Given My Druthers

"Okay, we get it. You win."

AlienLovesPredator #143

I'd ruther not go out for coffee.

It was the Spring, or maybe Summer, of '84 when some Random Guy steals up behind me one afternoon as I was walking around in my neighborhood in the vicinity of ASU, and as he pulls up along side me asks if I was going to see the recently completed replica of 'The Dome of the Rock' Mosque. Like any woman dealing with a Random Guy, I try to Ignore him. But he persists and says he is on his way to see it, he is visiting from out of town, having recently arrived from somewhere in Europe doing something for someone using some new computer/software/ I Didn't care what--I didn't know him and had no reason to.





I had heard about the new building and while I was curious to swing by and have a look, it was not on my agenda to go see it that day. He grabs me by the elbow in a non-threatening, but forward manner, and keeps walking and talking about how he just has to see it on this particular day and I am just the person to take him inside since he doesn't want to do anything wrong or offend anybody having never been inside a Mosque before.




I tell him frankly, I am not qualified to be any kind of tourguide to first time visitors to a Mosque--why he accosted me of all people walking around for that particular task is incomprehensible to me since I was pretty sure I had left my 'Pick Me for Your Mosque Tourguide Because I am Muslim' plackard at home.




But in no time, we find ourselves at the entrance to the Mosque and the Random Guy turns to me and says, "Well, since we're already here, let's go in."




Which starts me thinking, 'I'm on the rag; I don't know if people are at prayer and if we can just barge in if the doors are closed; I don't have a scarf, I don't know Random Guy's name.'




My hesitation doesn't seem to faze him and he says, "I think we should take off our shoes before we go in." And before I even have a chance to look down, he's already out of his shoes.




"I think you can just go in. You don't need an escort," I say as a last ditch effort to ditch the Random Guy, but he insists that he wouldn't know what to do once he's inside. I guess the idea of just taking a look around at a new building is not in his lexicon. So, not wanting to deter anyone from going inside a Mosque, I reluctantly take off my shoes, the while thinking, 'This blows if they don't have something I can use to cover my hair once inside.'




It was completely empty of people when we stepped in, and it was remarkably lovely and new; true 'architecture of the veil' since we couldn't have anticipated how beautiful it was inside based on the deceptively understated exterior. We climbed up the winding stairs to see what the second floor was like and spent a few minutes just looking around and enjoying the coolness, due in no small part to the intricately carved jaalis in the outer walls acting like a natural and welcome ventilation system to hedge against the Arizona heat; the arabesques, the round dome, the Persian rugs layered on the floor, and the natural light. We didn't say one word to each other, so busy were we taking in the novelty of the space.




Then I was jarred back to reality when I heard a low and gruff voice from somewhere, 'Sister, what are you doing here?'




A short, young man came up to us from a back office somewhere, his stern look and pursed lips made it all too clear he was not pleased to see us there.




"I thought I'd come in to see the Mosque."




"Why is your hair not covered and who is this stranger you're with?"




I think the look on my face pretty much said it, but I never actually came out with it, "Duh--some Random Guy, didn't look too strange to me and wanted to see the Mosque, and I was not intending to pray!"




At which point, I felt Random Guy's hand reach for my elbow again and say in a hushed voice, "I think we've seen enough. I think we should go."




The unwelcoming host was joined by his side-kick, just as short and surley, as two white birds flew in to perch in the jaalis, and he said, "Who are you two, and where are your shoes?"




Random Guy, who by now figured out that I can be the Sister and He not the Brother for no other reason than that I am the Brunette and He is the Blonde, was bristling at this point; but he kept his pleasant demeanor as he addressed them both, "It's really very beautiful in here, thank you for your hospitality. Sorry, if I caused any trouble. We're going now."




And with one quick tug at my elbow we flew down the stairs and made sure we closed the door on our way out.




I was never so humiliated in all my life (having not lived that long, yet); to actually get thrown out of a Mosque! That's right, for doing nothing wrong but for being in the company of some Random Blonde Guy who wanted to see it.




I quickly slid into my shoes, and was trying to just as quickly part company. The Arizona heat, the mad dash down the stairs, the mortification all rushed to my face and gave new meaning to the word 'redskin'.





!You WILL put back everyword I just typed and You wiped out or I WILL NOT keep my hands off the Equipment! {for those just joining us, I had completed this tale of hijinx in the Arizona desert, when some random glitch wiped it out as I went to post it, never mind that it was saved a couple times while drafting...}{the following day, realizing, it didn't all magically get restored since I thought maybe it was rbacked}PUT-It-BACK! Erasing my words does not erase the Memory, Tom~!





{still not back?}I will now count to 3--1...2 (Michael--Brother--that thar fine piece of equipment (read Lazer) you've been developing for over a decade should be all pumped up and ready to go, what say You tune it up right about now? (nice block getting my kid to hi-jack my computer yesterday just as I was about to count 2, but it's not like there is a shortage of computers in these here United States)...





It's a good thing I count slow-- gives me time to work out what the problem is; in this case it is that anything/anyone coming across this site thinks any of this is about them--well, there is more to this World then Them. Okay?
See, some people don't give a ratsass about others because they are bitter that they have to consume the least inspired cuisine on Earth with the most restrictions, not because anyone is punishing them but because Jacob was a finicky eater and apparently had some food allergies, to boot, so they don't much care about others who consume tastier food since what can be the worst thing God can do to them besides make them eat Gfilte fish?
Then there is them who feel they sin so beyond redemption that God will wipe out everything and everyone on Earth since others can't be doing any better than they are, especially if they finally see the light and repent and are SAVED because then they will get air-lifted off the face of the Earth before God comes down really hard on them thar sinners. Not stopping to consider God has no reason to ever reproach most Buddists living on the Earth because they seem to do pretty well with just applying the Golden Rule, and they are good for the Earth; on average don't run amok against each other, and seem to do really well in school; so, why should they be wiped out if they don't have the same guilt complex as them 'we-gonna-be-air-lifted-out-of-here-everytime-we-miscall-the-end-of-the-world' ?Then there is the regular garden variety them 'holier-than-thou-'cause-i-can't-read-a-word-of-scripture-but-i-follow-the-fella-with-the-rattiest-beard'; who for the most part just wing it, or shout it, shoot it, or blow it up to make a point about something nobody else much cares about because they're all having trouble making ends meet or taking their accounts off-shore.
So, My Dear Michael, on 3 you will pick your target(s) knowing how I feel about above ground power lines and faulty infrastructure. I would just aim for the nodes and not over think this thing; don't worry if you hit me, because it ain't like I ain't been burned before. It's set up so that even a mis-fire will hit an intended target, and activate. That's a Kammand. 3!

Journal Entry for May 14, 1997 at 17:00

Classified:

Top Secret

“We are One!” a voice sounded in her right ear as she drew to a stop at the intersection of Bundy and Santa Monica. “We are taking our anti-smoking campaign overseas,” the voices from the unidentified source continued.

Momentarily, her daughter piped in, “Mommy, that man’s smoke is bothering me.” She frowned for emphasis forcing her Mother to take action. Her Mom reached over to the passenger side of their vehicle and rolled up the window on her daughter’s side.

“Mommy, why does that man look funny?” her daughter added, as Mom pulled herself back up behind the steering wheel. This prompted Mom to look past her daughter to the car with the smoker next to them and carefully assess the driver. The man in the vehicle--a silver Land Rover--rolled forward slowly to bring his driver’s window directly into her line of sight. She could discern from his profile that he was not a normal variant of anyone she would consider a contemporary human.His head was noticeably larger and appeared to be nearly spherical. It was draped with very fine blonde hair--nearly colorless--in a Dutch boy haircut that hung limply in the air between the bottom of the back of his head and his shoulders. His facial features, from what she could see, were very flat, with an imperial chin and small, fine-shaped nose. She sensed he allowed her to peruse him deliberately and when he felt she had taken him in in some detail, he slowly turned from profile to face her.

She was initially taken aback at seeing his face; it was not ugly, in fact its features were perfectly symmetric and perfectly formed, however, it was very strange. Her surprise registered on her face. Reading her confusion, his thin lips traced a quizzical smile, and he leisurely dangled his left arm out of his window and with his thumb flicked the butt of his lit cigarette to let some ashes fly.

Her gaze followed the flow of his black clad arm, with his opaque white hand holding the cigarette. There seemed to be one heart beat between them, then he shook his wrist forcing a watch to peek out from under his long sleeve. He continued to nonchalantly dangle his cigarette out the window while studying her, his fingers perfectly long, thin, regular and manicured. While she could not read the brand on his watch, she understood it to be the very finest in time keeping machinations and she was given to understand that she was late for something. He took advantage of the opportunity that time allowed for her to assimilate all of this information about him by quickly moving into the vacated space in front of her vehicle. The traffic light had briefly turned from red to green and back again, allowing only the one vehicle in front of her through the intersection. He moved so quickly that she did not have time to react and to move her vehicle forward. She did not miss out on the fact that the timing of the traffic signal was irregular.

“Now step out of the car and let her take a good look at you,” a young male authoritative voice commanded. While she clearly heard this directive, her daughter was oblivious to it.

To her amazement, the driver-side door to the man’s vehicle slowly opened, reinforcing the impression that the voice(s) she heard were in fact a real presence, yet somehow not everyone in her surroundings could hear them.

“Mommy, what is he doing?”

She only responded by extending her right arm across her daughter's body to keep her from freeing herself of her seatbelt. She continued to watch carefully, as she was given to understand this particular show was happening just for her benefit.

The man extended a very long, very thin, black clad left leg and well shod foot to the ground. Once his foot landed and he tested his footing, he slowly drew his entire body out of the vehicle and remained standing in place, with his back to her, certainly allowing her the chance to take a very good, long, hard look at him.

He was very tall, his erect frame exceeding the height of his vehicle. His legs were spindly and clad in a tight black fabric that enveloped his lanky legs without revealing his musculature. His slacks were beltless and rested snugly without binding on his thin, masculine frame. He had a very small buttocks almost to the point of being non existent. His hips were narrow. The opaque, semi-glossy fabric of his black shirt draped fluidly around his broad shoulders and long arms and was tucked smoothly into his pants. His bulbous head was balanced on a reed-thin long neck. This last detail bothered her most about his appearance since she surmised his neck was about one-fifth the diameter of an average human neck. Overall, she concluded that he was aesthetically pleasing to the eye despite his unusual appearance.

He slowly turned on his heel to face her and stood motionlessly staring at her. She knew to greet him with the obligatory “Peace!” and she did her best to project telepathically to him, however, he seemed non-responsive. He began to walk toward her and while she strained to hear any kind of communication from him or those intrusive voices—all was silent.

She noticed his gate was unusual; he moved like a puppet on a string--almost as if he wasn’t aclimated to the gravity on Earth. As he approach she sensed her daughter's heightened state of anxiety, so she did what any mother would do—she deftly flipped him the bird. She felt this defiant gesture would at least demonstrate to her daughter that she wasn’t afraid and so neither should she be. That same quizzical smile flitted across his lips, so quickly she wasn’t sure it happened at all. He continued to methodically plod his way to the rear of his vehicle, turning his back to her once he reached the tailgate. He gingerly opened it up and she considered for a moment pinning him between the vehicles by rolling up slowly on him, but she was not sadistic. Had she not been miffed at this display in front of her child, she would have laughed at the sight of his thin limbs flying around in search of something in the back of his SUV, when finally he straightened and turned to face her, this time holding two small bottles of Evian water in one of his hands. He raised them slightly to her eye level, went back into his vehicle and drove forward through the intersection. The timing of the light was such that once his door closed, it turned green.

‘Great, they’ll be poisoning the water next,’ she thought to herself. She wondered why no one else seemed to notice the extra-ordinary length of time for the traffic signal to change. No-one honked or even seemed remotely interested in what she and her daughter had witnessed. She drove west behind him for several city blocks until she had to turn north to the service station, and he continued westbound. His vehicle did not have a license plate. She would have liked to chase him down, but she felt constrained by the presence of her child in the car and the need to get to her son before the nursery school closed.

While she didn't appreciate the mystery, the encounter gave her something to focus on outside the chronic pain in her body, and the migraine in her head; 'Who are 'We' that are 'One' and what do I care about any anti-smoking campaign?'

From Maxie Time, by Raida Abachi

Just Who Are Those Blonde Guys Walking Around?

Patient (bewildered): They said when I wake up, I should say 'I want to be a Mom and shop the end-of-the-aisle.'

Doctor (muttering): Do you think I want to see any more of those blonde guys walking around!?

Always best to lead in with a joke when it is a matter of life or death...

I recently came across the published treatise "Invisible Killers: The Truth About Environmental Genocide" by Rik J. Deitch and MD Stewart Lonky and was bewildered with one of the author's involvement in putting it into print.

In fact, the . Maxie Time diary refers to an instance wherein the patient pointedly asks the doctor to assess the possibility that she had suffered a . toxic exposure, leading to multiple chemical sensitivity (August 21, 1996) and he replied,. "That's a controversial issue, asthma is less so."

Simply amazing what a decade of denial can do; let the statute of limitations run out--or is the reader to conclude that the government along with the medico-legal community want to be trendy (a la Al Gore) and are now comfortable extolling the truth about . environmental toxic exposure..

. At any rate, while the book is presented by two experts, the subject of "those blonde guys walking around" is carefully avoided--now that would have made for some really interesting reading!.