I’m having the coolest birthday ever. Well, except maybe for a few when I was a kid and a drunken one in a limo with several of my galpals (long story: what happens in the limo stays in the limo) – not "WITH" the galpals, dirtythinkers!
My mommy is here. She is my best birthday gift. We are at the halfway mark of her 2 week stay. I don’t understand why she doesn’t stay longer when she comes here. It isn’t enough time! (I mean – what’s not to love about Kuwait????)
We’ve been so busy that I can’t even remember all the stuff we’ve done. This whole week, we have been waking up early and coming home late. We went to all the new malls, some of the old souqs (Mubarakia, Friday Market). We’ve eaten all over the place – mostly yummy seafood. Alas, unlike me, my mom isn’t a sushi fanatic. I’ve taken her to all the cool places; introduced her to new friends and reconnected with old friends.
We went to see my friends in Nuzha. When mom first came here in 1998, there were only 70 people in the immediate family (15 brothers, 4 sisters, their spouses, and kids). Now, there are 120 (So, what are you going to do today? Oh, reproduce, of course. - you know they're at it all the time. Must be.). It is a circus and we can only stand to stay a short time. When I first walked up to the house, one of the sisters saw me getting out of the car and shouted (down the street!), “(Desert Girl!) You got fat!” I’m like, “Shloanich inti, zayna?” They say that and then they shovel like the equivalent of 9 pounds (4 kilos for you non-‘mericans) of food in front of you at lunch. “You must eat.” (Uhhh, actually… I must not - especially if you be calling me fat). They had fugaa – I had to have some of that. Also murubian. Had to have some of that too. Well, that family isn’t svelt either. One of the “kids” is over 6’4” tall now and weighs around an unnerving 400 pounds (180 kilos). He frightens me. His boobs are bigger than mine. Anytime a man can outdo me in the boobs department, it is a bad, bad thing.
The Nuzha family is cool, but they have been trying to marry me off to one of the brothers (no manboobs) since 1993. Not my type, but he’s a good friend. He likes Americans; he’s lived in the US for many years. Nobody bothered to tell me that he is remarried and his wife is pregnant (with twins!). She looked a little shocked (seeing me or being pregnant with numbers 121 and 122 and seeing the shenanigans). He already has 2 boys from his 2nd marriage to a 2nd American wife. The latest one is Kuwaiti and I told him, “3 times a charm.” I hope so. When I saw his x-wife at their house a few years ago, and the kids were running around screaming and yelling, she turned to me and said, “Look around – all this could be yours.” Scared the bejezus out of me. In between marriages, they always call me to get me “re-acquainted” with him. Well, I don’t know if they were doing it on purpose or not, but throughout the lunch, different family members called me by the names of his 2 American x-wives. I kept looking at his poor current wife, maskeena. I’m like, “Yo! I’m (Desert Girl)! Not (flana),” in my usual diplomatic and demure Desert Girl style.
Back to food….
My refrigerator is full of more food than I know what to do with. I’m always afraid there won’t be enough of that one particular thing that the moms likes. I don’t usually have very much food around because I’ll eat it. JaberBunny brought over an enormous tray of kanafah and usmalia and she is addicted to that now. I’m so glad I have stayed friends with Bunny for so long. He is such a dear friend. I have so much respect for him.
I’m not cleared to fly yet. The doctor says my ears still need recovery time. Mom and I were planning to go to Oman, but can’t make it. There isn’t enough time anyways.
My mom is scared to death of the driving here. I think she has clawed holes into the seats of my car in a death grip. I have become accustomed to the terrible driving, but it scares the crap out of me when you see it from a newcomer’s perspective. I don’t believe in slowing down because if you don’t go with the flow, you become a sitting duck to be picked off by zigzagging reckless drivers. I have slowed down for her and it worries me even more. Well, that and her gasping and clutching the chair for dear life. If she could only see what I see in the rearview…. All that terror makes me nervous. By the time I get home, I am shaking. If she only knew that her reaction is so much more dangerous to us than the actual traffic, she would be shocked. Do you think it is wrong to ask her to sit in the back seat? I drive a big SUV.
By the by – why is it that when I’m with my mother, men are suddenly more interested in me? That is so weird. They’ve been following me all over in the car (“Oh my God! You have a stalker!!!!”) and even in the malls and stuff. How sick is that? These are even on days when my hair is a mess and I’m not wearing any make-up.
We totally missed that big storm. DAMN! I love to be in the middle of all the action too! We got in the car in 1997 (or 98?) and drove around during the humungous flood – THAT’s how much I adore adventure! (Also known as, “You’re an idiot, Desert Fool!”) This time, my mom and I were having coffee down at Kout and there wasn’t even a drop of rain. The sky got dark and it was just a little breezy with one or two flashes of lightening, but that was it. People have been sending me pictures of it all week. Wish I coulda been IN da storm. Oh well. Maybe tonight or tomorrow. I hope my mother doesn’t freak too much.
I took her to a meeting of a certain American (business group). I kept poking her so she wouldn’t fall asleep. It went on FOREVER. Zzzzzzzzz. She already said how surreal it was to take the United flight from Dulles (as she says, “The contractor flight”). Said that it was full of men – very few women – and that the men just seem to ignore everyone. Yep – that’s how I feel. That’s ok, though, because I don’t like chatter while I’m flying: I like to sleep and snore. I don’t care how loud because I don’t know any of those other people and quite frankly, I’m not easily embarrassed. Most of the time, you can’t hear me over the sounds of the engines anyways, so WTF.
I would love to write more about the business group's rants, but damn – everybody knows who I am on here now and I’ve lost some of my anonymmmmmmity. Hate that. I can’t trash anymore. Big bummer.
I always check out Mark’s 248am blog (if I wasn’t IT-inept, I might be able to figure out how to add that favorite link listing onto my freakin blog!!!) and he wrote about something near and dear to my heart: eggs. I too have been disgusted of late about the state of Kuwait’s eggs. I don’t bother with those small, disgusting eggs anymore. Mark wrote how he bought Naif eggs and they were rotten (LINK). Doesn’t surprise me. I have noticed that The Sultan Center doesn’t have any more of the 4.75 kd (yep - nearly 18 bucks!) per DOZEN cartons anymore (the chicken that lays the golden eggs). They have been replaced by Bu Ali. If you haven’t tried Bu Ali’s eggs, you should. The yokes are really orange (meaning fresh); the eggs are large; and they come in a see-through container, so you don’t have to open them and damage the goods. You go, Bu Ali!!!! We love you and your eggs! I’m going to start a poll: How many of you have tasted Bu Ali’s eggs? Tee hee.
I’m back in the office for a few hours and they just gave me a small birthday party with cake and a presentation tribute. I love my job. This is the best job I’ve had in Kuwait – all bitching, moaning, and complaining aside. What a nice thing for them to do. Very cool birthday. People do love me. I feel so warm and fuzzy.
Happy birthday to me
(and Chicky sings) Cha cha cha
Happy birthday to me
(and Chicky sings) Cha cha cha