How Very Entertaining... zzzzzzz

Do you get all discombobulated on the seasons here? For me, this time of year feels like Spring. That’s mostly cause it is an extended period of time. Spring in Kuwait is a few nanoseconds before hot. Anyooooo, I decided that it was time for Spring cleaning. So, I am having my maid do that today. Tee hee. Why? Because I can. Why should I do anything myself when it is actually affordable to have somebody else do it for me? (I’m turning. You know it.)

I am sick of everything and most recently – it is my apartment. After 10 years, all my electronic stuff is going caput. Yes, it all decided to do it at the same time in this crappy year: I have had my same stereo system for 10 years; my same washer/dryer. All are caput.

The construction next to my window is getting better. No one died either. They are working during the day and the demolition work has stopped. Now, they are driving piles into the ground (which means more excavation, unfortunately). The pile driver thingy seems to be a sonar type (if there is such a thing) and not a pounding type. It is much quieter anyways and nothing is shaking.

I went to a party in the desert this weekend. They hired a slut all the way from Jordan to come over and entertain. Why? I don’t know. Men’s minds work in mysterious ways and I can’t figure it out. They thought she would be amusing. And get this – I was the guest of honor. Do I look like some kind of Jordanian-slut-loving lesbian or something? Why, for phuck’s sake, would I want to see that? They sent her over to welcome me and I was afraid to get slut-cooties. She talked like a high-pitched Mini Mouse (which I immediately started imitating), and spent part of the night hiking up her already incredibly tiny skirt, and the other part pouting and looking in her mirror. I’m sure she thought she was hot shit on a silver platter (to coin a phrase from the 80’s). I didn’t really enjoy myself because none of us “good girls” could relax having Ms. Slutinski wiggle, jiggle, giggle, and plant herself on various menfolk in the room. It was making me ill. I tried to drink myself into oblivion (apparently, the other LADIES did too). That worked pretty well until our friend, Bibi, got on with her normal self and started giving The Entertainment a hard time, while managing to direct it around her. Par example: “Saif! Saif! Sit properly!” (“egaad adel”) (when jiggly Jordanian sat on his lap, almost completely exposed). Too bad because I thought Saif had prospects --- until he wore her.

The Man continues to send me “Hi (Desert Girl)” messages to my mobile phone. Translation: I am really horny and I miss you and I’d like to get together for a no-questions-asked quicky, but I don’t want to call you because you might think it is a relationship. Yes. That is exactly what that translates to. Don’t doubt it for a second. If he weren’t so damn cheap, I might have sent The Entertainment his way. Dumbass.

For some reason, my phone didn’t ring all weekend. No puppies calling me (you know – the sad-eyed young boys who follow you around and call constantly). Every girl needs puppies.

I have a guy that I have been seeing on/off for about 4 years. Let’s call him Falcon Guy (cause yuuh – he has falcons). He’s a nice guy – tall, single, good family, good job, good personality – all that plus a bag of chips. However, he is one of these retarded individuals (and I don’t mean that as a slur to challenged people – I just think he is “held back”) that never wants to go out in public. Yeah yeah – I know… translation: its all about sex. I don’t mind that. Let’s just call a manwhore a manwhore. I know what it’s all about. If he agreed it was just that, I would too. No biggie (well, actually….) … ok, nevermind. Anyhow, he gets all upset when I’m out with guy friends or I come home late or I don’t call him. Now, he won’t even meet my friends (“he’s not your man”) or tell me (to my face) that he cares about me (“he’s not your man”). He’s all in the house, though, with a phone call or a “come now” SMS from me. He’s a manwhore, am I right? Why the possessiveness? I’m a single-source kind of girl, so that isn’t the issue. Is it just that he’s a guy and thinks that’s what he’s supposed to do? He doesn’t want ME to get possessive or girlfriendy, so why do that to me? Why the stress? Now, if he wants me to TREAT him like a boyfriend, he should start behaving like one, n’est pas?

Ok, let me back up for a moment… with The Man, I didn’t consider him a manwhore (at the time): I met his whole Bedouin family. He knew mine. My friends knew him. We went out everywhere together. We did everything together. He treated me as if I was already his wife - and yet – where is he now?

And, I’m sorry, but if you’re not a boyfriend, you don’t get special privileges like massages, good lingerie, home-baked goods, and all that crap. It is what it is. This, men, is why you get to pay for dinner and bring flowers and sweets and little surprises and taking the car to get serviced: The Extra Special Relationship Package.