Reflections

Everything is so green and pretty here. Oh... why can't Kuwait be like this? I've seen some seriously beautiful sunsets since I've been here. We were driving back from the beach one night and the sky was bright orange and turquois blue. Then, within a few minutes, it had turned to bright pink as we drove across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. It turned the water pink. Absolutely gorgeous. I don't think I've seen a sunset like that since Hawaii a very long time ago.

My older sister is here now from the foreign country of Texas. We 3 sisters are leaving to California the day after tomorrow. It will be the first time all 3 of us have ever gotten together to do something alone without other family members around. The other night, we were turned onto French martinis and now I'm hooked. Yummmmmmmmmmm. I'm still loyal to my longtime friend and companion, Mr. Jose Cuervo, yet I like this new friend a whole lot. There are different variations on how to make a French martini. The one I like is vanilla Absolute, Chambord, and pinapple juice.

I went to visit the building where Shamlan used to live above the Iwo Jima memorial. He sent me an amazing sign just as I was turning to leave and I felt like he was with me. There isn't a day that I don't wake up and say his name - usually in that place between asleep and awake. Where does all the time go? When you think that the best times are yet to come, sometimes you realize that at that very moment, it probably was the best time. I guess you dont' figure that out until you are older and start wondering: why the hell was I so stupid? :) Shamlan used to wear Hallston cologne way back in the day. I bought some at Target so I could remember what he smelled like. I just wear a little before I sleep and hope to catch a glimse of him in a dream.

Anyways, I am loving spending time with my family. I should be enjoying every single happy moment and yet I am anxious - especially at night - thinking about the time when I will leave to go back. I wish that I could fit into this world again, but I just don't know if I ever can. I feel like a fish out of water.

Our coffee boy at work sent me an e-mail the other day saying that he missed me. It must be pretty quiet around the office without me. One thing is for sure: You never forget the crazy people.

I've had some completely unexpected calls from friends in Kuwait that I hadn't heard from in a long time while I've been here. It is almost like they knew I wasn't there and wanted to call to pull me back into the fold. These particular people, I didn't tell that I was leaving. I've had 4 people call me out of the blue and tell me how important I am to them and how much they needed to talk to me when I got back about different things - mostly just for comfort talks.

One particular guy, a TV newscaster, has just not been that into me. He sends me SMSs, but rarely picks up the phone when I call him. "Very busy" as he says. 'Just not that into me' as most of my friends (MA) say. I haven't seen him in close to a year. At any rate, we talked on the phone and he will be in New York this week while I'm in California. He said he might get to Virginia when I get back. Interesting.

I've been looking at my old photo albums of friends I am still close to (for many, many moons). It is funny to see pictures of the guys with then-gorgeous full heads of hair; now bald! I've changed "a little" since those days as well.

I continue to meet incredibly nice people through this blog. This week, I talked to a lady who wrote to ask my advice and I hope we will be good friends. It never ceases to amaze me how you can touch other people's lives and the affect that you/they have.

I thought it was hot in Kuwait!

I had a rather uneventful trip to Virginia via Air France (except for the African ladies with gastrointestinal problems). Thank God I didn't take my usual trip via Briddish Airways. I can't believe so many people are stranded. My freinds brother left today for Dallas on BA with a business class ticket for he and his wife and BA called him and told him to bring his own food with him. How pissed off would YOU be if you just plunked down that kinda money and were told to bring tha munchies. Shame on them.

Anyhoo (Purgatory), I arrived here only to find out that it is hotter than Hell (and Kuwait and/or one in the same depending on your perspective). The humidddddidity is around 90% and it is around 99 degrees here. My damn hair looks like Bozo the Clown and I can't breathe. Victoria's Secret doesn't make a bra capable of withstanding both extremes of heat and humidity, and neither does any known make-up brand I am aware of. My mother told me the morning after my arrival that I "look sick" and therefore she is scheduling all kinds of appointments for me. Jeez. Can I take a shower and have a nap first?

Anyhoo, the fam is all faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabulous, except for my daddy who looks very thin and sleeps all the time. He's 81, however, so I think he should be allowed do to that at his age. The big dogs and the little dog are all fine. My sister and her husband still look like Athletic Barbie and Ken and my nefew is growing like a weed.

It is twilight now and the deer should be coming up to the fence to gnaw on grass. My sister is cooking pizza on the grill next to the pool, so I gotta go.

All said and done, however - it is weird, but I miss Kuwait.

Leeeeeeeevin' on a Jet Plane

Tomorrow night I'm heading for green, family, margaritas, big dogs, Target, real lobster... and so on and so on and so on.

Do you think I should start packing? I am such a guy/girl: I wait until the absolute last minute before throwing all my stuff into a suitcase (or 2 or 3). Guess I should be thinking about this stuff. My mother, on the other hand, uses pretty tissue paper, to genteeely wrap her clothing so it won't be wrinkled. I have no time for that. All that would do for me would be a wadded up ball of tissue paper somewhere on the floor of my room. Nonsense.

I'm not looking forward to being crammed in a plane for all those hours with my back aching. I'm not such a great traveller anymore. I used to be. Now I just kinda dread it. I hope I don't snore. Travelling alone and snoring on the plane is the worst. At least when you are travelling with a friend or family member, you have someone to jab you in the ribs if, perhaps, lets say, the overhead bins start shaking from the noise level of your snoring.

I have already started missing Kuwait. How STOOOPID is dat? It is The Sickness. As soon as you leave Kuwait (with The Sickness), you miss it. I don't know why it is. And while I'm away - I'm thinking of all the people in Kuwait who I haven't hooked up with in a long time and thinking that I am really going to call them when I get back to see them. Why is it that while I'm IN Kuwait, I just don't pick up the phone and do it? I don' t know why that is.

Anyhoo, I am going to miss all my (non-annoying) friends. I am even starting to miss The Don who I have never even met. When he went on vacation, I missed him. I don't know why that is. I know Bunny misses me when I'm away - even though I hardly ever see him anymore.

I'll try to post from the States. I'm sure I can find something to yak about.

Wanasa

I had a fun weekend. It is still technically the weekend, so it isn't over yet. I can't believe I had such a fun weekend because it is so frickin hot and I feel like I am gonna die every time I walk out the front door. I think I am getting a tan just crossing the front courtyard. No wonder so many ninjachicks wear gloves.

Like Bunny's chick. She's not a ninja, but wears the gloves and I feel sad when I see them in his car -- like Wednesday night on the way back from a nice Chinese dinner at the new Holiday Inn. The phone rings at precisely 10:30 and he has to rush home before his coach turns into a pumpkin. I miss that Bunny.

I only have a few more weeks before I go to the States on vacation, so the Presentable Package to the Family preparations have begun: getting my hair done, trying to lose weight, teeth whitening, manicure/pedicure and of course - tan. I will be immediately scrutinized once I walk through the international arrivals gate at Dulles. Am I wearing black as usual? Are my roots too dark? Do my teeth look as white as they did last time I was there? Is my butt any bigger? The questions I am 100% sure that are on my dad's mind throughout the entire year I am away. So, yesterday I had the roots done. I am back to Acceptable Blonde now... which seems acceptable to the male population as well...

Like last night. I went with my Slutty Friend (I love her, but you wouldn't believe how the girl dresses) to dinner. We were supposed to meet some new friends for coffee, but they literally ditched us. God, working in mysterious ways as usual, offered us a great advantage by having them stand us up: we had a great time. I don't mind being stood up every now and then because I figure that in some small way, the Universe will allow me payback - however small or in whatever form. Last night, it was in the form of an SMS, "Too bad you didn't show up. If we had liked you, we had planned to take you back to our place and have sex with you until you couldn't remember your name." That was good enough to make me feel placated.

Anyhooooooooooo (Purgatory!), we brought some "liquid courage" with us to the restaurant and proceeded to order finger food, mixers and ice all night which made the whole thing really fun. Ugly men always look better with liquid help. We had a blast. I can't remember so much positive male attention at one time. We felt like rock stars. One guy (sitting with a group of about 10 men) was staring me down in a major way, so I sent him a piece of cake. Black forest cake to be exact.

I haven't been invited out on anybody's boat in a looooooooooong time. I am losing my sea legs. I watched the sea today and ate breakfast at Johnny Rockets at Marina Crescent, looking at the empty slips at the marina. I thought about how much I miss the islands and then said to myself, 'Damn - all those people are crazy. It is 150 degrees outside. I'm going to take a nap." and I did. When I marry the Perfect Man, he will have the Perfect Yacht (with generator and good A/C) and we will spend our sunsets out on the water together. Until then, I am napping when it is 150 degrees outside because none of my no-good, mean friends have called to invite me. That's ok. I'm still having fun without them. As for the tan, I'm going to get sprayed at Strands several nights before I get on the plane - just so my family thinks that I live in a sunny country!

Karma, Flying..., and Heat

A big Kuwaiti logistics company is under investigation by the US military for possible violations on procurement/contracting laws. Tee hee tee hee (giggling with glee). Gee, I wonder what they did to deserve that. NOT! Their stocks are taking a nose-dive (tee hee!!!!). Karma, my dear friends. What goes around, comes around. Somehow, someday, some way, those who are unethical (inhumane, evil) and doing illegal things will eventually get BUSTED. Na na naaa na naaa naaaaaaaaaa.

Anyhoo, my life of late has been happy. For some reason, I am receiving the male version of Eddie Murphy's skit on flying (slang word for lower female sexual organ). Maybe I'm having good hair days? Maybe my make-up is good? Maybe… just maybe… it is 150 degrees outside and the male population is just "friendly"??? Go figure. Peaks and valleys. Mens are just walking right up and giving me their business cards. I'm talking about MEN – not boys. Men with real jobs and good titles. Edu-ma-cated mens. I'm not talking about boys who write their number on a little yellow sticky paper and throw it at you. I am talking about MEN who take the time to walk across a room and introduce themselves like normal (for the States). What's going on?

Speaking of hot and bothered: I have got to buy a mobile air conditioner; you know – one of those kind on wheels that you can move around and cool a room. The AC maintenance people have been to my apartment 6 times already this year (I've got central). They are pissin me off! My apartment stays 75 degrees the entire summer. I have to sleep neked with a fan on me (Oh Mr. Invisible – where are you when I need you?).

Mean Companies Suck

The other day, a very good friend of mine called me, distraught about her job. I am one of those people who empathize with anyone who is being treated unfairly. She only recently started working at a small company and she has already discovered the main concern of many expats working here in Kuwait: lack of job security. Hire an expat, fire an expat, hire someone else for WAY less money. It usually happens after the Western person has been in Kuwait for about a year. Could be less – depending.

Of course, I am generalizing, but unfortunately, it happens a lot.

It is happening now at a very large logistics company with lots of Americans on staff. The homeys are asked to leave and quietly slip away because they are too worried about rocking the boat and potentially getting themselves into trouble.

My advice to my dear friend - toughen up and always have a Plan B. You can't take it personally (although it is, you have to pretend for a while that it isn't). You have got to network in Kuwait. You have got to know what your options are should something happen to you suddenly. Feel out the market. Find places that you would like to go to work if something happens to your current job. Determine which companies are working on the interesting/profitable projects in your field. Talk to people there. Mingle. Network. Cover your ass.

Know your rights.

All of a sudden, a whole lot of companies are "extending" the 100 day employee probation period – thinking that, should they fire the employee at say 130 days, the employee won't know the difference. By Kuwait Labor Law, a company can ONLY give an employee a 100 day probation period. No more. After 100 days, they are guaranteed rights (like not being terminated a the drop of a dime).

Do you know what happens to your credit cards if you are a Westerner here and lose your job? (Credit cards which you have obtained from the bank where your salary is being deposited into and debited directly from your account each month.) If your salary isn't transferred by EFT to the bank on the usual transfer date, whatever is in your account is immediately taken to cover your credit card (since they are all "secured" cards here). Then, your credit card is cancelled until your new employer provides you with a salary certificate and the first electronic funds transfer transaction takes place. In other words, you will have no money to get back to where ever you came from (unless you have your money in another account or overseas).

Do you know what happens if you are fired and a company doesn't feel like paying you your settlement? You have to take them to court. It may take years to actually receive any money. If you don't know of any good lawyers in Kuwait, you should find out. Establish a relationship with a lawyer just incase. Go have coffee with a lawyer and make friends. Send him/her a card on Eid or special occasions. Make them remember you should anything ever happen.

Plan B!!!!

Losing Whatever Was Left

I am so bored. I mean it. I don't know how I can make it to mid-August when I get the HELL out of here and head to Virginia. Wooo Hooooo!

I haven't been doing anything – literally. I am wearing a valley into my sofa where my ass goes every day after work. Desert Dawg has given up. All hope has been lost.

It is hot and dusty and why should I go anywhere or do anything? Spend money? Been there, done that. Eat? Been there, done that. Can't walk the dog because of the heat. I can't chase around after men because there are too many out of the country. Prime hunting season won't begin again until late September. This is just lame.

I am pathetic and I have no life, so of course – I like to go home, order sushi on wheels, and boo hoo in front of the TV to Oprah. The other day, they had an episode about Luther Vandross. I grew up listening to Luther. He was like a distant cousin (only black and way taller than us). I loved that man. I went through almost an entire box of Kleenex on that episode of Oprah. "Don't you remember you told me you loved me ba-by…. You said you'd be coming back this way again baby…." Sniffle, whimper.

Last night, I lost Oprah. I was watching an episode about how an X-CIA guy who specialized in disguises has started making prosthetic body parts for people who had been maimed in some way and couldn't go out into public. I was just at the part with the guy with the screw in his nose (big gigantic screw that is quite apparent), explaining that he lost it in a boating accident when BAM! … "Searching programs. Please wait a while." Kept popping up on the screen. Damn that Showtime. THEN… I did what I'm supposed to – I put the settings back to factory defaults. Holy shyt!!!! I lost Oprah on MBC4!

Many frantic calls to Bunny followed. He listens to my complaining. I listen to his geek talk. Do either of us really pay attention to the other? Hmmmmm….

So, at 10:00, I called Showtime in Kuwait. Previously, they never picked up the phone past about 7:00 pm. Low and behold – a young Kuwaiti guy answered and I blurted out, "Help meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I've lost Oprah and I can't find her again!" Thankfully to God, he actually spoke perfect English and found me quite amusing. His response, "How did you lose Oprah? She's a big girl…" He ran me through the settings until I was reunited with the MBC channels (although too late to find out what happened to the nose-guy). Was anybody else watching? What happened to nose-guy?

I then ate some Oreo chocolate pudding, got some heart palpitations from however much fat it was, and went to sleep. Bo-ring!

Bricks and Chianti

According to my favorite on-line dream dictionary (www.dreammoods.com):
To see a brick in your dream, represents your individual ideas and thoughts. Experience and/or heartbreak may have hardened you. To dream that you are building a brick wall, signifies a wall that you are putting up to protect yourself against hurt. It may also indicate that you may be hard on the outside but still sensitive on the inside. So... Therefore... Thereby... digging up bricks from the sand represents my burred emotions that have been hardened. I took them out of the ground, brushed them off, laid them on the ground, and they crumbled. Am I s'posed to be soft now? Aint gonna happen. As Bunny says, "It is probably about sex." God, I love that man. He can really see into the heart of matters.

Forget Paris! is doing some business with Bobarino. He is trying to get to me through Bobarino but as B says, "Ma name's Bennet and I aint in it." Paris is so frickin romantially inept. Send roses, dumbass - you're never gonna git to me through a contract. What tha Fu is wrong with these men?

Anyhoo, so I went home, polished off that bottle of Ruffino Chianti I had and made a big bowl of pasta and seafood (seafood zuppa like we used to get in Rhode Island). (Which reminds me that I really really have to e-mail my friend, Cyndy, and say hi.) My mom called me and told me about my poor sister's really really bad weekend and I felt a little better about my boring, melancholy one.

My Virginia sister was trying to leave town for a few days at her beach palace (Barbie's Beach House) when my older sister just popped in from Texas with her daughter by surprise for my dad's birthday. Unfortunately, since VA Sister was on her way out of town, she had friends who wanted to stay at her house and utilize the Barbie Pool at In-Town-Palace, so the palace was already booked in advance for that weekend (my dad's place is too small for guests). She puts my Texan sister into a hotel with her daughter. The next morning, Virginia sister was going to head to the beach when her son came down with (as she refers to it) Hoof and Mouth Disease (some kinda funky rash all over) and they had to go to an emergency room. Apparently it was an allergy to aloe vera (go figure) and he had to stay out of the sun for 2 days (a 10 year old at the BEACH for the weekend). Meanwhile, their friends who were supposed to meet them at the beach called to say that they would be late because the husband (of husband-wife-and-2-kids that were visiting) had an appendectomy and would be late ("not to worry, just a small incision"). I am dying to hear how this all turns out.

Meanwhile, I am living the single, quiet life drinkin my Chianti and eating pasta. HA.

Another F-ed Up Weekend in Paradise

Ok, call me fickle if you will, but I've changed my mind again (I'm female – we are allowed to do that). I have my reasons….

FH&FOMC – After this weekend…. I think he must be gay. Should I say more? He is a nice guy and I am dying to elaborate, but I guess some secrecy should be maintained once in a while (unless the guy is a total butthead which FH&FOMC is not).

Forget Paris! Nice guy. Nice potential. Nice package. He keeps "getting busy" and missing our dates. Funny, though – he always manages to keep the business meetings I arrange for him. He calls me to make dates and , "… oh… by the way… that project…" I told him about a gazillion times that if he wanted to see me romantically, he should keep our business life separate. So, HE decided that Thursday would be our official "date night" since we are both so busy during the week and he has to visit his son on Wednesday nights. Fine. However, Thursday night when we were supposed to go to dinner at 8, he calls me at 8:30 and said that he was on his way to a meeting ("You're not mad, are you?). At 11 he called (I didn't answer). (Translation: booty call.) You don't call a woman at 11:00 at night and expect anything but a booty call. I ain't havin it. Who tha fu has a meeting at 8:30 on a Thursday night. (Translation: I'm taking someone else out to dinner, but I'll stop by your house for a quicky later.) Now men – a word of advice: If you want a booty call, tell it like it is. At least be honest about it. Most women prefer the honesty and you might actually GET SOME by choosing the righteous path.

Mutaa guy: Needless to say, I didn't get the ring and he is still trying to figure out what to do. Puh-leeeeeze! We did have a nice dinner together, though and I enjoy being in his company. I just thought he didn't need the training and APPARENTLY I was mistaken. He's sincere and makes me laugh and with a little work, maybe I can get his act together.

After this weekend, I am one step closer to becoming a lesbian. I swear, if any country can work the impossible – it'll be this one.

Know what I do when I get really bored? Get onto M-chat. Now that is just ugly-fun. You can find all kindsa mental patients on M-chat and it is fun playing with them. Most are married (waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… my wife doesn't understand me) and looking for something to do with their hands (SMS-ing, that is). The best time to M-chat is on a Thursday night when the whole country goes apeshit via boredom. You can download the M-chat software from MTC Vodaphone or send an SMS to 858 of "go" and following the prompts. Go forth with your bad self.

Bricks in the Sand?

I haven't been able to blog (for your information, MuslimArtist) because I am workin like a dawg all day (one of the partners is in town) and I'm so sleepy when I get home that I don’t even want to watch dirty movies anymore. I just go to sleep. That is so pathetic and lame.

I dreamt I was digging up bricks in the sand last night. What does that mean? Is it a Kharafi nightmare?

I haven't seen much of Mr. Paris lately, although I am liking him. He's saying the right stuff and it is genuine. My ears are Highly Sensitive Bullshit Detectors and the gauge has been detecting only trace levels.

Ironically, Future Husband and Father of My Children has been showing interest of late (aka "sniffin around"). What is with these guys and how do they automatically KNOW when other men are in the picture? Do they have jealousy radar or what? Why can't they just stretch out the luuuuuve? Why is it peaks and valleys? Am I the only female experiencing this phenomenon?

And then there is yet another man in the picture – totally handsome, yummy, funny, intelligent, etc. (a bowling buddy) – however, he is married and wants me to be Mutaa girl. I told him (in complete seriousness) that I would require a diamond (as in NOT ZIRCON) engagement ring as mahar. He laughed. I told him my ring size. Go forth, young man, to yonder jeweler! Yo – if I'm going to respect his wishes/religion, then damn if he's not gonna have to respect mine. Bada BING.

I think Mr. Paris is the best option. Of course, in 2 weeks, they will have all disappeared again and I will be in another valley because they can't figure out how to properly manage time.

And to make matters really pathetic – I haven't actually had the time to see any of these guys. Desert Dawg is even being neglected. Last night, she jumped into the bathtub; not a hint, but a demand.

What happened to my FUN life? What happened to happy hours and going to get massages and pedicures and hair treatments? What happened to shopping at gourmet shops and sipping wine? What happened to pretty dresses and dancing? Damn. . . this does suck!

Official Bitching

The other night, I was bitchin to my friend who works for the Prime Minister. I complained mostly about the traffic in the free trade zone which is still very much on my damn nerves. When I got done with my incessant ramblings, I asked him if he could relay a compliment to Sabah Al Ahmad - that I have seen improvements since he has been PM. My friend said, "Why dont' you tell him yourself? We show him all the comments people post to his website." (http://www.dpm.gov.kw/) Finally, an Official way for me to vent!

This could be a good thing. Maybe I will become a regular. Maybe Sheikh Sabah and I will become buds and discuss various happenings around the country. Maybe I can give him my frank oppinion of things. Maybe.... I'll just get my ass kicked out of Kuwait. Ok, but now that I know someone will see something I've rambled about, my world has a different meaning.

Trucks in the free trade zone can't move between 6:30 and 9:30 am and 12:30 and 3:30 pm. At 9 am, they start rolling - causing everyone who is trying to get into the FTZ at that time a major butt pain. At 5:00 - when you would think that they wouldn't allow trucks on the road - there they is! Since the free trade zone is supposed to be international, most of us don't go home at 1:00 like the "normal" Kuwaiti population. We have to wait until international close o'business at 5. It sucks and not in a good way.

What I'm Doing This Summer

Last night, I went to a meeting of homeboys (Americans) at a seafood restaurant. I usually don't like these meetings because they are full of Middle-Aged-Fat-White-Men-In-Blue-Suits, yuckity-yucking it up over dinner sans alcohol (unless it is at the U ASS Embassy - which I don't go to anyways because it is too stuffy). I'm having more fun at the meetings, lately, however - primarily due to the fact that I have found some buddies there and I get to flirt non-stop throughout the whole event (secretly giggling about the white men). Last night was no exception. My Buddies are Kuwaitis and we now have a secret code with hand signals and noises that cracks us all up. I am like the bad little kid during group activities. I am The Instigator.

The downside was that I (and several other people) got sick from the dinner. The food was really bad. I should just learn to bring sushi with me in a cooler or something. I don't want to eat anything else anymore.

Ok - except for the little French cafe my new interest (Mr. Paris) took me to last Wednesday. It is at the rear of Fanar under the area where the cinemas are. They have AMAZING steak (that's all they serve). Go there - it's yummy.

Mr. Paris is Mr. Paris because he used to own a hotel - guess where - that's right: Paris. He's Kuwaiti. Also went to school in the US. I met the traditional way: online. Thought he would probably turn out stupid or fugly, but so far, has been rockin my world (to an extent - I don't rock so easily). I have received no flowers as of yet and his attentiveness level needs to be kicked up a few notches (they all need proper training), but he's intelligent; funny; handsome; has all his hair and teeth; and divorced (don't worry - I'm checking out that last part). I'm too damn cynical. I don't take anything at face value anymore. How can you?

I've had a crappy couple of weeks. Have you noticed that odd numbered years SUCK? I always have much more fun during even-numbered years.

Today is father's day. What the hell am I doing here away from my family and it is 120 degrees and dust is now part of my skintone and my job doesn't make me happy and I haven't gotten flowers in a long time?

Oh! Sorry! Brainfart. I'm back.

My sister is at her beach house this weekend in Maryland. No doubt drinking chardonay and eating crabs and going out on their boat, etc. etc. (August, baybeeeeeeeeeee!)

I get to walk over 4' dunes from where my car is parked to my front entranceway (construction). Does that count? When will KHARA FI end the madness?????? I woke up at 5:15 am yesterday to the sound of jackhammers outside my window. I swear to God that I would have thrown something at them, but I would have had to get out of bed to do it (I'm thinkin a potato gun and some rotten tomatos).

Have you been to the scientific center and seen the size of the acquarium? THAT is how much tequilla I am going to drink when I get back to the States in August! Sha-zayam!

Yo, Stupid!

So, I met a man a while back on a blind date. We talked on the phone for a while and then decided to meet to have coffee. We hit it off and there was some chemistry. We talked for a while... I got my flirt on. During our 3 hours of conversation, he told me about a friend of his at work who told him that he shouldn't meet me - that all American women in Kuwait are really fat. Oooooooooh tay. Blinddateman was happy when he met me, and said that he would report the truth to his colleague the following day. Everything fine so far.

Then, Blinddateman called and asked me to dinner the following Thursday and I should decide on a restaurant. So far, so good.

He called back the next day and said, "You don't mind if I bring my friend, do you? He is dying to see what you look like." FUMBLE!!!!

I told him to have a great time on his romantic date with his friend.

What makes people so stupid?

Oh My God! Villa Moda is Having a Sale!

At first, I thought it was voting time for municipal dudes or something - cars were parked everywhere at Villa Moda's end of the Free Trade Zone. Then, I thought it might have something to do with Kuwait University, but noooooooooooooooo....

Let's all drive to Villa Mucha ... no wait...let's all have our drivers take us to Villa Mucha! Let's have the drivers park in rows, 2 to 3 cars across - and then wait in the heat for us. Everybody who's "anybody" is going to be there! And since all the girls will be there, all the men should go to check them out; frontin' that they have more than 2kd in their pockets at the time.

Honestly, I long to have a driver and I don't think I could afford even a pair of panties at Villa Mucha. I am too insecure to go there anyhoo: Maybe some too-cute little princess will strike up a conversation with her too-cute princess friends about the size and circumferance/orbit of my butt and I would spend the next several days in a bad mood. Further, there are only 2 times when I live in fear of my dearly-beloved Kuwaiti sisters: 1) buffet lines at weddings, and 2) sales. I have learned, in either case, to get the hell out of the way and quickly.

UFO's (Unexplained Freaky Occurrances) at the Free Trade Zone! Ok, let's just call it a "coincidence" that the 3' deep pot holes along the exit road (and many others directly around Villa Moda) have been filled this week and the pavement resurfaced; even though cars have literally been dropping into them for the past year. Let's call it "ironic" that all of a sudden, during VM sale days, Ports Authority policemen have been directing traffic; even though they are nowhere in sight the remaining 363 days of the year when fender-benders take place almost on a daily basis. Villa Moda is having a SALE!

And now that I am on a roll...More UFO's:

The FTZ is a penninsula and over the past few years (as anticipated) is overflowing with new companies and lots of employees. You would think that SOMEONE in some governmental planning capacity might have thought of this stuff, right?

There is only one road into and out of the Free Tee Zee. WHY?

At 60 and 80 (I'm a typical American - the kind that goes by road numbers and not names; 60 is Ghazalli, but I haven't figured out what 80 is), the exit out of the Free Trade Zone (also referred to as "the Free Tee Zee") heading towards Kuwait City has been cut off to traffic for years. Now that exit to 80 heading both directions is under construction. WHY?

Trucks are restricted from using the road during certain hours, but at PEAK hours (like 5:00) they ARE allowed on the road, causing back-ups that can leave people stuck in their cars for anywhere from 30 minutes to over an hour. WHY?

At 12:00 (lunchtime - duuh), the traffic is so bad that it takes you about 45 minutes to get out of the FTZ. There are also only 2 restaurants in the FTZ. You can only eat so many Barnie's sandwiches and salads and Movenprick's restaurants don't open for "lunch" until 12:30 and the service sucks. Might as well stay in the office and get delivery from 6alabat.com (which is really good, by the way).

Further, since there is a 3' deep pothole in one lane (maybe that one is too far away from Villa Mucha to be filled?), all the trucks, cars, busses, FRICKIN MORONS have to squeeze into 1 lane. Bobarino takes great joy in driving his rental Yukon out of the FTZ - pushing anybody who tries to squeeze into his lane without a Proper Invitation back into their rightful place: behind him. "Go ahead - HIT my bigass rental truck!"

Here is the real question: What has anyone got to rush TO at 5:30 pm? Happy hour at T.G.I.Friday's? I think not.

I have scoped it out: There just are NOT any places I could illegally 4-wheel-drive my Discovery over to navigate around the traffic. Alas, it is futile.

I thought about ferry service - maybe from Ras Salmiya. The problem with this scenario is the time it takes to load and off-load. I just heard that Kuwait is planning a metro system. That should be interesting. Dunno if it will go to the FTZ, but by then - maybe they would have figured out the traffic problem.

I have no life. I am a pathetic spinster girl. That is why everything annoys me. That is why I have the time to sit down and complain about everything that annoys me. :D

Ladi Dadi We Like to Pahty

This weekend, I thought I would bring my 2 groups of buddies together to see what would happen. Sometimes it is just fun to stir up the shyt.

So, I brought together the crazy bowling group, consisting of 2 Lebanese sisters (who I can’t really figure out because they just STARE at me all the time – oh, one is the Public Singer also), my friend, Moh, and his friends Habib and Hash. Mohammed totally dissed me – didn’t even bother to call before blowing me off. Didn’t even SMS. Hash brought a very funny friend (with disturbingly small hands) that I hope we will see more of (the guy, not the hands).

From the other gang was SheeshaGirl and her Moh, MuslimArtist and the Greek, Naz, Bobarino and FishGirl. I sat in the middle incase any really bad fights broke out.

It was fun to begin with because we went to my favorite restaurant in the whole world, Sakura, and sat in one of their party rooms where you have to sit in Weird Chairs with No Legs and put your legs in a hole: It was buffet day (Fridays between 12-3, all you can eat sushi for 8.900), so seeing all your friends suffer to get up and down from that weird table was truly amusing in itself.

Low and behold, everyone got along. I particularly liked the new guy they brought along (with the disturbingly small hands). Very funny and kept me motivated to pick on people – like Naz, who will kill me one day with an aikido move if I don’t leave him alone (‘waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’ – as I move my hands through the air like a ninja warrior). The only person throwing anything was me – at opportune moments when I could throw a napkin at either SheeshaGirl or Naz.

The 2 Lebanese chicks were staring down SheeshaGirl and/or Moh (we later discovered that they knew Moh from his former party days). Public Singer Girl leaned over about 5 times to ask me where the men (and only the men) are from, and their stories. What am I – the National Enquirer?

At a lull in the conversation, Public Singer Girl broke into a very loud rendition of something [as one member of our group (you know who you are!) said, “Who the fu.. does she think she is – Fairuz?”]. I couldn’t get my legs out of the hole in the ground or out of the Funky Chair With No Legs fast enough to perpetrate a call or run from embarrassment to the bathroom. No, I had to stick it out and watch MuslimArtist’s and SheeshaGirls’ faces as the song wore on. Both had what appeared to be Kermit The Frog faces on (you know, big eyes popping out and their lips disappeared into a funny line). I was laughing and crossing my eyes at them. Maybe she smokes crack. I don’t know. Maybe it is a pathetic attempt to gain attention (I would imagine MALE attention). Alls I can say is THANK GOD WE WERE IN A PRIVATE ROOM because as it was, I happened to know 2 of the cute guys outside at one of the tables (they are both jerks) and that would have really been embarrassing. Kids: Don’t do drugs!

During the middle of the meal, my friend Moh called to apologize, but I was relatively pissed off (I hate being publicly dissed – ok, I hate being dissed at all, but much worse in front of a group of friends), so I handed the phone to one of his buddies. (Get this – he was later mad at ME for being mad at him – AS IF, DUDE!)

As it was, the Brazillian and her monster husband were supposed to show up – and didn’t. I’m tired of those 2 letting me down; you can only extend so many invitations before you give up. BAM!

So, anyhoo, we had some coffee and everyone parted ways, promising to get together again soon.

I was supposed to get together that night with someone (I won’t mention who because he has let me down so many times before that I have now shocked myself for allowing him to get away with it), but he dissed me too. DAMN HIM! He made me mad at myself for believing him again.

It was one of those weekends.

The good thing was that I sent my sister her birthday presents ON TIME for once and got them off in a FedEx package. I hope she likes all the really cool stuff I have been saving for her (are you reading this, Booberry?). I try hard to get things in the mail in time, but I usually don’t get to it, even though my intentions and my plans are always good.

The following excerpt from my life is dedicated to my friend, Kuwaiti Chopper Dude:

I was with Bobarino the other night, going to the Sultan Center (which is now TOTALLY on my shyt list). Bobarino was driving his Urban Assault Vehicle (built for a family of 16). He stopped to let a guy in a Prelude (which is a CHICK CAR anyways) into one of the 2 parking spaces that was opening up in front of us. The 2 cars that were leaving were parked next to each other, so there was plenty of room for Chick Car Dude to leave us a space. What does he do? He parks sideways between the 2 spaces. Ok, I kind of knew (I guess) that the window was open when I blurted out, “F-ing Moron!”. (I know – not too “lady-like” eh?) Soooo, we proceed into the Sultan Center and guess what? Chick Car Dude comes in and accosts me in front of people at the produce counters, asking, “Do I look like an F-ing moron to you?” - in a very loud voice. I demurely said, ‘Why yes, actually you do,’ with a slight smile. So, he was starting to get up in my face and I was looking for my partner in crime, Bobarino (who is equally as pissed off at the world as I am right now). Chick Car Dude sees me look around and immediately launches himself at Bobarino. Bobarino asks him politely 3 times to back away, before removing his glasses and telling the guy that he will beat the crap out of him if he doesn’t leave (which sent the produce guy into a giggle fit, “You are American, sir? That man wanted to fight you, but was afraid when he saw you would fight him.”). People were moving out of the area when they saw what was taking place. Meanwhile, I was trying to explain to the VERY stupid Sultan Center Door Greeters that they needed to call security. They just stood there looking at me (no, I am NOT asking you for your phone number!).

Ok, this was all my fault. I admit it. I apologize for it, but hey…. He WAS a f-ing moron. I couldn’t help it.

Which brings me to another reason why I am not very fond of the Sultan Center at present: Last week, I walked into TSC with my friend, SheeshaGirl. She walked in front of me. As I was walking through the door, a TSC Greeter Dude stepped in front of me, all smiles and flirty-like and says, “Don’t buy any chocolate. You’re too fat.” Because of the expression on his face – I really don’t think he meant anything bad by it, but when you are going to a store with the sole purpose of purchasing food items, it is kind of a major appetite depressant. I told SheeshaGirl and all of a sudden, it was as if I had a Jewish God-mother: “Oh my GAWD! He did NOT say that to you! Eshtaaaaaaaawaaaaa? Ayeshey! La! La! La! Ayeshey!” We walked up to the customer service counter and I asked to speak to the very-nice manager on duty who apologized profusely to me and had a big bag of chocolate waiting for me at the check-out line. Ok, I might have a leetle baby fat, but no way am I worthy of that kind of comment. What Greeter Dude SHOULD have said was, “Don’t buy any chocolate – you’re too sweet,” but alas, he too was a F-ing moron.

SheeshaGirl called her mom on speed dial and they were ready to have the entire SheeshaGirl tribe at Sultan Center to avenge me, but it really wasn’t necessary (although really, very cute). Following the call to SheeshaGirl Mom, she called her boyfriend, Mohammed (also on speed dial), who only laughed and told her that it was Greeter Dude’s F-ed up way of trying to pick me up. That is just the lamest thing I’ve heard of in my whole life. Why not, “Hey girl – you smell bad. I know you want me, baby.”

So yes, Kuwait, I AM in desperate need of a vacation. I’m either on the verge of tears all the time, or I want to go postal.

And now.... More on Chick Cars

Iin the Desert Girl World, real men don’t drive the following cars:

• Cabriolets: they scream, “girlie man”
• BMW 318i: watch re-runs of 90210. Girl car. I saw a very tuff friend of mine driving one of these recently and it has completely ruined my image of him.
• Preludes: “bella dude”.
  

There are probably more, but I can’t think of them right now. AND, if you are a man and you drive any of the aforementioned vehicles, I sincerely hope that you do not wear pastels or capri pants. (shivers down my spine)

Is that enough for today? I think so.

Happy Birthday, baby sister. You are the brightest star in my universe. Your kindness and compassion for so many people and the way your touch our lives is a true blessing. You are always with me, even when we are apart.

May the road rise to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face.

And rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Elf elf elf elf Mabrook Ya Kuwaitiat!

I guess because I’m working with all Americans that I don’t feel like part of the celebration – nor have I really noticed it around me. The newspapers seem kind of luke-warm about it. I am just so happy. Maybe people don’t understand the significance of the day. 100 years from now, they will look back and say that they can’t believe that women were not allowed to vote.

I can remember when the 1st go-around in parliament was voted down. One of my former colleagues at work, a young Kuwaiti guy, said, “I’m glad they can’t vote. What will they want next – to be in the military?” I looked him in the eye and said, “I knew some of the women that went to fight to protect Kuwait during the occupation. Where were you?” He turned bright red and walked away. I haven’t heard from him in a loooooooooooong time, so I sent him a congratulatory SMS. Tee hee.

It is so amazing to be here during these times. I wonder how the laws will change: divorce laws, women’s rights, social laws. Very cool times are ahead.

“…and now, for something completely different…”

A women’s rights issue of another kind; MY right to tranquility and “normal” friends. SheeshaGirl is now on my last nerve. For several reasons. (PMS again.) First, let’s start with the poor-pathetic-spinster-friend-pity, “Ooooh, maskeena. You’ll find somebody. You just have to go through some frogs first just like I did before I met Mohammed and look how wonderful he is…” Let me bitch about this for a moment, ‘kay? The reason why she had to go through “frogs” is because that’s all she dated. LOSER-FROGS. And, to her, they were all “woooooooooooonderful”. “Isn’t flan just woooooooooooonderful? I mean, he gets drunk, almost wrecks my car, and then wants to have sex with me, but won’t kiss me on the lips because that’s too intimate. That’s okay. He’s still a great guy, don’t you think?” NO! I’m not kissin’ any damn frogs to get to the prince. I want a one-way, non-stop, non-refundable ticket to prince-kissin’. I mean it. Second, she’s had her new job for 2 weeks. She’s had five major ailments. Call a waaaaaaaaaaaaambulance! She sounds like somebody’s grandmother. Let me count for a moment: “severe” sinus infection; neck pains, back pain, throat infection. As Bobarino says, “Under or over 34.” What? It means will she have her job under or over 34 days. I’m guessing under, but God love her, I hope not. I was wrong about the Sheesha – she quit cold turkey.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz SEGWAY…

Have you ever been totally in love (ok adoration) with someone that you have never met (kind of like George Clooney maybe) because … well…. just because. (You know who you are here.) I have this friend that I have never met who I understand and who understands me and for some reason, he has become like my mother or sister: he knows when I am thinking about him. There have been very few people in my life who could actually do that – and none at all who I have never met in person. My mom, my sister, my friends Naz and Ali, Shamlan, Bunny… they know/knew when I was thinking about them. Shamlan could tell when I was coming down with a cold from the other side of the continent without hearing from me in a week. Back to my story. This guy is dear to my heart and there is some kind of connection there, regardless what it is. I just hope you know that you are in my thoughts and my prayers and I am wishing for the sun to shine on you every single day. You have done small acts of kindness along your way and God will bless you. I love you, angel man.

Breaking into song. (another change)

Let me ask you something – does unaccompanied singing in a public place bother you? It bothers the crap out of me. For example tonight – I went out with some friends to eat dinner. One of the ladies with us is Lebanese and (I guess this is a Lebanese thing -???), she occasionally bursts into song while we are out eating. This bothers me on several levels. I get embarrassed. I don’t like people staring at me/us and I usually have to get up and perpetrate a call or just run to the bathroom to avoid having to sit there. I don’t even think I could stand it if the songster was at a table in close PROXIMITY to where I was sitting. Why do they DO that? There are appropriate times and places for unaccompanied song; like in the shower or in the car. Leave me out of it. I don’t even care if the songster was say…Andrea Bocelli or Mariah or a professional whoever. It just plain bothers me big time.

You know what else bothers me? Those pan-flute people at the Crowne Plaza. They follow you around until you throw money at them to STOP. One time (not at band camp), I was in one of the private restaurant rooms there with 9 other people getting wasted on 6 bottles of alcohol. The host simply adoooooores the pan flutists and was paying them to continue. I immediately lost my buzz. Well, I managed to get it back after some more saki (or was it vodka? Red wine? – I dunno).

Thankfully, I always take ear plugs with me. They are my own form of Kuwaiti fashion accessory; ideal for the unaccompanied singer, pan flute player, and ubiquitous loud Kuwaiti party. Fortunately for ME, I have found that they also work when whiny, AAP (Arab American Princess) friends start complaining about their various ailments. At least she can vote now, so maybe Kuwait will get better health care (preferably pshchiatric).

Ear plugs for EVERYONE!

Single Girl Lament

Sometimes I feel like my other half is right here with me. The “right guy” is right here, but I just haven’t met him yet. I can feel a presence, but he’s just not physically there. I’m wondering if maybe the chance was passed and he’s already gone; or maybe God is giving me some sign that I just shouldn’t give up hope – that the person who I am supposed to be with is within reach: That person who knows you without explanation or redundant talk; That person who you can just be comfortable with and who gets all your quirky jokes and odd outbursts and who laughs with it all.

Sometimes I wonder if the guy is actually a ghost: maybe it is the actual person that I know on “the other side” making himself known to me by little pieces of comfort – like dreams that you can’t completely remember in the morning, but leave you happy throughout the day.

Maybe it’s just projection. Days and weeks and months go by and you still live alone, eat alone, sleep alone and you wonder if your other half is only the other half of your brain matter talking nonsense; telling you that everyone is destined to meet the person right for them. All the thoughts of a busy work day turn into a cloud of noise when you get home, so you don’t feel quite alone with yourself. The noise of the office and the traffic and the construction down the street continues in your head long after it is finished for the day.

You get too tired to go out with friends and too bored with the same old places and superficial faces, so you make your nest and go to sleep till the next day. And then you realize – what the fu…: it is just PMS.

The Truth Hurts

I had more to write, since my friend, SummerQ8, got me fired up again.

More on married men: I've got a guy calling me right now, saying, "Please let me see you. I promise you - you are the ONLY one?" Well, chellooooooo - I bet your wife thought that when she married you and had your kids, right? Bet she still thinks she’s the only one.

Let's take my x-fiance for example. I thank God every time I mention him that I didn't marry him (thank you, God). He’s Kuwaiti and I’ve known him most of my adult life. I used to admire him. He was lonely when his father died, so he couldn't wait the 6 months it would have taken me to get to Kuwait to check out the family and the country. (And I’m HERE now, aren’t I and liking it just fine, but not because of him.) So, he married his sister's friend (who is really a lovely lovely person and I like her). They have 7 (as in SEVEN) children. That in itself is Jerry Springer hailag in my book. The last 3 kids were - in his words - "mistakes". I said, "What were you running across the floor, tripped, and your penis fell in her?" She has diabetes and the last 3 births almost killed her. After child #6, she had her tubes tied. (Why? Because it isn’t masculine to have a vasectomy.) Apparently, the tubes became un-tied (or whatever doctor did the procedure incorrectly). So, lucky 7 was a big mistake and almost killed her. After she gave birth and was going through the 40 day stay-at-home period, X-Dude calls me, and says (I still can not friggin believe he said this), “Do you know any girls you can hook me up with?” I know all his 5 sisters-in-law. They are my friends. I like his wife. As a woman, I was offended. Knowing them, I was even more offended. Having him ask me if I knew any girls, I was more more offended. THANK YOU, GOD!!!! I said, “Wow. You must really hate your wife.” He responded, “No, of course not. I love her.” Yeeeeeeeeaaaaahh, riiiiiiiiiiiight.

Divorce. If you are not happy, spare everyone else the unhappiness. Once you become parents, however, both parents DO have an obligation to raise their children as parents. I’ve got male friends whose x-wives won’t let them see their children and they have all but given up on trying. Keep trying. They are your kids. Just because a divorce takes place doesn’t mean that the kids no longer have a father or a mother. The responsibility of raising them – regardless – should be shared.

G, as far as the wife spending money so that the husband can’t afford to marry a second wife: I don’t understand this on either side. I know it happens. It happened to a good friend of mine and when he finally got up some cojones and got divorced, she set fire to their villa and vandalized his BMW, so he wouldn’t have anything left. Pshychobitch! If the guy knows that is what she is doing, why is he still married to her? And hey – here is some radical thinking – why doesn’t SHE have a job and get her own shit? If I were a man (if only), that kind of spending would get real old, real quick.

I’ve got friends who ask for (and receive) diamond watches and cars. What is UP with that? I can’t ask for a shawarma or a box of chocolates without feeling guilty about it. I go out with this particular friend, just to see if her group of men are any different humans: maybe there is a species of gift-giving men. When I met them, they seemed to be normal, intelligent men. Girlfriend has only worked for about 6 months in her entire life. She has an X5 and a Mercedes 350. Her furniture and wide screen TV were paid for. I know that she's pretty much gahaba and all that, but still – how does she do it?

I can’t even find a decent, single guy who wants to go to dinner. What is UP with this country?

Married Men & Other Stuff

Married men think it is okay to invite themselves over to your house - even if they don't know you - because they can't go outside for fear of being seen with you. Married men make up about a gazillion excuses as to why they are the way they are: I'm lonely because my wife doesn't understand me/give me what I need/care about me. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa somebody call a waaaaaaaaaaaambulance.

Then, there is my favorite: "I want to marry you too - muttaa." Great, where is my baby blue Ferrari with the kidskin beige interior for my mahar? I'm like, 'hey - is your wife marrying other guys muttaa right now too? Do you think she's like UNDER a temporary husband right about now? OH, forgive me - she's a woman and NOT ALLOWED. That's not a temporary husband she's under - it is just a fu...buddy. :D

"I'm just staying married for the kids." If I had kids, I would never never not ever teach them that it is OKAY to be unhappy. It isn't. Not for any reason when you can change it. Let's be realistic, unhappy-married-men: You are staying because you enjoy a lifestyle. You enjoy surrounded by a family and your kids, yet you still want a little on the side. You want your cake and you want to eat it too. It doesn't happen that way. Once you are unhappy, it permeates your home. Your kids feel it. They think that it will be okay to have the same kind of relationship once they are old enough to marry.

I just had to bitch about that because several of them are making me ill at the moment.

I'm bored. I'm really ready to get on a plane and get back to the US of Hey for a while. I miss my mommy. I miss not having dust in my room. I miss our swimming pool with all the trees around it and the deer that come by to graze at twilight or at dawn. I miss my nefew and his charming wit. I miss my grumpy dad and going to eat breakfast with him at the Silver Diner. I miss having giggle fits with my sister over a few glasses of wine and CHEAP sushi. I miss my brother-in-law's quiet presence around the house; doing whatever man-things he's got on his schedule. I miss the 2 big dogs and the little scamp dog.

And yes, I miss my country where there is sanctity of married people's lives. I miss knowing that when a man tells you he is single, he probably is - for fear of risking alimony payments in a lengthy divorce proceeding, leading way to the division of his shared ASSets.

I miss PITCHERS of margaritas and nachos (I LOVE that word). Nacho nacho nacho. And salsa. In the pool. Nacho in the pool fi Amreeka. tee hee.

Speaking of nachos - Did you know that I celebrated 05/05/05 by circulating an SMS with a picture of a guy's butt and the words, "Happy khamsa, khamsa, khamsa." Gay pride day???? hmmmm.....

I haven't felt like writing for a while. I haven't been able to put stuff into words. It just isn't coming to me. I hope you will pardon my incessant ramblings.

Catching Up

I haven't been writing much because I have been working at my new job getting the office up and running. It is going to be SOOO pretty. I picked out light colored wood furniture and red fabric partitions and blinds that match the color of the desk. Our conference room overlooks the sea and we have an outdoor terrace for office barbecues (yeah, bud-deh!). I've been running all over Shuwaikh (which I HATE HATE HATE) looking at samples of this that and the other (or as most of the vendors say, "zis, zat, and zee ozer".) Me tired. It will be nice to have a "normal" office routine again.

I've also been working at a customer site, collecting requirements and attending stupid meetings. I finally gave in and did something incredibly smart: I bought a digital recorder, so that I wouldn't actually have to sit there!

Ok, birthday week (yes, week) was a blast. I can't remember when I've laughed so hard – maybe during the occupation when I was in training with SheeshaGirl in DC in the Red Cross and we, as trauma trainees, got continually kicked out of the exams. During the exams, the trainees must hold the victim's head (stabilizing the neck and backbone) until help arrives (by shouting "Somebody call 911!!!" until somebody comes to the aid). SheeshaGirl always left me to "go get help" (she was supposed to BE the HELP – Kuwaitiyah – macu faydah). I kept running over and pretending to be a gay man named Kevin who was an Aquarius and saying, "how may I help you today?" Anyways, long story short: Birthday Week 2005…

I've to say that the lunch at Sakura was absolutely, by far, the most fun. 10 of us got into one of those party rooms with the very-hard-to-get-out-of chair things (do you think that Japanese people have less trouble getting out of them? They must.) MuslimArtist, Bobarino, his girlfriend "Fish" (not because she's smelly or anything, but because her name is the same as a fish), SheeshaGirl and SailorMan, Brazilian and Jeff, CineDude and Naz were all there. It was still light outside, so of course, Bunny was home sleeping (he only ventures outside the batcave at night). Is sushi euphoric or is it just me? The more you eat, the funnier everyone gets (gee, like alcohol - how ironic!).

Anyhoo, leave it to Jeff to start up the gutter talk. I didn't KNOW what a "dirty sanchez" or "tossed salad" was. If only I could go back in time and erase those two GOD-AWFUL images from my mind, I would feel much better (especially because the turd talk started just as they brought the chocolate mousse cake - EEEEEEWWWW).

It is incredibly difficult to make Babarino blush and get grossed out: either feat would be hilarious, but together, there were just no words to describe it. I noticed, however, that he did manage to finish his cake. I couldn't.

I know that I am usually hard to gross out. I pride myself in it. The one time (not at band camp) that I can recall when I was truly disgusted (to the point of having to pull the car over as I was driving from gagging) was when my friend, CT (a nurse), told me a story of a woman who was comatose. She described, in acute detail, the smell of the room and the source of the offending odor. Burn it from my memory!!!

How come everything ends up with potty talk? As my nefew says, "Aunt (DesertGirl), you got potty mouth!" Yep. Guess so.

We went to a party (not a potty) on Thursday night at CineDude's house. I hadn't seen MuslimArtist in a looooooooooooooonnnng time and she looked drop-dead gorgeous in a dress I must possess and high heel (FM) sandals. Everybody was dancing, except for me (not in the mood). The people there were great (with the exception of one weasely dude from the U ASS Embassy). Good crowd PLUS M&M's at the door. I gave Bunny the green ones. He didn't get it. I had to explain. I still didn't get "any". Not even a birthday sympathy bop. (Sadness, heavy sigh.)

For the actual birthday day, Bunny and I went to the Hilton for dinner at the Blue Elephant (I call it the "Blue Feel"). I ate like a horse and he surprised me with a strawberry cheesecake which I haven't finished yet (because as soon as I do – I am on a diet. Which means that I will keep a piece in the freezer for about a year). It was a lovely evening (I still didn't get "any" – sadness, heavy sigh).

My mother called to read me my birthday horoscope: I'm supposed to get married in August (any handsome men out there wish to assist?). My mom thinks that's great because I will be in the States in August, so they can save money on the plane fare. She thinks of everything. I just adore her.

DUDE, WHERE'S MY PRINCE????

The KGB:

There was yet ANOTHER meeting held at the KGB to tell people that they could NOT be our friends anymore. Well hel-loooooo dumbasses, you can't do that to people. They are so bad. INTEGRITY – do you GET IT? It think it is funny that they have placed so much importance on me and several others who left there under similar circumstances. I must be a very influential person, don't you think?

My philosophy is this: Happy employees are productive employees. Treat people well and they will treat you well. Companies don't make friends by screwing people over.

There was a quote by someone who was president (or CEO or Chairman) of a computer software company in the Mid-West US. He said, "At 5:00 every evening, I watch as 95% of my company's assets drive out the front gate." That's just it – the company IS the people they employ. It isn't about material assets, it is about the people who work with them.

Ok, on to another gross subject… Enough serious talk.

I changed the colors in my apartment to "summer" from "winter" (white and green from burgundy). That is why my dog got sick and puked on literally everything white I have: my new white silk duvet; my white sofa, my white carpet. Yak! Yak! Yak! The 3 vets who looked at her this morning thought that was hilarious. Thankfully, DesertDog was kind enough to actually go outside before the explosive diarrhea set in.

This is my world and how pathetic it is.

DesertDawg is ok now (another trip down to IVH). She had a fever and was suffering from dehydration. It was probably caused when I changed her normal dog food (DAMN YOU SULTAN CENTER for not stocking the regular!!!!) in combination with the affects of the booster vaccinations that she had 3 days ago.

I am now looking forward to another fun weekend (please, please, please) free of dog yak/poop and hopefully with a single, tall, dark, handsome man present. Maybe my future husband (hurry up, damn it – we only have a few months!!!).

Should I look for my dress this weekend?
Book a hall?
Hire a wedding planner?
Call the florist?

Shop for rings at Tiffany?