Zero to bitch in sixty seconds….

Why is it that I always get what I want, but in a phucked up way? Just wondering. Like the ‘78 Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am that I saw at the Providence Civic Center car show (I was 3). I went with my step-father and there it was – on a revolving platform with mirrors and lights. I had to possess one. . . and I did. It was 15 years later, but I got the exact car with the exact options. Phucked up. Every time I wish for a husband (which, believe me, is not often), I get some phucked up proposal from some absurd potential husband. Either that, or mutaa (temporary marriage). That’s messed up that you have to temporarily marry someone just to get them into bed. You know – you can ask for a dowry with that and it can be whatever you want. Imagine. Phucked up. Just some thoughts.

The weekend.

Wednesday: I figured we had a long weekend, so I could waste one night of partying and mayhem, so I watched TV in my PJ’s and then slept. I had a brief conversation with my (no longer) Future Husband and Father of My Children and we agreed to have dinner on Saturday night. Said he has been busy with his family and blah blah blah and so nice of me to understand. I don’t. My philosophy is this: if a man wants to be with you, he will go anywhere, do anything to be near you. Oh, this includes actually calling you to see how you’re doing. So far, NL-F-H-a-F-o-m-C isn’t doing such a hot job at that. (Reminding them of their duty to adore you as a Goddess doesn’t count, by the way. They gotta do it from the heart.)

Thursday, I went with MuslimArtist and a new friend from work, (let’s call her Brazil), and her husband to eat sushi at Sakura. We ended up driving around Dhajeej and going to Ikea looking for furniture places. I think they got sorted out. Then, MArtist and I went to a Latin dance party at the Hilton. It was (once again in my world) ugly fun night. Pick the ugliest, shortest, most embarrassing man in a room and within 5.4 minutes, he’ll be asking me to dance. This particular one was obviously a Kuwaiti policeman (haircut that looked like a helmet and belt midway between his groin and his chest). I guess it was obvious to everyone but him. He was sitting with some other mabaheth (internal police)-looking guys that were pretending to be “cool”. The look just didn’t work for them. Anyhow, ugly-short-police-dude did indeed ask me to dance (followed by all the other ladies at our table). He refused to speak to me in Arabic, saying that his father was Puerto Rican and his mother Kuwaiti – right, as if! His freaky Latin-lover break dance moves left me relatively speechless. Bedouin mabaheth freaky Latin-lover – NOT! Let’s talk about hailag couple now (I know you are gonna love this MArtist!): Why is it that at every buffet event there are people who 1) cut the line, or 2) eat directly from the chafing dishes, or 3) can’t wait to get back to their table to eat the food, so they stand in the middle of the buffet room eating off their plate? Hailag Couple had 1 and 3 covered. Hailag Man didn’t bother to remove his Bluetooth from his ear (which is worthy of an entire paragraph in itself). They cut right in front of about 10 of us who were waiting. I ran up, grabbed a prop (a plate) and said, “You know – the end of the line is back there.” Hailag woman replied, “Oh really? Thanks.” Then, they went directly to the hot foods and stood in the room eating. PIGSSSSSS! I hate buffets in Kuwait. Hate them, hate them, hate them. I especially hate buffets at weddings. For some reason, the women (I didn’t say ‘ladies’, did I?) seem to believe that it is okay to be rude and push other women out of the way (sometimes with elbows, sometimes with big butts) and to be as totally disgusting as they possibly can be. Do these people not eat at home? What is UP with that? I try to leave before the buffet because I get scared.

Anyhoo, several of the friends at our table had a good time. One of the girls from work (Petite) came. I wasn’t too sure about her when I met her at work, but she is just so cool and I like her a lot. Maybe I’m just too judgmental when I first meet people. I dunno.

Friday night, MuslimArtist and I met Petite and her friend, W, at La Piazza for dinner. It was great – except for the exceptionally loud table O’Egyptians and mini-Egyptians in ANOTHER ROOM of the restaurant. I was this close to shouting, “Shuuuuuuuut uuuuuuuup!!” but I had just met W and he already looked kinda scared. W is handsome and very nice and wouldn’t allow us to pay for dinner (now THAT’s a MAN, baby!). We ended up back at Petite’s apartment until 2 am drinking green tea till I could pee out of my ears.

Saturday morning, we (same characters) met up for breakfast at Johnny Rockets at Marina Crescent. Then, we went out on “our boat” (you know – the 1kd boat that runs from the dock next to Sultan Center restaurants next to the yachts club). We were alone on the boat (thank God – nobody to sit there and stare at us for ½ an hour). Then, we headed down to the Hilton to the Bluebird Café to sit outside and have coffee. We met up with L there, who fell in lust with W. I need to get her laid somehow. She is far too hormonal. (She doesn’t read my blog and even if she does, she acknowledges it – which is, of course, the right step towards fixing your problem.) So anyhoo, L met W at a party something like 6 years ago (she didn’t remember BTW) and all of a sudden, she “knows him”. Perhaps like I KNOW George Clooney because of my repeated dreams of him (but that's different because I know George in the Biblical sense).

At 8:00 Saturday night (about the same time when he was supposed to pick me up for our date), No-Longer-Future-Husband-and-Father-of-my-Children called. He didn't bother to call me Thursday OR Friday OR anytime during the day on Saturday. I didn't pick up. Sent him a message saying that he must not be that into me and I'd rather wait for someone who is (although NOT like Barbecue Boy). L advised me to send him him a message never to call me again. Nah. If he does call, I'll just mess with him for shyts and giggles.

So, after sitting on our butts (on wooden benches without cushions) for about 3+ hours, Petite and W split and MArtist and L and I headed down to the Gulf Road to be hailag in honor of Kuwait National Day/Liberation Day. We stopped and bought cans of foam. I already had flags. Thank God, I got my Discovery back (its still not fixed right), so we could foam people from out of the sunroof and didn’t have to worry if someone trashed the car. After about an hour (going for ½ a mile), I had to, once again, pee out of my ears (it was all that coffee), so we stopped at Maki, frontin for sushi (bathroom). 40kd of sushi later, we were back out on the road, foaming and getting foamed. Some little shyt cracked the US flag off my car (I thought he broke the window). Ok, I’m all into it when everybody is having a good time, but some of those boys were really really mean and threw cans at the car and tried to open doors and stuff. At about 11:00, there were no women to be seen on the road, so we got out of there and let the teenaged boys take over – and wow – did they ever!

Let me just say that I have NEVER seen a National/Liberation Day celebration in Kuwait like this one. I think that everybody was out to say – in your face – ‘we are free, let us finally celebrate.’ The horns kept honking until about 3 am. People were dancing in the streets. It was a circus. You go, youth of Kuwait.

I think that the height of the evening came when a boy parallel to us was dancing with his butt against an opened van window and didn’t expect a foreign woman to spray him. I got him good – right in the seat of the pants – and proceeded to laugh my azz off (well, not all of it).

Ok, last night – Sunday: Thank GOD my maid showed up early yesterday because everybody ended up at my place for movies and pizza. CineDude hasn’t been himself (I hope you feel better, Dude. We miss you!) L was doing a little dance for W (many people have to pay for that in New York City) and snuggled up to him all night. Me and MArtist were practicallypuking. Blaaaaaah. MArtist left early after mucho eye-rolling (I’m with you, girlfriend). Everybody left shortly after her and apparently, all the action took place in the elevator and downstairs (damn! I missed it!). Petite was mad at W. W was mad at Petite and L. L decided that she didn’t like W (damn girl – that’s a LOT of wasted effort!) because of the way he was talking to/trying to control Petite. Mohammed was trying to keep everybody calm. W was talking trash about Desert Dog (phuck THAT!), “You know I don’t like dogs blah blah blah. Why did you bring me here? Blah blah hachie hachie…” Apparently, Petite just wanted to hang with the girls and leave W out of the picture, but he tagged along because he’s INTO her (she’s apparently NOT). If you saw Petite, you would know why – she is totally Tinkerbell.

Bunny was "busy" all weekend. Bummer, but nothing unusual for him. I am used to that by now. 3 years and I should know him by now.

I asked for a cool group of new friends. (Please refer to paragraph 1 at the beginning of this post.) Everyone has their pros and cons. (As for me - I'm zero to bitch in sixty seconds.) All in all, it was a great 4-day weekend and I had fun. Now, there are only 3 work days till another weekend!