I had a humorous weekend. How else can I describe it because the rest of it was just plain boring.
The Romanian asked me to run a little skit on her male friend (he doesn’t rank as boyfriend really) the next time he called. When he called, I answered:
‘You have reached (The Romanian) hotline. Dial 1 to speak to (The Romanian); Dial 2 to kiss (The Romanian), dial 3 to Touch (The Romanian); Dial 7,8,9 – repeat to have sex with (The Romanian).’ I heard a whole lot of number punching going on. Ok, the guy isn’t the brightest bulb in the circuit – and perhaps this wasn’t the funniest joke on earth, but we’ve been bored, so shut up.
We went looking for clothes for Eid. Why would two foreigners buy clothes for Eid? Well, so we can sit in front of our televisions wearing our new dresses lookin pretty for our dogs. Yeah, it’s thrilling right? So, we were at one place and I found THE dress. I saw one like it at the beach in Ocean City, but bien sur, it was not to fit across my breastsssses. So, the little light-footed Lebanese salesman comes bouncing up and says, “Try on the large, Madame, maybe it will fit you.” I’m like (making eye contact), ‘Look at my boobs. Do you THINK it will fit?’ Okay, now I figured he’d take a quick downward glance and say something like, “Sorry” or whatever. This little freak takes a long stare at The Girls and says, “Noooooooooooooooooooo” real breathy like. Jeez. The Romanian was laughing part of her little ass off, shaking her head. No, I have no shame – and obviously neither did SalesDude.
I went to our company’s gabka. I sat at the head table (oooh la la). It was very nice, actually. The food wasn’t that great, but no big deal. There weren’t a whole lot of big eaters in the crowd. Anyhoo, I managed NOT to make a fool of myself all night – making chit chat and rubbing elbows with da bigwigs. It would have been great – until I inadvertently went to the bathroom in the MENS room. I didn’t know. I thought some piggy woman had left the seat up (you would be surprised what I have seen in “ladies” rooms in Kuwait). It wasn’t until I went to tidy my make up in front of the mirror that I noticed the Old Dude standing there. Let’s just say he didn’t want to make small talk. Probably thought, “Crazy blonde foreigner is drunk.” Yeah – it was that kind of awkward silence – the kind that I’m so accustomed to throughout my life. I ran for the door (one of the few times in my life when I didn’t wash my hands…). Just outside the door were a bunch of hejab ladies from my company. I said, ‘Oops. I walked into the mens room by mistake. Oh well. Amreekia – aaadi.’ Which, of course, made them all giggle (because I’m purty sure that is what they were thinking).
I did manage to get cracked this weekend. Bu Merdas and his big cracker hands came over briefly on Thursday night. I think I cracked in 7 places. I’ve been sleeping really well since then. I hope it continues. I’m sure I would sleep better if I got cracked more often, but that’s another story, right?