Celebrate, Bitches!

I am the boringest frickin person I know and I’m getting tired of living with me. This year has been crap. That is my main reason for becoming Boring Girl. Even numbered years are always crap.

First, my dad died. It can’t get much crappier than that. Then, I got continually sick (e-coli poisoning, back/leg problems, weird ailments). Then, I lost my frickin stupid job. Then, the people who made me a WRITTEN job offer called me FIVE DAYS before my start date to tell me that they were pushing the start date back by a month (like we’re all living with our parents and/or are independently wealthy), so I had to find another job. Then, I break up with The Man in a rather grotesque and inhumane fashion. (But wait... there's more... with your Ginsu knives you also get....)

I miss The Man. He’s the worlds biggest sonofabitch, but I miss him. I tried to plot revenge, but none of my male Kuwait friends would help me. If you want to help, write to me (amerab@gmail.com). No violence or illegal behavior is involved – I promise. Really. It is all very passive-aggressive/obsessive. Slapperella: "You must stop this!" Whyyyyyyyyy? (Ally McBeal fantasy watching his head explode.) "Living well is the best revenge." Uh... yeah right. So is an exploding head.

...I'm back.

I wake up to myself. Alone. “All By Myself” playing in my head. Back to Bridget Jones. The pillows on the right side of the bed still neatly arranged and untouched. I am getting really tired of this. I am happiest in life when I can wake up to a totally wrecked bed and pillows all over the room (not to mention the lingerie, chocolate syrup and other things tossed about). I guess I’m not so ugly or so old because I’m still getting The Look (and from younguns too), but I am still alone. Ok – some of that IS because I am picky and I guess I could spend every single night laying neked next to a 25 year old and talk about how his day was at school. If only I could put 2 of them together to make a wealthy 50 year old who wants to marry, travel the world, and lavish me with gifts (of love – I’m no gold digger!).

Did I mention ducks? (No, I swear to God, I'm not doing drugs.) The ducks are our new biggest joke. In Schipol airport in Amsterdam, they sell what appear to be rubber bathtub ducks. Although, in reality, they are something more sinister (if you want to call it that): You see, the ducks vibrate. They are called "love ducks"; they are waterproof; they float; and they are disguised as cute little toys. Now, I bought several of these loveducks for my girlfriends (you read it right the first time), but they were a source of concern - especially in getting through Kuwait customs. I had the foresight (having seen them on a previous trip) to buy them on my way to the US (and could pack them in check-in luggage for the trip to Kuwait). My girlfriends were concerned. We dubbed (ha ha) the operation: Operation Rubber Ducky. The SMSs started circulating, "Ducks are in flight", "Ducks have landed", "Ducks under fawcet", and finally "Duck mission accomplished." Since then, anyone we tell about the ducks has been making duck jokes or bringing us ducks. It is quite entertaining. My duck is like one of the very best things I did for myself this year (other than the enormous engagement ring I bought myself after The Man and I broke up).

Oh… oh… oh… I didn’t even mention my garden wall. That sounds kind of lovely doesn’t it “garden wall” -- well, hell no! An A/C pipe broke between my bedroom wall and the bathroom. I complained to the building engineer (a most-hated-man named Rami) for a month. I started by saying that I had a water spot on my (newly-painted) bedroom wall. Then, it got bigger. Then, things started to grow (I would like to say it was mold, but it looked more like that red shit in War of The Worlds that took over the Earth). It grew and grew. I called Ramiasshole and his response (get ready for it: Bend over – I did.), “It is humid. It's normal.” Normal? To have a frickin mold garden with funky stuff growing on your bedroom wall?? WTF WTF WTF? Do I live in a frickin jkhoor? Well, they sent painters who 1) broke a gorgeous crystal vase my sister sent me 4 years ago on Christmas; 2) tore down my window shades; and 3) painted OVER the mold without treating the wall first. Yup. You got it – mold grows back when it isn’t treated. Anybody know a good painter? I can’t find my guy, Sayed. Of course not - I need him.

I forgot to mention that my refrigerator broke the day before I left to the US on business. All my food was thawing, so my hariss-dude had a feast (including baby-back ribs and some sage sausage). Whose REFRIGERATOR breaks? Isn't that unheard-of?

My friend, Slapperella, says, “My God, you have been through a lot this year. I don’t know how you are managing.” Well, I’m not. I could go ballistic at any moment. You know what they say about those serial killers, "... but she seemed so normal. She'd never done anything like that before..." I have been back to the States like 4 times this year. I’ve traveled a lot. I’ve done a lot. I still feel like I haven’t accomplished jackshit. Have you ever felt like your mind has just completely zoned someplace else? I don’t even feel like I’m here. I’m in suspended desertnation. AND I never used to swear as much as I am herein and forthwith.

All of my friends have stopped calling me because I just don’t feel like talking most of the time – and forget actually DOING something or GOING somewhere. I don’t mean to ignore anyone. I’m really an un-intentional bitch queen from Hell.

Maybe I’m cranky because Construction Project Number 8567 in the past 2 years in my freekin neighborhood has started. WTF??? Who is going to live in all these places? It all began with Khara-fee rippin up the street, putting it back; and rippin it up, and putting it back. Then, there was the big apricot mega-birdhouse at the end of the street (I couldn’t shout “Shut the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck up!” loud enough for them to hear apparently). It is almost completed. Now, they start on this one. Why, for fek’s sake, can’t they do all of this stuff at ONE time? What the hell is next?

Now, the 3 storey slum next to my bedroom window has come down. Do you know what time the buttholes start work? 9:30 PM! They work all night. They are within striking distance. So far, I have hit the bullseye with 3 different bottles of water. Rotten eggs and tomatoes are next. Who do I complain to? Does no one care about who lives in Salmiya?? Is it because we are all F-ing foreigners living in Salmiya?

And… most importantly… is it just ME that cares? I swearaGod, there must be 1,000 people living within the 2 blocks around this site and am I the ONLY one out there in my PJ’s complaining to the foreman (or whatever he is) at 2 am? And, why does the foreman (or whatever he is) bring his 4 year old to breathe asbestos dust at 2 am watching buildings be demolished and where the hell is its mother?

I went to the police station to complain. I made friends. Nothing changed.

I am looking for wastah at the Salmiya Baladiya. Who do I have to sleep with to get some sleep? Who is the parliament dude for Salmiya and where do I find him? Is he at least relatively good looking (if I MUST!).

Even Desert Dawg is a cranky bitch. She gets no sleep. Just a couple o’cranky old bitches in a construction site in a crappy year.

I went on business travel to Abu Dhabi last week and I was all happy because I thought I would finally get some sleep. Believe this? They were doing construction on the hotel and the jackhammering began at 6 am. My meetings weren't until 11 (on purpose). Have I been plagued by jinnis?

When 2007 rolls around, I am going to celebrate! I hate this year.