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.

The Edo Sushi Challenge

The “Sushi Pride Club” sponsored by our very own Purgy invited me to a sushi challenge last night at Edo. I do admit that the food was very good and the company couldn’t have been better. I knew the ladies present (one better than the other) and it was nice to catch up with them. Purg is definitely NOT a limp-wristed sushi eater (nor are any of his studly crew!). Seriously nice guys. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I enjoyed myself more. Maybe I’ll catch up with them again. Anyhooo, I am back to Sakura maybe tonight or tomorrow. Sakura rules. No doubt about it in my mind. (NOTE: I am particularly prejudice because I am to Sakura what Norm is to Cheers - everybody knows me and it feels like home.) And I really like the renovations. If you haven’t been there in a while – it is really pretty. Purgy said that the sushi in Sakura is too big and tasteless, but I’ve always found it to be flavorful, although I would like the pieces to be a little bit smaller – especially some of the rolls. Maybe I just have a bigger mouth than some people? Ha ha. I like Edo – especially for the ambiance (it kind of reminds me of a quiet jazz restaurant in DC). If I am in that area, I much prefer Villa Fairuz, however. Excellent chicken livers.

I had dinner on Wednesday night with Bunny. As fate would have it, we went down to the Blue Elephant – only to find that it was closed for a private party. We ended up at Thai Chi, which probably wasn’t a great choice on my part because Bunny has a slight hearing problem and the music was too loud. I really haven’t kept up with him for the past year, although we often talked. I stopped dropping my clothes off at his dry cleaners (for free) because I didn’t want to take advantage - although I adore the little guy who runs his shops – Mr. Mutu Laundryman (he calls himself that). In 2003 when Bunny was in Iraq, Mr. Mutu Laundryman used to call me, in tears (yes literally), because he was so worried about Bunny, and we hadn't heard any news in weeks. I reassured him that he was fine, and then I would get off the phone and cry. Anyhow, Bunny and I haven’t seen each other in ages: I felt bad because The Man was somewhat hurt that we were still friends (and I mean that – just friends), so I didn’t want to upset anyone; I can’t speak for anyone else’s behavior. Bunny is one of those people that if I needed something 10 years from now and called him, he would drive to me (DWB – Driving While Bedouin) at full speed. Anyhow, we’ll try to go to the Blue Elephant again, but I’ll call first this time.

The Psychic Bedu guy called me last night trying to be helpful (Bunny says it is the guy’s companion talking to my companion to find out what’s going on). Psychic Bedu guy is concerned, so he is working on it. He’s such a sweet heart. I love those kind of people; you never know when God is going to send you angels or in what form they are going to appear. Sushi angels, psychic angels, horse saving angels.

Oh yeah, I am trying to get some BIG sheikh assistance on the horse thing. Ya baad chebdi. I know you are busy, but dude – help a sister out. Actually, it isn’t for me, it is for the horses and you know that you love them. I will never ask for another favor (until next time). Tee hee. AGEC needs a good horse vet and those people need to be penalized for what they are doing to the horses. Seriously.

I’m watching boats pass by my office this morning at the port and wishing I could be outside playing. My friends have been begging me to go fishing for months and I just haven’t been in the mood (plus I have been really sick since the beginning of December and just now I’m better). My job is to call the fish. I don’t touch them and I don’t kill them. Yes, I do eat them, but that’s different (yes it is). Anyhoo, lately I’d rather be in the desert. Sushi in the desert would be ideal. Maybe I'll do that...

I must use my powers for good and not evil

I announced by SMS to my girls that “I want to kiss a boy”. (And by “boy” I am referring to one who is about my age.) I went to a party and I almost kissed a boy. (Ok, he was more like a man, but one never knows, do one?) I was intent on kissing a boy – as I regularly am – and yet, somehow I manage to be too shy and girly (yes me, shut UP!) and never go through with it. He was right there, whispering something in my ear (ok, he was shouting because the speaker was next to my other ear, but it felt just like whispering). His face was brushing against mine. The mood was set. There was candle light and lots of whiskey. Romantic by Kuwaiti standards, right? There was a fire (room heater) in the tent. And then, and then, and then… I couldn’t do it. Damn. Why do I have to be so pure and virginal (shut up!!!). Anyhow, maybe later. I have all of these stupid pre-conceived dating rules – including never kissing when 1) I’m at a party 2) I’m drunk at a party c) I don’t know the boy and have never seen him before 3) All the boys friends were probably watching and e) all my friends would make fun of me later for 1, 2, c and 3 above.

Anyways, got his number, he got mine. He did the gentlemanly thing and called to make sure that I got home (at 5:43 am as I was walking through the door). Me likes.

I didn’t know anybody there. Romanian and her sister brought me to their friends’ camp and I adore the guys now. They were SO nice! Such gentlemen. Anyways, late on in the evening/morning, one of the guys comes and sits down next to me. He’s bedu, so he’s being very polite as I’m a new guest and all that. He took my hand as if to hold it. He took a ring off his finger and put it on mine. He held my hand. And THEN – he starts telling me ALL about my life! Holy shit this guy was accurate! He knew details. He’d never seen me before. I know the Romanian doesn’t talk about anyone ever. She is totally loyal. Anyways, the guy started telling me intimate details about The (former) Man. He spoke as if he was talking “from the heart”. Very intense and revealing. Leetle bit o’drama: I burst into (whiskey) tears (yes me, I have a sensitive side) and walked out of the tent. (Yes, I did give him his ring back.) Then, the Romanian jumped to my defense. She thought that Dude was offending me in some way, “What did you say to my friend? Did you insult her?” All he would say is, “She knows. She knows.” So, my girlfriends grabbed their bags and we left. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the Romanian so mad; cute little thing was defending me! Anyways, we called the guy and apologized later. The guy felt really bad. Apparently no one had told him that I am a basket case. It just totally freaked me out and perhaps that new brand of whiskey – whateveritwas – was just too much for my Irish blood.

Ok, I omitted this paragraph about the Man formerly known as The Man because 1) it was mean 2) God is going to get me for being mean and 3) The fact that I really want to be that mean is disturbing me greatly. However, having said that, I am not over all that baggage (obviously from above). He stole someone very important to me and replaced him with someone I don't know. Ever heard that Pretender's song "Back on the chain gang". That's us. And he is allowing it to happen.

"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 I'll die as I stand here today

Knowing that deep in my heart

They'll fall to ruin one day

For making us part."

As I have said before, and I will say again - I just want to know where you have buried his body because you are NOT him. I would like to be able visit his grave because that person is gone and I don't feel like I have anything tangible to grieve over. THAT man wouldn't be this way. THAT man was strong and protected me from bad things. THAT man wouldn't allow a witch to come between us. Did you think that my life would stand still without you? Did you think that time would stop because YOU took away my choice? Do you want me to wait and for how long??? While you are doing who-knows-what? You have no right to judge me now.
Why do you want to take the easy way? Why won’t you fight? What makes you feel so down when you have so many gifts to bring you up? Stand up! Fight!

Ok, back to our regularly scheduled program.

The other guy that I was going to save as fodder for future blog posts – He’s history. Yup. Met him on a Thursday – exactly 1 week to the day and he was out. Simply stunted. Didn’t want to go out in public. Invited me (the night it rained real hard) to dinner in the desert (shinHU?). Finally, when Romanian and I were out for coffee – going to the same place as he was going and purely by coincidence (swearaGod) – he said he would be there but there were “too many people” to be “seen” with us. Yeh. As if. He thinks he’s from Kharafi or something. Gateeeeyeh. I sent him an SMS saying, “you don’t know what you want or how to get it”. He sends back, “How do I get it ;)” AS IF phuckin lech. I send back, “2 KD and a shawarma in Jleeb will get you what you want.” Fodder.

I had dinner with Yum Yum man and his cousin last night at Teng Chao (which unfortunately reminds me of Hamster and his sisters). He is ALL about business (snore), but I can't turn him down because I love to look at him. He never takes the bait and never flirts, which just drives me INsane. Last night was the first time that he wasn't in a dishtasha and I thought I would swoon. He's got amazing hair - kind of like Shamlan used to have - all wavy and gorgeous (mashallah, mashallah). If only he wasn't so annoyingly married and happy. Damn the fates!

Purgy’s sushi competition is tonight. Edo vs. Sakura. SAKURA RULES BABY!!!! I’ve been to Ego about a gazillion times. I just don’t like the “oh so polite” people who frequent it and the “oh so small’ portions. I want to check out Purgy too to make sure that he’s not one of those “limp wristed” sushi eating men. He sounds like he’s not, but I must check. I’ll let you guys know. Anyhoo, I told him to sit far away because I have a very strong gag reflex. Tee hee. (That is so not true BTW)

Desert Causes

I've had my panties in a bunch enough in the past few month to cause me to launch an off-shoot blog that I've named Desert Causes (http://desertcauses.blogspot.com/). I like the friviology and the escapism of my "Desert Girl" alter-ego and perhaps separating the "serious" from the "trivial" is a good thing (?).

I think there are ways we can help others in need in Kuwait and more people ought to know about them.

Bada bing.

This One’s For the Girls - DG 2007 Product Review

I am stepping off my soap box for a little while to catch up on my life and provide some frivilous banter. I don't care if you need it. I do!

I took a little trip to blogland and checked out what’s happening out there. I want to state clearly that Purgy’s statement is totally true: “Sushi women - more erotic, more exotic and they love you long time.” There has been some debate about the affect of sushi (and seafood in general for that matter) on the female libido (as it has often been heard around here that “men eat seafood because it is good for your back. Harr harr harr.”) and let me just tell you – sushi DOES have a very positive affect. Yeah, baybeee. Sushi: It’s what’s for dinner. If most stupid men really want to score, they should take sushi-lovin’-women out to eat sushi. That is my philosophy in a nutsack… uh, nutshell.

Speaking of nut sacks, a guy in my office told me a story (HE used the phrase “nut sack” – I wouldn’t cause I think it is crass) about his friends’ wife. Every time she though her husband was on the prowl, she would make him get into the bathtub to see if his balls would sink or float. (Have you ever heard of such a thing? I hadn’t…) Anyhooo, if the balls sink, then he was apparently faithful. Kind of a gross little anecdote, but trivia worth passing along to those-in-doubt, nevertheless. I just want to know how she would force him to get into the bathtub. If I were a guy, I sure wouldn’t.

Segue (yes, I learned how to spell that word, thankyouverymuch)….

I’m still sick. This is Month 2. It was in my throat and moved into my chest, where it stayed for a while. Then, it went back up and got into my nose, wreaking havoc with sneezing, wheezing, and all that nastiness (Slapperella hates dirty Kleenex, so I couldn’t even invite her over – who would want to come visit me anyways?). Ok, so now, it is in my ears and the only place to go from there is empty air above. I went to an ENT doctor yesterday who stuck things in my ears (I’m no longer an ear-virgin – as if there was any question) and got some yukky stuff out and now I can hear out of one of them. WTF? Slapperella has already been making “old” jokes, but this is just shameful. I almost cried the other night when she was talking to me in me bad ear and making fun because I couldn’t hear it. THESE are my friends!!! Why?? Just because I talk about “my ailments” and keep the temperature in my apartment at a steady 78 degrees? I am even starting to take it personally when I sign into blogger.com and they ask you if you are an “old blogger”. WTF?

I asked my FRIEND, Bobarino, to bring me back several bottles of my new favorite hair stuff: John Frieda’s Luminous Color Glaze. He balked at the idea of spending $10 on “shampoo” (which it actually isn’t), as the most he has ever “splurged on” is Head and Shoulders; which is, perhaps, why his hair is missing. The only reason I use that paint-stripper is when I go to the salon and they F it up making it too dark. Anyhoo, the most I have spent on “hair stuff” is $50 for an 8 oz. bottle of Prive’ conditioner - Herbal Blend #26 (well worth it and smells soooooo good).

WARNING: This next paragraph may bore men to tears. Viewer discretion advised.

This entire conversation with Bobarino got me to thinking about the PRODUCTS I “can’t live without”. The Color Glaze is the latest. First of all, way-back, I was a fan of cellophane treatments for hair. I usually had the treatments right after having my hair highlighted; the cellophane adds shine over color and locks-in moisture. I’ve had it done here at Images Salon for the whopping cost of 25 KD per treatment (which, at the time, I still considered worth it). Now, John Frieda has it in a bottle for $10!!! You apply it for 3 minutes after your regular shampoo and conditioner for 3 days in a row and you are good to go for about a month of shiny hair. They have it in blonde, brunette and red. Very cool product. I started using Cibu products in the States – "Hi-Ya" hair conditioner and "Tsu Shine" hair shiny stuff (which actually de-fizzes in the summer). Aveda makes a great conditioner for really dry hair, Damage Remedy. I have a hard time with shampoos; just started using Sunsilk's summer formula (the watermelon stuff) and like it a lot. I'm usually one of those people who only buys "salon products". Aveda’s rosemary mint shampoo is ok once in a while too, but if I use it all the time, my hair starts frizzing up again. My date-a-liscious must-have is Dessert Delisciously Kissable Sugar Scrub by Jessica Simpson. First off, this stuff leaves you feeling really smooth and it smells great. The added bonus is that it tastes good (to whoever). They sell it in Kuwait now too in Debenhams and The Visitor shops. I’ve gotten 2 of my Kuwaiti girlfriends hooked on Go Smile; it totally whitens your teeth. When I saw my sister at Christmas, her teeth blinded me with whiteness; she uses Go Smile every day. You can get it from stores for a month’s supply for around $40. They come in little vials that you break and apply to your teeth – kind of like a mishwak (which is probably why my Bedouin girlfriend flipped over it!). BTW - Maidan Clinic is going to be offering Brite Smile soon. In Virginia, they have laser teeth whitening shops in the MALL. Oh, for nails I can’t live without Revlon Colorstay polish. First off, because I have an allergy to formaldehyde resin (go figure, but my nails will just fall off if I use any product with it in there – it’s gross – kind of like in the movie “The Fly”). Also, this nail polish lasts a lot longer. My favorite color is Scarlet.

Do I consider myself “high maintenance”? Yes, as it applies only to me. As it applies to relationshits: Would a guy find me “high maintenance”? No.

Ok, about the mens…. Out of the 7 guys I met on New Years day and the 2 the next day (men still do like me even when I’m sick), I am only talking to one (and that’s only because he is a bay-beee and very persistent; thinks he’s in love). The latest one that (I forgot his name) was put on my “DNA” (Do Not Answer) phone list (complete with “waaaaaaaa ge6eeeeeee3a” ringtone) after we (me, Slapperella, and Romanian) saw him at Souq Sharq sitting ALONE at the very next table and wouldn’t come over and 1) talk to us and/or 2) sit with us. Pussyboy. Playah. He said that he “knows too many people there.” Chel-looooo whadamI that you can’t talk to???

[Sidebar: Actually, that DNA ringtone kind of freaks me out because I hear it at night and I wonder who the hell is saying it. DNA losers always call at 2 am lookin/hopin/prayin for a booty call that never comes. (As Pink says, "It's just you and your hand tonight.") By-the-by, “waaaaaaaa ge6eeeeeee3a” kind of translates to “ew, gross” in ‘merican.]

Meanwhile, the Bay-beee (10 years younger than me and yet insists “age doesn’t matter”) is sending me 4 gazillion SMSs all day long, asking me not to “leave him”. I haven’t even sat down at a table with this person yet and he has my whole life figured out. “But… I loooooooof you”. Yeah right. So, what’s my last name? Its so stoooooooopid.

Hey, he is just one-step-up from the driver I met. You heard me. I saw this guy in a hubungous BMW and he’s lookin’ at me, and I’m lookin’ at him… and we’re getting our flirt on… and he gave me his number. Really yummy guy in guttara and aghal… (heavy sigh). Alas, he was waiting to pick up “the sheikh”…. I told Bunny this story and he laughed his ass off (actually incorrect because Bunny doesn’t have an ass). Slapperella and Romanian had a hardy harr harr too. Now all I hear is, “Are you SURE he’s not a driver???” I don’t find it humorous. Bitches.

N E X T (said while simultaneously snapping your fingers once in a circle formation over your head).

I met one with potential this weekend. He may require some training, but he’s got all the right stuff so far: Divorced. Doesn’t live at home. Good manners. Tallness. Good job. Handsome. Good English language skills. And of course… nice butt. LOL. Me likes. I’ll let you know how this pans out. It is potential fodder for yet another aggravating blog post.

Do Something

Incase you haven’t tuned in lately to happenings in the desert, the horse slaughter saga in Ahmadi continues – and probably will continue until someone higher up champions the case.

Do you (yes you, reading this) want to do something about it? You can help. Make your voice known. Write to newspapers. Send a letter to the Emir. Write to the ministers in any ministry in Kuwait. Write to animal rights organizations around the world. Damn - write to Oprah! All of the contact information is available on the web through a simple search. Get the word out. Public pressure gets things accomplished - especially here where "face" is the name of the game. It is a national disgrace to Kuwait!

Arabs and horses have been together throughout history. Horses are part of the culture, the civilization, the folklore of the Middle East. They are beloved animals. Why are we turning a blind eye while a small group of people cruely slaughters them right here??? 25 minutes (without traffic) from downtown Kuwait and 10 minutes from the largest US base in Kuwait, Arifjan?

Here is the story: At the Ahmadi Governorate Equestrian Club (AGEC), horse owners are running the horses to win prizes - sometimes as large as cars. The horses are often not trained or conditioned for racing. They might not even be race horses, but these guys think that if they whip them hard enough, they'll win a race and they'll get something out of it. As for the horse - it runs like hell, often injuring itself or just collapsing from exhaustion.

Then, these prize-crazed barbarians (who can often be seen in the paper, smiling with their honorary plaques, all happy with themselves) either shoot the horse in the head (which is actually the more humane solution as compared to the alternate) or inject it with a combination of drugs which has been banned in the US called T-61. T-61 shuts down the heart and lungs, but the horse remains conscious, and drowns on its own blood. That is why many of the horses found dead outside the Ahmadi Governorate Equestrian Club (AGEC) have their hooves tied because the horse will struggle to live. T-61 has been banned in the US as inhumane. The horses are sometimes walked out to the field among other carcasses (although most have been recently removed) to suffer its own death, slowly and in agony.

As per the Arab Times article of Saturday, January 13, the chairman of the Ahmadi Equestrian Governorate Club, Haif Al-Howaila, denies that his club has anything to do with it; odd, because it is happening not 100 feet from their club. As he stated in the paper that members of the club didn't notice these carcasses immediately, "we usually come to the culb after sunset when it is difficult to spot them." Where do these mysterious horses with their ankles wrapped for racing endurance come from, pray tell?

I don't think that anyone trying to go to a party 2.5 kilometers into the desert on a night with no moon has any problem finding a tent (stone cold drunk even), and yet these guys can't see 14 dead horses left there for years right outside their premises? Come on, give me a break!
______________________________________________________

Are their blinders to blame?

It is interesting that the Chairman of AGEC's board of directors didn't see the carcasses of dead horses, not 50 feet from the side of the road and not 200 meters from their own front driveway; regardless of the time of day. Further, as Mr. Haif Al-Howaila states in your front-page article of January 13th, "some of the carcasses found dumped outside the clubs are Arabian breeds while the horses within AGEC's stables are thoroughbreds." It is interesting because in the same paper on January 13, on page 41 in the Sports Section, under the heading "Ahmadi Equestiran Club hosts weekly horse race", the photos of the horses running are not all thoroughbreds! Further, many of the carcasses I personally saw in that field on January 8 had ankle/hoof bandages similar to those used on racing horses for endurance.

Carcasses of large animals do not decompose overnight. I have heard this week from people who have passed by these same carcasses for the past several years - not weeks, not months. How is it possible that they could have been overlooked? And if one chairman doesn't see them - right outside the gates - is he not responsible for the workers in his charge? Has everyone at the club turned a blind eye?

Further, if people in camps in the surrounding areas are indeed dumping horses right next to their club, why isn't the club doing something about it? Why not post signs? Put up a fence? Notify authorities? Why would a group of people who supposedly love horses not want to do something about this horrific situation; especially if -as they claim - it is coming from an outside source? Why did the media have to bring this to public attention?

Why not take responsibility and see that it doesn't happen again? Why is it that some people find it necessary to "pass the buck" and not just do the right thing? Acknowledge that there have been and continue to be problems, and do something to resolve it and make it better for everyone - especially the horses. "Not our problem" is never the answer.

Save the Horses in Ahmadi

Please forward this to your friends in Kuwait (and beyond?)

AHMADI, KUWAIT: January 6-9, 2007, The Arab Times (English) and Al-Seyassah (Arabic) newspapers have broken stories which have been running for the past several days in reference to the slaughtering and dumping of horses at the Ahmadi Governorate Equestrian Club.

Several animal welfare organizations are working on the follow-up to this issue, coordinating efforts with local authorities and international agencies. It has yet to be determined who is killing the horses, in what manner and why, and how they can be stopped and/or penalized. Further, if the horses can be saved and re-homed.

Community support is necessary in ending the unnecessary killing of the horses and also the illegal dumping of horse carcasses outside the AGEC gates on Wafra Road (306) across from the International Veterinary Hospital (IVH).

We have learned that a most of the euthanizations (either by some form of injection or by gunshot) are occurring after Thursday afternoon races at the club.

Continued public pressure will help resolve this issue. Members of the community can attend Thursday races, ask questions, and solicit assistance from government authorities [involved agencies are Ahmadi Municipality and The Public Authority for Agriculture Affairs and Fish Resources (PAAAFR)].



Resources:

Arab Times: www.arabtimesonline.com
PAAAFR: www.paaf.gov.kw
Kuwait Municipality: www.baladia.gov.kw/

Field of Dead Horses

Yesterday I took Desert Dawg to IVH because her hair was mangled while I was away. She stays with a very nice family who doesn’t seem to understand that yuh – you do have to comb out her hair (just like a little kids) when you give her a bath because otherwise, she’ll be a matted mess of snarls (which is just what happened).

Anyhoo, on the way back, The Romanian and I looked over and saw a field of dead horses. It looked like a battleground and they had lost. I sent pics (the one shown here is from the Arab Times) and a little story to the Arab Times and they ran the story today. They have promised to do a follow-up because they are equally disgusted. It was so horrific and appalling that I still can’t believe that nothing has been mentioned in the papers before (and if they have, I haven’t seen the stories).

This is unlike dead cattle; cattle generally isn’t regarded as someone’s beloved pet. I was shocked at myself for being not-as-shocked as I probably should have been; but alas – nothing much in Kuwait truly shocks me anymore. Had I seen these dead horses 15 years ago, I probably would have started crying and not stopped. It just saddens and disgusts me.

At the very least, they should have been covered in sand. Best case scenario – maybe a mass horse grave. I speak from personal experience when I say that in the US, a horse must be burried 6 feet under (even in February when the ground is frozen so hard that you have to hire a backho to the tune of $1,000 to put it in the ground) so that disease is not spread. Gee, I guess no one in Kuwait cares about disease, do they? Obviously not too much because there were camps purty close to the field.

Since relaying the story to other people, I have heard “maybe they died from the cold” “Maybe they died from a disease…” Well yeah, but in any case, they should have been buried – not left out for other animals to cannibalize or spread disease.

These horses are lying in a field not 200 meters away from the front gate of Ahmadi Equestrian Club – in plain sight from the road (306 towards Wafra).

You would think that the Ahmadi Equestrian Club would NOT want the negative advertising brought about by dead horses from their club! Yes yes, come to our club – board your horse here. We will put it right next to these other ones…

January 7 Update: Arab Times published a follow-up story January 7, 2006. After the race... a fall from grace: Dumping carcasses of horses in open areas is the normal method used by all horse owners and members of the Ahmadi Governorate Equestiran Club (AGEC) with the full awareness of the administration, says a trainer at the club. "...any horse which fails to keep up with competition due to broken bones or sickness will either be shot or injected with poison at the request of its owner and then dumped outside."

Apparently, the Kuwait Riding Center on 6th Ring Road adopts a completely different attitude than the AGEC.

January 8 Update: The Arab Times published another front-page story. Because of their efforts, the horse carcasses have been removed from the field!!! The next step in the game is to ensure that the horses aren't being needlessly slaughtered by people who just don't care. And if they are indeed "salvageable", to find people who will adopt them. From what we have been able to learn, the Kuwait Sports Federation is responsible for the AGEC. Are they in compliance with Kuwait law?? It has been a very busy week!

2007: So Far, So Good

2007 will be a Hamster-free zone. Cold turkey. No more pining and wallowing (yeah, I actually did do a leetle beet of that).

I’m back in Kuwait and it feels like I never left. If I go away and come back in 20 years, will it be the same shit? I’m lookin out my window at work now at the enormous ship that is carrying lambs; watching a stupid Bengali guy hit the sheep with a stick so that he can cram more into the cattle trucks. I want to rescue ALL thousands of them (they probably wouldn’t fit on my balcony, would they?). You couldn’t get this view in the US, nosireebob. Probably because PETA would be all over their asses. --- uh no, not the sheep asses… nevermind.

I took the new United flight direct from DC to Kuwait, logging a mere 11.5 hours. I sat next to a homeboy (‘merican) who had never been in business class before. He wanted to review all the functionality of the seats with me. It was kind of endearing because he was older than me and had never been in business class; and also because he was on his way to Balad so I knew he was in for a world of hardship and didn’t need any grief from me. He probably was seated next to me thanks to my sister who was shouting, “Put her next to a hot single guy!” when I spoke to the ticketing agent who hung up in giggles. It was kizmit because as soon as I got off the phone, she said, “Oh… what if he turns out to be ‘hot’ as in big and sweaty?” How do people know my luck so well?

It’s all about perspective. I am not into self-help books. I’ve never been good at following. I am the sign of the Ram; head-strong, opinionated, stubborn. A leader, not a follower (although you might not always want to follow where I am going!) Self-help books are usually too psycho-babbly for me; I like them basically to learn other people’s perspectives (“Look at me! I know what I’m talking about and I just made 29.99 off of you, another stupid consumer!”). One book caught my eye in Target, “Be Honest, You Weren’t That Into Him Either.” The clincher was when I opened it to 3 different chapters and PhD Sexpert Dude was talking about, “So you’re not that into him, but you wanted to have sex like a man…” or “You’re just not that into him, but you didn’t have anything better to do…” I bought it. It is quite interesting actually. (It said nothing about 27 year olds BTW). As Billy Bob Thornton said in “School for Scoundrels”, “How many of you losers read self-help books? It is an asshole teaching an asshole how to do something.” Holy crap – I just googled “Billy Bob Thornton” and “asshole” together to get the exact quote and you would be surprised how many hits came up. Funny.

I also read “Marley and Me: The Worst Dog in The World” . OhmaGod – I laughed; I cried. It was such a great read. I thought it was a new book (because it was in Oprah’s magazine for December), but it has been around for a while. O Magazine is basically just a rag for advertisements, but once in a while there is something good in there. (“Oh look at me! I dedicate an entire magazine to myself, complete with my pictures and stuff about my friends and you buy it for $5 a month!”)

On January 1, upon my return to Kuwait, I met 7 men. That’s right. Today is January 3rd. How many do you think I am still talking to? That’s correct: One. That is only because he speaks very little English and I am still trying to decipher him through my limited language skills. You would think that the law of averages would eventually work out in my favor, but nooooooo: it just amounts to MORE wacko’s, crackpots, and losers. I must have been having a good hair day or something … or it coulda been the 2007 Push-Up Bra. Dunno. Whatever it was, they were after it in a doggy-dog kinda way. I even took 2 numbers (different guys, different times) and their friends who were standing right next to them wanted to give me their numbers too. (Threesome? hmmmmm, not thar yet...) NO! I was not dressed slutty or something. Honest.

I saw a great movie with my sister (and then again with my mother – not as good the 2nd time) – Holiday – with Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet, Jude Law (ohmyGod yummy) and Jack Black (who is the highest on my “ick” list). Now people, I ask you – why the phuck would they put Jack Black in a leading male role in a romantic comedy? Ew! He has a butt face. Anyhooo, the movie had several comparisons with “Be Honest, You Weren’t That Into Him Either.”

It is phucking freezing in my office today. I shoulda brought a blanket. Our heat isn’t working. I’m so cold. Oh yeah – and I got my cold back again. This time, it doesn’t feel like a flu because I am not all confused/disoriented and feverish. I’m also poppin antibiotics like they are raisins or something. Mucus is a terrible thing and hard to get rid of (known where I come from as “hockin’ a loogie”). I know – not very phuckin ladylike, eh? And yet - so descriptive.

I brought back 4 pairs of boots from the US. Those things will make anybody ladylike in a hurry!

I picked up my hubungous ring from the jewelers just before I left. It looks very small to me now. I keep sticking it under my girlfriends noses and saying, “Do you think it’s too smaaaaaall?” – which, of course, girls can get away with saying. Tee hee. Anyhow, it was kind of a small disappointment. Small disappointments are the worst, aren’t they?

Well, I could go on and on (and I DO!), but the coffee is finally starting to wear out and my fingers have gone numb from the cold. I think I’ll go get a sheel ow meshi later. mmmmmmmmmmmmm

Leeeeevin' On (another) Jet Plane...

... ok... not lonesome.... :)

Don't Mess With the Fish!

Slapperella and I were driving along last night on our way to dinner at a new (to us) restaurant we have been trying to get to for the past 2 weeks. We were talking about the recent course of events in my life and she said, “Ok, when you get back from your trip, I don’t want to hear any more about your luck.” I agreed; new year, new luck. I had fish on my mind.

But you know - you just can't have a conversation like that without tempting fate.

When we entered the restaurant, it was kind of weird – there were a bunch of white dudes standing there staring at us and the tables were empty. When all of a sudden, out of nowhere, walks my former boss. It turned out it was a dude’s retirement party and former boss said, “Stay. It’s free.” (Which basically sums up his collective mentality on everything. He still owes me precisely 32 KD from my final paycheck - which is still gnawing at me like a doooda because 1) I’m sure he did it on purpose to save some money and B) he did NOT “forget” to give it to me.)

What were the chances of the restaurant being hired out for a private party on the very night that we finally got there?
What were the chances of ME actually knowing someone and having that someone rope me into staying?

After an hour of standing there (neither of us had eaten all day and it was already 8pm), smiling at people that I didn’t know and making small talk (while my smile muscles hurt and my stomach grumbled and no end was in sight), my L4 and L5’s starting hurting. I looked over at Slapperella who had her “intellectual flirt” on with a nice guy they had just introduced us to. I can tell her “intellectual flirt” because of the body posture and the way she tilts her head and yet she is captivatingly flirty at the same time. Most intriguing. Anyhoo, it was time to make a dash (into the pouring rain). I couldn’t wait for food any longer. Since we were of only a few women, I don’t think they really wanted us to go, but alas… dash we did. The kicker was that the fish had been staring at me from under the ice the entire time…just waiting….

It totally pissed me off. It was The Universe – “Game ON” again. We ended up having dinner at Taal – which is a great date place (very nice atmosphere), but not with your closest friend. The waiter was smiley and chatty and genuinely nice. I wasn’t in a mood. “BRING ME FISH!!!” I did get fish, but not really the kind I was after.

No one can have a conversation with me about my luck because it will just work against them. So Slaps, if you are reading this, let’s just keep it an unspoken agreement that yes – my luck will change in 2007.

Being Unstable and Bitchy is All Part of My Mystique

‘Hello?’
“Hi. Is this Desert Girl?”
‘Yes. Who’s this?’
“This is The Universe. You should recognize my voice by now! I know you’ve been tired of me phuckin with you this year, but I got a little more for ya….”

It is to be expected. It’s gonna happen. No doubt about it. The Universe is just laughing its comedic ass off at the shenanigans it is pulling on me. And I’ve gotta hand it to the U. . . it’s got game.

No need to go into details. It was just another Weekend by Universe Phuckin With Me. I am just the BUTT of a big Universe joke - and I live with it.

Some good things I did this weekend – went to the new Sakura; which, by the way, has the BEST sushi in all of Kuwaitdom. I really liked the new décor. Very cool. I expect I’ll be back in there a lot (nothing new there).

I also went to Kout and watched the water dance (it did, however, make me have to pee 4 times. Actually… just thinking about it is making me have to pee). I love that fountain-- not because it makes me have to pee, but because it is so beautiful and mesmerizing and makes me forget for 6 nanoseconds that the Universe is still phuckin with me. I had some French onion soup at Paul with Slapperella and a new friend. Kout is awesome for hunting. I ran into a several people I knew at the new mall across the street also, Al-Manshar Mall. I like it there. Hope they open up more cool stores. It was very relaxing and pretty.

On Thursday night, I went to the incredibly disappointing Film Kuwait 06 with Slapperella. I had thought that it would be more like it was 2 years ago, when my friend, Naz had his short film shown. At that time, I enjoyed it because it showed young Kuwaiti talent and gave a little insight/perspective. This time, the show was put on at Shaab Cinema – which I thought was a great venue. Casper & Gambini provided free sandwiches and chips (yummy as usual) and a new company gave away fat-free cookies (which were excellent and now I’m sorry I can’t remember their name because I want more). The show started off ok with a short film from Australia (winner of the somethingsomething short film festival somewhere). It was cute and good and I there is one quote that I will remember: “A cigarette is like your mother’s nipple”. But then… there was a Lebanese short film about Lebanese weddings in the either 50’s or 60’s with an original piano score. It would have been outstanding – had it lasted only 10 minutes. But this thing went on for 25 with plinky-planky very loud piano music. Jeez. I don’t even watch my own family’s home movies for that long. Why the pluck would I want to watch someone else’s for that long? They lost approximately ¾ of the audience during the showing of that one (including ALL the hot dishtasha guys). Anyone who has lived in Kuwait for any amount of time knows that the general Kuwaiti audience has an attention span of a gnat (unless there is a car chase or someone is getting blown away). Lebanese ancient-history wedding film was followed by a semi-gruesome short film from Denmark about fisherman or something and that’s when they lost Slapperella and I. She didn’t even want to stay to grab free sandwiches (you’ll notice that I did). I was really disappointed; I wanted to see the Kuwaiti short movies.

And back to the quote, “a cigarette is like your mother’s nipple”: It will forever change the way I look at the men around here who smoke because it is soooooooooo true. They even get that look on their faces...

Speaking of infantile: Anyone who even THINKS of banking with Kuwait Finance House should have their head examined. Yes, I do resemble that remark. I have had an account there for TEN YEARS (yup, count it, people!) and I applied 3 weeks ago for a credit card (at a “service fee” of 200 kd per YEAR with no interest as a "benefit") and I STILL HAVEN’T RECEIVED IT.

· First of all, KFH, no one gives a shit what your internal procedures are: End users only care about the end product.
· 2) You are a coffee shop, not a bank. Does KFH even have a bank rating?
· 3) The people working at the bank are all very kind, but unless the “bank” actually PROVIDEs a service, no one cares how nice the employees are.

Kuwait Fffffffffffffffff*&%ing House: Why am I still banking with them? Well, my car lease is through them, so I have the account there. Also, since they asked my employer FOUR TIMES to provide a salary continuation letter and an agreement that my employer wouldn’t transfer my salary to any other bank without notifying KFH first, it puts me in the position of having to ask my employer to do additional personal work if I want to go somewhere else. The “bank” actually called someone in our HR department – instead of ME, their customer – to ask that something be changed in the letter. What the phuck – am I three years old and are they calling my parents??? Me = customer; call me direct. I don’t even know how many man-hours I have asked my employer’s HR department to put in working on my menial personal bullshit tasks. How could I possibly ask them to do more? Just because my “bank” is unprofessional, doesn’t mean that I should appear so. I hate this. How long does it take to get a credit card anywhere else? Days, right? In the US, you can do it over the phone. Why? Because credit card companies WANT you to spend their money so they can charge you. Why can’t Kuwait get with the rest of the world??????????????? Back assward third world country banking system!!!

I am still sick. Just doing menial tasks makes me very tired. I can’t breathe and my asthma is really getting to me. Why did somebody make asthma so hard to spell? I mean, it is even hard for spell check to find. All this complaining and bitching has made me tired again.

‘Tis the Season to Get Was-ted. Fa La La La Laa…

I am going to drink myself silly when I get back to Virginia. I am going to giggle with my sister until my sides hurt and I can’t breathe and I have to pee. I’m going to play with the big dogs and run around making them crrrrrrrrrazy (in turn, making my sister crrrrrrrrrazy). I’m going to take my mother places that she can’t get to without a car (she doesn’t drive). I am going to give my nephew THE best gift in the whole world (can’t say what it is till later as someone from home might be reading this and then tell my bigmouthsister and then of course she’ll tell him).

“When wine goes in, secrets come out.” Apparently, she didn’t know that it was WRONG to mention at her annual Christmas party, that her best friend’s husband (who we really think is gay) runs naked on the treadmill. As my sister said, “Well, I didn’t know it was a secret or anything.” I won’t be able to burn the mental picture of him and his “dangly bits” flopping along on the treadmill. Ick. I wonder if she stands behind him with a leather riding crop… ok; Don’t go there.

You know what I really want for Christmas this year (besides world peace)? Clothes long enough to cover my fat ass. Don’t get me wrong – there will ALWAYS be a thong at the base of it all; I just feel like this is something I need to do at this juncture. Has my world come to this?

Bring on the eggnog, baybee. I’m in it. I’ll just put on something long to hide my BFA.

I had a friend who used to make kick-ass egg nog. What the hell was her name? She was always the bubbliest person at the party. The stuff had about a gallon of bourbon and real nutmeg. Hey, did you know that nutmeg has been banned in Kuwait on/off for years as people seem to believe it is an aphrodisiac? Well go figure. Maybe they should ban sushi and crabs too because people have been known to turn into horndogs… I digress…

The newly re-decorated Sakura opens this weekend. Woooo Hooooooooo. I’ll be there, getting’ my sush on.

Oh, want to hear something really stupid (I know – you are SO used to that from reading this blog, aren’t you? SHUT UP!): Our work hours are until 4:30 here. On Wednesdays, the Chairman leaves early (he’s got a huge farm in Saudi on the other side of the border somewhere and I assumed that’s why). By 3:45, the ENTIRE company has left and they have locked the doors. This happens every Wednesday and I look down from my pulpit above the masses (office with a window to see the central area below) and think, ‘Damn – what a bunch of slackers! Just because the BigGuy is gone, doesn’t mean that everybody should leave early consistently every Wednesday! Where are their work ethics?’ So, this went on and on. Finally, about 2 weeks ago, my secretary sees me at my desk working at 4 when she is leaving on a Wednesday. She says, “(Desert Girl), you do know that we leave at 3:30 on Wednesdays, right?” Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitt. I remember that I saw something about that when they gave me my joining documentation 3 + months ago.

This will be my first Cwimmas without my daddy. It was the last time I saw him – with snow on the ground. He was in front of his home, standing in the yard and waving “bye” as I left to go to the airport. I remember driving back from Nemocolin resort (where we usually go with the entire family on December 26th) through the mountains. We usually go in several cars. I was driving my brother-in-law's car, and I looked over at my dad in the passenger seat as he slept. That song came on the radio, “The Living Years”. I mentally asked myself if I had said all the things that I wanted to say to my dad; that if he left me soon, did he know everything? Did he know how much I love him? I said, ‘Yes’, and I just looked at him and smiled. I think I’ll have extra bourbon (his favorite) in my eggnog and say a special toast to dad and leave chrysanthemums on his grave. Nobody ever knew what to get my dad for Christmas. Men are so difficult to buy for. If you think that someone can’t ever have enough sweaters – you are wrong!

Icicles to Ice

I had THE coolest dream last night. I often dream of moving into houses – and they are usually very cool houses with interesting angles and architecture. I loved last night’s house. It was on the beach – I mean, part of the house was built ON the beach and my bedroom was partially solid (where the bed was) and the other half was glass – actually IN the ocean. The floor, walls, and ceiling were glass, so that turquoise water was all around me. It was amazing. Desert Dawg was with me and my mother and sister were somewhere in the background (they are always there too when I move into a new house in my dreams). I was sitting on my bed – everything was white – and watching the waves in front of me crashing into my glass wall. I loved the dream. I felt so content. Supposedly, dreaming of moving into new homes signifies changes in your life. Apparently, I have had a lot of changes because I often move monthly.

My dream world is so much more interesting than my awake world. How pathetic.

The Romanian has suggested that I see a shrink while I’m in the States to help me cope with getting over The Man – as I haven’t 100% yet. (Also known as “we are still very sick of hearing about him.) That is kind of the pot calling the kettle wacked. LOL. I know it takes time and all that BS, but I’m not like this. This isn’t me. I move on; I forget. I am also an innately forgiving person. I can’t move on; I can’t forget; and I can’t forgive. I know that it is eating up my insides. I keep asking myself how the wonderful man I knew was replaced by this mean, insensitive, uncaring creature who makes me feel like only a shell of a human is left of myself. I’m not this way. Why do I feel like this? I don’t believe in shrinks – not even when the worst of the worst stuff has happened in my life. I am sure that this too will pass.

Maybe because it is close to Christmas and last year at this time, I was full of high hopes and happiness and thinking that we were getting married. At a restaurant we used to frequent, they had icicle lights (strands of little white lights that looked like icicles). The Man and I both loved them and talked about decorating with them at our wedding reception. For Christmas, he gave me a necklace and earring set that made me cry – they were icicles. It was a beautiful and incredibly thoughtful surprise. How could that man have changed so much? What kind of evil spell was cast to do this?

My horoscope this month in Bazaar Magazine said something profound. I don’t think the editor knows me THAT well, but it read something like, “You were abandoned by a parent early in life. You make up for your subliminal feelings of inadequacy by being overly giving.” Holy crap, Batman. That could be it. But wait… I am so bitchy and mean… God, I’m schizophrenic. Maybe I should see that shrink.

I know I should forgive The Man and turn everything I feel into pity and just walk away, but – as they say in Kuwait, “fee dooda.” The majority of my time is spent in mental clarity, but I will suddenly revert and slip right back into “that place” and I am really trying not to be so down.

One more week and I’m back with my family.

FUBAR!

The Traffic Light at Hamad Mubarak Street and Gulf Road

What GENIUS decided it was okay to change the traffic light timings at the lights on the Gulf Road entering into Hamad Mubarak Street from the Marina Mall side and the next one down at Nadi Shaab? They used to peacefully change when the light to proceed straight turned green. Now, you have to wait in line (as cars back up to the next signal). What type of urban planning degree does Retardo have and from where – a village in India or Nepal perhaps? And one week, he/she/it decides to paint turn arrows (at the H. Mubarak turn) from the 2nd lane over, and the next week, covers them up so you can’t turn! WTF??? There are no signs announcing this. No one knows what to do. All the “smart” people are making U-turns from the 2nd lane (really really stupid) and the people in the farthest left lane – who think they are doing the “right thing” - are turning as normal onto Hamad Mubarak. It is totally FUBAR (F-ed Up Beyond All Recognition). I was this close to driving across the median the other day and taking my chances, vigilante-style. Don’t you think they could TRY to make things BETTER instead of WORSE?

And speaking of making things WORSE: I have lived in my building for TEN years. I have never had a problem with parking. Once or twice, I’ve had to park across the street, but who cares? No biggie. All of a sudden, the GENIUSES who manage my building (Ramiasshole et al) have decided to assign parking spaces and place metal poles (at very tight distances to each other) with lockable chains on each space. I have told them that I don’t want the poles/don’t need the chains. You can’t see the frickin poles. The building across the street thought this was a good idea too – had them all installed, and then everyone complained about cars being damaged, so they took them out. Now, I already have my own master plan: I’m buying a sledge hammer. Yup. If they install them around my car, I’m going to pay somebody/anybody to whack them out of there. Phuckem. The poles have been in there for a little over a week. So far, 3 cars have been damaged.

I still feel sick. Today is Day 11. This is the Flu From Hell. It is probably Bird Flu or some kind of lung-ravaging airborne spore (Anthrax?) that the Kuwait Ministry of Health hasn’t notified the local population about. I have been to the doctor FIVE times. I can’t breathe. Whatever fungus is among us, it is sitting in a ball at the bottom of my lungs and making horrible noises. You can’t hack it out; you can’t cough it out. It just stays with you. You get the fever at varying intervals of the day and night.

(Purgy, as not to disappoint you… A little DG Dating Fluff) I met a guy a while back who instantly fell in puppy-love (ugh!). He immediately began telling me that I needed to diet (although he is VERY large) and my friends were no good and wore too much make up and … oh, by the way – “why do you wear make-up?”. Yada yada. So he just sent me an SMS saying, “When are you going to the States for Christmas? I really hate to be away from you, so I was planning to go with you.” Yeh – chellloooooooooo, stalkerboy! First up: My family, although sweet as can be, would rip someone like you to shreds (bless your heart) without at least 8-12 months of formal introduction as part of our 12-step initiation process (our exit process is a whole lot faster, as The Man found out!). And B) what got our “relationship” (based solely on SMSing) to this point? My friend, Slapperella, is asked this question by wannabe boyfriends all the time, “Can I come to Scotland to see your parents?” Her response is, “Sure. When do I meet your mother?” (She was shocked the other day when she was given an invitation to have dinner with one wannabe’s parents, but basically, it is pretty effective.)

I haven't met anyone interesting lately (been sick). That must change soon. I have kinda been holding off till 2007 when the karma is right.

I am going to the States on the 19th and if you haven’t noticed already – I really need to get out of here for a while.

Gone, but not Forgotten

Today is Shamlan’s birthday.

I miss him every day.

Rest in peace, baby, far from the troubles of this world.

* * *

**

*

I remember.

Seeing you for the first time on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown: the 2 seconds that changed my life when our eyes met and I knew.
The orange Capri RS (and the small army of Dubai guys with the same cars in different colors)
Waiting for you after class at American University
Long talks with your cousin, Najeeb
Chivas Regal

Kisses that tasted like Chivas Regal and cigarettes
Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, Teddy Pendergrass, Fairuz (Wahdon)
Halson cologne
The park next to the Potomac River at the end of King Street in Old Town
Pink baby roses and purple flowers.
July 20
Democracy, Marxism and strange political meetings.

Ambition.
You telling me that you would take care of me – even if no one else would.

The ring from the antiques store.
Your incredible wavy hair!
You sketching me when my hair was braided.
Sneaking back into my house at 6 am. My dad catching me.
Holding my hand.
Mr. Smith’s.
Your waterbed.
Stealing your Arabic cassettes.
Your friend from the UAE embassy that you smoked cigars with that had the cool house.
You telling my dad to,“Keep her away from Arabs.”
Lace underwear that I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of.
Drunken phone calls.
The day you played soccer with the guys at Crystal City and fell in the mud.

The musical sound of your laugh.
Daily/weekly letters to you

Waiting for you to come back.

Finding out on Valentine's Day that you had died.

Your words that always haunt me, "I will never forget these days."

Put Your Big Girl Panties on and Deal With It

One might ask, “Desert Girl, what could possibly happen to you next in this shitty year of 2006?” and I might respond with the following:

First of all, I have been struck by weird ailments since the beginning of the year (e coli poisoning, back problems, chest pains that I thought was a heart attack), but I caulked all those up to the Evil Eye of Someone in The Man’s Close Family – perhaps even doing some black magic on me/us. I read an article recently about “heartbreak syndrome” where all of these symptoms are actually attributes of a medical ailment being studied. Being distraught can cause your immune system to lower and therefore all kinds of things can happen….

I got WACKED by the flu bigtime this week. It hit me on Thursday while I was in the chair at the salon (ok, so I’m sick, but I’m pretty). I fell asleep several times. My throat hurt. (I do have to admit that I was having evil thoughts towards The Man and his clan, so maybe it was such that brought it about.) It lasted a full-blown 4 days. I couldn’t lift my head. I couldn’t eat. All I wanted to do was sleep (which might have been really good if someone big and yummy was next to me, but then again, maybe not because I was all sweaty and disgusting). I went to Mowasat so many times that they are giving me a discount card (not really, but they should and I suggested it, so maybe….).

Now, during this time, one might think that my FRIENDS would be supportive; offering comfort and at least words of cheer. Nophuckinway. The Romanian disappeared – totally. When I finally (on the 4th day) sent her an SMS saying, “Ayeb, ya mara. I have been home since Thursday…”, she shot me one back saying, “Really sorry. I have a lot of problems.” Aaaaaah, chel-loooooo. Slapperella is always on the scene with words of comfort, advice, guidance and kindness. I don’t know what I would do without her. She lives right across the street from me and brought me food and juice and took me to the hospital. The Romanian is on my “BeeOtch List” right now. (You wouldn’t believe the amount of things Slapperella and I do for her!)

Oh oh oh – and meanwhile – she “forgot to tell” me that she had gone to see a male friend of MINE (who once had potential, but that she knew I was mad at recently) – WHILE I was sick. BeeOtch! They always say not to introduce your girlfriends to your male friends, but I never listen. It is kind of hard when you are all in the same place at the same time, etc.

So… yesterday, I think I am semi-recovered from the flu (still sounding like a sexy Donald Duck and with majordraggyass) and set off to work. I’m drivin’ along and BAM! A little Dickweed hit my car with his Caaaaaaaaaamry. That’s fine – no big deal because it’s insured. He jumps out of the car and the first thing out of his mouth is, “Shut up.” Then, he tells me to park my car to the right because we are blocking traffic – and he proceeds to TAKE OFF! AS IF. (I have already called 777 – I guess he was talking to his friends or something on the phone – advice from fellow dickweeds.) I went after him, got in front, told him to stop – and the Dickweed was swerving around behind me to try to get away! He lost control of his car, hit the curb, bounced off, and plowed into the rear quarter panel of my car, spinning me around to face oncoming traffic. He jumps out of his car and starts shouting at me in Arabic. Get this – he was going to take off AGAIN, but this time there were witnesses there! He tells them (again in Arabic), “That gahaba hit my car!” and proceeded with other dirty words. Not cool. (For once, I didn’t retaliate – and that was only because I knew that I had a case if I wanted.) The police arrived shortly after and I told the officer what Dickweed said. He (car # 6163 of the 777 police – love ya, baby!) told me to tell the officer at the police station – which I did. The boy told the lieutenant, “I was talking to my dad on the phone.” I’m like (in Arabic), “Your dad? What kind of family do you come from?”

Anyhow, I could have filed a case against him for the insults, but his father showed up and he was a genuinely nice guy who apologized to me profusely - telling me that he is religious and yada yada. Dickweed shouted at the attending officer, the lieutenant, and 2 investigators. One of the investigators tried to get all of us thrown out after Dickweed tells him, “What are you – a minister or something? Sitting there giving orders!” WTF. Dude didn’t know when to shut up. Even his own father was telling him to shut up.

When we gave our accountings of what happened, he started shouting at me again! I told him, “You could go to prison! Want me to file the case? Stop shouting.” I swearaGod, if it wasn’t for his father…. I usually don’t have much luck with long-bearded men, but the investigator was genuinely kind to me. I was still pretty sick and he did his best to make reason out of the boy. He just shook his head and said, “These young boys in Kuwait are a problem…” Anyways, Dickweed told them a different story – that I cut in front of him and he hit me (yes - I was driving sideways down the street). It is pretty obvious from the damage of what happened. The investigator said that unless our stories matched, he would have to send us to the experts/engineers to determine the cause of the crash. No big deal for me because I’m 100% covered, but Dickweed was wailing about having to pay 50 kd for being at fault. He got really really nice all of a sudden and said, “Just sign the paper saying its your fault and we can leave.” I told long-beard investigator dude that I’m not a liar and I don’t bare false witness, so bring it on. I don’t care about the outcome – either way, I’m covered. I just hope he has to pay and learns something. (He’s far too distorted – he won’t learn anything. I’m just BSing myself. Forever a Dickweed!)

I sent The Man an SMS saying that I had been in an accident. I shouldn’t have, alas, but I did. His response, “How is the car? Where is it?” Somebody slap a “stupid” sign on my forehead now, puhleeze!

Slapperella was very concerned, so she took me back to Mowasat in the afternoon where we spent 3 hours getting me x-rayed to make sure I don’t have whiplash (tee hee – I always think that’s funny). It turns out that although I don’t have any injuries resulting from this accident, however, my L4 and L5 discs on the right side have slipped sometime previously and I should see an orthopedic doctor (I know what THAT was from – circus sex. Bastard, bastard, bastard!)

…. And all of the above are yet other reasons of why (….now, repeat after me)…

THIS YEAR SUCKS.

Desert Girl’s Review of Borat

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I mean, it had its funny moments, but overall, it felt kind of like another Jackass movie with an accent. If you’ve seen Ali G Indahouse, you’ll know the tune. It has a few funny moments, but overall, not really a belly-gut laughing time.

I’ve also read all the articles by/of people portrayed in the movie and yes, I can definitely see how they’d be upset. How did they, for example, get by Hollywood with the “running of the Jews”? I haven’t heard of protests in the streets or anything…

I haven’t seen anything recent that compares with Chappelle’s Season 2, as far as really funny comedy goes, have you?

On to shows of another type: What I really want to see is “Kay fel Hal” with English subtitles. Any idea where to get a copy if there is such a thing? By the by: Let me just say that whoever decided to put English subtitles on the Arabic soap operas on KTV ROCKS! Yeah, I'm an ignorant foreigner who can't read Arabic. So what? Now at least, I know what the hell is going on!

Arabian Barbie & Ken Get Married!

No - not me. Duuuuuuuh.

I went to a wedding last week at the Regency. I was in a foul mood (yes, as usual …. damn – let me finish), and I usually dread going to weddings on several levels, but hey – I had a dress made and matching shoes and bag, so it wasn’t going to be so bad. Right? Not. First of all, I forgot that last year when I had the dress made, I never went back to do the finishing touches – leaving the dress to look like a iridescent silk potato sack (making me the potato). It was awful. I ran around for 45 minutes in a sweat/tither trying to find something that didn’t make me look like a SPINSTER. I finally found a form-fitting black dress that I’ve had for like 15 years (shut up – I am too 29!!!) and threw that on with some sexy FMPs. Basically, my beaded abaya looked better than my dress.

The wedding was for my friend, Mona’s, son. I took the Romanian because Slapperella is doing her MASTERS of BS and had a class that night. Anyhoo, thankfully, most of the women weren’t terribly formally dressed (although a few of the girls were stunning). Usually when I go to weddings here, it is a matter of looking down your nose at other women who are looking down their noses and so on. Then, everybody talks trash about everybody else. It is the thang. This wedding was different: there wasn’t a bad vibe in the room. I didn’t get one snobby look – everybody was genuinely happy and in a good mood. As the Romanian said, “Their marriage will probably be very happy”. Inshallah.

The music was great. I don't dance at weddings (for fear of being giggled at/wrecking my mood), but if I did - I would have gotten down. We thought it was a DJ, but it was actually a group. They were soooooooooooooo good!

I really didn’t think that a wedding at the Regency was going to be so hot. I’ve been there for other events over the years and it generally left a bad smell in my nose. The service, the food, the venue (lighting, comfort, temperature), the parking – everything was perfect. They had a precision team of Pilipino waitresses in black and white service sweets and coffee/tea and they worked like an army – walking in, in 2 rows and spreading out to serve; most impressive. I usually don’t eat at buffets at wedding because you never know how long the food has been sitting around; there is usually one or two bottom-dwelling creatures who eats FROM the chaffing dish; and then you have to fight the hoards of women to get AT the food. Not for me. This time, I was one of the first in line and the food had just been set out. I didn’t have to elbow my way in and I saw nothing that disgusted me. The food was very good. They had a real tiered wedding cake that was humungous and pink and white and gorgeous, but I just couldn’t eat that much.

When the bride came in, she looked like Arabian Barbie or something. The hotel provides a spotlight that follows the bride in to the kosha. All the lights were dimmed except for the spot on the bride and the tiny white lights on the kosha. The bride had a veil with hundreds of tiny crystals on it. She was amazing. I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so pretty. It looked like a fairy tale.

The bride and groom really matched each other (mashallah!). Obviously well suited. I think I only met him once and I didn't remember him as being so handsome.

I wanted to kill The Man. I sent him nasty SMSs during the wedding. I know I should have been focused on the good fortune of the bride and groom, but I wanted to slap him silly. Bastard. It should have been us. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

…moving right along….

So then, I went home and the next day, I came down with the flu… (wait for tomorrow’s post…)