Sunday, July 29, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
This weekend I’m out with the Posse (pronounce that any way you so desire). I’m walking around and a yummy tall guy was smiling at me. I met him in the school supply section and he gave me his name and number and then said, “Who is your friend?” I’m like, “My friend? What’s up with you?” (thinking dirty threesome thoughts bien sur). He said, “No, I want you to give her my number.” I’m like, “Are you stupid? Why don’t you go give her your own number? What am I – a mediator?” (Don’t even SAY that other word….!)
People never cease to amaze me. And Purgy – DAMN STRAIGHT my expectations are high. If you aim high, you achieve high. If you aim low, you generally only get low – loooooow below the belt…. (come to think of it…. that wouldn't be so terrible, right?)
This weekend was relatively a snooze fest, except for a phone call from a guy who I didn’t mention here (maybe I did?) who is traveling and I won’t get to see until September. I totally wasn’t expecting his call and I was having dinner with a business ASSociate and when I answered the call, he said, “BAYBEE! How ARE you?” I said, ‘Ssscuse me? Who is this?’ (because, alas, it could have been any number of mens… I was so glad that it was HIM). (Says me – giggling like a 5th grader). Me likes.
My dear friend, The Romanian, called a guy for the first time last night. I asked how the conversation went and she said, “He didn’t even ask me what my name was. He just asked me if I lived alone. So….. CLICK.” I love her attitude. What a dumbass. Obviously, he just wanted a booty call.
When mens ask me if I live alone, I always say, ‘I live with security.’ What exactly does that MEAN? Well, it could be my own private security detail; it could be a big aggressive attack dog; it could be a Smith & Weson; it could be a male relative… This list goes on. I don’t go into details. Why, pray tell, Desert Girl, do you answer in this strange manner? Weeeeeeeelll, it’s like this: If I tell anyone that I live alone, the next thing out of their pathetically stupid ignorant mouths is, “Uh, I’ll bring some food and a bottle and be right over.” NO DUMBASS YOU WON’T. What time is yo mama cooking lunch for me?
Oh, I had a conversation with another dumbass (there are so many)…. He is a friend-of-a-friend who likes me and who I don’t know well at all. He was calling to (I think) ask me out, but failed miserably. He said, “I live in the most expensive area of Southern Kuwait, Hadiya. I can’t go outside with women, I am a very important man. I am a lieutenant.” (oh please – WTF – not even a major!!!). I told him that I am secretly married to a very important man, who lives in Abdullah Al-Salem, I too am very important (I’m a mudeeeeera), and I can’t go outside with him either.” Had I been standing next to LoserBoy, I would have reached out and smacked him upside his irrationally small head.
Ooooooo saaaaah. Try to remain calm. 4 more days until the serenity of alcohol, greenness, and the love of my family…..
And speaking of loff….. I’m taking The Romanian on a honeymoon to Phuket. Ph-uckit. That’s right. When I didn’t get the engagement ring I wanted, did I sit and complain (yes, a little)? I bought it myself (and then felt guilty for spending so much). When that person went on my honeymoon without me, did I complain (Hell YES I DID)? I’m taking my friend. Of course, it won’t be AS romantic, but whatever. Thankfully, I don’t like wedding gowns (I don’t – seriously – I look terrible in white and the whole virginal thing just doesn’t work for me), so I don’t have to spend the money on that. I could probably do a wedding cake, however….
Its ok because I went on a honeymoon to Malaysia years ago (2002?) and before that, to Maui in Hawaii. Malaysia was because a guy friend and I won a trip on Valentine’s day at the Balls of Kuwait (towers) and we told everybody we were on our honeymoon to receive upgrades, cake, and flowers. In Maui, it wasn’t actually a honeymoon because dude was taking me there to ASK me to marry him. I’m so glad I went because I didn’t marry him and therefore I never would have had the way cool honeymoon I actually ended up with (helicopter rides, sail boating, snorkeling, room on the sea… etc.)
My life IS weird, isn’t it???
Friday, July 27, 2007
I remember the first time you disappeared. It was raining during the 4 days and I thought my heart would stop. It was the beginning of a series of disappearances for no apparent reasons but perhaps for those of weakness and cowardice. When things become difficult or uncomfortable, it is easy for people of looser moral fiber to walk away without conscience or concern. The strong always stand their ground. I can’t believe that you never thought it would come back to affect you in some way. Regret has a way of washing over you in waves. During those first 4 days, I wrote this for you and then I took you back on day 5:
Someone broke my heart today.
I didn’t see it coming.
I was doing fine alone.
Then he came in and said all the right things
and looked at me in all the right ways;
letting me believe that we weren’t playing The Game.
It was just us.
For a short time, my feet weren’t touching the ground.
I forgot how that felt.
He was there from nowhere and it felt like he knew me.
And then he went away as fast as he came
because maybe I didn’t say the right things.
Maybe I didn’t do the right thing.
Maybe he saw me as I really am.
I forgot about The Game.
I let my armor down for a little while and he got through.
It is so much easier when you love a ghost and no one can hurt you.
I’m going to put my armor back on and
no one is going to get through no matter what.
I won’t let them.
The brief times when I’ve felt neglected or uncared for, I look around at the people who are now, and always have been here and really do love me; and I know how lucky I am to have people of quality and higher morals in my life. I make a call and someone always picks up the phone just to make sure I’m ok.
The opposite of love isn’t hate; it is indifference. Regrettably, I am not indifferent; I still grieve for the type of man that I thought you were. After a year, I still find it hard to believe that I couldn’t see who you really are.
I can’t believe it has been a year already. It feels like the good parts were only a dream.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
My friend was dating a guy for about a year and a half. They kept talking about getting married on and off, but they kept breaking up and getting back together again. Long-story-short, dude decided to marry a “traditional girl” (aka virgin) so she would think he was a God and worship him; and at the same time get along with his mommy (so cute). Last night, she calls me and tells me that dude had called her after 4 years-and-a-baby-later to get her advice. What it all boiled down to was that his wife is no good in bed (routine and not open to new things; BJs out of the question) and he was asking her what he should do. Believe dat shit?
Why are people stupid? Why don’t people think in terms of the long-run?
If sex is important to someone, don’t you think you should at least have a conversation about it with the person you are going to marry prior to making a life-long commitment? Shit, I have the conversation before I even meet the guy. And another thing, call me newfangled, but I’m sorry, I would never buy before I tried. No way. It’s like buying a car: Even if its new, you just don’t know what’s under the hood until you take it out on the road and really gun the engine.
The Romanian and I had yet another Adventure in Dating this weekend. Zzzzzzzzz snore. We went on a double-blind date with two characters ("Mo" and "Curly" apparently). All they did was talk about how terrible Bedoins and Sunnis are the entire night. Romanian and I are of the same mindset: we are all one tribe with one God. Why can’t people stop their petty prejudices and understand that? Furthermore, nobody wants to HEAR about how much some people hate others; it’s just bad.
I did glean some interesting insight into the psyche of a polygamist, however. I love to hear people’s perceptions on stuff like this. One of the guys is married to 3 women (yes, at the same time; and no, we didn’t know that). I guess he’s the Mack Daddy or something. …It must be South because North really wasn’t that happenin. Anyhoooo, he has 2 Kuwaiti wives and one Lebanese. They all live him the same house with a collective 6 children. They meet collectively every day for lunch. 2 of the women work (salon owner and lawyer), one of them doesn’t. Fascinating, isn’t it? Mack Daddy has his own floor in the house and when he wants one of the womens, he calls them up to his floor. All of this information – AND he wants to go out with The Romanian. I giggle. Whatever Viagra he’s taking wouldn’t be enough… I bet none of his other wives would install a brass pole in the bedroom....
Sidebar: WHY DON'T THEY TEACH POLE DANCING IN KUWAIT YET? It is BIG business in the fitness clubs in the US. They could make a fortune here on not only the training classes, but in sales of poles. WTF. Belly dancin' hell - I want to see a bigbooty Kuwaiti girl upside down on a pole! LOL (The particular set in this picture is US$79.99, but not strong enough to support the weight of someone hanging upside-down - I checked.) Suburban housewives all over America are doing this now. Maybe dude's wife in Paragraph 2 above should check it out. Nothin wrong with a little private pole dancing for your husband. Nothing sacreligious nosireeebob.
This was an ironic dating scenario, as it came on the same day that I received this e-mail:
Once upon a time there was a rich (he'd have to be) King who had four wives. He loved the 4th wife the most (proving my point, once again - that all is not equal in polygamy) and adorned her with rich robes and treated her to the finest of delicacies. He gave her nothing but the best. He also loved the 3rd wife very much and was always showing her off to neighboring kingdoms. However, he feared that one day she would leave him for another.He also loved his 2nd wife. She was his confidant and was always kind, considerate and patient with him. Whenever the King faced a problem, he could confide in her, and she would help him get through the difficult times.The King's 1st wife was a very loyal partner and had made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and kingdom. However, he did not love the first wife. Although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her!
One day, the King fell ill and he knew his time was short. He thought of his luxurious life and wondered, I now have four wives with me, but when I die, I'll be all alone."Thus, he asked the 4th wife, "I have loved you the most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?""No way!", replied the 4th wife, and she walked away without another word. Her answer cut like a sharp knife right into his heart.The sad King then asked the 3rd wife, "I have loved you all my life. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?""No!", replied the 3rd wife. "Life is too good! When you die, I'm going to remarry!" His heart sank and turned cold.He then asked the 2nd wife, "I have always turned to you for help and you've always been there for me. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?""I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!", replied the 2nd wife. "At the very most, I can only walk with you to your grave." Her answer struck him like a bolt of lightning, and the King was devastated.Then a voice called out: "I'll go with you. I'll follow you no matter where you go." The King looked up, and there was his first wife. She was very skinny as she suffered from malnutrition and neglect. Greatly grieved, the King said, "I should have taken much better care of you when I had the chance!"
In truth, we all have the 4 wives in our lives:Our 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it will leave us when we die. Our 3rd wife is our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, it will all go to others. Our 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how much they have been there for us, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave. And our 1st wife is our Soul - often neglected in pursuit of wealth, power and pleasures of the world. However, our Soul is the only thing that will follow us wherever we go.
Friday, July 20, 2007
And I hope I always will be
Cause to me you are the world
The sun sets in your eyes
And without you my moon won't shine
The air would be thin
The stars would never shine again
My life would be a waste
Without your sweet embrace
My chest would just be an empty space
If I ever had to live without you
Cause to me no other will do
You’re the reason I see clearly now
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I only have 2 more weeks and then I’m in Virginia. I can’t wait to see my family. My nephew grows so much between my visits that I hardly recognize him. He’s amazing. I love that kid/man so much. He loves all the manly things and he also likes the arts. He's just very interesting and he’s like my son without responsibility. Gotta love it.
I think I’m going to be scared to drive the new Mercedes around, but I guess I’ll get used to it. I’m so mean to cars these days since I’ve grown accustomed to driving either leased or rented vehicles. I hope I can go back to being “normal”. Slaps says, “Oh no! You can’t have a Mercedes… not the way you drive! What about speeeeeed bumps?” I’ll adjust. Really I will. Anyhoo, I want to take my mother to the mountains for a few days and I need something comfortable for my butt (refer to following paragraph).
I had a stomach flu this week and I have been staying home a lot. It made me very tired. It felt like little men jumping on my intestines. Nothing says, “I love you” more than a stool sample (so I told the lab tech). I guess she’d heard that one before (or something very similar). Go figure. I thought that they might find Alien in there or something, but nothing so dramatic (only gold flakes and rose petals): Just a little upset tummy and fever. Yes, I am accepting flowers – thanks for thinking of me.
My 27 year old is back. He is such a nice guy. I like him. He’s my boy toy. You’re only as old as the man that you feel and all that. Tee hee. I call him “Chivas”. I promised to call him more often. I am so bad about that. I should call the people I like more often. Bad, bad, bad Desert Girl!
I managed to meet some mens this week. Don’t ask me how; it has all been kind of a haze. I like the ones who follow me until I relent; the thrill of the chase – yada yada. I met 5 mens; and would only venture to go out with one of them. He’s very sweet and kind of shy (and has OMG sexy shoulders. I LOVE sexy shoulders.) and unfortunately, left immediately to the Emirates for 20 days. By the time he gets back, I’ll be gone, and alas - so probably will be the magic. The other 4 are kindof metsometz: One is too pushy; one is too crazy (although I might check him out more thoroughly because he actually has a good job/ambition); one has a voice that is way too high; and one hardly speaks at all. I know, Purgy, my expectations are way too high. So phuckin what? I can be choosy, right?
The most fun I’ve had this week with a man was my dream about the uber-rich guy who was in love with me and we were walking through our uber-beautiful new home/mansion, complete with garden and fountain and French doors painted in silver and curtains in a dusty rose chiffon. The mansion faced the mansion of friends of ours across the street…. WAKE UP!!!!!
And then I had a dream about The Man and how he was living on the 5th floor of a 7 storey building facing the sea. SHE was cooking lunch in the kitchen and had lost a lot of weight and the kids were happy to see me. The Man always looks at me and smiles in my dreams and then walks away. WTF??
Anyhoo, lunch smelled good! I love that I can smell things in my dreams. Sometimes I can feel things too – like cold and wet. Sometimes I have traveling dreams where I go to places I’ve never been before and I know where everything is. I always wake up after traveling dreams very tired. Are other people like me? 7 is supposed to be good in dreams. So are new homes and the sea and silver.
I went to a fun birthday gathering over the weekend. I thought it was for my friends’ birthday – it turned out to be her husbands. Oops. I’m an idiot. Their birthdays are only 10 days apart. Anyhooo, I got her/them gifts that could potentially cross-over to both genders; coffee mugs and bath items (only they were wrapped in pink). Yeah, that’ll work. Git er done. Think a big guy working for the Ministry of Interior likes pink? Fer sure. Well, there were a lot of intellectual types there and I was hoping that The Romanian wouldn’t be bored with the group. As it was, everyone had a great time. While Romanian was out of the room having a cigarette on the balcony (for a very long time, come to think of it, with my friends’ husband….hmmmm), during a lull in the conversation, I told the group that The Romanian is a former porn star. Discussion continued after some laughter. About an hour later, one of the most intelligent in the group walked over to The Romanian and flatly said, “So, you are a porn star?” I thought I would die giggling. She said that she felt like she was a little kid caught by the principal. He hee. Of course she really isn’t (she’s not). Noooo, no pole dancing in her history. No lap dances. No videos on Romanian latenight TV… Not her.
Slapperella just called me from Indonesia to tell me that she had discovered that I’d changed her bluetooth name to “Bigbutt4u”. It has only been 3 weeks! Why do people let me borrow their phones?
My Egyptian friend, Mona (I SO miss her reading my coffee cups in the morning!), explained that the reason why the birds are flying into my apartment and signing on my windowsill early in the morning is because they want something from me. Ok, so I got some Trill birdfood and a birdbath and started feeding them. My favorite bird, an adolescent mina bird, comes and sings songs for me right around wake-up time (ok, “hit the snooze button and turn over” time) on my bedroom windowsill. At least the mina works for food. The damn fat pigeons are pissing me off. They scare off the smaller birds; the mina, the doves, the sparrows; and they actually fight each other like cock fights to get at the food. They are all the size of small roaster chickens and don’t need the food. I can tell. Bastard rat-birds from Hell. Now, if I don’t feed the damn things; they all sit out there making a racket and tapping on my windows until I do feed them. (“Hey! Hey! Yo! Wake up and get us some damn Trill!”) I can’t win. Sometimes it is hard being Doctora Doolittle.
For all of you who read my comments on the last post, sorry for the tirade. I don’t believe I have ever received such a comment from anyone before in the history of this blog, so I went a little overboard. Que cera cera. Johnny crack corn … and all that.
And now… I shall continue on my PATH OF FUN (enlightenment/discovery/adventure).
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I went out with the 2nd of my Tale of Two Men. (Buzzer noise) Both are out. I have no interest. He’s nice. He’s sweet and funny and intelligent, but there is no chemistry. Back to the drawing board...
I swear to God, if The Man hadn’t pulled the “cake maneuver”, I probably wouldn’t have thought much of him either, but I did. He sent me over a piece of cake when we met. It closed the deal. I’m sure he thinks that he created this maneuver, but I was actually doing this way before I met him: If there was a guy that I wanted to meet in a restaurant, I would send him a cake, or something sweet. 100% of the time, I would get the desired response.
Why is it that I constantly compare mens to past men?
Anyways, I just haven’t met anyone special in a loooooooooooooooong time. I probably have, and yet I have probably just not given them a second glance. My expectations are too high. Je suis unimpressed.
And speaking of unimpressed: The Romanian’s x-boyfriend (lived together for 6 years) is going to marry a divorced Kuwaiti with 2 kids. Why didn’t he marry The Romanian after 6 years? He flat-out told her: he wants someone weak who he can control. He doesn’t want a strong woman. He said, “Fire with fire doesn’t mix.” So she asked him, “Are you going to be faithful to her?” and of course his answer was a strong, “No.” She asked him if he would cheat on his Kuwaiti wife with her (hypothetical question because she's not REALLY a ho) and the answer was, “Yes.” WTF! People like this walk among us; they appear to be normal humans, but they are frickin schizophrenic!
The Man told me (in front of The Romanian) one time that he was afraid of me. Yeah – as in afraid that he couldn’t control me or that I wouldn’t be subservient and put up with him running around with other women. Afraid that if HE cheated, I would do something about it (and I would, and did). (While others would sit there – like a DOORMAT – and accept it all AND make dinner and wash his clothes and open their legs..... )
I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that people like this can ever be happy. They lie to the women in their lives; they lie to themselves. What kind of a life is that? How can you live, constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure your lies aren’t going to catch up to you? You have to constantly remember your lies or cover them up with more lies; and that just chips away at your soul.
You know what? I power date and I sleep well at night – knowing that I haven’t hurt anyone or lied or cheated. Ten years from now, I won’t have any lies I have to cover up; and I hope that people will still respect me. Maybe I will meet the right guy and maybe I won’t, but I’m not going to be dishonest. Life is too short for bullshit.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Our Bengali farraj (dude who delivers beverages – “coffee boy” is just too derogatory) is catching on to my humor now. He walks in my office in the morning and says, “What would you like, Madame?” and I usually answer with something to the effect of, “A house, a Ferrari, an airplane, and some ice cream.” This morning, he immediately shot back, “I mean to DRINK.” He’s sounding just like family now! I love that.
My Chairhole (chairman) asked me to accompany him to a meeting yesterday which I really had very little to do with. In a peripheral way, I could have been included maybe in an e-mail. Anyhoo, long-story-short; had I been a flat-chested brunette, he never would have invited me to attend. All I have to do at these brilliantly-executed meetings is to sit there and smile. If I do actually have something to say, Chairhole looks at me as if I had just kicked his child or something. Jeez. I DO have an IQ… its 165. Chairhole!!! I guess he can’t see my IQ over my boobs!... I’m up heeeeeeeere.
The Tale of Two Men: The Romanian (AKA “Amoona”) and I went on a double date with one of my dilemma men last night. (Yes, I’m still in beta testing.) He is very nice, but I have concluded that he’s not my type; maybe as a friend. This was the younger of the two guys and the rich one.
Why is it that I always choose the least rich guy? My late step-mother used to say (you have to say this in a Southern accent), “Honey, it’s just as easy to marry a rich man as it is a poor one.” (Why did she end up with my dad???) Uh no. I disagree. I think that the rich ones come with a lot of extra baggage; ergo so do I because I am always wondering if he his always wondering if I’m after him for his money. I can’t relax because I don’t want to give dude the wrong impression – or, God forbid – to accept an expensive gift and worry what he will think of me. Why did my mother ingrain all these morals??? I hate that. I mean, it is pretty-much-okay to be promiscuous, as long as you don’t accept an expensive gift. That seems so irrational. Why can’t I do both? Don't worry, be happy and all that crap.
Anyhoo, I’ll let you know how things progress with #2 (who has actually moved into #1 now).
I bought cheap stuff from Electrozan.... I now refer to it as “Electroshit”. Ok, ok, ok…. I know what you are going to say: you get what you pay for. Perhaps that is true. It was in this case. Garbage in, garbage out; but I thought it would at least last for a week. The bookshelf stereo broke within an hour of installing; the surround sound (but it looks so cuuuuuuuuuute) isn’t actually surround (sounds worse than my TV speakers); and the DVD thingy didn’t work at all. They sent a technician to work on it for 2 hours and they admitted they didn’t know what they were doing, so another one is supposed to come tonight. I’m so perturbed. My building hariss, Khalid, came up and shook his head at me. Imagine that! My Saeedi harriss tsk-tsking me for buying Chinese and not American. What is the world coming to? Do people not realize that most things from America are made in China/Taiwan? Look at the label. You know – I blame Bunny. He was too busy to go with me to the store and help me install all the stuff. Anyhoooo, I’m so pissed off about the whole thing that I am going to INVEST in a Bose system after my vacation (I say that with the full knowledge that I will be paying off bills from my vacation after my vacation…).
Hey – THIS year during my vacation to see my family: at least I don’t have to worry about my fiancé running off to Thailand to frolick with 10 year old virgin girls (or whatever else he was up to). Happy ending? I wonder how he feels about his phuckin’ “happy ending” now!!! (And just so you know, Hamad – THREE other men have asked me if they can please come with me to the US to meet my family.) Thailand! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? Last year, Hamad went to Thailand while I was in DC at the same time as Mark Karr was arrested in Thailand for the rape/murder of Jonbennet Ramsey. My whole family knew that Hamad was in Thailand and the first thing they said to me was, “Is he some kind of a pervert?” Happy ending, my ass. I give the best massages in the whole world and I bet you’re missing them now, eh?
Anyhoooo… Purgatory refuses to write anything meaningful on his blog about me and yet if I don’t write about him in every single posting that he gets very upset (he is so narcissistic). So, as I am writing about my ass and perverts and all things dirty (not that my ass is dirty)… I shall use his name. Purgy.
Slapperella is going to Indonesia with Z this week. The Romanian and I are already wondering if she’ll come back pregnant (we’ve secretly been thinking of baby names for her – we might even go to Mothercare to see what is available as a gift). It is going to be a romantic trip…. You never know… The boy is fertile and has a track record to prove it. You never know…. It might just be lucky 7…. (Sorry, Slaps, but if you want to retaliate you either have to create your own blog or start commenting creatively to mine.) I sent Slapperella some flowers this week on behalf of The Romanian and I to congratulate her on her tremendous accomplishment of completing one year into her masters degree: it was a beautiful bouquet of roses… that she would have loved… but I have once again maxed my credit card and the order was rejected. Today is Tuesday, she leaves tomorrow on vacation and so it is too late to get flowers now. The moment is passed, but hey! It’s the thought that counts, right? Love you, girl and I’m so proud of you for working so hard (but at the same time secretly feeling rejected because we don’t see you as often as we used to and we miss you so much). Well, she’ll come back pregnant and then we’ll never see her at all (I don't do baby parties and all that kid nonsense)….
Me, I prefer to practice. I just can’t mate in captivity.
Monday, July 09, 2007
A Tale of Two Men
Ok, so the Universe usually phucks with me in peculiar ways. If I wish to get married, the Universe brings forth a guy who immediately wants to marry me – mutaa. If I want a particular car, I always get it – only 10 years later.
So now, I was hoping to meet a nice guy and the Universe always seems to bring me 2 at the same time, so I am in a Sophie’s Choice type of dilemma: who do I choose? It hasn’t come down to that point YET luckily, but it will. They are both nice: One is older, one is younger. They are both smart. They both have qualities I admire: One is a business man; the other is an artist and works at a good job in the military. One is seriously rich; the other is moderately well-off. One likes sports cars; the other likes more business-like 4-door sedans. One loves seafood (the Bedu one); one hates seafood (the Hather one). (I love seafood and meat, so I don’t care.)
I guess time will tell. I will probably get bored by both in several weeks unless there is some drama that maintains my level of attention. (Yes, I admit it. I have a problem. It is the first step towards recovery. So phuckin what?)
Slapperella, God love her, says, “Why not keep both?”
I have a dilemma in my life: I don’t fall in love until I have spent quality time with a guy; and yet I never allow a guy to spend quality time with me. Aint that a thang? (And what if, God forbid, I finally do spend quality time with a man only to discover that he is terrible in bed?) It has gotten much worse over the past several years. I seem to think that it is all going to turn out the same, so why waste my time?
Is this what they mean when they say that the older you get, the more jaded you become? Is this what my life is destined for: bitter womanhood?
Am I to live out my days alone with my little companion dog and my microwave?
….Alas, I must not allow myself to watch Bridget Jones anymore. My head is always filled with nonsense directly following the movie. I see myself as Bridget Jones – only in Kuwait.
…. And now…. For something completely different….
Men who are NOT men…
I went to the Sheraton with Slap last night. I saw a “human” who I met through a lawyer friend years ago. This particular humanthing is a pig: he is just about as disgusting as they come and just seeing him made my skin crawl (I love that term. My mother uses that term.) Anyhow, this guy was involved with a group of “religious” Kuwaiti guys (including my lawyer friend) who would go to Egypt and through lawyers there, arrange to marry young, poor virgin girls through orfi marriages. (Orfi marriages are done with a contract and witnesses with a ceremony often by a religious man, but not in a court; so it is not legal.) They were already married to Kuwaiti wives, but went on the belief that orfi marriages are RC (religiously correct). Bullshit. Their Kuwaiti wives/families never know of the marriages. It is basically human trafficking (the latest American catch-phrase): The marriages are arranged by poor families in exchange for money. The girls are often brought to Kuwait and put up in furnished apartments until their “husbands” get bored having sex with them and return them to their families. These guys are wealthy and well known in Kuwait. (I came to Kuwait because of the lawyer friend and I believe that he initially intended me to end up as one of his friends' orfi wife. I'm not naiive and I'm not poor, so it didn't work out well for them.) It makes me sick.
I hope that their Kuwaiti wives are phucking around when they’re out being “RC”. These guys seem to think that women can’t/won’t do the same as the men. Guess again, guys! My Kuwaiti girlfriends are smart and aren’t about to let them get away with anything: They’re doing it too. Humans are humans. “I know my wife.” bullshit!
Let me ask you this, ladies: If you knew your guy was cheating and/or married to someone like this for a temporary arrangement - would you cheat too? Ok, even if you didn’t technically cheat (as in sex with another man) would you have a romantic relationship with another man? Phone calls? SMSs? Secret discussions? Superglue your husband’s appendage to his leg while he was asleep?..... (sorry, I got off track).
I guess people confide their deepest, darkest, dirtiest secrets to me because they don’t think that I have an opinion (I have many) or that I will be discreet. Why on both? It could be because I have “one of those faces” that allows people to open up; someone once told me that “it is a gift” that people just tell me things. Ok. That may be true, but at the same time, there are some images that you don’t want in your head. There are some things that you don’t want to know about people.
Wow – something got me all full of piss and vinegar this morning. Very odd.
Monday, July 02, 2007
I had an all-day seminar at the JW Marriott yesterday. I think I sprained my ass (I said "ass"). It hurts. I fell asleep twice (which was a way lower average than all of my colleagues). The only two things that really kept me awake were 1) the extraordinarily OMG-handsome owner of the company, and 2) some new guy from a subsidiary company who I had never met before who was sitting across the table from me, making eyes/returning eyes at me all day (I’ll keep you posted. I wrangled an introduction through one of my fellow managers who seemed to think it was very cute). The manager dude was probably secretly jealous, however, because we flirt with each other non-stop! He's so cute and so in love with his wife. I ditched one of the modules – only to run down to Salhiya and check out all the stuff (where, at one point, I met up with the owner of the company who was doing the same thing!) There are a bunch of handsome guys down there at 11:30 am. I am going to have to skip out of work sometime and go to Starfucks, Salhiya. If I was a man, I would be so hailag. LOL
So, after the 10 hours I spent at the seminar (ass ouchies), I went to have dinner with some girlfriends at one of the Behbehani houses. OMG – amazingly gorgeous house. I don’t know why they don’t build updated versions of the old style Kuwaiti houses. This place was a museum full of interesting and beautiful objects. I fell in love with their little Pekinese dog, George. What a fun night! There were 5 of us girls. I didn’t want to leave, but alas, I was falling asleep. I have found that I am much more active with less sleep and more alcohol. Aint that a thang?
One of the ladies made lasagna using ravioli (apparently, a Rachel Ray recipe). I had never heard of such a thing, but if you think about it – it is very easy: instead of using long strips of pasta and cheese, you substitute with cheese ravioli. It was more of a casserole with a layer of spinach and mushrooms, but very yummy and a lazy girl alternative to the real deal. Any form of lazy girl recipe is just fine with me. Par example: I LOVE the cold-brew iced tea bags. All you have to do is add a packet of Tropicana (fake sugar that I’m hooked on thanks to The Man formerly known as The Man) and a teabag into a cold bottle of water and you’ve got iced tea. That makes me so happy.
My maid threw out my brownies (not the hash kind). It happened a few weeks ago, yet I am still disturbed by it; I am having brownie flashbacks (again, not the hash kind). You know when you get your mouth all ready for something (tee hee) and then you don’t get it? Well, I made a big tray of brownies one boring Friday night (they’re all boring) and my maid comes on Saturdays. Apparently, she has never seen a real brownie before and she threw the whole tray out. I asked her about it and she said, “Oh, it was all black and looked crusty and I thought it was something burned.” NOOOOOOOOOOOOO – It was all crunchy on the outside like I like it and all gooey on the inside like I like it and WTF!!!!
Sweet… teeth… segue (too much coffee, ok?) This weekend, I went with Slapperella to her dentist, Dr. Sexy. Dentists make me nervous (gynecologists don’t – isn’t that ironic?), so I make jokes when I’m nervous. The only problem was, Slapperella had Dr. Sexy in her mouth (so to speak) and she was gagging (so to speak) because she couldn’t laugh properly with all that EQUIPMENT in her mouth. Need I say more? (I can make anything sound dirty.) At one point, Dr. Sexy turns around to look at something on his computer (I think he was chatting on MSN with some girl) and I told Slapperella, “He’s doing a Google search on how to do dental procedures!” Why do people take me places when they know that I will only add to their pain?
That was the day that MTC cut off my phone line for non-payment and I had to use Slapperella's while she was "under the equipment" and I got a little creative with her settings. Why do people lend me their phones on good faith when they know I'm up to no good? I’ve had kind of a busy week and it is only Monday.
Our Jahra friends came to dinner on Saturday and they’ll be back on the weekend because we laugh so much. Somebody has to bring me some camels milk again this weekend or I will become really cranky. As long as they bring the food/booze (same thing), I am happy.
And while we’re talking about good times and laughing…. I was at the Crowne Plaza this weekend and The Romanian was making me laugh about something (like she usually does - it was probably dirty) and I turned around and BAM! There was The (person formerly known as) Man. I didn’t even notice him at first, but I saw his friend’s evil face behind him (his “friend” is someone who makes The PFKA Man upset at every opportunity because he enjoys it). It was kind of cool because I just kept laughing after the 2.5 second interlude passed (sushi makes me high). The PFKA Man struggled NOT to look at me and put his sunglasses back on. Odd, but not unsurprising. The other, Bu Zega, just gave me a big, long stare; obviously collecting data to make The PFKA Man feel bad later (or to talk trash about me because he’s evil). Hey – when you have friends like that, who needs enemies? I wish I could talk more about that whole episode here, but I’m going to wait to publish it in my book. That’s right: an unauthorized tell-all book.
Sidebar: Why don't I use The PFKA Man's real name in here? I don't want to confuse you guys, but I might as well because he has already discovered this blog (checking out my favorites on my PC while I was awa, no doubt. Glad I downloaded all that porn to my USB) and there are only 4 gazillion Hamads in Kuwait anyhooooooo. Maybe the Hamad you know is the Hamad I know... It could happen. (Just think of that next time you are next to your uncle/cousin/brother/father Hamad....)
I went to dinner with Bunny at Gaucho on Thursday. A) I love Bunny and 2) I love Gaucho and C) I love Desmond the waiter at Gaucho. All was well in my world Thursday. OH MY GOD! I didn’t tell y’alls about my dream! (Why don’t we talk as often as we should???)… I had a dream/nightmare that I saw a hamster standing in front of a bunny. The bunny grabbed the hamster with his little, furry bunny paws and phucked (had intercourse with) the hamster. The hamster screamed and I woke up shouting, “Stop it! Stop it!” I woke up, washed my face, and started pondering the significance/symbolism: The 2 recent serious relationships I’ve had in the past several years were with “Bunny” (J) and Hamad/The PFKA Man(who I call “Hamster”). I have told this story to all my friends (including Bunny who has laughed the hardest) and none of them can stop laughing. It was funny, but at the same time scary. I shiver.
What is WRONG with my brain????
Birds keep flying into my apartment. My friends tell me that this phenomenon is a sign of good luck. I don’t think it is good luck for the poor birds who A) slam themselves against my plate glass window and 2) have their ass feathers plucked out by DesertDawg who thinks that she has just been bestowed with a new toy. It always happens at the precise time that my alarm clock is going off also. Isn’t that weird? What does it all mean? Anyhow, just when my alarm clock goes off means that I have no clothes on (yeah baybeeeeee!); that it is an emergency and my glasses are nowhere to be found; and that I am about to badly frighten my poor neighbors across the street making a naked mad-dash across my living room to rescue a fluttering thing and throw it out the window. Thank God I have never been bitten by a pigeon. Thank God, I have never made eye-contact with any of my neighbors across the street. I think that either would really mess me up.
AMOONA! I forgot to write about Amoona on the Rai Channel. That right thar is some funny shit. I wish they had English subtitles. I have to be home now every day during the week at 11 pm to watch this hilarious Kuwaiti soap opera. Ok, sometimes it is hilarious – most of the time it is so/so, but it is soooooooooo soooooooooooo Kuwait that I love it. If you aren’t following the story (and who wouldn’t be???)… It is the tale of two middle aged Kuwaiti friends, Amoona and (I forget the other one’s name – Um somebody). Amoona started off poor. Her friend has always been rich. Amoona’s husband traveled to Asia on buying trips for his hailag accessory shop; and on one of his trips married a Filipina lady named Leezo. Husband and Amoona get divorced. Amoona lives with her 2 fat, stupid kids in a run down house in a not-very-good area. Until…. She inherits millions from an aunt and it changes her life. She buys a villa close to her rich friend; she buys a yacht so that she can go out to sea and make trouble for her fisherman x-husband and his wife; she takes computer classes; she goes to the expensive salon with her friend. Then, her no-good husband wants her back. It is kind of like a country song; only it is a Kuwaiti soap opera. Gotta love it. Anyhoo, now both The Romanian and I are calling each other “Amoona” all the time. SHE is going to be the real Amoona, though, because she’s going to get her Kuwaiti citizenship and it is going to change her life. Then she can come to Strands with me and get her hair done properly... (she curses me inside my head).
See... that really had nothing to do whatsoever with sex, now did it?