I have been totally bored off my azz lately. It isn’t even funny. The Romanian blames ME for us having a boring life. She loves plans, so I’m always supposed to come up with one that sounds exciting – even though we always do the same damn thing every damn weekend. And THEN… we can go to…. And THEN we can go to … It is like reading the same bedtime story to a 4 year old over and over and over again.
This past week was Medical Week. I have been putting off getting all my checkups done for waaaay too long, so I figured, ‘whatdahey’ and got everything done: like multiple fibrosomething cauterization (having little skin things burned off). Let me just tell you – there is NOTHING like the smell of your own skin burning. Mmmmm. Just like being at a barbeque, only its YOU. I look like I got into a train wreck. Slapperella was sitting in front of me at lunch (with Olive and his cousin visiting from Sauuuuuudia) mouthing the word, “whore” over and over again because it appears as though I have a long love bite on my neck (which I’m not allowed to cover with make-up because it is really a burn).
My friends love me.
I also went to the new OB/GYN/infertility specialist at Mowasat. Wow. He is a great guy and takes time to explain things (I love pillow talk). Just the opposite of the other guy previously at the hospital; and was a wham-bam-thank-you-mam kind of doctor. Even if I am paying some guy to poke me, I want him to talk to me.
I have been on a camels milk trip for the past several weeks. I’ve always had stomach problems and this stuff is really helping me a lot. I felt noticeably different. I’ve got a “bedu delivery service” that brings it to me. It is kind of like drinking white paint – really thick (don’t EVEN go there! It is FOOD! Haram!) I know Purg is going to be all over this (so to speak). Food item!!!! Food item!!!!
One more month till vacation. I don’t even know what I will do with myself with that much free time. I have been in hyper-drive since last September. My job is really stressful.
I saw a guy at a meeting last week who was tall and extremely gorgeous and was making eyes at me and I was making eyes at him. When he gave me his card, I recognized his name from somewhere. I still don’t know where. I am planning to call him and say something incredibly corny like, “I remember where I saw you…. In my dreams….” Isn’t that pathetic? Gets ‘em every time. (Then, I’m going to invite him over for some camels milk. Naw – just kidding.)
Anyhoo, I definitely know in advance that he is not Shemmari because every Shammar man on the continent seems to be finding me lately. Why? You may ask… I have no clue. I am a Shammar magnet. My friends laugh about it. We could be out anywhere, and one will find me. I don’t know. The other day, I was at H&M and one appeared out of nowhere behind me with that grin… too ironic. The Romanian turns to me and says, “Shammar?” Well, whatdayaknow! Even the guys who I don’t initially believe to be Shammar turn out to be Shammar. They can give me any other name and they’ll turn out Shammar. Sanaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees ya gulbi!