Girls of Riyadh

I hate summer colds, but I do get them once in a while. Like an ass I kept my windows open when the temp dropped to 76 degrees one morning (and yes it shot up to the triple digits well before noon) after it rained, bringing in a cold breeze. I also had my fan blasting atop me, so when I began getting a dryness in my throat two days later (making it worse I was trying to clean the fan from the inches of dust and soot that blew in my face ’cause I forgot to unplug the fucking thing) I knew it was time to restock on the Theraflu.

I discovered Rajaa Alsanea’s Girls of Riyadh while searching for Nedjima’s, The Almond. In this post-9/11 Islamophobic world, I know that libs and lefties are running to embrace these “oppressed” women of a country that is guilty of countless human rights abuses. But here’s the rub: Miss Rajaa is a member of the well-heeled “velvet class” she describes in her fiction that was based off the women in her elite world whose lifestyle is kept behind high gilt marble walls surrounded by armed guards and the Saudi Religious Police. So Rajaa’s view of things aren’t necessarily skewed, just somewhat myopic.

The unnamed narrator (sitting in her easy chair wearing red lipstick) posts on a Saudi Yahoo! group the tales of four university-aged friends Gamrah, Lamees, Michelle (or Mashael since her mom is American), and Sadeem and their romantic pratfalls- as romance can happen within the boundaries of fundamentalist Islam. I suggest dear reader, that you read the introduction, because while Rajaa might live in Chi-town and wear a hijab (at least in the photos I’ve seen of her), Saudis are definitely schizo regardless of how rich they are. There is a clear double-standard of women and men. Gamrah’s husband divorced her after she confronted his long-time Japanese girlfriend leaving both her and their son to linger in the kingdom. His family could honestly care less about Gamrah because she did her duty and produced a boy (named after the paternal grandfather). Michelle whose mother is American and the most “westernized” of the four suffered through two bittersweet romances: the first with a man named Faisal whose mother wouldn’t consent to the marriage because her father’s tribe was unknown, and for the fact she was half white. And the other was dubious with her American cousin (YEESH!) Matti while living in San Francisco (apparently Saudis still marry their cousins in the 21st century). Now her father can do whatever he wants and he won’t even permit his daughter to even attend journalistic events that she was invited to during her internship in Dubai when her family forced her away from Matti. Her mother supported this because even though she’s Muslim in name only, the greedy lazy bitch just doesn’t want to hear her husband yell and scream. The silly Sadeem who was nearly made the second wife through Firas, a control freak, ended up marrying her cousin Tariq because she wanted a “safe man” after having her life blotted out by man who did every scam in the book to string her along- even after his wife gave birth to their first child! And finally Lamees, a medical student, found her match in her classmate Nizar who became a prudent Muslim wife by wearing her hijab before men that aren’t her family paying her dues to Allah for giving her a husband and daughter. They moved to Canada to get their doctorates, but I have no doubt they’ll send their daughter to SA for a “proper upbringing”.

Sex in the Saudi City it ain’t.

So if you’re looking to understand what it’s like to live in a country that lives by the strictest moral codes (men and women have separate banks, for example) combined with tribalism (if you aren’t from the right clan your life goes nowhere and you can’t marry just anybody) and discrimination (Saudi Sunnis call Saudi Shia rejectionists because they believe that the caliphate should belong to Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law, Ali ibn Abi Talib and his offspring), then some of the facade will dissolve around the House of Saud. And then we wonder why people fancy blowing themselves up. It doesn’t mean (as Westerners) we will grasp their high ideals, and frankly, fucking insane protocol. But after reading this, as a woman I was especially appreciative of being allowed to walk outside alone, and uncovered. Saudi women aren’t even allowed to drive. And no, I don’t consider that drop-dead gorgeous, fair-skinned Saudi princess the first woman to drive in the kingdom reform.

The great funbag debate: breast reduction

So you go to your GP because your back’s been fucking you over for a while now. He/she examines you and they give you the news:

“You need a breast reduction.”

Now there are two ways you can approach this scenario: 1) Ignore the doctor, continue to suffer in silence or ruin everybody’s fucking day with your pissing and moaning, eventually resulting in permanent damage to your spinal cord rendering you a hunchbacked near-invalid with a painkiller addiction… But no worries! The memories of all those men rubbing their faces in your Gargantuan cleavage like the disgusting pug in Turner & Hooch saying Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-itski! warm you at night as your at home nurse tucks you in and puts on your sleep apnea oxygen mask.

…Or swallow your pride, go home, tell your boyfriend/husband/baby daddy what the good doc said and that you will be seeking out a plastic surgeon. If he’s a good guy he’ll take your hand, say he’ll always love you and think you’re beautiful, then bite his lip, go to a dive, tie 10 on and sob to his boys that his favorite chew toys will be retiring. Then he’ll stumble back to his place, pass out and wake up with a fucker of a hangover, but when he next sees you pain-free and face aglow, he’ll know it’ll all be good.

But if he’s a bad guy he’ll take your hand, and say: “Let’s get a second opinion.” Or maybe he’ll pull out the last sex video you uploaded and say how much he’ll miss that. Better yet, he’ll suggest a new diet to take some of the fat off your breasts (as well as your ass for good measure), maybe some exercises or go bra shopping that will have better back support.


Unless they’re 600 lbs. and that’s whole other rant…

What is I’m trying to say is dickwads and dumb hos, large breasts aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. When I said to Kaye that as soon as I fall into some insurance or make some money my 38 DDDs will be a single C and lifted. She threw a fit and said how wrong I was. And this is a woman who was born with lower back scoliosis under her 42 DDDs and her petite mother is in the F-range whose GP has told her she desperately needs a reduction. But getting dick is more important than having a healthy body. That says a lot about their self-esteem.

Kaye’s boyfriend also refuses to use rubbers, and she can’t use hormonal birth control anymore. Know why? The estrogen is enlarging her lymph nodes, so her breasts are getting too big for her bras… and she worships Victoria’s Secret push-ups.

My chest udders grew out of control because of genetics (Dad’s mom was huge) and my relationship with food. I’ve been a vegetarian for two years on a strict low-cal diet, and have lost weight. But I have a bread addiction, and am an emotional eater- when I’m depressed or pissed I eat. So I yo-yo. I’ve been like this all my life, so I suspect that there’s not only a psychological reason for this. I think I have PCOS #mce_temp_url# and I suspect other female members of my mother’s family do too.

Usually women find out that they have this bullfuck when they’re trying to get knocked up. Infertility/difficulty conceiving is a major indicator, but since I’m childfree and NOT trying to get knocked up, I fit into the other categories. Getting tested requires having to find a specialist, and you have a battery of tests to submit to- all of which will suck moolah out of your ass and your insurance may be bitchy and refuse to cover you.

The point is I will be getting my reduction with pride. I’m doing all the research and am happy that I’m not the only chick under 30 who has been fucked in the ass with unbearable, saggy tatas, and want to be free of half of them. I’ll support all you chicks who may or may not be getting much loving from your loved ones about it, because they’re our bodies and we know what’s best for them!

So fuck all you chauvinistic asswipes! Just to let you know I’m a size queen who likes ’em big n’ circumcised! Can’t handle it? Oh well…