My Nephew is the Most Amazing Man I Know

My 11-year-old nephew is amazing. Somehow, he is a 40 year old guy in a kid’s body. He’s always been smarter than his age and very insightful. I tell him all the time that I am his real mother (everybody says he looks just like me). ‘Ace (his nickname)…. I need tell you something…. Now, you know that I travel a lot and my life isn’t right for children.’ “Okaaaayyy….” ‘Well, when you were born, I gave you to my sister to raise. I’m just not good with children and I think she has done a great job with you. I am so proud of you, my son…’ He’s like, “Yeah, mom, I know.” Then he proceeds to spend the next year telling my sister that he doesn’t have to do his homework because, “My real mom wouldn’t want me to.” Or that he can drink the 2 liter bottle of Pepsi because, “My real mom lets me do it.” Ah, I love messin’ with people’s heads – kids are the best, don’t you think?

Anyhoo, this was his recent school paper on his future:

My high school life will be great, but it will have a lot of stress. I will be preparing for college and finding lots of time to have fun. I hope to have plenty of close friends and to be known through out the school. I will be on the varsity football team and captain of the hockey team. My teachers will be usually nice and only the occasionally not so great teacher. The parties and the people will be wild. (He really IS my son!) While in high school I will have job at the ice rink teaching skating and instructing hockey. I will most likely get my own place when I’m eighteen or nineteen (no, he won’t. No one to wash his clothes), go to college on a full scholarship for hockey. From there I will be drafted to play for the New York Rangers. (You go, booooyyyy!)
Once I’m very rich I will travel a lot no care in the world, no place to be, time will be a distant memory no more worries about not having enough time or too much time I will just be. Mainly I will travel to Ireland and Scotland where life is simpler. (Says who?) I will never have an official place I will call home. For example maybe one year I will stay in Canada then the next Alaska I will not go back to anywhere it will always be “so where should I go next?” on holidays I would make exceptions to go where my family is. Money will not be an issue because every where I go I will get a house and sell it or occasionally let people rent it out. Every where I go I will try to help people and donate to charities and help rebuild houses, do whatever I can do to help the people in need (I love him so much.).

When I am about forty, I will move to California and go to director school to become a director. (that’s what I want to do) I will make tons of great movies all academy award winning. I will be bigger then Mel Gibson and the man who created Star Wars. One day I will finally meet Mel Gibson the director I idolize. There in California I will meet a beautiful woman named Roxana and we will get married in Ireland and have two boys in Scotland. We will finally settle down in Ireland but we will spend our summers in Canada, Scotland and Alaska. We will still go see my family and relatives from time to time .For my fifty third birthday I will travel one last time alone to Scotland and look at back at my truly amazing life.

I never knew some of this stuff (I am a terrible play-mother). Why Mel Gibson? Why Scotland and Ireland? (I love them by the way – for no other reasons than trashy romance novels; rogues and all that.) Why Roxana?

I just checked out Aceituna’s blog, Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, which I am narcissistic enough to assume is all about ME; hence the title. She totally reminded me of something I wanted to mention about Brokeback Mountain…… Was the first scene when they are “gettin’ it” more like kickin' someone’s ass rather than lovin’ it? Ok, I couldn’t tell at first, but it appeared to me to be 2 guys beating each other up (in the non-sexual sense of the term) rather than being romantic. (The first time I saw it I was on a plane to the US and the guy next to me looked all nervous, so I turned it off after the first "love" scene; and watched it on the way back to Kuwait.) I can’t remember at time when I, personally, ever started a romantic encounter that way. Now, I’m not saying that it didn’t later turn into hair pulling, smacking-around (non-violent – just fun), but it never started that way. And hey – when is it ever romantic to actually punch someone in bed (or on a bedroll or wherever)? I would just grab my ice pick from under the mattress and….. oh wait… that was someone else’s life. Nevermind.

I saw “The New World” the other night. It sucked. I went in for an uplifting experience. NOT. I bought “The Queen” from DVD guy. It was kind of slow, but very good. I had to keep reminding myself that the actress wasn’t the real queen. Borat is sitting on my dining room table and I can’t wait to watch that to see what all the hullabaloo is about (hey – spell check just fixed my hullabaloo. I didn’t even think it was a real word. Let me try “hooey”… holy shit, it is!).

From Slovenia With Love

I can’t believe this. I am still in shock. In a good way.

A few weeks ago, I was (t)asked to go to a trade meeting for Slovenia. I mingled with the delegates – who were all very interested in doing business with Kuwait. I didn’t know nada about Slovenia, but the people in the delegation were incredibly kind and humble and I liked all of them very much. I met with one man who wanted to find agents in Kuwait to represent his high-end crystal company. I commented that a worker in my house had just smashed a crystal vase my sister had given me - and how upset I was - and maybe he if he got things going in Kuwait, I’d buy one of his pieces. I made a few phone calls and found a Kuwaiti investor who is a friend – and very happy to have had the connection. The deal is close to completion. I received some e-mails from the company and I was happy that I could help.

This morning, I’m sittin at my desk in a regularly-foul mood these days and the tea man brings in a big box. I snap his head off (as usual these days) for interrupting me in the middle of whatever stupid thing I was up to that moment. Then, I saw the label on the box. I can’t believe he did this – the crystal man sent me a gorgeous (and no doubt very expensive) vase.

Sometimes I am just blown away by people’s incredible kindnesses. I can’t remember someone – a stranger no less – being so thoughtful and gracious. The tea boy looked totally confused when I burst into tears. I guess he probably thought of me as non-human; God knows sometimes I feel like it. Then, somebody does something like this for me and my faith is restored in humanity.

I Thought My Luck Sucks... and It Does, but....

I do thank God that my problems are minimal because it could be so much worse. And yet….

I met several guys this weekend. Must be Autumn heat or something.

The one that astonished me the most was the Guy with 14 Kids. Yes, you read correctly. I asked him how many kids he has and he said “7 boys and 7 girls”. Ok, I thought it was bad enough that he was married, but 14 kids? WTF? The Universe is definitely messing with me. The GW14K is only 40! His wife is 37 (yes – as in SINGULAR. She has given birth to 14 kids). Now, I don’t want to say anything about the Grand Canyon, but that amount of Kegel exercises must be hell. None of them were twins. He showed me her picture and she is really pretty. Their youngest kid is 2 months old. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy???? He makes 1200 kd a month. (Yes, I found that out in 45 minutes.) I mean – when I think of the amount of spending potential I have…. And he’s got 2 maids and a driver, so he’s supporting a total of NINETEEN people on 1200 kd a month. What the F does he think he’s going to do for me??? I felt guilty just sitting there having a cup of coffee at his expense. Talk about taking food from a baby’s mouth… Ok – have these people never heard of birth control? What about The Snip? It I was a guy and I had say – anywhere upwards of 6 kids… SNIP SNIP! (Oh, come on you whiners – it isn’t like your balls fall off or anything! Jeez.) He said she gets pregnant so that he won’t have money to marry someone else. I have several arguments in support of the opposing view, but it would be redundant to even mention them. 14 kids. I can’t even imagine being around 1 kid very long. That’s like havin frickin puppies. I mean – the guy didn’t look hailag or anything. He looked like a regular guy. I wish they would wear some kind of tag or something so people like me could tell. Just knowing this fact made me scared as hell of him: Eeeek. Someone could get pregnant just being in the vicinity. I wanted to go home and take the Morning After pill after 1 cappuccino across the table from him (after I scraped my jaw off the floor).

2 More Rants... Then I'll Stop

There were 2 articles that really "got my goat" today:

I read an article in the Arab Times this morning that pissed me off: 3 Kuwaiti men just got off without any jail time after raping-sodomizing a Kuwaiti transvestite. They pulled him/her out of his car, kidnapped him and took him to a farm in Kabd where all 3 raped him. What makes it right to rape anyone?? The transvestite obviously had to summon an incredible amount of inner strength to go to a police office in this country and file a case. As a Kuwaiti - with all the stigma attached to "face" and honor/family name, it must have been a daunting task. Anywhere else (albeit Western) in the world, this heinous act would have been considered a hate crime:

By Moamen Al-Masri
Arab Times Staff
KUWAIT CITY, Nov 21: The Criminal Court Tuesday refrained from passing a sentence against a Kuwaiti man, identified as Faisal H, who was charged with raping a Kuwaiti transvestite, identified only as AE, but ordered him to sign a pledge of good conduct for two years.

Case papers indicate on Sept 2, 2005, the victim wearing women's clothes and full make-up was driving from a farm in Kabad to town. Three cars including the three suspects chased the victim, forced him to stop and dragged him out of the car.

Khaled H took him to a deserted place and raped him. Then, salem drove the victim to a farm owned by the three men and raped him. At that moment, Faisal interfered and convinced the victim to go with him under the pretext of protecting him fromt he other two men in return for having sex with him.

Faisal is said to have driven the victim and return to the farm some time later. He ordered the victim to take off his clothes and he was shocked when he discovered the victim was a man, and not a woman. However, he had sex with him.

Then, faisal dropped the victim at the nearest roundabout and drove off giving him his cell phone number. When the victim left, he discovered the disappearance of KD 260 from his handbag. Six days after the victim filed a case against the three men. Police arrested Khaled and Salem, but they denied the charges. Faisal was not arrested. On May 9, 2006, the Criminal Court acquitted Khaled and Salem, but sentenced Faisal to three years in absentia for having sex with the victim of his own free will.

Then, faisal dropped the victim at the nearest roundabout and drove off giving him his cell phone number. When the victim left, he discovered the disappearance of KD 260 from his handbag.

Six days after the victim filed a case against the three men. Police arrested Khaled and Salem, but they denied the charges. Faisal was not arrested.

On May 9, 2006, the Criminal Court acquitted Khaled and Salem, but sentenced Faisal to three years in absentia for having sex with the victim of his own free will

The second involves a story I've been following in Saudi Arabia. I thought it was hard to GET married, this poor girl is fighting to STAY married... Dudes, what is the world coming to?

Khaleej Times
Abu Dhabi
Tuesday, October 31, 2006

In Saudi Arabia, divorce can have shocking aspects
Judge forcefully cuts short happy marriage because of ‘tribal incompatibilities’

From our correspondent
Jeddah – that the divorce rate in Saudi Arabia is shocking is telling it like it is.

These days, divorce has become the only solution to marital problems among couples that have never understood the responsibilities of marriage. They either didn’t make the right choice in the beginning or were forced into the marriage. But that it should come to a point when a divorce should be forced is unbelievably shocking.

Writing in a recent issue of the Arabic daily, Okaz, Rania Salamah, said: “I anxiously watched with a mixture of sadness, happiness, pride, shame, disgust, tension and relief an interview with Mansoor that appeared some time ago on the Al Ekhbariah channel.”

Mansoor is the man who had his happy marriage cut short when he was forcefully divorced from his wife by a judge in Al Jouf on the grounds of it supposedly violating social customs and practices. Mansoor told the story of how his brothers-in-law – who incidentally are his wife’s half-brothers – decided to dissolve his marriage because of supposedly tribal incompatibilities.

“Forcing a couple to divorce on tribal and social grounds is despicable and shameless,” said Salamah. “I believe there are two contradictory aspects to the story. One that makes you feels disgusted at the wife’s brothers, while the other makes you admire the couple for their courage in choosing to confront this injustice. Unfortunately, the court in Al Jouf issued its decision in August in the absence of both Mansoor and Fatima,” she said.

A few years ago after their marriage, the couple were shocked to learn that Fatima’s half-brother had filed a lawsuit to have their marriage annulled on the grounds that she belonged to a superior tribe to that of her husband’s. In fact, they were unaware of the crisis that had befallen them until the judge annulled their sacred union.

“How can a woman be divorced from her husband when she didn’t ask for a divorce nor did he divorce her?” asked Salamah.

The wife was forced to leave her house because of the court decision and had to go back and live with her family who instantly found her a new husband. The only common factor between her divorce and the second proposed marriage was that none of Fatima’s family members had bothered to consult her in either case.

“Perhaps, the family will be next considering killing her and then changing her son’s surname. I can just visualize the pre-Islamic state of ignorance this family is living in. To make things worse, finding no opportunity of recourse, the couple felt that the only solution they had was to run away with their children to Jeddah. However, Fatima’s brothers didn’t give up. They arranged for another decree giving her back to her family or ending up in prison,” Salamah said.

She added: “I admire the wife even more for her bravery in preferring imprisonment with her children instead of going to her parents’ home to be married off. It is better for her to be in jail for the time being than being divorced and entrapped. I also believe that her husband’s tears that flowed with the presenter asked him to address authorities in the kingdom for help, have dried up and he has lost hope. However, the case is still unsolved and needs a permanent solution.

Salamha said that this case is only one of a series of crimes that can potentially occur in the courts of justice. The question that kept running through her mind after watching the program was: “is the judge who issued the decision still practicing as a judge? I know that judicial authorities intentionally postpone cases for a long time when a wife files a case. Judges have every right to give a woman a chance to think twice. However, this honorable judge ruined a sacred union and allowed people with social and tribal sickness to triumph instead of advising them not to spread the disease among those free from such prejudices.”

Arab Times
Kuwait
November 22, 2006

‘Forced to divorce’
Court to rule on Marriage

RIYADH, Nov. 21 (RTRS): A Saudi appeals court is set to rule within days in the case of a couple forced to divorce against their will because of arcane tribal custom, a lawyer said on Tuesday.

A 32-year old Saudi woman, called Fatima, has been in prison for more than three months after she refused to return to her half-brothers’ home when a court last year annulled her marriage to Mansour Al-Timani, 36.

Custom in the conservative kingdom requires women to live with their families until marriage.

“We are waiting for the Court of Cassation to rule within days, less than a weel,” Abudulrahman Al-Lahem told Reuters. “The first verdict shocked society so there is great sympathy for the couple.”

Fatima’s brothers began the legal action last year saying Timani was not of good enough tribal stock to marry their sister and had lied to them when the couple first married.

Random, Drive-By Thought-waves

PWC Logistics has changed its name to “Agility”. With a brand new, light and airy logo, it reminds me of feminine hygiene products: Agility – with wings.

Edo is NOT the best sushi in town. Sakura is. I don’t care what anyone says. I like it the best. Edo has a wonderful atmosphere, but their portions are tiny and the sushi aint all that.

I bought an “Alwaleed” chocolate croissant this morning on the run that had ab-so-lutely trace amounts of chocolate in it. Quite disappointing.

I received an e-mail from a “friend” who hasn’t bothered to keep in touch with me for about a year +. Out of the blue, he needs me to WRITE his master’s thesis and will pay cash. I told him I would do it for 2000 KD. I haven’t heard from him. BAM! Why can’t these people write their own papers and do their own work? It seems relatively logical.

I hate it when someone asks me to do something for them, then I do whatever the emergency thing is, send it to them – and they never even bother to call or follow up. (This is unrelated to the item directly above.) Bobarino, for example. I follow up with him on something he asked me to do and then he says, “I’m too busy right now! I’ll have to do that later.” Why do I bother playing with him?

Expat friends/acquaintences who hate Kuwait and All Things Arab: why the phuck don’t you just leave? I don’t understand this. I am not here to commiserate with you over your bigotry, prejudices and racial slurs and it makes the rest of us (who enjoy being part of the society where we live) look bad. I am not here “just to make money”. I have a little group of acquaintances (I’m choosing words carefully) who are – themselves – of different ethnic and racial backgrounds and have fallen prey to bigotry in their pasts. They’re the WORST when it comes to being prejudice against Arabs. That is just disgusting to me. How can you live in a society and not want to integrate or understand? Do they have Kuwaiti friends? No. Do they socialize with Kuwaitis? No. How can you make an educated determination of what is good and bad if you don’t have anything on which to base your conclusions?

Perhaps I am just all full of piss and vinegar this morning. It is a beautiful day. I have a lot to be thankful for (tomorrow is even Thanksgiving).

Da Tink – something to be very thankful for:

Did I tell youse guys about Tinkerbell? Wow. How could I have omitted Da Tink?

I was at a friend’s farm in Kabd when a thing ran past me at about 100 mph into the bushes. I asked him what it was, “A little dog. My friend left for London and gave her to me.” It turned out that the thing was a Yorkie. (Yorkie prices in the US start at around $1,000.) I couldn’t tell if it was a male or female or how old – it was badly matted and terribly scared; living outside on a farm with a pittbull, a cat, and a spitz (all in much better shape). I told my friend that he needed to take the dog to IVH for shots, grooming and de-worming. I couldn’t do much, since it was the first time I was invited to his farm. We were invited back the following week and I had a closer look at the dog. Somebody had given it a bath, but the fur was so matted that it looked like it was wearing full-body armor (kind of the same look as an armadillo). It was very scared and very thin. I waited till the friend got good and drunk and sacheted up to him, flirtatiously: ‘I’m taking that.’ (pointing to the dog). …. “waaaaoookay.”

I took the dog home in my car and had a good look at her – she turned out to be little girl with big, scared eyes - and horribly thin. The fur had matted over her behind so that she was trying to go, but there was literally no room for anything to move out. I cut off most of her fur and took her to IVH. She weighed 1.5 kilos. Thank God, there was very little wrong with her – other than not eating. She just felt sick and needed some TLC. For 2 weeks, she stayed on a pillow covered with towels and a hot water bottle on my floor. She wouldn’t come out – only to eat. She was house-broken within a week; very smart little thing.

We had her scanned for an RFID identichip, incase she was lost or stolen. There was nothing, so we had her chipped incase she ever gets lost (23 kd at IVH). The vet said that it appeared that someone, sometime had taken care of her; maybe they had just gotten sick of her and moved on to the next-most-amusing thing (X-box?). It really makes me sick when people don’t see pets as lifelong responsibilities, and not just as toys.

Tink now lives with The Romanian, where she is amazingly happy and putting on weight We take her and Desert Dog out to the beach for walks and Tink runs along smiling and barking, wagging her tail. She is an absolutely lovely little girl and even though she was horribly abused – is still incredibly friendly to everyone. I bought her an entire wardrobe of dog clothes including a jeans jacket and several sweaters (party dresses, of course!).

If we were hamsters…

If we were hamsters, we’d snack, we’d nap, we’d think about working out, we’d snack again, nap some more….

Hey… wait a minute….

(That’s not original, by the by – I bought a greeting card in Target with that sentiment, but I love it.)

The Man’s first name was Hamed and I used to call him Hamster. I had this whole little routine worked out with my girlfriends of the “Hamster Dance”. Very amusing (to me!)

I had a date scheduled for tonight (from like a week ago) with a guy who I have been putting off. He’s ok and all that, but reeeeeeeeeal pushy. Anyhoo, he was all ready go to out with me and I said, “Pick me up at 7:30?” He said, “Can’t we make it after 9?” I like – WORK, you know? I get up before the sun rises. Turns out he “has a meeting” prior to 9 (Suuuuuuuure. And like – who schedules a meeting on the same night that you have a date you have been asking for for weeks?) So, I sent him a quick SMS from work, “I was planning on an early dinner and several hours of earth-shattering sex, but I’ll RSVP to that symposium that my boss wanted me to attend tonight instead -- since you’re busy…” He immediately called and said he would re-schedule his meeting. Yuh. Too late, buddy. You are on the “Grade A” Idiot List now.

…Just like the guy who has been asking me out for 6 months. I travel a lot, so I was THOUGHTFUL (AKA “stupid”) and brought him a bottle of cologne which I dropped off at his office. Dude calls me and tells me, “Oh, I’m getting engaged. I’m going to save this for my wedding.” No! I am not kidding!!! I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried.

My life is good. I received a hokey e-mail from a friend, entitled, “I am thankful…” listing all the ways you can turn a negative into something to be thankful for. (for Example: For the clothes that fit a little too snug because it means I have enough to eat.
For the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours because it means I am alive.) Well, in response to that e-mail… I am thankful that I do have men in my life and that I’m not a toothless no-job ugly chick with poor table manners driving a 25 year old Toyota. Yeah. I’ll keep telling myself that.

For you, Purgy...

Purgatory is obviously tired of reading me rant about men and animals, so I will rant about something completely different....

There was an article in today's Kuwait Times (which I don't usually read, but everyone seemed to be out of the Arab Times this morning), titled, "Silk City: Mission Impossible" in reference to "(Silk City Project that will)... help transform Kuwait into a commercial gateway to the World." The author, Muna Al-Essa, basically shares the same sentiment I do - that although Kuwait has good intentions about mega projects - will the schemes actually draw people to the country?

Desert Girl says, 'Uh... noooooooooo....'

The current Kuwait commercial laws don't allow room for economic growth. Many Kuwaiti companies (like the big "A" dogs up in Sulaybia) are still mistreating workers - Western and Asian alike. The 2nd largest logistics company in Kuwait (rhymes with KG Hell) charges their employees for employment visas (500 kd for an Article 18). What is the going rate they have to pay - about 70 kd? Worker rights throughout Kuwait are minimal. Corruption is rampant - and for the most part, unchecked. Department of Labor at the Ministry of Social Affairs - WHAT IS YOUR WEBSITE? WHAT is your contact information? Where do you post your information and in what language? I've been here for ten years and I can tell you - I still can't easily find the answers.

The Kuwaiti planners are operating under the assumption of, "If you build it, they will come." UAE already has it. They must determine WHAT would entice international companies (or tourists) to come to Kuwait. Can they own property here? No. Can they easily open businesses here? No. At the bare minimum - most of the time, you can't even find a good lawyer here to BEGIN the process because no one is willing to make it easier with information in English or proper listings. Perhaps the thought of creating a website (in English and Arabic) for the Kuwait Association of Lawyers would be too much to ask?

The Free Trade Zone was supposed to be established to eradicate these types of issues. Basically, it was an opportunity to part these companies with their money. Everything costs MORE in the FTZ, it takes over a year to get a business license, and international companies still cannot own land. Get your employees visas? No way.

What about recreation? Why would your employees choose to stay here and spend money in the local economy? As taboo as the subject of alcohol is here - sorry - but it is an aspect of most CULTURES. Many people of Western cultures socialize with/gather around alcohol. If you are going to basically tell people, "Sorry, you gotta go somewhere else...." - they are going to go somewhere else. Dubai, anyone?

How Very Entertaining... zzzzzzz

Do you get all discombobulated on the seasons here? For me, this time of year feels like Spring. That’s mostly cause it is an extended period of time. Spring in Kuwait is a few nanoseconds before hot. Anyooooo, I decided that it was time for Spring cleaning. So, I am having my maid do that today. Tee hee. Why? Because I can. Why should I do anything myself when it is actually affordable to have somebody else do it for me? (I’m turning. You know it.)

I am sick of everything and most recently – it is my apartment. After 10 years, all my electronic stuff is going caput. Yes, it all decided to do it at the same time in this crappy year: I have had my same stereo system for 10 years; my same washer/dryer. All are caput.

The construction next to my window is getting better. No one died either. They are working during the day and the demolition work has stopped. Now, they are driving piles into the ground (which means more excavation, unfortunately). The pile driver thingy seems to be a sonar type (if there is such a thing) and not a pounding type. It is much quieter anyways and nothing is shaking.

I went to a party in the desert this weekend. They hired a slut all the way from Jordan to come over and entertain. Why? I don’t know. Men’s minds work in mysterious ways and I can’t figure it out. They thought she would be amusing. And get this – I was the guest of honor. Do I look like some kind of Jordanian-slut-loving lesbian or something? Why, for phuck’s sake, would I want to see that? They sent her over to welcome me and I was afraid to get slut-cooties. She talked like a high-pitched Mini Mouse (which I immediately started imitating), and spent part of the night hiking up her already incredibly tiny skirt, and the other part pouting and looking in her mirror. I’m sure she thought she was hot shit on a silver platter (to coin a phrase from the 80’s). I didn’t really enjoy myself because none of us “good girls” could relax having Ms. Slutinski wiggle, jiggle, giggle, and plant herself on various menfolk in the room. It was making me ill. I tried to drink myself into oblivion (apparently, the other LADIES did too). That worked pretty well until our friend, Bibi, got on with her normal self and started giving The Entertainment a hard time, while managing to direct it around her. Par example: “Saif! Saif! Sit properly!” (“egaad adel”) (when jiggly Jordanian sat on his lap, almost completely exposed). Too bad because I thought Saif had prospects --- until he wore her.

The Man continues to send me “Hi (Desert Girl)” messages to my mobile phone. Translation: I am really horny and I miss you and I’d like to get together for a no-questions-asked quicky, but I don’t want to call you because you might think it is a relationship. Yes. That is exactly what that translates to. Don’t doubt it for a second. If he weren’t so damn cheap, I might have sent The Entertainment his way. Dumbass.

For some reason, my phone didn’t ring all weekend. No puppies calling me (you know – the sad-eyed young boys who follow you around and call constantly). Every girl needs puppies.

I have a guy that I have been seeing on/off for about 4 years. Let’s call him Falcon Guy (cause yuuh – he has falcons). He’s a nice guy – tall, single, good family, good job, good personality – all that plus a bag of chips. However, he is one of these retarded individuals (and I don’t mean that as a slur to challenged people – I just think he is “held back”) that never wants to go out in public. Yeah yeah – I know… translation: its all about sex. I don’t mind that. Let’s just call a manwhore a manwhore. I know what it’s all about. If he agreed it was just that, I would too. No biggie (well, actually….) … ok, nevermind. Anyhow, he gets all upset when I’m out with guy friends or I come home late or I don’t call him. Now, he won’t even meet my friends (“he’s not your man”) or tell me (to my face) that he cares about me (“he’s not your man”). He’s all in the house, though, with a phone call or a “come now” SMS from me. He’s a manwhore, am I right? Why the possessiveness? I’m a single-source kind of girl, so that isn’t the issue. Is it just that he’s a guy and thinks that’s what he’s supposed to do? He doesn’t want ME to get possessive or girlfriendy, so why do that to me? Why the stress? Now, if he wants me to TREAT him like a boyfriend, he should start behaving like one, n’est pas?

Ok, let me back up for a moment… with The Man, I didn’t consider him a manwhore (at the time): I met his whole Bedouin family. He knew mine. My friends knew him. We went out everywhere together. We did everything together. He treated me as if I was already his wife - and yet – where is he now?

And, I’m sorry, but if you’re not a boyfriend, you don’t get special privileges like massages, good lingerie, home-baked goods, and all that crap. It is what it is. This, men, is why you get to pay for dinner and bring flowers and sweets and little surprises and taking the car to get serviced: The Extra Special Relationship Package.

Celebrate, Bitches!

I am the boringest frickin person I know and I’m getting tired of living with me. This year has been crap. That is my main reason for becoming Boring Girl. Even numbered years are always crap.

First, my dad died. It can’t get much crappier than that. Then, I got continually sick (e-coli poisoning, back/leg problems, weird ailments). Then, I lost my frickin stupid job. Then, the people who made me a WRITTEN job offer called me FIVE DAYS before my start date to tell me that they were pushing the start date back by a month (like we’re all living with our parents and/or are independently wealthy), so I had to find another job. Then, I break up with The Man in a rather grotesque and inhumane fashion. (But wait... there's more... with your Ginsu knives you also get....)

I miss The Man. He’s the worlds biggest sonofabitch, but I miss him. I tried to plot revenge, but none of my male Kuwait friends would help me. If you want to help, write to me (amerab@gmail.com). No violence or illegal behavior is involved – I promise. Really. It is all very passive-aggressive/obsessive. Slapperella: "You must stop this!" Whyyyyyyyyy? (Ally McBeal fantasy watching his head explode.) "Living well is the best revenge." Uh... yeah right. So is an exploding head.

...I'm back.

I wake up to myself. Alone. “All By Myself” playing in my head. Back to Bridget Jones. The pillows on the right side of the bed still neatly arranged and untouched. I am getting really tired of this. I am happiest in life when I can wake up to a totally wrecked bed and pillows all over the room (not to mention the lingerie, chocolate syrup and other things tossed about). I guess I’m not so ugly or so old because I’m still getting The Look (and from younguns too), but I am still alone. Ok – some of that IS because I am picky and I guess I could spend every single night laying neked next to a 25 year old and talk about how his day was at school. If only I could put 2 of them together to make a wealthy 50 year old who wants to marry, travel the world, and lavish me with gifts (of love – I’m no gold digger!).

Did I mention ducks? (No, I swear to God, I'm not doing drugs.) The ducks are our new biggest joke. In Schipol airport in Amsterdam, they sell what appear to be rubber bathtub ducks. Although, in reality, they are something more sinister (if you want to call it that): You see, the ducks vibrate. They are called "love ducks"; they are waterproof; they float; and they are disguised as cute little toys. Now, I bought several of these loveducks for my girlfriends (you read it right the first time), but they were a source of concern - especially in getting through Kuwait customs. I had the foresight (having seen them on a previous trip) to buy them on my way to the US (and could pack them in check-in luggage for the trip to Kuwait). My girlfriends were concerned. We dubbed (ha ha) the operation: Operation Rubber Ducky. The SMSs started circulating, "Ducks are in flight", "Ducks have landed", "Ducks under fawcet", and finally "Duck mission accomplished." Since then, anyone we tell about the ducks has been making duck jokes or bringing us ducks. It is quite entertaining. My duck is like one of the very best things I did for myself this year (other than the enormous engagement ring I bought myself after The Man and I broke up).

Oh… oh… oh… I didn’t even mention my garden wall. That sounds kind of lovely doesn’t it “garden wall” -- well, hell no! An A/C pipe broke between my bedroom wall and the bathroom. I complained to the building engineer (a most-hated-man named Rami) for a month. I started by saying that I had a water spot on my (newly-painted) bedroom wall. Then, it got bigger. Then, things started to grow (I would like to say it was mold, but it looked more like that red shit in War of The Worlds that took over the Earth). It grew and grew. I called Ramiasshole and his response (get ready for it: Bend over – I did.), “It is humid. It's normal.” Normal? To have a frickin mold garden with funky stuff growing on your bedroom wall?? WTF WTF WTF? Do I live in a frickin jkhoor? Well, they sent painters who 1) broke a gorgeous crystal vase my sister sent me 4 years ago on Christmas; 2) tore down my window shades; and 3) painted OVER the mold without treating the wall first. Yup. You got it – mold grows back when it isn’t treated. Anybody know a good painter? I can’t find my guy, Sayed. Of course not - I need him.

I forgot to mention that my refrigerator broke the day before I left to the US on business. All my food was thawing, so my hariss-dude had a feast (including baby-back ribs and some sage sausage). Whose REFRIGERATOR breaks? Isn't that unheard-of?

My friend, Slapperella, says, “My God, you have been through a lot this year. I don’t know how you are managing.” Well, I’m not. I could go ballistic at any moment. You know what they say about those serial killers, "... but she seemed so normal. She'd never done anything like that before..." I have been back to the States like 4 times this year. I’ve traveled a lot. I’ve done a lot. I still feel like I haven’t accomplished jackshit. Have you ever felt like your mind has just completely zoned someplace else? I don’t even feel like I’m here. I’m in suspended desertnation. AND I never used to swear as much as I am herein and forthwith.

All of my friends have stopped calling me because I just don’t feel like talking most of the time – and forget actually DOING something or GOING somewhere. I don’t mean to ignore anyone. I’m really an un-intentional bitch queen from Hell.

Maybe I’m cranky because Construction Project Number 8567 in the past 2 years in my freekin neighborhood has started. WTF??? Who is going to live in all these places? It all began with Khara-fee rippin up the street, putting it back; and rippin it up, and putting it back. Then, there was the big apricot mega-birdhouse at the end of the street (I couldn’t shout “Shut the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck up!” loud enough for them to hear apparently). It is almost completed. Now, they start on this one. Why, for fek’s sake, can’t they do all of this stuff at ONE time? What the hell is next?

Now, the 3 storey slum next to my bedroom window has come down. Do you know what time the buttholes start work? 9:30 PM! They work all night. They are within striking distance. So far, I have hit the bullseye with 3 different bottles of water. Rotten eggs and tomatoes are next. Who do I complain to? Does no one care about who lives in Salmiya?? Is it because we are all F-ing foreigners living in Salmiya?

And… most importantly… is it just ME that cares? I swearaGod, there must be 1,000 people living within the 2 blocks around this site and am I the ONLY one out there in my PJ’s complaining to the foreman (or whatever he is) at 2 am? And, why does the foreman (or whatever he is) bring his 4 year old to breathe asbestos dust at 2 am watching buildings be demolished and where the hell is its mother?

I went to the police station to complain. I made friends. Nothing changed.

I am looking for wastah at the Salmiya Baladiya. Who do I have to sleep with to get some sleep? Who is the parliament dude for Salmiya and where do I find him? Is he at least relatively good looking (if I MUST!).

Even Desert Dawg is a cranky bitch. She gets no sleep. Just a couple o’cranky old bitches in a construction site in a crappy year.

I went on business travel to Abu Dhabi last week and I was all happy because I thought I would finally get some sleep. Believe this? They were doing construction on the hotel and the jackhammering began at 6 am. My meetings weren't until 11 (on purpose). Have I been plagued by jinnis?

When 2007 rolls around, I am going to celebrate! I hate this year.

Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

That’s what The Man was: Living by his instincts; awakened to the sense of his baser nature. I’m psychoANALyzing again. I keep thinking about the really good times we had together and failing to remember every time he FLIPPED. (Oh yeah. Duuuh. He did do that.) My step-father was like that, but I blame that on alcoholism. There were very high highs and very low lows: laughter and happy times followed by shouting and misery. Maybe The Man was bi-polar. You know – there ARE drugs and rehab centers for these afflictions. (Live with it: He just wasn’t that into you, Desert Girl. Get on with your life.)

Well…. Ok….. Do 27 year-old men built like brick houses count? (“He’s a brick da da da da…hoooouse. He’s mighteh mighteh…Just lettin’ it all hang out…”) I mean, in the big picture would a 27 year old help? Ask me. I’ll tell you. (Sigh of temporary contentment.) It is, after all, how Stella Got Her Groove Back (and yet in real life, that guy turned out to be gay). Regardless, the 27-year-old in this case won’t be around that long for me to find out. Of course, it was all completely innocent. Yes. That’s it. I feel like some old guy who is in mid-life (I’m 29 people!) crisis and dating a much-younger chick. Honestly, I do desperately want a Corvette too. (Well Barbie has one, doesn’t she???)

I can’t count how many men I have met this Glorious Month of Ramadan. When people should be praying, they are doing the taboo and exchanging numbers. I know I’m going to Hell (but it is most likely for the multitude of OTHER bad deeds I have done). I love this month.

Alas, God or the Universe is – once again – playing tricks with my sorry self. I started playing on Mchat (sms “go” to 858 from an MTC line) and low and behold – what started happening? The Universe is phucking with me. The guys I have met have been in the same exact work (and job title) as The Man, have had the same login name as The Man, and I have even been meeting men with the same name as The Man. I am one of those superstitious weirdos that believes in signs and omens and all that crap and it is FREAKIN ME OUT. It is freaking out my girlfriends. What does it all mean? Are The Man and I destined to be together? Are we tied together by some cosmic bond? Ok, if so – why hasn’t he come begging yet? Why?

And Mchat – well, play at your own risk. The 40-something man who said he was “the color of coffee” was a 60-something espresso and brought his nephew with him (security or voyeurism?). Probably seeing-eye-nephew because the glasses were as thick as Coke bottles. Slapperella and The Romanian (who were with me) stopped short of laughing their asses off (neither of them HAS an ass) as they showed genuine pity on me (I could see pity or perhaps fear in their eyes and it was even worse than being laughed at). They looked at me like, “oh my God, we hope you don’t burst into tears at any moment.” Perhaps they knew that at this juncture, I might have just gone postal and killed every-living-thing in a 20-mile-parameter. It could happen. If you are home some evening and your windows start shaking, that is just me -- gone nuclear.

A Proctologist's Dream: Bless His Heart

Yes, yes, I haven’t posted for a while. I took some time off because I was… busy (WTF).

So I didn’t get married. We met on September 29th (his birthday) last year and, true to form, he was outa here shortly before the 1 year mark. Well, I hate all that wedding crap anyways. I never did want a wedding dress or a reception with people I don’t even know or like. Seems like a lot of work for an event that should be a whole lot more intimate than that.

Well Forest, life is like a box of chocolates…. You know what? Funk dat. I hate the sickeningly-sweet cream centered chocolates (the stuff eventually runs all over the place and ruins everything), so I try to poke holes in the bottoms of each and every chocolate so I can figure out which ones NOT to eat to avoid disappointment. Let’s speak in metaphors here and say that I’ve gone through a Willy Wonka amount of chocolates in my life. One would think that based on the law of averages (which I firmly believe in), sometime, somehow, somewhere, I would be able to stick with one chocolate. For me, it would be the perfect blend somehow of mint, coconut, and perhaps even a little ginger, but with the character and consistency of a toffee-centered chocolate: rigid and sustainable. It would be coffee-color and smooth. Why do I keep getting the ones that run? Too much complication. Too much anxiety. You never know when the stuff is going to run out.

I believe that when you reach a certain age (in my case, 29), you start accepting things for the sake of the long ride and not just the short one. I put up with a WHOLE LOT of things – many I am choosing to leave out in the blog. What I will say is that I bent my own rules so many times with The Man that I thought I had turned into my friend from Kentucky who I used to make fun of. Me: Trish, why don’t you leave the bastard? Trish: “Because I looooooooooooooooooove hiiiiim.” I used to make serious fun of my friends like SheeshaGirl who went on and on and on about some loser-of-a-man to the point where we all wanted to shoot her to put her out of our own misery. I have BECOME these women. I don’t think I’m a meek little push-over doormat of a person. I am generally not-very-interested in most of the men I meet. They’re nice and all that, but I am too distant for a relationship. I just don’t care all that much unless someone really impresses me – and at this point, most don’t.

Why is it that The Man impressed me? I blame it all on The Romanian. See, I saw The Man and I didn’t think he was ALL THAT (way less the bag of chips on my scale). A week after we met, she was adamant that I call him, so I did. Then we went out a few times. I don’t know what it was about him (nuclear physics – some form of chemical reaction perhaps?). He definitely didn’t have the ideal marital situation, financial situation, and more.

I don’t regret it. I had a great time. We did so many things together that I have wanted to do with a boyfriend/fiancé/husband for so long: Stupid things like camping and shopping and going to movies and hanging out. Stupid things that alas, most Kuwaiti men don’t do for different reasons.

I didn’t get to travel with him and I’m very sorry about that. He chose to go to Phuket with a womanizing guy-pal of his instead of going there with me – for our honeymoon. When I heard the woman in his room (it could have been the television, right?) and confronted him, it was the last time I spoke to him. I hope she enjoyed our damn honeymoon. He was supposed to be in Sharm with his sisters (who I will miss).

I’m a simple girl. I don’t need a lot to keep me happy and I don’t mind sharing what I’ve got because it is a PARTNERSHIP. I just don’t want a guy who does really dumb things and then wants to “make it up to me”. You know what, gentlemen? Once that statement is out of your mouth, it is already too late.

Well, I won’t go into too many details, but I send him daily reminders that I don’t forgive him and that if he is praying during this Ramadan, I don’t believe God will accept his prayers as he can’t be a good person during the other 11 months of the year. As he TOLD his entire family and circle of friends 8 months ago that we are already married (and he hasn’t bothered to divorce me yet), perhaps I am still considered his wife. And if that is the case and this IS Ramadan, why the HELL hasn’t he bothered to even buy me a tin of tashreeba or perhaps some frickin gaymat??? Bless his cheap-ass stingy heart.

Speaking of which, if you want laugh-your-ass-off-funny, read this book: Bless Your Heart, Tramp by Celia Rivenbark. Holy shit, it is hilarious. She also wrote, “Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank,” and “We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier” (which could have a tremendous appeal to the entire female population of Kuwait).

In the South, you can say, “Bless your heart” and get away with anything (as Celia says in her book). The Man is an idiot, bless his heart.

If it smells like camel poop ... it probably is.

Why is it that men don’t talk? I mean, you get into a relationship, and they become clams (the only way you can get them to open up is with a lot steam and heat – or so I thought – see below). What is UP with that? I have a California roll and a cup o’joe and I can debate about anything tirelessly. My Man: I had something bad happen to me today. Me: Really? What? Man: Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it (oh my God – he is such a typical cop!) So, the next thing outa my mouth is, ‘Ok – wanna go to bed?’ (if he’s not going to talk maybe the other noises will suffice?) but that isn’t even working. I guess we are in a rut. TALK DAMN YOU, TALK! I can take it! Thank God the frickin World Cup is over. Yeah yeah – mabrook Italy and all that crap. Now at least he’ll have something less to gape at without speaking.

I’m bored and dangerous.

I have been in an absolutely foul mood for several days now. I even threw things/broke things yesterday (felt kinda good actually). I am mean and nasty. A lot of it centers around my need to find a new job all of a sudden (and the rut of course). It appears that the gentleman who hasn’t paid me on time in the past 14 months doesn’t have enough left to pay me at all. Not that I didn’t see it coming – I was just riding the wave and making suggestions to get things turned around (which, of course, no one ever listens to). I think the blondeness makes them not take me seriously. So I am looking for a job – again. My interviews go something like this: Employer: I see you have changed jobs a lot. Me: Yeah because the fuckwits that I have worked for never listen to my recommendations and occasionally mismanaged their companies into the ground. Well, not really, but that’s what the voices in my head say.

On another front, the fuckwitted HR Director (affectionately called, “Nasshole”) at KGB Logistics and 7 of his fellow thieves were arrested and fired (or vice versa) – taken out of KGB in handcuffs for receiving bribes and kickbacks and embezzlement. This is the same fuckwitted HR Director who managed to get me fired from there (along with a multitude of other Americans because he hates us). Yippeekayyeah! I say this rolling on my floor, laughing a very sizeable chunk of my ass off (both cheeks). Did my former boss LISTEN when I told him about what was going on????????? Noooooooooooo. Because I am blonde. I am so glad I am out of that mess.

How about this weather we’re having? Serious dust and 120 degrees. Have you heard that Cheech & Chong skit about dogshit? Long-story-short, if it looks and smells and tastes like camel shit (in this case – not dog shit), then most likely it is. For all you newcomers to Kuwait: Keep your mouths shut when walking outside. You don’t know where the funk is from. Yet another aspect leading to my meanness this week: My hair looks like a cross between Farah Fawcett and Bozo this week. It aint purty. I might as well have been rolling around in a jakhoor (again). Tee hee.

Does this kinda thing happen to you? ….. an American friend called this week to ask me if I had dated a guy several years ago (H). I haven’t met this friend in person – she is one of those people who I have helped along the way and then she has subsequently helped me in return, but we have never met face-to-face. She’s a wonderful lady and I like her a lot (makes me laugh) and I am dying to have coffee with her. So anyhooo (Purgy!), she asked if I had dated this guy and she knew particular details about me and desert dawg that I hadn’t told her. Turns out H is her x-husband and I had gone to Malaysia with him about 4 years ago (thankfully – this time – AFTER their divorce!). H and I used to be movie buddies until we won a trip to Malaysia as a prize at a party. Our physical relationshit lasted all of 2 weeks (snore) and I have never seen him since. (Let me just tell you that I don’t believe in building up to something over several years because you’ll always be disappointed – usually by some teeny weeny ….. detail.) At any rate, I had met her kids several times on trips out with H. Turns out the poor young-uns needed therapy because their daddy was introducing them to 7 women at a time and asking them to lie to everyone in the family. They were such great kids and I never figured Mr. Small Detail to be such a Don Juan (Don Gerkin – Juan’s cousin? LOL). That is just pathetic. At any rate, I loved Malaysia and would love to go back there. I don’t remember much about H there – other than the fact that he let the monkeys steal my peanuts (another story) and that he laughed at me while I was getting a very uncomfortable reflexology thing done to my feet that made me cry (there is NOTHING wrong with my area 29 on the reflexology chart, by the way!) Does this stuff happen to you or is it just me? I swear to God – people in the States think I am making all this up. My family already believes I am schizophrenic, but this kind of story just adds fuel to the fire.

Tuesdays - Ugly Fun!

I go to a tailor in Jabriya and even when it is Africa-hot, he has no AC or fan on in the fitting room. Let me just tell you, that when you are crammed into a little closet the size of a coffin, trying on stuff you want to have darted (in or out), and sweating profusely -- nothing will ever look good. I even realized how much I hate the back of my head when I saw it in the mirror there. Who would have thought it would turn out to be one of my least-favorite features? Until the tailors, I was pretty sure that the back of my head looked like one of those girls' on a Clairol commercial, but noooooo.

Another pet peeve is going to the tailor and having Kuwaiti women arrive after me and the tailor says (with excruciating pain written all over his face and very quietly as to not set off a stampede), "Excuuuse me," and dash to help THEM. Chelloooooo. I was there FIRST and I'm 100 times more likely not to bargain/quibble over a price. I turn mean-nasty-American on them in 2.5 nanoseconds. 'Yo! Babu! I was here FIRST, mothafuckah!' (I don't actually say that, but the voices inside my head are screaming it.) I relent because he does such a good job, really (when he's not pissing me off). He is probably mean to me because he can hear the racist voices inside my head calling him 'Babu'.

Yesterday, I watched from my apartment balcony as a rather well-dressed man pulled up in his car and assisted a lady from my building into his car (looks like they were on their way to the airport). Dude opens the trunk, pulls out a tire and literally chucks it into the middle of our street! What tha phuck??? I was on my way out anyhow, so I went downstairs (full of piss and vinegar) and said, "Excuse me, would you mind picking up that tire you just threw in the middle of the street? We don't live in a junkyard." He said, "What tire?" 'The one you just threw right there.' "Oh." So I made him take it to the dumpster not 20 feet away. People are so stupid.

Since Khara fee is making our street look like an absolute dumpster anyways, everybody thinks that it is ok to dump their junk wherever they feel like it. I'm surprised people haven't started to pee out there. (Maybe they have?) It is disgusting. Since the construction oopa-loompas have come around, the trash men don't think they have to collect either. Yes, it is stinky.

What is the deal with changing all of the frickin curbs in Kuwait anyways? Didn't we already have a parking problem? Now they have created parking problems all over Salmiya (coming soon to a neighborhood near you!). Let's discuss anti-corruption for a moment here. Who AWARDED the new curb tender? Why was there ever a tender out there to provide new curbs? Who the phuck needs the new curbs? What was wrong with the old curbs? All of a sudden, there are 12" curbs all over Salmiya and nobody can park. I can't get my sports car up there in front of my own building. Why doesn't someone issue a tender for installing grass or trees or flowers and maintaining them? What is UP with the curbs????

We had to take a friend to the airport last night. Tuesday nights are ugly-fun nights at the Kuwait International Airport. You want an ugly partner – be sure to look for him/her there! Slapperella made the mistake of somehow parking in a staff parking space and it took her close to an hour to get help and get out. Help came in the form of a cute Kuwaiti security guard who, as she reported it, "Wasn't havin' it." Too bad. The Slapperella charm is usually able to penetrate any armor (so to speak).

I think that is the end of most of my bitching for today. I have more, but they concern work and I don't have the energy to get into that tirade.

On a more pleasant note (shut tha fuuu up - there is too one!)... I had the first dream about my father since he passed away. He was standing next to a river and a small white house (kind of like in that movie, "Big Fish") with a lot of people around him. He looked serene and was staring out over the water. He didn't say anything to me, but I woke up feeling better. I think the house was supposed to belong to my cousin, Kim's father (I have never really gotten the familial connection there) in Norfolk.

WTF Kuwait?

Last night, June 23, 2006 at approximately 8:00 pm, H. Al-Shammari's 9 year old daughter walked to the co-op close to their home in Mubarak Al-Kabeer (Block 3). A group of boys was outside the co-op and one of them threw a bottle at the girl, hitting her on the head. She was taken to the hospital, her head shaved, and she was given stitches. Mr. Shammari doesn't want to report the incident to the police because he knows they will do nothing.
____________________________

Last Saturday 17th June I was driving past Salwa coop on the opposite side of the road at about 6:15pm. A group of at least six 10 to 12 year old Kuwaiti boys in dishdashas on my side of the street were hanging around under a large tree. As I passed by a stone hit my car. I immediately turned around the traffic circle there and went into the police station. An officer on duty said there was nothing he could do, that school was out and this group were in trouble morning and afternoon.

This is the second incident that has happened to me this year in Salwa. I was at the coop several months ago when a group of youths were throwing stones outside the coop door. I was pushing a trolley towards my vehicle when one of them threw a 7 up bottle at me. It didnt hit me. It smashed on the ground in front of me, but again as I was right next to the police station I walked in. I saw the boys head towards the clinic through a back alley so I asked the police officer to walk round and apprehend them from the front of the clinic. Two of the boys were sitting in the alley and were asked by the officer to come back to the station. They denied it was either of them that threw the bottle, but the officer called in the father of one boy who lived in a nearby street. The father said they are only young and "never mind"!

I agreed they might be young, but if they get away with throwing bottles today who knows what they might do when they are older.

As they were brushing me off, I called my Kuwaiti son who is over 6ft tall. When they saw him pull up in front of the station in his jeep, the officer started to joke with the father and asked if he was my "friend". First my son told off the boys, then he spoke to the father, and then the police officer! Not very satisfactory.


_______________________________________________
From: British Embassy
Dear Wardens

Jamie Bowden, the Deputy Head of Mission, called on Brig Yousef Al-Seoudi, Assistant Under Secretary for Public Security Affairs, to discuss the Embassy's worries about threats of violence and stone throwing by young Kuwaiti men against British citizens in desert areas of Mangaf, Fahaheel and Egaila. Jamie handed over a formal note on the subject.

Jamie talked through in detail the most serious incident of which we are aware, when a British citizen was stoned and had knives pulled on him. He said that we were also aware of other incidents. He asked that the Ministry increase the police presence in the area and consider a wider plan to tackle the problem.

Brig Yousef said that the police were aware of the problem posed by young men hanging around in these desert areas. Since early June they had instituted patrols in these areas. But it would not be possible to completely end the risk of incidents like these. Regrettably, he had to advise that people should not go to these areas after dark, and as far as possible when they went to them during the day they should go in at least pairs.

Brig Yousef also said that it was essential that any incidents were reported immediately to the police. Otherwise it was difficult for them to take further action to deal with the problem. Jamie said that we had already passed this advice out through the wardens' network.

Jamie pointed out that the emergency number for the police, 777, was not always answered immediately. The Ministry of Information have given us the following direct lines to police stations in Mangaf, Mahboula, Fahaheel and Egaila:

Mangaf/Abu Halifa Police Station: 371 4753
Mahboula/Fintas Police Station: 390 3744
Fahaheel Police Station: 391 0014
Egaila/Regga Police Station: 394 0700

Please do report immediately and in detail any incidents to the police and to your warden.
________________________________________

Desert Girl comment: You know when this will get some attention? When one of these boys is shot by someone, vigilante-style. .... and I will laugh.

To the Beat of Somebody's Drum (I guess)

So today was my first visit to Villa Mucha. I guess you can say that I am no longer a Villa Moda virgin. Yes yes. It's true. I have dipped my toes into the lake of the languid. I said I would never ever go there on principle: I don't believe in all the designer hoopla and the waste/greed/gluttony associated with it. However, I relented and went in today because it was my friend's, friend's birthday and I like her. We went to the café and let me just tell you – their food and their cheesecake ROCKS baybeeee (light and airy with real graham cracker crust – most delicious). The atmosphere is also really nice – very relaxing and tranquil (except for the clad-in-black, weird-eyeglass-wearing Eurodudes who were sitting at the next table. That's ok. I can deal with them and their fake tans.) I'm definitely going there again. Paying big bucks for food is okay in my world because food is food regardless of how much you pay for it and I don't eat it to try to outdo anyone (and I would also give it to poor people).

I have also wanted to visit Villa Mucha based on Slapperella's slippers (shoes). They are, indeed, magical. I don't believe that she has taken them off since she purchased them from Dolce and Gabana (sp? – WTF) discounted at VM. I don't believe she has bathed since the put them on either. They would be, as I see it, quite appropriate even for circus sex. They are extraordinary magical bejeweled slippers and I love them, so I have been trying to get her to go there with me to seek out equally magical slippers for myself. I just know that my pumpkin would turn into a carriage and that mice would be made into white horses and that Prince Charming would.....YEAH BAYBEEEEE.... I digress.

Anyhooooo (Purgy)…. I went to Villa Mucha and walked through the shops after having lunch. I was immediately met by the Pucker Factor (you know where you can't wedge a needle in your behind even with use of a sledgehammer). I feel like all eyes know that I shop (wherever the phuck I feel like it) someplace "lower". I gotta tell you though, if those chicks have money, they sure dress funny. One girl had on a skin tight pair of pants, a strange tunic type thing wrapped around her and enough make-up to look like a Saturday afternoon at an Earl Scheibb garage(that made Bobarino giggle). Other "ladies" were wearing things that could have been on the sci-fi channel. Very odd. I kept looking for Spock. There were also lots of androgynous (also sci-fi) piccolo players (you know – light in the loafers, knob-gobblins – whatever you wanna say). No, I'm not politically incorrect because I DO TOO say such things to gay friends. It's ok. I make fun of everyone.

Bobarino was running around merrily picking things up and doing a little Vanna White for us all. I felt like the mommy of a bad 3 year old. If I had told him that, he probably would have had a sexual fantasy about it because he's a pig, so I didn't.

We looked at the Aston Martins on display and our Kuwaiti birthday-girl friend said, "What do I have to do to get one of those? Strip?" I answered, "No. You have to find yourself a lesbian sheikha because the sheikhs are too cheap." Which, in all honesty, is how I feel – speaking from first-hand (ha ha) experience. I'm still driving a GMC. Hey – did you notice that Aston Martin makes a DB8 (that is real close to "deviate" – get it? Do you think he was phuckin with the rich?).

I didn't have the courage to go to the upper floors because the pucker factor was limiting my mobility. I thought I would try it again another day when I looked cuter and when I could bring Slapperella with me for morale support. Babarino wasn't helping things running around caressing LV bags and the like.

Segway.

The Man is pissing me off (everybody pisses me off, but he is really on my last last last nerve), so I'm "shopping" (which is quite different from "hunting" because "shopping" is innocent – really. It is.). Anyhow, so far, I have met a married guy with 8 children who fell in love with me at first sight (I could tell because he had puppy eyes and his palms were all sweaty). He's really very nice (and successful and gorgeous and has extremely large feet), but I don't see it materializing. Then, there was a young'un who invited me to coffee and brought his COUSIN (who was HOT) and then when we were supposed to go out on "our second date" to dinner, half an hour before we were to meet, he sends me an SMS (doesn't even bother to call) asking, "Can we make it another night? I have to go meet some VIPs." What the phuck am I??? Chopped liver? 'Oh, can I have your cousins number?' Then, there was a very polite (too polite if you ask me) guy from the Ministry of Finance – single, but too young. Then there was a married-and-looking-for-Mrs.-2nd-wife guy from the Kuwait Air (and you can say "air" any way you want to – making it more funny) Force.

It is hot and the villagers are restless! I think I hear drums…. Gotta go.

118 Degrees, Sweet Potatoes and Circus Sex

I would love to have something highly intelligent and interesting to say (do you ever, Desert Girl?), but alas it is summer in Kuwait and I don't.

Big news is that Sultan Center at Souq Sharq has BIG American sweet potatoes.

And I hurt my leg during circus sex (yes, it was worth it).

It is a balmy 118 degrees (don't ask me centigrade because I'm 'merican and I refuse to learn metric because it is WRONG and would fly in the face of everything patriotic). Anyhoo, mere sweater weather here until July or August. I actually found myself shivering last night at Palm Palace; ok it was because they had the AC down to sub-zero temperatures (again – imperial system) because everybody, their younger brothers, and their uncles were out watching the stupid World Cup and smoking the last legal drug in Kuwait, sheesha. I have had to pretend that I like soccer because 1) The Man loves it and it is the only way I can ever see him (how pathetic is THAT?) and B) when The Man isn't around and I'm out with my Bluetooth-crazed-fanatic girlfriends, we still have to go places where there are mens and they are all sitting in front of the World Cup. So, we go and ooooh and aaaaah and fain interest when someone scores a goal.

Back in high school, I used to know what the hell "off sides" means, but since that really mean Brazilian diplomat kid kicked me in the shin ON PURPOSE in 10th grade, I stopped playing soccer and lost all interest. The Brazilian guy was a real bastard and 20/20 (American news TV show incase you don't know) had a segment on him for shooting someone in DC at a bar several years later which led the US Government to look into diplomatic immunity laws. He also used to deal cocaine out of the back of his dad's limo on the high school grounds. America – you gotta love democracy.

Bluetooth! My friend, Slapperella, has so many men from Bluetooth that she can't remember who is who when they call, so she has resorted to telling them all the same thing, at the same period in time. She's been a "good girl" so far, but she may slip sometime into a life of debauchery. She's like a little pixie flying here and there spreading merriment through Bluetooth transmission and pictures of her FMPs (do we all know what that means, children, or must I spell it out?)

Where do you find the best Bluetooth places in Kuwait are? Our plan has been to park outside of an election tent one night…

And while we are on the subject of the erections…. Uh… I mean elections…. I was chatting with Kuwaiti Chopper Dude and he reminded me of how proud I am of the Kuwaitis who actually want to DO something to end the corruption in the country. This is the first year I have seen people actually organizing against it – and many of them are younger people who want to initiate the change. I think it will take years, but as long as people are angry/passionate about it, eventually things will change. I haven't heard how people feel about the women who are running. Any different perspective is good: The Kuwaiti government has been unbalanced because you need a different gender's perspective. Women and men think differently. I think that when there are more women in the government, laws will change affecting social issues as well.

I've been going out a lot with Slapperella and The Romanian. They both get along really well for some reason – probably because we have the same interests and a lot of things in common (food and sexy handsome men). I would have thought it was a strange combination (Scottish, Romanian, American), but we have a great friendship. (It's all fine and good until someone loses an eye.)

My sister sent me a note saying that my dad's inheritance money should be coming through this week. I haven't been able to deal with this well. I have had mixed feelings about it and I don't like the whole idea of getting money because someone I love has died. It feels wrong. I am terrible with money anyways. That's not to say that I won't find something to do with it – and I know my dad would have wanted me to – but it just feels bad. Let's just say that if I were Anna Nicole Smith, I would have given up that court case and gone back to the trailer park a long time ago. She'd probably have met a nice tattooed guy by now if she had – instead of guys who want her for her (boobs) money.

Yeah Baybee - I'm a Superstah!

So I am finding that people (real people not just virtual ones) read the trash I write. Isn't that amazing? Wow. I feel so warm and fuzzy and just knowing that they are out there makes me feel special (and not in a short bus way either).

Some of my friends are starting to correlate my name to my blog too which is very scary because now I have to be way more careful.

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Several things have made my week incredibly wonderful. Hearing my friend (let me just call her) "Flygirl" call me this morning and tell me that she had had coffee with someone who recognized my name and said that I was (this is soooooo phucking cool), "a superstar" really topped my list. I'm walking around with my chest out (which is actually a dangerous thing since "the girls" are so large and destructive).

This is Wednesday, so I have to tell you about the beginning part of the week too. I had a meeting with a company that recently held what was supposed to be a French fry (or "freedom fry" for our Republican friends) taste test. Turned out to be a French fry focus group … anyhoo….. being the person I am, I sent them some unique feedback on the event. The reps called and said that they wanted to meet with me (oh crap – look what I did, now they're mad), so I wasn't really looking forward to the meeting. I forgot all about it over the weekend (because I'm blonde and we need to be re-trained at the beginning of every week). Anyways, they walked in on Saturday morning – early – carrying a HUGE bouquet of flowers and with a wrapped box of chocolates. Let me just say that if we were in prison, I'd be their bitch for life. I will do ANYTHING (business-related or of a semi-personal nature) for these guys. Amazing. I keep advising people that they need to send flowers for PR. Even guys love getting flowers. I know – I've done it. They love you forever.

Speaking of loooooooooooove - I've been having Man trouble. I love him. Want to marry him. Why is it necessary to have so much DRAAAAAAAAAMA? Jeez. I'm a simple girl with simple needs; which, believe it or not have nothing to do with money, fame and all that designer bullshit that goes with it. I am happy to receive some attention, some flowers, and some kenafa once in a while. Why can't my amazingly gorgeous (both inside and out) Man understand that? Why must Kuwait be so full of drama? Can't we all just get along (Rodney King for those of you who didn't catch the reference)? The Man disappeared for 2 weeks due to some family crap and only recently returned and I can't really figure him out. So this week he came back and I guess that was a good thing. Bobarino already bought duct tape, hefty garbage bags, and a chain saw and we had picked out the plot for the hole in the desert…. But it really wasn't necessary after all. (Just kidding big bad internet police.) I just want to know when I turned into one of those whiny girls who talks about her boyfriend all the time? I MAKE FUN of those girls! Waaaa waaaaa waaaaaaa…. But I loooooove him (has to be said with a Southern accent).

I'm So Not-Normal

I have all kinds of news – of various and sundry importance to the world – but I just haven't felt like posting since I got back. I've had a lot of coffee today; and I've had a very strange start to my week, so perhaps now is the time.

If it appears as though I am not depressed anymore about my dad – I am. I am just schizophrenic and all my personalities deal with emotions in different ways. My dominant personality seems to be covering everything up with humor. (What kind of "tears of a clown" bullshit is that?)

People are stupid. Since I've been back – several "friends" have called to invite me to parties. What kind of *%$#@'s do that? I don’t even go to parties and haven't for a long time. After the death of a close relative, you really reassess your friendships. I've made some amazing new friendships and I have let some old ones go. (Muslimartist, if you read this – you said so much in your e-mail and thank you so much for your kindness and support.) I've had a lot of promises of friendship, but not many people have actually been there to see me through it. It has been very strange.

I had to re-read some of my posts to bring everybody (myself) up to speed on what has happened lately.

I Tink I Taw A Fuckwit – Part Trois (or qatre – I can't remember exactly): I was having breakfast with Bobarino and The Man at Johnny Rockets at Marina Crescent. I had already ran into 3 other KGB fuckwits in a 500 meter radius when I heard a booming, "Hello (Desertgirl)". There it was. . . (music from Jaws). . . Fuckwit. He was in the middle of an entire table of relative fuckwits (I shouldn't say that- I'm sure they're nice. Naw – forget it.) I said, "Oh, you have your whole family with you." Now, what I meant by that (but he'll never get my meaning because he's too fuckwitted) was, 'So…… NOW you have the balls to actually speak to me because you have your family around you and I can't say anything rude, spiteful or of-truth.' So, I put on my best fake smile and shook my ass outa there. His wife stared at The Man throughout our entire meal and he continually brought it to my attention. Jeez – let me and the father of my future offspring eat our pancakes in peace!

And speaking of fuckwits – they're just everywhere, aren't they??? There is a particular lawyer that I know (and I know many) who did ONE thing for me in 1993. Since then, he has been asking me favors on a regular basis. He shows up out of nowhere asking me for business assistance and advice. He starts off all nice and everything and then – BAM! He's Rude, Esq. Like this past week, for example: He shows up at my office with another lawyer in tow – without an appointment. Turns out they are "partnering" for some work (this is literally about the 10th "partner" I've met in as many years). The Partner is looking for some Westerners to join as staff. He is looking for 2 candidates and asks my assistance. He also wants a newspaper ad designed to recruit these people. Fine. I start making inquiries and design an ad (which he never bothers to acknowledge receipt of). I tell him that a minimum salary for Westerners specifically with legal experience will be high and that he should create as many incentives and benefits as possible to outweigh some of the cost of salary. Fine. We're all on the same page. So, I arrange an interview for a very professional, nice woman I know who has just sold 1 car in the family and her husband is using another. I explain it to him that he may need to discuss a transportation allowance. He boisterously tells me, "No! No! No! Find someone else! We don't want someone without transportation!" Um…. Hel-LOOOOO! I don't work for you, buttweed! And so much for flexibility, eh? I promptly ended the call and then invoiced him. Phuck that. During the entire time I have known him, he hasn't so much as sent me flowers for all the things I've done for him. I have decided to get nasty with people like this. The minute you send them an invoice, the true colors come out.

Another funked up thing that happened to me this week (and it's only Monday!): Coming into the free trade zone yesterday, a car in the right lane tried to cut into my lane. I heard and felt impact. He smoked his tires from braking. I moved into the right lane to assess the damage. I expected him to do the same, but noooooooooo! Bitchboy pushed the gas and peeled away. I took off after him (no way was I going to pay for hit-and-run damage, thank you). For the next 15 minutes, we drove around and around the free trade zone (only one way in and one way out). Apparently, he didn't want to stop and he didn't want me to know where he works. Bobarino had an appointment in the zone, so I asked him to come up behind us and we could block Bitchboy in. I kept tailing him. After 15 minutes, he parked and I blocked him in. Bobarino arrived just as Bitchboy parked his car. He's lucky he didn't get a swift ass-kicking, but there was no damage to my car. When we asked him why he didn't just pull over, he said, "I didn't want any trouble." What tha fuuuuuuuuu??? I had called 777, but with no damage to the cars, it just wasn't worth it. Maybe we'll go back and kick his ass another day when he least expects it. Tee hee (just kidding. really). He is young and stupid and doesn't know that I am already figuring out who he is and who he works for because I know people all over that building.

Oh! Karma is a wonderful thing. I ran into (yet another) fuckwit this week. He was so stupid that he didn't even remember who I was. 6 years ago, I interviewed with him. He made me a cheap offer which I declined. He proceeded to call me to invite me for "drinks in his apartment." Ick, yuk, and no way. I never called him again. Flash to 4 years later: I'm at another company for an interview (I fish a lot to see what the market is like. It is also a great way to make new contacts and find out about local companies and their management styles). Anyhoo, due to my aforementioned rejection of him, he grilled me for almost 2 hours really aggressively hammering me with questions throughout the interview. There were 2 other people present and they told him that he was "mean". Phuckim. (He was fired from that job soon after for always coming to work drunk – LOOOOOOOSER!) So, I walk into my office 2 days ago, and BAM – there he is. He has just been appointed "Head of Business Development" for a company with extreeeeeeemely lax hiring procedures. He is going to be working downstairs from us. I am making a mental plan to never be nice to him or to help him in any way.

On the positive side of my world, they delivered my new mattress on Thursday. I had been putting off buying one (because I'm lazy), but it was really time. I bought a top-of-the-line Ikea mattress 4 years ago (they are only built to last a few years) and the springs were poking me in uncomfortable places at inappropriate times, so it was time for a change. I can't believe how expensive mattresses are. Ouchies. I went to American Mattress (Dude, why do you call it that when the majority of the mattresses there are made in UAE?), several places in Farwaniya, Al Baghli, Al Jeraiwi (sp?) and the Bed Shop. American Mattress was the most expensive and the pushiest. Even the salesman told me that he didn't like the stores' policy of making you give your phone number so the salesmen (who is forced to do this) calls you after 3 days for "follow-up" (pushing you into buying their mattress). The first mattress/box that they showed me was 675 kd. I almost peed myself. They also wouldn't just sell the mattress – you had to buy the set (I would have thrown away the box anyways because my bed would be too high). Same thing applied at the Bed Shop, but the price was better. Their mattresses are predominantly made in the UAE also. What is so great about that? They also had those latex sponge toppers for 90kd – which I almost bought before I got on the internet and ordered a cheaper one (which turned out to be way lower quality). The entire latex mattress goes for about 700 kd there. I didn't like anything I saw in Farwaniya or Jeraiwi, but I found a really really really nice mattress at Al-Bagli (I highly recommend them – great service, products, and they speak English). It is a "Majestic" model - 18" (35cm) high and is a double pillow top (both sides, so you can flip it), has springs encased by foam and it has a 5 (or maybe 10?) year warranty. Cost was 148 kd. Made in Kuwait – to order with my selection of fabric! Awesome. It took 3 guys to carry it to my apartment. It is so high that Desertdawg has a hard time hopping up on it. She slides off the side with her little arms in the air and a funny look on her face. I laugh.

While testing out the mattresses, I told The Man that I would pay him money if he would go into the stores with me in qatara and aghal and roll around on the mattresses to test them. I had my video camera on stand-by. He wouldn't do it. I tried.

After 10 years in my apartment, I had a black shade installed in my bedroom this weekend. Now, I have a kickin AC unit for a totally dark room with a new mattress; Ideal for a depressed schizophrenic who constantly runs into fuckwits when venturing outside.

In other news: Has anyone heard about the Kuwaiti woman who recently infected over 100 men with AIDS – in Kuwait? Who is she? Do I know her? I haven't seen anything about that in the English press. Also, what is the deal with the Jassim Boodai video? Someone I know has me searching the internet for hours the other night looking for it. Have I been under a rock lately or what? What's going on people?

I Miss You, Daddy.

My father used to take my sister and I to the beach when we were little kids. For some reason, when I found out that he had passed away 2 weeks ago on April 2nd, I remembered how his hand felt in mine while we walked down the beach together. It must have been a really long time ago because I can't remember going to the beach with him anytime in recent history, but there it is: perhaps it is what he wanted me to remember of him - a big strong guy taking care of me - rather than the little old man he had become at the end of his life.

During the past few years, I didn't feel like Dad was Dad. He used to be such a happy, active man. Recently, it was as if he was ready to go. He was tired all the time and not very happy with life. My sister did a great job making him as comfortable as possible and I am so glad that she had a chance to be with him and get to know him again. They were buddies. I felt so bad for her because they were so close and his passing has hurt her deeply - more, I believe, than she is allowing anyone to see.

She and my brother-in-law found him in his little home in Virginia. He went peacefully after 81 years, but it is still a shock to all of us. Maybe part of you thinks that your parents will always be there. I can't believe he is gone.

I can't remember most of the trip from here to Virginia. I cried most of the way and the rest of the time, I was in some kind of a trance.

The most difficult part of the 2 weeks I was there was cleaning out his home. It felt so disrepsectful; like a huge invasion of privacy. 81 years of a person's life amounts to an accumulation of stuff; stuff that no one else can value; stuff that we don't know the origins of. I took his dad-hat, his glasses, and one of his favorite sweaters (which is probably about 30 years old since he took such amazing care of his clothes) with me. I also took a really ugly blue glass decanter in the shape of an eagle that my sister and I had bought him many years ago as a birthday present. It meant something to him; he moved it through several different households. It now means something to me.

I never knew how proud he was of me. He kept all my cards and all the various pieces of work that I sent him over the years.

My sisters and I got to say goodbye to him. They wheeled him up in a gurney at the funeral home. I told him how sorry I was for not calling him enough. We thanked him for loving us all.

His memorial service was beautiful. It was grave-side at the small Southern cemetery where most of my dad's side of the family is buried. My cousin played "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes. Long before his death, I cried whenever I heard the song played on the pipes. I completely lost it during his service.

I was strong around my sisters. When I saw that they were being strong (probably for me), I was strong for them. It wasn't until I got back here that things have really hit me. Grief has been coming in waves. Sometimes, just when you feel like you are going to be okay for a while, you start crying again. Maybe a song or a picture will remind you. I'm just wondering if I will be the same me when time passes. I don't know how a person could be. Some of my very close friends have been changed dramatically by the loss of a parent. They are not the same people. I know I feel different.

We chose this poem for his prayer card.

I'm Free

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free
I'm following the path God laid for me.
I took His hand when I heard him call;
I turned my back and left it all.
I could not stay another day,
To laugh, to love, to work or play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way;
I found that place at the close of day.
If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared a laugh, a kiss;
Ah yes, these things, I too will miss.
Be not burdened with times of sorrow
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life's been full, I savored much;
Good friends, good times, a loved ones touch.
Perhaps my time seems all to brief;
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free.


I have gone to call him several times and have to stop myself. Why can't I just hear his voice one more time? I miss him terribly.

And there are many more to come…

The cards are starting to fall. Gotta love justice. For years, just about everybody in the contracting business (for the US Military) working in Kuwait has been either giving or receiving kickbacks; gifts, priviledges, etc. Now, there are all kinds of US Government auditing agencies in Kuwait to clean up the mess of the past 5 years (at US taxpayer expense). The Army Audit Agency (AAA), Defense Contract Audit Agency (DCAA), General Accounting Office (GAO), and Department of Army Inspector General (DAIG) are all in Kuwait auditing both the military and private contractors providing services under military contracts. You go, boyz and girlz! Clean em up! I hope they go after a particular 800 pound gorilla to the north of the city.

Check out these articles. There will be a lot more to follow: http://www.qctimes.net/articles/2006/03/24/news/local/doc44239587570ac687479388.txt and http://english.aljazeera.net/NR/exeres/2A551058-3568-4809-9134-9C78934B5E2B.htm. I interviewed with Mr. Khan in 2002. Arrogant little phuck.

What is happening is that these US agencies are aware of the individuals who have been paying people off; cases are being built in conjunction with the Kuwaiti (and other) government; when the individuals go to the US, they are picked up off the planes and taken to court. It is easier for the US to do it that way than to actually arrest people in the region. In other words, a short trip to the US for vacation can turn into a long, extended trip with a hairy guy making you his prison bitch.

All this corruption is disgusting. Seemingly, the only way for contractors to win here is to pay people off. If you are honest, you have been left in the dust. I have never condoned illegal practices nor have I had anything to do with it; however, I know many people here who have. Maybe the audits/arrests/imprisonments will make some changes.

One of my Kuwaiti friends came to me in 2003 and said, "I want to open a transport (trucking) company. What do you think?" My response, "Do you have a chalet, some hookers and some booze?" He (a somewhat religious guy) was shocked. I told him to be ready for reality.

Just yesterday, I was approached by a Kuwaiti friend who wanted me to "help him" get contracts with the military. He said, "Don't worry, we will give them whatever money they want for their commission." I told him I didn't even want to discuss it and that I would have no part of anything illegal. This mentality still prevails!

The problem is that most local companies (big and small) don't know how to deal with the military (the legitimate way); can't write the proposals or even fill in the forms. Many can't navigate the websites to find out what bids are out there. If you are having trouble, hire me. J amerab@gmail.com. Nothing illegal here.

What I personally have found from many of these companies is that they want you to provide a service, but then make you an offer to become a "partner". That translates to: you do all the work and we kick you out when you're done (also known as "partner" = phuck you.) Aint gonna happen. Unless your name is on a sign (and partership contract), you aren't a partner. We get paid a fee for a service. Very simple.