My cow is dead. Why do I need your bull?

Let me begin with the good thing:

I saw something nice on my way to work today: There is a grey-haired traffic policeman who stands at the U-turn between the fire brigade and the gas station on 4th Ring Road every morning. He stops traffic on 4th ring towards Fahaheel Expressway/Shuwaikh so that people at the U-turn can get into traffic. My car was one of the first 3 that was stopped to let them through. I watched as car after car of people of different nationalities (from Kuwait and other nations) waved and smiled at him. He waved back to a few. It was just such a small gesture of kindness and totally random by everyone in the line. It made my day.

I needed that today, as I’ve been hit by stress on all fronts lately - both personal and business related.

The Bull...

Work is hurling some rather nasty large obstacles… but fortunately, they seem to be counter-weighted by knights in shining armor coming to my rescue. What a chess game you play here at work! So much drama and intrigue for silly things. Why can’t we all just get the job done?

I’m still looking for a home (that isn’t a box under the highway somewhere). I can’t believe how difficult it is! I’ve asked The Man to help me – as he was my good luck charm prior to my trip to the US – but unfortunately, I believe the blush is off the rose; the charm has worn off. He seems reluctant now and I can’t really blame him. We have no connections now. I have gone to look at apartments every night after work and I have seen tiny, dirty, disgusting, poorly-lit, poorly-maintained crappy Pigeon Holes for People. I’ve seen holes in the wall, holes in the floor, mold growing all over the place like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, trash, broken things, BLUE toilets, PINK kitchens, and many many offensive smells. Realtors here are liars for the most part; There are different layers of them. I have found that the female realtors are the most sincere and direct. Egyptian men - not so much. And the PRICES! In my neighborhood (which is ugly by my standards), the 2 bedroom apartments have risen from 250 kd/mo to 650 and up. I go home and cry.

… and cry to who? Well, Bunny is my rock. He’s my Big Shoulder to cry on. Desert Dawg is my constant companion. I am just wondering what the hell I’m doing here, waking up every morning alone, when I could be in a beautiful home that smells sweet, deer running by in the evenings, fat free/low carb meals, with my family. Why am I doing this to myself? Sometimes I just reach a low point.

The Eid break was just too long and upsetting for me. I shoulda gone somewhere, but I didn’t want to spend the money with the move coming up.

During Ramadan, I didn’t see much of Bu Merdas (who I now refer to as “Mr. Excuse”). I got lots of hachi about the religious ramifications… and how he would see me after … It didn’t amount to a hill of beans; a bunch of hooey. Bu Merdas (who I could probably refer to as “BM” and make it equally as “expressive”) had been planning a big dinner for me and my criminal elements for the 2nd day of Eid. I asked Sheikha Minor to invite our other peripheral friends. She promised me and BM they would all be there. BM made plans, ordered food, cleaned for several days (he doesn’t have a hariss at the jkhoor). He was really happy about it. Skip to the day of the event: The Romanian and I called Sheikha Minor and she was in Bahrain. She said that no one else wanted to come. So began The Depression.

We are both depressed. We usually bounce back after a day or two with the help of Mr. Jose Cuervo and/or sushi; however, this is lasting longtime. Both The Romanian and evaluate our friendships on an annual basis. We know that we are both cool, but sometimes you take a look at the other friends around you and wonder who you can really rely on. Who are your real friends – even after you have spent many evenings together for the past year? When you really need them the most – will they be there; or ditch you when something better comes along?

Everything is temporary written on the sand.

Bu Medas cancelled the dinner. I ended up with machboos for 20 people and a whole lot of salads. He stopped by the next night to pick up the trays. Since then, I haven’t seen him and he continues to call me 5 or 6 times a day to ask me where I am; in some pathetically lame attempt at controlling me: “Where were you?! Why didn’t you answer the phone?!” I think of evil things to say in retaliation, but it just isn’t worth the effort. Sigh... BM hasn’t offered to help me with my apartment hunt. If I feel tired or sick, he one-ups me with something bigger, “Aaaah – my back hurts!” He’s like a Jewish grandmother. He has 4 million excuses why he can’t come see me, why he can’t come stay with me, why I can’t go stay with him, why why why…. Zzzzzzzzzzzz. It makes me tired just thinking about it. I’ve stopped answering my phone now.

By the way, if you have a Zain line and you are practicing blondeness and you ever F up using the online payment system and put in an incorrect digit by mistake paying your bill, you are in for a world of trouble. I paid my bill – to the wrong number – and it has taken forever and with many calls to Zain to fix. They promise – they just haven’t delivered. I’ve been their customer for 11 years. One customer “service” rep actually had the balls to tell me, “well, you CHOSE to pay to the wrong number”. I’m like, “Yeah, I CHOSE to give some other subscriber 200 KD. I do that all time.”