Sunday, December 17, 2006

Leeeeevin' On (another) Jet Plane...

... ok... not lonesome.... :)

Don't Mess With the Fish!

Slapperella and I were driving along last night on our way to dinner at a new (to us) restaurant we have been trying to get to for the past 2 weeks. We were talking about the recent course of events in my life and she said, “Ok, when you get back from your trip, I don’t want to hear any more about your luck.” I agreed; new year, new luck. I had fish on my mind.

But you know - you just can't have a conversation like that without tempting fate.

When we entered the restaurant, it was kind of weird – there were a bunch of white dudes standing there staring at us and the tables were empty. When all of a sudden, out of nowhere, walks my former boss. It turned out it was a dude’s retirement party and former boss said, “Stay. It’s free.” (Which basically sums up his collective mentality on everything. He still owes me precisely 32 KD from my final paycheck - which is still gnawing at me like a doooda because 1) I’m sure he did it on purpose to save some money and B) he did NOT “forget” to give it to me.)

What were the chances of the restaurant being hired out for a private party on the very night that we finally got there?
What were the chances of ME actually knowing someone and having that someone rope me into staying?

After an hour of standing there (neither of us had eaten all day and it was already 8pm), smiling at people that I didn’t know and making small talk (while my smile muscles hurt and my stomach grumbled and no end was in sight), my L4 and L5’s starting hurting. I looked over at Slapperella who had her “intellectual flirt” on with a nice guy they had just introduced us to. I can tell her “intellectual flirt” because of the body posture and the way she tilts her head and yet she is captivatingly flirty at the same time. Most intriguing. Anyhoo, it was time to make a dash (into the pouring rain). I couldn’t wait for food any longer. Since we were of only a few women, I don’t think they really wanted us to go, but alas… dash we did. The kicker was that the fish had been staring at me from under the ice the entire time…just waiting….

It totally pissed me off. It was The Universe – “Game ON” again. We ended up having dinner at Taal – which is a great date place (very nice atmosphere), but not with your closest friend. The waiter was smiley and chatty and genuinely nice. I wasn’t in a mood. “BRING ME FISH!!!” I did get fish, but not really the kind I was after.

No one can have a conversation with me about my luck because it will just work against them. So Slaps, if you are reading this, let’s just keep it an unspoken agreement that yes – my luck will change in 2007.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Being Unstable and Bitchy is All Part of My Mystique

“Hi. Is this Desert Girl?”
‘Yes. Who’s this?’
“This is The Universe. You should recognize my voice by now! I know you’ve been tired of me phuckin with you this year, but I got a little more for ya….”

It is to be expected. It’s gonna happen. No doubt about it. The Universe is just laughing its comedic ass off at the shenanigans it is pulling on me. And I’ve gotta hand it to the U. . . it’s got game.

No need to go into details. It was just another Weekend by Universe Phuckin With Me. I am just the BUTT of a big Universe joke - and I live with it.

Some good things I did this weekend – went to the new Sakura; which, by the way, has the BEST sushi in all of Kuwaitdom. I really liked the new d├ęcor. Very cool. I expect I’ll be back in there a lot (nothing new there).

I also went to Kout and watched the water dance (it did, however, make me have to pee 4 times. Actually… just thinking about it is making me have to pee). I love that fountain-- not because it makes me have to pee, but because it is so beautiful and mesmerizing and makes me forget for 6 nanoseconds that the Universe is still phuckin with me. I had some French onion soup at Paul with Slapperella and a new friend. Kout is awesome for hunting. I ran into a several people I knew at the new mall across the street also, Al-Manshar Mall. I like it there. Hope they open up more cool stores. It was very relaxing and pretty.

On Thursday night, I went to the incredibly disappointing Film Kuwait 06 with Slapperella. I had thought that it would be more like it was 2 years ago, when my friend, Naz had his short film shown. At that time, I enjoyed it because it showed young Kuwaiti talent and gave a little insight/perspective. This time, the show was put on at Shaab Cinema – which I thought was a great venue. Casper & Gambini provided free sandwiches and chips (yummy as usual) and a new company gave away fat-free cookies (which were excellent and now I’m sorry I can’t remember their name because I want more). The show started off ok with a short film from Australia (winner of the somethingsomething short film festival somewhere). It was cute and good and I there is one quote that I will remember: “A cigarette is like your mother’s nipple”. But then… there was a Lebanese short film about Lebanese weddings in the either 50’s or 60’s with an original piano score. It would have been outstanding – had it lasted only 10 minutes. But this thing went on for 25 with plinky-planky very loud piano music. Jeez. I don’t even watch my own family’s home movies for that long. Why the pluck would I want to watch someone else’s for that long? They lost approximately ¾ of the audience during the showing of that one (including ALL the hot dishtasha guys). Anyone who has lived in Kuwait for any amount of time knows that the general Kuwaiti audience has an attention span of a gnat (unless there is a car chase or someone is getting blown away). Lebanese ancient-history wedding film was followed by a semi-gruesome short film from Denmark about fisherman or something and that’s when they lost Slapperella and I. She didn’t even want to stay to grab free sandwiches (you’ll notice that I did). I was really disappointed; I wanted to see the Kuwaiti short movies.

And back to the quote, “a cigarette is like your mother’s nipple”: It will forever change the way I look at the men around here who smoke because it is soooooooooo true. They even get that look on their faces...

Speaking of infantile: Anyone who even THINKS of banking with Kuwait Finance House should have their head examined. Yes, I do resemble that remark. I have had an account there for TEN YEARS (yup, count it, people!) and I applied 3 weeks ago for a credit card (at a “service fee” of 200 kd per YEAR with no interest as a "benefit") and I STILL HAVEN’T RECEIVED IT.

· First of all, KFH, no one gives a shit what your internal procedures are: End users only care about the end product.
· 2) You are a coffee shop, not a bank. Does KFH even have a bank rating?
· 3) The people working at the bank are all very kind, but unless the “bank” actually PROVIDEs a service, no one cares how nice the employees are.

Kuwait Fffffffffffffffff*&%ing House: Why am I still banking with them? Well, my car lease is through them, so I have the account there. Also, since they asked my employer FOUR TIMES to provide a salary continuation letter and an agreement that my employer wouldn’t transfer my salary to any other bank without notifying KFH first, it puts me in the position of having to ask my employer to do additional personal work if I want to go somewhere else. The “bank” actually called someone in our HR department – instead of ME, their customer – to ask that something be changed in the letter. What the phuck – am I three years old and are they calling my parents??? Me = customer; call me direct. I don’t even know how many man-hours I have asked my employer’s HR department to put in working on my menial personal bullshit tasks. How could I possibly ask them to do more? Just because my “bank” is unprofessional, doesn’t mean that I should appear so. I hate this. How long does it take to get a credit card anywhere else? Days, right? In the US, you can do it over the phone. Why? Because credit card companies WANT you to spend their money so they can charge you. Why can’t Kuwait get with the rest of the world??????????????? Back assward third world country banking system!!!

I am still sick. Just doing menial tasks makes me very tired. I can’t breathe and my asthma is really getting to me. Why did somebody make asthma so hard to spell? I mean, it is even hard for spell check to find. All this complaining and bitching has made me tired again.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

‘Tis the Season to Get Was-ted. Fa La La La Laa…

I am going to drink myself silly when I get back to Virginia. I am going to giggle with my sister until my sides hurt and I can’t breathe and I have to pee. I’m going to play with the big dogs and run around making them crrrrrrrrrazy (in turn, making my sister crrrrrrrrrazy). I’m going to take my mother places that she can’t get to without a car (she doesn’t drive). I am going to give my nephew THE best gift in the whole world (can’t say what it is till later as someone from home might be reading this and then tell my bigmouthsister and then of course she’ll tell him).

“When wine goes in, secrets come out.” Apparently, she didn’t know that it was WRONG to mention at her annual Christmas party, that her best friend’s husband (who we really think is gay) runs naked on the treadmill. As my sister said, “Well, I didn’t know it was a secret or anything.” I won’t be able to burn the mental picture of him and his “dangly bits” flopping along on the treadmill. Ick. I wonder if she stands behind him with a leather riding crop… ok; Don’t go there.

You know what I really want for Christmas this year (besides world peace)? Clothes long enough to cover my fat ass. Don’t get me wrong – there will ALWAYS be a thong at the base of it all; I just feel like this is something I need to do at this juncture. Has my world come to this?

Bring on the eggnog, baybee. I’m in it. I’ll just put on something long to hide my BFA.

I had a friend who used to make kick-ass egg nog. What the hell was her name? She was always the bubbliest person at the party. The stuff had about a gallon of bourbon and real nutmeg. Hey, did you know that nutmeg has been banned in Kuwait on/off for years as people seem to believe it is an aphrodisiac? Well go figure. Maybe they should ban sushi and crabs too because people have been known to turn into horndogs… I digress…

The newly re-decorated Sakura opens this weekend. Woooo Hooooooooo. I’ll be there, getting’ my sush on.

Oh, want to hear something really stupid (I know – you are SO used to that from reading this blog, aren’t you? SHUT UP!): Our work hours are until 4:30 here. On Wednesdays, the Chairman leaves early (he’s got a huge farm in Saudi on the other side of the border somewhere and I assumed that’s why). By 3:45, the ENTIRE company has left and they have locked the doors. This happens every Wednesday and I look down from my pulpit above the masses (office with a window to see the central area below) and think, ‘Damn – what a bunch of slackers! Just because the BigGuy is gone, doesn’t mean that everybody should leave early consistently every Wednesday! Where are their work ethics?’ So, this went on and on. Finally, about 2 weeks ago, my secretary sees me at my desk working at 4 when she is leaving on a Wednesday. She says, “(Desert Girl), you do know that we leave at 3:30 on Wednesdays, right?” Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitt. I remember that I saw something about that when they gave me my joining documentation 3 + months ago.

This will be my first Cwimmas without my daddy. It was the last time I saw him – with snow on the ground. He was in front of his home, standing in the yard and waving “bye” as I left to go to the airport. I remember driving back from Nemocolin resort (where we usually go with the entire family on December 26th) through the mountains. We usually go in several cars. I was driving my brother-in-law's car, and I looked over at my dad in the passenger seat as he slept. That song came on the radio, “The Living Years”. I mentally asked myself if I had said all the things that I wanted to say to my dad; that if he left me soon, did he know everything? Did he know how much I love him? I said, ‘Yes’, and I just looked at him and smiled. I think I’ll have extra bourbon (his favorite) in my eggnog and say a special toast to dad and leave chrysanthemums on his grave. Nobody ever knew what to get my dad for Christmas. Men are so difficult to buy for. If you think that someone can’t ever have enough sweaters – you are wrong!

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Icicles to Ice

I had THE coolest dream last night. I often dream of moving into houses – and they are usually very cool houses with interesting angles and architecture. I loved last night’s house. It was on the beach – I mean, part of the house was built ON the beach and my bedroom was partially solid (where the bed was) and the other half was glass – actually IN the ocean. The floor, walls, and ceiling were glass, so that turquoise water was all around me. It was amazing. Desert Dawg was with me and my mother and sister were somewhere in the background (they are always there too when I move into a new house in my dreams). I was sitting on my bed – everything was white – and watching the waves in front of me crashing into my glass wall. I loved the dream. I felt so content. Supposedly, dreaming of moving into new homes signifies changes in your life. Apparently, I have had a lot of changes because I often move monthly.

My dream world is so much more interesting than my awake world. How pathetic.

The Romanian has suggested that I see a shrink while I’m in the States to help me cope with getting over The Man – as I haven’t 100% yet. (Also known as “we are still very sick of hearing about him.) That is kind of the pot calling the kettle wacked. LOL. I know it takes time and all that BS, but I’m not like this. This isn’t me. I move on; I forget. I am also an innately forgiving person. I can’t move on; I can’t forget; and I can’t forgive. I know that it is eating up my insides. I keep asking myself how the wonderful man I knew was replaced by this mean, insensitive, uncaring creature who makes me feel like only a shell of a human is left of myself. I’m not this way. Why do I feel like this? I don’t believe in shrinks – not even when the worst of the worst stuff has happened in my life. I am sure that this too will pass.

Maybe because it is close to Christmas and last year at this time, I was full of high hopes and happiness and thinking that we were getting married. At a restaurant we used to frequent, they had icicle lights (strands of little white lights that looked like icicles). The Man and I both loved them and talked about decorating with them at our wedding reception. For Christmas, he gave me a necklace and earring set that made me cry – they were icicles. It was a beautiful and incredibly thoughtful surprise. How could that man have changed so much? What kind of evil spell was cast to do this?

My horoscope this month in Bazaar Magazine said something profound. I don’t think the editor knows me THAT well, but it read something like, “You were abandoned by a parent early in life. You make up for your subliminal feelings of inadequacy by being overly giving.” Holy crap, Batman. That could be it. But wait… I am so bitchy and mean… God, I’m schizophrenic. Maybe I should see that shrink.

I know I should forgive The Man and turn everything I feel into pity and just walk away, but – as they say in Kuwait, “fee dooda.” The majority of my time is spent in mental clarity, but I will suddenly revert and slip right back into “that place” and I am really trying not to be so down.

One more week and I’m back with my family.

Sunday, December 10, 2006


The Traffic Light at Hamad Mubarak Street and Gulf Road

What GENIUS decided it was okay to change the traffic light timings at the lights on the Gulf Road entering into Hamad Mubarak Street from the Marina Mall side and the next one down at Nadi Shaab? They used to peacefully change when the light to proceed straight turned green. Now, you have to wait in line (as cars back up to the next signal). What type of urban planning degree does Retardo have and from where – a village in India or Nepal perhaps? And one week, he/she/it decides to paint turn arrows (at the H. Mubarak turn) from the 2nd lane over, and the next week, covers them up so you can’t turn! WTF??? There are no signs announcing this. No one knows what to do. All the “smart” people are making U-turns from the 2nd lane (really really stupid) and the people in the farthest left lane – who think they are doing the “right thing” - are turning as normal onto Hamad Mubarak. It is totally FUBAR (F-ed Up Beyond All Recognition). I was this close to driving across the median the other day and taking my chances, vigilante-style. Don’t you think they could TRY to make things BETTER instead of WORSE?

And speaking of making things WORSE: I have lived in my building for TEN years. I have never had a problem with parking. Once or twice, I’ve had to park across the street, but who cares? No biggie. All of a sudden, the GENIUSES who manage my building (Ramiasshole et al) have decided to assign parking spaces and place metal poles (at very tight distances to each other) with lockable chains on each space. I have told them that I don’t want the poles/don’t need the chains. You can’t see the frickin poles. The building across the street thought this was a good idea too – had them all installed, and then everyone complained about cars being damaged, so they took them out. Now, I already have my own master plan: I’m buying a sledge hammer. Yup. If they install them around my car, I’m going to pay somebody/anybody to whack them out of there. Phuckem. The poles have been in there for a little over a week. So far, 3 cars have been damaged.

I still feel sick. Today is Day 11. This is the Flu From Hell. It is probably Bird Flu or some kind of lung-ravaging airborne spore (Anthrax?) that the Kuwait Ministry of Health hasn’t notified the local population about. I have been to the doctor FIVE times. I can’t breathe. Whatever fungus is among us, it is sitting in a ball at the bottom of my lungs and making horrible noises. You can’t hack it out; you can’t cough it out. It just stays with you. You get the fever at varying intervals of the day and night.

(Purgy, as not to disappoint you… A little DG Dating Fluff) I met a guy a while back who instantly fell in puppy-love (ugh!). He immediately began telling me that I needed to diet (although he is VERY large) and my friends were no good and wore too much make up and … oh, by the way – “why do you wear make-up?”. Yada yada. So he just sent me an SMS saying, “When are you going to the States for Christmas? I really hate to be away from you, so I was planning to go with you.” Yeh – chellloooooooooo, stalkerboy! First up: My family, although sweet as can be, would rip someone like you to shreds (bless your heart) without at least 8-12 months of formal introduction as part of our 12-step initiation process (our exit process is a whole lot faster, as The Man found out!). And B) what got our “relationship” (based solely on SMSing) to this point? My friend, Slapperella, is asked this question by wannabe boyfriends all the time, “Can I come to Scotland to see your parents?” Her response is, “Sure. When do I meet your mother?” (She was shocked the other day when she was given an invitation to have dinner with one wannabe’s parents, but basically, it is pretty effective.)

I haven't met anyone interesting lately (been sick). That must change soon. I have kinda been holding off till 2007 when the karma is right.

I am going to the States on the 19th and if you haven’t noticed already – I really need to get out of here for a while.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Gone, but not Forgotten

Today is Shamlan’s birthday.
I miss him every day.
Rest in peace, baby, far from the troubles of this world.
* * *
I remember.
Seeing you for the first time on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown: the 2 seconds that changed my life when our eyes met and I knew.
The orange Capri RS (and the small army of Dubai guys with the same cars in different colors)
Waiting for you after class at American University
Long talks with your cousin, Najeeb
Chivas Regal
Kisses that tasted like Chivas Regal and cigarettes
Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, Teddy Pendergrass, Fairuz (Wahdon)
Halson cologne
The park next to the Potomac River at the end of King Street in Old Town
Pink baby roses and purple flowers.
July 20
Democracy, Marxism and strange political meetings.
You telling me that you would take care of me – even if no one else would.
The ring from the antiques store.
Your incredible wavy hair!
You sketching me when my hair was braided.
Sneaking back into my house at 6 am. My dad catching me.
Holding my hand.
Mr. Smith’s.
Your waterbed.
Stealing your Arabic cassettes.
Your friend from the UAE embassy that you smoked cigars with that had the cool house.
You telling my dad to,“Keep her away from Arabs.”
Lace underwear that I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of.
Drunken phone calls.
The day you played soccer with the guys at Crystal City and fell in the mud.
The musical sound of your laugh.
Daily/weekly letters to you
Waiting for you to come back.
Finding out on Valentine's Day that you had died.
Your words that always haunt me, "I will never forget these days."

Put Your Big Girl Panties on and Deal With It

One might ask, “Desert Girl, what could possibly happen to you next in this shitty year of 2006?” and I might respond with the following:

First of all, I have been struck by weird ailments since the beginning of the year (e coli poisoning, back problems, chest pains that I thought was a heart attack), but I caulked all those up to the Evil Eye of Someone in The Man’s Close Family – perhaps even doing some black magic on me/us. I read an article recently about “heartbreak syndrome” where all of these symptoms are actually attributes of a medical ailment being studied. Being distraught can cause your immune system to lower and therefore all kinds of things can happen….

I got WACKED by the flu bigtime this week. It hit me on Thursday while I was in the chair at the salon (ok, so I’m sick, but I’m pretty). I fell asleep several times. My throat hurt. (I do have to admit that I was having evil thoughts towards The Man and his clan, so maybe it was such that brought it about.) It lasted a full-blown 4 days. I couldn’t lift my head. I couldn’t eat. All I wanted to do was sleep (which might have been really good if someone big and yummy was next to me, but then again, maybe not because I was all sweaty and disgusting). I went to Mowasat so many times that they are giving me a discount card (not really, but they should and I suggested it, so maybe….).

Now, during this time, one might think that my FRIENDS would be supportive; offering comfort and at least words of cheer. Nophuckinway. The Romanian disappeared – totally. When I finally (on the 4th day) sent her an SMS saying, “Ayeb, ya mara. I have been home since Thursday…”, she shot me one back saying, “Really sorry. I have a lot of problems.” Aaaaaah, chel-loooooo. Slapperella is always on the scene with words of comfort, advice, guidance and kindness. I don’t know what I would do without her. She lives right across the street from me and brought me food and juice and took me to the hospital. The Romanian is on my “BeeOtch List” right now. (You wouldn’t believe the amount of things Slapperella and I do for her!)

Oh oh oh – and meanwhile – she “forgot to tell” me that she had gone to see a male friend of MINE (who once had potential, but that she knew I was mad at recently) – WHILE I was sick. BeeOtch! They always say not to introduce your girlfriends to your male friends, but I never listen. It is kind of hard when you are all in the same place at the same time, etc.

So… yesterday, I think I am semi-recovered from the flu (still sounding like a sexy Donald Duck and with majordraggyass) and set off to work. I’m drivin’ along and BAM! A little Dickweed hit my car with his Caaaaaaaaaamry. That’s fine – no big deal because it’s insured. He jumps out of the car and the first thing out of his mouth is, “Shut up.” Then, he tells me to park my car to the right because we are blocking traffic – and he proceeds to TAKE OFF! AS IF. (I have already called 777 – I guess he was talking to his friends or something on the phone – advice from fellow dickweeds.) I went after him, got in front, told him to stop – and the Dickweed was swerving around behind me to try to get away! He lost control of his car, hit the curb, bounced off, and plowed into the rear quarter panel of my car, spinning me around to face oncoming traffic. He jumps out of his car and starts shouting at me in Arabic. Get this – he was going to take off AGAIN, but this time there were witnesses there! He tells them (again in Arabic), “That gahaba hit my car!” and proceeded with other dirty words. Not cool. (For once, I didn’t retaliate – and that was only because I knew that I had a case if I wanted.) The police arrived shortly after and I told the officer what Dickweed said. He (car # 6163 of the 777 police – love ya, baby!) told me to tell the officer at the police station – which I did. The boy told the lieutenant, “I was talking to my dad on the phone.” I’m like (in Arabic), “Your dad? What kind of family do you come from?”

Anyhow, I could have filed a case against him for the insults, but his father showed up and he was a genuinely nice guy who apologized to me profusely - telling me that he is religious and yada yada. Dickweed shouted at the attending officer, the lieutenant, and 2 investigators. One of the investigators tried to get all of us thrown out after Dickweed tells him, “What are you – a minister or something? Sitting there giving orders!” WTF. Dude didn’t know when to shut up. Even his own father was telling him to shut up.

When we gave our accountings of what happened, he started shouting at me again! I told him, “You could go to prison! Want me to file the case? Stop shouting.” I swearaGod, if it wasn’t for his father…. I usually don’t have much luck with long-bearded men, but the investigator was genuinely kind to me. I was still pretty sick and he did his best to make reason out of the boy. He just shook his head and said, “These young boys in Kuwait are a problem…” Anyways, Dickweed told them a different story – that I cut in front of him and he hit me (yes - I was driving sideways down the street). It is pretty obvious from the damage of what happened. The investigator said that unless our stories matched, he would have to send us to the experts/engineers to determine the cause of the crash. No big deal for me because I’m 100% covered, but Dickweed was wailing about having to pay 50 kd for being at fault. He got really really nice all of a sudden and said, “Just sign the paper saying its your fault and we can leave.” I told long-beard investigator dude that I’m not a liar and I don’t bare false witness, so bring it on. I don’t care about the outcome – either way, I’m covered. I just hope he has to pay and learns something. (He’s far too distorted – he won’t learn anything. I’m just BSing myself. Forever a Dickweed!)

I sent The Man an SMS saying that I had been in an accident. I shouldn’t have, alas, but I did. His response, “How is the car? Where is it?” Somebody slap a “stupid” sign on my forehead now, puhleeze!

Slapperella was very concerned, so she took me back to Mowasat in the afternoon where we spent 3 hours getting me x-rayed to make sure I don’t have whiplash (tee hee – I always think that’s funny). It turns out that although I don’t have any injuries resulting from this accident, however, my L4 and L5 discs on the right side have slipped sometime previously and I should see an orthopedic doctor (I know what THAT was from – circus sex. Bastard, bastard, bastard!)

…. And all of the above are yet other reasons of why (….now, repeat after me)…


Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Desert Girl’s Review of Borat


I mean, it had its funny moments, but overall, it felt kind of like another Jackass movie with an accent. If you’ve seen Ali G Indahouse, you’ll know the tune. It has a few funny moments, but overall, not really a belly-gut laughing time.

I’ve also read all the articles by/of people portrayed in the movie and yes, I can definitely see how they’d be upset. How did they, for example, get by Hollywood with the “running of the Jews”? I haven’t heard of protests in the streets or anything…

I haven’t seen anything recent that compares with Chappelle’s Season 2, as far as really funny comedy goes, have you?

On to shows of another type: What I really want to see is “Kay fel Hal” with English subtitles. Any idea where to get a copy if there is such a thing? By the by: Let me just say that whoever decided to put English subtitles on the Arabic soap operas on KTV ROCKS! Yeah, I'm an ignorant foreigner who can't read Arabic. So what? Now at least, I know what the hell is going on!

Arabian Barbie & Ken Get Married!

No - not me. Duuuuuuuh.

I went to a wedding last week at the Regency. I was in a foul mood (yes, as usual …. damn – let me finish), and I usually dread going to weddings on several levels, but hey – I had a dress made and matching shoes and bag, so it wasn’t going to be so bad. Right? Not. First of all, I forgot that last year when I had the dress made, I never went back to do the finishing touches – leaving the dress to look like a iridescent silk potato sack (making me the potato). It was awful. I ran around for 45 minutes in a sweat/tither trying to find something that didn’t make me look like a SPINSTER. I finally found a form-fitting black dress that I’ve had for like 15 years (shut up – I am too 29!!!) and threw that on with some sexy FMPs. Basically, my beaded abaya looked better than my dress.

The wedding was for my friend, Mona’s, son. I took the Romanian because Slapperella is doing her MASTERS of BS and had a class that night. Anyhoo, thankfully, most of the women weren’t terribly formally dressed (although a few of the girls were stunning). Usually when I go to weddings here, it is a matter of looking down your nose at other women who are looking down their noses and so on. Then, everybody talks trash about everybody else. It is the thang. This wedding was different: there wasn’t a bad vibe in the room. I didn’t get one snobby look – everybody was genuinely happy and in a good mood. As the Romanian said, “Their marriage will probably be very happy”. Inshallah.

The music was great. I don't dance at weddings (for fear of being giggled at/wrecking my mood), but if I did - I would have gotten down. We thought it was a DJ, but it was actually a group. They were soooooooooooooo good!

I really didn’t think that a wedding at the Regency was going to be so hot. I’ve been there for other events over the years and it generally left a bad smell in my nose. The service, the food, the venue (lighting, comfort, temperature), the parking – everything was perfect. They had a precision team of Pilipino waitresses in black and white service sweets and coffee/tea and they worked like an army – walking in, in 2 rows and spreading out to serve; most impressive. I usually don’t eat at buffets at wedding because you never know how long the food has been sitting around; there is usually one or two bottom-dwelling creatures who eats FROM the chaffing dish; and then you have to fight the hoards of women to get AT the food. Not for me. This time, I was one of the first in line and the food had just been set out. I didn’t have to elbow my way in and I saw nothing that disgusted me. The food was very good. They had a real tiered wedding cake that was humungous and pink and white and gorgeous, but I just couldn’t eat that much.

When the bride came in, she looked like Arabian Barbie or something. The hotel provides a spotlight that follows the bride in to the kosha. All the lights were dimmed except for the spot on the bride and the tiny white lights on the kosha. The bride had a veil with hundreds of tiny crystals on it. She was amazing. I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so pretty. It looked like a fairy tale.

The bride and groom really matched each other (mashallah!). Obviously well suited. I think I only met him once and I didn't remember him as being so handsome.

I wanted to kill The Man. I sent him nasty SMSs during the wedding. I know I should have been focused on the good fortune of the bride and groom, but I wanted to slap him silly. Bastard. It should have been us. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

…moving right along….

So then, I went home and the next day, I came down with the flu… (wait for tomorrow’s post…)