<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171</id><updated>2011-07-28T13:47:50.350-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Small But Mighty</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-374382732582227866</id><published>2009-04-29T00:16:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T00:19:36.544-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What the h-e-double hockey sticks?</title><content type='html'>I am brainwashed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has taken me eighteen years to realize it, and now I've realized I can finally think for myself! Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I've realized that all the things I've realized are really.. negative. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which begs the question..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I opening my mind or just becoming more critical?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Notice: I have used the word realize at least four times in this short post. I hope my essays don't look like this. Actually.. they kind of do.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-374382732582227866?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/374382732582227866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=374382732582227866' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/374382732582227866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/374382732582227866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-h-e-double-hockey-sticks.html' title='What the h-e-double hockey sticks?'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-8018154325982526508</id><published>2009-02-08T00:27:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-08T00:47:50.971-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>i am such a dakkhan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ok so i took this urdu class to learn how to write urdu.. I HAD GOOD INTENTIONS!!! but i find my innocence being ravaged by the urdu epithet-queens of the west! i mean, i might ask for it, but they dont HAVE to tell me... do they.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;soo so far:&lt;br /&gt;i can cuss out your mom and sister&lt;br /&gt;i know how to say you're an idiot a hundred different ways: (dakkhan, bonga, duffer)&lt;br /&gt;some weird synonym for paagal from farah that sounds like bird but apparently means psycho.  maybe its a flighty psycho, and hence the bird reference?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and i watch weirdo vids like this: http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=cdd_1230239811&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;they rot the mind, i tell you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-8018154325982526508?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/8018154325982526508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=8018154325982526508' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8018154325982526508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8018154325982526508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-am-such-dakkhan.html' title=''/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-8070657454357070618</id><published>2009-01-13T12:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T02:16:28.851-04:00</updated><title type='text'>haha- they said</title><content type='html'>Older people love telling you how the world "really is".  I don't know why, but they somehow have this sadistic desire to dash your fantastical hopes into the ground and bring you into this dark place they call "reality" in which older people proceed to form VERY boring, predictable, and completely career obsessed circadian rhythms.  They tell you to grow up and "get a life".  They use words that should be in air quotations without air quotations. They like to nod aimlessly and make shallow and meaningless conversation.  They enjoy pleasant activities like taking strolls and reading quietly beside the fire.  They try to convince themselves that they are happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are, in fact, not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't grow up. Please.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-8070657454357070618?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/8070657454357070618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=8070657454357070618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8070657454357070618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8070657454357070618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2009/01/haha-they-said.html' title='haha- they said'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-3356651629417348772</id><published>2008-10-17T01:09:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T01:22:50.027-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I ammmmmmmmmm turrrd.</title><content type='html'>What's up with 1 in the morning and this urgent need to blog post? It could be about nothing.. in fact it will be about nothing because I am thinking nothing because my brain is empty because it's 1 in the morning.  So I have a million things to do ALREADY on my fall "break".. demolish my room, contemplate the end of the world, get the dry cleaning.. oh right so I still have my feet on the ground, so to speak. Gotta get cracking, jeeznits.&lt;br /&gt;So I find myself and my mouth increasingly offensive around Sumayah.  She's already picked up "Dangggggggggg", and she repeated jeeznits the other day (actually she kinda didn't know what I was saying so it came out more as a garbled "Jesus" with a question mark. Which is worse I will never know) but thankfully no one heard that.. haha. um or did they.  But she probably forgot it already.. right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chalkboard paint. Meds. Car charger. Dry cleaners. Gym.  Sparkly things? Bag. Shawl. Kitchen. Life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-3356651629417348772?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/3356651629417348772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=3356651629417348772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/3356651629417348772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/3356651629417348772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-ammmmmmmmmm-turrrd.html' title='I ammmmmmmmmm turrrd.'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-8649727856811657933</id><published>2008-08-29T14:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T12:15:24.653-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a big girl now..</title><content type='html'>So, apparently I'm in college.  I mean, that's what people keep telling me.  What does that mean, exactly? No more Hello Kitty bandaids? I have to get over my Dora obsession? I have to be potty trained...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not an option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OR MAYBE!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oooook I'm trying to think at maturity level.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I have to pee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-8649727856811657933?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/8649727856811657933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=8649727856811657933' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8649727856811657933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8649727856811657933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/08/im-big-girl-now.html' title='I&apos;m a big girl now..'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-8466154879634830083</id><published>2008-08-02T02:43:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T23:35:24.983-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids say the darndest things, pt 1</title><content type='html'>I think I'm gonna make this an installment piece, as I remember things I'll post them eventually.  But kids say funny things like a million times a day so it's hard to remember particular instances.. here's just a few of the "gems" (be afraid)&lt;br /&gt;Funny things my nieces/nephews say:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Ok Sumayah sit on the toilet, Dadi is coming soon&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ami: Why can't you wash her? All of your sisters used to wash you, uptil you were seven years old! Tumhe sharam nehi aati? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Eww Ami I am NOT washing anyone, plus what if I do it wrong?? Then you'll have a rashy Sumayah, and all because you made me wash her&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sumayah: Amna Phupho WASH ME!! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Two days later... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sumayah: Mujhe pishi arehihain!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rabea: Ok Amna take her&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Uh...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rabea: Just do it, okay?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sumayah: DO IT! WASH ME!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kids these days. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;---&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Saliha: "You go, girl!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sumayah: "No, YOU go girl!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;---&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Safia is sarcastically yelling at me for something or other..&lt;br /&gt;Luqman: Mama NO don't be mean to Amna Khala! I DONT LIKE IT! *Starts crying*&lt;br /&gt;Me: *laughing* It's okay Luqman, really..&lt;br /&gt;Luqman: DON'T LAUGH AT ME!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: DAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGG.&lt;br /&gt;Sumayah: DAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGG.&lt;br /&gt;Me: *slap forehead and look around guiltily*&lt;br /&gt;Bhabhi: Yeah that's right.  I heard that. &lt;br /&gt;Me: oops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luqman: I don't want gandhi pizza!  (Cheese that is slightly brown is "gandhi" to him, i.e. dirty.  That child is getting better alhumdulillah, but mannn was he OCD)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hadiya what are you doing?&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: No.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hadiya are you playing with the doll?&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: No.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Do you like the doll?&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: No.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hadiya why are you saying no?&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: No.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Ok...&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zakariya: somethingsomething WUSHU! *grabs my finger*&lt;br /&gt;Me: huh&lt;br /&gt;Zakariya: WUSHU!&lt;br /&gt;Me: what&lt;br /&gt;Me: OHHH haha wushu finger hold! BOOM!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya is speaking "pushto" on the phone. &lt;br /&gt;Me: what&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: 0395h23tuon gao9aghwe0ghwrgounadf&lt;br /&gt;Me: huh&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: oiwh3t89awengwegh89wet0[93&lt;br /&gt;Me: i dont get it&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: woejtngwaoeinwoeg9&lt;br /&gt;Me: *silence* ok. thats nice.&lt;br /&gt;Rabea: SHES TELLING YOU ABOUT HER PURSE&lt;br /&gt;Me: How am I supposed to know that?&lt;br /&gt;Rabea: I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;Me: oooooook then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hadiya: aaakaakaahoo&lt;br /&gt;("Pushto" for "what are you eating".  This is Hadiya's signature catchphrase.  We should make t-shirts.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh dem chillen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-8466154879634830083?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/8466154879634830083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=8466154879634830083' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8466154879634830083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8466154879634830083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/08/kids-say-darndest-things-pt-1.html' title='Kids say the darndest things, pt 1'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-620794367643451765</id><published>2008-07-30T02:18:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T02:22:26.764-04:00</updated><title type='text'>blogging</title><content type='html'>i have this silly subconscious fancy that blogging is all about finding yourself or something.  it is pretty powerful, being a kind of online diary.. empowering b/c you know everyone CAN see it, but you still try to convince yourself it's "private" so you can talk about stuff you never knew you even wanted to talk about. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;well, it is my blog.  i might as well. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Weighty blog topic #1: What's the meaning of life? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ohhhhhhh. I'll pass. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-620794367643451765?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/620794367643451765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=620794367643451765' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/620794367643451765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/620794367643451765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/07/blogging.html' title='blogging'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-6455109280605283672</id><published>2008-07-26T06:22:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T06:32:50.787-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Paindoo</title><content type='html'>I am in love with this word.  Saying this word 5 times fast while simultaneously spinning around counterclockwise whilst balancing a budgie on the tip of your nose is sure to summon me to your aid.  Oh and my pretend village, farm animals, and talwar will also be at your command.  Try it. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the spirit of one Saliha "sallybunker" Gul Baloch, who often said, "Abu's gone. Gotta act like him." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Sally's gone.  Life is like a box of chocolates.  Except they are all mint chocolate chocolates.  And I know what I'm gettin." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes I wonder how my brain justifies my trains of thought.  It's like the little cars are cuttin each other and cuttin each other, and you miss some of em along the way, and its like.. DANG I'm in the engine room already! And this place is MESSED UP! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I love messed up...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh go back into the frying pan, Peter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-6455109280605283672?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/6455109280605283672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=6455109280605283672' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/6455109280605283672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/6455109280605283672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/07/paindoo.html' title='Paindoo'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-4093015431417298595</id><published>2008-07-26T06:09:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T06:22:39.153-04:00</updated><title type='text'>hi again</title><content type='html'>spamming your own blog is okay... right? &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;recent junkamagabalousiousity going on: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- DARK KNIGHT! - Heath Ledger made that movie.  Christian, sorry bud.  You just ended up in jail. Ledger might be gone. But he was good. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- Sally is in India.  I'm kinda expecting a half deformed vegetable when she comes back.  All that brainwashing, mixed with the really unique fresh air you can only find in India (freshly burned corpses and day old urine! OMG I wanna go too!) .. why she just yelled "Jai Hind" in the phone at me yesterday! Or was it "i got a tind"? And I definitely got a txt saying "Yo amni whats ooper" the other day. pAiNdOooOooOo .  Btw if she comes back typing with alternating caps letters, I'm taking her car. (I have my own but still.  It's a matter of conscience). She can ride on a haathi. Paindoo is as paindoo does. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-4093015431417298595?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/4093015431417298595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=4093015431417298595' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4093015431417298595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4093015431417298595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/07/hi-again.html' title='hi again'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-8660851906869045663</id><published>2008-07-26T06:00:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T06:06:07.406-04:00</updated><title type='text'>oh those gorays</title><content type='html'>stuffwhitepeoplelike.com &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;if you could compile all of the little societal.. what do we call them? idiosyncrasies? finess...es? those things that we could only take for granted. norms? oh, "societal norms". that one is REAL original. ok well if you could get all of those, and stuff em into one site, this would be it.  except i kinda take offense at one thing: i like a lot of that stuff too.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;am i a gora wannabe? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;NOOOOOOOOOOOO!! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;GORA PEOPLE EVERYWHERE, BEWARE! I NOW FULLY COMPREHEND YOUR ENTIRE PSYCHE.  YOUR STATE OF MIND!!! IT LIES WITHIN ME!! I KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWW&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;wow i scare myself sometimes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-8660851906869045663?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/8660851906869045663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=8660851906869045663' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8660851906869045663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8660851906869045663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/07/oh-those-gorays.html' title='oh those gorays'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-8993217933119667548</id><published>2008-07-06T01:16:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T01:35:10.528-04:00</updated><title type='text'>How can you NOT care?</title><content type='html'>Have you ever read The Stranger? Let me tell you, it's one of the most disturbing books I've ever read.  I don't think I even got through the whole thing.  But still.  I have read some pretty disturbing things too.  Gory murders, people turned into lard, child abuse.. and yet...&lt;div&gt;How can people not care about things? I think to a certain level I understand.. I mean up til a few hundred years ago people actually had to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;work&lt;/span&gt; work to make a living, and they didn't have the luxury to just &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; things.  In The Stranger, Meursault just does things.  He lives.  He's almost like a parasite, just living off the infrastructure that other men have built up.  He's a bum living a bum life and basically he decides nothing matters.  He gets engaged, kills a man, and gets pushed around by other people because he will do anything people tell him to do.  And in the end, the guy who believes nothing matters dies for his own freaking cause! Doesn't that mean that he believes something really DOES matter? Nihilism is a cause in and of itself, is it not? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Apathy bugs me.  It digs deeper than violence.  It digs deeper than.. evil.  It's like an evil unto itself.  I don't get it.  I don't want to get it.  I don't want to live in a world without right and wrong.  I like rules.  I like morals.  I like believing my life will be worth something, in the end.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder if Meursault cried as a child.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-8993217933119667548?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/8993217933119667548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=8993217933119667548' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8993217933119667548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/8993217933119667548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/07/how-can-you-not-care.html' title='How can you NOT care?'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-4432972002184825638</id><published>2008-07-01T15:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-29T14:36:29.490-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Unsolicited Advice</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://pics.livejournal.com/jfboyd/pic/001bxkhy"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 447px; height: 235px;" src="http://pics.livejournal.com/jfboyd/pic/001bxkhy" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I don't like unsolicited advice. Or happy people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Top Five:&lt;br /&gt;5. People who tell me a million different ways I'm gonna get cancer. (*cough*RABEA*cough*) I might live a carcinogenic lifestyle, but SO DO YOU. Should I stop breathing? Wait, lemme see you try that first.&lt;br /&gt;4.  People who try to correct the way I do things.  Namely everyday things, like cleaning tea cups or washing sheets.  If I don't want bath mats, I don't want bath mats.  Can I tell you a secret? It's not your bathroom! WHOOPEEE!&lt;br /&gt;3. People who tell me to smile.  Like that Saudi guy in the airport.  I'm not gonna smile at you, buddy.  Maybe you haven't realized this.. but I might be wearing a distant, aloof, and slightly disgusted expression in the airport because of people like YOU.&lt;br /&gt;2. People who are happy ALL the time. It's scary.  Plus I'm not sure it's 100% organic.&lt;br /&gt;1. People who try to give me random fatwas about things.  Don't look at the kaba? Hmm, it's only the big black thing that I seem to be circumambulating, but hey, I'll give it a try...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm a happy person... most of the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-4432972002184825638?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/4432972002184825638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=4432972002184825638' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4432972002184825638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4432972002184825638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/07/unsolicited-advice.html' title='Unsolicited Advice'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-4267273607449760827</id><published>2008-06-29T21:31:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-29T21:41:31.056-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Life's a Beach</title><content type='html'>Sooo I just got back from the beach!  We tried out this board thing for the first time, it was interesting.. mostly the waves just enveloped us and we tried not to drown.  It was fun tho, I tell you.. AND we saw wild Spanish mustangs (horses for all o' y'all).  It was interesting, they just live out in the wild with the people there, roaming around in the locals' backyards. ANYHOW my whole family is black now (we were wearing spf 50, I don't know what happened) hopefully we're still recognizable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had to come back smelling of throw up tho.. Luqman had an "accident" in the backseat. Gross.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, and I graduated a few weeks past... I just thought I'd say it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-4267273607449760827?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/4267273607449760827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=4267273607449760827' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4267273607449760827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4267273607449760827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/06/lifes-beach.html' title='Life&apos;s a Beach'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-2467774349636004673</id><published>2008-06-03T23:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-06T23:00:04.112-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hell Hath No Fury</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.chinapost.com.tw/news_images/20080514/P1CL.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 176px;" src="http://www.chinapost.com.tw/news_images/20080514/P1CL.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is it with women?  I mean, I am one of them.. but still! They're psycho!&lt;br /&gt;Take Hillary Clinton, an entirely arbitrary example who clearly did not inspire this post in any way.  The woman is trying to convince everyone she's got it under control- but nooooooo! She doesn't! She is probab&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;ly one of the most vindictive, manipulative people around.  I honestly think the one thing that keeps her waking up in the morning is the thought that she might get what she thinks she deserves for standing by her scummy hubby: the presidency.  She was so bitter at losing the nomination she couldn't even bring herself to admit Obama had won it.  Obama, on the other hand, was making gracious comments like "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Our party and our country are better off because of her".  Oh well, she just made herself look bad going out; I hope she isn't planning on running again because if she can't bow out of the race with grace and dignity, how does she expect to be able to handle all the stresses of presidency?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:-1;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fairer sex turns out to be.. the psychoer sex.&lt;br /&gt;Meh, I can live with that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-2467774349636004673?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/2467774349636004673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=2467774349636004673' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/2467774349636004673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/2467774349636004673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/06/hell-hath-no-fury.html' title='Hell Hath No Fury'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-7276044919232848431</id><published>2008-06-03T00:08:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T07:39:54.607-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do we love period dramas?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Cr7pbFK5lIs/SEUtPswX7nI/AAAAAAAABXo/BSfhn0yn4MM/s1600-h/mr+darcy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 115px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Cr7pbFK5lIs/SEUtPswX7nI/AAAAAAAABXo/BSfhn0yn4MM/s320/mr+darcy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207618291859189362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cr7pbFK5lIs/SEUtJNPcJlI/AAAAAAAABXg/2guiBdFqBbo/s1600-h/RA1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cr7pbFK5lIs/SEUtJNPcJlI/AAAAAAAABXg/2guiBdFqBbo/s320/RA1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207618180320339538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not just me; hordes of girls are obsessed with period dramas (men are too they just like to deny it.. I swear I saw my dad looking intently at the screen while we were watching P&amp;amp;P one time..he pretended to look away when we glanced back at him, I KNOW it).  In fact, we have a little period drama gang of our own over here, and I refuse to believe that we are the only ones. HELLO have you seen Jane Austen Book Club? It's an entire movie based on people obsessed with period dramas.&lt;br /&gt;But why? For us, it's simple: your average costume drama has your strong willed heroine (girls love this, guys don't like this if they are insecure weirdos), good looking British hero (CF and RA; need I say more?), wit, humor, sarcasm, good conversation (life would be pretty dull without it), gross misunderstandings (who hasn't had a couple of those?), and, after the girl very artfully rejects the boy because of some small defect in character, his love for her eventually leads to a complete metamorphosis into the perfect man and they live happily ever after.  THIS is every woman's dream.  To have a man change just for her even after she rejected him, just out of pure love and dareIsayit just a vain hope that she *might* see him for who he actually was from the beginning.  Women, in the end, just want to know that they can control you, because otherwise how can they trust you? So you have to end up making the ultimate sacrifice: your pride, which is like either the penultimate or ultimate sin anyhow so really they are just trying to save you from jahannam.  So men, there you go. The truth comes out.&lt;br /&gt;But I mean, coming from us, or me, rather, just overall it reinforces our ideals.  I mean, period dramas are mostly halal, they show your typical two parent family structure and kids, average middle class families, the mothers are all consumed with getting their daughters married.. WAIT this is my life!!&lt;br /&gt;Yeah...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yay for period dramas!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-7276044919232848431?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/7276044919232848431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=7276044919232848431' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/7276044919232848431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/7276044919232848431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/06/why-do-we-love-period-dramas.html' title='Why do we love period dramas?'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Cr7pbFK5lIs/SEUtPswX7nI/AAAAAAAABXo/BSfhn0yn4MM/s72-c/mr+darcy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622328893719642171.post-4366967275137229602</id><published>2008-06-02T23:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T23:41:00.955-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey Y'all</title><content type='html'>Salams All,&lt;br /&gt;So this is what, about the fourth time I've started up something blog-typish? Or fifth? I dunno.  But all of them were for dumb reasons; one of them was for a project and one was a family blog or something.. so hopefully I'll stay faithful to this one! Anyhow I'd like to say thank you to all my readers, and my fans, and... FINE it's not the great American novel, but how can anything I say not be entertaining ;)&lt;br /&gt;Wasalam all!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1622328893719642171-4366967275137229602?l=anbaloch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/feeds/4366967275137229602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1622328893719642171&amp;postID=4366967275137229602' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4366967275137229602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1622328893719642171/posts/default/4366967275137229602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anbaloch.blogspot.com/2008/06/hey-yall.html' title='Hey Y&apos;all'/><author><name>Amna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09329662406481183224</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
