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.

Being Unstable and Bitchy is All Part of My Mystique

‘Hello?’
“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 décor. 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.

‘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!

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.

FUBAR!

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.

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.

Ambition.
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)…

THIS YEAR SUCKS.

Desert Girl’s Review of Borat

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

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…)

My Nephew is the Most Amazing Man I Know

My 11-year-old nephew is amazing. Somehow, he is a 40 year old guy in a kid’s body. He’s always been smarter than his age and very insightful. I tell him all the time that I am his real mother (everybody says he looks just like me). ‘Ace (his nickname)…. I need tell you something…. Now, you know that I travel a lot and my life isn’t right for children.’ “Okaaaayyy….” ‘Well, when you were born, I gave you to my sister to raise. I’m just not good with children and I think she has done a great job with you. I am so proud of you, my son…’ He’s like, “Yeah, mom, I know.” Then he proceeds to spend the next year telling my sister that he doesn’t have to do his homework because, “My real mom wouldn’t want me to.” Or that he can drink the 2 liter bottle of Pepsi because, “My real mom lets me do it.” Ah, I love messin’ with people’s heads – kids are the best, don’t you think?

Anyhoo, this was his recent school paper on his future:

My high school life will be great, but it will have a lot of stress. I will be preparing for college and finding lots of time to have fun. I hope to have plenty of close friends and to be known through out the school. I will be on the varsity football team and captain of the hockey team. My teachers will be usually nice and only the occasionally not so great teacher. The parties and the people will be wild. (He really IS my son!) While in high school I will have job at the ice rink teaching skating and instructing hockey. I will most likely get my own place when I’m eighteen or nineteen (no, he won’t. No one to wash his clothes), go to college on a full scholarship for hockey. From there I will be drafted to play for the New York Rangers. (You go, booooyyyy!)
Once I’m very rich I will travel a lot no care in the world, no place to be, time will be a distant memory no more worries about not having enough time or too much time I will just be. Mainly I will travel to Ireland and Scotland where life is simpler. (Says who?) I will never have an official place I will call home. For example maybe one year I will stay in Canada then the next Alaska I will not go back to anywhere it will always be “so where should I go next?” on holidays I would make exceptions to go where my family is. Money will not be an issue because every where I go I will get a house and sell it or occasionally let people rent it out. Every where I go I will try to help people and donate to charities and help rebuild houses, do whatever I can do to help the people in need (I love him so much.).

When I am about forty, I will move to California and go to director school to become a director. (that’s what I want to do) I will make tons of great movies all academy award winning. I will be bigger then Mel Gibson and the man who created Star Wars. One day I will finally meet Mel Gibson the director I idolize. There in California I will meet a beautiful woman named Roxana and we will get married in Ireland and have two boys in Scotland. We will finally settle down in Ireland but we will spend our summers in Canada, Scotland and Alaska. We will still go see my family and relatives from time to time .For my fifty third birthday I will travel one last time alone to Scotland and look at back at my truly amazing life.

I never knew some of this stuff (I am a terrible play-mother). Why Mel Gibson? Why Scotland and Ireland? (I love them by the way – for no other reasons than trashy romance novels; rogues and all that.) Why Roxana?

I just checked out Aceituna’s blog, Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, which I am narcissistic enough to assume is all about ME; hence the title. She totally reminded me of something I wanted to mention about Brokeback Mountain…… Was the first scene when they are “gettin’ it” more like kickin' someone’s ass rather than lovin’ it? Ok, I couldn’t tell at first, but it appeared to me to be 2 guys beating each other up (in the non-sexual sense of the term) rather than being romantic. (The first time I saw it I was on a plane to the US and the guy next to me looked all nervous, so I turned it off after the first "love" scene; and watched it on the way back to Kuwait.) I can’t remember at time when I, personally, ever started a romantic encounter that way. Now, I’m not saying that it didn’t later turn into hair pulling, smacking-around (non-violent – just fun), but it never started that way. And hey – when is it ever romantic to actually punch someone in bed (or on a bedroll or wherever)? I would just grab my ice pick from under the mattress and….. oh wait… that was someone else’s life. Nevermind.

I saw “The New World” the other night. It sucked. I went in for an uplifting experience. NOT. I bought “The Queen” from DVD guy. It was kind of slow, but very good. I had to keep reminding myself that the actress wasn’t the real queen. Borat is sitting on my dining room table and I can’t wait to watch that to see what all the hullabaloo is about (hey – spell check just fixed my hullabaloo. I didn’t even think it was a real word. Let me try “hooey”… holy shit, it is!).

From Slovenia With Love

I can’t believe this. I am still in shock. In a good way.

A few weeks ago, I was (t)asked to go to a trade meeting for Slovenia. I mingled with the delegates – who were all very interested in doing business with Kuwait. I didn’t know nada about Slovenia, but the people in the delegation were incredibly kind and humble and I liked all of them very much. I met with one man who wanted to find agents in Kuwait to represent his high-end crystal company. I commented that a worker in my house had just smashed a crystal vase my sister had given me - and how upset I was - and maybe he if he got things going in Kuwait, I’d buy one of his pieces. I made a few phone calls and found a Kuwaiti investor who is a friend – and very happy to have had the connection. The deal is close to completion. I received some e-mails from the company and I was happy that I could help.

This morning, I’m sittin at my desk in a regularly-foul mood these days and the tea man brings in a big box. I snap his head off (as usual these days) for interrupting me in the middle of whatever stupid thing I was up to that moment. Then, I saw the label on the box. I can’t believe he did this – the crystal man sent me a gorgeous (and no doubt very expensive) vase.

Sometimes I am just blown away by people’s incredible kindnesses. I can’t remember someone – a stranger no less – being so thoughtful and gracious. The tea boy looked totally confused when I burst into tears. I guess he probably thought of me as non-human; God knows sometimes I feel like it. Then, somebody does something like this for me and my faith is restored in humanity.

I Thought My Luck Sucks... and It Does, but....

I do thank God that my problems are minimal because it could be so much worse. And yet….

I met several guys this weekend. Must be Autumn heat or something.

The one that astonished me the most was the Guy with 14 Kids. Yes, you read correctly. I asked him how many kids he has and he said “7 boys and 7 girls”. Ok, I thought it was bad enough that he was married, but 14 kids? WTF? The Universe is definitely messing with me. The GW14K is only 40! His wife is 37 (yes – as in SINGULAR. She has given birth to 14 kids). Now, I don’t want to say anything about the Grand Canyon, but that amount of Kegel exercises must be hell. None of them were twins. He showed me her picture and she is really pretty. Their youngest kid is 2 months old. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy???? He makes 1200 kd a month. (Yes, I found that out in 45 minutes.) I mean – when I think of the amount of spending potential I have…. And he’s got 2 maids and a driver, so he’s supporting a total of NINETEEN people on 1200 kd a month. What the F does he think he’s going to do for me??? I felt guilty just sitting there having a cup of coffee at his expense. Talk about taking food from a baby’s mouth… Ok – have these people never heard of birth control? What about The Snip? It I was a guy and I had say – anywhere upwards of 6 kids… SNIP SNIP! (Oh, come on you whiners – it isn’t like your balls fall off or anything! Jeez.) He said she gets pregnant so that he won’t have money to marry someone else. I have several arguments in support of the opposing view, but it would be redundant to even mention them. 14 kids. I can’t even imagine being around 1 kid very long. That’s like havin frickin puppies. I mean – the guy didn’t look hailag or anything. He looked like a regular guy. I wish they would wear some kind of tag or something so people like me could tell. Just knowing this fact made me scared as hell of him: Eeeek. Someone could get pregnant just being in the vicinity. I wanted to go home and take the Morning After pill after 1 cappuccino across the table from him (after I scraped my jaw off the floor).

2 More Rants... Then I'll Stop

There were 2 articles that really "got my goat" today:

I read an article in the Arab Times this morning that pissed me off: 3 Kuwaiti men just got off without any jail time after raping-sodomizing a Kuwaiti transvestite. They pulled him/her out of his car, kidnapped him and took him to a farm in Kabd where all 3 raped him. What makes it right to rape anyone?? The transvestite obviously had to summon an incredible amount of inner strength to go to a police office in this country and file a case. As a Kuwaiti - with all the stigma attached to "face" and honor/family name, it must have been a daunting task. Anywhere else (albeit Western) in the world, this heinous act would have been considered a hate crime:

By Moamen Al-Masri
Arab Times Staff
KUWAIT CITY, Nov 21: The Criminal Court Tuesday refrained from passing a sentence against a Kuwaiti man, identified as Faisal H, who was charged with raping a Kuwaiti transvestite, identified only as AE, but ordered him to sign a pledge of good conduct for two years.

Case papers indicate on Sept 2, 2005, the victim wearing women's clothes and full make-up was driving from a farm in Kabad to town. Three cars including the three suspects chased the victim, forced him to stop and dragged him out of the car.

Khaled H took him to a deserted place and raped him. Then, salem drove the victim to a farm owned by the three men and raped him. At that moment, Faisal interfered and convinced the victim to go with him under the pretext of protecting him fromt he other two men in return for having sex with him.

Faisal is said to have driven the victim and return to the farm some time later. He ordered the victim to take off his clothes and he was shocked when he discovered the victim was a man, and not a woman. However, he had sex with him.

Then, faisal dropped the victim at the nearest roundabout and drove off giving him his cell phone number. When the victim left, he discovered the disappearance of KD 260 from his handbag. Six days after the victim filed a case against the three men. Police arrested Khaled and Salem, but they denied the charges. Faisal was not arrested. On May 9, 2006, the Criminal Court acquitted Khaled and Salem, but sentenced Faisal to three years in absentia for having sex with the victim of his own free will.

Then, faisal dropped the victim at the nearest roundabout and drove off giving him his cell phone number. When the victim left, he discovered the disappearance of KD 260 from his handbag.

Six days after the victim filed a case against the three men. Police arrested Khaled and Salem, but they denied the charges. Faisal was not arrested.

On May 9, 2006, the Criminal Court acquitted Khaled and Salem, but sentenced Faisal to three years in absentia for having sex with the victim of his own free will

The second involves a story I've been following in Saudi Arabia. I thought it was hard to GET married, this poor girl is fighting to STAY married... Dudes, what is the world coming to?

Khaleej Times
Abu Dhabi
Tuesday, October 31, 2006

In Saudi Arabia, divorce can have shocking aspects
Judge forcefully cuts short happy marriage because of ‘tribal incompatibilities’

From our correspondent
Jeddah – that the divorce rate in Saudi Arabia is shocking is telling it like it is.

These days, divorce has become the only solution to marital problems among couples that have never understood the responsibilities of marriage. They either didn’t make the right choice in the beginning or were forced into the marriage. But that it should come to a point when a divorce should be forced is unbelievably shocking.

Writing in a recent issue of the Arabic daily, Okaz, Rania Salamah, said: “I anxiously watched with a mixture of sadness, happiness, pride, shame, disgust, tension and relief an interview with Mansoor that appeared some time ago on the Al Ekhbariah channel.”

Mansoor is the man who had his happy marriage cut short when he was forcefully divorced from his wife by a judge in Al Jouf on the grounds of it supposedly violating social customs and practices. Mansoor told the story of how his brothers-in-law – who incidentally are his wife’s half-brothers – decided to dissolve his marriage because of supposedly tribal incompatibilities.

“Forcing a couple to divorce on tribal and social grounds is despicable and shameless,” said Salamah. “I believe there are two contradictory aspects to the story. One that makes you feels disgusted at the wife’s brothers, while the other makes you admire the couple for their courage in choosing to confront this injustice. Unfortunately, the court in Al Jouf issued its decision in August in the absence of both Mansoor and Fatima,” she said.

A few years ago after their marriage, the couple were shocked to learn that Fatima’s half-brother had filed a lawsuit to have their marriage annulled on the grounds that she belonged to a superior tribe to that of her husband’s. In fact, they were unaware of the crisis that had befallen them until the judge annulled their sacred union.

“How can a woman be divorced from her husband when she didn’t ask for a divorce nor did he divorce her?” asked Salamah.

The wife was forced to leave her house because of the court decision and had to go back and live with her family who instantly found her a new husband. The only common factor between her divorce and the second proposed marriage was that none of Fatima’s family members had bothered to consult her in either case.

“Perhaps, the family will be next considering killing her and then changing her son’s surname. I can just visualize the pre-Islamic state of ignorance this family is living in. To make things worse, finding no opportunity of recourse, the couple felt that the only solution they had was to run away with their children to Jeddah. However, Fatima’s brothers didn’t give up. They arranged for another decree giving her back to her family or ending up in prison,” Salamah said.

She added: “I admire the wife even more for her bravery in preferring imprisonment with her children instead of going to her parents’ home to be married off. It is better for her to be in jail for the time being than being divorced and entrapped. I also believe that her husband’s tears that flowed with the presenter asked him to address authorities in the kingdom for help, have dried up and he has lost hope. However, the case is still unsolved and needs a permanent solution.

Salamha said that this case is only one of a series of crimes that can potentially occur in the courts of justice. The question that kept running through her mind after watching the program was: “is the judge who issued the decision still practicing as a judge? I know that judicial authorities intentionally postpone cases for a long time when a wife files a case. Judges have every right to give a woman a chance to think twice. However, this honorable judge ruined a sacred union and allowed people with social and tribal sickness to triumph instead of advising them not to spread the disease among those free from such prejudices.”

Arab Times
Kuwait
November 22, 2006

‘Forced to divorce’
Court to rule on Marriage

RIYADH, Nov. 21 (RTRS): A Saudi appeals court is set to rule within days in the case of a couple forced to divorce against their will because of arcane tribal custom, a lawyer said on Tuesday.

A 32-year old Saudi woman, called Fatima, has been in prison for more than three months after she refused to return to her half-brothers’ home when a court last year annulled her marriage to Mansour Al-Timani, 36.

Custom in the conservative kingdom requires women to live with their families until marriage.

“We are waiting for the Court of Cassation to rule within days, less than a weel,” Abudulrahman Al-Lahem told Reuters. “The first verdict shocked society so there is great sympathy for the couple.”

Fatima’s brothers began the legal action last year saying Timani was not of good enough tribal stock to marry their sister and had lied to them when the couple first married.

Random, Drive-By Thought-waves

PWC Logistics has changed its name to “Agility”. With a brand new, light and airy logo, it reminds me of feminine hygiene products: Agility – with wings.

Edo is NOT the best sushi in town. Sakura is. I don’t care what anyone says. I like it the best. Edo has a wonderful atmosphere, but their portions are tiny and the sushi aint all that.

I bought an “Alwaleed” chocolate croissant this morning on the run that had ab-so-lutely trace amounts of chocolate in it. Quite disappointing.

I received an e-mail from a “friend” who hasn’t bothered to keep in touch with me for about a year +. Out of the blue, he needs me to WRITE his master’s thesis and will pay cash. I told him I would do it for 2000 KD. I haven’t heard from him. BAM! Why can’t these people write their own papers and do their own work? It seems relatively logical.

I hate it when someone asks me to do something for them, then I do whatever the emergency thing is, send it to them – and they never even bother to call or follow up. (This is unrelated to the item directly above.) Bobarino, for example. I follow up with him on something he asked me to do and then he says, “I’m too busy right now! I’ll have to do that later.” Why do I bother playing with him?

Expat friends/acquaintences who hate Kuwait and All Things Arab: why the phuck don’t you just leave? I don’t understand this. I am not here to commiserate with you over your bigotry, prejudices and racial slurs and it makes the rest of us (who enjoy being part of the society where we live) look bad. I am not here “just to make money”. I have a little group of acquaintances (I’m choosing words carefully) who are – themselves – of different ethnic and racial backgrounds and have fallen prey to bigotry in their pasts. They’re the WORST when it comes to being prejudice against Arabs. That is just disgusting to me. How can you live in a society and not want to integrate or understand? Do they have Kuwaiti friends? No. Do they socialize with Kuwaitis? No. How can you make an educated determination of what is good and bad if you don’t have anything on which to base your conclusions?

Perhaps I am just all full of piss and vinegar this morning. It is a beautiful day. I have a lot to be thankful for (tomorrow is even Thanksgiving).

Da Tink – something to be very thankful for:

Did I tell youse guys about Tinkerbell? Wow. How could I have omitted Da Tink?

I was at a friend’s farm in Kabd when a thing ran past me at about 100 mph into the bushes. I asked him what it was, “A little dog. My friend left for London and gave her to me.” It turned out that the thing was a Yorkie. (Yorkie prices in the US start at around $1,000.) I couldn’t tell if it was a male or female or how old – it was badly matted and terribly scared; living outside on a farm with a pittbull, a cat, and a spitz (all in much better shape). I told my friend that he needed to take the dog to IVH for shots, grooming and de-worming. I couldn’t do much, since it was the first time I was invited to his farm. We were invited back the following week and I had a closer look at the dog. Somebody had given it a bath, but the fur was so matted that it looked like it was wearing full-body armor (kind of the same look as an armadillo). It was very scared and very thin. I waited till the friend got good and drunk and sacheted up to him, flirtatiously: ‘I’m taking that.’ (pointing to the dog). …. “waaaaoookay.”

I took the dog home in my car and had a good look at her – she turned out to be little girl with big, scared eyes - and horribly thin. The fur had matted over her behind so that she was trying to go, but there was literally no room for anything to move out. I cut off most of her fur and took her to IVH. She weighed 1.5 kilos. Thank God, there was very little wrong with her – other than not eating. She just felt sick and needed some TLC. For 2 weeks, she stayed on a pillow covered with towels and a hot water bottle on my floor. She wouldn’t come out – only to eat. She was house-broken within a week; very smart little thing.

We had her scanned for an RFID identichip, incase she was lost or stolen. There was nothing, so we had her chipped incase she ever gets lost (23 kd at IVH). The vet said that it appeared that someone, sometime had taken care of her; maybe they had just gotten sick of her and moved on to the next-most-amusing thing (X-box?). It really makes me sick when people don’t see pets as lifelong responsibilities, and not just as toys.

Tink now lives with The Romanian, where she is amazingly happy and putting on weight We take her and Desert Dog out to the beach for walks and Tink runs along smiling and barking, wagging her tail. She is an absolutely lovely little girl and even though she was horribly abused – is still incredibly friendly to everyone. I bought her an entire wardrobe of dog clothes including a jeans jacket and several sweaters (party dresses, of course!).

If we were hamsters…

If we were hamsters, we’d snack, we’d nap, we’d think about working out, we’d snack again, nap some more….

Hey… wait a minute….

(That’s not original, by the by – I bought a greeting card in Target with that sentiment, but I love it.)

The Man’s first name was Hamed and I used to call him Hamster. I had this whole little routine worked out with my girlfriends of the “Hamster Dance”. Very amusing (to me!)

I had a date scheduled for tonight (from like a week ago) with a guy who I have been putting off. He’s ok and all that, but reeeeeeeeeal pushy. Anyhoo, he was all ready go to out with me and I said, “Pick me up at 7:30?” He said, “Can’t we make it after 9?” I like – WORK, you know? I get up before the sun rises. Turns out he “has a meeting” prior to 9 (Suuuuuuuure. And like – who schedules a meeting on the same night that you have a date you have been asking for for weeks?) So, I sent him a quick SMS from work, “I was planning on an early dinner and several hours of earth-shattering sex, but I’ll RSVP to that symposium that my boss wanted me to attend tonight instead -- since you’re busy…” He immediately called and said he would re-schedule his meeting. Yuh. Too late, buddy. You are on the “Grade A” Idiot List now.

…Just like the guy who has been asking me out for 6 months. I travel a lot, so I was THOUGHTFUL (AKA “stupid”) and brought him a bottle of cologne which I dropped off at his office. Dude calls me and tells me, “Oh, I’m getting engaged. I’m going to save this for my wedding.” No! I am not kidding!!! I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried.

My life is good. I received a hokey e-mail from a friend, entitled, “I am thankful…” listing all the ways you can turn a negative into something to be thankful for. (for Example: For the clothes that fit a little too snug because it means I have enough to eat.
For the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours because it means I am alive.) Well, in response to that e-mail… I am thankful that I do have men in my life and that I’m not a toothless no-job ugly chick with poor table manners driving a 25 year old Toyota. Yeah. I’ll keep telling myself that.

For you, Purgy...

Purgatory is obviously tired of reading me rant about men and animals, so I will rant about something completely different....

There was an article in today's Kuwait Times (which I don't usually read, but everyone seemed to be out of the Arab Times this morning), titled, "Silk City: Mission Impossible" in reference to "(Silk City Project that will)... help transform Kuwait into a commercial gateway to the World." The author, Muna Al-Essa, basically shares the same sentiment I do - that although Kuwait has good intentions about mega projects - will the schemes actually draw people to the country?

Desert Girl says, 'Uh... noooooooooo....'

The current Kuwait commercial laws don't allow room for economic growth. Many Kuwaiti companies (like the big "A" dogs up in Sulaybia) are still mistreating workers - Western and Asian alike. The 2nd largest logistics company in Kuwait (rhymes with KG Hell) charges their employees for employment visas (500 kd for an Article 18). What is the going rate they have to pay - about 70 kd? Worker rights throughout Kuwait are minimal. Corruption is rampant - and for the most part, unchecked. Department of Labor at the Ministry of Social Affairs - WHAT IS YOUR WEBSITE? WHAT is your contact information? Where do you post your information and in what language? I've been here for ten years and I can tell you - I still can't easily find the answers.

The Kuwaiti planners are operating under the assumption of, "If you build it, they will come." UAE already has it. They must determine WHAT would entice international companies (or tourists) to come to Kuwait. Can they own property here? No. Can they easily open businesses here? No. At the bare minimum - most of the time, you can't even find a good lawyer here to BEGIN the process because no one is willing to make it easier with information in English or proper listings. Perhaps the thought of creating a website (in English and Arabic) for the Kuwait Association of Lawyers would be too much to ask?

The Free Trade Zone was supposed to be established to eradicate these types of issues. Basically, it was an opportunity to part these companies with their money. Everything costs MORE in the FTZ, it takes over a year to get a business license, and international companies still cannot own land. Get your employees visas? No way.

What about recreation? Why would your employees choose to stay here and spend money in the local economy? As taboo as the subject of alcohol is here - sorry - but it is an aspect of most CULTURES. Many people of Western cultures socialize with/gather around alcohol. If you are going to basically tell people, "Sorry, you gotta go somewhere else...." - they are going to go somewhere else. Dubai, anyone?

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.

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.

Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

That’s what The Man was: Living by his instincts; awakened to the sense of his baser nature. I’m psychoANALyzing again. I keep thinking about the really good times we had together and failing to remember every time he FLIPPED. (Oh yeah. Duuuh. He did do that.) My step-father was like that, but I blame that on alcoholism. There were very high highs and very low lows: laughter and happy times followed by shouting and misery. Maybe The Man was bi-polar. You know – there ARE drugs and rehab centers for these afflictions. (Live with it: He just wasn’t that into you, Desert Girl. Get on with your life.)

Well…. Ok….. Do 27 year-old men built like brick houses count? (“He’s a brick da da da da…hoooouse. He’s mighteh mighteh…Just lettin’ it all hang out…”) I mean, in the big picture would a 27 year old help? Ask me. I’ll tell you. (Sigh of temporary contentment.) It is, after all, how Stella Got Her Groove Back (and yet in real life, that guy turned out to be gay). Regardless, the 27-year-old in this case won’t be around that long for me to find out. Of course, it was all completely innocent. Yes. That’s it. I feel like some old guy who is in mid-life (I’m 29 people!) crisis and dating a much-younger chick. Honestly, I do desperately want a Corvette too. (Well Barbie has one, doesn’t she???)

I can’t count how many men I have met this Glorious Month of Ramadan. When people should be praying, they are doing the taboo and exchanging numbers. I know I’m going to Hell (but it is most likely for the multitude of OTHER bad deeds I have done). I love this month.

Alas, God or the Universe is – once again – playing tricks with my sorry self. I started playing on Mchat (sms “go” to 858 from an MTC line) and low and behold – what started happening? The Universe is phucking with me. The guys I have met have been in the same exact work (and job title) as The Man, have had the same login name as The Man, and I have even been meeting men with the same name as The Man. I am one of those superstitious weirdos that believes in signs and omens and all that crap and it is FREAKIN ME OUT. It is freaking out my girlfriends. What does it all mean? Are The Man and I destined to be together? Are we tied together by some cosmic bond? Ok, if so – why hasn’t he come begging yet? Why?

And Mchat – well, play at your own risk. The 40-something man who said he was “the color of coffee” was a 60-something espresso and brought his nephew with him (security or voyeurism?). Probably seeing-eye-nephew because the glasses were as thick as Coke bottles. Slapperella and The Romanian (who were with me) stopped short of laughing their asses off (neither of them HAS an ass) as they showed genuine pity on me (I could see pity or perhaps fear in their eyes and it was even worse than being laughed at). They looked at me like, “oh my God, we hope you don’t burst into tears at any moment.” Perhaps they knew that at this juncture, I might have just gone postal and killed every-living-thing in a 20-mile-parameter. It could happen. If you are home some evening and your windows start shaking, that is just me -- gone nuclear.

A Proctologist's Dream: Bless His Heart

Yes, yes, I haven’t posted for a while. I took some time off because I was… busy (WTF).

So I didn’t get married. We met on September 29th (his birthday) last year and, true to form, he was outa here shortly before the 1 year mark. Well, I hate all that wedding crap anyways. I never did want a wedding dress or a reception with people I don’t even know or like. Seems like a lot of work for an event that should be a whole lot more intimate than that.

Well Forest, life is like a box of chocolates…. You know what? Funk dat. I hate the sickeningly-sweet cream centered chocolates (the stuff eventually runs all over the place and ruins everything), so I try to poke holes in the bottoms of each and every chocolate so I can figure out which ones NOT to eat to avoid disappointment. Let’s speak in metaphors here and say that I’ve gone through a Willy Wonka amount of chocolates in my life. One would think that based on the law of averages (which I firmly believe in), sometime, somehow, somewhere, I would be able to stick with one chocolate. For me, it would be the perfect blend somehow of mint, coconut, and perhaps even a little ginger, but with the character and consistency of a toffee-centered chocolate: rigid and sustainable. It would be coffee-color and smooth. Why do I keep getting the ones that run? Too much complication. Too much anxiety. You never know when the stuff is going to run out.

I believe that when you reach a certain age (in my case, 29), you start accepting things for the sake of the long ride and not just the short one. I put up with a WHOLE LOT of things – many I am choosing to leave out in the blog. What I will say is that I bent my own rules so many times with The Man that I thought I had turned into my friend from Kentucky who I used to make fun of. Me: Trish, why don’t you leave the bastard? Trish: “Because I looooooooooooooooooove hiiiiim.” I used to make serious fun of my friends like SheeshaGirl who went on and on and on about some loser-of-a-man to the point where we all wanted to shoot her to put her out of our own misery. I have BECOME these women. I don’t think I’m a meek little push-over doormat of a person. I am generally not-very-interested in most of the men I meet. They’re nice and all that, but I am too distant for a relationship. I just don’t care all that much unless someone really impresses me – and at this point, most don’t.

Why is it that The Man impressed me? I blame it all on The Romanian. See, I saw The Man and I didn’t think he was ALL THAT (way less the bag of chips on my scale). A week after we met, she was adamant that I call him, so I did. Then we went out a few times. I don’t know what it was about him (nuclear physics – some form of chemical reaction perhaps?). He definitely didn’t have the ideal marital situation, financial situation, and more.

I don’t regret it. I had a great time. We did so many things together that I have wanted to do with a boyfriend/fiancé/husband for so long: Stupid things like camping and shopping and going to movies and hanging out. Stupid things that alas, most Kuwaiti men don’t do for different reasons.

I didn’t get to travel with him and I’m very sorry about that. He chose to go to Phuket with a womanizing guy-pal of his instead of going there with me – for our honeymoon. When I heard the woman in his room (it could have been the television, right?) and confronted him, it was the last time I spoke to him. I hope she enjoyed our damn honeymoon. He was supposed to be in Sharm with his sisters (who I will miss).

I’m a simple girl. I don’t need a lot to keep me happy and I don’t mind sharing what I’ve got because it is a PARTNERSHIP. I just don’t want a guy who does really dumb things and then wants to “make it up to me”. You know what, gentlemen? Once that statement is out of your mouth, it is already too late.

Well, I won’t go into too many details, but I send him daily reminders that I don’t forgive him and that if he is praying during this Ramadan, I don’t believe God will accept his prayers as he can’t be a good person during the other 11 months of the year. As he TOLD his entire family and circle of friends 8 months ago that we are already married (and he hasn’t bothered to divorce me yet), perhaps I am still considered his wife. And if that is the case and this IS Ramadan, why the HELL hasn’t he bothered to even buy me a tin of tashreeba or perhaps some frickin gaymat??? Bless his cheap-ass stingy heart.

Speaking of which, if you want laugh-your-ass-off-funny, read this book: Bless Your Heart, Tramp by Celia Rivenbark. Holy shit, it is hilarious. She also wrote, “Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank,” and “We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier” (which could have a tremendous appeal to the entire female population of Kuwait).

In the South, you can say, “Bless your heart” and get away with anything (as Celia says in her book). The Man is an idiot, bless his heart.

If it smells like camel poop ... it probably is.

Why is it that men don’t talk? I mean, you get into a relationship, and they become clams (the only way you can get them to open up is with a lot steam and heat – or so I thought – see below). What is UP with that? I have a California roll and a cup o’joe and I can debate about anything tirelessly. My Man: I had something bad happen to me today. Me: Really? What? Man: Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it (oh my God – he is such a typical cop!) So, the next thing outa my mouth is, ‘Ok – wanna go to bed?’ (if he’s not going to talk maybe the other noises will suffice?) but that isn’t even working. I guess we are in a rut. TALK DAMN YOU, TALK! I can take it! Thank God the frickin World Cup is over. Yeah yeah – mabrook Italy and all that crap. Now at least he’ll have something less to gape at without speaking.

I’m bored and dangerous.

I have been in an absolutely foul mood for several days now. I even threw things/broke things yesterday (felt kinda good actually). I am mean and nasty. A lot of it centers around my need to find a new job all of a sudden (and the rut of course). It appears that the gentleman who hasn’t paid me on time in the past 14 months doesn’t have enough left to pay me at all. Not that I didn’t see it coming – I was just riding the wave and making suggestions to get things turned around (which, of course, no one ever listens to). I think the blondeness makes them not take me seriously. So I am looking for a job – again. My interviews go something like this: Employer: I see you have changed jobs a lot. Me: Yeah because the fuckwits that I have worked for never listen to my recommendations and occasionally mismanaged their companies into the ground. Well, not really, but that’s what the voices in my head say.

On another front, the fuckwitted HR Director (affectionately called, “Nasshole”) at KGB Logistics and 7 of his fellow thieves were arrested and fired (or vice versa) – taken out of KGB in handcuffs for receiving bribes and kickbacks and embezzlement. This is the same fuckwitted HR Director who managed to get me fired from there (along with a multitude of other Americans because he hates us). Yippeekayyeah! I say this rolling on my floor, laughing a very sizeable chunk of my ass off (both cheeks). Did my former boss LISTEN when I told him about what was going on????????? Noooooooooooo. Because I am blonde. I am so glad I am out of that mess.

How about this weather we’re having? Serious dust and 120 degrees. Have you heard that Cheech & Chong skit about dogshit? Long-story-short, if it looks and smells and tastes like camel shit (in this case – not dog shit), then most likely it is. For all you newcomers to Kuwait: Keep your mouths shut when walking outside. You don’t know where the funk is from. Yet another aspect leading to my meanness this week: My hair looks like a cross between Farah Fawcett and Bozo this week. It aint purty. I might as well have been rolling around in a jakhoor (again). Tee hee.

Does this kinda thing happen to you? ….. an American friend called this week to ask me if I had dated a guy several years ago (H). I haven’t met this friend in person – she is one of those people who I have helped along the way and then she has subsequently helped me in return, but we have never met face-to-face. She’s a wonderful lady and I like her a lot (makes me laugh) and I am dying to have coffee with her. So anyhooo (Purgy!), she asked if I had dated this guy and she knew particular details about me and desert dawg that I hadn’t told her. Turns out H is her x-husband and I had gone to Malaysia with him about 4 years ago (thankfully – this time – AFTER their divorce!). H and I used to be movie buddies until we won a trip to Malaysia as a prize at a party. Our physical relationshit lasted all of 2 weeks (snore) and I have never seen him since. (Let me just tell you that I don’t believe in building up to something over several years because you’ll always be disappointed – usually by some teeny weeny ….. detail.) At any rate, I had met her kids several times on trips out with H. Turns out the poor young-uns needed therapy because their daddy was introducing them to 7 women at a time and asking them to lie to everyone in the family. They were such great kids and I never figured Mr. Small Detail to be such a Don Juan (Don Gerkin – Juan’s cousin? LOL). That is just pathetic. At any rate, I loved Malaysia and would love to go back there. I don’t remember much about H there – other than the fact that he let the monkeys steal my peanuts (another story) and that he laughed at me while I was getting a very uncomfortable reflexology thing done to my feet that made me cry (there is NOTHING wrong with my area 29 on the reflexology chart, by the way!) Does this stuff happen to you or is it just me? I swear to God – people in the States think I am making all this up. My family already believes I am schizophrenic, but this kind of story just adds fuel to the fire.

Tuesdays - Ugly Fun!

I go to a tailor in Jabriya and even when it is Africa-hot, he has no AC or fan on in the fitting room. Let me just tell you, that when you are crammed into a little closet the size of a coffin, trying on stuff you want to have darted (in or out), and sweating profusely -- nothing will ever look good. I even realized how much I hate the back of my head when I saw it in the mirror there. Who would have thought it would turn out to be one of my least-favorite features? Until the tailors, I was pretty sure that the back of my head looked like one of those girls' on a Clairol commercial, but noooooo.

Another pet peeve is going to the tailor and having Kuwaiti women arrive after me and the tailor says (with excruciating pain written all over his face and very quietly as to not set off a stampede), "Excuuuse me," and dash to help THEM. Chelloooooo. I was there FIRST and I'm 100 times more likely not to bargain/quibble over a price. I turn mean-nasty-American on them in 2.5 nanoseconds. 'Yo! Babu! I was here FIRST, mothafuckah!' (I don't actually say that, but the voices inside my head are screaming it.) I relent because he does such a good job, really (when he's not pissing me off). He is probably mean to me because he can hear the racist voices inside my head calling him 'Babu'.

Yesterday, I watched from my apartment balcony as a rather well-dressed man pulled up in his car and assisted a lady from my building into his car (looks like they were on their way to the airport). Dude opens the trunk, pulls out a tire and literally chucks it into the middle of our street! What tha phuck??? I was on my way out anyhow, so I went downstairs (full of piss and vinegar) and said, "Excuse me, would you mind picking up that tire you just threw in the middle of the street? We don't live in a junkyard." He said, "What tire?" 'The one you just threw right there.' "Oh." So I made him take it to the dumpster not 20 feet away. People are so stupid.

Since Khara fee is making our street look like an absolute dumpster anyways, everybody thinks that it is ok to dump their junk wherever they feel like it. I'm surprised people haven't started to pee out there. (Maybe they have?) It is disgusting. Since the construction oopa-loompas have come around, the trash men don't think they have to collect either. Yes, it is stinky.

What is the deal with changing all of the frickin curbs in Kuwait anyways? Didn't we already have a parking problem? Now they have created parking problems all over Salmiya (coming soon to a neighborhood near you!). Let's discuss anti-corruption for a moment here. Who AWARDED the new curb tender? Why was there ever a tender out there to provide new curbs? Who the phuck needs the new curbs? What was wrong with the old curbs? All of a sudden, there are 12" curbs all over Salmiya and nobody can park. I can't get my sports car up there in front of my own building. Why doesn't someone issue a tender for installing grass or trees or flowers and maintaining them? What is UP with the curbs????

We had to take a friend to the airport last night. Tuesday nights are ugly-fun nights at the Kuwait International Airport. You want an ugly partner – be sure to look for him/her there! Slapperella made the mistake of somehow parking in a staff parking space and it took her close to an hour to get help and get out. Help came in the form of a cute Kuwaiti security guard who, as she reported it, "Wasn't havin' it." Too bad. The Slapperella charm is usually able to penetrate any armor (so to speak).

I think that is the end of most of my bitching for today. I have more, but they concern work and I don't have the energy to get into that tirade.

On a more pleasant note (shut tha fuuu up - there is too one!)... I had the first dream about my father since he passed away. He was standing next to a river and a small white house (kind of like in that movie, "Big Fish") with a lot of people around him. He looked serene and was staring out over the water. He didn't say anything to me, but I woke up feeling better. I think the house was supposed to belong to my cousin, Kim's father (I have never really gotten the familial connection there) in Norfolk.

WTF Kuwait?

Last night, June 23, 2006 at approximately 8:00 pm, H. Al-Shammari's 9 year old daughter walked to the co-op close to their home in Mubarak Al-Kabeer (Block 3). A group of boys was outside the co-op and one of them threw a bottle at the girl, hitting her on the head. She was taken to the hospital, her head shaved, and she was given stitches. Mr. Shammari doesn't want to report the incident to the police because he knows they will do nothing.
____________________________

Last Saturday 17th June I was driving past Salwa coop on the opposite side of the road at about 6:15pm. A group of at least six 10 to 12 year old Kuwaiti boys in dishdashas on my side of the street were hanging around under a large tree. As I passed by a stone hit my car. I immediately turned around the traffic circle there and went into the police station. An officer on duty said there was nothing he could do, that school was out and this group were in trouble morning and afternoon.

This is the second incident that has happened to me this year in Salwa. I was at the coop several months ago when a group of youths were throwing stones outside the coop door. I was pushing a trolley towards my vehicle when one of them threw a 7 up bottle at me. It didnt hit me. It smashed on the ground in front of me, but again as I was right next to the police station I walked in. I saw the boys head towards the clinic through a back alley so I asked the police officer to walk round and apprehend them from the front of the clinic. Two of the boys were sitting in the alley and were asked by the officer to come back to the station. They denied it was either of them that threw the bottle, but the officer called in the father of one boy who lived in a nearby street. The father said they are only young and "never mind"!

I agreed they might be young, but if they get away with throwing bottles today who knows what they might do when they are older.

As they were brushing me off, I called my Kuwaiti son who is over 6ft tall. When they saw him pull up in front of the station in his jeep, the officer started to joke with the father and asked if he was my "friend". First my son told off the boys, then he spoke to the father, and then the police officer! Not very satisfactory.


_______________________________________________
From: British Embassy
Dear Wardens

Jamie Bowden, the Deputy Head of Mission, called on Brig Yousef Al-Seoudi, Assistant Under Secretary for Public Security Affairs, to discuss the Embassy's worries about threats of violence and stone throwing by young Kuwaiti men against British citizens in desert areas of Mangaf, Fahaheel and Egaila. Jamie handed over a formal note on the subject.

Jamie talked through in detail the most serious incident of which we are aware, when a British citizen was stoned and had knives pulled on him. He said that we were also aware of other incidents. He asked that the Ministry increase the police presence in the area and consider a wider plan to tackle the problem.

Brig Yousef said that the police were aware of the problem posed by young men hanging around in these desert areas. Since early June they had instituted patrols in these areas. But it would not be possible to completely end the risk of incidents like these. Regrettably, he had to advise that people should not go to these areas after dark, and as far as possible when they went to them during the day they should go in at least pairs.

Brig Yousef also said that it was essential that any incidents were reported immediately to the police. Otherwise it was difficult for them to take further action to deal with the problem. Jamie said that we had already passed this advice out through the wardens' network.

Jamie pointed out that the emergency number for the police, 777, was not always answered immediately. The Ministry of Information have given us the following direct lines to police stations in Mangaf, Mahboula, Fahaheel and Egaila:

Mangaf/Abu Halifa Police Station: 371 4753
Mahboula/Fintas Police Station: 390 3744
Fahaheel Police Station: 391 0014
Egaila/Regga Police Station: 394 0700

Please do report immediately and in detail any incidents to the police and to your warden.
________________________________________

Desert Girl comment: You know when this will get some attention? When one of these boys is shot by someone, vigilante-style. .... and I will laugh.

To the Beat of Somebody's Drum (I guess)

So today was my first visit to Villa Mucha. I guess you can say that I am no longer a Villa Moda virgin. Yes yes. It's true. I have dipped my toes into the lake of the languid. I said I would never ever go there on principle: I don't believe in all the designer hoopla and the waste/greed/gluttony associated with it. However, I relented and went in today because it was my friend's, friend's birthday and I like her. We went to the café and let me just tell you – their food and their cheesecake ROCKS baybeeee (light and airy with real graham cracker crust – most delicious). The atmosphere is also really nice – very relaxing and tranquil (except for the clad-in-black, weird-eyeglass-wearing Eurodudes who were sitting at the next table. That's ok. I can deal with them and their fake tans.) I'm definitely going there again. Paying big bucks for food is okay in my world because food is food regardless of how much you pay for it and I don't eat it to try to outdo anyone (and I would also give it to poor people).

I have also wanted to visit Villa Mucha based on Slapperella's slippers (shoes). They are, indeed, magical. I don't believe that she has taken them off since she purchased them from Dolce and Gabana (sp? – WTF) discounted at VM. I don't believe she has bathed since the put them on either. They would be, as I see it, quite appropriate even for circus sex. They are extraordinary magical bejeweled slippers and I love them, so I have been trying to get her to go there with me to seek out equally magical slippers for myself. I just know that my pumpkin would turn into a carriage and that mice would be made into white horses and that Prince Charming would.....YEAH BAYBEEEEE.... I digress.

Anyhooooo (Purgy)…. I went to Villa Mucha and walked through the shops after having lunch. I was immediately met by the Pucker Factor (you know where you can't wedge a needle in your behind even with use of a sledgehammer). I feel like all eyes know that I shop (wherever the phuck I feel like it) someplace "lower". I gotta tell you though, if those chicks have money, they sure dress funny. One girl had on a skin tight pair of pants, a strange tunic type thing wrapped around her and enough make-up to look like a Saturday afternoon at an Earl Scheibb garage(that made Bobarino giggle). Other "ladies" were wearing things that could have been on the sci-fi channel. Very odd. I kept looking for Spock. There were also lots of androgynous (also sci-fi) piccolo players (you know – light in the loafers, knob-gobblins – whatever you wanna say). No, I'm not politically incorrect because I DO TOO say such things to gay friends. It's ok. I make fun of everyone.

Bobarino was running around merrily picking things up and doing a little Vanna White for us all. I felt like the mommy of a bad 3 year old. If I had told him that, he probably would have had a sexual fantasy about it because he's a pig, so I didn't.

We looked at the Aston Martins on display and our Kuwaiti birthday-girl friend said, "What do I have to do to get one of those? Strip?" I answered, "No. You have to find yourself a lesbian sheikha because the sheikhs are too cheap." Which, in all honesty, is how I feel – speaking from first-hand (ha ha) experience. I'm still driving a GMC. Hey – did you notice that Aston Martin makes a DB8 (that is real close to "deviate" – get it? Do you think he was phuckin with the rich?).

I didn't have the courage to go to the upper floors because the pucker factor was limiting my mobility. I thought I would try it again another day when I looked cuter and when I could bring Slapperella with me for morale support. Babarino wasn't helping things running around caressing LV bags and the like.

Segway.

The Man is pissing me off (everybody pisses me off, but he is really on my last last last nerve), so I'm "shopping" (which is quite different from "hunting" because "shopping" is innocent – really. It is.). Anyhow, so far, I have met a married guy with 8 children who fell in love with me at first sight (I could tell because he had puppy eyes and his palms were all sweaty). He's really very nice (and successful and gorgeous and has extremely large feet), but I don't see it materializing. Then, there was a young'un who invited me to coffee and brought his COUSIN (who was HOT) and then when we were supposed to go out on "our second date" to dinner, half an hour before we were to meet, he sends me an SMS (doesn't even bother to call) asking, "Can we make it another night? I have to go meet some VIPs." What the phuck am I??? Chopped liver? 'Oh, can I have your cousins number?' Then, there was a very polite (too polite if you ask me) guy from the Ministry of Finance – single, but too young. Then there was a married-and-looking-for-Mrs.-2nd-wife guy from the Kuwait Air (and you can say "air" any way you want to – making it more funny) Force.

It is hot and the villagers are restless! I think I hear drums…. Gotta go.