Ostara

Ostara: "A time of fertility and sacred balance between night and day... renewal. Flowers, eggs, and rabbits (all things that I love) are symbols of Ostara. It is a time of new beginnings and possibilities. Ostara is a time of deep gratitude. It is a time of celebration, as the light tips the balance and overtakes the night..."

I usually love this time of year. Everybody knows I love Spring.

And perhaps what I have encountered recently is all part of Spring and the cycle of life; of "light" revealing what was lurking in the darkness: When people aren’t who you thought they were. When words you believed in with pieces of your soul turn into well-calculated lies. When good things turn bad; and bad things turn around in ways that you never would have imagined could be so good (often seeming almost heavenly in warmth and kindness). When what you spent so long wishing for, hoping for and praying for becomes reality – but in all the wrong ways and for all the wrong reasons; and is suddenly so WRONG. Everything feels strange right now.

And Nothing I believed about a very large part of my life was reality.

I have discovered things that question my judgment and leave me confused. I wonder how I could genuinely believe that a person was good, only to find that I was entirely wrong. I thought I was much more perceptive.

So, in order to combat evil, I have been exceptionally nice to people this past week. I am trying to do the right thing and not to hurt anyone. I’ve been working harder trying to fix some problems at work and trying to help people who need me. I am thanking God often for what I have (including some wonderful people and several recently-sent angels) and what He has shown me. I'm weeding out people who aren't really my friends and trying to work harder at communicating with those who are. What else can you do?

Slapperella and the Romanian are always by my side; partners in crime and everything else. They are both depressed and weery from the drama: If something happens to one, it happens to all. It kind of goes without saying. Desert Dawg has been very supportive. She sleeps next to me and tries to protect me from all the bad things in my head. She instinctively seems to know when I’m about to cry and puts her little dog hands on my face. I honestly don’t know what I would do without her. Late night when everybody else goes away, she is always within reach.

I guess sometimes you just have to see what is going to happen next and let the tide take you. There just seems to be a whole lot of it all at once. Spring is the time for new beginnings and changes. I know who I am. I believe it must be part of a plan.

Little Messages from Dad

With the anniversary of my dad’s death quickly approaching on March 29th, I am thinking about him a lot. I am paying more attention to little signs to see if he is sending me any messages or to let me know that he is with me. I think so.

Some of the signs are less likely to be signs – like just thinking about him when I had to use my air pump that he gave me before I came to Kuwait “just incase your tires need filling”. That little air compressor was probably the best thing I brought with me from the States. I’ve used it often throughout the years. Like this morning when the tire was flat and none of the little “puncture stores” in my neighborhood were open.

This morning in the shower, I found myself singing a song that my dad liked. I hadn’t thought about that song for a long time and yet it was stuck in my head. I’ve often thought of that time right between asleep and awake as a time when you could more clearly receive messages.

This afternoon, I had a meeting this morning with a man who turned out to look very similar to my father. He even wore the same 70’s fashion of glasses frames that my dad did. It kind of freaked me out and I was finding it hard to look at the man. He probably thought that I am mental or had something wrong with my eyes.

I told my sister that I would move back to Virginia in March. I had it all figured out right after The Man and I parted ways, but even before that – I had been thinking about it when my Dad died and The Man wasn’t behaving as well as he could have/should have. I should probably go. It is harder all the time even to think about it. I know my dad always wanted me there and not here.

Warm and Fuzzy Emirati

In 1998, I had to go to Abu Dhabi on some bidness and one of the guys at the company I was visiting was incredibly kind and hospitable. I hadn’t met him before, but we corresponded via phone calls and e-mails and when we finally met - it was as if we had known each other for forever (isn’t it cool how that happens sometimes?). Abu Dhabi Dude is originally Saudi, but has close family in Kuwait. His company also has a branch here, so he has the potential to be around. When I got to AD and met him, I had to scrape my jaw off the floor – he was drop-dead gorgeous, tall (I’m talking REALLY tall – like 6’7”).

There was only one problem: He had just gotten married and he and his beautiful princess-looking-&-very-nice-wife were totally in love. They took me out to dinner, showed me around town and were just two very dear new friends. I asked him if he had any single brothers and moved on.

Flash to present day: I was supposed to go back to AD on business as I do every now and then and I decided to give the guy a call. I didn’t expect him to work for the same company. I didn’t expect him to have the same number. I did expect that he and Mrs. Abu Dhabi Dude were still married, had several children by now and would still be as happily in love. I was wrong on all counts.

When I initially got in touch with him, I sent him an SMS asking if he remembered me and saying that I would be in AD that night. He SMSed me back that he would be happy to see me, but he was still in Kuwait and would be leaving in a few hours. I thought that we were probably booked on the same flight (at 10). I called him just after my business trip was cancelled (that was weird). He said that he had missed his flight the night before and was leaving on a flight that was leaving at 8, but had a few hours and would I like to meet him and his uncle for coffee. How ironic. Could it be fate or kismet – or just the Universe phuckin with me somehow? If my trip hadn’t been cancelled, I would have missed seeing him (ok, but maybe I would have met up with him in AD – dunno).

So, I drove home and put on my Lucky VS Push Up Bra and some more war paint and went to meet them. He was still gorgeous, and it was pretty obvious that he thought the same of me. We had a really nice conversation with his uncle who is some big sheikh muckity-muck. It was like I knew him for forever too – and get this – I knew his brother in Washington way-back-when. I remember his brother because he was incredibly funny and made me giggle. It is funny how many people I knew in Washington that I never see here in Kuwait.

I drove AD Dude to the airport: a trip that was waaaay too short. He held my hand most of the way. We made plans to get together in a neutral country (happy sigh) later. His uncle invited me to Iraq, but I think I'll pass on that one.

I only saw him for a few hours, but I feel totally recharged today. Isn’t it weird that something like that can just happen and all of a sudden – you are transformed by happiness shining into your crappy week (month, in this case)?

National/Liberation Days Post Saddam: WTF Kuwait?!

I can’t believe how things have changed – for the worse – during the National and Liberation Day holidays. I don’t understand how it could have gone from families celebrating national freedom and patriotism (especially THIS year as it is the FIRST year with Saddam gone) to a carnival of teenaged boys terrorizing the streets. It is no longer a national holiday, but a national disgrace.

This was my last holiday on the Gulf Road. We went out on 2 separate occasions and only for an hour each time. That was enough. There were just too many acts of aggression and downright meanness. Senseless acts of meanness. There was no fun. Gangs of roaming young men (lets just call them “hoodlums” because that’s what they were) ran up to cars, pulling on door handles trying to get in (not just ours - but families in other cars). Most of the people seemed shocked and "on alert", and didn’t appear to be having fun. Our own car was rocked by a group of about 10 hoodlums trying to get in. We didn’t have foam. We didn’t even make eye contact. They kicked the doors, they scratched the paint, they shouted obscenities. The police had no way of controlling the crowds; most looked on with disgusted expressions; many of the older guys shaking their heads in disappointment.

These young guys obviously have not been taught right from wrong by their parents (or anyone else). Perhaps they don’t know their own history; how happy their parents, grandparents, and relatives were when Kuwait was finally free in 1991. Perhaps these boys were traumatized by the atrocities that occurred during the months of the occupation and are now dealing with the after-affects. Whatever it was, they were out these past few nights for the wrong reasons.

I have heard that hair removal foam was used in place of the “fun” foam. I further heard that both urine and bleach were used (separately) in the super soaker water guns (as such were confiscated by police). It has gone from fun to malicious criminal intent.

The Kuwait Times reported an incident where a teenage boy opened the rear door of a 4x4 and molested a young girl while her father was at the wheel. The outraged father jumped out of his car and beat the boy in the street. What would you do if in the same situation? I wouldn’t give it a second thought; the kid would be hamburger.

I noticed that as soon as the sun went down, all the women on the streets went home. The cars were all full of families of mostly boys. I couldn’t blame them one bit. It wasn’t safe.

What defense do the police have against these gangs? Rubber bullets, tear gas, water hoses? There has got to be better crowd control than what went on the past few days. If the police can disburse a crowd of demonstrators with truck-mounted water cannons (lets say 3rd-world, hungry workers who haven’t been paid their salaries in six months) then they certainly can stop a bunch of hyped up malicious teenagers committing crimes during patriotic events. Regardless of the nationality, these boys are terrorizing people and it is getting worse.

The authorities should just ban the sale of (and use of) foam all together. It just isn’t worth it. How many people were actually hospitalized? There are no statistics – as usual. This year, it was urine, bleach, and hair removal foam; what will it be next year? Knives?

Really, what a shame.

Time Counts

I have been reminded lately to do nice things for people. I really try always to help if someone asks me. As an ENFJ ("giver") personality, I'm kinda prone towards this behavior.

I was reminded of my very favorite poem and what to do with it:

"Each minute, day and year is given to us once only. Then it is gone forever. God gives you and everyone but one appearance on the stage of life. Reflect then on these lines by Etienne de Grellet:

“I shall pass through this life but once.
Any good, therefore, that I can do
Or any kindness I can show to any fellow creature,
Let me do it now.
Let me not defer or neglect it.
For I shall not pass this way again.”

I've been very content lately and I'm so grateful.

Bye Bye Pretty Twin-Turbo Stealth

I am uprooted. I sold my Stealth this morning I feel so weirdly depressed. It has been with me for 8 years. 8 years of fun: of donuts in the desert; of boys chasing us; of us out-driving boys to the point where they gave up after endless laps around roundabouts and mall parking lots; of maniacal driving on the way to/from chalets, camps and farms; of getting stuck in sand and looking pitiful until help arrived; of little kids saying how pretty she was; 8 years of rebellious anti-traditional female behavior in a fast, flashy car. 8 years of refusing to sell her to anyone. 7 years of arguing with my father on why I should keep her. 8 years of up-shifting, down-shifting, and replacements of tires. 8 years of looking for parts in Amghara and praying for just one more original wheel rim or part. … Now, she’s gone.

People like my sister think I’m strange for attaching emotions to material things. For some, it is difficult not to. That car was with me for most of my life spent in Kuwait. I bought her from a good friend who took meticulous care. She was my constant – always there, always dependable, always admired by others. Through good times and bad. Through sick and through sin.

The Kuwaiti brothers who bought her promised to stop by and let me visit with her; telling me how they plan for modifications. One of the brothers is a mechanical engineer; another is an auto mechanic. They have had and have loved other Stealths. She’ll have a good home. She won’t go to scrap or to someone who will cannibalize her for parts. I just feel totally deflated. I love that car, but after so long, the upkeep was just too much. I have much less time than I used to; life has become too complicated and I had neglected her.

I quickly transferred the money back to the States, so I wouldn’t know it was here and have to compare the price to a life of a car (or a lifestyle in this case). Ok, let me be honest - or so as not to buy more shoes!

Not without my bidet

I am going to look for a new car tonight. My lease is up on my Envoy and I’m selling the Babemobile. I didn’t want to take out a 2 year lease on a car because every year, I think I am going to move back to the States (ha ha, as if). I still feel that way.

Although, I think I would miss things like my bidet too much. Who would have thunk it? Let’s be practical, shall we? I’ve been here ten years; I’ve assimilated, integrated, “crossed-over” if you will. I love my bidet. I love the water hoses. I just don’t get that fresh, clean feeling without them. It is just too difficult in the States (without going into details). Oh yeah – there are other things that I would miss too: my friends, the men, the sea, the men, the machboos, the men, little or no utility payments, cheap gas, men, the desert, camels, men, being a blonde in an Islamic country, my friends, men.

I don’t know how I am going to sell my sports car. I won’t have a manual transmission gear stick to feel like I am empowered. I won’t be able to race little boys (in the same fashion as they look at the car with envy – aka “hot eyes”). I’ve got a 325i in the US. I know what it is capable of. I can easily take any little beemer boy driving my Stealth. I think that it is the last twin turbo in the country right now; which is why it scares the bejezuz out of me to drive it with no parts available and a bulls-eye painted on it (invisible -- but painted by destructive jinnis). Anyhooo (heavy sigh), the time has come to part ways.

Frolicking in the dust

Yesterday, I went to Azayez (Sheikh Ali’s farm) in Abdali. The weather on the way up was gorgeous, but on the way home, there was so much dust that it looked like snow. OMG – I have never driven in dust so bad (at 180kph); It was freakish. I broke my Salmiya to Abdali record: 45 minutes. Anyhoo, we had a great day eating steak and shrimp and lobster and basically frolicking. I got a sunburn (ouchies), but it was worth it. There was a little political discussion going on over lunch, and so I ran away to play with deers (I don’t care if “deers” is grammatically wrong. I like it and you can’t argue with a sick mind.). Anyhoo, it was a Friday and I don’t do politics on Fridays (the discussion was not in favor of what I would like to see achieved, so it just served to piss me off). I wanted to play with camels, but the dust was kindof bad out there.

I went to see Fishgirl and Bobarino in the hospital last night with Bunny (about half an hour after driving back from Abdali). He hadn’t visited her and felt bad about it, so we went while she is still there recuperating from her Valentine’s Day knee surgery. (Some men give flowers – Bobarino gives knee surgery.) I went with Bunny to Buffalos to get hubungous hamburgers and wings (yes, after all the food at Azayez! Look, once your stomach is stretched, you might as well forget it because you are going to be hungry for the rest of the day. I’m back on my “diet” today.)

Hopefully, Bunny is going to sell my car for me. He knows it inside and out and loves it like I do, but alas, the time has come to (seriously this time) part ways with it. I’ve got 2 buyers who think that I’m a blonde pushover (am not, Purgy!) and that they can bargain the price down (as if). I’m going to let Bunny take over from here. I think one guy will get it within the next few days – a young Kuwaiti guy who can actually afford the upkeep (rather than the Honda Civic-driving young potential buyer from Shaam who was worried about the price of tires and wants to buy it “just to race”. Racing costs money; especially with the modifications that need to be done to my car.). My motto: If you can’t afford it, don’t buy it. I can say with a certain degree of honesty that that motto can hold true in several aspects of my life; not just my car.

It was a nice weekend, but kind of strange at the same time. Not at all what I expected.

Wake up and smell the chapatti

Here’s what women hate: being called or SMSed at 8:00 pm on Valentine’s evening by a guy who is supposed to care about you to ask, “Whatcha doin?” That is just plain phucked up. If dude hasn’t noticed the red hearts, the teddy bears, the bagazillion florist shops with flowers lined up and down the street. . . something is just WRONG. Here is my question to dude: What do you THINK I’m doing???? Obviously, this is someone who just doesn’t give a rats-furry-ass about me (and most likely does about someone else), but still…. How could it be possible to be that incredibly thoughtless? And yet, oddly, it seemed to rattle his cage that I was out somewhere. Everybody I know makes plans weeks in advance on Valentine's Day (even if they plan to stay home). The whole country was outside last night at 8:00!!! Couples were everywhere. Love was in the air. They call it the “day of love” not the “day of bullshit”. In the US, it is as important as senior prom. Like New Year's Eve: You just don’t call up that night sayin, “Whatcha doin?” Noooooooooooooooooooooo.

And just when I thought he had redeemed himself last week. My bad.

I sent flowers to my girlfriends yesterday (and my mom) who I knew would probably not get flowers from other people (MEN) – and not just the regular ones either: the big, heart-shaped over-the-top kind (the kind I would like to get). I got all the women in my office candy. (I have found that is really a great way to get the office bitches to do things for you all year long.) Then, the stupid men in my office started asking, “Where’s mine.” At which point I ask, “Inta sej Kuwaiti?”

Bunny took The Romanian and I to dinner (oh my – plans in advance!) at Sakura which (Purgy this is for you) was the worst dining experience I have ever had anywhere. It looked like a goat rodeo: waiters and waitresses running all over the place – and yelling at each other; customers complaining (some very loudly) because they weren’t getting their food or their checks. We were there for 2 ½ hours - and I have wastah there. All of this – and they charged a set menu holiday price of 16 kd per person. Bunny was so cool about all of it. He didn’t go Bedouin on anyone. He was in a great mood the entire time. The Romanian hadn’t seen him in a long time and we had a lot of catching up to do. I’ve missed Bunny. We had a very romantic dinner three-some going on which several men there seemed to envy tremendously. tee hee.

When I got home from work yesterday, someone had left a single red rose on my doorstep. I knew it had to be from my friend, Jamal. He never fails to remember Valentine’s day by leaving something small (and THOUGHTFUL) for me. We have been friends for forever and ever and ever. I hardly ever see him – maybe once every year or something – but he is one of those people who is always there like an angel. There are never any expectations – just little acts of kindness. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.

I have a very busy weekend – lots of invitations – and I’m already anticipating the chapatti and eggs on my way home from the camp in Julai’a at 5:30 am tomorrow (only to go to another camp in Abdali at 11:30 am). I love this time of year. There is so much to do.

Happy Valentine's Day - Really

First of all, HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY to everybody. Share the love.

Next... this is going to be sad. And romantic. And sad.

It had been a few years since we had talked. The last time I saw him, he was off to find out about post-graduate studies in Texas. I moved to Kuwait. He was always someplace I wasn’t.

I went to Dubai for a training course. It was February 13th when I arrived at the hotel. I finally fell asleep after a late flight and difficult travel. I planned to call him the next day; Valentine’s Day wishes were my excuse for calling him after so long.

That night I dreamt he was next to me. I could see his face vividly in front of me. I could smell his cologne. He took my hand and told me that the days he spent with me were the happiest of his life.

I woke up feeling strange and I called his mobile number in the afternoon. It was disconnected. I tried his private line at home. It too was disconnected. I gave in and called his father’s business. His uncle answered the phone and told me that Shamlan was dead of a “heart attack”. He was 36.

It couldn’t be. I thought they were lying to me. I thought it was some kind of a dark trick. I called our mutual friends from years ago. It hadn’t been a heart attack, but something more brutal and questionable.

Then I remembered the dream. He had given me the best Valentine’s gift on the worst Valentine’s Day of my life: He was the happiest when he had been with me.

Snuggle Bunny, Where Are You?

I haven’t been sleeping well. I don’t know what is wrong with me (lacko’nookie) but I wake up constantly (lacko’nookie) and I’m having weird dreams (lacko’nookie) all night long. I’m also kind of feverish (lacko’nookie) and when I wake up, my hair looks like I actually got some nookie – all witchy and scary looking. And yet, sadly, I have nothing to be happy about looking that way. Sigh.

Speaking of scary, there is a certain man that I know who is scared silly of me. I know the irrational paranoid-schizophrenic delusions his mind has created to justify it all, yet still – why the antics? BOO! One of my Kuwaiti girlfriends told me that I make men nervous because I have a strong personality (‘Say my NAME, bitch!’). If they only knew. Anyhoo, this man won’t come within a mile of me now and I believe it is because he is afraid of upsetting the she-devil. He will wish I was there after whatever the Bedu psychic foretold will happen in June of 2008.

Last night was Bobarino’s birthday bash at Sakura (the home of the BEST sushi in Kuwait). I was really hungry and yet I didn’t feel well. We had a good time even though there were no male strippers or alcohol. Bummer.

Speaking of strippers… I can’t believe Anna Nicole is gone! I loved her. Ok, so she was a train wreck, but she was such a slice of Americana. What a tragedy. Did you see the way her boobs stuck up when they wheeled her into the morgue on the gurney? Do you think they had a special celebrity red chenille blanket to drape famous-people bodies in? Anyways, I seriously feel a loss because I loved to find out what was happening in her life. I feel remorseful whenever another blonde with big boobs passes away (unless they live in Kuwait and then I’m not so remorseful because there are just too many of them here now).

VALENTINE’S DAY!!! I LOVE Valentine’s Day. Next to my birthday, it is my very favorite holiday. I love all things Valentine. Love it, love it, love it. I used to get nice, sentimental gifts on Valentine’s day. I suppose those days are gone. (Heavy sigh, pain in my heart.) Ree-ru (ancient history fiancé) gave me a very cool bunny holding a heart one year with ears that moved back and forth and a nose that wiggled. I love bunnies. I think that was the most amazing, thoughtful thing; and so cheap and simple. See, that’s just it – big things are nice to receive, but simple thoughtful things stay in your heart/mind. It wasn’t the jewelry, the cars, the trips, the money… it was that damn bunny that I still have in my sister’s basement that I remember the most.

Loff is in the Air

How many times can a girl possibly hear, “But I loff you”. (“Loff” is the Bedouin word for “love”. In fact, most words with a “v” can be pronounced “f” and it will sound Beduonics). Anyhoo, this week, it was dude who wants a loff relationship, but “I can only see you on Friday evenings – and early – because the rest of the week, I have to work two shifts and on the weekends I have the diwaniya and my kids.” So, he’d better have a lot of money and a big willy, right? Uh, I know the negative response on part 1 of our question and part 2 is only a hypothesis, but I am 99.9999% sure. Friday evenings… huh… I don’t think so. Maybe if I’m really really bored and there is a big, fat, juicy steak involved (interpret that any way you like).

This weekend was totally boring. I slept through most of it and it wasn’t even a good alcohol-induced slumber either. The weather was nice. I went out yesterday with The Romanian and Desert Dog for a sandwich next to the sea (Fresh Mango near Souq Sharq will allow me to sit in peace with Desert Dog).

I decided to send some dirty SMSs to a “friend” who has been sniffing around (bow wow wow) – not for a relationshit or even a friendshit, but just for sex. I wasn’t serious, but I just wanted to be a beeotch and get him all hot and bothered and leave him hanging. Apparently, it worked. I slept really comfortably; I doubt seriously that he did. I know – it was mean, but I couldn’t help it. I needed a little payback. I mean, guys always want to you to talk all sexy and dirty and then when they get it, they can’t go to sleep. Why IS that???? (Yes, my halo is blinding me!)

Why is it that men in this country (everywhere?) spend 98% of their time trying to get IN THERE and no one has figured out that the shortest distance from point A to point B is a straight line? I mean, just be honest, dumbass p*&sy hunters! Say it like it is. Why all the irrational BS lines that we can see right through? I mean, unless you are a teenage girl, chances are that most women have HEARD all the lines (I know I have) and our ears are highly sensitive bullshit detectors: we know it, we interpret it, we kick it out. (Maybe that’s why all the retards in their 40’s marry young girls.) Now, if a guy is honest, at least he will stand a better chance. If he’s got nothing to offer, he’s obviously not going to get any PERIOD, but at least if he’s honest, that is something.

The Man (oh love of my life, the guy that I will love through eternity… etc, etc – read on because he deserves nice sentiment right now.) sent me pink roses this week. Damn if he didn’t full-out surprise me. He knew I felt down one night this week and he just did it to be nice. He didn’t bring them up to me – he sent them. So, that guy isn’t really dead at all; he is somewhere in there. Of course, he got sick right after with the flu because THE WICKED WITCH put some kind of evil spell on him and every time he does something kind to me, she gets him. One day, a house will fall on her and then Dorothy will get her ruby red slippers…. Anyhoo… I digress. It was a nice thing for him to do and I needed it that night because a friend hurt my feelings.

Maturing and Manuring

As I mature
(no, this isn’t original stuff – someone sent it to me)

I’ve learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is stalk them and hope that they panic and give in.

I’ve learned that no matter how much I care, some people are just assholes.

I’ve learned that it takes years to build up trust, an it only takes suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.

I’ve learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes. After that, you’d better have a big willy or huge boobs.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t compare yourself to others – they are more screwed up than you think.

I’ve learned that you can keep vomiting long after you think you’re finished.

I’ve learned that we are responsible for what we do, unless we are celebrities.

I’ve learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be a lot of money to take its place!

I’ve learned that 99% of the time when something isn’t working in your house, one of your kids did it.

I’ve learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon and all the less important ones just never go away.



I did something really mean to someone the other day and I am afraid that my karma is going to get me. I meant to do something good, but it turned into something evil (I was provoked) and now I feel bad. I wish I could find the person (ok the headless body) and apologize, but alas – it is too late. I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have made the remark that I did. (No The Man – I’m not talking about you, but I am kind of sorry I was so mean to you too. Kind of. Well, a little. Bygones.)

They are off-loading frickin COWS today in front of my office. Yes, I work in a damn jakhoor (not, The Man – that DOES remind me of you – tee hee! Yaaaaaaaa Jakhoorness!). Anyways, you guessed it… my office smells like bullshit. Not only do I have to wade through virtual bullshit every day, but then I come in and it actually SMELLS like it sounds!


I had a very nice dinner last night with the Romanian and some friends. They started talking about business and could I help them yada yada. People get so excited over talking about business. Not me. I want to eat and enjoy my time. The Romanian dropped one word on them: muslaha. I ate my butt (“duck” in Arabic – my GOD you people have dirty minds!) and didn’t say anything else about work.

Speaking of “butts” (the American version), there is a guy in my office who INSISTS on coming up to the management floor to use our bathroom before praying. I don’t know how he does it, but he makes such a frickin mess that yesterday, even the toilet bowl cleaner thingy that hangs on the rim of the toilet was on the floor. He disgusts me. He makes really loud throat-clearing noises and he must open all the water fixtures in the entire bathroom. What a pig. I mean, dude: clean up after yourself. I can’t even look at him the same because I wonder what his house looks like. Furthermore, he has one of those 80’s looking jerri-curls and he’s a white dude.

Tomorrow is Slapperellas birthday. I haven’t seen her lately because she is in (something) with a “real” Bedouin guy (I call him “Olive” because his name in Arabic sounds like the word for olive). You know what they say, “Once you go Bedouin, you never go anywhere.” Well, that is sooooooo true. J tee hee.

It is only Sunday and I’ve already had quite an interesting week – even though I am kind of sick again. WHERE ARE THE PINK ROSES????

Ask Me About a Fabulous Career in Bitching

You know what is messed up? I wear black almost every single day to work. I didn’t remember that today, a whole lot of people would be wearing black and I actually changed my norm by wearing other colors. I forgot that Shiites are observing Ashura. Everybody in my whole frickin office has been commenting on my colors today. I am, once again, a royal dumbass.

Why do I wear black every day to work? A) I love black 2) it is elegant and it incorporates ALL the colors C) it is mysterious; and of course 4) it is professional. You can dress it up; you can dress it down. Oh, and blondes look really good in black. Yes, they do.

One of my first jobs was in a designer clothing section at a large retail store chain. My supervisor was Mrs. Kathleen Stellock and I will never forget her. She wore black most of the time (simple black, navy, beige, brown are usually the norm with business attire – steer clear of flowery patterns and limit pastels) with wonderful accessories (good quality handbag, good quality shoes, modest jewelry that didn’t make any noise). She wore little make-up and her hair was always done modestly. She walked tall with a straight back. I wanted to engage her in personal conversations (so she would get to know me/like me better and think I was wonderfully interesting) and discuss what I did that weekend (probably while chewing gum with chipped nail polish on my fingers and a big 80’s hairstyle above whatever disco outfit was the trend back then.). She would respond with, “Mmm hmmm,” and walk away. I thought she was a total B. She turned out to be one of my very best female mentors and I never knew it at the time (she probably couldn’t stand me). She never came out and said, “Do this,” or “Do that,” but taught me subtly - just by performing her job with 100% professionalism; both through actions and through appearance.

I HATE working with flirty girly-girls; you know – the kind that giggle and wear inappropriate clothes and talk about personal stuff all day long. Leave me alone. Get out of my office. I have a rep and I live up to it. There are a LOT of these kinds of women (girls really) in this country. They are working so it looks good to a potential husband and his family. Then, after they get their degrees and have a little work experience, they leave to have babies and shout at khadamas. I believe that if you are at a job – you are ON the job. You work with professionalism and leave all the sillyness at home or at Starfucks. Or – do us all a favor and get married when you are 17 and stay out of this world entirely. It is, after all, your ultimate goal.

I had a very good Kuwaiti friend who wanted to get married years ago. He had specific requiremtents: she had to be tall; she had to be from a good family; and she had to have a university degree. I asked him if they would maybe work at the same place together. His response? “No! I don’t want my wife to WORK.” Ummmmmm. Chellloooooo….He got all that. She’s a wonderful person and I adore here, but you know what – after all that education, she is bored staying at home with the kids. Well, you know, someday when he divorces her for someone younger and more interesting (with a job and a life of her own), she’ll be able to use that degree again. Or hey – maybe just decide to travel the world on his money from the divorce.

I’m full of piss and vinegar today. I have my reasons.

Desert Girl - Addressing the Nation

Did you catch the Emir’s address last night? I watch him way more than I watch Bush. I refuse to sit through Bush’s pompous, condescending Mickey-mouse ramblings anyhoo, but that is a whole ‘nother post.

Anyhoo, my Desert Girl comments on the Emir’s address:

• Has KTV never heard of a teleprompter? Why is the HEAD OF STATE reading off endless sheets of paper and not making eye contact with his viewers? What is it - 1950?

• This may be a follow on to my first point and yet, Dear His Highness Mr. Emir, please smile – especially when you are discussing the optimistic outlook for Kuwait’s future. You are a totally handsome guy and yet, even moreso when you smile. We love ya.
  
• The backdrop: Ok, not to knock whoever’s decorating abilities (it was obviously some man with poor taste), but come on – I’ve seen better stage sets on Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. What’s with that chair? The white flower centerpiece made it look too blah. What were those teak pole things?? White background = bad idea. Even drivers license photos aren’t taken on white backgrounds anymore. Makes the focal point look washed out.
  
• WHY doesn’t Kuwait hire a top-knotch PR firm to handle this kind of thing? If Kuwait could afford to hire a PR firm (Hill & Knowlton) to manipulate American opinion to defend Kuwait in 1990 during the invasion, then why can’t they try to manipulate Kuwaitis towards the Emir’s initiatives of becoming better citizens; obeying laws, ending corruption (implied) and moving Kuwait into the future? A little PR goes a long way.

And now… for something completely different.

A little humor for you – “Chuckle O’ The Day”. My friend, Bobarino, just sent it to me.

I attended a party this past weekend. After checking out all the well-dressed guests at the party, I spotted an attractive woman(standing alone) across the room.When I approached and asked her name. She coyly replied... "Carmen."Trying to maintain some sort of conversation with her, I responded with "That's a beautiful name, Is it a family name?"

"No," she replied. "I gave it to myself, because it reflects the things I like most in the world - cars and men." Then she asked, "What's your name?"

"Golftits," I replied.

Again, for something completely different.

There is a man who wants to marry me. ooooootay.... so what's the catch, Desert Girl? Well, let me tell you... he is Kuwait in his late 40's, wealthy, solvent (no problem so far). He is a grandfather [uh.... I don't know if I can deal with a 25 year old calling me "mommy" (in or out of bed) or a little kid calling me GOD FORBID "grandmommy"]. I shiver. And yet... get ready for it... here is the kicker... he has a stomach that looks like he's about to give birth to a 10 pound baby. I just can't "get over it" (so to speak). I'm a great friend, but I really draw the line. Logistically, I just have a hard time even contemplating that one. (Purgy - stop laughing and shaking your head. I'll tell you where I met this one later.) Purgy loves my life dilemas.

The Man (oh love of my life, center of my existence - yuh, whatever): It is a shame that you can't get your life together. Not that you're perfect, baby (by far), but I wouldn't have had these dilemas if you hadn't gone to Phuket... if you hadn't kept disapppearing... OH NEVER MIND. You get it. Where the HELL are my pink roses????

Maybe I can become a special advisor to High Highness the Emir and then I can meet a drop-dead-gorgeous, mentally stable, son-of-a-sheikh and live happily ever after? It could happen. Ride off into the sunset on a white horse. Maybe in a parallel universe, but it could happen.

Poetry, Sex With Broken Bones, Animals

Intriguing title, eh?

I came across this poem today and it is a reminder to me – not about death, but about how to live.

Not how did he die, but how did he live?

Not what did he gain, but what did he give?

These are the units to measure the worth

Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.

Not, what was his church, nor what was his creed

But had he befriended those really in need?

Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer,

To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?

Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,

But how many were sorry when he passed away.

The poem also reminds me of The Man (who, after discovering this here blog, would like me to change his pseudonym to “My Love”… um…anyhoo) in a way; because he could be doing so much more for himself and I feel like his soul is conflicted. DO SOMETHING!

Anyhoo, I had the opportunity yesterday NOT to kill a kitten (after my kitten-killing engine experience last year). It was so weird – after my kitten dream. I took Desertdog to the Scientific Center yesterday evening for a walk and I parked next to a little family o’cats (mom, dad, and one little kitten who looked like a tiger – it was small and very very fluffy). We went about our walk and returned to the car. The cat family and some friends had decided to have a party under my Envoy, so I made some noise and most of them went away (no, Desertdog doesn’t give a snap about cats, so no use sic-ing her on them). The kitten climbed onto the tire and – you’ve got it – into the engine. The mother and father stood by, watching. I had to open up the engine and try to shoo it out. It wasn’t stuck, and damn that little cat reeked. I’ve smelled lion cubs up close and this kitty was only about 1/25 of the size of them, yet had equally powerful aroma. Eeeew. (Smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you?) The kitten dismounted my engine and they all ran away very playfully. Now, my entire frickin car engine smells like catpiss. I can smell it driving. Perhaps it is just my imagination (because I HATE cat smell and pretty much everything cat-related) but it seems like the whole car smells like ammonia.

Pigs: Pigs, I like. If you have ever seen free-range pigs up close, they are very clean animals. They like long walks in pastures and they are highly intelligent and can be taught tricks. One of my Kuwaiti friends visited me in Virginia one time and we were at a farm where they had pigs. I stopped to pet one and he had a hissy-fit, “If you TOUCH that thing, I won’t go near you.” I’m like, ‘Dude, you’d better start walking home now…’ Girly-man! Pigs are only smelly and dirty and roll in their own poop when they are kept in their own poop. If someone stuck you in a pen and you had nowhere else to poop, then you would be intimately involved in your own poop too. I don’t eat pork and I wouldn’t eat a human either. Doesn’t mean either gross me out (ok, some humans do, actually). Just my thoughts on pigs and poop. Poop scoop. Ha ha.

I’m bored again.

I like all animals, really. I don’t particularly care for reptiles. Bugs don’t count, but I still avoid killing them due to my total respect for karma (did you hear that, Universe?). I watch the Animal Planet’s Animal Cops episodes. I saw one the other night about 17 rescued dogs with horrific mange. I cried. They all looked like sharpei’s (those short-haired almost no-haired dogs with all the rolls), but they weren’t. Very sad.

I’m going to visit Fishgirl again in the hospital tonight. She was concerned because the doctor told her she had to go off birth control for 3 months; something about it conflicting with other meds. She was worried about getting pregnant. Bobarino was like, “Your pelvis is shattered! What kind of sex do you think we’re going to have?” Then, there was some mention of a swing… Ok… I don’t want the visuals on that. I hurt my L4 and L5 during circus sex (yes, it was worth it, even though I got no sympathy or back rubs); Fishgirl hurt hers being hit by a car. I don’t want to even think about how painful that would be.

A Weekend of Fishyness

I went to see Fishgirl this weekend. Her room is FULL of flowers. There are 2 arrangements from Bobarino’s employers which are actually bigger than she is (ok, she is short, but still). Our former employers – who we spent hundreds of dollars sending flowers to over the past 18 months (deaths in family, sickness, etc.) haven’t bothered to send anything. Cheap!

Fishgirl amazed me. She was standing on her walker when we went into the room. She says that it hurts to sit and she can either stand or lay down, so she is alternating. She has an enormous cast on her entire leg and another around her shoulders. Her front tooth is broken, but nothing that can't be easily fixed. She’s got a knot on her head the size of a golf ball (no concussion), broken pelvis, shattered knee, broken fibula (leg), broken collar bone, and yet her color is good and she was walking on her own to the bathroom. I think she is amazing. She must have so much strength! I would be a whiny coyote.

They moved her from Razi hospital to Mowasat. The wastah was good (thank you, F – you THA MAN!!) because stupid Razi hospital didn’t want to discharge her on a Wednesday saying, “The doctor is off this weekend. We have to wait until Saturday until he gets back.” After the phone call, the staff was converging on Fishgirl’s room saying, “ANYTHING she wants…” They hadn’t even give her any medicine to keep her blood from clotting when she arrived!! People must die there all the time. (My friend died in Amiri Hospital after a car accident the same way; a blod clot killed him at the hospital after the accident.) Bobarino counted multiple discrepancies in international standards. AND – get this – the government hospitals here don’t even give you drinking water, soap, or shampoo. Yes, one of the wealthiest countries in the World doesn’t provide patients with basic hygiene. Fishgirl said that the gown they gave her was dirty-grey with blood stains on it. The sheets were dirty and the orderlies drop patients on/off gurneys like sacks of potatoes. She also said that kids were roller blading down the corridors, shouting. The nurses said, “Kuwaiti, what can we do?” Smack them – that’s what! At Mowasat Hospital, Fishgirl has a pretty, clean private room clean with a big sofa (in front of a wall-sized window).

Anyhoo, Fishgirl has had lots of visitors from her many friends which she calls the "Pilipino mafia". As frequent fliers at the Crowne Plaza hotel, I let them all know - they sent chocolates the other night and one of the girls took an enormous tray of fruit. Fishgirl said that the Pilipino Mafia ate all the mangos! :) Marlyn has a new best friend, a gay nurse who Bobarino has promptly started to mimic.

Here is something that I found out – there are six Pilipino maids at Razi hospital with broken bones – having been beaten by their employers. They have left their sponsors without any ID (civil IDs or passports). Even if the hospital workers are told their names, they are listed as “unknown” on the paperwork. So – if they are unconscious, no one knows who they are or how to find them. How sick is that (pardon the pun)? If you want to do something nice, take them some soap, water, and shampoo – because you’d better bet the hospital isn’t giving it to them.

Reaching beyond the realm of hospitals and accidents and all things god-awful…

I had a really weird weekend. Yes, I had sushi (at SAKURA – the BEST SUSHI IN KUWAIT), which added normalcy, but other than that – it was just weird.

I had some very insightful conversations which left me physically and emotionally drained. I would like to be able to say that anything fruitful came of it, but other than creating an insatiable desire for alcohol; I don’t believe much was accomplished.

The conclusion was that I am to blame for everything, everywhere. I make calls that I don’t remember and I do strange things to people even though I don’t know where they live. Go figure.

The Romanian is ready to kill me. I’ll take her to Bahrain and she’ll shut up. She was trying to do a nice thing for me and it ended up giving her a terrible headache. For some reason, I wasn’t alone in asking her to be my weekend psychiatrist; it happened several times and her line became, “Leave me alone, I just want a drink, ok?” As a psychiatrist, she did an okay job, however. She has a unique perspective.

I ran into Slapperella’s boyfriend and his friends (who talked non-stop) at the Hilton with The Romanian (we were bored). Kind of strange because I couldn’t even remember what he looked like and I walked right past him. We stayed and had a drink with them and then left.

I saw Slapperella briefly this weekend (when she wasn’t too busy studying or being a ho – God only knows what she really does with her time). We went to A-Z to buy her towels. I always spend too much money in that store. They do a great job at merchandising.

Don’t ever buy towels at The One. I spent over 100 kd on a set and the very first time I put them in the wash, the colors stained living big blotches all over them. No, it wasn’t the soap I use either because I am really careful about that. Anyways, I love The One; it has everything that I always wanted and never needed. Plus, The One café rocks. Their food is awesome.

Psychic Bedu took me to meet his spiritual adviser in a very cool gypsy-esque apartment off of Shaar al Mataaem. While we were waiting for him to show up, the Romanian and I were invited into a men’s saloon for coffee (as IF!). The Lebanese Gypsy adviser girl offered me ab-so-lutely nothing that I didn’t already know, but offered to help (for a rather sizeable fee) by providing me with quartz. Gee… thanks. I can dig up my own rocks. I was not impressed. Psychic Bedu has the best of intentions, however, and I adore him. He is such a great brother-dude.
Sometimes you meet people and you immediately know that you are going to be life-long friends with them. Psychic Bedu guy is like that; he instantly knows how I feel and tries to make me comfortable. This, without asking for a thing in return; he is just genuinely kind and without malice.

We went to the desert and that is always fun. Our Bedouin girlfriends had a good time and I laughed so hard I almost lost a contact lens. It hurt.

Those girls are so funny, and yet some of them have very hard lives. One of the girls’ husband has “disappeared”/abandoned her for over a year. She still stays married to him. I thought I had problems. What is it with men in this part of the world abandoning women? I thought only our peeps did that (and then we divorce their asses and take it ALL). Another girl is married to he spends all his time with his 1st wife (who he divorced long ago). 1st girl lives in a mansion while my friend lives in a crappy apartment. Anyhoo, long-story-short; sometimes you laugh to cover the pain.

I found a really good place close to home that serves eggs and chapatti at 5:30 am. Thank GOD because I have been on a serious egg addiction for months and months; usually in the wee hours of the morning when everything is closed. I can’t figure out why, but I think it has something to do with magic and keeping away all-things-bad. If anyone out there in blogland knows any other reason why I might be addicted to eggs, please inform me. I made my girlfriends drive around with me for an hour one time, looking for eggs at 5:30 am. They love me and yet, they were not happy having to do that. McDonalds doesn’t serve eggs until 6 am and Fauchon doesn’t open until 7:30.

I had WEIRD dreams all weekend. Oh my God – I had one about watching some boys try to drown kittens at a seaside village that a sheikh owned. The water was dark and murky, but shallow and all the kittens were at the bottom. I saved (doing mouth-to-mouth; don’t even get me into the Freudian ramifications!) four of the kittens (which were all black) and then went back and rescued two more the same way. The last two turned out to be the strongest – the most powerful was a tabby. I don’t even like cats. WTF?

Flying Fish

Bobarino and Fishgirl got married about 2 months ago. They went back to the Philippines where Fishgirl is from because the Philippino priest wanted 500 KD to arrange the paperwork here (which, I hear is standard). They went to the US and spent time with Bobarinos family and lots of quality time in both Target and Krogers. Yes, the US is “land of the big PX”. They have begun to plan for little Bobfishes…. Anyhoo, they are happy and all was well….

… until yesterday. Fishgirl was hit by a car. A young guy hit her and her friend, and killed a Pakistani guy – all when they were trying to cross the street. Fishgirl was hit in the knee, and was flipped on top of the car, breaking her leg, pelvis, collar bone and front tooth - in addition to smashing her kneecap. They took her and friend to Razi hospital and put them in a room with 6 other women. Apparently, she hasn’t been American long enough (well, not yet at all, but) because the words "private room" are not part of her vocabulary. (That and "Where the PHUCK is my food tray???"). Bobarino is making plans to move her into a private hospital. Young Dude and his friend went to the hospital last night, trying to bribe Fishgirl et al “CASHMONEY” (people – it is one or the other – not BOTH) not to pursue a case (which I believe they filed today).

My beloved friend/wastah at the Ministry of Health has offered whatever help he can (I LOVE him sooooooooooo much) and getting things done so that she can be moved to a private hospital. I’ve known MOH guy for almost my entire life. He used to come to visit my family when he was a starving student (driving a Chevette of all things!) in the US. Fell in love with my older sister. Let's just say he's NOT driving a Chevy anymore.

Anyways, all my friends out there in blogland, please say a prayer for Fishgirl that she gets better soon.

Back on the Chain Gang

I found a picture of you
What hijacked my world that night
To a place in the past
We've been cast out of?
Now were back in the fight
Were back on the train
Oh, back on the chain gang

A circumstance beyond our control
The phone, the tv and the news of the world
Got in the house like a pigeon from hell
Threw sand in our eyes and descended like flies
Put us back on the train
Oh, back on the chain gang

The powers that be
That force us to live like we do
Bring me to my knees
When I see what they've done to you
But Ill die as I stand here today
Knowing that deep in my heart
Theyll fall to ruin one day
For making us part

I found a picture of you
Those were the happiest days of my life
Like a break in the battle was your part
In the wretched life of a lonely heart
Now were back on the train
Oh, back on the chain gang

... the Pretenders


THE NORTH WIND and the Sun disputed as to which was the most powerful, and agreed that he should be declared the victor who could first strip a wayfaring man of his clothes. The North Wind first tried his power and blew with all his might, but the keener his blasts, the closer the Traveler wrapped his cloak around him, until at last, resigning all hope of victory, the Wind called upon the Sun to see what he could do. The Sun suddenly shone out with all his warmth. The Traveler no sooner felt his genial rays than he took off one garment after another, and at last, fairly overcome with heat, undressed and bathed in a stream that lay in his path.

The Sushi Challenge Continues …

Ok, so I did my own challenge last night – seeing if really and truly Sakura was the best and I had just not forgotten that Edo couldn’t compare.

I didn’t invite the Sushi Pride Club because of their tremendous protest of the mere mention of going to Sakura. I know Purgy doesn’t want to be deemed traitorous by visiting Sakura (the home of the BEST SUSHI IN KUWAIT). I would invite him – for say…Sakura’s Special Sushi-Sashimi platter (13 pieces of sushi and 15 pieces of sashimi) and maybe a Raed roll (Crab Tempura , Cucumber, Mango & Spicy Sauce Rice out with Tobiko) or some of the most outstanding tepanyaki anywhere in the whole world (like sirloin that melts in your mouth like butter or scallops or salmon). The Romanian and I split the Special platter and yes – I WAS RIGHT (as if there were ever any question) – Sakura remains the best….

One of my mom’s best friends died yesterday. Ya see – this is one of those moments when I know I shouldn’t be in Kuwait; I should be with her to make her feel better. I’ll send her flowers today.

I am giddy with power today as my boss is out of the country and I have signature authority. I’m reviewing orders like I have a frickin clue what the hell they pertain to. Very important stuff. Here (Desert Girl), sign this (5,000 kd); sign this (3,000 kd). I like it. Oh, if only it were my own money and not just monopoly.

Here is what disgusts me (among other things).. there is a person in my office whose mommy quite obviously didn’t teach him that not only is it POLITE to cover your mouth with your hand when you cough, but it is also hygienic. I don’t necessarily want to see someone’s tonsils, if you know what I mean.



Sidebar: Ok, so you are NOT the face of EVIL. Get over it. Did you expect me to lay flowers at your feet after you've treated me like doo-doo? North Wind and The Sun story. Your cold wind won't do a thing for the situation.