape the bottom of the barrel, right?"
"I'm not scraping the barrel I just don't have the patience tonight."
"So you'll go home with Gorilla Jane over there?"
"Jesus."
"Yeah you would."
"Fuck it. Yeah."
"I bet she's a silver back too. That's hardcore right there."
"So you're telling me you would rather go home alone than just hook up."
"Standards my friend. Standards."
"Ok so those two at 3 o'clock. They've been staring at you since we got here."
"Too far."
"...what?"
"What if she's stupid? Then I walked all the way over there to hear some stupid shit."
"I don't know what to say."
"Where the hell did Pink Panther go?"

And that was an actual conversation from my Saturday night.

The conversations my friends and I have in between dosing ourselves with copious amounts of alcohol and dancing with random women to songs that we wouldn't be caught dead listening to anywhere else are simply the best conversations in the world. You ladies thought you had meaningful discussions? Negative. Nothing is more insightful than what you just read above. This is top secret guy stuff right here. From taste in women to discussing the reasons why aluminum foil doesn't get hot in the oven, our conversations go so deep at times it feels like Oprah is right there at the bar. We even had a conversation revolving around mental telepathy:

"Those four behind you."
"Hey. I'm Muden."
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah visiting from Mexico or Puerto Rico or some shit blah blah blah works at a hospital blah blah blah sure what hotel are you guys at blah blah blah only two rooms you say blah blah blah you are from the Dominican Republic? blah blah blah why would I be named modem? blah blah blah lets go across the street.

So this is the defining moment in any pre-one nighter situation. The moment where after all the flirting and playful caresses the involved parties move to a different location. Serious business. The ladies always group up for a moment to discuss "things" and the guys hang back a second to pay the tab and in my world, have this conversation right here:

"Dude! I told you I wanted the Dominican one!"
"I'm sorry man I forgot to put on my chastity belt."
"Fuck it. Does the tall one look good."
"With or without heals?"
"With." Thoughtful pause. "Without. I don't fucking know she's the tall one now."
"Word."
"Why would you ask that?"
"Sorry this girl behind me thinks I'm with her party so she has been handing me shots all night."
"Haha! So let's switch."
"Alright whatever."
"You sure?"
"I don't at all care."
"So your standards go as far as is she hot or not."
"12 drinks in that's exactly as far as they go. Hurry up I have to pee again."

Fast forward 30 minutes to across the road at Baker Street. I switched to "the tall one" with the Selma Hayek accent after Mr. No Standards confessed that the Dominican one was so beautiful that she had his heart in her hands. Nothing beats drunken over expression. Nothing. But what follows is classic. Simply classic.

"Will you just pick one?"
"Huh?"
"You have the Dominican girl dancing on you and you're talking to the tall one."
"You said you wanted the Dominican one! We switched! Go talk to her!"
"I meant mentally."
Long drunken pause. "Man what the fuck does that mean?!"
"I meant mentally switch."
"Holy shit you said it again!"
"I mean we switch mentally!"
"How does that make sense to you?!"
"I can't talk to her. She's into you."
"Want me to fart or something?"
"Could you?"
"I have been all night."
"What the fuck man! I've been breathing right next to you!"
"Now we're brothers for real."
"That's disgusting."
"Ok I just did it again. I'm wafting it over to her."
"God dammit!"
"You probably shouldn't be standing next to me."
"Well now it feels like I'm getting your fart girl."
"Look man, I'm going back to that hotel and you can either be with a hot fart girl or you can go find the silver back."
"Did you mark your ex with farts too?"
"No love and farts don't belong together."
"That was poetic."
"I have another one ready to go are we doing this or not?"

The Archetypes of Facebook

2010-04-01T13:59:00.000-07:00

There is absolutely no shame on Facebook. For the the brief 10 seconds it takes to update your status, there is absolutely nothing standing between you and complete fucktardery. That being said, I have spent the past year doing a study on the archetypes of "Facebookers" and I have come to the conclusion that something has to be done to stop this madness. My research shows that these Facebookers can be placed, quite neatly, into 5 different categories.

THE FIVE ARCHETYPES OF FACEBOOK
1. The Vanilla Cowboy
2. The Misconstrued Social Beached Whale
3. The Horny Goat Boy
4. The Awssom Possum
5. The Rockstar

THE VANILLA COWBOY
The Vanilla Cowboy is most easily defined by a complete lack of any real sense of humor. In addition, it is literally impossible to read all the way through their updates without thinking to yourself, "Damn... this shit is boring." Sadly, the Vanilla Cowboy is almost always completely unaware of the mundane nature in which they conduct themselves. This results in an unfortunate amount of updates about being ready for a nap and/or being hungry. The most common response solicited by the Vanilla Cowboy is one of, "DON'T CARE DON'T CARE DON'T CARE." This bracket is separated from the "Misconstrued Social Beached Whale" by random posts, roughly one a quarter, confessing to the world that they got a little crazy and had TWO drinks while out with the girls. You naughty naughty girl. Curiously enough, my life seems somehow complete knowing that you are, in fact, ready for sleep.

THE MISCONSTRUED SOCIAL BEACHED WHALE
The Misconstrued Social Beached Whale (henceforth referred to as MSBW) is one of the most tragic stories ever told by Facebook. As the title suggests, this bracket is the precise opposite of a social butterfly. Completely unaware that no one cares, these individuals update their status to reflect EVERYTHING. This is not an exaggeration. It just simply does not stop. From , "I just woke up!" to describing their plans for the day. Somehow along the journey through life these individuals came under the impression that their lives are as interesting as that of Brad Pitt and Brittney Spears. It is impossible to discern what force drives these individuals to update their status so carelessly. One would think the need to mate pushes the desire to publish such crap. However I am convinced that it is a desire for social validation. The next grouping of Facebookers is evidence of this.

THE HORNY GOAT BOY
The Horny Goat Boy is by far the closest equivalent to "bottom of the barrel" that one can achieve while perusing the interwebz. Most commonly found involved in a parasitic relationship with Misconstrued Beached Whales, the Horny Goat Boy feeds off of the hosts need for user comments and validation. The evidence supporting this theory is staggering. When a female MSBW publishes something completely insignificant such as, "Today I plan to get stuff done!" it is completely common to find a disturbing number of Horny Goat Boys leaving comments such as, "Go you! I like getting stuff done too!" Translated from Man-English this reads, "I want to bang you." The Horny Goat Boy can also be defined as "That Guy" in that they more often than not have shirtless pictures of themselves somewhere on their page that are taken in a bathroom. When dealing with a Horny Goat Boy it is important to remember that they have no real personalities and when confronted with others of their kind they will pop their collars in an almost flatulent display of girly-manliness.

THE AWSSOM POSSUM
The Awssom Possum is, without a doubt, who you want to read about. These individuals have a talent for making everything entertaining. From quoting funny TV shows to posting completely ridiculous photographs, the Awssom Possum knows how to turn a frown upside-down. Often referred to as the "Smart Ass" this bracket is most commonly associated with witty banter and playful insults. It is extremely rare to see an Awssom Possum publish something mundane about their day. This is because they have a profound understanding of how little anyone else cares. Aside from the Horny Goat Boy of course. There is a single word that can be used to describe this group. "Win." The Awssom Possum is a bracket that is often found with, if not mated with, the next archetype.

THE ROCKSTAR
The Rockstar is a tricky archetype to assign. One does not become a Rockstar by simply drinking copious amounts of alcohol. On the contrary, the Rockstar is defined by posts that quite literally make you think to yourself, "WTF?" Adversely, the Rockstar is often found asking, "Did that just happen?" Classically, this archetype is the profound opposite of the Vanilla Cowboy. Every so often we find that the Rockstar will delete his/her incriminating photographs in an attempt to "clean up his/her act." This is futile of course in that while we all want the money, the booze and the women... the Rockstar wants the whole lot. It is inevitable that the shenanigans will bubble their way back to the surface as the Rockstar does not choose the situations, the situations choose the Rockstar. It is a classic "Chuck Norris" scenario. Rockstars are inherently irritated by Vanilla Cowboys and Horny Goat Boys are often found trying to mimic them. Furthermore, the Rockstar is easily identified by posts that include sweeping generalizations and opinions that are without a doubt, epic in their insulting nature.

Love Defined.

2010-03-28T19:44:00.000-07:00

We look back on the paths we have crossed and the enemies we have made. We look back on the ones who broke our hearts and the hearts we ourselves left stranded in the rain. We remember the pain and the inherit insanity. And while we remember I ask:

What if I said everyone deserves to feel love? What if I said everyone deserves to feel the warmth of a caring smile... and the wash of utter desperation that comes with loss?

I do not, for a second, believe that we get to choose who, or how, or why or even when. I do not believe that you can set down a time when you are ready for love. There is a certain familiarity that two people can instantly feel with each other. An absolute bond, as if they have known each other since the dawn of time immortal. The only real choice we have in the matter is whether or not we choose to acknowledge that defining moment when a shared smile is the eclipse of our eyes and in that fleeting moment we know, without a doubt, that we are content standing still in time. If only to share in the profound resonance of that eclipse. Whether it be an afternoon together or a night in front of the television. And even if it was only for a night, we shared in that eclipse. And it was the best night of our lives.

I believe that love is born of our most simple of human needs to find a kindred. A hand to hold. A soul to confide in. Someone to share with during the pains of climbing from our own wreckage and the joys of living above the world we have created.

There is nothing, in my belief, that can ever be done to halt the burgeoning tides of affection. The soft wash in that single moment of dawning comprehension when we realize, all too suddenly, that we are completely exposed to this other person and while we are afraid more so than we ever thought possible... there is a certain comfort in knowing that this person accepts you for who your walls are meant to conceal.

This is the definition of love, no? Being emotionally present while someone exposes their soul to you, and feeling connected to them for it. Because it is in this moment, that brief half hour of truth, that we are as the first morning dew of a fresh winter. Fragile and quivering in the cold. I suspect it is during this time that we truly know whether or not we are connected to this person. Because even in its most convincing of forms, lust cannot be mistaken for love when he or she stands before you cold and naked.

Had I taken a moment to step back and feel with my heart instead of my head, would I have spent the years I did with past lovers?

Absolutely not.

Save for one. Curiously enough, she is the one who I had to walk away from. And when I returned from my time in the military I set out to find her hand only to find it in the hand of another. But que sera sera, no? The fault was my own and I learned a great deal about love and affection from our time together. It was she who told me, "You have it all, and yet you have nothing." Only years later did I understand that she was not speaking of the cars and the money... she was speaking of my ability to open my eyes and let another's warmth embrace my own heart.

So I say again. Everyone deserves to feel the warmth of a caring smile... and the wash of utter desperation that comes with loss.

- Muden Siddiqui

Coalescence (Excerpts)

2010-02-18T19:17:00.000-08:00

I have been working on an ever evolving story for a few years now. What follows are a few snippets taken from one of the main characters reflections somewhere halfway through what has become a huge project.

"Breath taking shades of purple and green, red and blue, orange and yellow. It was almost too much every time he opened his eyes. The beauty of Woodhurst had never once escaped him. Not once. Fierce echoes of beauty resonating from the rich soil to scream their defiance at the encroaching lumber camps. The lush green canopies above gave the soldier shade even when the rest of the world would celebrate the Midsummer Fire Festival, every explosion of foliage strewn together by thick vines and swirling ivy stalks to form the most intricate of designs ever beheld by his tired eyes.

He inhaled deeply of the crisp morning air, exhaling slowly, feeling the energy of his home leave the body only to be refreshed with every breath. Like a newborn child, still puzzled by the possibilities around him and just as riddled as the tides, Darrian Payne lay beside himself in the echoes of what was once home. Darrian Shadowblade lay beside himself in the arms of death his bride.

He had come so far and yet he had only stepped farther away from the proud image he envisioned for himself as a young man. A youthful poet in the throws of an infant romance not yet burdened with a shield and a purpose. And therein, as the bard would say, lies the rub.

The thick blades of Woodhurst grass cushioned his armored frame effortlessly, wrapping her son in a blanket of clarity so pristine he lost himself in his own rationality..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And that was the catch. The thorn from his lap of memories that pricked the thumb and drew from him a storm so loveless it rained down around him in death's shadow. The need to survive, the sacrifice he made hour after hour, drop by drop, and none of it could free him from the bondage suffered him by his captors. The darkness they drew from him and harnessed into a finely wrought steel blade only to point him at something hardly more sinister in nature and order him to bleed that they might flash shiney objects for their peers. There is much to the soul that he would never fully understand, many depths and crevices of his own to which he had no access. But he did understand the battered and beaten husk they had left him when he was no longer so anxious to please them. He remembered full well how small the prison, how sore his joints at being caged. He was fully aware of the sentient entity within his own soul that had fought him daily for control over what actions and choices were to be made.

The rub indeed, was the very shield before him. The very thing that would symbolize his peoples fierce appetite for poetic justice and survival. The object that bore him his name, and yet, denied him his title. Darrian Payne would be the great guardian of Amundane, the person he, in his wildest fantasies, sought to be. Darrian Shadowblade, the person he had become, her loyal assassin. The irony did not escape him. His greatest accomplishment, the single ever burning flame in the void, was the catalyst through which his title was born. If Darrian was a Goliath behind a shield, he was a demon behind a sword. He remembered well that night so many years ago on the Wintershore when he first found in her a beautiful innocence wrapped ever so carefully in tempered ferocity and calculated rage..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It was not always Jeslyn he pledged his shield for. It was not always Jeslyn he harnessed his rage and pushed through enemy lines to return home to. Not always. He had once known the love of a woman with the most profound auburn hair and the deepest jade orbs he had ever seen. She drew him into those beautiful orbs the first night. Her smile. Her intoxicating scent. He could still taste her on his lips. Feorielyse had been his greatest blunder. Far graver a thing to lose than any battle, is the love of another. Often he thought of what could have been. And yet he knew it was not meant to be. That was not who he was. Darrian Payne, Darrian Shadowblade, was not a homely spirit and for the better part of twelve months he struggled to work through the staggering reality of losing Feorielyse"

Fireflies... The Rebuttal

2009-12-22T13:39:00.000-08:00

I just heard the worst song that was ever written. It was not the melody nor the beat that brought my creative spirit to its knees. It was the lyrics. Oh sweet baby Jesus these were horrible lyrics. I understand the idea behind writing a song for a target audience of females. I get that. But fuck me man, at the very least it should make sense. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

"Fireflies" by Owl City. A rebuttal from the entire male population that does not choose salad over steak.

You would not believe your eyes

If 10 million fireflies

Lit up the world as I fell asleep

I promise that I would absolutely believe you. As would any one who lives on the east coast. They have fireflies there like we have Taco stands.

'Cause the'd fill up the open air

And leave teardrops everywhere

You'd think me rude

But I would just stop and stare

As opposed to how I would feel if I watched you talking to them? What the fuck else can you do aside from staring? And why are they leaving tear drops? You can't just put that in there because the word "tear drop" works well in songs for women. So unless you want to admit to filling your song with crap we have to assume that you mean the fireflies are peeing everywhere.

I'd like to make myself believe

That planet Earth turns slowly

It's hard to say I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep

'Cause everything is never as it seems

The Earth DOES spin slowly. Idiot. And way to earn your title, captain obvious. I too have a hard time speaking while asleep. And by the way that is normal. Nothing strange or deceiving about that. So it is, in the end, exactly as it seems.

'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs

From 10 thousand lightening bugs

As they tried to teach me how to dance

Your math, it is horrible. Also, ladies, next time I run up and give you a big ol' hug I'm not feeling you up... I'm teaching you how to dance.

A foxtrot above my head

A sock hop beneath my bed

A disco ball is hanging by a thread

Alright, now you are just saying random shit that rhymes. That is literally what you have done here. Explain to me what this has to do with anything... ever. Forget the song, what would possess you to say something like this? When I hear this my mind immediately jumps to "meth head."

(Craptastic chorus)

(Some more crappy lyrics that I don't have time to figure out)

To 10 million fireflies

I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes

I got misty eyes as they said farewell

Alright so this part is not that bad. I would not have opened with you speaking to the fireflies as you just moments ago told us you were simply staring at them. Now you are a shitty writer AND a liar. And while we are on the topic of stuff, the name of your band is possibly the dumbest thing I have ever heard. Ever. Fucking Ever. Not a joke.

But I'll know where several are

If my dreams get real bizarre

'Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar

I know where they are too. East coast. Billions of em. Also, keeping them in a jar is a good way to kill them. I'm just sayin.

(More repeating of the stupid ass chorus)

In closing, the rest of us human males would like you to stop putting this shit on the radio. Thanks.

15 Reasons I Am Worth Dating!

2009-12-18T15:26:00.000-08:00

Alright. I have snippets of stuff I want to say, most of it pretty damn funny, but none of it constitutes a full post. So here we have the 15 reasons I am worth dating in a really big font to fill up space.

1. I don't have the AIDS!

2. I'm in pretty good shape, so I can keep up when we're running from the cops!

3. I'm not your ex-boyfriend! What a crazy bastard that guy turned out to be.

4. I know every word to every song in the movie Aladdin!

5. If I don't "get" you, I will pretend really hard!

6. In 8th and 9th grade I got elected for student council!

7. I have great taste in music So you don't have to waste time making me mix CDs of "great" bands you want me to hear!

8. I totally put out on the first date!

9. I get bored of things that don't stimulate me intellectually so when you don't feel like talking I'll probably just wander off!

10. I can be pretty flaky, so you wont have to sacrifice any of your alone time for me!

11. I'm pretty hardcore. I once spent 3 days in jail for $5700 in traffic tickets!

12. I no longer race for pink slips on the freeways! (See reason 11)

13. Four words: Master Of Computer Solitaire.

14. I have no idea how to cook so anything you make will be received with exuberance and probably diamonds!

15.

The Dating Timeline Prequel!

2009-11-12T14:31:00.000-08:00

Hello ladies. My name is Muden and I am looking for a lasting relationship that will allow us both to grow together as we enjoy just being together. That being said, meeting someone who stimulates me both intellectually and sexually has been a thorny experience at best. This is a genuine conundrum, as I am positive I have mastered "the approach." However, I am always open to ways to improve my already flawless method so I give you now "The Hamburgler Approach" to meeting women.

First: I pull up to the valet in the Lexus IS350 before stepping out in a lavish display of shiny black shoes and 300 dollar shirts. Much like a peacock. A man peacock... or mancock if you will. I could have brought the Jag but that would require me putting gas into it and I have to save all my money for tomorrow when I am regretting the amount I spent on drinks. I hand the valet my keys, deliberately making eye contact (to show that I am a nice guy) and then I walk into the club. I do not wait in line. Muden never waits in line. This is because I do not know how to look cool standing in a line so I get there early.

Second: As I cross the threshold between humid Houston and shrink your nipples cold I scan the place dramatically as I check the time on one of my super fancy, see-through watches that always match the shirt I am wearing. I step up to the bar and contemplate, very seriously, about flirting with the bartender all night. Instead I go with a vodka tonic, but I know I will revisit "plan B" next week.

Third: The club fills up and I scan the crowd for a beautiful woman wearing something classy. I am not a big fan of the super mini skirt women who flirt with any guys who smiles at them, although in retrospect that would probably be my best bet. I approach said woman and the conversation goes something like this:

Hey.
Hi.
My name is Muden.
Mudding?
No. Muden.
Mud den?
Moo den.
Modem?
No. Fuck it. Yes. My name is Modem.

At this point you will ask if I would like to dance and I will say yes, I would like to dance. Lucky for me I have already had 5 vodka tonics and all inhibition has gone right the hell out the window. You pull me close and move your body in a very seductive manner. Meanwhile, on my side of the tracks, I tell my brain that I would like to move like Usher. My brain relays this message to my limbs and each of them violently interprets it differently. It is a tragic truth, but one I am equipped to deal with. Luckily I thought ahead of time and brought the car with more gas so that I can buy you more drinks so that you forget the horrific seizure like movements that you were just exposed to.

Fourth: We have a conversation about something that only you will remember. Two years from now you will ask if I remember the first thing we discussed and I will only remember that I spent that entire time trying to remember your name. You tell me what you do and list your hobbies and skills before asking me the same questions. At this point I show you my very unique skill of saying nothing at all but making it sound like I am telling you everything. This is because nobody knows what I do and my greatest talent is my ability of not-getting-arrested-ness.

Fifth: I am now 5 vodka tonics and 4 vodka redbulls in. I am trying, so amazingly hard, not to stumble around as you continue speaking about... stuff. Also, I have to pee like you wont believe. This makes it very hard to be the attentive man that I was an hour ago, so I stuff more drinks down your throat before we kiss for the first time in a drunken stupor. I walk you to your car, and that is the end.

Sixth: I get to my car and scroll through the numbers to find yours. I cannot find anything new aside from where T9 threw up and the result was "Jenoiafsr." If the final 30 minutes of our night seemed rushed, I apologize. But do not worry Jenoiafsr, Modem will call you on Monday.

If anyone sees any place for improvement in my already awesome method, please feel free to let me know. Also, if you never see the car again it is in the shop. Always. If you would like to know how the rest of our relationship will be, please refer to the original dating timeline from July.

Word. Versus Everyone Else

2009-10-26T19:22:00.000-07:00

I cannot stand browsing other peoples blogs. When asked, "Hey did you check out my blog?" my automatic response is always, "Yeah, it was cool." The truth is you never really discover just how superficial, typical, fake, shallow, boring, RETARDED, etc. someone is until you read their words. Or as is often the case, you look at random pictures they feel should be shared with the world. These pictures usually involve their feet and windows. When I come across someone with multiple blogs, a Twitter account and a Youtube account I know, right then and there, that someone is going to have to be stabbed before the conversation is over.

The point is not that I am irritated by people who are so full of themselves that they think the rest of us give half a damn, although I very much am. The point is that after spending 5 minutes browsing the "Blogs of Note" here on Blogspot I am FUCKING CONVINCED that I am either a master entertainer or really really really out there. How, pray tell, does a Blog devoted to making arts and crafts out of some sort of glitter glue shit make it to the top? What does that say about us a people that we will take time out of our day to make shit out of glitter glue. Fuck. There is no end to that thought. I am simply left wondering who the HELL makes things out of glitter glue?!

I browse other blogs every now and then. If I come across one on Facebook I'll open it in a new tab and give it a quick look over. I would like to now take this opportunity to inform the rest of the would be writers that updating us on what your idiot dog is doing is kind of boring as a Facebook update... and completely boring as a Blog entry. And yet you still have 200 something followers? It makes me sad inside.

Where the hell is everyone who likes to read something that means something? I made that last phrase as basic as I possibly could for those who can't read so goods.

So taking a step back from my rant, I noted 4 major differences between my blog and the "Blogs of Note"
1. Need moar pictures.
2. Need to post about things inbred goat babies can relate to. (i.e. arts & crafts, my feet on windows, etc.)
3. ?????
4. Fuck grammar.

That being said... here is where I go for the gold!!!!!!!!!! I expect my blog to be on the homepage tomorrow???? THEYRE THEIR THERE!!!!!??>>>....>!!

The Eulogy

2009-10-26T16:22:00.000-07:00

It has been 2 months since my last post. That time was spent rethinking where I want to take my talents with the written word. I suppose I still do not know what, if anything, I want to say. But I did finally decide that I want to share this with whomever would read it.

2 months ago I sat in a sea of black suits and dresses fighting with my self to accept reality for what it is. And as we all sat in silence, listening to the eloquent eulogy, I came to understand it was not silence that had washed over us all. It was a uniform understanding that we are all undeniably mortal. That we have all grown since we were last together. Started our lives, our families, our careers... our stories. And that is what we all suddenly understood. This young woman, this bright star who had chosen to follow her dream of singing, had chosen how her story would be written and it was indeed a beautiful fairy tale... and then it ended and it was, no matter how she may have wished it to be recorded, now in stone.

I worked my coat under the unbearable heat and took a moment to finally allow myself to search the faces around me. Old friends, acquaintances, past lovers and even those with whom I was less than cordial. We all sat there now, together one more time, and not a word was spoken between us. For years we were the great Titans that shaped our generation and now life had washed over us all and what once was, was no more. What would be, is. And what will be, has yet to be decided. Beside me sat an ex lover with whom I at one time was so certain I would spend my life with that the idea of it coming to end seemed unfeasible. And yet she had followed her path to Paris where she would become a model for some designer or another and I stayed here and built my empire. But there she was now, looking right back at me, and her eyes did nothing to betray the shared curiosity between us.

What would our story have been? Were we wrong to record the words "The End" all those years ago or was that tale still to be written? She placed a delicate hand over mine and let her head fall to my shoulder, and I could only close my eyes and accept that what we do is already recorded in stone. There is absolutely no chance of making amends for what we have done. There is absolutely no way to go back and offer a hand instead of simply walking by. I do not think many of us like to think that we can change the past, or even have the desire to. I certainly do not. But I do believe that somewhere inside of us all is the belief that what have done or said does not define us now any more than the thoughts and emotions that never see light.

And yet it does. Or it will. We are all absolutely mortal, and what we did and do now is all that will be remembered. No one will know that this young woman wanted to be an actor, only that she was a vocalist. No one will know that she wanted nothing more than to tell her ex fiance that she still loved him, only that she left him.

And then it was my turn to speak, as I so often do at funerals for friends and loved ones. And while I am always able to grant myself some measure of impartiality, some measure of a wall between myself and my emotions, I was not allowed such luxuries this day as the afternoon began to fall into evening. I gently pushed her head from my shoulders, squeezed her hand and moved for the podium. I had written words to address the somber air that had fallen over the family, but I left them in my coat pocket as I stood and simply watched the people before me for a moment. I pushed the red button on my recorder and the words came before my mind was able to edit them. They were what I felt, and for the first time in a long time, they were not tailored to fit any certain crowd or event. They danced through my mind and fell from my tongue.

"I am a man who expresses intricate design and emotion through words daily, if not hourly. Certainly, finding the right words for the right moment is not something I often struggle with and yet, here... now.... I have none. There is nothing I can say that will be perceived as anything but hollow and cliche to you, her family and friends. Someone you loved, we loved, is gone and they are not coming back. We will miss them. Dearly. Painfully. But we are alive, and we will always remember her story. We will remember the profound emotion she could instill with the humming of a few bars. The beautiful smile that was nothing if not contagious. The fierce loyalty she gave to those she loved... whether she would express it or not.

I was granted the honor of hearing voice trace the melodies of the music she loved most and I know that now it does not feel as if you will ever know anything but pain... but I cannot believe that something so beautiful, so pure, could be anything but loved by God. She is with him now. She is where you, her family, want her to be. And though this is far from my most eloquent or imbued address... it is my most honest. There has been no time in my life that I have been more aware of those around me. gave me that gift. And as I look out over your faces I see tears, and hurt, and pain... but I also see that gift as you look to those beside you and nod softly. will be with you always in the gift that she has given us all. Almost as if even a simple breeze shared with a loved one is a whispered reminder to never... for as long as you live... forget the ones you love.

Had I the strength to give you all the peace you are searching for I would offer it freely. But I do not. And so I can only hope that you know is where her voice belongs. With the Angels. And she will not be forgotten."

Sexy Biscuits

2009-08-08T08:33:00.000-07:00

I read a blog the other day. A rare feat in itself and so worth mentioning by itself. The point is, I walked away with this.

Honey butter chicken biscuits are sexy.

You know what else is sexy? Women who can make me laugh. This is a rare treasure but sadly, they all live in different cities and I might need a hug from time to time.

Check out the original blog here. This girl receives the Muden stamp of approval: http://a-musingz.tumblr.com/

UPDATE: I was disappointed to discover that there is not a special sauce on the tasty biscuit. It is in fact a creepy old lady in the back squeezing a packet of honey onto the biscuit. I did however think of Beyonce as I was eating it.

Roaches Were Just The Beginning.

2009-08-06T18:15:00.001-07:00

I am not afraid of bugs. I do not curl up into the fetal position on top of a bar stool every time I see a spider. I can deal with ants and beetles. Roaches however are fucking disgusting and I will absolutely cry if one touches me.

Then we come to bees and wasps. I am not afraid of bees and wasps. I am however an intelligent human being and I fail to find the manliness in getting stung.

That being said, there are a few bugs that will elicit in me emotions so strong I will turn around and haul ass leaving who ever I am with behind. I DON'T HAVE TO BE FASTER THEN THE BUG, I JUST HAVE TO BE FASTER THAN YOU. Read about the evil little bastards below and tell me you wouldn't share my lack of enthusiasm.

JAPANESE GIANT HORNET

Japan (obviously)

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: This fucker is the size of your thumb and sprays flesh melting acid death poison out of its ass. I wish I was making that up, seriously, because how shitty would a 4 inch long acid shooting wasp be... y'know? And it aims for your eyes! Bastards. Oh and the acid death poison has a pheromone that will signal every other hornet in the hive to come and do the same to you until you are dead. Awesome. Not only are they nasty bastards, you can't outrun these hornets as they can easily fly 50 miles a day. At this point it would be nice to say that they are rare and only live in remote places. But no no, these fuckers are goddam everywhere. All over Japan.

BULLET ANT

Nicaragua & Paraguay

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: It's an inch long. An ant. That is an inch long. As if that's not enough, they live and trees and so can and WILL fall on you to scare you away from their hives... the one you didn't know was there because it's in a fucking tree. Before it does all that, it shrieks at you. It shrieks at you. It's called a bullet any because it's "unusually severe" sting feels like getting shot. On the Schimdt Sting Index, Bullet Ants rate as THE NUMBER ONE MOST TRY NOT TO SHIT OUT YOUR SPINE PAINFUL in the entire world of animals. You are walking through the forest and all of the sudden you are surrounded by shrieks and screams as hundreds of these ants shower over

you and proceed to bite the holy shit out of you.

Again... they shriek at you.

AFRICANIZED HONEY BEE

Every-fucking-where

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: Know how to tell the difference between a regular back yard bee and one of these? YOU CAN'T. The difference is in their behavior. Regular bees will give you about 9 seconds of being close to their hive before they decide you are a threat and attacking you. Pretty easy to walk past them with no dying. That's not how the African bees roll. They give you no more than literally half a second before they decide it is time to completely fuck your shit up. The entire hive. All of em. The result is you running away flailing your arms screaming "HOLY SHIT IM COVERED IN DEATH BEES!" for over half a mile. Africanized bees can live in almost any climate and will have come to every state in the US by 2010. I soooo wish I was making that up.

ARMY ANT

Amazon Basin, Asia & Africa

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: They fucking eat people. Alive. Healthy people. FUCK THAT.

EAT PEOPLE.

Q&A

2009-08-04T06:49:00.000-07:00

Every now and then (when I run out of stuff to bullshit my way through) I sort through the comments and messages in my inbox and I pick 20 of them to bullshit my way through. Ironically, these posts usually get the most hits. That being said, here now is the "Q & A" of Muden's mind.

I do not edit grammar or spelling. This is 100% real and it makes me sad.

1) Do you have read other blogs on a regular basis?

I don't know if you were trying to sound intelligent or you tried to edit your question and failed but holy shit dude. To answer your question, no. Hell no. Have you read some of the crap out there? Blogging is like Youtube except it's not limited by who does and does not have a camera. You get these people posting random pictures better left to Facebook or some other social site and thinking that it is going to entertain other people. It's horrible. Check out these examples. The first one is so full of win I actually saved it to my favorites.

The Wasp: "It's natural, darling, it's from the earth!"
Batman: "Yeah, well, so is uranium."
The Wasp: "Oh, I would never smoke uranium, they use it to make bombs."

http://www.yogabeans.com/

The issue of health care is one close to my heart for a variety of reasons. I have gone without insurance at times after layoffs, unable to afford a $600+ per month COBRA payment. Friends of mine have children and family members with...

http://kdsthinkingoutloud.blogspot.com/

For example, last night I enjoyed driving to dinner because there was a light breeze and the trees in my town look perfect in the wind. I got to have dinner with a new friend and had a delicious dessert.

http://www.ohmishka.blogspot.com/

2) Wut school did u go2 for writting? I think I could keep a funny blog 2.

Clearly.

3) You talk alot about dating and relationships, but you never talk about your own love life. Is there a reason for that?

I always talk about my love life, sadly the funniest posts I have ever made were my adventures in dating. What I refuse to discuss no matter how many times it is requested is what happens in the bedroom. When I stop discussing my love life you will know I found someone I care for and our relationship will always be private.

4) Your observations about relationship and how to treat woman are usually spot on. Ever think about giving dating advice?

This question would be a huge compliment if you didn't suck at grammar. I do not give dating advice. I am not here to help break some girls heart.

Actually, I just don't want the competition.

5) What's up with the random angry posts?

Remember that I am still the guy who grew up with goverment cheese sammiches and Attack Force shoes. I might say some real shit from time to time. Some people get mad and drive fast or beat their wives... I write. I assume you are thinking about me calling people out on a public forum. If you are grown enough to wrong somebody you should be grown enough to make it right. If you choose not to do that then obviously you are ok with what you did and you should have no problem with other people knowing.

6) Why do you delete old posts?

I have no idea.

7) Did that one girl really show up dressed like a hooker?

Yup. It was classy. More so because a group of people I know were there watching me entertain what they thought was a hooker. Word spread like wild fire and to this day I get dirty looks from my elders. Everything I write is true. It makes for good reading, not so much for my love life.

8) Where do you get your inspiration?

The first time I wrote a post (who else remembers Xanga?), I was told my style is sexy. I still don't understand what that means when I get it now. Lately I have fallen away from my style to please you ungrateful bastards, but I suppose that has been my muse. Knowing that I am able to create emotion and provoke thoughts that would otherwise be lost in the daily grind of your lives.

9) You said that you get paid too write. How can I do that???

First: Don't suck at grammar.

Second: Don't suck at punctuation.

Third: Figure out what your readers want to read.

Fourth: ????

Fifth: Profit.

10) Whatever happened to your "Adventures with Online Dating?"

I am so amazingly bad at online dating that it is almost pathetic. I started it after some people at work told me I would enjoy it and I have been coasting along ever since. I have met some nice women on there and I have come across some women I would like to meet but I have no idea what to write when I message people so I usually don't. I get alot of funny ideas from reading profiles though.

11) You used to have a point to make in your posts, what happened?

I still have things I want to say, but I try to stay away from voicing only my opinions. That makes for dry reading. However, I will express a few points pretty soon. I want to get back to my style.

12) Have you been to jail?

How the hell did you come to that question? Yes. I have been to jail. Nothing hardcore but it is a story worth posting. I'll get on it.

13) Why are you so against dating Desi girls?

It's not that I am against dating Desi women. I have been madly in love once in my life and it was with a Desi woman. I am sure there are Desi women out there I could get along with, I simply refuse to put on the "good boy" hat for anybody and that is generally the act they are looking for.

14) When you write about your dating experiences it seems like you are happy dating around, but when you get serious it is clear you want more.

I do want more. I am a romantic sap at heart. But I don't have "more" yet and I'm not going to dwell on it. The thing that makes me happiest in this world is a backscratch before bed from my lady.

15) I read your blog for a long time before actually meeting you and you don't come across the way I thought you would.

I'm not sure what that means, but if I am understanding you right it is because writing does not define me. I am who I am. I work on my car and watch Southpark before sitting down with a flowing thought and expressing it. Am I sheepish about telling people I write? No. Does that make me fake? No. It makes me... me. This is not something I went to school for, it is just what I am "good" at.

Also, when we met we were at Blue Label and I was having a hard time standing straight. Don't judge me.

16) How long does it take you to write a post?

Not long, I don't edit. The way it comes out is what you get. Yes, I do think the way I type.

17) You have touched on almost every subject but racism and sex. Why?

Stereotypes are funny. I can say that because I am a super minority. However, they are cliche so I venture down that path sparingly. As for sex, I am old fashioned. I don't talk about my sex life with anyone. Not even my closest friend knows what happens in my bedroom. When someone sees my other half I want them to see a strong woman, not the girl I am banging. It's a respect thing.

18) You did an article a long time ago about breaking up and what comes after. Do you still believe everything you said?

Yes and no. I still believe, with all of my heart, that you have to fight for love. However, I have learned that there is a difference between loving a person and loving the idea of a person. What I am saying is that after we break up we often see in that person only good things... the things we wanted them to be. Knowing the difference is the hard part.

19) Do you still have the first thing you ever wrote?

No. But I can tell you what it was. My Sociology professor wanted me to give a presentation about the "Disneyization of Society" and I thought it was complete bullshit. So when I took the stage I proceeded to express how remedial I thought she was and I challenged her to step into the real world where people die violently and marriages end more often than not. I have never failed so hard in my life.

20) You seem very serious sometimes.

I can be yeah. I suppose it depends on when you catch me. I am right this moment anyway. Isn't that normal?

The Dating Timeline

2009-07-31T07:47:00.000-07:00

My name is Muden. I am looking for a nice woman to start a beautiful long term relationship with. To prove to you that I am ready for such an endeavor and not new to the game I have included a timeline of how our trip into bliss will most likely pan out.

First: We meet someplace trendy for a first date. Maybe an upscale sushi joint or a hole in the wall piano bar. We will discuss our likes and dislikes, careful not to admit to anything of either category that could in anyway be meaningful or revealing. For example, I confess to my hatred of "bad people" and leave my burning hatred of Saturn drivers at home. I don't go on my rant questioning how someone actually makes a decision to buy a Saturn. I do not express how dent proof doors are infact nice... or you could just not throw shit at your doors. You will ask if I like outdoorsy events like camping, hiking, boating, etc. and I will say I do even though the closest thing I have ever done to camping is when I ate of bunch of acid and then buried myself in the bushes in my backyard so I could "sort things out."

Second: Luckily, we find eachother attractive enough to exchange phone numbers. From there you will go home to study or to work and I will say that I am off to do something noble like donating blood. This is to impress you. Ofcourse, by "blood" I mean "pee" and by "donating" I mean "giving it to them wether they want it or not" and by "them" I mean "my boss's dog."

Third: We will go on a few more dates and you will meet my friends and I will meet your friends. One of your friends will say I look familiar and I will insist she is mistaken even though I know for a fact that we met a few months ago as I was running down the street after stealing a haircut from Sport Clips.

Fourth: We begin having sex on a regular basis. It will be remarkable due in large to the fact that we are both passionate, sexy people. But then I will try to incorporate some sort of strange foreplay involving either your ass or beads... or both. When you call me out on it, I will insist that I was joking even though I was not and truth be told I am thinking about putting stuff in your ass for the better part of my day.

Fifth: Our comfort level is now to the point where we each have a key to the others apartment. You will come home early one day and be shocked to find me on your couch masturbating to "The Golden Girls." I will apologize and tell you that I had been masturbating to the show before this and by the time the new show started I was already "in the zone." later you will look at the TV Guide and realize the show that is on before "The Golden Girls" is "Unsolved Mysteries."

Sixth: You will eventually grow tired of how emotionally distant I have become and I will grow tired of how you never do the things you said you love to do. Sure, we never went hiking together, but you swore you liked to cook and were a very clean person. If I, the couch yank cranker, have cleaner habits than you... we have a problem. You will begin to attack me with petty insulting comments under your breath and tell me that my pillows are disgusting. "They look like you let a homeless man pee on them." To which I will be thinking, "Only your pillow sweetie... only yours." Despite knowing that no matter how much you get under my skin you always sleep in bum pee, I will be more wrapped in wondering how you knew it was bum pee.

Seventh: We will finally break up after a loud shouting match that will eventually end in a scenario where I am standing inside of my apartment, minus the couches, staring down at you through the window, clad in your bathrobe and sipping coffee with a strange sense of calm as you destroy my hooptie with a 9-Iron.

If this sounds like the kind of real relationship you are interested in, please shoot me an email! Just let me know what time I should pick you up. Also, the hooptie is a rental while my Mercedes is in the shop so don't be alarmed.

- Muden

Striper Skank and Kathleen

2009-07-20T09:59:00.000-07:00

For my 22nd birthday a couple of friends thought it would be fun to take me Downtown (back then the party was on Main Street) and surround me with strippers before presenting me with a blow up doll and a cake in the shape of boobies. For those in the club not in our group I can only assume it looked like a bachelor party and in all honesty, if I have a bachelor party, I hope to god it does not involve skanky strippers (as opposed to decent ones?), boobie cakes and blow up dolls.

Now I was faced with a prediciment. What do I do with said blow up doll (I named her Kathleen) and how do you escape the skank of stripper grinding? While I have yet to resolve the ever elusive issue of washing off stripper skank, I did eventually rid myself of the blow up doll.

Kathleen rode in my trunk for a good year and half. This was not for ease of mobility, I assure you. Rather, it was becuase where the hell do you dispose of a blow up doll? Certainly not at home. Trashmen can be very judgmental. At work? "Yeah I saw the pet shop guy dumping a body in the dumpster last night." That would be a no. My only sensible option was to leave her in the trunk until I found a suitable place to bury her.

I would like to interject that this may or may not have been the result of the Sicilian in me bubbling to the surface when it heard the words "get rid of the body."

And so Kathleen became my body in the trunk after a night of strippers and vodka.

A year down the road I am picking up a date from her apartment for dinner and a play. We are dressed up for the theatre and of course as we arrive she wants to leave her purse in the car but downtown is not the best place to do so, so she asks me to pop the trunk.

Awesome.

I pop the trunk, having forgotten all about Kathleen, and BLAMMO she starts yelling "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!" At this point I still dont know what the hell is going but I am rushing to the back of the car like she is getting mugged and low and behold, Kathleen is half covered under the clutter of recent trip to galveston to collect marine specimens and bioturf.

For those of you not educated in marine biology, it was basically a shovel, sand and tarps.

Tell me what you think she was thinking.

Yeah, I know. Fuck.

I proceed to explain everything, she laughs nervously, and we go on with the night. I never heard from her again.

The next day I decide it is time to finally be rid of Kathleen the cock blocker. I have no idea where to take her but I do know that it has to be done. This comes to me as I am standing in an Autozone parking lot staring into my trunk thinking, "Should I stab her to deflate her?"

And so I tried to stab her with the only thing I had. My keys. I failed. I did however manage to grab the attention of everyone in the parking lot. After trying to stab the goddam doll I said fuck it and looked around for the nearest trashcan. I figured if I moved fast enough I would minimize the number of people who saw me.

So the trashcan was full and I spent another 5 minutes trying to stuff this now burned, stabbed and disfigured blow up doll into the 6 inch opening of a trashcan. Inconspicuous I was not.

The end product was me getting it half way in and saying "fuck it good enough" only to walk away from two legs sticking out of a trashcan out side of Autozone. I had to move through a gathered crowd of employees and customers, my audience, to get back to my car.

Akward.

Per Madre

2009-07-14T05:28:00.000-07:00

As a writer I have long been convinced of the inadquacies of the written language in regards to the description of feeling and emotions. However, there are times when you simply must say something when the creation of art is neither convenient nor practical. So, it is with a heavy heart that I am forced to express the feelings that I bury inside becuase I know that these feelings are poorly served by the simple words I am forced to employ. It is not enough for me to say I love her. I have used this same word to describe my relationship with milk, hot wings and past girlfriends, who in the end, I know I never truly loved. So to use the word "love" to describe the immense feelings and emotions that she elicits in me seems somehow... wrong. However, becuase I am a writer I am aware of the power simplicity can convey so long as the audience understands the context. Generally this is achieved through the use of flowing adjectives and writing "between the lines" to bring you, the audience, to the conclusion I want you to arrive at. Here, however, I will be direct so as not to allow the perception of anything other than what I want you to walk away understanding. The word love is but a whisper of the shadow of the feelings I have for this woman. No matter how beautiful or poetic it may be, it is still only a shadow. The feeling itself, that which casts the shadow, is ever more brilliant and colorful than I could ever hope to express on paper. With that said I suppose I should continue in the language you wrote all of my birthday cards in.

I love you ma.

Per sempre. Sempre. Eterna.

Non abbiamo parlato troppo a lungo, ma non ho mai smesso di essere tuo figlio. I miss you caro e desidero più di ogni altra cosa che potrebbe tornare indietro il tempo di passare la mia gioventù con voi ancora una volta. Non riuscivo mai a dimenticare quello che è successo tra di noi, ma vi prometto che ti ho perdonato. Forse vedremo presto, e forse sarà un'altra vita tempo prima che io sento il calore della madre di nuovo. In entrambi i casi, sarà accolto a braccia aperte.

La tua risata è caro perdere ,
- Mohammed Kaleemuden Siddiqui

F**K Roaches

2009-07-13T16:51:00.001-07:00

Let's talk about a serious problem plaguing Houston. It is a vile disease that leaves our streets unsafe and our children in the constant line of fire.

It's not Gora's in rice burners who own all the Fast and Furious movies.

It's roaches.

Evil sadistic carnivorous bastards.

First let's clear the air of a few myths. 1) Roaches do not eat people. This is false. Roaches have huge fucking teeth and once they take flight in that nasty goddam way nasty creepy fuckers... they fly AT you. THEY ARE GOING TO EAT YOUR FACE. 2) Roaches help the ecosystem by eating carrion and other trash that would otherwise decompose into nastiness. This is also false. Roaches are born from everything evil. They are little carwling spawns of death and when 30 of them combine their powers they form Satan. 3) Roaches are easily killed with Raid roach spray. Could not be anymore false. Anyone who believes this has clearly not encountered Houston's lovely 10" long tree roaches of death. Those little bastards take half a can and then they still wanna run at you to exact revenge. I once sprayed one non stop for 10 seconds and the little fucker still made it up my shoe before I kicked him off and screamed like a gir... man. I screamed like a manly man. It was a lumberjack scream. More of a yell really.

Now that you know the real agenda of roaches we can discuss how they go about fulfilling their little missions from Hell. When it rains, roaches come out to play. When its hot, roaches come out to play. When there is fucking oxygen in the air, roaches come out to spread their evil. If you live in Houston you have encountered death and no doubt you bare the scars to prove it. I once knew a guy who lived in a houston so infested with roaches I once woke up with one crawling on my leg.

HE WAS GOING TO EAT ME.

FUCK.

THAT.

I no longer speak with this individual. I was violated that night and I do not think I can ever be his friend again.

The constant presence of roaches in undeniable and something of a "part of life" here in Houston. So what then, Kaleem, inspired you to let the world know just how evil these little bastards are? I'll tell you what happened.

I will share with you this thorn from my lap of memories and with the blood it draws from my thumb I hope to illustrate the importance of KILLING THEM ALL.

I went on a mini vacation to Paris not long ago. Obviously, I flew there. On a side note, air planes are one of the few bastions we have left in the battle against roaches. Another place being my home. You can bet your ass I am roach proof to the extreme. I exterminate once every two months without fail. So help me god if I ever had a roach encounter in my own home I would break down and die.

Back to the point, I parked my car in a buddies garage, windows down, and had him drive me to the airport.

Almost, what, 4 months later? I am at work today and we decide, "Arbys!" (until the 16th you buy a drink and get a free sammich!) and so I pull my car around and in hop 3 co workers. I do not look at my back seats. Ever. Much less lift up the floor mats back there. One guy gets in and knocks the mat out of place and BLAMMO! there is a dead spawn of satan staring at me.

HOLY SHIT FUCK ME DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED HAD THAT LITTLE BASTARD TOUCHED ME WHILE I WAS DRIVING?

His mission was to kill me. I am positive. He left behind a little note with my description on it. He knew his mark!

I did not eat lunch today. I am still tramuatized by my brush with death. Seriously holy shit what if that thing started crawling around when I was driving. Ohhhhhhhhhhh my god I would have taken out a few cars in my frantic attempt to pull over in the middle of 59 going 80.

I called my "buddy" on the way back to work and told him we couldn't be friends anymore and that he should move.