How I Snuck Into A VIP Event And Got Hit On By A Celebrity

2018 edit: I had to wipe out the celebrity's face for privacy reasons LOL.
 
Hello, fellow bloggers!

Allow me to channel my inner Captain Obvious and state: it's been a long time. If there was an award for Most Blogging Hiatuses Ever, I would probably get it.

I hope you guys didn't miss me too much. I've been pretty regular on Twitter though, mostly because it involves just spurts of random stuff and nothing too coherent. I care a lot about you guys which is why I wait for something that I can write a lot about to share with you all, plus I enjoy the feeling I get when I type out something gigantic once in a while. I can't promise you that this 'once in a while' will come sooner and sooner, but believe me, abandoning this blog is definitely not part of the plan - so don't worry!

^ Yeah, that paragraph sounded like something an aunty would write. Whatever. (But it's true, okay)

What I am about to tell you all today, folks, is how I snuck into a VIP EVENT and got hit on by a celebrity (because you know, I can never trust you all to read the title of this post).

So, yes.

It all began when my cousins, brother and I decided to head over the the nearest mall for dinner. We were being raucous and rowdy, as usual (since you know, the concepts of manners and politeness and etiquette do not apply to family members of the same age group).

We headed to the food court, when suddenly, we saw:

FATBURGER.

(Fatburger is a fast food restaurant chain.)

Apparently, Fatburger launched in Pakistan, in our city, in OUR mall. Which was great news. Because you know, BURGERS ARE GOOD AND FATTENING AND DELICIOUS AND FATTENING AND SCRUMPTIOUS AND FATTENING AND GLORIOUS AND FATTENING.

Also, they're fattening.

But the day we saw Fatburger at the mall was no ordinary day, people. It was apparently the opening of Fatburger, which meant it was a VIP Invite-Only Closed Event. Which meant, the general public would not be able to visit Fatburger that day, but rather, the day after that. Fatburger had invited a bunch of celebrities, ranging from actors, singers, models, politicians, journalists and food critics (though food critics hardly count as celebrities - they're just picky eaters who happen to be snobby). And they would not tolerate any member of the random, lower class public to enter their restaurant, not with such dignified people present.

So, my cousin decided to go there anyway.

As soon as he tried to walk in, he was stopped by some bouncers (YES, THERE WERE BOUNCERS) who were pretending to be macho by wearing tight fitted black t-shirts and sunglasses indoors, at night. *suppresses a snort of laughter*

(yes, there was a red carpet and velvet-rope scene too)

The bouncers stated that Fatburger would be open to the general public the next day, and filthy scum like us would not be allowed to mingle with the famous people at the launch event. Dejected, all of us cousins had to go to the opposite restaurant, which was Gun Smoke.

From left to right: Myself, two of my cousins, my brother, and another cousin.

Regardless of the fact that Gun Smoke is an amazing restaurant with brilliant food, we were all pretty disappointed with how rude the Fatburger people were being. Just so that they could establish their reputation as an upper-class, rich, snobby restaurant, they weren't allowing in the people who they actually NEEDED to serve! After all, with the models' and actors' diets, Fatburger would be a pretty dumb place for them to go (but the fact that half of the people in our media are uneducated and hungry for limelight explains the massive celebrity turnout).

Anyway, my cousin (the one who had approached the bouncer) took the whole thing as a challenge. After we had finished eating dinner, he told all of us that he was going to attempt to...

SNEAK INTO FATBURGER.

We thought he was joking. But he actually got up, left Gun Smoke, and stood outside Fatburger, pretending to be busy on his phone. As soon as the bouncers were occupied telling off another member of the general public scum that they weren't allowed into the royal area of the restaurant, my cousin calmly stepped over the velvet ropes and strutted inside Fatburger as if he owned the place.

My other two cousins, brother and I thought that he was going to be kicked out any second. But after five minutes had passed and there was no sign of a scuffle, we were convinced that our brave cousin had achieved the impossible.

Around ten minutes later, my cousin came out of Fatburger and beckoned to the rest of us to come in. Since the bouncers seemed to be interested in acting all macho and looking off towards nowhere - in an attempt to appear nonchalant yet exuding power (and FAILING, if I may add) - my cousins, brother and I also quietly slipped between them, over the velvet ropes and into the restaurant.

Fatburger was absolutely packed. There was no place to sit. Everywhere I looked, there were TV actors and actresses, singers, models that were usually seen on billboards and in magazines, and a bunch of people who looked important and very high-society-ish thanks to their upturned noses.

My cousins and I wandered around the restaurant, pretending to be cool and indifferent. But on the inside, all of us were feeling like:

LIKE OMG TOTALLY!

We were being scrutinized by some of the people in the restaurant. OBVIOUSLY, since everyone had come in formal attire, all of us were looking so out of place in our hoodies and tees. WE WERE THE LOWER CLASS. WE WERE DIRT. SCUM. GUM (stuck on the bottom of an unsuspecting person's shoe). But after one intense glance, everyone looked away. Probably because they assumed we entered with an invitation, which meant we were part of the K3WL G@NG.

Here's some of the madness that took place inside Fatburger (thankfully after we left):

LOL. Look at all these adults, assuming that they're all part of the upper class just because they got to take pictures of a man dancing on one of the tables. Pfffft.

Oh, also:

This COULD have happened if I had stuck around for a while more.

Anyway, it was awesome to be a trespasser for a while. The thrill in the entire affair wasn't that we were amongst people who thought of themselves to be really high and mighty, but rather the fact that we totally gatecrashed and NOBODY NOTICED.

Just as we had had enough of Fatburger and were about to leave, my sight landed on someone.

Someone very familiar. Not because I knew him personally, but because...

HE WAS AN ACTOR IN ONE OF MY FAVORITE DRAMAS.

YAK.

His name isn't YAK (these are his initials), but I'm pretty scared that he'll google his name one of these days and read this post and I'll get into heaps of trouble for telling everyone what happened, regardless of how minor it may be (but it isn't minor okay, it's pretty awesome so READ ON, FOLKS).

HUBBA HUBBA.

(Okay, please ignore the above statement. That wasn't me, all right. That was my alter personality who apparently likes to be vocal about one's suppressed cheap thoughts.)

YAK was there, in Fatburger. I watched this drama, called Meri Saheli Meri Hamjoli (My Friend, My Companion) in which he made an appearance for a few episodes (perhaps 20) towards the end. He played a divorcee doctor, looking for a suitable wife to remarry. And there was a massive fight over two friends-cum-sisters-in-law (one, a widow and the other also a divorcee) over him. AND THE WIDOW WON, SORRY FOR SPOILING IT FOR YOU GUYS HAHAHAHA. Here's proof of the fact that he's an actor:

An advertisement for his TV Drama. (The text says: Who will become Umar's bride? Umar being YAK's character)

And a model:

So, yeah. Seeing a celebrity that became a household name in such a short while was pretty overwhelming and exciting, which is why the first thing I did when I saw him was:

I was in a dilemma. To rush to him and beg for his autograph, or to just savor the fact that I was in the same vicinity as him and watch him leave from afar? The former would make for a great experience, whereas the latter would just cause many wistful sighs and thoughts of "what could have been" in the future.

Being the extremely relaxed person and awesome decision maker that I am, I approached him as coolly and calmly as I could.

I asked him to stop (since he was leaving), which he surprisingly did. I mean, seriously, when all you expect from celebrities is being snobby and using hand sanitizer after they brush their tips of their fingers against yours in a feeble attempt to shake hands, someone famous actually STOPPING at your request is quite an unexpected phenomenon.

Good lord, seeing him up close was actually unnerving. I mean, all this while he had been that polite, well-mannered doctor on TV just looking for a sweet girl to marry. And now, here he was (WEARING THE SAME PANTS AS HE HAD WORN IN ONE OF THE EPISODES, IF I MAY ADD), in front of me, with that polite smile of someone expecting you to say something first, and a very, VERY adorable dimple.

I (with a voice that didn't waver, which is an achievement), asked YAK if he was the same guy in the MSMH drama. He said yes (which he didn't need to, but I had to keep that cool I-just-may-not-know-you stance of mine), and that lead me to tell him how much I enjoyed the drama, his character and the entire story. I told him I was a really big fan of his, to which he smiled, and thanked me.

SMILED AND THANKED.

We then proceeded to have general small talk that a star-struck fan and a celebrity would have on any regular day. It involved me asking him a lot of questions, such as:

- HOW OLD ARE YOU?! (23)
- HOW WAS IT LIKE WORKING WITH TWO OTHER FAMOUS ACTRESSES? (Great experience)
- WHY ARE YOU SO HOT? (*embarrassed smile*)
- WHERE ARE YOU ACTUALLY FROM? (Turkey)

After asking enough questions to fill in a dictionary-sized questionnaire, I thanked him profusely for his time and complimented him on how gracious he was with his (hyperactive and slightly deluded) fan (which, goes without saying, was me). As I turned to leave, I heard...

"Listen?"

I wheeled right back to face him. With a half-smile, he said:

"You're really beautiful. Add me on Facebook?"

Me:

That, certainly, was unexpected.

I didn't know what to say. After all, it's not everyday that one encounters such situations, nor knows many people who have been through the same. He was looking at me expectantly, so there was not much I could do except... Ask for his Facebook ID. (I ONLY HAD ONE AND A HALF SECONDS TO THINK, OKAY, STOP JUDGING ME.) He gave it to me (so not gonna share it with you guys), and then with a final "lovely meeting you", he left the restaurant. 

I was flummoxed. Flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Stunned. Nonplussed. Astonished (using thesaurus.com is addictive, all right?!). Jokes aside, I really was bewildered at the exchange that took place. In all honesty, perhaps he may have not exactly hit on me, but complimenting me and asking me to add him on Facebook translated into something of that sort in my mind at that moment.

So, when I got home, the first thing I did was look him up on Facebook. He was there. I decided to play it cool and add him the next day. I ended up adding him five minutes later (leading the belief I have of myself to be the person with the weakest resolve ever to be enforced a thousand times over). He accepted it within an hour, which made my day (technically it was night, but who cares) brighter than ever!

It's been more than 2 months since this incident has occurred. I have spoken to YAK a few times, and he has been absolutely lovely to talk with. However, I fear the charm and novelty of the entire situation will fade the more and more I converse with him. Hence, there isn't anything more to share with you all (which is great actually, since I'm tired of typing). 

And for all of you who think the entire above story was a figment of my hyperactive imagination (I don't blame you for that, though), here's PROOF!

That's YAK and I in the middle, with two of my cousins, at Fatburger. SO YEAH.

x

Note to my followers (especially those whose blogs I follow):

I can't make any promises about posting regularly due to A Level examinations looming over my head. However, if any of you know how to contact me (which most of you do, thanks to your ultra creepy stalking skills), PLEASE let me know whenever you publish a new blog post so that I can read it! 

Also, I turned 19 years old on 6th March. I didn't even write a birthday post for myself like I usually do. I'm a terrible person. :(

See you all, hopefully sooner than you think (but probably not).

Love and hugs!

The Insane Amount of Cats I Have

Ladies and Gentlemen.

I, Furree Katt, have a confession to make.

I am a crazy cat lady.

Yes, you are allowed to gasp in surprise, look down upon me in contempt, and evict me from your lives. You can slam the door on my face, unfollow my blog, and jeer at me. I am ashamed of myself. I have turned into a monster, way before my time. I admit to have fallen into the inescapable web of madness that only middle aged and depressed women go through...

With the help of my ZILLION cats.

Okay, perhaps there aren't a zillion, but there are at least a million.

And I am going to tell you about them.

Ignore the above picture, that's totally not the real me trapped inside the world of cats trying her best to escape. Nope, not me at all.

Let us start with my very own house cat.

Boys and girls, this is Kuchi. She is nearly 3 years old, extremely fat, and...

SCARED OF HUMANS.

Yep. You read that right. Kuchi is the most terrified cat in the whole world. If she hears the doorbell ring, she will bolt under the bed and hide till she's sure that no stranger is around anymore. If she hears someone's voice that doesn't belong to the people who live inside our house, she goes absolutely ballistic. She hates people.

Kuchi, forlornly staring out into space, hoping against all hope that she won't come into contact with any human today.

When we first got her, she was a little kitten with a massive problem. Apparently, she and her siblings had been mistreated by a couple of little kids (picked up and flung around, chased up and down) when they were with their previous owners. Hence, all the kittens, who are now massive and healthy cats, are traumatized, leading them to be scared of anyone they don't know.

It took Kuchi at least a month to become completely comfortable with all of us, and the house in general. She used to stay holed up under the bed for ages, only coming out for eating and pooping. Gradually, she began venturing out of the room and exploring the house. We've had her for over two years now, and we are the only people she trusts. I am proud to say that she is the most attached to me, because I feed her and clean her poop the most.

We had another cat who used to live inside the house, whose name was Moomoo. He passed away recently. You can read my tribute post to him here. Since he was loved by everyone, I'm including this picture of him:

Moomoo, like a boss. We love you and miss you!

Now, for all the cats that live outside my house. These are the strays. But they're not exactly stray. They are surprisingly friendly and loving, and depend on us for food (they don't hunt)! These cats have the same line of ancestors, with the earliest being a stray cat that my aunt adopted when she was 11. That means the line of cats passed down to us has spanned over 35 years! That's gotta be some kind of record. There were more cats than the ones I am posting below, but I won't include them because they died more than a few years ago. They were the ancestors of these cats:

This is Gugu. DO NOT LAUGH. My brother names all the cats, because he has the most active imagination amongst us all. Gugu is nearly a year old, but she looks almost the same as when she was born. Gugu is my favorite amongst all the strays. She's the only one that obeys me and accepts me as her Master Owner Extraordinaire (which all of them should, but whatever).

This was Gugu as a baby kitten!

I have witnessed her birth, as well as her siblings' (they all ran away and left Gugu behind, which is fine by me, because seriously I'D RATHER NOT BE MORE CRAZY THAN I AM NOW), and that's what makes her so special. She has grown up in front of my eyes, and is always desperate to be picked up and cuddled. However, once given sufficient love and attention, she's gonna give her 'whatever' face, as seen in the above photo. LOL.

This is Chuchumama (again, please refrain from laughing). Chuchumama is Gugu's mum. She grew up in front of us, too. She's adorable, but lately she's become a bit scared of us and only comes four or five times a week rather than living in our garden. She must be nearly two years old. She has low patience for the other cats, and prefers home cooked meat as opposed to tinned cat food (unbelievable, right?).

This is Exorcistu. Yes, that's right. My brother named her this, as her 'meow' sounds like a scream of death, like a banshee predicting a massacre, like there's a demon inside her. Regardless of her horrific vocals, she's quite cute and loving. She also has a black spot under her nose which is reminiscent of Hitler's mustache. Exorcistu is Chuchumama's sister.

This is Exorcistu and Chuchumama's brother. He is quiet, and almost as terrified of everyone as Kuchi is. However, he has a penchant of cuddling with his siblings, who usually slap him and tell him to stfu (at least that's what I can interpret  from their hisses). He resembles Michael Jackson a little. We haven't named him yet. We just refer to him as Exorcistu's brother.

This is Billoo. She is Chuchumama's, Exorcistu's and Exorcistu's Brother's mother. Which makes her Gugu's grandmother. This was a picture of her before she even had Chuchumama. SHE'S SO UGLY. But she's not the ugliest. Wait till you see...

DOLL CAT. We named her Doll Cat not because she looked like a cute doll. But because she looked like:

AREN'T I RIGHT?! Ladies and gentlemen, Dollcat is Billoo's mother. Which makes her Gugu's GREAT GRAND MOTHER. How the hell is she even alive? Don't ask me. But whatever it is, she's evil.

Moving on:

This is Gugu's brother. Plot twist: He doesn't belong in the family at all, but he came to our house out of nowhere and never left. Plus he looks so much like Gugu that they could have been twins in some parallel universe. We haven't named him either, so we just refer to him as - wait for it - GUGU'S BROTHER. LOL. He hasn't entirely warmed up to us, but the rest of the cats don't mind his presence so he just lives here and eats the food we give.

This is Mehndu (name derived from Mehndi, which means Henna, since the cat is the ugly colour of faded Henna LOL). We still don't know whether it's a male or female. We never got the opportunity to check it, if you know what I mean. I think Mehndu is a tranvestite. Anyway, I despise this cat. The only reason it exists with the other cats is because it REFUSES to leave, regardless of what we do. Mehndu always fought with Moomoo, and it also often has spats with many of the others. But since it has chosen our household as it's home, we feed it and take care of it like we do with all the others.

And finally:

This is Meena. She's not our cat anymore, but since I never mentioned her on my blog before, I thought I should share her picture with you guys. Meena was our cat when we used to live in Dubai. She was awesome. When my family and I had to move back to Pakistan, we gave her to our neighbor. Meena is healthy and happy, with 3 kittens that look just like her! She turned 5 years old this Christmas.

OMG. After reading all the above, I'm sure you must be slapping yourselves for ever thinking I was normal. Seriously. Underneath my fairly boring and noncommittal exterior, I AM A RAGING CRAZY CAT LADY MONSTER. Someone please buy me this so that my life can be complete:

Thank you.

And before you think too badly of me, I would like to enlighten you all with this unbelievable yet totally authentic piece of information:

My Psychology tutor has TWENTY SIX CATS. So there. 

(Since this is my last blog post for December, I hope you all have a very happy new year! See you on the other side.)

Pose. No Pastry. No Picasso. No Pills. Damn No Pancake. NOOO Pitcher. OH HO POST*. Guest Post. I Hate Autocorrect :P (By Hamza Bin Ladin)

WARNING: Please avoid reading this post if you are allergic to bullshit. Because once you start reading it you’ll get jinxed and scarred for life. Not only you, your seven generations will be affected by this post so please save your great-great-great-grand-son by averting your eyes from this webpage and go elsewhere. 

                                               

After fifteen days of constant dancing and partying I’ve finally managed to write down this guest post for my/our most favorite blogger. I've been living on cloud 9 ever since I saw this on my Facebook wall.  

                                 

She was crying multiple shades of grey blue, which is not normal at all!

To which I responded:  

*please be kind enough to ignore my appalling Paint skills*

*Ahem*

Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen. I'm Hamza and I do not like my name at all. Don't get me wrong. It's a pretty decent name. Also, the definitions of Hamza at the Urban Dictionary is pretty apt too. Hehe. 

There’s so much fuss about names. You know what, in my opinion people should not be allowed to keep a name that already has been taken. This would invoke creativity in people and we’ll be able to have really cool names. Also people won’t have any trouble claiming twitter accounts with their real names so end of user-names like Jack69 or PrincessAlice. 

Some names are really cool. For instance: Dick. If I had a brother called Dick, I'd make him go crazy by saying,'Don't be a dick, Dick', all day!   

A friend of mine knew these two sisters in his school named Kisma Baig Butt and Seema Baig Butt. Now imagine this conversation: 

You: Hi, What's your name? 

She: Seema Baig Butt. 

You: Pardon? 

She: SEE MA BIG BUTT. 

  

Now you're standing there confused what to do. See her big butt or ask her name once again. Likewise, 

You: Hi! What's your name? 

She: Kisma Baig Butt.  

You: Pardon? 

She: KISS-MA BIG BUTT. 

Now you're in a grave situation; to kiss her big butt or ask her name once again. And in case, you chose to do the former, God bless you son. 

Man, I wonder what made Mr.Baig Butt name his daughters in such a vulgar and haram way. Openly inviting strangers (na-mehrams) to see and kiss his daughters 'baig butts'? Same is the case with uni-sex names. So confusing. Parents who christen their children with unisex names must high on something really strong.   

I hate meeting people with my name. Whenever I see another Hamza, they mean competition to me; WAR. If you’re a Hamza and, unfortunately met me, then don’t be surprised why I’m being extra mean to you. Actually, I’m not being mean; I’m just trying to make you understand, Do you realize that you are not worthy of MY name.  It's like Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. "Neither one can live while the other survives". There are just two options with people claiming my name to be theirs too; die or change their name(s). 

The reason I dislike my name is very viable and understandable. The reason may sound quite bizarre to most of you but that's that; It's not a nice last name. For instance, if I end up marrying Emma Watson and want her to take up my name it'd be Emma Hamza. "Emma Hamza". Yuck.  

I had a massive crush on this girl in grade three. I used to study at Saint Michael’s Convent School those days, we had a lot of Christian and Hindu kids in our class. So there was this cute Hindu girl in our class which was the ‘apple’ of all the male eyes in our class. 

One day, during the recess during one of those pre-teen-hormonal-chats, the boys were boasting and fighting about how she was dying for them but they couldn't marry her just because she was a non-Muslim. I said: I’d marry her but our names don’t sound cool together. One of my friends said: "Sonya Rajkumaari sounds a lot cooler than Sonia Hamza. Sonia Hamza sounds like brother and sister more than anything". 

So yeah, it’s kinda sad. Not kinda, it IS sad. *sniff* 

 
You see, it’s much harder for me to find a girlfriend for myself. I have to find someone with a name that goes well with mine. And I haven’t met a single one yet. Even my current crush’s name is Areeba. Imagine, Areeba Hamza. I don't need anyone to bro-zone me. My own name bro-zones me.  

 
Hahahaha hahahaha hahah *Burst into tears* 

*Sings* 'I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had...' 

 To help me out of this miserable condition, please let me know of any girls with names that sound great with Hamza. Also, please let us know of any funny names you've heard. 

But even if you guys fail to think of any suitable names, finally, as a last resort I shall change my name. Not completely change my name but use it like an anagram: Tom Marvolo Riddle = I am Lord Voldemort. Something like that. 

Or even if that does not work, I shall cut off my nose and become He Who Must Not Be Named. Bellatrix wasn't that ugly, you know. *Wink* 

  

Finally, Thanks-a-billion-gazillion for letting me write something on your blog. It's an honor for me to write a guest post for the Queen Blogger. By the way, Furree, you know what, I pronounce your name with an extra ‘h’.  

It makes it sound extra cool. Uber cool. “Fareeha...Fur-hee-haa!” Hee-haw. Like a cowboy. Oh, cow-girl. Ouch. Cow girl sounds bad. Like some fat-dumb-aunty-type-womanish-girl. 

Yee-Haw.  Fur Yee Haw.  I like the way your name ends with a cow boy sound. Yee Haw.

Fur-Yee-Haw {noun}: a cowboy with fur.

Okay. I must stop being lame now. Yee-haw. 

This is a guest post, 

Don’t read it like a ghost. 

If you leave a comment, I’ll give you a toast, 

Or else I’ll eat you up like a roast! 

Cheers! 

HBH. 

x

Hamza is, undoubtedly, the king of blogging. I am extremely proud to have this hilarious Guest Post grace my blog. Hamza is my hero, and he inspires me. LOL JK, he's an idiot. But I still love him! Visit his ultra funny and awesometastic blog, Teenage Mutiny.

.

something i drew to express my gratitude.

- Furree.