Cosmotics anyone?

I'm sure you've all noticed that I genuinely enjoy taking pictures of anything that has a typo. Anything! Even word documents. You'll find me laughing for no apparent reason. It might even be my mistake. But I'll still smirk at it and find it amusing. So here you go. I thought I'd share.

Eat the kuku, Nunu! Tfoo!

Before anyone bitches:

Yes, I know it's dangerous to drive and take pictures at the same. Yes, I know I could have endangered people's lives as well as my own. Yes, I know. Thank you for caring.

Take a close look at this:

Why do people do this?

I seriously need an answer.

Why would you take a brand like Johnson's and try to replicate it when you know you're going to fail drastically? And why call it "Nunu"? I understand that some Egyptians think it's cute to call their babies "Nunu" but I never fully understood where it came from.

If anyone knows, please tell me.

Did it sound nice to them? Or did they think that it was clever of them to call babies "Nunu" like some other Egyptians who idiotically decide to nickname chicken "kuku". Did they seriously think it would make their kids eat faster or better?

And the tagline! The tagline! Oh the shame!

"You keep the motherhood and we'll keep the softness".

I'm sorry, guys. That's the best-sounding translation I could come up with.

What the hell is wrong with these people?

Now I completely get why I'm so passionate about branding. I have an urge to make this country better. I realize that I will never be able to change the mentality and there will always be many "Nunu" brands on the market but hey, it wouldn't be such a fun country to live in if they disappeared.

"No one significant at least."

Listening to: Natalie Merchant - My Skin

I've been listening to depressing music lately. I think it contributes to my depressing self.

Don't get me wrong.
I'm not depressed.
No one has died.

No one significant at least.

One of my neighbors died. I used to avoid that man all the time. He'd leave to work every morning as I would be leaving and would come home at night the same time I would but I'd try to wait until he uses the elevator to avoid conversation. And now, he's dead. And I feel bad about ditching him all the time. Now I'm beginning to wonder if someone will write something stupid like this when I die one day.

"No one significant at least."

.I am so easily amused.

Meena says:
i just ate a whole bag of hips
Meena says:
chips
Sarah says:
haha
Sarah says:
hips
Sarah says:
lol

.B.

I feel like I haven't been spending enough time with B lately. I see him every day but I'm so overworked that something is lacking. Probably my mind.

I work so much that I don't have time to breathe.
I'm not complaining. I love every minute of it.
But will it remain this way when I'm married?
Will I still have this much time to dedicate to work
and to equally satisfy him and his children
and my family and...

and me?

*Pause*

B just called and said he loves me. *sigh*

And the world is right again.

.The Gun Moll.

I once fell for a fancy man;

a man so pale and
d e l i c a t e l y boned

that the first time I saw him

s t r [e t c h e d] out in my bathtub

he looked
like something that had been filleted.

Fancy Man was a salesman,
and we spent most of our nights
in expensive restaurants

where one glance would have told anyone
that we were poorly matched.

His plates were always an artful tableaux.

Crispy little birds --
hovering on pools of brightly colored purees
and cunningly arranged fruit desserts
encased in spun sugar cages

while mine

had a childish paint-by-number quality:
red meat and green vegetables
followed by a little something chocolate.

Fancy Man tolerated my indifference toward haute cuisine
as long as he could,

until the evening
he

r e a c h e d
across the table,

tapped the tines of his fork on the edge of my plate
and hissed, "You eat like a gun moll."

It wasn't as bad as it sounds.

He meant that I eat passionately,

with an appetite that comes out of desire
and not from what is fashionable in food.

And he was right.

We had different engines,
this man and I,
needed different fuels to stoke our fires.

His constitution could be satisfied by [ex]otic tidbits,
while my body craves someone substantial,
like steak—or more precisely, steak on the bone.