Closet Diva Extraordinaire

God giveth and God taketh

2010-08-23T16:23:00.002-07:00

A beautiful flower
thorns seeping of poison
A bright smile
beneath a sheet of hatred
She lied, she schemed, she damaged
and rejoiced with my suffering

and then she wondered why she has not my friendship

She was rich with love
From all that was around her
She had praise, admiration and peoples approval
but it was not enough for her sick self esteem

The days have turned
and I learned
I bloomed
I blossomed
as Life started to smile at me

But to her Life was a burden
She reaped what she had sowed
and now she is friendless
loveless
and dying

sharing for joy

2010-06-14T08:33:00.004-07:00

I recently had a dream that i was in an expensive london restaurant by myself. The menu looked amazing and I wanted to try everything but since I was by myself I only ordered two things.

When I was done the head waiter of the restaurant told me dessert was on the house and he brought me everything on the dessert menu. From chocolate fondue to apple strudel to homemade rasberry ice cream to chocolate soufle it looked delicious. I was overwhelmed at the amount of food on my table, and was concerned at how I was going to be able to eat it by myself. If I ate it all I would feel like a glutton and be sick all night and if I tried a bit of everything and leave the rest it would offend the head waiter. All this delicious food prepared with such care and fine ingredients, was gifted to me, and I was staring at it by myself wondering how I could eat it.

Suddenly of bunch of my LEAST favourite people (we all have them in our lives) walked in the restaurant. They are my least favourite people because I hate what they represent, I hate their behavior, I hate their insecurities, their bitter luck, their lack of class and finesse, their tendency to self impose themselves and I hate being in their company. They walked in the restuarant drenched in rain, looking like a mess (which they often do in real life)and self imposed themselves onto MY table. Then they gawked at the sumptious desserts to which I , out of politeness only, invited them to eat.

As they were gulping down all the different desserts on my table I suddenly felt relieved/ like I could actually enjoy the food that was previously overwhelming me. Even though I dont like these people I was glad I had someone to share my dessert with. And I was much happier in my dream to have them on my table than to be eating alone.

Anyone who knows me in real life knows how I tend to disassociate myself from people whose company I dont enjoy and have no problems being alone, travelling alone, going to the beach alone etc. But this dream was telling me that happiness and joy cannot be achieved unless shared -something new to keep in mind.

10 things to do before you die

2010-03-06T16:41:00.005-07:00

1-Love someone more than yourself
2-Go to an Indian Wedding
3-Pretend to be Brazilian to members of the opposite sex
4-Get a Morrocan bath in Morroco
5-Meet a stranger on an airplane
6-Throw a party in someone's honor
7-Perform Hajj (or relevant spiritual pilgrimage)
8-Dance with your father
9-date a 21 year old and enjoy it (only applicable to women over 28)
10- go to an Andrea Bocelli concert and cry!

the power of the subconsious

2010-01-15T13:57:00.005-07:00

Every woman has the exact love life she wants.

"the hottest love has the coldest end"
Socrates

crush

2009-11-22T23:50:00.001-07:00

CD has a huge crush on a 21 year old boy and really wants to surrender to his charms.....somebody shoot me!

Whats going on with the Kingdom of Bahrain?

2009-11-16T02:00:00.008-07:00

I don't know about you, but to me Bahrain is kinda interesting these days:

-The King's handsome younger son, Nasser, marries the daughter of the Ruler of Dubai.

-UAE's Mubadala and Occidental Petroleum invested a huge chunk of money on a gas drilling exploration project in Bahrain!!!

Bahrain? Gas? Since when did they have any gas?
Well apparently they did unearth something last month.

-They built a bridge to connect them directly to Qatar within a 30 minute drive. More tarqeem action from qatari boys on weekends.

-ohhh one more thing...they opened up a Nikki Beach at the Ritz Carlton. (Weekend in Bahrain anybody?)

Another reason to Love Qatar

2009-11-16T01:51:00.002-07:00

They held a doha tribeca film festival earlier this month....with attendees like Robert Deniro.

Hillary...deficient, or hungry?

2009-11-16T01:09:00.010-07:00

Just when Obama's demand for total freeze of Israeli settlements in the West Bank restored hope in our hearts for a shot at peace.....BEHOLD, Hillary Clinton retracts and declares that a partial freeze, not including settlements in East Jerusalem (the intended capital for the palestinian state) is "unprecedented".

I'm not a fan of Hillary Clinton, especially since her position in the Dubai ports scandal a few years ago which painfully revealed her lack of character. But this declaration, bringing Obama's administration's efforts for change two steps back, suggests two things;
1- her negotiation skills wholly and unconditionally suck -which I find hard to believe considering she was a fierce and fearless lawyer.
2-She is kissing up to Netanyahu because she is power hungry for political brownie points from AIPAC and Congress. Now thats more like it!

Afterall, she did show us how much she craved power when she stood by Bill in '98....

Bye bye landan

2009-06-09T11:25:00.004-07:00

Word on the street is that the UK is planning to charge tourists that spend more than 100 days in the UK through-out the year a 'resident tax'.

I'm sure thats gonna piss off a lot of Kuwaiti folks who own apartments in london and spend the entire summer over there, with their nannies too.

Will people still continue going to london as often as they do? ( I certainly won't, and its not because of the money its because of the principle!)
Will people still hold on to their properties or will they sell them?
Will people that have initially planned to purchase properties in london in light of low market prices change their minds?

And finally, who is the strategically ignorant crazy british bloke behind this resident tax on tourists business? I'd be interested to hear his economic vision behind this tax policy..

I prefer Paris anyway :)

The warrior that will bury the parasites

2009-05-15T03:59:00.003-07:00

محمد الجويهل كلامك يبرد الكبد!!!!!

و ياااااريتني بالدائره الثالثه كاااااان صوتلك

FINALLY, A FEARLESS WARRIOR THAT WILL PUT msalemoo al barrak wamthaaalah TO SHAME!

Wall Street II

2009-04-30T03:05:00.002-07:00

Hands down Gordon Gekko is my favourite character in all movie history, and nobody can do it better than Micheal Douglas. I am so thrilled to learn that there will be a Wall Street part II in light of recent market events.
I really hope they bring in some good writers for the sequel, and Gordon's character will be just as fierce, if not more than the original. Some of my favourite quotes from this fierce, sexy, unforgiving wall street hotshot:
"Greed is good"
"if you need a friend, get a dog"
"whats worth doing is worth doing for money"
"lunch is for wimps"
"ever wonder why fund managers can't beat the S&P 500? Because they're sheep and sheep get slaughtered!"

Being another Florida could save Dubai

2009-04-25T09:08:00.007-07:00

As a very very small investor in the Dubai real estate market, I am very concerned about the falling real estate prices in the emirate. Canceled and delayed projects is one thing, but the potential large outflow of expat population who lost their jobs with the credit crisis is very worrying - and whats worse is that we are still to see that effect: Most people who lost their jobs get 6 months pay, and probably won't move out of the city until their children's school year ends in the summer. So come July in 2009, a large community of expat families will be fleeing back to their homelands, and emptying various residences in the emirate. Supply will be larger than demand, and prices will plummet down further.

That being said I do believe a city like Dubai has hope... but it all depends on the government decisions and visions for the emirate. Dubai has the potential to be the Florida of the European retirement community. It has great all year warm weather that no European country has, it has great health care and medical infrastructure that is equipped to treat elderly patients, and the social/ cultural structure that would attract the retirement age group ; golf tournaments, polo matches, tennis, museums, spas, and art galleries.

So does the Ministry of Planning in dubai have this kind of plan in mind to stabilise the now frighteningly plummeting real estate market? I don't know, but I don't see why not. Being a potential host for the elderly european retirement community will only be positive for the emirate: they are consumers, they don't earn money, they are known to be active in the cultural and arts scene which will only add value to the cultural segment of Dubai, they increase demand for medical care which will attract improved and qualified professionals into the medicine field, and they will bring in more tourism when their families and grandchildren from Europe come to visit them, magnifying the luxury image of Dubai as a vacation spot.

Ironically, that is how Florida established itself as a luxury, artsy and hip destination afterall.

Sultan Al-Qassemi, the rising star of the Gulf!

2009-04-15T23:33:00.005-07:00

I don't know why, but I find intelligent men with impressive vocabularies extremely sexy, sexier than the 6 feet tall muscular buffs at the gym (their 'sexiness' wears off after 5 minutes of conversation).
But this guy over here is a bank of historical information, just read his blog! Not only does he possess eloquence and innovative ideas, with random historical factoids, he is also a generous philanthropist (double sexy points), a sponsor of the arts ( he owns meem gallery in dubai -triple sexy points), runs his own Brokerage firm, and speaks French (quadruple sexy points). When he's not busy attending to his own personal family business or writing his daring, opinionated articles for The National Newspaper in Abu Dhabi, he teaches Middle Eastern History and participates in socio-political panels and cultural museum events.
And word on the street -or around the emirate-is that despite this native royal's various accomplishments he is very nice, and very humble. I imagine he also loves going to the opera (totally an assumption).
Ladies in the U.A.E, if your men possessed half the characteristics of this eligible Emarati bachelor, I would say you're in good hands.

Dating in the financial crisis

2009-04-06T04:49:00.002-07:00

I'm sure all the ladies are feeling me on this one: it seems that all eligible single dudes these days are b.r.o.k.e.

Yes the economy is tanking, yes we all went broke because of what happened to Agility but we had Zain, and then Zain went down below 2 kd :s. Yes Global illegally took our cash intended for a Saudi investment to pay off its own debts. Yes the overall market has plummeted way beyond the Dirty Thirties. But surely the notoriously high flying, jet setting, crocodile LV luggage sporting, St Tropez summering, +50 ft yatch owning, Courchevel apres-skiing, valentino suit rocking single men had other sources of income besides the Kuwaiti stock market….no?
Please tell me that you do.

I'm not a gold digger, but like any independent self-respecting diva with a mind and a lifestyle I'm ain't interested in no broke niggah!

The good thing is that an economy like this really sheds light on the level of intelligence of men. You can now easily weed out the smart, creative, out of the box thinking leaders from the ones that lived off inflated company earnings and followed the herd at the stock market like a dumb sheep. Now is the time to ask, Is your guy the type that studies his decisions carefully and excersises logic and caution, or is he part of the pool of failures that made hasty impulsive and delusional investments –a reflection of his own future psychological behaviors? The financial crisis has indeed been a revealing marriage-o-meter that enables women to discern the value of datable guys and their marriageability potential.
For me personally, it has brought down the marriage ratings of several guys I used to be in awe of.
Yes, not only do I not want a broke niggah, I also NOT want a guy that lacks brains, common sense, and innovative thinking.

So...I wanna know..... who is the guy (other than George Soros) that shorted the dollar a year ago and made money out of this crisis?

Abuse

2009-03-17T01:40:00.005-07:00

Oprah's message to all the Rihannas in the world

"If a man has hit you before, HE WILL HIT YOU AGAIN!"

The allure of Oman

2009-03-08T13:49:00.002-07:00

My grandfather's teaboy, Abi Salim was a short thin dark skinned man from south Oman. As children, he recanted many tales about magic, witches flying in the sky, Sinbad, and genies (jinn). He once told us about a wizard in his town that turned human beings to animals; his stories were always filled with color and vivid details. As a little girl, I believed them.

The image of Oman that he painted for me had stuck with me for a long time. Even as I grew older I still thought of Oman as a magical, mysterious, legendary place.
During my trip to the Sultanate, I was determined to get the bottom of all this magic stuff Oman is so notorious for (at least amongst the Gulf countries). I asked the concierge at the hotel, I asked the Beduoins in the dessert, I asked our camping guide, I asked members of the royal family who studied in England and live in the city, I asked the 'zanzis' (omanies who have historically traded with zanzibar and speak Swahili). It was an official sociological investigation!

Every person I spoke with had an interesting reaction. At first they would brush off my inquiries as nonsense and unfounded. But as I probed and probed with more pressure, I uncovered their true opinion on the subject: They all believed in it. All of them. From the successfull hotelier that was educated in England and was running his father's hotels in Zanzibar, to the low income traditional God fearing fisherman that lived in the village. To my utter surprise, everyone had a personal story about Jinn and spells and magicians. Many of them were uncomfortable talking about it -they were aware how ridiculous it sounded- but when they did they asked me not to show disrespect by denying its existence.

The stories I heard were just as wild if not more than the ones Abi Salem would tell us. I left Oman with an even wilder impression than I originally had come in with. Perhaps it is part of the allure.

How have you been spending your twenties?

2009-02-09T14:37:00.004-07:00

On a total whim, I decided to head over to Dubai for a 1 day shopping spree. On the plane I was seated next to a very attractive stylish young European looking lady. She had the figure of a model: tall, stick thin, and curvy at the same time. She gracefully moved her giant bottega bag to make way for me, gently plopped her Dior sunglasses on top of her head, and then flashed me a genuine innocent smile that made me think she was an angel. There was something curiously beautiful about her; her air, her aura, her style or maybe just her innocent child like smile. As I got to talk to her I learned that she works for a high end consulting firm in Kuwait, was also heading to Dubai for the shopping, and that she is half Bulgarian half Russian. I asked how come she spoke english with a perfect american accent, and it turns out she graduated from Princeton.
So we continued talking and she is a truly fascinating, highly accomplished and egregious girl. She seemed innately curious about everything. She asked me questions about Kuwaiti society, politics, history, cultural norms and how come I was so 'westernised'.
At the luggage belt in Dubai airport we exchanged phone numbers with promises to meet up in Kuwait and even go to Croatia together in the summer (!)...Then she suddenly divulged that the real reason she is in Dubai was to go on a date.
CD: wow! Must be a real catch, huh?
Her: Well, he's a really good looking Italian guy, I met him at a conference.
CD: Cool....so anyway, where are you staying?
Her: (very matter of factly) Well, if the date goes well, I'll stay at his place. If not, I'll check in the Shangri La.
CD: Oh....ok. But, this is the first date, isn't it?
Her: (her eyes slightly more sinister) Honey, I don't know about you, but I haven't seen any tall, good looking guys in Kuwait. This means I haven't had sex. . For three months. Definitely not how I intend to spend my twenties!

I blinked in horror. Yes. I was caught off guard. Something about her last statement that awakened a repressed realization on my part, accompanied by mild envy. I began comparing how I'm spending my celibate twenties to her rather 'eventful' attempt. Here I thought I was fabulous for going to Dubai on a shopping trip; homegirl was going to Dubai for a steamy tryst with a hot Italian.
Our lives seemed so similar, but they are essentially on fundamentally different planes.

So, how have you been spending your twenties?

moral dilemma

2008-06-12T03:17:00.002-07:00

Is it acceptable to accept expensive gifts from men?

Where does one draw the line between showing a man that you appreciate being spoiled and pampered while still retaining your personal prestige / self-respect?

small world (too small)

2008-05-08T04:08:00.002-07:00

As soon as I entered the meeting room at work, I cast my eyes on my foreign guests, expecting the regular round of middle aged suited men with protruding bellies and botoxed foreheads. This time, my eyes caught sight of a face so striking it made my insides quiver like a Myanmar hurricane. Its hard to describe a uniquely genuine good looking man; words like "beautiful", "handsome", "attractive" will not do him justice. His skin was a golden honeyed caramel, and his butterfly eyes were sharply rimmed by a ring of jet black eyelashes. I looked into his eyes and found myself lost in a sea of brilliant green. His gaze, though friendly, was very penetrating. For a split second, I turned into a hormonal teenager and believed I was madly in love with this stranger, that in another life, I knew him, danced with him, had a magical 'story' with him.

Until he opened his mouth and informed me that we did in fact meet before… a few years ago, on a plane!!

I could not even concentrate at the meeting, not after remembering the way I had recklessly flirted with him on that damn plane ride.

cultural reform in qatar

2008-02-02T08:17:00.000-07:00

I was rushing to the airport in Qatar on a sunny afternoon, and to heighten my state of panic, every single street was blocked by police. Traffic was insane, and the taxi didn't know which street to take!

"Good grief, what is going on in Qatar" I asked the cab driver.
"George Bush is in town" he muttered.
" No he was here last week. And they didn't shut down any streets." I pedantically told him.
"Well it must be someone really important then" he replied
"Who could be more important than George Bush. I don't think so".

My curiousity was piqued. I asked every single person in the airport what was going on in Doha, why were all the streets blocked.
Well, ladies and Gentelman, it turns out that the day I was leaving Qatar was the "national bicycles day"
Yep, thats right. Everyone was out riding their bicycles including the amazing Shiekha Moza and her daughters.

I think I want to live in Qatar now.

Understanding cultures through literature

2008-01-29T22:56:00.000-07:00

So...how do Iraqies sing about love????

"ya 7aya yum rassain, 6ubi ib jederhum
Simmay ahal il bait, bas khali waladhum"

translation: Oh snake of two heads, plunge into their cooking pots
poison the entire household, except for my lover

They say that through music and poetry, you get a glimpse of the underlying character of the society.

Despite its malicious nature and violent language, I really love this song (from darb il zalag) !!

gentleman caller

2008-01-20T22:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not a phone person. I hate talking on the phone for more than 15 minutes, even if its with a love interest. My phone is not always with me; I leave it in my room when I'm hanging around the house, in the gym locker when I'm working out and definitely in my car when I'm out shopping. I end up missing a lot of calls and I usually never call back. This of course drives all of my friends mad but they are sort of used to it.

So lately I've missing a lot of calls from Egypt. I don't have any Egyptian friends, I don't know anyone in Egypt and I didn't post my resume for any positions in Egypt. I kept squeezing my brain on who the heck it could be calling me from there. I was clueless.

After about two months of missing the calls from Egypt, once again my mysterious caller called me yesterday twice while I was at a funeral, so I decided it was time to call back and find out the deal.

Well Ladies and Gentlemen,
My caller from Egypt for the past two months turns out to be a young Egyptian chap named Mamdoo7, who happens to be really interested in getting to know me in an honorable way, and is madly mesmerized by my voice, and will be thinking about me all night, and would kindly appreciate it if I would credit his phone or send him a money order so that he can afford to facilitate our profound romance.

2007-12-15T03:14:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone!!

I just wanted ya'll to know that I'm alive. & very happy and still very cynical. It has been an amazing year for me, and an amazing month.

I wish everyone a happy eid and brilliant new year.

yours truly
CD

a strange encounter at the gym

2007-09-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

I decided to go to the gym at an odd hour to avoid the usual massive crowds. As I entered the gym to my great surprise I heard Nawal's music blasting (the gym usually plays techno music)and found an old fat lady with hijab dancing in front of the mirror. I felt like I was intruding on her privacy because the minute she saw me she paused...then she hollered:
Old Lady: Hey F! How are you.
CD: (I looked around and realized that she was talking to me)Um...I'm not F.
Old Lady: You're not?
CD: (smiling) No
Old Lady: who are you then?
CD: I'm CD
OL: CD what?
CD: CD from X family
OL: which ones?
CD: the ones that live in X area.
OL: and whats your mothers family name?
CD: Y family.
OL: would you like to dance with me? come and dance with me.
CD: Um no thank you, (smiling)I'm just gonna go to the treadmill
OL: (grabbing my hand) come on, just this song.

So I start dancing with her which was kind of awkward and we were both facing the mirror. She put her finger on her nose and started swaying her head from side to side, then she told me to do the same. I told her it wasn't my style. She then lifted her hand and started waving it very dramatically and asked me to imitate her again. I repeated, while dancing with her, that that wasn't my style either. She laughed condscendingly and very mockingly asked me what my style was -as if I was the one being weird! I laughed and excused myself to head to the treadmill, Nawal's music is still blasting on the speakers.

Of course the gym was completely empty and out of all the plentiful treadmills scattered around the room, she chose to get on the one right next to me and proceeded to talk to me.
FL: is your uncle (from mother's side) married to X
CD: Yes, do you know them?
FL: Oh no, my kids went to the same school as their kids.
CD: Oh ok
FL: Did you go to that school as well
CD: Yes
FL: where did you finish university?
CD: I went to X university.
She looked totally unimpressed and continued to ask me questions about my mother's family.

She asked me if my aunt was married to X, I answered her.
She asked me who my younger aunt was married to, I answered her.
She asked me my grandmother's full name, I answered her.
She asked me if any of my siblings were married, and who they were married to, I answered her.
She asked me if my female cousin from my mother's family ever got married. I paused, because my cousin's marriage was quite a huge scandal and hesistated to answer.
She asked me again, so I answered her. She had a very weird disapproving expression on her face that I did not appreciate at all. So I asked her,
"3afwan, min hathritich?" (whats your name)
FL: I am Amal.
CD: 3ashat il asami. Amal shino?
FL: They call me um Flan.

Ok, whatever, this woman is old and I'm not gonna be rude by insisting that she tells me her name, so I removed my towel, told her it was lovely meeting her and walked away.
Sure enough, she leaves the treadmill and starts following me to the changing room. I can feel her rushing to catch up to me so I whip out my phone and pretend that Im talking to someone to avoid conversation with her. She lingers by my locker while I'm undressing and just watches me. I quickly put on my clothes without checking myself in the mirror and wave to her goodbye. She told me
"See you tomorrow CD"

As soon as I got home I told my parents about her and they were both convinced that this woman is interested in me as a marriage prospect (my mom was kinda excited).
Initially that thought did cross my mind, but the way she aggressively asked me questions about my family seemed that she was satisfying her own curiousity (ligafa zayda) idleness, old age ...and perhaps some loneliness. I shudder at the thought that maybe one day, I would wake up 20 years from now, and see myself turning into this woman!

a visit to the doctor

2007-06-28T04:09:00.000-07:00

The other day my eyes were really itching and flaming red from the dust, I could'nt even blink without feeling a sharp burn sting my eyes like a razor ripping through my viens, so I decided to leave the office right after I signed in to make a quick trip to the co-op clinic nearby.

After a good 30 minutes wait I finally entered the doctor's office, gave him my file and civil ID and sat down. He ignored the file and stared openly at my civil ID then asked:

Dr.: You are from X family?

CD: Uh, yes.

DR.: which ones?

CD: The ones from x tribe.

Dr.: Oh...the ones that reside in this district?

CD: Yes.

Dr.: How many uncles do you have?

CD: I have X amount of uncles.

Dr.: And they all reside in this district?

CD: Yes.

Dr. : And who are your mother's family?

CD: My mother is from the house of Y.

Dr.: Yes..the ones that live in this district as well, in block x?

CD: Yes.

Dr.: You know I come from the same tribe as your family. My great grandmother was from the house of X like you. And my uncles wife was from the house of Z who is related to your mother's family before they relocated to Iraq.

CD: (rubbing my eyes which were burning like fire) I see.

DR: They had relocated to Iraq along with many other families including the house of N, B, Q and R. These families are referred to as "x" but they are still from the same tribe as your mother's family.

CD: Ok.

Dr: N and B families were renouned merchants of the Gulf, they travelled all over and they married into other merchant families in Bahrain, Iraq, and Saudi such as X, Y and Z. All of these families come from the same tribe Y.

CD: (wiping off the tears in my eyes) I see, it seems that you know a lot about Kuwaiti history and family lineage.

Dr: (the corners of his mouth rise in wild elation and his eyes flashed with excitement) Of course I do! (he practically rejoiced) This is my history. Its who I am. Man has nothing to be proud of if he can't be proud of his lineage.

CD: (feeling extemely anxious to switch the subject to my eyes, which feel like they are bleeding) well I suppose you're right. Anyway I'm here to see you about my eyes, I just left work and..

Dr: (interrupting me) Work?
CD: yes, I had left work to come see you because....
Dr: Where do you work?
CD: I work at X.
Dr: Who is your boss?
CD: My boss is XYZ.
Dr: I've never heard of that family name in my entire life. Why the heck do you work there? That place is full of beduoins.
CD: Yes I know.
Dr.: The whole country is dominated by them now, they are everywhere, in all the firms, ministries, institutions and parliament.
CD: (totally uninterested in having this conversation) yeah well...anyway my eyes are...
Dr.: let me give you my business card (he hands it over to me and points at one of the three listed mobile numbers) Call me at this number right here, I never answer the other numbers.
CD: Oh, ok, thanks Doctor.
Dr.: Anytime you need a sick leave, you want me to sign something, you want to go away for a month and don't have enough vacation days just call me.
CD: Well thank you
Dr.: Do you have a business card as well?
CD: (I get one from my purse and hand it to him) well anyway Doctor, as I was saying my eyes
Dr: Yuba ishfeech thiba7teena, whats wrong with your eyes!
CD: well they're killing me, I can't even work or look at the computor.
Dr.: So? Take the day off. Give me your sick leave, I'll sign it for you.
CD: Actually I didn't bring one, I was planning to return back to work. I just want you to prescribe something for me that would relieve the burning.
Dr: yeah don't worry it will go.
CD: But can you prescribe something for me?
Dr.: I will if you want. Are you going back to work now to your beduoin boss?
CD: yes
Dr.: you know, I'm gonna be running for parliament in the next election in our district. I want you to summon your whole family, from both your father and mother's side to vote for me, because abi akasir roos hal khama ili bil majlis.
CD: I see..
Dr.: You told me you have x amount of uncles. What about from your mother's side?
CD: my mother side I have Y uncles and X aunts.
Dr.: Thats wonderful (he quickly writes a prescription on a piece of paper) here you go young lady. And don't forget, if you ever need anything, you have my card.

To Preach and validate

2007-06-15T14:22:00.000-07:00

Blogging has proven to be a bizzare sub surreal experience for me where I find myself living and communicating in an alternate reality: I spill out my guts to a bunch of complete strangers on the internet, and then wait anxiously to read their feedback on my personal life and innermost thoughts .

When you really sit back and suck in the implications of this interesting form of communication, you realize how pathetic and ridiculous this vain need for validation is.

But aye, the plot does thicken. Because out of the diverse group of readers/commenters of all over the world, ages, interests and what have you, there will always be some ragingly insecure loser with an impassioned need to validate HIMSELF at your expense by going through your archives, psychoanalyzing your personality and then telling you that you're wrong, you're perception is skewed, and takes considerable amount of time from his schedule to write you a lengthy email advising you how you should change your thinking:

"I have a feeling your opinions are based on skewed principles. I think you weigh much of your principles on their perceived application at certain cultures, for ideas/principles are pointless if they can’t be applied. From this, you should conclude two things: 1) if you’re going to compare cultures you must compare the results (application) of principles. 2) You must deal with factual/statistical realities rather than your limited exposure to certain layers of society. If you go through this exercise objectively, you’ll find that our culture doesn’t rate so bad, relatively speaking"

In my head, I am screaming "what the heck is he going off about"? So I read it over again and realized that this freak is criticizing my perception process. Its just too funny!
There are some people in this world that just love to preach. They preach to their siblings, they preach to their friends, they preach to their colleagues, and they preach to random strangers on the internet. The question is....why?

WHY?

What is accomplished by lecturing people that their way of thinking is wrong, and that your way is right? Does it, on a sick level, yield some sort of personal satisfaction? Does it validate one's own lifestlye and mentality for theirself? Does it reaffirm their own values when they see they have suceeded in imposing their perceptions on those that are supoosedly different? Why is there always a defined right and wrong...why can't it be whats right for you is right for you and whats right for me is right for me and lets both accept it and be blithe.

Embarassing Moment

2007-05-29T22:48:00.000-07:00

There's this guy at the gym that looks awfully familiar, and I never forget a face as I have an excellent memory, but for the life of me I CAN NOT remember where or how it is that I have met this guy. And whenever he looks at me he gives me the scornful glance that says "You know exactly who I am, how dare you not acknowledge me." So whenever I see him, I just nod and say 'hello' and he does the same, sometimes we'll extend it to 'how you doin, how was your work-out' but I'm too embarrassed to elongate it any further because I still cant recall how and where I know him from.

Is he one of OC's friends?
Do I know him from school?
Do I know him from work?
Did I meet him at a conference?
Is he a distant relative?
Is he one of my friend's cousins?

I kept squeezing my brain and I just couldn't remember. So I decided to be bold. I marched up to his treadmill where he was sweating away , smiled , said hello then went straight to the point:
CD:I've been wanting to ask you this for ages, but I've been quite shy. For some reason, I can't remember at all how I know you."
Familiar stranger: (glaring at me like I had just insulted him)
CD: my memory is so awful, I'm sorry.
Familiar stranger: (bursting out in laughter)
He then turned to me and said...
"I'M AN ACTOR"

I looked hard at his face and it suddenly clicked! He was in some crappy Kuwaiti soap opera that my grandmother was addicted to during Ramadan. I saw him on TV every thursday when I went to have Futour at my grandmother's. And here I thought that we personally knew each other.

Allaaah yal fashlaaaaaa!!!

Sick underdogs

2007-05-26T22:39:00.001-07:00

I have come to a realization that most of the older men in government institutions are fundamentally sick. With egos as fragile as shattered glass, insecurities cultivated since pre-adolescence, and political vandettas full of contempt and rage -these men step into work everyday with their closet of sick "issues" from which they draw their justification and right to be on highly pimped out power trips.

The classic example of these men is the beduoin man, who for some reason managed to foster a raging inferiority complex and a deep-rooted belief that all his life, he has been vicitimised, looked down upon, passed over, hated, and ignored by the more 'elite' / 'civilised' Kuwaities.

Who knows, maybe there is some underlying truth to his antipathy. Maybe he has been refused marriage into upper-middle class families more than once, maybe he was never invited to prestigious dewaniyas, maybe he was never handed company board memberships while his less competent peers had it on silver platters, maybe nobody had enough grace to invite his abaya clad wife to glamorous wedding parties and istiqbalat, or maybe, to put it simply, nobody held an ounce of respect for his existence. I don't at all doubt or negate these possiblities and I am sorry if they had occurred.

But whats interesting to observe is that unlike Kuwait, the social underdogs of western societies have always strived to work that much harder to prove themselves. Their unfortunate circumstances drove them to be highly motivated and hardworking human machines. They go off and get multiple degrees, they work double shifts into the night, they use every opportunity to advance themselves, and when they do succeed, they give back to the community, create scholarship funds, go on Oprah, write a book, and do something productive with their success.

But in Kuwait, social underdogs with sudden power behave quite antitethically to those in the west. The minute they receive their powerful position, they gaurd it protectively with shields of iron from threats existing only in their imaginitive mind. Every so often they decide to dump their years of rage and fury on fresh bright and younger colleagues whose confidence is yet untainted by reality. I watched this beduoin man glare at a younger confident colleague of mine with enough contempt to singe his eyebrows, and then reprimandingly accuse him of "showing off" for using the word "exacerbate". My colleague was silent for a few seconds, probably shocked out of his wits for being so harshly reprimanded, and then apologetically spoke up and defined the word "exacerbate". Inmediately my boss went into a fit and declared that my colleague will not be participating in X and Y meetings.

This man is seriously sick on a very deep level. From the depths of my heart.... I pity him!

2007-05-09T03:31:00.000-07:00

Vocab word of the day:

MALINGER:
To feign illness or other incapacity in order to avoid duty or work.

-----------------------
Today I was too lethargic to focus on anything remotely complicated in the office, so I decided to sneak out and hit the gym for an hour to get some blood pumpin. I arrived at 11 am and the gym was jam packed! It was full of people my age; some were sprawled out at the pool, some were pumping iron some were workin the cardio and quite a few were exfoliating in the steam room.

I looked at everyone in total disbelief and thought : don't these people have work to do? They can't all be students...I know that for a fact!

So, whats the deal? Am I missing out on something? Do people skip work/ malinger on wednesdays, or am I the only one with a job?

The cost of seduction

2007-04-11T00:42:00.000-07:00

We've all had crushes before, and we all know that it tends to bring out our inner 'stalking'/chasing tendencies (we all have them!). These tendencies vary in degree of intensity from one person to another; people that like to repress their inner desires and are somewhat in denial are usually subtle about their interest towards the opposite sex. These people are boring and never achieve anything. The type that amuses me the most are the ones that are semi-psychotic, especially the females. Some kind of powerful chemical invades their brains and wipes out the significance of generally important things such as personal 'prestige', reputation, pride and time. Everything ceases to be important and suddenly the whole point of existence is To Seduce The Crush At All Costs.
--------------

My instructor for an evening class that I have signed up for is rather handsome. Actually he is probably one of the most gorgeous men I've ever seen, and he also holds a fancy PHD from an Ivy League. Naturally, this guy has his own set of groupies and a huge world wide female fan club. I'm not surprised. He is available (he openly advertises that he is 'single'), smart, fascinating, charming and hot!

But you can imagine the look on my face when I saw none other than Degenerate walk into the class 30 minutes before its end. She was decked out like she just came out of a fashion magazine. Her hair was puffed up and teased, the swarovski bling was shining on every piece of skin she was revealing, her ten inch prada heels were pouncing on the marble floor, demanding everyone's immediate attention. And her short silk skirt swayed teasingly with every step, revealing a slight inch of golden sprayed thigh. As a girl, I am more than willing to bet my bonus that Degenerate spent at least 3 hours getting ready to make this entrance.

And she made it grand! The instructor halts the class as soon as he sees her. Degenerate struts directly towards him. The instructor freezes, then awkwardly sticks out his hand to greet her. Degenerate aggressively grabs his hand and pulls him towards her to give him two kisses on the cheek. Her french manicured claws linger on his shoulder seductively for a few seconds after the kiss as she cocks her hip and gazes into his eyes . This was done in front of everyone in and during class.
She then slides up in the empty seat next to me. She doesn't kiss me hello, even though we've known each other since we were 3, and the last time we saw each other was two years ago. So I decide to be casual and just talk to her normally:

CD: Hey D! I didn't know you signed up for this class!
Degenerate: Actually I didn't, I'm just here to sit in.
CD: Oh. ok. Cool.
Degenerate: I'm here because the instructor is a very close friend of mine. (proudly advertising) We're going out for coffee together after the class.
CD: So you're just gonna wait here for 30 minutes untill the class is over?
Degenerate: yeah
CD: (attempting to be cheeky) wow, you must have a lot free time.
Degenerate: (totally ignoring me and fixing her eyes on the instructor).

Everyday Degenerate shows up 30 minutes before class ends, with a brand new high fashion outfit that she probably spent hours conceptionalizing the night before infront of her mirror. Thats fine, I'm not hating on her. I can respect her for going after what she wants, I can admire her courage, zest and passion. I can even envy her lack of concern to what other people think.

But I do wonder, if 3 hours of your day is spent on getting ready to look fabulous (salon, make-up, green contact lenses, bronze spray on thighs and arms, outfit, heels etc) 30 minutes on waiting for your crush to finish his work, followed by another 30 minutes of watching other girls playing dumb, asking him questions and blatantly flirting with him after class, 2 hours of finally having solo time with him at a coffee shop-it all totals to about 6 hours...I mean come on, am I the only one that cares about time in this country? How the hell is it freaking possible to get anyting remotely productive done during the day?

I CAN'T SLEEP :(

2007-04-08T16:01:00.000-07:00

parental pressure

2007-02-23T12:04:00.001-07:00

word of advice to all the gals out there:

No matter how close you are to your parents, dont EVER EVER EVER tell them about your relationship with your suitor.

They will completely drive you insane. So don't!

football fever

2007-02-20T02:36:00.000-07:00

I am not a football fanatic, but I do enjoy the adrenalin rush from a good game.

I also think that all of the Real Madrid players are HOT !

So it just so happens that I will be in Barcelona during the Real Madrid -Barca game on the 11 of March. I'm willing to give up a couple of fancy dinners in overpriced restaurants so that I can afford to go to this game. I think it will be totally worth it & the experience of a lifetime! But my friend doesn't want to go. She tells me it will be full of sleazy men with beer guts and just too much drunken testosterone. She also says that it will be so crowded and such a mess etc.

Shoud I just go by myself? Or watch the game at a sports bar?

Adri ma 3indi salfa, but currently this is the most important issue in my life :p

webs of indecision

2007-02-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, I really wanted to be a dancer.
In middle school, I decided I wanted to be a writer.
In highschool, I found a passion in issues of injustice and was very adamant about being a lawyer.
In college, I wanted to be a film maker as well as a musuem curator!

Now I am none of these things, but I still harbor a strong desire in all of the aforementioned careers -as well as many others!

How do you figure out what you really passionately and deeply want out of your life?
And if you return to the real non artsy world, how would you explain your one year 'experimentation' gap on your resume?

Repressed Man

2007-02-06T04:13:00.000-07:00

In a country that enforces social controls to segregate the opposite sex and limit their interaction with exaggerated moral codes, it is very natural that the restrictive society will inevitably breed a generation of socially inadequate, low self-esteemed and wildly repressed men. And I understand their resulting desperation. Honestly, I do. Because no matter how much we sugar coat our society with moral values, dress it up with enforced propreity, brainwash with overexaggerated propaganda, we can never really wipe out a man's social and physical instinct to interact, catcall, and flirt with a woman. And what I find utterly amusing is the various creative and rather bizzarre strategies that men end up employing to excersize their need to pick up a woman:

While boarding on a freakin plane, a clearly repressed, scary looking bearded guy decides to halt the que of passengers walking behind him, creep up to my seat, stick his face 20 cm away from mine, and whisper this extremely profound gem of a pick up line:
Repressed Man: nicky ana. (My nick is 'me')
CD: (jumping up from my semi-delirious state) huh?
RM: agoolich nicky 'ana' (I'm telling you my nick is 'me')
CD: um, ma fahamt? (um, I don't know what you're saying)
RM: ibloooo toooth ibloo tooth
I slowly figured out he was offering me his nickname on the bluetooth chat.

CD: Oh! Um, Ana ma ashaghel bluetooth. ( I don't do the bluetooth thing) -
and I wasn't aware people did bluetooth chatting on airplanes?
RM: inzain sajlay 3indich (ok, record this)
CD: shino asajel? (record what?)
RM: il raqam, sajleeeh (my phone number, record it)
At this point the long que of passengers waiting behind him were officially watching this profound exchange.......-with obvious amusement.

CD: (now more alertly registering the situation and switching over to english) OMG! Dude, seriously! I DONT WANT YOUR NUMBER!

I wish the story ends here, but sadly, it doesn't. Fifteen minutes after take-off, our creepy friend decides to upgrade to first class, pays the difference to the stewardess, and then triumphantly slides up to the empty seat next to mine.
I then realized that my obvious display of disinterest in conversing with RM has absolutely nothing to do with his repressed need to converse with a woman. It has nothing to do with me. Its not even about me. It is about his psychological battle to transcend social obstacles, struggle within his own confused values, fight through the pillars of enforced morality, confirm his manhood, and excercise a basic human instinct.
So for the remainder of the flight, I was forced to endure RM's long-winded monologues, strange expressions of admiration-bordering-on-harrassment. and creepy declarations of love that profoundly insulted my intelligence . But he did leave me alone the minute we got out of the plane. I guess he got it out of his system -he came, he saw, he conquered, -and thats what was important.

what does my boss and saddam hussein have in common?

2007-01-28T04:01:00.000-07:00

Saddam torched up kuwait's oil fields
my boss likes to have unproductive employees

we tell him, give us some work, we are bored
he says, I've been instructed to have you ignored

but we are receiving a salary, for doing absolutely nothing!
he says, I don't care about you, or about Kuwait, or anything

But we are Kuwait's resources, being wasted, is that fair?
he says: GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD, I SIMPLY DON'T CARE

burning oil!

2007-01-27T23:06:00.000-07:00

From yesterday's al-qabas article about the importance of privatisation and ineffeciency of government jobs, a quote that I really liked was
"عدم توفير وظائف منتجة للمواطنين يرقى الى درجة حرق آبار النفط على غرار ما فعله صدام حسين"

translation: The government's faliure to provide productive jobs for kuwaiti citizens is in essence doing what Saddam Hussein has done: burning up kuwait's oil fields.

----One of my very capable colleagues who has been frozen for a whole year without any work (due to office politics) approached my boss and told him he was going to resign. My boss's exact response?

"Why are you so anxious? Just hang in there and enjoy your salary. Look at me, I waited FOR TEN YEARS without doing any work and now I'm a manager! Be patient"

Ladies and gentleman, this lovely piece of advice came from a powerful man in a top position in an important institution, he wants my colleague to follow his glorious example of 'being patient' and not doing any work!

I really really would love to frame Saddam Hussein's picture with the words "I love to burn Kuwait's oil" and hang it up my boss's office door with the above quote from Al-Qabas.

DOES ANYONE DARE ME? :p

credit-snatcher

2007-01-10T02:07:00.000-07:00

I had to draft an email this morning and send it to a bunch of different organizations regarding a specific issue. Right in the middle of my email sending frenzy, a junior employee comes up to me and spits out the following:

JE: Hey CD, um can you stop sending those emails?
CD: why?
JE: well I was thinking that I should put my name on it and send them myself!
CD: (shock-induced pause) Uh, is that what the boss wants?
JE: Um no, he didn't say anything about that. But I want my name on it so people will know me. I mean they already know you but they have no idea who I am.
CD: Fine. Draft your own email then and send it.
JE: (A sheepish apologetic smile appears on his face) Actually my english is quite bad, could I just use your copy and put my name on it?
CD: Its better that you write your own so that you learn. I'll be more than happy to read it and correct it for you when you're done.
JE: (huffing and grunting) fine! (he stomps away with an attitude)

Thirty minutes later I find out that he dug out my email from the secretary's folder, copy pasted it, then put his name on it. I was going to unleash hell and make a scene but then I thought, its just a freakin email, so what if he takes credit for it? Allah fogah!

Resentful monsters deserve pity

2006-12-27T22:56:00.007-07:00

There's this delusional fantasy I used to harbor that the way I would receive a promotion would be from a smiling, satisfied boss, who hands it over to me, then gestures me to walk into his office where lies a surprise party for me full of chocolates, congratulatory notes and smiling faces.

At least thats how it happens in the movies.

But the way it happened to me in reality was very different:

Epitome-Of-Middle-Aged-Discontent marched into my office with a tightened scorn on his face. I begin to dread his usual morning rant/ therapuetic indulgence/dumping-years-of-rage-and-anger-on-CD-before-9:00-am daily fix.
My fists are clenched, my teeth are gritted, a mild panic attack overcomes me, all in anticipation for the impending tirade. He walks directly towards my desk as though he is about to wage his verbal attack right at my face, then very hesitantly freezes, glares at me, and hands me an envelope. I open it with slight fear. Two pieces of paper come out, and as they are written in arabic I need more time to examine and understand the writings. There it was, written in golden bold: I have been promoted.
My immediate reaction was a high pitched super excited red bull-induced "OH MY GOD! WOW!" a huge smile bloomed onto my face like Spring in South Africa. "Thank you", I practically rejoiced.

He stood there, agonized, with a look like he had just forcefully forked over his Rolex with a machine gun stuck to his head, and said in a tone of chilled dryness:
"this should prove to you that I do not conspire against you" and readily disappeared out of my office.

Frankly I was too happy and excited to immediately register this scenario, (I was on a natural high for about two hours, dancing in the air, floating amongst the clouds etc.). But now that I think about it I realize that the raging asshole who-is-totally-incapable-of-uttering-a-simple-congratulations-CD-you-got-it does in fact truly and utterly deserve all of mankind's and humanity's motherfucking pity.

Happy Eid ya'll and Happy New Year :)

promotion war

2006-12-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

The week when promotions are announced is the week where human beings expose their true raw malicious nature. Ruthless fangs spring out of mouths to backstab those that are up for promotions. Fabricated rumors soar through hallways and find their way into your office like flying sharp daggers attempting blatant career sabotage. Piosonous efforts are exerted to concoct lavish conspiracies and extravagant plots to destruct and debilitate. And when the promotion glides through despite the underhanded plots, envy hatred and bitterness seeps through the eyes of your so-called friends (with whom you had just recently shared a smoothie and a handful of cookies only two weeks go, but now cannot even seem to get a decent smile out of them as they tempestously whiz by your office). Nobody is your friend when it comes to your new paycheck. The competition is intense. Burning egos are at stake. And those that are left hanging dry, fairly or unfairly, are not ashamed to let you know that your own measly 70 kd increase in salary is a personal fucking offense to their existence.

Its like this damn promotion is a curse. Even if you've spent sleepless nights obsessing about it, swallowed up various forms of bullshit to ensure it, went all the way to Mecca, knelt on your knees in front of God's house and begged for it, once you get it you'll be as shook up as a fugitive, finding yourself hazardously dodging bullets of attack everytime you walk through the hallway.

Restraint

2006-12-13T04:30:00.000-07:00

You know you have developed a thick skin, or a strong immune system from cardio arrest when you no longer so much raise an eyebrow at mortifyingly apathetic mediocrity.

The fact that I am not in the least bit surprised that my uncoordinated Fashionista (a colleague at work who desperately needs a perscription and an intensive course in tasteful fashion) totally ignored my instructions to complete a specific project - makes me feel strong. Four years ago, if someone did this to me I would have committed murder, right after throwing a violent tantrum. But today I stand strong and still as I discover that the simple specific instructions I had given were totally blown off, and that the project was submitted exactly the way I left it, only it was submitted a month later -conveniently, a day before I got back from my trip!

I am definitely not horrified at what she did, but I am really disturbed at her ability to look me in the eye without any shame. I decide to confront her:
CD: Hey Fashionista, I don't know why you submitted this without doing the changes I explained to you.
Fashionista: What changes?
CD: the changes that I highlighted in red, and spent an hour explaining it to you before I went to the airport.
Fashionista: Oh, I looked them over later on, and I didn't agree with them.
CD: Excuse me?
Fashionista: your proposed changes didn't make sense, so I ignored them.
CD: Are you serious? Which ones?
Fashionista: Um, I don't really remember, but I think all of them. So how was your trip?
CD: My trip was fine. Can we go over the changes right now? I would really like to know.
Fashionista: hahah, eshda3wa, khalas we already submitted it.
CD: yeah but I would like to know what you didn't agree with.
Fashionista: Madri, I don't have time right now. Tabeen il sij maly khulg *.

I am really proud at my ability to restrain myself from ripping out her esophagus with my finger nails.

Insomnia strikes again

2006-11-05T15:42:00.000-07:00

Its 1:37 am, I've been tossing and turning for the past hour, and I still cant get myself to sleep.

I've figured out what it is thats bothering me about my life, and I'm in the process of eradicating it, but I still can't sleep at night.

The circles beneath my eyes are hideous & my Mom suspects that I'm in love.

I have such a big day tomorrow, and I'm already dreading my anticipated fatigue.

I had some cerelac (baby comfort food) and it actually made me feel naseaus.

I'm contemplating popping a DVD, but all I have are gory movies that will keep me up (I hate drama and romantic comedies anyway)

Speaking of gory twisted movies, Hard Candy was amazing! So was Hostel. Hard Candy was better though.

Hard Candy is about a 14 year old girl that meets a 30 something pedophile on the internet, goes to his apartment to hang out with him, he gets her drunk, he tells her he wants to take picutres of her and then...... OMG it was da bomb! I wont say what happens but its a shocker.

I know a couple of misogynists, I would love to watch this movie with them.

If I ramble on anymore, I might start revealing unnecessary info that wouldn't be of any interest to anybody anyway!

its 1:54 am, good morning :)

Hallooween musings

2006-11-01T23:46:00.000-07:00

We all wear costumes every day, we all wear masks, sometimes even to ourselves, but during hallooween it seems that people come out of the shell of defined behavior, throw social expectations out to the wind and use this holiday to be who they really are or who they subconsciously aspire to be. Some women, for instance, that have always wanted to resemble red light district entertainers on crack, strategically use the hallooween excuse to don the sexiest/sluttiest outfit they can muster revealing substantial decolletage and skin that they otherwise wouldn't dare to emphasize during normal days of the year, and certainly wouldn't hesistate to fiercely judge girls that otherwise would. The overmasculine men that work high power jobs and spend most of their evenings pumping iron interestingly appear in flashy diva drag. Now there is something uniquely curious about a heterosexual man who during the normal days of the year acts proper and manly, brown-noses in high-profile dewaniyas, has 2-3 very skinny 24 year old girlfriends, lifts 200 pounds in the gym, but during the one day where he can be whoever he wants to be at a party, he chooses to dress like a woman; heels, make-up, earrings and shiny pink thong.
But despite all of this ostentatious release of our inner desires, and celebration of subconsious insecurities and dramatic emphasis of weird identity crises, the people in costumes still seem to latch on to their insecurities and walk around reciting their unimpressive resumes to complete strangers whom they delusionally believe would find them interesting:
Male-Pink-Thong-Flasher:(reeking alcoholic breath) I am a workaholic. I work for (insert fancy foreign oil company here), I work on weekends as well, but the money is good.
CD: (gingerly contemplating suicide for talking to this punk) wow, thats fascinating.
MPTF: I spend most of the time in the desert, other than my gym and uncles's dewaniyas, I don't see any of Kuwait. And during holidays and free weekends I make it ia point to get out of here. I work hard but I also party hard as well. (Pulling his pink thong further up to his waist for the obvious purpose of capturing my attention/curiousity/fascination) So...what do you do?

I don't know why people in social settings always have an inclination to spit out this generic redundant question during the first three minutes of talking to them. It instantly pressures you to glamorize your profession and exaggerate your zest for your job, instead of revealing who you really are. Have we molded into a society where we are strictly defined by what we do? Or have we run out of things to say, ask, or talk about? What happened to conversations about art, music, travel and literature? Why are we always inclined to talk about jobs! By the 8th time of being asked this question in only one evening I was, like everyone else, compelled to throw proper defined behavior out to the wind and say something ridiculous like:
"I'm a flea circus ring master. I 've been training fleas for circus performance for the last 6 years in portugal"
"I'm a specialised camel and sheep shaver in Yemen and Zambia. My job entails a lot of travelling, research and meticulous razor skills"
"I'm an online exotic dancer. You should check out my website, it runs in three languages; farsi, cantanese and arabic, and for $12.99 you can get a live performance straight from my web cam on Thursdays."
"I'm a Zambony truck driver in Kuwait. I spend all night and day cleaning the only ice-skating ring in the country"

The next time I find myself in the company of a cocky self-proclaimed workaholic , especially one dressed in drag, I will be sure to say one of these lines with a straight face, kick back, put my feet up and watch the reaction.

2006-10-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

Dear friends & readers,
I'll be out of town for a while, hence there will be no blogging untill I get back. Happy eid and enjoy your vacations.

xx
CD

irony

2006-10-13T04:03:00.000-07:00

All my life I've existed in a fairly protective bubble where the only segment of kuwaiti society I was exposed to were the people that were in my family's social circle and the kids I went to highschool with.

I never ventured into what the deep of kuwait was, never interacted with people that were extremely different from how I was raised, and only saw them in public malls and restaurants from afar thinking of them as strangers and people that I can not relate to.

Once I started working in kuwait, I learned a lot more about my culture than I ever did in the past twenty something years of my life. I learned about many social complexes, witnessed rampant double personality disorders, learned that its not so abnormal for a married man to be a raging philanderer when travelling on business (I saw this from a colleague with my own eyes and didnt know how to react). I learned that some mu7ajabaat that have been to girls only schools and preach proper dresscode have the tendency to be blatant coquettes when I, a girl that has grown up with boys and went to school with them would never have the courage to be so- in-your-face flirtatious, I saw fat women that listen to quran everyday in their offices moronically scream at poverty-stricken teaboys, refuse to greet me when I say hello and refuse to do their job. I learned from an experienced matchmaker that romance is a moral character flaw and that in order to land a husband I must fake an over-idealized sense of propriety, and last but not least I experienced a boss that is so insecure about his powerful position that he turns into a raging curmudgeon that will not motivate his employees or encourage them for the life of him. I learned and saw quite enough to perhaps write a book about the 'other world' of people and idealogies and strange behaviors that I find extremely outrageous and did not really think would exist in my soceity.

But despite all that I have seen and learned, I never ever ever thought that in a conservative country, at a professional place of work, I would open up my work email one ginger morning to find a message from the IT department sent to everyone at work warning us about downloading porn from the internet (or 'inappropriate explicit material' as they had so aptly put it) This email was sent to every single person that has a job in my institution! For the IT to go so far in taking this action, it must really mean that quite a bunch of people in my work sit in their dishdashas and qutras perched up behind computor screens with kuwaiti newspapers scattered around their desks, fix their eyes momentarily on the photographs of their children and wives as they look away from the computor screen to greet um khalid or bu ahmed that just fleetingly passed through the hallway, and then dutifully turn their eyes back to an extremely explicit pornographic scene on their computor. Then at 11:30 they all click on the "pause" button of their porn videos, flock out of their offices collectively like a herd of sheep to perform the early afternoon prayer in the mosque. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating, maybe the Horny Internet Offenders in my work don't actually go to pray with everybody else, but the point is that they are among us and are one of us and apparently, comprise such a large part of us that actually warranted a mass email from the IT department.

( For some reason I've always imagined in my head that the kind of guy that would actually view porn at 10 am in the morning or 1 pm in the afternoon is probably some sort of overweight middle aged lonely guy living in a basement suffering from social paranoia, or a sociopath with a painful childhood and an unstable life, or an alcoholic/drug abuser that is into S&M and beats his wife for fun -I did not think it would be the regular bu khalid or bu ahmed that works in my institution, wears a dishdasha, comes to work everyday, says 'salam 3alaikum' and reads the al anba2 newspaper!)

One year

2006-10-10T01:07:00.000-07:00

It just came to my attention that a few days ago it was "maa7ib-rasmiyaat"'s 1 year birthday!!

I've been blogging for a whole year! Lets see how much longer I can keep this up :D.
This blogging experience has been very interesting ; while I didn't get to become fabulously famous or featured on the MOMA like other bloggers or even managed to get a spectacular writing career out of this blog or have producers or editors inundate my inbox for a movie deal, I did meet some great fascinating friends.
Other noteworthy achievements would include managing to conjure up strange perverted comments from sexually frustrated readers (you know who you are), ranting diatribes by self-righteous preachers (some were less mild than others), humorous scathing remarks as well as unasked and uncared for opinions through email (I am a magnet to these people, they overexist in my real life and then also manage to slip in to my online alter ego :p) and MOST importantly I found an outlet to purge all my raging insecurities and mental issues anonymously (not so much anymore) through cyberspace, and then receive instant interesting and supportive feedback from the fantastic online community.

So thank you all for reading :)

end of long-winded birthday speech :p

slacker haven

2006-10-03T23:05:00.000-07:00

One of the unique features of government employees in kuwait is their astonishing slacker attititude at work. Now I was a major slacker in college, and I've seen my fair share of slackers at school who will ditch class on a total whim to go have a vodka tonic or just 'chill out' and stare into the space of their living room. But at least when it came down to business, they represented their academic responsiblity to turn in their work, and absolutely shocked me with their insightful comments in class discussions despite their previous night (or morning) of alcoholic intoxication.

But the slackers that I witness here is of another kind. Especially the women. They show up to work late, they bring in their sweets, sandwiches and dates and collectively start eating their feasts as though it were a grand celebration, and not just a random day at work. They will exchange cooking recipes and foolish stories about themselves which they deludedly believe are entertaining enough to share, and then they will each retreat to their offices where they will have long gossip sessions on the phone, all the while loudly playing Quran recital tapes in the background for the obvious purpose of advertising their piety.

Nevermind that this is naseautingly unprofessional, and that this attitude dangerously infects other employees tendency to take their work seriously, and that it almost became accepted as the general standard of work practise to be a slacker.

Its all good, I've managed to forgoe this and move on. But I was horrified when one of these slackers (who happens to be an overweight uneducated middle aged secretary) decided to scream and threaten one of the asian tea boys, accusing him of eating her craft cheese which she had stored in the kitchen fridge. This secretary scared him out of his wits and told him that he'll be fired and sent back to his country.

It was incredible. I couldn't believe it, and I couldn't just sit and watch her do that.

So I marched into her office and yelled at her. In front of the tea boy. I blatantly undermined her by telling the teaboy that he's not going to be fired, and that the secretary has no authority to fire him. I know what I did was unprofessional, but I don't regret it.

Ever since that glorious day, the secretary refuses to talk to me. I'll walk in and say hello and she'll totally ignore me. I'll ask her if my boss is in a meeting and she'll be completely silent, or pick up the phone and pretend that she's talking to someone else. I'll ask her to do something and she'll make another secretary do it for me (we have an exodus of useless secretaries, all of whom don't know how to use powerpoint, and type slower than my 6 year old nephew). I even bought her some breakfast a couple of weeks back to try to seal and heal the wounds of our working relationship, and she returned it to me through the tea boy claiming that she's fasting.

Recently, her hostility has progressed to another level. When I gave her some memos to type up for me in arabic, she sent them back to me through the messenger with a note saying that "she can't do it". I'm really not interested in creating any office drama nor do I have the energy to viciously intimidate her into doing work for me, but I truly fear that one day her lingering insecurities and issues and complex will all violently drive me to BUST A CAP in her ass as I show her who put the range in the rover.!!!

Family burden

2006-09-27T02:37:00.000-07:00

They say that one of the greatest attributes of middle eastern or conservative and culturally regressed societies is their superficial, totally blind, financially exhaustive high regard to "family". All this emphasis on family life and extended family visits and the wonderfully redundant "3aib, they are family!" cliche suffocates the living life out of me and makes me want to curse evolution itself for degenerating what was once a beautiful social value into a excruciatingly abrasive social, financial and personal BURDEN!

Many wealthy multiple families in Kuwait share a single bank account where the head member or the eldest brother will be the main bread winner and actual entreprenuer behind all the cash and everyone else ranging from the younger sister to the damn brother in law to the distant nephew leeches off the 'shared loot'. Or they will all share a huge plot of land and build a huge magnificent beach-house on it and in this case there will always be one family taking more advantage of the property than the other and even at the expense of the other families that choose not to even go there in order to avoid them!

All this 'bank' account sharing and 'property' sharing with 6 other families is not cool! It breeds grounds for selfish family members to exploit one another, it breeds bitterness and dare I say hatred amongst the cousins, it compromises your own treasured privacy and actually soils your relationship with your family members instead of enriching it. And then pretty soon you begin to dread 'family' overdosed occasions such as holidays and you resent all the beautiful values of your own culture because they have underhandedly morphed into a socially overbearing nuissance that sucks the life out of you, take away your privacy and invade your life with their own opinions, demands and bitterness.

check out this interesting debate in Doha on how family is a major obstacle to reform in the arab world. Not only do I agree that it is an obstacle to social reform and personal development, I also agree that forced and coerced 'family solidarity' actually steals away from its initial intentions and obstructs inner family relationships!

eid vacation dilemma

2006-09-17T14:39:00.000-07:00

I know many of my dear readers are expecting a fierce return with a vengeance and I promise it will come, but right now I am in dire need of advice.
To keep it short I'm trying to plot and plan my Eid vacation and I am torn between three options:
option #1: the red sea riveira with a bunch of wild girls that I might not be able to handle -it will undeniably be fun and exciting but not very discreet and low profile considering the fact that everyone and their mothers will be heading over there for Eid.

option # 2: backpacking with my bestfriend in an african country -not very exciting in the " FABULOUS DIVA" sense, but definitley educational and adventurous. Who knows, I might be uniquely inspired or come back with a life-changing epiphany.

option # 3: travelling with the parental unit (y3ni mom & dad) to an african touristy country, do a little bit of sight seeing, eat in nice restaurants, and endure long-winded conversations and grilling sessions regarding my scarlet letter single status. -valuable family bonding time which unfortunately I dont get to do very often but will definitely appreciate and treasure.

no more blogging...till further notice

2006-08-08T03:03:00.000-07:00

I've been staring at the computor screen for more than 15 minutes.

I can't come up with anything to say so on that note i shall be away from blog land untill my mental capability to register and comprehend is fully restored.

but I'll leave you to ponder on Plato's allegory of the cave, a brief summary is as follows: prisoners have been chained to a cave since childhood facing only one wall and seeing nothing except for shadows on that wall. The shadows of objects that they see is the only perception they have of these objects, its the only reality that they are aware of. One day these prisoners are freed, and they turn away from the wall to see these actual objects, not their shadows, for the first time in their lives. They couldn't believe what they saw, they couldn't register it, and refused to accept it. When they got out of the cave they were blinded by the sun and were frightened by the world outside of the cave.
But when they got back to the cave, they found themselves different from the other prisoners that have not been freed who were still stuck with their own perception of reality, and hence could not get along with them!

Sounds familiar?
If you find yourself in this situation, do you imprison yourself and forcefully re-program your mind to think like the other prisoners so that you can get along with them?
Or do you ditch them and be bold enough to live outside of the cave, as frightening and dangerous as it (seemingly) is?

advice from matchmaker II

2006-07-23T22:58:00.000-07:00

Dear child let me give you some advice. When a man is courting you during your engagement period, he is still testing you and your moral character. Do not be fooled by his sweet words and adulations. Do not be swayed if he recites you poetry and promises you the world. Show restraint. Be unmoved. And if he asks you to go out with him to dinner say NO without hesitation.

Last year, I suceeded in matching X couple. During their courting period, the man confided in me that he liked his fiance, but was concerned that she had studied and lived abroad and was hence very worried about her possible carefree character. He told me that his final test was to ask her for dinner, and if she accepts he will break it off.

I of course immediately panicked and decided to call her and find out in my own way how she would react. I told her casually that he wil be inviting her for dinner, and as expected, she was excited and utterly dazed. I decided it would be wise to inform her mother about his intentions. I knew her mother would take care of it.

So that night he went to her house as he usually does to rendezvous with her. She poured him coffee and served him cake. She paraded down the living room and dangled herself deliciously onto him. She batted her eyes and swayed her hips.

He asked her to dinner.

She said, "I would love to have dinner with you, but I feel it is inappropriate to go out with a man alone, as we are still strangers. Inshalla if we get married, we can do these things, but at this point I must respectfully decline your invitation".

My dear child I am telling you this because I want to open your eyes on the society we live in. The men may appear westernized in their lifestyle, they may have western education, but believe me they are all very eastern in their thinking when it comes to marriage. You must never disregard this. This is the society we live in. Play it right!

A Blatantly Pro-Israeli White House

2006-07-23T01:14:00.000-07:00

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v28/n06/mear01_.html

An interesting article describing the significant power of the Israeli Lobby in the US foreign policy written by Harvard and University of Chicago profesors. It illustrates how US foreign policy has been consistenly supporting illegal Israeli settlements into Palestinian terrorities at the expense of American interests. The ever growing fear and consequences of being labeled "anti-semitic" compromises the level of democracy in the US as well as the quality of intellectual development in esteemed educational institutions-especially after the heated opposition and intimidation Columbia University's Middle Eastern Studies Department had faced with employing Edward Saeed in its faculty.
A MUST READ!!!
"Sharon has Bush ‘wrapped around his little finger’, the former national security adviser Brent Scowcroft said in October 2004. If Bush tries to distance the US from Israel, or even criticises Israeli actions in the Occupied Territories, he is certain to face the wrath of the (Israeli) Lobby and its supporters in Congress."

Advice from the matchmaker

2006-07-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

You must honor your man. Put him on a pedestal, obey his wishes. You must take care of him, give him his needs and seek his approval in anything you wish to endeavor. Even if you have more wealth than him, you must empower him. A smart woman will give him the power.

A smart woman will keep her own wealth for herself and stand up for herself!

No child, no. Trust my grey hair, I have been through life. A smart woman understands her society and understands her position. A man can take up another wife, but a woman is locked in her matrimonial fate. A woman must fullfill her religious duty by making her man happy, comfortable and satisfied.

It is also a man's religious duty to make his woman happy, comfortable and satisfied. It is a two way street.

It is a man's duty to provide for his woman, and give her a home.

I don't need anyone to provide for me, I live a very comfortable life!

You must never show a man that you are independent. You must always make him feel that you need him. Dear child, I am a good reader of personalities and faces. My profession has enabled me to come across numerous personalities. I can read yours, I know that beneath your fiery passion, you are a sweet natured girl. I can help you uncover your sweetness.

(this is total bullshit, I can't believe I have to sit through this. She's supposed to match me up and collect her fee, so why is she providing me a psychological analysis/criticism of my personality?)

Dear child, there is a saying in french "Femme trop piteuse fait, sa famille teigneuse" which means that a pitful housewife makes a pitful household. Every woman in the world knows she must have a sweet personality for her husband. A woman must always hide her grievience. She must never speak of her problems and marriage secrets to anyone. She must never speak ill of her husband, not even to her family. Problems will come and go, but a good woman, a smart woman keeps her marital problems a secret.

The matchmaker will be there

2006-07-10T22:52:00.000-07:00

Part I
Even though my Grandother never negotiated a hard business deal in her life, or found herself on a table debating a complicated topic, she can somehow very easily manipulate me with her piercing eyes and defeaning stoicism, and make me do things I innately disagree with and find completely ridiculous.. Within her family kingdom, she is a grand queen in her own right. Her presence commands the respect of the masses, her fiery personality intimidates the empowered, and her sharp wit bites and persecutes the effusive.
Her voice, though low, is vociferous and oozing with power, often spewing orders at me ever so nonchalantly. When she demands, I deliver. When she beckons, I come runnin. And I'll be damned if I don't immediatley drop everything and anything I am in the middle of, or disregard my own opinion/thoughts in whatever matter she officiates when I rush off to her calling.
So when she called me the other day and authoritatively said "CD, be at my house at 7:30 sharp. Um flan, the matchmaker, will be there!" there was no room for whats, buts and excuses. There was no opportunity to express outrage. There was no point in arguing that my own parents met through love, and people are now meeting through the internet, and that this is an antiquated anachronistic method of marriage that I have no interest in pursuing.
The simple fact of the matter is this: I am to robotically prim myself, get dressed, apply make-up and prepare for an evening of being thoroughly inspected, brutally evaluated and biasedly ranked in the marriage scale of worthiness -by a third-party broker culturally known as the matchmaker.

The matchmaker will be there, she says.

Just what exactly am I supposed to do? I wondered as I daintily applied my mascara in front of the mirror.
Am I supposed to impress her?
Do I advertise myself to her?
Do I recite my resume?
What qualities am I supposed to supress/highlight?
Do I conceal my raging and often looked down upon chicken nugget syndrome ?
My instincts tell me to be myself, and keep it real, but society tells me to wear another face, and conform.

Part II
I arrived at my Grandmothers domain, the aroma of overpriced bukhoor instantly filling my senses.

Sit there, she tells me, smile delicately, pour coffee, tea and serve sweets. Don't be too quiet, she is here to see you and get to know you, not to converse with me.

What do I talk to her about?

Don't talk about work, or career ambitions, or travelling by yourself.

hmmm (half-jokingly) how about the world cup?

NO! She's an old lady CD, sports is not an appropriate topic. But she speaks French.

Ahhh....I see. A high -class matchmaker!

Of course she is!! She matched X couple and Y couple last year, and she is well-read.

(umm..who are x and y couples, Grandma?) I guess we can talk about French, languages in general, and literature?

Yes, whatever. Go put some blush on your cheeks dear child, your face is awfully yellow.

Tribute to Art Deco

2006-07-09T02:42:00.000-07:00

I don't know why Tamara De Lempicka's artwork has this mysterious effect on me that awakens the raging diva that silently resides within me.

The sizzling art deco flavor transports me to another time, another era, a world of passion, sensuality, scandal and glamour.

(I would post some of her provocative work, but I don't wish to risk having my website blocked.)

Politically incorrect table conversation

2006-07-02T00:56:00.000-07:00

vocabulary word of the day:

Boorish

boorish: awkwardly ill-mannered

Remember my cockroach on crack ? Well, the more I get to know him, the more I realize that he is not really a cockroach on crack, but more of a boor on crack, who is always, unknowingly, saying the most inappropriate things . While I'm sure we've all committed our share of faux paus, and have clumsily uttered inappropriate statements only to bite our tongues and feel our shame, this guy continues to be artless in his behavior, and totally astounds me with his talent in being ungraceful uncultivated and completely boorish.

I was asked to accompany him on a business lunch with some Americans from San Francisco. During our lunch, one of the American guys launched into a lengthy monologue about a certain project. Usually, when I'm listening to a monologue while stuffing grape vine leaves down my throat, I'll be silent, nodd, maintain eye contact, and maybe occasionally affirm my interest in the conversation by uttering short sentences such as"oh really", "wow", "aah..I see", "ok". But the boor unwittingly dug fiercely into his plate of greasy gluttonous kebab, completly indifferent to the ongoing conversation, wolfed down his food ferociously without even looking up to the speaker, and uttered a continuous loud, and awkward "MMMMMMM" .
It was incredible!
With every deep annoying "MMMMMM" conjured from the back of his throat and out of his mouth, I couldn't help but wonder....is he really enjoying his meat that much, or does he think that resembling an orgasm is an appropriate way to participate in a conversation?
By the fourth "MMMMM", I was rightfully embarrassed, and seriously considered sending him a text message to alert him of his very inappropriate "mmmm" outbursts. Thank God at that moment he began to verbally participate in the conversation (hence discontinuing his "mmmmms") and switched the topic of discussion to a lighter, non-work related subject: domestic help in kuwait.
Of course, this is where our glorious boor decided that he should make a strong impression, and accordingly toss out this charming and completely graceful statement:
"every house in Kuwait has two or three servants, you know, to keep the wife quiet"
I nearly choked on my tabbouli salad when I heard "to keep the wife quiet". Instantly mortified, and rattled at his blatant misogyny, I hurriedly looked up at the table to check the facial expressions of our American guests. They all looked bewildered, and somewhat unsure if they should laugh, or just blink in horror. The female guest, on the other hand, looked straight at me, giving me that knowing glance that said "I am absolutely horrified your colleague just said to keep the wife quiet".
But the real grand outrageous moment that shook the table like an earthquake, and nearly induced cardio heart arrest to myself was when the boor decided to tell us about his experience at X hotel in X American city:
"It was terrible, I was staying at X hotel while they were having a gay lesbian conference. There were gays all around the hotel for the whole weekend, I couldn't even hang around the lobby"
In my head, I am screaming Noooooooooo, boor, nooooooooo! You don't express your homophobia to a bunch of liberals from california!! You just lacerated the very fabric of their democracy, their plights, and efforts of achieving equal rights for the homosexual community.
I was too embarrassed to even look at our guests' faces, but I certainly felt the loud heavy pregnant silence that descended upon us.
Nobody laughed.....
Nobody empathized. ....
Nobody said anything.....
The shock induced silence hovered around our table like a conjested stuffy cloud, and it lingered upon us awkwardly.

Bravo Buffet.

2006-06-26T23:43:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry this is away from my usual theme of sarcasm, mockery and girly non serious stuff, but this made me speechless.

$44 BILLION.

I'm gonna write again....Fourty four billion dollars!!!!

This man has definitely secured himself a place in heaven. He gave 85% of his Berkshire stock to charity. 85%!!!

Now thats real philanthropy. I wonder if our billionare compatriots would ever go as far as donating even 40% of their riches. 6aal! They wouldn't even drop 250 grand. I wonder if the proclaimed religious zealots would donate their riches to worthy causes such as this....instead of foolish terrorist projects.....

I am stupefied. Flabbergasted. Amazed. And utterly touched.

Dedicated to all the fathers of the world

2006-06-23T03:34:00.000-07:00

Every father in the world dreads the time when his once little baby girl that used to toddle merrily on the floor in her pink strawberry underwear, reciting nursery rhymes and gleefully shaking her baby rattle suddenly transforms into a grown woman, that wears high heels, lipstick and now has a developed physique, which will sadly but inevitably be prone to the dangerous desires of other males, and exposed to the knowledge of the dark immoral behaviors of this world.

The mere idea that a daughter has reached this stage terrifies a father senselessly, and forces him to retreat in a land called DENIAL. In this beautiful fantasy land, a father is able to believe that their twenty something daughters are still 14, considerably niave about the universe, and may still be somewhat protected from the world of raging testosterones and unadulterated debauchery. Fathers prefer not to admit such a reality, and will thereby continue to perpetuate the ideals of the safety haven they mentally reside in onto their twenty something, working and self earning daughters.

For that reason, I really enjoy teasing my own father, and pushing him to the edge by subtley forcing him to face the reality, not only to help him come to terms with the fact that I'm no longer a child, but also because his reaction is priceless. For instance, I'll purposely exaggerate a story about a random guy trying to hit on me in Marina Mall, and then sit back, put my feet up and watch the reaction: my dad will squirm from his chair, start twitching slightly as a pink sheet of awkwardness invades him, take a deep pensive breath and then scornfully vociferate in a firm tone with forced (and perhaps feigned) agitation "CD, this is NOT a story to tell your father. Its not even funny". Meanwhile I try my best not to burst in laughter, while simultaneously trying to make sense of why the hell it is so awkward for him to acknowledge that I am a grown woman, and that it is only natural for me to be exposed to such things.

Recently, while I was travelling, I emailed him to inform him of my flight details, and asked him to send me the driver to the airport to pick me up. For the sake of humor, I added "please tell the driver not to be late, so that your daughter doesn't get stranded with all the lurking weirdos and creepy admirers in kuwait airport". My father immediately responded with "CD, no need for such disturbing statements. Driver will be there...with the nanny!"

Ok, so lets forget about the fact that our culture creates this awkward silent barrier between father and daughter, or that our culture has officially pronounced certain topics too "sensitive" and "intimate" and therefore extremely awkward and unnecessary to discuss so openly. Heck, lets even forget about the fact that in recent history, the women in our society were thrown into marriage at 14 years of age, without fully knowing about the birds and the bees, that they were never permitted to leave the house without a chaperon, lets forget they were covered head to toe in black (as some still are) and led their lives within the four walls of their homes, bearing children and serving their husbands. Lets just ignore all of that for a moment and open our eyes and look at the general world as it is today: We are in the 21st century. We have reached the moon. We have invented innovative technology. We can communicate with people half way across the world at little cost. We have internet. Education has reached a level where a mere four year BA is not enough. We became bi and tri and quadrolingual.
I want you to imagine a woman in her late twenties in THIS world. A woman that has lived abroad on her own for several years. A woman that travels alone. A woman that makes her own cash....
and then, I want you to imagine her father asking her to cover her eyes during a steamy scene in a movie!!!

It makes no sense to me whatsoever that whenever there is a kissing scene in a movie, my father will suddenly feel extremely uncomfortable, glare at me in disdain (as if its my fault this scene suddenly transpired) and orders me to close my eyes untill he changes the channel, or fast forwards the dvd. I usually resist the urge to ask him, "what century are you living in, dad?", and just chuckle out loud for him to realize that I think he is being absurd.

On heavier movies, such as Basic Instincts II for instance, where which my dad would be watching leisurly in his bedroom with my mom, I would sneakily slide up with them under the covers, to watch it with them on their gigantic flat screen TV. Upon my arrival, my father will immediately pause the movie, make general small talk with me, and then when he realizes that I intend to stay, firmly adivses me that the movie is not "suitable for me".
CD: Hahahhh. Dad! This movie is rated for 18 year olds. Y3ni I can watch it.
Dad: the rating is based on someone else's standards, not mine.
CD: so dad, by your standards, when will I be qualified to watch this movie?
Dad: (huffing and grunting) I dunno. Watch it on your own, don't watch it with me!
CD: I already saw it in London months ago.
(Dad is frowning)
CD: Dad, when will you relax and realize that I'm a grown woman?
Dad: You're not, you're still young.
CD: so when will I officially not be "young" anymore?
Dad: when you live in your husband's house!
CD: but what if I never reach my husband's house?
Dad: when you're 40!
CD: ullah! 40? I'll have wrinkles by then.
Dad: ok fine, when you're 35.
CD: thirty five! I would have lost 80% of my vitality! How about thirty?
Dad: Thats in 2 years. I'm not ready to accept that yet. 35 is my answer.

Its funny to me that while some girls my age will openly discuss their love lives with their fathers, I can't even tell him a humorous story about an idiot trying to hit on me in a mall. Heck, I can't even watch a movie with him without him censoring it for me. The firm barriers of fatherhood and the desire to be protective of his already grown daughter hampers my ability to communicate with my father as a friend. Its extremely awkward and uncomfortable for him...... but yet, a desperate need for me.

cultural differences

2006-06-18T10:37:00.000-07:00

It fascinates me how different social protocols in certain cultures (such as a man kissing your hand) is considered as an offense or complete audacity in others. I'm usually super aware of these cultural discrepancies, and I often adapt my personality and reaction to whatever culture I am in. For instance, if I'm walking down a cobblestone street in Rome, and an old Italian man sweeping the street gingerly yelps out with "Ciao, amore, como estai?" I wouldn't hesistate to smile and respond with "multo bene, gracie". But if I'm walking down Salmiya and an old wrinkled man tells me the same, I know better than to look at him or say anything in response. Every culture requires a different reaction. But there are certain times where I'm not really sure if certain actions are considered typical cultural norms, or if they are vehemently treading on unacceptable behavior.

While at a random Albanian internet cafe in a cosmopolitan European city, an Albanian guy reaking of cigarretes decides to sit right next to me, in a room full of unoccupied computors. I was checking comments on my blog, as well as reading an email from my dad, untill I noticed the Albanian's eyes blatantly staring at my computor screen. I didn't really know how to react except for shooting him a dirty look that would translate as "ishtabee wiya wayhik!". He took this as a que to commence conversation with me:
Nosy Albanian: excuuuuse mee (pointing at my blog) is dis a kind of chat?
CD: yes
Nosy Albanian: aah, ok. Bery nice. Is it for free?
CD: yes
Nosy Albanian: so how can I do dis chat? (pulls his chair closer to mine, enabling me to enjoy a stronger scent of his breath)
CD: just go to blogger.com
NA: can u teach me?
CD: I'm leaving in a bit. Its very easy.
NA: but I want to use dis chat with you
CD: huh?
NA: so I can chat with you

I immeaditely closed my blog, and went to my email from my dad to sign out.
NA: aah...you go to email!
CD: yes, um, do you mind? this is a personal email, I wanna read it privately.
NA: is it from your boyfriend?
CD: yes
NA: (immeaditely shifts his eyes to the computor screen to read it, I covered it with my hands) haha why you lie to me, it is not email from your boyfriend!
CD: yeah, well I wanna read it privately.
NA: ok ok, I leave u. So I just go to blogcom, and add u to chat?
CD: yes
NA: but how I do that
CD: don't worry I'll add u
NA: but how u know its me?
CD: I'll look for u.
NA: Ahh..okay.

He dismissively waved at me, as though he was really offended, got up from his chair and walked away. But in my opinion, I felt I was being very civil and polite, especially to what seemed to me as an outrageously nosy and self-imposing (not to mention stinky) prick. I wonder how an Albanian woman would have reacted? Would she draw her arm around his shoulder, pull him closer to the computor, and start reading her emails out loud to him? :p

Travelling with a Drama Queen

2006-06-16T11:18:00.000-07:00

There is no eloquent, artistic, funny way to describe what it is like to travel with a Drama Queen other than actually listing the specific outrageous incidents that raise your blood pressure to astronomical levels and mildly incite cardio heart arrest:

Incident #1
We are roaming around a touristic square, where coincidentally a bunch of overzealous citizens decide to have a strike. Cops are all over the place, the scene is chaotic and alive. Drama Queen suddenly decides to use a pay phone to call Kuwait, I wait for her while she speaks for 15 minutes, and then tell her that I'll be waiting for her at the internet cafe nearby while she is on the phone. 15 minutes later, she comes to me at the internet cafe, with a furious face that looked like it just burned in hell.
CD: Whats wrong DQ? What happened (thinking she might have had a bad phonecall).
A furious DQ: How could you leave me at the pay phone just like that! There's a strike going on, cops are all over the place and I was fearing for my life. I could have been shot, and you didn't have the consideration to wait for me for a few minutes, you had to leave me just so that you can use the internet!

Incident #2
Some work colleagues of mine were meeting up at a lounge/cafe right after our conference. I invited DQ to join me. While at the lounge I was talking to various people from the conference, and got deeply engulfed in a conversation with a French woman about socialism in wealthy countries. After I finished my conversation, I turned to look for DQ and she was nowhere in sight. I manically searched the entire cafe, both the first and second floor, and went into the restroom.
She was not there.
I went outside, hoping to find her. I walked for three blocks and found her in a corner by herself, kicking some cans on the street, and crying. My heart sank in fear:
CD: Ishfeech DQ!! Whats wrong
DQ: (sobbing hysterically) nothing!
CD: (extremely worried something might have happened to her) why are you crying habibti, what happened? (I put my arms around her)
DQ: I feel like I don't belong!
CD: huh?
DQ: I don't belong to this culture, and I don't belong to Kuwaiti culture, I don't have anywhere I belong to (continues to cry).

Incident # 3
Its 11:00 pm, I'm in my hotel room where I had just popped a sleeping pill. While drowsily tossing on my pillow, my hotel phone rings loudly. Its DQ, and she wants me to come down to the lobby to meet her. I go down, and find her arguing vehemently with the receptionist. DQ is upset about the AC in her room. The receptionist tells her that they are busy but will fix the AC as soon as they can. DQ screams and tells the receptionist she's going to check out. While she is doing so, I tell her:
CD: DQ, ta3awithay min iblees, just stay in this hotel for this night, we're leaving tomorrow morning anyway!
DQ: I don't want to stay in this hotel!
CD: where are you gonna go? all other hotels are fully booked!
DQ: I'll just hang out in a cafe untill its time to go to the airport.
CD: entay maynoona? Look at the time! Your gonna sit in cafe by yourself for 5 hours?
DQ: why, aren't you gonna sit with me?
CD: in a cafe for 5 hours?
DQ: we can walk around, we don't have to sit. This place is safe.
CD: walk around for five hours? I'm tired, DQ, I have to sleep.
DQ: y3nee you'll leave me alone? We're here together, we should stick together.
CD: Look I'll sit with you for an hour, but then I'll have to go back to sleep.
DQ: you know what, don't even sit with me! I'll be fine by myself!!

She stormed out of the hotel lobby, and went to the cafe. It was 11:40 p.m.

bit of humour

2006-06-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

Before I am hatefully accused of male-bashing, a sinful crime often attributed to women that are old, frustrated and bitter, I would like to say that I wasn't the one that came up with this joke; it was forwarded to me by email, from a very fabulous, self-assured and mentally stable chick. Enjoy:

Once upon a time,
~~~~~~~~
in a land far away,
~~~~~~~~
a beautiful, independent,
~~~~~~~~
self-assured princess
~~~~~~~~
happened upon a frog as she sat,
~~~~~~~~
contemplating ecological issues
~~~~~~~~
on the shores of an unpolluted pond
~~~~~~~~
in a verdant meadow near her castle.
~~~~~~~~
The frog hopped into the princess' lap
~~~~~~~~
and said: Elegant Lady,
~~~~~~~~
I was once a handsome prince,
~~~~~~~~
until an evil witch cast a spell upon me.
~~~~~~~~
One kiss from you, however,
~~~~~~~~
and I will turn back
~~~~~~~~
into the dapper, young prince that I am
~~~~~~~~
and then, my sweet, we can marry
~~~~~~~~
and set up housekeeping in your castle
~~~~~~~~
with my mother,
~~~~~~~~
where you can prepare my meals,
~~~~~~~~
clean my clothes, bear my children,
~~~~~~~~
and forever
~~~~~~~~
feel grateful and happy doing so.
~~~~~~~~
That night,
~~~~~~~~
as the princess dined sumptuously
~~~~~~~~
on lightly sauted frog legs
~~~~~~~~
seasoned in a white wine
~~~~~~~
and onion cream sauce,
~~~~~~~~
she chuckled and thought to herself:
~~~~~~~~
I don't fucking think so.

Silly Girls

2006-06-13T00:31:00.000-07:00

They get all hyped up for a simple little outing to a casual coffee shop. A thick layer of white foundation is applied on dark skin, creating a striking difference between a brown neck and a ghostly white face. Bright silver glitter is sprinkled around the eyes, enabling an SOS for an airplane roaming in the sky. Gigantic chandelier earrings that weigh about a ton and a half are donned on the ears, and dangle imperially all the way down to the shoulders.

They speak of nothing but of trivial issues and social gossip. Who is recently engaged to whom. Who is about to marry the big jackpot. What is the latest social scandal. Where did you buy that bag. Dammit, her hair is not real, they're extentions!

After only fifteen minutes of being in their company I felt naseuated and sick to my stomach. I wanted to crawl out of my own epidermis. I wanted to escape.

Random at night

2006-06-09T16:10:00.000-07:00

Its 2:00 am in the morning, I have to be at work in 5 hours, and I'm completely incapable of falling asleep.

No, I didn't consume a ridiculous amount of caffiene, just a couple(maybe 5) cups of green tea.

I came here to write whatever comes to mind.

my mind has a zillion thoughts, but I can't articulate any of them coherently.

words that come to mind are elections, boss, heat, summer, conscience, guilt, confusion, impulsivity, fate, fantasies, pool.

I might consider going to therapy to treat my insomnia. I've done it before (for insomnia of course), and it worked.

Why is it embarrassing to seek therapy in Kuwait? 75% of people in Manhattan have therapists, its very hip.

I'm not sure I'd like an arab/kuwaiti therapist, it will be a complete waste of my money, (not referring to the quality, but to my ability to open up)

I'm actually contemplating therapy.

I'm scared of taking baths late at night.

I have no way bring myself to sleep.

Swallow it up

2006-06-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

The month before evaluations are distributed and promotions are awarded is a very critical month for government employees. It is the time where they must activate their hollywood acting skills, cement a million dollar smile everytime their repugnant boss passes by, make a conscious effort to be on their boss's rosy side, fake their amicability and undying admiration to their superiors, and shamelessly brown-nose the self-proclaimed mighty boss at every unecessary and irrelevant opportunity. The spiteful boss,in turn, takes this opportunity to step on his high horse, degrade his staff, spew ego-lacerating accusations bordering-on-insults, all in an effort to "test" their employees, or for better word, "break" them. Its an amusing reverse psychology game where the ball is placed entirely in the employees' court and the simple rules are as follows:
1- Being on the boss's good side does not necessarily ensure you a promotion,
2-but choosing not to swallow the boss' totally random and absolutely outrageous bullshit is a guaranteed, iron-clad surefire way to officially phuck your chance to get a promotion.

So bottom line, the real challenging task is: swallowing it up. Whatever it is, swallow it up, zip it and smile.

The other day for instance, I arrived at my office to find a mailed package specifically addressed to me already opened and the contents of which scattered spuriously around my desk. Even though this package is not personal, and is related to my work, I still felt that it was my property and that confiscating it was inappropriate, to put it mildly.But when I learned from the secretary that it was my boss who had opened up my mail, I decided to swallow it up, and not express a slither of grieviance.

But mentally unstable, confrontation-loving, belligerent bosses will never pass up an opportunity to lash a tirade, even when the onus is on them. I suspect that the joyous thrill of arguing and yelling early in the morning is too exciting, too much fun to give a hoot about appearing like complete idiots. Despite my numerous experiences with these people, it still baffles me how they genuinely and truly enjoy confrontation, and make a daily hobby of it. So of course, I was not that surprised when he voluntarily brought up his own mishap:
Curmudgeon: Hey CD, I saw your mail this morning from X office and decided to open it.
CD: yeah I noticed (smilling)
Curmudgeon: The nerve of them, how could they address that package to your name!

I took a minute to register the subliminal message of that statement, and then attempted the best diplomatic response I could muster, given the pressure:
CD: ermmm, yeah the package should have been addressed to you since you're the boss, not me! I guess they mailed it to me because I was the one actively following up with them on this specific project.
Curmudgeon: (raising his voice) and why didn't you adivse them before they sent it!?
CD: Umm it didn't cross my mind to alert them about this (trivial issue).
Curmudgeon: So how do you expect them to know who to address it to?!?? Its not their fault when you don't inform them!
CD: well its just a........
Curmudgeon: (interrupting me) Make sure you inform them next time! Its little mistakes like this that weaken the quality of your work.

He uttered that last sentence right under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear it. He then turned on his heel, gave me his hideous back, and stomped theatrically out of my office. Meanwhile, I stared into space dumbfounded, and utterly stunned. A light tear streamed down my face. I quickly wiped it and fixed my eyeliner. Jesus, its not even 9:00 am, and I've already been yelled at, and indirectly informed that the "quality" of my work is sub satisfactory. Because of a damn package.

But whatever it is that possesses the raging curmudgeons of this world to wake up in the morning, get out of bed, and fiercely lash out on people is beyond me. As far as I'm concerend, all I really have to do is swallow it up, at least for the rest of this month.

A curmudgeon on a power trip

2006-05-28T04:14:00.000-07:00

Vocabulary word of the day:

CURMUDGEON

curmudgeon: an irascible ill-temepered person

-----------------------------
In a normal world that follows the laws of logic and basic physics, when a person is promoted to a higher position and assumes greater responsiblity over his colleages, a new wave of confidence and satisfaction would envelope the employee as he rides up the glorious ladder of his career. Flowers and chocolates are sent, felicitations and congratulatory notes are expressed, and a shining promising light emanates over his future and radiates his disposition. But over here in government land, when an employee gets promoted (usually by default rather than true merit), he becomes more bigoted, irascible, egotistical, suddenly insecure about his newly established power, extremely aware of local gossip and consequently, transforms into a full-fledged CURMUDGEON.

It suddenly becomes the curmudgeon's mission in life to self-aggrandize his authoriy and aggressively emphasize his power over the people beneath him. And this is where I find myself being reprimanded for the most inconcievable ridiculous things, such as forwarding an email (which was sent to me in error) to the intended recipient. According to him, anything I send out of my inbox has be to checked with him first.
CD: but sir, this email was sent to me in error, I was simply forwarding it to the person that was supposed to receive it.
CURMUDGEON: You should have checked with me! I am your boss, I must be aware of anything and everything that leaves from my department.

I resist the urge to say "No need to remind me of your power honey, I'm the one that hand picked your chocolates for the occasion." And instead, I retort with the simple ginger polite response of "I understand".

But the other day I was asked to accompany him to an out-of-site meeting, the location of which he is unfamiliar with. As soon as we got out of the car, I led him inside the building and into the hallway of our designated meeting place, and this is where he suddenly bursts out with :
"CD, why are you walking in front of me?"
I incredulously awoke from my daze to see what he was fussing about, and noticed that I was only ONE step in front of him.
CD: Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just leading you the way.
CURMUDGEON: but you shouldn't walk in front of me, I'm your boss!
CD: I'm sorry, I unconsciously tend to walk a bit fast.
CURMUDGEON: yes you do. Walk slower.

So I slow down accordingly and I find him pracitically sprinting to be physcially ahead of me, making ME trail behind him as he springs his neck backwards to ask for directions. Right. All righty then. I'm sorry Im unaware of this appropriate etiquette of "walking with your superior", who am I but a lowly subordinate employee that continues to commit the sinful transgression of undermining your authority, and is in turn duly castigated with a verbal lashing filled with innuendos and unfounded angst.

Like the time I had my request for a vacation leave rejected. (I know I already wrote about it, but I'm still pissed). Usually my process is to fill out the form, and then bring it over to my boss and ask him for his signature -which is basically getting his verbal and written consent at the same time. But according to him, by filling out that form, I was already assuming that he was going to accept my vacation leave, and in that way I was undermining his authority. From what I understand, I am supposed to recieve his verbal consent FIRST and foremost, and then merrily trot away to produce the form.

On days when I am low in spirits, it really does take a considerable amount of strength for me to suppress myself from saying:

"Good grief. Get a grip.......and get a therapist while you're at it"

MABROOK!

2006-05-21T07:33:00.000-07:00

Mabrook 7al Majlis Il Ommah. (congratulations on parliament being dissolved)

Kuwait stock market is up 150 points.

Doam inshallah! (if only this would be permanent!)

:))))

Summer vacations

2006-05-17T00:34:00.000-07:00

Summer is officially here, and it is time for young single girls in kuwait to plot and plan their summer vacations, before they find themselves wistfully alone, lolling around in their parents empty house, contemplating suicide, while everybody else in the family is tiptoeing around the world.

So what are the 'hot' vacation spots these days?
1-Mediterranean (morroco, tunis, Greece) For a cheaper, off the beaten track experience
2-Carribean islands : if your bank account can handle it
3-Glamorous European cities: if you're interested in being constipated and surrounded by the very people you wish to avoid (relatives).
4-Indigenous cities: I've always always wanted to go to Naples, Palermo, Grenada, to get the unique cultural experience

OR...........

I can get my request for holiday from work REJECTED!!!!

Why?
Because I 'undermined my boss's authority' by filling out the form without talking to him about it first.

Siggggh...the large egos that I constantly have to deal with!

So... what is your "dream" vacation?

Big Pimpin

2006-05-03T14:11:00.000-07:00

Vocabulary word of the day:

PHILISTINE

philistine: an unsophisticated person who lacks knowledge in art, culture and the finer things in life.

--------------
Contrary to popular belief/assumption, our dear "islamic" MPs are not the philistines we expect them to be. They swim in fashionable beaches in Cancun, they party in happening nightclubs in Turkey, and they unwind in the most luxurious spas of Tuscany.

And that is all fine by me.

But when you see them screaming and roaring against women's rights, graduation parties, and nancy 3ajrum's cleavage, you would expect that they would have a somewhat "pious" dress code to show for all this genuine "religious" zeal.

Because I was quite shocked when I found myself sharing an elevator with one of the famous extreme "islamic" MPs; on the outset he appeared as expected in the "islamic" gear: short dishdasha up to his knees, and an elongated beard all the way down to his chest.

But as I stepped closer to get in the elevator, I was nearly blinded by the iced- out watch on his right hand. It was as big as his head (no pun intended), and in it were some sparkling stones dancing around like little stars on a night sky.. Further up to his fingers was a ring sporting the same and dare I say matching precious stones of his watch.

It took all the strength I had not to turn to him, gaze into his eyes and say:
"DUDE! PIMP MY LIFE!"

Seriously, (if my information is correct), a few years ago, this man supposedly worked as a mo2athin in an inconspicuous mosque in Fahaheel. Today, he is standing before me DECKED OUT in expensive bling.

He notices my blatant stare at his right hand, and I could swear the corners of his mouth rose in satisfacion. But I was slightly embarrased to be caught checking him out (gross!) so I quickly tilted my head to the floor and noticed his Valentino slippers....

Now I wonder, did he happen to stroll around Salhiya complex on a thursday evening and walk in the Valentino store to purchase these slippers? Or did he buy them from the Valentino boutique in Milan, while sipping his espresso and discussing fashion with the gorgeous Italian sales lady?

Or maybe he ordered them online!!

But what I would really really love to know is how does he expect us to believe him? Does he even care?

Raging Insecurity

2006-05-01T22:46:00.000-07:00

At one of those superficial females only gatherings filled with aspiring vultures, I was comfortably huddled in an inconspicuous corner, observing the show and thoroughly enjoying the exaggerated theatrics.

Of course, my mother inevitably pulled me out of my quiet 'spectator spot' to drag me into the heart of the scene, where which I was ordered to mingle with the Self-Appointed & Self-Celebrated Diva.
And here was my glorious interaction:

CD: Hey D! Haven't seen you in ages!
SASC Diva: (a gigantic fake smile automatically occupying her face) Why, hello there CD!

A necessary silence prevailed, to allow for the thorough inspection of my physical ensemble
CD: Uh.... I hear your husband is drifiting all around Brazil this week...that is soooo incredibly awesome!
SASC Diva: ( now emerging into full blown attitude) My husband is not "drifiting"; he is there on business.
CD: (ignoring the outburst and proceeding with risk) Well that is just great! I wish I had a 'legitimate excuse' to go to Brazil, if only my job would send me over there...
SASC Diva: (sharp fangs emerging out of the corners of her mouth) My husband is there on an urgent highly important matter, he's not there with a 'legitimate excuse'! He's buying a multi million dollar company, and wouldn't be going to Brazil otherwise.

Well thank you very much for reciting your husband's resume. I definitely needed to learn about his grandoise VIP stature, as much as I needed to discover how outrageously insecure you are. But there was really no need to justify your husband's business, because 'legitimate excuse' only meant that I would be able to go Brazil without having the parents flip the freak out, and sequester me in the house on the date of my flight.

CD: Well that is just wonderful! Emerging markets have so many unrealized opportunities, especially in Latin America.
SASC D: (still vehemently stuck on the whole Brazil topic) I don't see why you're so fascinated with Brazil. Its an impoverished third world country full of diseases and immoral behavior.

Just what exactly is this Self-Appointed & Self-Celebrated Diva trying to insinuate? That I don't have taste? That I'm inclined to 'immoral behavior'?

CD: Well it has a vibrant culture. I think its fabulous.

And I should have added:
You could use a trip over there. It might lighten you up and help remove that last-seasoned Christian Dior stilleto still stuck up your arse. But if you specifically wish to retain your constipated attitude and suffocated outlook, which appears to be your signature skill, then stay as you are. You're doing just fine.

The Coquette In Disguise

2006-04-22T15:23:00.000-07:00

It fascinates me how some women in this country will vehemently preach proper behavior and openly judge your (in their opinion) 'liberated' lifestyle, as though they are the quintessential prim princesses of civility and propriety. But when it comes to a socially valid agenda such as Husband Hunting, their cutt-throat nature and cunning tendencies suddenly emerge into full blossom to serve their ruthless quest of capturing their designated Target. The sudden transformation from 'pious and reserved ' into raging coquette is most amusing, as it demonstrates their amazing talent of being overfriendly and flirtatious on a total whim.

--------------------- -------------- -------------

While at work, I couldn't help notice the curious eyes of the Coquette in Disguise intensely following my attractive male visitor as he stepped into my office. A few minutes after he settled into his chair, she summoned her clique of 4 other girls (three of whom are married) to walk back and forth across my office, in order to gain a better view of this mysterious man, and perhaps discern the nature of our relationship.

I'll have to admit my visitor has often elicited my own personal admiration. He is handsome, tall, half European, with pink flushed cheeks and... he wears nicely cut suits. But after meeting his gorgeous Swedish girlfriend and faintly realizing that there is no prospect, I have become more level-headed and pragmatic regarding the whole (one-sided) attraction -and he also lives in another country...
But the Coquette, clueless to the aforementioned details, enthusiastically knocked on my office door to commence her attack:
Coquette: Hi CD, we just ordered some food, would you like anything?
CD: No thanks.
Coquette: (Knowing very well that I never eat at work) Are you sure?
CD: Yes, but thank you.

Coquette takes a few steps forward into the office, to gain a better view of my handsome visitor and perhaps to cast him a taste of her own physical appearance.
Coquette: (Facing the visitor) What about you, would you like anything. (her voice slightly softned and unusually buttered up)
Visitor:(face instantly turning red) Oh no thank you.
Coquette: (Sticking out her pelvis into his face and arching her back to emphasize her bosom's perkiness) Are you suuuuuuuure? (She not so subtlely elongated the 'sure' with an extra softened, meliflous tune)
Visitor: yes, I'll be leaving in a few minutes anyway.
Coquette: Sshda3waaaa! Taw il nass. at least have a little piece of pizza before you leave.
Visitor: ummmm....uh, well..
Coquette: I ordered some from X, they're really delicious!
Visitor: Oh! X opened in Kuwait now?
Coquette: Yes they did. Aren't they good?
Visitor: Yeah they're great. I love their pizzas. I haven't had any in a long time.
Coquette: Khala9 3ayal you'll have to have some...they'll be here any minute.

This mini conversation took place in my office without neither of them turning to look at me for a single second. It was as though I was not even in the room. But the real mind-boggling shocker was seeing Coquette, who a few days ago had critisized my short skirt in the ladies room, being overfriendly with this random male stranger. And she continued to bring it on:

Coquette: 3afwan, ma ta3arafna 3al ism il kareem?
Visitor: (immediately getting up from his chair and sticking out his hand) I am flan il flany, pleased to meet you.
Coquette: wil ni3im! So you are related to CD!?
Visitor: yes, very distantly.
Coquette: (Huge smile blossoming on her face at the word "distantly") fur9a sa3eeda wallah (she pulls a chair by the far end of the wall and invites herself to sit down) How come manshooofik wala nisma3 3anik? CD khashitik 3annah?? (she looks at me for the first time)
Visitor: heheh..la wallah, I just don't live in Kuwait. I live in X country.
Coquette: Waw. Wanasa. I love X Country, I try to go there as often as I can, its my favourite city.
Visitor: (who is beginning to seem enchanted by her!) Yes, its wonderful and my favourite city too!
Coquette: So what do you do there?
Visitor: I work as X for Y company.

Of course all the while my jaw was nearly hitting the floor with the shock at this girl's gutsiness. She is working it, and working it so good that he too, also seemed to forget I was present in the room. But nevermind that he was obviously smitten by the Coquette in Disguise, its her amazing unexpected talent that I am amazed and astounded by; within five minutes of the conversation this girl was able to find out
1- His name
2-His relationship to me
3-Where he lives
4-What he does for a living

And she also managed to invite him for a meal.

They continued to talk while munching on their pizzas and at the end of their conversation she sweetly gazed at him and said:
"Flaaaaaaan, amana! If you ever need anything from Kuwait, tara I come to your city all the time. Tell CD wa7na 7athreen" She turns to me and for a second I get a direct glimpse of that sweet gaze to which she had honored my visitor, and I too, instantly melt. Seriously, how can this resident ice queen with sarcastic tendencies just flip the switch and turn into an absolute warm sweetheart? I am intrigued.

She leaves the office like a seductive mermaid, with her long colorful skirt trailing behind her step, and my visitor/cousin turns to me, clearly mesmerized:
"What a sweet gal! She's so friendly!"

A Vampire's curiosity

2006-04-13T05:51:00.000-07:00

The other day at work, I was chugging down obscene amounts of coffee and fatuously typing up a presentation with the Ipod cranked up to indecipherable levels (a valuable way that keeps me awake while also giving a direct message to office mates that I am NOT to be bothered, and to passersby NOT to come in for a visit). Behold I see a blinking light on my office phone, indicating a personal call, so I pulled out my ear phones and picked up the phone:
"Aloooh! Minoo? CD?" gasped a raspy voice that I immediately recognized to be Vampire's. Just exactly what I wanted to hear...

CD: (unenthusiastically) Halla Khalti Vampire.
Vampire: haaw CD ishloonich? 3ayazt wana adig 3alaich!
CD: khair khalti?
Vampire: Abad wallah. A7awel a7a9il ummich bas madri wainhi.
CD: ok I'll tell her to call you.
Vampire: ma7ad yisheel telefoonkum bil bait, wil mobile malha mughlaq.
CD: ok...
Vampire: il mobile laish mughlaq?
CD: wallah madri
Vampire: 3almeeni, ummich bil kuwait?

No class whatsoever. At least try to conceal your nosiness. I absolutely hate telling people about my family's travelling habits, call it a presumptiously vain fear of the evil 3ain or an unjustified superstition, but bottom line, its not anybody's business.

CD: la2, moo bil kuwait.
Vampire: imsaafraah?
CD: Eee!
Vampire: (her voice firing up) wain ra7at!
CD: X country
Vampire: Eee 3eshtaaaaaaw! wiya mino ba3ad?
CD: wiya ubooy.
Vampire: shi6aaary, yejadedooon shahr il 3asal!

I took a deep breath and silently debated whether this old hag deserved my respect. I decided that she didn't, but 3alashan umi I won't be too obnoxious:

CD: heheh Khalti, law ma3arfich, chan gilt 3anich mi7tarah!
Vampire: la bil 3aks. 3alaihum bil 3afya. Khal yistansown.
CD: I'll tell her to call you inshallah (wanting to end the conversation).
Vampire: Enzain, intay imkhaleeenich bil bait ibroo7ich?

I can almost see her flared nostrils fuming away, her wrinkled fingers gripping onto the phone, her intense eyes wide open, anxiously waiting for my answer; as though whatever it is I'm about to utter will feed her need, her oxygen, her purpose in life: to discover other people's social imperfections and highlight them in public gatherings -an excellent opportunity to paint her image as the quintessential queen of propriety and sana3, while elevating her own personal ego in the process.
I totally see it: her sitting at her usual spot, entertaining guests with catered finger foods and uniformed philipanas, her face soaked in Chanel foundation after drowning it the night before in Obaji, the efforts of which are still not effective in concealing the streaming wrinkles on her saggy cheekbones and crinkled forehead. The lips, emphasized in rich red lipstick, spewing tales on how 'some' families are too 'liberated', or how some daughters are too 'independent'. And if someone happens to comment that so and so's daughter had just recently lost weight and is looking brilliant, Vampire will immediately step up to the plate to add that the girl has an eating disorder, and is currently seeking psychiatric help in London.
But one thing you can always count on Vampire is her abilty to entertain. Her cackling voice and Kuwaiti style wit brings life and color to any social gathering, and for that reason alone the women of kuwaiti society are addicted to her company. Her popularity amonsgt them is disturbing testament to soceity's superficial appreciation for exaggerated entertainment on the back of morality.
So I was not about to feed this old hag's need to find what she thinks is an atrocious shortcoming of my family's, and one that she would use to elevate her own fake sense of propriety, so I'm damn well gonna lie:
CD: La ya khalti, ana moo ibroo7y bil bait. Ana ga3da ib bait Grandmother.
Vampire: laa? EE zain itsaween. Moo 7ilwa tig3ideen ibnaya ibroo7ich bil bait.
CD: 9ajja. A9lan yitheeq khulgy.
Vampire: Eee wallah, il wa7id ma yigdar yig3ad ibroo7ah. El mohim, intay diggay 3ala umich, ow gooleelaha itkalimny
CD: laish, fee shay tharoory?
Vampire: la, bas ba3arif akhbarha.

LIKE HELL I WILL.
CD: Inshallah.

socio-political rant

2006-04-09T16:03:00.000-07:00

taken from Daily Star, April 7, 2006
"HAMAS EXPECTS KUWAIT'S PROMPT FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE

The Hamas led government expected to receive 80 million US dollars from Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emerates to help pay March salaries"

Oh really? a7na shakoo! Why should we pay for their march salaries? In fact, why are we still sending money to these countries! Its time we let our 'arab brethren' (what a myth!) to learn to be economically independent from our neverending and unconditional generosity.
Thank god that these people are involved in terrorist activities and thank God the US is presently on high terror alert - it is the perfect excuse Kuwait can use not to fund their foolishness.
I say its time we stop extending our extremely generous lending hand to ungrateful countries and start using our resources for Kuwait's own social programs, which seriously and painfully suck! Yes we do have free medical care, but would you ever dare get your diagnosis/operation at a government hospital? After numerous horrifying experiences and misdiagnoses, I have resorted to private health care and I only wish the Ministry of Health would stop sending people for summer vacations (aka 'check ups) in Europe and start hiring competent staff that don't request a 'was6a' for an MRI check up.
Now I realize that in the past it was a strategic decision for Kuwait to provide extravagant handouts to these countries so that they support our government and shut their traps on how rich we are. But now we no longer desperately need their political support since any threat they might impose ceases to exist what with dear ol' Uncle Sam to protect us (or oil prices to be exact).
This rant aside, I was quite disappointed with Mohammed Al-Khaledi's preposterous statement on government employees on a seperate article:
"More than 90 percent of the national workforce of 300,000 is employed in government jobs with higher pay and shorter working hours than in the private sector"

Excuse me? Where did you get 'higher' pay from? Enlighten me please.
And shorter working hours! Now that seems to be the popular rumour. When I signed my contract to work it stated that working hours are from 7:00 am- 3:00 pm. My friends in the private sector work from 8:00 am-4:00 pm. Its the exact same amount of hours. In the USA the typical schedule is from 9:00 am -5:00 pm, with a one hour lunch break! There is no shorter working hours!!!

There is however, something called 'as7ab siphone' which entails arriving 2 hours late, and leaving 2 hours early which is entirely dependent on the boss's carelessness, and apathy. Though such bosses might be prevalent in the government sector, it by no means pronounces or officially means that government jobs provide shorter working hours. It only means that you can get away with being mediocre.

hotel surprise

2006-03-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

You know when you check into a hip funky hotel, you'll find by the minibar all kinds of interesting items offered for sale; aveda toiletries, disposable camera, sewing kit (to sow that loose button), some 'protection', a range of lip glosses, a zagat restaurant guide etc.

But I was really shocked when I found this:

"the sex kitten kit makes any night a catwalk on the wild side where your inner sass and sex appeal are unleashed to purr-fection every time. Designed specifically for the ladies, sex kitten is sure to give new meaning to special occasions. Keep it sexy and fun, but remember to be responsible. Never drink and drive and always practice safe sex. Each kit contains one serving (2-3 tablets) of the following:
DRIVEN
female pleasure pack
LEVEL
hangover relief formula
SUPER-CHARGED
fast acting energy booster
SHIELD
immune booster
*these statements have not been evaluated by the food and drug administration. These products are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease.

Ok, I'll admit...the 'inner sass' being 'unleashed to purr-fection' statement sort of tempted me to open up the box and pop a pill. But then the idea that I was going to pop a pill out of a pink box that called itself ‘sex kitten’ and one that was not FDA approved made me feel a bit uneasy to say the least. (I also feared it might make me act flirty and all over guys and stuff – killish mala da3i)

I stashed the box back into the basket by the minibar and looked at it everyday…from afar with lingering curiosity and silent apprehension. As I checked out of the hotel , I whimsically picked up the box and plopped it into my suitcase. (hey they can’t be illegal drugs, they’re selling it in hotel rooms for heaven’s sake).

Maybe I’ll try it with my friends when we’re painting the town red in Kuwait (ee 6al). :p!

I (HEART) USA

2006-03-20T02:05:00.000-07:00

It is pure joy to see Saddam Hussien being put in his place by not an American, but an Iraqi judge in an Iraqi court! It was broadcasted live on TV last week, and I still smile and laugh when I think about his pathetic anti US speech which he used as a defense for his own crimes. One of the most memorable quotes before the court seesion went off the air were:
"la int wala ubook" (Saddam told the judge :neither you nor your father could bring me in this court if it wasn't for the americans)
"i7tirim nafsik" (the judge told Saddam: respect yourself)
"int i7tirm nafsik" (Saddam told the judge: YOU respect yourself)

PRICELESS!!!!
ABSOLUTELY PRICELIESS!!!!

I am happy that our late Amir, god rest his soul, lived to see the day Saddam was captured imprisoned, degraded, and denigrated. I am happy that the USA, and UK came in and liberated Iraq for the Iraqies. I am happy that Iraqies now get to vote for their ruler. Alf Al hamdillah and God bless America for stepping in and taking initiative.

Oppressive Cousin again

2006-02-07T14:26:00.000-07:00

I've received a few requests to postOC's pic. I actually considered putting one up and blacking out his face. But then you could only see his bod, which believe me, is not that interesting. So
here's a drawn pic, compliments of MS paint :)

Oppressive Cousin, in London

2006-02-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

My charming, darling Oppressive Cousin was always part of our mass collective, multi family, summer vacations in London. He would disembark with all of us from Heathrow airport in our comical entourage consisting of a hissy Grandmother, cackling Aunties, and hyperactive 5 year old cousins running all over the place, while being frantically chased down by me and their nannies, pleading with them to behave.
Such memorable summer vacations have left a deep imprint in my brain, establishing the groundwork of appreciation to the solo trips I take today.The mornings typically began with the usual routine of me being dragged out of bed by Grandmother, to perform the regular pilgramage to Oxford, Bond and Knightsbridge. This distress is later followed by entrapment into a mandatory pretentious lunch with the Aunties, at the venerable Joe's on Sloan -the overpriced eatery with little character to show but plenty of opportunity to "see and be seen" amongst Kuwaiti elite and their wannabes & Co.The later part of the day, I am usually able to squeeze in a trip to the musuem with the young ones or a movie in Leciester square, so long as I respect Oppressive Cousin's conditions of bondage, by honoring the imposed curfew of 10:00 pm. Of course, once I am back in captivitiy at Grandmother's house, chained to the insides of her living room, Oppressive Cousin officially locks the gates and exits the premisis to commence his nocturnal escapades....or shall I say overconfident attempts to gallantly frolic, valorously debauch and sexually exploit the nightlife. I can just picture him with his gang, clad in tasteless but expensive designer wear, reaking of redundant cologne that emits an ever so pungent trail, hopping away from one nightclub to the other, pleading with the muscular bouncers to let them in, and being rejected at every door, untill pathetically resorting to the cheap arab bars on Edgware Road, where *supposedly* he drinks his 'coke'.
Of course when he wakes up the next day in the late afternoon, with a throbbing headache and pools of puffy black circling beneath his eyes, (exposing resonating intoxication and impending crankiness to befall), my Grandmother masks her distress with sarcastic nonchalance: "kil hatha aflam ma3a ishabab?'. With that, he transforms his hideous facial expression into an animated smile, plants a flaccid kiss on Grandmother's forehead, and gingerly responds "ee yuma, saharnaa 3alal talfizyoon ibshiqat il rabi3".
Its funny how we all know (including her) what he's been up to, and that we all pretend that we don't, but what's really amusing are the nights when he does in fact get laid. He gleefully trots into the house no earlier than 2:00 pm, full of sunshine and cheer. He breezes into the shower and pops back into the living room, energized and revved up to fix his own coffee. The rush that envelopes his face commands our awe, and as he cheerfully belts out some tunes, we silently think to ourselves, beginning with me "humph, she must have been some cheap ugly ass hag" then Grandmother "Oh dear, I hope this boy's using protection," and finally the all-knowing-guarder-of-his secrets (and mine), who could write her own book with all the shit she knows, and the scandals she partook (and skillfully covered up), Grandmothers one and only.. Nanny: "tsk tsk! He better not sneak any funky business up in here this weekend. Oh I hope they don't leave to Paris". But even in his "satisfied" days, I still find myself under his oppressive reign, where his immediate reaction to me not being present in the house would be to bombard me with dictatorial questions via cell phone:
"CDiyooh, wainich?"
then
"Ana moo gitlich maatamsheen ib Hyde Park?"
followed by
"ish3indich ib Notting Hill?"
and my absolute favourite
"laish ma gilteely inich 6al3a"

Oh, those glorious summer days. Thank God they're over. Thank God they're history. Thank God I'm 28!

Tagged by Erzulie

2006-01-31T05:23:00.000-07:00

My devil is a woman. She is accomplished in the art of duplicity. The major sources of evil in my life have often come from hateful, cunning, two-faced women.

The exterior is a beautiful red dress, it will manipulate and entice. And the red lips will spew endless adulations of love, best wishes and flattery. But behold! Inside is a dark world, filled with thorns of deceit, malice and envy.

A Cockroach on crack

2006-01-23T01:18:00.000-07:00

A Cockroach On Crack is a heinous human being that hovers around my floor, under the delusion that his presence is welcome and appreciated, when in fact everyone dodges his repugnant existence the moment he creeps out of his gutter, and finds his way onto our hallway. The Cockroach doesn't only waste our time through petty, sometimes disgusting conversation, but also likes to stick his business in other peoples private life. Today, I was his target.

As he wriggled upon my office, he started twitching and scratching his hideous nose -a minefield of dirt, and used the excuse of needing some tissues to enter into my office. Despite my cold reception, and the blatant frown that crept onto my face, the delusional Cockroach uninvitedly plopped himself on a chair (thus soiling it irreparably) and subjected me to a timeless torture -a meaningless chit chat with himself:
Cockroach: So I heard you've recently been to X country.
CD: yeah. I have.
Cockroach: how was it?
CD: it was fun
Cockroach: so what did you do?
CD: not much, movies, shopping that kinda thing
Cockroach: Im planning to take a vacation from my wife and kids next month, (he winks mischeviously) would you recommend to go to that country as a single man?

I'm not sure why this crack smoker decided to just blurt that out, perhaps he believes it is 'cool' and admirable to reveal his lack of respect to his wife. As a woman, I am instantly insulted by this question. But I have no interest to criticise/debate his family values with him:
CD: wallah madri 3anik. (I don't know)
Cockroach: Shaklich istaanistaay ihnak. Ashoof il 9ewar 3ala il 6oofah (you seem like you had fun there, as I have noted from the pics on your wall)
CD:Al-hamdila, it was nice.
Cockroach: ishloon il sahraat ihnak? yegooloon khosh nightclubs!

!!

What a stupid, idiotic thing to say. Y3nee is this the best he can do to squeeze some information about my private life? to see if I would slip into admitting if I do indeed go to nightclubs? What is this low-down piece of shit really on? I understand that his curiousity is a salient feature of our society; an urgent need to know private details of individuals that display the slightest hint of happiness. But come on, there are other indirect ways to extract malicious gossip. Coming to me and divulging your own nasty desires to cavort on a holiday (sans the lucky madamme) is not gonna get me to disclose a single thing, not even a trip to the beach!

But the real issue over here is this man's unabashed comfort level in having this hideous conversation with me. Ok, I'm not born yesturday, I am aware that there are immoral married men that like to take solo trips to engage in forbidden frolic and debauchery. But what is up with this frankness, this openess in having a discussion about it with me?

What have we come to?

In case you didn\'t notice

2006-01-21T16:38:00.000-07:00

(This is dedicated to the fabulous mama, A3sab)

I was having somewhat of an identity crisis, and decided that a blog make-over is in order. Ya'll like my new look? I kept my initials, but changed my name to : Closet Diva, afterall, I am more of a 'closet diva' than I am a 'commercial delight' in real life...So I'm keepin it real.

In the spirit of keepin it real, yeah it sucks that we're blocked, but go to google, search for 'anonymous proxies' and get yourselves back into blogworld!

apathy or idiocy?

2006-01-18T16:04:00.000-07:00

In life we ecounter some useless human beings whose whole existence is completely pointless, except they may serve the needed purpose of teetering your thin patience for imbecility, and subsequently enabling you to build character within the process. Seriously, this is the only benefit you may extract from such encounters...and I mean this earnestly.

Normally I'm not very vocal about my political beliefs since I don't particularly enjoy fruitless contreversial debate that will ultimately yield to nothing but injured egos and unnecessary frustration. I stay clear of such discussions, almost all the time. But I pretty much assumed that expressing my outrage on al-jazeera's cheap journalism would be a digestable topic during the coffee break with the Fashionably Deluded Clown of a co-worker of mine (that desperately needs an eye perscription and an intensive course in tasteful fashion -but thats another story).

Nevermind that she didn't know about it, or that she didn't so much flinch an eyebrow at what I had relayed to her about the article, and that she batted her eyelashes and played with her cell phone while I spoke of the unprofessional bias the news agency employed. Hey, its her digusting apathy, not mine. But her ingenious advice to me regarding my reaction was most...how shall i put it? enchanting:
"CD, why do you even bother to concern yourself with these things. Just don't read. Imagine that they dont exist, and that way you'll feel so much better."
Wow! Really? Thats amazing. How could I not think of that? And all this time I've been living in perpetual darkness, completely clueless on how life would be so 'much better' if I would only place myself in heavenly denial. To hell with keeping abreast with current events, learning how others perceive and portray us, and being moved by injustice. Let me just pull out this sayidaty magazine over here to read all about halima boland's make-up, and life will be just groovy.

collective marketing

2006-01-14T15:38:00.000-07:00

When you spend about 8 hours of everyday of your life at work, it is only natural to develop a familly type of atmosphere in your office. Sibling rivalry amongst your hateful co-workers emerge, catty arguments with jealous females develop, fun and amusing exchanges with the younger 'cooler' colleagues (some that would involve X rated discussions) occur, and a Big Warden that oversees us all, making sure we're all following his legacy, abiding by the rules, learning what he teaches us, and getting penalized/rewarded with what we deliver. Indeed, it is another surreal 'family' experience for me, just in a different setting with a different context, but limited within the scope of work. So of course I never really expected the parental concern that Big Warden harbours over my work will be extended into my personal life where he would feel compelled to comment on my single status, expressing hope that one day I will find my na9eeb.

Right. It was a little weird to hear my boss say such things. But even more strange is his continuous tendency to advertise me to random people (men) that have nothing to do with any of my projects. Now my mother and grandmother obsessively advertise me every chance they can get and will not hesistate to drop impressive details about me to strangers and polish my image as a great potential catch. While this is borderline psychotic in my opinion, I have gotten used to it and accepted it as a strange genetic behavior that runs in my family, or perhaps amongst all the women in my society. But my boss? !!

What is up with that?

I don't want to mention what Big Warden tells other people about me lest I appear egotistical (especially since I've been accused of having a large online ego) but I will mention a few things he said to a young single man right in front of me:

"I don't know what we would do if we didn't have CD around, she's full of jokes and laughs"
-Is that so? How would you explain the time you accused me of being 'terrifyingly serious' at work, and made me suspect I had a personality disorder?

"CD was briefly entertaining the idea of going to grad school, she's full of passion you see, but we convinced her to change her mind and stay with us, nobody wants her to leave this office"

Why the hell is Big Warden saying this to this totally irrelevant guy? I'm flattered that he (apparently) cares about me personally, and slightly shocked as well, but blatantly marketing me to a young bachelor is outright inappropriate and humiliating for me.

Worlds Apart

2006-01-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

One of the unfortunate results of going to a third world country is experiencing the warm, shockingly genuine, sweet natured people that totally melt your cynicism away and restore your good belief in humanity.

And boy, I am so mad that happened to me!

Having just immersed myself into the cultural kindness of simple minded country folk for a while, and emerged as an affected easily moved and touched human being, I feel I am so unprepared for the real world right now. Maybe I need to go spend a week in NYC to roughen myself up, and retrieve my raw bitchiness and my bitter cynicism, because frankly, I'm not comfortable being so buoyant, and would really like this rosy attitude of mine (that has suddenly descended upon me) to wear off, preferably today.

Somewhere far away

2005-12-24T15:07:00.000-07:00

anyone guess what this is?

The Black Market

2005-12-20T11:09:00.000-07:00

Before I set out to visit a particular third world country, I was advised by many to bring all my necessities with me, such as pens, papers, cough medicine, hair products etc since such items are quite inaccessable. I was also warned about the lack of customer relations and prevailing apathy in that country due to defeated motivation to work hard and achieve excellence.

Seeing that I work in a beauracratic system that takes its own time in getting things done and follows its own defined calendar that defies all laws of gravity, I felt I was well accustomed to horrific apathetic treatment and below mediocre PR. I mean, what could possibly be a more deplorable experience than dealing with a man whose paying job is to take care of my business ticket arrangements, yet refuses to do so without causing significant outlandish drama. Needless to say, my attitude was very bright and formidable despite all the various warnings as I felt confident and well prepared to any disheartening experience from somebody else's mediocrity or just plain indifference.
As soon as I checked into my celebrated 5 star hotel, I realized that the camera battery charger has a different electricity socket than the one used in that country, and despite my diligence in pakcing every decipherable item, I of course forgot to pack an adapter. So I freshened up, and went downstairs to the concerige to ask for one, and there I found sitting on the desk a young woman merrily painting her nails and chewing gum. She didn't even look up at me when I asked her for the adapter, and continued painting her nails while telling me that she has no such thing . Her blatant indifference was hardly a novel experiece for me, considering where I'm from, but I did find her unabashed, shameless attitude very amusing. At least in my country, people will pretend to give a damn. Maintaining my sunny disposition, I asked her sweetly to give me directions to any hardware electricity stores that I can go to buy an adapter. "I doubt you will find what you need in these stores" she responded, applying her last set of shiny polish on her red nails. "Well, I'd like to try anyway" I insisted. She rolled her eyes, angrily put away her nail polish, grabbed a pen, huffed and sighed and grumpily scribbled a few words on a scrummy piece of paper. She shot me a look like I had just asked her for her kidney.
So I trot cheerfully to the nearest taxi stand and give the taxi cab driver the directions to the store. He looks at me in utter disbelief, as though I had just suggested we jog naked together down the street, and asked me before turning on the ignition why in the world I was going to such an indiginous local, non touristy destination. I explained to him the deal, and he warned me that the place I was going to has no taxi stands available, that it can be quite dangerous, and that it would be wise for him to wait for me until I'm done. I felt like I was being duped into paying extra for a longer taxi ride with this dramatic outburst of concern, but I thought what the hell, so what if I pay a few extra bucks and have him wait.

At the hardware store, I was met with wide stares the moment I verbalized my request for an adapter. The old wrinkled man behind the counter indicated placidly that they have no such thing. So I asked for a connecting cable that would match my battery charger to their electricity. He told me I would have to purchase the entire $400 camera set to get the cable, and under no circumstance will he sell it to me seperately.

I then put on my well-rehearsed grand damsel in distress performance, with weepy eyes, eager smiles, uttering ego inflating requests such as "Oh can't you help me?" or "what am I going to do?" or " I really need your guidance". It appeared that none of that shit was working, but he did tell me to come back "later".
CD: "later" as in when?
Wrinkles: I don't know, later.
CD: Yeah, um, like today?
Wrinkles: or tomorrow if you want.
CD: how about in 20 minutes?
Wrinkles: I don't know, if you want.
CD: Ok, I'll be back in 20.

So I roamed around the run down streets nearby to kill some time, got freaked out a little bit by some of the beer drinking men sitting on the pavement, hissing and whistling at me and staring ever so blatantly, then panickedly rushed back to Mr. Wrinkles in the hardware store. Only, he wasn't there anymore, but in his place was another man, sucking on his ciggarrete under a vivid 'no smoking' sign on the wall, reading the comic strip of the newspaper.

Again, I asked him for the item I needed, and when he finally understood and stood up from his chair, a rough scraggy hand tightly grabs my shoulder from behind my back, almost causing me to fall on my side, and when I gain my balance and turn around, I find the old man with the thousand wrinkles streaming on his forehead fiercely glaring at me, with flared nostrils and a face that looked like it just jumped out of Dante's cantos.
Angry Mr. Wrinkles: Didn't you talk to me first?
CD: Um, yeah..
AMW: then why are you talking to him?
CD: Um, I don't know, you weren't there.
AMW: You can't just ask me to help you, and then talk to somebody else
CD: I'm sorry, I didn't know
AMW: Didn't know what? (Practically screaming)
CD: I didn't know! I thought you left (slightly frightened) I'm sorry.
AMW: (cursing at me in his local language) Come with me! (He grabbed my upper arm like a furious father would grab his deliquent son after catching him with dope, and pulled me out of the store)

I am not sure what is going on as he drags me into an alleyway through the eerie dark back entrance, but I pretty much have an idea that its very shady, and i prepare a clenched fist with one hand, and fish for a sharp eyeliner in my purse with the other, or anything that I could use as a weapon, just in case. In that milli second of mental panic, I reevaluated how much I really needed this cable to go through this, and decided that it definitely wasn't worth it.
CD: Um, you know what, its ok. I dont want the cable anymore.
(He pulls out a plastic bag from behind a case of beer, totally inattentive to what I just said, and aggressively stashed it in my hands)
Mr. Wrinkles: Hide it in your bag, now!
CD: Um, is this the cable?
Mr. Wrinkles: What do you think?
CD: Oh, Ok. Well, how much?
Mr. Wrinkles: First, hide it in your bag (I willingly obliged). Give me $10.

I pay the old man, flee the premises in the blink of an eye to my faithful taxi driver, (who is happily waiting me for with an obscenely jacked up meter), and tell him to drop me in the nearest commercial touristic area.

2005-12-08T07:38:00.000-07:00

Dear All,

I will be away from blogland for a while, due to limited internet access.

Hope you have a great week/weekend :)

CD

Unreserved

2005-12-03T13:34:00.000-07:00

One of the things that I find absolutely amusing about this city is the total lack of reserved behavior. People all around town feel completely free to express themselves and behave exactly the way they want. Like the guy that passed by Footlocker at 9:oo pm and found it closed couldn't resist to raise his middle finger and scream from the top of his lungs "bloody assholes, fuck you" and then bang a clenched fist on the glass door. I'm sure it was relieving; I felt relieved just looking at him get that out of his system.

Or the kindred gentleman sitting on the steps of the train station smoking a joint reaking of a very obvious illegal substance. I stared at his blatant indulgence in utter disbelief wondering why the hell he wasn't getting his fix at a park or in the privacy of his own home. He noticed my fixated stare, and offered me a drag! Noticing the immediate horror on my face, he added "its pure, without any crack". "Um, no thank you" I muttered and rushed to the opposite direction. The guy is either mental, or has guts! Either way, he deserved my admiration.

Or the old man that stands in a corner near Marks And Spencer preaching about God and eternal damnation, with fervent passion. I love it how he just chose a random spot in a busy street, positioned himself to face the crowds and express himself as offensively and loudly as possible, without a care in the world.

And then finally, a couple of old women standing angrily infront of a bus, blocking the traffic and demanding the bus driver to open his doors. They screamed, yelled and threatened. And they refused to move out of the street untill he would yeild. I watched the amusing drama momentarily, and listened attentively to the obscene profanities being spewn by the old women.

Oh the passion that belied the street. An entertaining live theatre. Everyone walks around with an innate ability to discard convention, in various costumes, casting aside conditioned reservations, and feeling totally open and free to express, scream and behave as enthusiastically as they please. And I remembered how repressed my childhood was, when the boys in my family were scolded when they cried, and the girls reprimanded when they weren't 'ladylike', and how expressing unpopular opinions or behaving in a manner that offended traditional ideologies bears heavily undesired consequences, the closeted personalities and the homogeneous crowds striving to blend to achieve redundant conformity. And the indifferent facial expressions, lingering on young confused adolescents, caught between their implanted reservations, and their desire to be human.

Don't tell me Kuwait is the same minus the clubs and alcohol! The entire social fabric is fundamentally different!

"Clemency is the Best Resource"

2005-11-29T15:54:00.000-07:00

I've always been fascinated with the "flight or fight" dilemna and the type of personalities that would correspond to each of these choices. Personally, I usually opt for "flight" in the face of any confrontation (I know, that is sooo unlike my starsign) unless of course it is a serious blatant injustice committed against me. But there are some people that adamantly "fight" even when they inflict the injustice themselves, and they do it with such endearing flare! The endearing element lies in their nonaggressive approach where they carefully disguise the "fight" initiative through ultra sweet smiles and palpable charm, thus maintaining a friendly pleasing disposition, very much like our charming friend BullPoop . The unexpected clemency in this case leaves the opponent confused, dumbfounded, yeilding, and hence, defeated.

While I was riding the subway, or according to the british, the "tube" a young british chap was kind enough to reach his hand through the crowd of entering passengers and spiritedly, grab my ass. Now I've had experiences with sexual assault before (I live in a country full of sexually frustrated men, its bound to happen a few times in empty parking lots and Bakalas), and so usually with these groping experiences I have a somewhat predictable process: I register that I was groped, I turn to my offender, I unleash a bitchy nonsensical tirade, I become impassioned with a burning desire to phsycially strike back, I attempt to execute the ambitious attack, the perpetrator conveniently flees the scene before commencement, and I feel like crap.

So this time I was pretty much expecting my subway assailant to disappear through mass transit by jumping out of the train, and hence escaping my wrath and (his) subsequent humiliation. But to my utter surprise, the bloke did not flee; he remained sturdily in his position, willing to face the fire, with a bright sparkly smile plastered on his face. I was so stunned at his courage I almost suspected that I imagined the whole affiar untill he winked at me mischieviously! I suddenly blurted out "why did you do that?". His smile widened as he looked at me with alarming confidence and then responded innocently "did what, love?"

Ok, our cheeky friend wants me to say it out loud. I bet he is dying to hear the words out of my mouth, and have me make a comedic scene in the bloody tube like a mad woman on Paxil. I was not going to give him such a show.
I responded calmly, "you know what you did! Its disgusting to say the least" I walk away from him to the other end of the train, find a seat and plop myself down. As I replay the whole scene in my head, I realize how his smile and blatant confidence caught me off gaurd, successfully confusing me, and disarming me of the impulsive aspiration to slap the bastard.

Later on in the train ride, I manage to forget all about it, and trot back to mental planning of shopping escapades, untill our dear BullPoop walks over to my end of the train, and plants himself in the seat right next to mine. I turn to look at him, and find the warm smile still intact, which sent me a subconsious trigger to return the smile, untill he whispered quietly:
"will you forgive me?"

I was dumbfounded for a brief moment at his admission, and then at his amiable manner in treating the situation. I seriously considered that he might have been delusional enough to believe that when he squeezed my behind on the train, he actually did me a favor. I didn't know what to say to dear BullPoop. I was speechless. So I got up at the first opportunity, and exited the train. When I heard the automatic train doors shut behind me, I couldn't resist turning around to glance back at him.... And there he was, sweet cute BullPoop, smilling at me behind the glass windows of the moving train, and waving goodbye, knowing perfectly well that he just got away with assault, and more importantly, that he just won!

Acceptance

2005-11-27T16:31:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, when I travel for work it is mandatory that I fly kuwait airways, even if there are no direct flights but anyway, I've moved on from this painful requirement and accepted it as an interesting experience I wouldn't otherwise normally have!

I mean what other airline would you ever find a bunch of hippie tourists coming back from the far east with their backpacks and dreads, and then a string of niqab wearing women with their numerous noisy children and beard sporting husbands all cramped up together by the gate, waiting for Godot. Then you have the well connected group travellors that take discounted or sometimes free trips from Kuwait Airways for supposedly having serious emergency illnesses in need of a fully subsidized out-of-kuwait medical check-up, but then you somehow spot them shopping across the street. Out of this melting pot of organisms about to embark on kuwait airways was an interesting fella that i really would have liked to know.

This fella had multiple highlights, long hair that fell to his shoulders and a pierced lip. He was sitting down fiddling with his iPod, and i could have sworn he was anything but Kuwaiti, untill I saw him speak to his dishdasha-and-qitra-wearing father with an overcoat on his way to a european country. The clash between father and son was so splendid, that other people noticed too. In fact, one of these people even dared to go as far as snapping a photograph.

The young pierced lip dude noticed this effort and made a scene. He rose up from his chair dramatically to chase after the sneaky photographer, but alas, the security men had to act all mighty and powerful and grab the young man to question his outburst. They were blatantly mocking him as he was relaying to them his grieviances, yet he kept persisting his pleas unthwarted, with full confidence and conviction telling them "no matter who you are, everyone deserves the right of privacy and the right not to be photographed". The security men still weren't taking him seriously, with their nonending disgusting snickers and sarcastic remarks like "enzain itha 9idt il mu9awir, ishbitsaweela wiya wayhik!". I'm not saying that the security men should have pulled out their guns and run after this alleged photographer james bond style, but deriding the guy with such direct ridicule is totally unnecessary and disturbing to me personally.

Its interesting when the young man's old father emerged into the scene, proper decorum and decent language suddenly burgeoned among the security men. But they were not subtle when they fiercely eyed the father and son back and forth in the attempt to make sense of the dichotomy. Their thought process in that mili second was so transparent that the father immediately realized that it was useless, pulled his son away and maintained his dignity. I was touched, and I wistfully fantasized of the day when people in kuwait will treat everybody with the same respect without loudly displaying narrow minded judgements based on somebody's unorthodox appearance. But you see, we are a culture that thrives on behavior homgeneity, and we love to take absolute hegemony in dictating how one should be and how one should look like and conveniently wave it under the flag of 'tradition' and 'religion'.

I think this as I walk down the streets of a modern city, with people of all kinds of differences. An old african man with dreads cascading to the floor is playing merrily on his drums, a young well dressed blonde woman passes him, stops to admire his musical flavor, tosses him a coin, a shabby looking man with a visible tatoo on his neck banging his head to the beats of his CD player flashes me a smile and keeps walking on by, and a clean cut jogger kindly stopping to give a young woman with black lipstick and gothic jewelery directions.

I wanted to go back to that young fella from the airport with long highlighted hair and peirced lips to tell him that he had every right to be angry, and then beg him not to be dismayed.

Wayh 3areeth

2005-11-19T04:52:00.000-07:00

The time has come for me to rant once again, and this time it will be a variation of the "Vampires Congregation" theme that I briefly introduced in the previous post. There is a circle of vampires in Kuwait and their main qualities are as follows:
1-Middle aged kuwaiti women that love to gossip and show off their wealth at each other
2- They are all supposedly 'friends' but secretly are envious of each other's social popularity, husband's business, children's success, family names etc.
3- They congregate every so often in hotel tea rooms to sip tea, eye each other's jewelery, and ever so delicately shred each other's egos like razors cutting through cotton.
4-They feed on their sweeter nicer friend's energy and use them for all kinds of favors!

Mother is one of their sweet sweet niave friends, and has succumbed to be the victim of the evil head member of these vultures, a charismatic but crippled fat woman that nags on my mother's soul to death. Every so often, this evil vulture calls my mother to complain about her tumbling health, criticise my mother indirectly (through me sometimes) and asks for favors. A recent favor this bitch is asking my mother is to have me drag her suitcase with me when I travel to give to her nephew who is living abroad. My mother being the sweet nice woman she is couldn't say no. But you see, I am not my mother. And I can say no. So I picked up the phone and called the Evil Vampire:
CD: Hi Aunitie Vampire, how u doin?
Vampire: I'm so sick, I'm in pain, I've been in bed the whole week, I took two shots of cortizone and I was crying all night, the doctor says that it will take three days for the medicine to take effect...

at this point, i tuned out completely and retreated into my own mental hemisphere untill this old bitch finished reciting her monologue, then I interjected:

CD: uff, ma tistaahlain habeebti. I'm so sorry, wish there was something I could do.
Vampire: Yes there is, I spoke to your mother because I have a package to send for my nephew in X country.
CD: Yeah, how small is this package?
Vampire: its a suitcase
CD: i'm afraid I won't be able to take it with me. I'm checking in two suitcases already.
Vampire: Wow, two suitcases, how long are you going to be gone for?
CD: X days
Vampire: You don't need two suitcases! CD, darling, how about you try to reduce your packing to one suitcase?
CD: No thats not possible, the weather there is cold and i need all my coats, boots etc.
Vampire: How many coats are you taking?

I CANT BELIEVE SHE'S ASKING ME THIS QUESTION. FINE I'LL LIE THEN!

CD: I'm taking 6, three of them are formal, the other three are casual for me when i go out.
Vampire: Oh, so you'll be going out over there huh?
CD: yeah, I will. How about you pack up the things you want to send to your nephew into a small suitcase and I'll just carry it in my hand on the plane?
Vampire: Thats not possible!
CD: well you can ship the suitcase then (you cheap bitch), I think it will only cost you 30kd.
Vampire: But your mother said that you will take it with you.
CD: i'm sorry Auntie Vampire, my mother is not aware of how many suitcases I'm taking with me.
Vampire: Laaaa, tara ana za3laana 3ala umich. Let me talk to her now.
CD: Khalti, 7aram 3alaich, umy ma tadri.
Vampire: 3a6eeniyaah, bakilimhaaaa

So Mother talks to Vampire and I hear mother agreeing with her saying "ee adri, CD wayid 3aneeda, shesawi feeha" (I know CD is very stubborn, what should I do with her?). Rage rage rage! I don't care what kind of pressure the vampire puts on my mother, I don't care how much she will feed on my mother's energy and sympathy and I don't care if she manipulates her into feeling incredibly guilty THERE IS NOWAY ON EARTH I'M TAKIN HER SUITCASE!

and thats that!

Weddings Galore

2005-11-15T09:55:00.000-07:00

Don't you love November? T'is the season to mate, legally, with a grand +20,000 KD opening celebration. And in comes with this celebration(s) is my wretched obligation to attend. Allow me to elaborate on why I am so excited to participate;
1-I have to scan the Kuwaiti retail market like a hound dog on Paxil for a ludicrously priced dress.
2- I will then commit the transgression of dropping more than a month's paycheck for this gown that will only be worn once, maybe twice, but definitley not more than thrice.
3-I will have to endure endless scrutiny, inspection, and evaluation from middle aged women, on the hunt for aspiring 'wives' or maybe just enviously nostalgic for my youth.
4- I have to pretend to enjoy the Kuwaiti 7areem disco when I don't even remotely enjoy the music: nagging lyrics, recycled beats, and redundant meaning (love, desire, pain etc - what century do you live in, O dear singer?).

No thanks, unless you are somebody that I personally know and am genuinely happy for , why should I attend? Why! Well, our mothers graduated the same class umm 30 years ago, they're not bestfriends but they were neighbors in ancient Jiblah, with faint memories of skipping together hand in hand on the way to elementary school, and last but not least, they happen to mix in the same presumptious social circles that I rightfully call "Vampire's Congregation". For that reason, the bride's mother is perfectly entitled to question my absence in social events, adding the biting comment "bintich laish moo ijtima3iya" ("why is your daughter anti social") to my mother. My mother will then feel incredibly insecure, and will launch a verbal lashing at me immediately via phone, ( I should stop answering her calls when she's at social events) to express severe disdain at my atypical social isolation.

So whatever, I don't need the drama, I'll sacrifice my nights for 4-5 weddings of individuals I hardly know (or care for). And you may think I'll be admiring the theatrical display of ultimate sophistication ( and financial capability -worth a brand new sportscar, 3 kidney transplants, and a bonafide sex change) for a couple of hours for just one bland evening, BUT KNOW THAT I AM ONLY THERE TO AVOID MOTHER'S ENDLESS BICKER, and that I really could care less about whats her names marriage.

Making up for lack of value

2005-11-11T09:57:00.000-07:00

I've been burying my nose in graduate essay writing guidelines, trying to figure out the best angle that would mesmerize an admissions officer enough to turn a blind eye to a mediocre GPA (damn those Monday, Tuesday Thursday nite college frat parties senior year -what good have they delivered to me now, other than fading memories of intoxicated glory). So I wrote a contraversial topic on the ironies of arab women and sex (it is a subject that constantly surrounds me, just look at the pornographic arab music videos on TV) but then I thought it would make me sound like a raging feminist that is sexually furstrated, which is not a good thing, and definitely not who I am (except for the sexually frustrated part).

Feeling frustrated, blocked, and completely overwhelmed with pressure, I decided to give in to mother's ridiculous nagging to complete some of her errands. Getting out of the house would be a nice refreshing break, one that I definitley cannot afford, but will nevertheless find rewarding. So I slipped on my casual wear: jeans and a light jumper with of course my standard uniform high heels (I walk like a donkey in flats, even in college I would wash my car with shorts, t-shirt and High Heels)

While I was rummaging through the different stores in the city, and talking to Mother on the phone to understand her requests, a ginger young man, 22 tops, is eyeing me suspiciously and signalled to speak to me. I asked my mother to hold on so that I see what he had to say, he really looked concerned and curious:
Him: it7ibeen il wath3 il 6abee3y? (do you like the natural phenomena?)
CD: Excuse me?
Him: why aren't you wearing any make-up?

It took a 2 minute pregnant silence for me to register that sentence, I immediately turned away and tried to ignore the fact that this man actually stopped me on the street while I was having a phone conversation to say that to me. But mother did not ignore it! She just couldn't resist:
Mother: CD, I heard that! Why aren't you wearing any make-up?
CD: huh?
Mother: If a man stopped you on the street to give you that comment, that means you must look horrendous.
CD: mom, just give me the name of that store so I can get your errands done.
Mother: do you at least have lip gloss in your bag, dab some on your lips right now!
CD: ok, I will, whats the name of the store Mom?
Mother: every year, I buy you all kinds of make-up and you never wear any! Why don't you act like the other girls?
CD: mom, this man is used to seeing clowns with make-up caked on their faces in heaping layers of atrocious colors, of course he's going to comment at me for not wearing any so chill out and give me the name of the store, please.
Mother: you know, all the girls here take make up lessons, and know the names of the best make-up artists, and they wake up early in the morning to have time to apply their make-up, but you're always in a rush. What does that say about you?

Silence.

Then, a pressing question: Is it pure unadulterated vanity that drives these girls to such lengths of beautification...or is it the understanding that their only value is being a sexual object, that leads to behaviors such as strange clown make up, softened voices expressing immense horniness, and highly suggestive yet very tasteless glitter outfits?

Probably both............

CD: Mother, it says that I have confidence, and an immense appreciation for my brain.

Guilty by Nationality

2005-11-08T03:14:00.000-07:00

There are times when I have a voracious urge to pick up the phone, call up the minister of foreign affairs to suggest that we imprint on our shiny blue kuwaiti passports an apology that reads something like this:
"Luck had it that I was born in a desert overflowing with overpriced oil, sorry if that offends you."

Maybe that would put an end to the arab saleswoman in the fashion boutiques from manically dropping all of her non kuwaiti clients and attacking me with unbridaled passion. The attack commences with flattery, overexaggerated gasps on how wonderful my selection is, followed by full blown nagging. It doesn't take more than 2 minutes for this sycophantic behavior to insult my intelligence and make me re-evaluate my own self esteem. And while I struggle to fight this mental negativity, the saleswoman continues to shove outrageous garments in my face emphasizing that all the other young kuwaiti girls are snatching the winter collections.

Whatever
I wouldn't dare wear this crap even if it were halloween. And I already told you I dont like wearing pink flourescent mini skirts on top of jeans. So you can end your foolish garment layering propaganda that misuses the words 'funky" " style" and " creative". And someone needs to tell you that the only creative thing about your merchandise is the triple digit price tag.

but when i finally give in to her BS, and go into a fitting room to try a few items, low and behold the bitch jumps right inside there with me. I have no problem stripping in front of females or doing the female nudity thing in gym locker rooms, but I do have a problem when someone's disgusting chipped manicured nails is all over my breasts:
"excuse me, what are you doing?"

"I'm just fixing the buttons for you"

Damn, girl, what did you have for breakfast. Ugly nails, funky breath, and squashed in a 4 by 4 cubicle with you while I am half naked is not my ideal fantasy of shopping. Sorry your life is tough, but i'm not buying your shit.

Moving right along to my weekly pedicure, I am stuck with Lamees the Leech to take care of me. What was supposed to be my 'me time' to relax, and pamper myself turns into a sympathy therapy fest for the Leech as she unleashes a long winded diatribe detailing the financial difficulties of raising 7 fatherless children back in her home country. Then she tells me that she worries she won't be able to pay her rent for the month, and how only a few kuwaiti women have been kind enough to pitch in. I advertantly pull out an ancient magazine to avoid talking to this woman, but her monologue continues, and I learn all about her tyrannical boss that didn't pay her salary, and how she had to settle for bread and milk for dinner for two weeks straight.

At the end of this pedicure, I felt so bereft, so hollow so spiritually exhausted and consumed, I found myself forking over a 10kd tip. She accepted it as though it were expected of me to give it to her. And even after giving her my money, I still sulked to my car feeling low, depressed, and empty. Then I became incredulous that I just wasted an hour and spent over 20 kd to be some poor woman's therapist, a woman that manipulated me into feeling guilty for being Kuwaiti and fortunate. And there you have it, the burning nostalgia brings me right back to my college days, passing by the Arab student union, whose prominent members decided to wage an anti US policy campaign, asking donations for poor Iraqi civilians. I nonchalantly passed their booths on my way to the cafeteria, as incognito as possible to avoid their attention, and luck would have it the impassioned leader catches me and calls my name:
"CD, would you like to donate some money for Iraqi women and children? (Waving a collection plate right in my face)
"Uh, I don't have any change"
"Thats ok, we accept checks"
"To be honest, I respect what you're doing, but I don't agree with the cause. Sorry"

As I walked away, right behind my back, she fired this insult a little too loudly:
"Selfish rich Kuwaiti bitch "

Strategic Exploitation

2005-11-07T05:28:00.000-07:00

They say that the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And since the only man whose heart I'm interested in winning these days is Big Warden's, especially since the fate of my recommendations for graduate school still lies on his desk awaiting his kind hand to pen a few praiseworthy statements, I decided to go to Opera today, buy a nice big chocolate cake and bring it to the office.

I know, its tacky, I make fun of people that bring food to work all the time. But whats worse is that I'm not even working today! I took a few days off to complete the volumes of applications paperwork whose deadline is manically approaching (I can't belive its November already), yet I decided that I should take a few hours of my morning, get my hair done, wear something extra fashionable, bring a cake and ask Big Warden nicely and subtly about when does he actually plan to start cracking on these recommendations. Maybe remind him that the deadline is in three weeks. Maybe hint that I would like him to spend some quality time to write them, without messily shoving cliches on a piece of paper, in an hour of clumsy haste...

Everyone at work was delighted to see me strutting down the hallway, but I'm sure it had more to do with me carrying a pink Opera box in my hands.
"CD, isn't it your holiday"
"Wow, CD, what are you doing here?"
"CD, you got us some goodies?"

CD: "Ok ok, everybody, I just thought that since Ramadan is over, we should properly celebrate as a team with a delicious chocolate cake. Then I'll be outta here and you guys can go back to work"

Unfortunately, Big Warden was nowhere in sight to witness this grand generous gesture of mine, but it did not stop me from cutting him a piece meticulously with special care and delivering it to him personally to his office. I cut his cake piece with all my heart, quitely reciting quranic verses and neatly trimming the icing so that all the nuts stay in place. The effort I spent cutting Big Warden's piece aroused some suspicion from my colleages, one of whom was dying to comment I could tell, but I shot him a fierce dirty look that made him relent.

Big Warden's face beamed with genuine delight as I entered his office. (I can't tell you the joy I feel whenever Big Warden is happy with me. It really does make my day.) He thanked me graciously for the cake and I thought maybe now is the strategic moment to inquire of the status of my recommendations. Though I'm sure it would refute my cake gesture and expose me as the sycophantic charlatan that I am, the sight of my untouched recs on the corner of his desk were begging me to ask for his attention. These virgins were dying for his pen to deflower them with wordy love so that they may blossom into the shiny glowing roses on my application packet, and serenade an overwieght middle aged admissions officer into mailing me an acceptance letter. I was quietly phrasing the appropriate sentence in my head to make such a request, untill he shattered my thoughts with his own:
"CD, I have to run to a meeting. Could you take this call for me?" (Gesturing at the 10:30 am conference call on his sheet) "It will only be 20 minutes or so".

You've got to be kidding me! Its my freakin day off, I'm sweet enough to come in and give you some bloody cake, and now YOU'RE ASKING ME TO DO WORK FOR YOU? In any other circumstance I would have totally verbalized this sentiment (euphemistically of course) and probably suggest that he should go rub his eyeball against a cheese grater. But you see this is crucial time for me, and this man has a genuine type of power over me. And he knows it; because he is certainly taking his sweet time to do this, all the while squeezing all that he can out of me and exploiting my need for his kindness. So of course, I won't sabotage my future and decline outrageous requests to work on my day off, a day I alotted to do my own personal urgent errands, because I'll gladly smile and submit my free hours for his convenience. Hell, I'll work for him all night if he asks, all I ask is the justice of a decent recommendation, sometime soon, without the need for me to come into his office like a desperate gomeril, carrying a stupid piece of chocolate cake in my hands.

"Sure, sir, I'll take the call. Anything else you want me to do while I'm here?" (I wanted to add 'on my holiday' but decided to maintain my sunny disposition)

Big Warden: "yeah, if you can come in tomorrow just for an hour to attend X meeting, that would be nice"

!!!!
Bastard!

A Time for Schizophrenia

2005-11-03T07:29:00.000-07:00

The morning of Eid is a morning that can summarize a woman's life in kuwait in a nutshell. It involves wearing many faces that don't actually belong to you, flashing what you got in your bank account in the form of an outfit, and feigning a sweet natured propriety to people that you hardly know. In such a morning I wake up in a drowsy cranky mode and stumble into the shower unpleasantly. The shower is the key component to beginning this day, for only with water splashing on my naked skin can I meditatively prepare to slip into a day of full fledged superficiality, faked amicability and socially overbearing expectations.

The role I am expected to play is of a prissy geisha, fully decked out and bling bling'd with overrated jewelry. I have to make rounds to 6-7 houses of extended family members, most of whom I don't know (and don't really care to). It is always embarassing to enter these houses because I have no idea what their names are, and who's related to who and how the hell they are related to me. I don't know who I'm supposed to call "khalti" since I am no longer a little child and I feel really awkward when a man only 15 years my senior offers me money. It is equally as uncomfortable that the very man that just shoved a 20 kd bill into my hands decides to offer me short-sighted career advice, drawing references from his own unimpressive experience. But I repress the part of me that is openly sarcastic and loudly objectional to unintelligent advice and resort to my 'calm non-fiesty' personality that smiles, utters thank yous, blushes, and then looks at the floor.

The final destination is Grandmother's house, who has her own set of unfamiliar guests that are supposedly relatives of ours. The male guests shun away from the sacrilige of shaking my hand, and deny me the respect of proper eye contact during their simple nod of a greeting. But they do not hesistate to stare at me behind my back (my sister always catches them) while I degradingly pour them tea and serve them sweets, as per Grandmother's orders. In this submissive role that I adopt , not only do I conciously deny my intellectual superiority and accomplishment over these men that I serve and dangle my existence for, but I also find myself sighing and batting my eyes, staring at the ceiling and laughing ever so delicately. When I unknowingly become out of character and do something as blasphemous as crossing my legs, (apparently it insinuates an attempt of seduction), Grandmother quickly advises me in private to 'sit properly' so as not to appear 'loose' to the guests.
"ya bnayah, 9eery thigeeela!" she barks at me, God bless her....

After my academy award winning performance at Grandmothers, I release myself from the confines of propriety, drive like a freed maniac, and go home to prepare for another role. The necessary role. The role that flushes out all of this fetidly faked behavior that I abhor (hence the blog title, 'maa7ib rasmiyaat') and indulge in a forbidden extreme, the needed extreme that will stabilize me back to healthy balanced normality.

I peer into my closet to find the appropriate attire for this event (the attendees of which are confirmed to be safe non-arabic speaking individuals -:) thanx 3asoobah). My immoral black pants are screaming to be worn. The thousands of mini belts and dangling chains that flutter on this scandalous fashion piece makes any reserved woman look like she just X-ed out of an underground rave in Russia. The perfect costume for the needed role. I'll wear them with spiked 5 inch heels, flop a blonde wig a' la miss cosmo's incognito (God, I love blogging) and creep out of the house quietly in a breeze...Too bad I can't wear the cat woman alter ego mask, Haloween was three days ago.

Now I'm off to execute, 3eedkum Embarak ow kil 3am wa antum bi khair!

Passive Aggressive Conspiracy

2005-11-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

Mommies! They are wonderful creatures of the world. They struggle as they carry us inconviently in their wombs, and they go through excruciating hells of labor to bring us into life. For that, we are all condemned to forever cherish, respect and deliver any imposing demand, swallow delightful longwinded diatribes, and quietly suffer mental insanity induced by resonating guilt for committing a most hideous offense: disappointing thy Mother. Untill of course the turn is on us to go through our own process of bearing children and being a Mommy, we will never really be off the hook from all the aforementioned things.

Yes. For those of us that are childless, and that are self-centered enough to consider something like graduate studies, the Mother's unsupportive wrath will slither upon thee like a hissing snake crawling into the night waiting...watching... and plotting the ultimate sabotage. For that precise reason, I chose to keep my humble plans of pursuing higher education secret. Why cross a bridge I haven't reached yet? Why sit through dinners, lunches and afternoon teas listening to how foolish I am? And why be dreadfully reminded that the glorious train for marriage is passing the station? (*thanx ms baker)
Parents will know when they need to know. And right now is not the time.

But you see, Mother is not blind. She does see the heaping piles of college applications stacked under my coffee table. She does notice me locking myself up in the room for hours doing menial graduate practise tests. And even though I pretend that I am too sick or tired to socialize or go out these days, she knows I am pulling ridiculous hours at my desk doing my god damn applications.

But here's her passive aggressive way to stop me: she calls my own friends, friends that I have been purposely avoiding without any shame to pursue this applications business, and tells them , (yes she actually tells them) to call me. This is Friend's feeble attempt to conceal the very transparent conspiracy:
Friend: CDiyoooh, hi!
CD: hala. shloonich (very awkwardly) Sorry I've kind of disappeared lately.
Friend: Eee CD I've missed you. Can you do me a favor?
CD: of course. whats up.
Friend: There's this guy who wants to check me out, and I need someone to go with me to sit in X restaurant, would you please come with me?
CD: Uhh..(Grumbling and coughing and making incredibly weird noises)
Friend: Come on CD. We need to catch up on our lives with each other.
CD: Why don't you ask Y to come with you. I don't feel like going out, seriously.
Friend: Ok then, forget it. How about we go to Dubai this weekend?
CD: Huh?
Friend: Eee, its Eid, lets go!
CD: Um, I can't. (Lying through my teeth) Parents will have a fit if I do anymore travelling.
Friend: Ay shay! Ma3alaich, khaly umich 3alay ana akilmhaa she'll say yes!

Hah! Busted. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!

CD: Did Mother call you and tell you to do this?
Friend: Nowaaaaaay.
CD: Yalla 3ad, fukeena.
Friend: To be honest, she's concerned that you're spending too much time at home chinnich 3ayoozaah.
CD: Ahh. I see. Anyway thanks.

After much deliberation, I thought that it was time to officially illuminate the Parental Unit on the vague plans, since obviously they somewhat have *an idea* about it, and have
somewhat *tried* to sabotage it. At least with a live confrontation consisting of sociologically inspired theories, impassioned arguments and screaming fits of nonsense, the future "reality check" will not be so painful, so sudden, so final. Yes, I will have to endure frowns, bitting commentary and disguised criticisms for the next 6 months, but at least I will not be subjected to this underhanded Passive Agressive-Friend-involving bullshit.

Broadway in Kuwait

2005-10-30T12:54:00.000-07:00

In my humble experience at a government institution, I thought I had seen it all. From the egotisical and overpowered to the frustrated and underpaid, the unmotivated and underworked to the stressed out and overlooked. I've seen it all, so I thought. But there ain't nothing like the sight of a room full of middle aged men engaging in fierce verbal combat bombing away atrocious insults and ego lacerating accusations from across the table.

Aye, the plot does thicken. For in this room only one woman is honored with front row seats to this theatrical event, under the prime responsiblity of documenting this meeting; the details of which will be later incorporated in a monumentally grand "Official Report".

So in this historical boardroom from which I will gather the necessary developments for the "Official Report", I planked a tent as far as Switzerland and declared neutrality even before the ensuement of war. I am not there to take sides and participate, nor am I there as the United Nations to regulate. I am simply there to witness and record. Mouth shut, but eyes wide open.

The dogfight commenced almost as instantly as the shut of the door. Spittle was flying in the air hands clenched into tight fists and frighteningly intense glares emitted pungent radiation. Then came the offending statement of outrageous splendor:

"KIL KHARA"

Immediately, the offender apologetically turned to me as the only woman in the room, along with all the other men to check that I hadn't broken into a 100,000,000 fragile pieces for hearing such revoltingly foul language. A short moment of silence commanded the room during this stare-down, and I felt obligated to fake a look of disgruntlement expressing severe displeasure that my feminine virgin ears were subjected to such horrid articulations.
Ok, so I frowned. Can we get on with the show already? Nay. The silence lingered. And it resonated into stillness. I supposed the men needed a moment or two to collect unstable thoughts and mentally prepare more cordial insults. While I don't really care if they curse their mothers out till the break of dawn, I was glad to have a few minutes to rest my hand violently exhuasted from furious writing. As soon as I put the pen down to enjoy a momentary relief, a hollering scream was fired from across the room:
"CD! !! You are supposed to write this"

I am sweating in a simmering pool of moritification, humiliation and utter embarassment. Did he really have to say my name and give me a role into this mess? For God's sake, be a man and shoot your fire at the actual enemy, not at neutral Switzerland, quietly participating as the gentle audience! Well, I suppose something was needed to break the awkward silence, and in matters of war, what better way to re-instigate the fire than dragging the neutral parties into the heated pit. No one can really ever enjoy complete neutrality, can they?

So no worries, I moved on, reconciling myself with the fact that is was a nominal price to pay to witness such grand A+ , first class entertainment; better than any Ramadan soap opera on TV or silly Qurgai3an antic. Alas, the thirst for real theatre and fine drama is now finally, satisfyingly, quenched!

The 12 Step Plan

2005-10-29T01:35:00.000-07:00

Somebody's Momma heard of my existence through anonymous sources, and decided to suggest me to the Son. The Son has no idea what I look like, never even heard about me till now, but is open enough to give me a shot (or maybe he likes to listen to Momma). I wish The Son could just sneak in at my place of work and see me quietly, without my knowledge, to save me from the horror, but no. Oh no. His Momma decides to come clean to Mother about The Son's interest to 'check me out' -with the preverbial 'no strings attached' clause. Parents are unsurprisingly ecstatic about the idea. So excited that instead of directing the Son to my office behind my back, they propose that we both meet, face to face, in a public place. This is the designed 12 step plan of stage one of the marriage program:

1-I make an appointment with the best hairstylist in town, I get a professional to do my make-up, I put on a pricy pastel colored outfit.
2-I get lectured briefly by Father. Then I get further coaching techniques from Mother, Auntie(s) and Grandmother.
3- I go to a restaurant with Mother and Auntie. We order drinks, salad, main course. Halfway through main course, Auntie makes "The Call".
4- Followed by "The Call" The Son appears with His Momma and join us at the table. We order dessert and coffee.
5-His Momma will study me with fierce scrutiny, and make a mental note on how I rank in the female scale of worthiness. The Son will be respectable enough not to stare so blatantly, but will nevertheless make his own valuations.
6- His Momma will interview me on my background, history, work, friendships in her most casual attempt to make conversation. Mother will do the same to the Son.
7-Mother will launch an advertisement campaign about my being to His Momma, highlighting that I speak X language(s), play X instrument(s) and that I can cook X dish(es). His Momma will backfire as she joins the advertising squad, pumped and fueled to indicate Son's special talents.
8-I will try not to feel akward about the sudden advertising aggression, and will throw in a few sentences as per Father's instructions, lest I begin to appear antisocial.
9-The Son will make akward jokes, probably for the same reason, and we will all pretend to find them funny.
10- I will quietly and seriously contemplate suicide. But I will order the check instead.
11-The Son will demonstrate his manhood and insist to pay. Mother will not allow it, shattering the illusion unwittingly.
12-We exchange flaccid handshakes, flash animated smiles, blurt insincere statements, and then flee to vehicles of assumed glory.

According to Auntie, arranged marriages are comin' back. According to Grandmother, it is about time. According to Mother, I'm not very young, and I'm also single. According to Father, 'opportunities' like this don't come by everyday. According to Me, THIS 12 STEP CRAP IS A CROCK OF BULLSHIT!

I'm not interested in such anguish.
But thank you for offering.

Conditioned to be stressed

2005-10-26T14:01:00.000-07:00

Everytime I catch up with an old friend from College or from a foreign country, be it on MSN or on the vonage phone or at a raging jazz bar, the first annoying heart wrenching question is always:

"So, CD, are you seeing anyone special these days?"

!!

GOD! Sometimes, I find myself lying and making up extravagant stories about nonexistant men in my life just to satisfy them. Why is there so much stress to be dating someone. Its bad enough I get it from Mother, Grandmother and a trillion Aunts, now I get it from old time party pals too? What happened to the good ol' single days ? I know I'm older but I am still spirited and I still have the energy to wild out. My life can still be interesting without an engagement ring or a boyfriend. But whenever I say:

"No, I'm not seeing anyone. Im kinda busy with my life doing X and Y and I'm also planning to embark on Z, isn't that cool?"

I get a collection of distressed smiles, all nodding in synchronized harmony, reaking of sympathy and itching to say "oh, you poor thing, don't worry". Then I am given tactical (but unappreciated) advice on what I should do to meet a man. Well, the Biological Clock will not stop ticking untill I'm 35, and nowadays freezing the eggs is widely accessable in European fertility clinics, so lets stop dwelling on this and move on to other interesting things (and some real concern-worthy issues), shall we?

On a Lighter Note

2005-10-24T09:50:00.000-07:00

Nothing aggravates me more than totally unqualified people earning about the same money I do or more except when those very unqualified people don't even show up for work. Sometimes, those people are penalized somewhere in the future, but when they are women, they manage to glide and sail smoothly on leaving work early, coming in late, and doing little work for 4 months straight. The amazing secret? "I'm engaged to be married, I have things to plan".

This statement is the preverbial Get out of Jail pass to every irascible boss or overpowering manager who immediately reverses into a loving sympathetic father figure, full of expressive felicitations and best wishes for the New Bride to Be. Meanwhile, a big chunk of her incompleted projects gets dumped on my desk, and I pull insane after work hours scramming to clean her mess, while she struts around flipping through bridal magazines to fish for creative wedding ideas. I'm not the only one that suffers the heavier workload, my humorous male colleague, Wisecracker, is a victim of this injustice too. While I internalize my work related frustrations or anonymously publish them on the internet for everyone to read (thus shoving a nice Christian Dior stilleto up my career's ass), Wisecracker chooses to be very vocal and public about his embittered sentiments to me:
Wisecracker: Maa 9arat, CD, I m slaving away everyday, coming to work on time and leaving late while Miss Bride to Be is having social hours in her office, discussing flower decorations and gay lebanese designers!
CD: yalla maykhalif, maa bugaa shay 3ala el 3irs, she'll get married, have kids and the boss won't take her excuses anymore then Bam - he'll ask her to leave! heheheh...
Wisecracker: I'm buying you dinner when that happens! Bas mita bit-fuknaa witizawaj?
CD: khala9, she already did her milcha. The wedding should be soon.
Wisecracker: ishsaalfat hal wedding? she probably already lost her virginity anyway!
CD: Laa, yalla 3ad, they do that after the wedding party, dude.
Wisecracker: C'mon CD, look at her face, she's GLOWING! I bet you their dirty places touched at least four times this weekend.
CD: Noway dude, where the hell are they gonna sneak around to have sex? Its Ramadan for God's sake.
Wisecracker: They don't need to sneak around, they already did the milcha, she can bring him into her bedroom and her parents will say nothing!

I realized at this point that we were having a very inappropriate discussion, in a very inappropriate place, about someone inappropriately located within close proximity to my office! Its funny how when you really click with a character like Wisecracker, you end up talking about outrageous things (such as your co-worker's sex life) without even noticing. I bit my tongue immeadiately and changed the topic of conversation, but I didn't resist to come and tell you all about it :)

Method of Survival

2005-10-16T00:06:00.000-07:00

So far I have successfully mocked my fellow government employees, trivial venus envy, classic male-family entrenched egos, and then indulged in an emotional discourse, reaking of typical feminine feelings (helplessness, guilt, sympathy etc.). Well now the time has come for me to go back to mocking, and this time mock somebody totally unexpected..ME! So, here it goes:

While returning to Kuwait from a business trip last year, I was seated next to a very attractive young man in First Class. He was sharply dressed in an immaculate suit, his skin was a delicious cocoa bronze with a tint of redness, and his eyes were fiery green with black eye lashes as sharp as swords. He was hot. I guessed he would be south american, or maybe sicilian (but he didn't have the curly hair), or maybe a mix of both. Turns out the man was Indian (who would have thought!), a Harvard Suma Cum Laud, and wasn't coming to Kuwait on business. My curiousity was piqued to say the least:
CD: So why on earth are you coming to kuwait?
Hot Indian Harvard Guy: I come to kuwait to party.

I needed about 5 minutes to register that sentence, and then another 2 minutes to recover from the surprise, and five more to formulate a semi decent response:
CD: oh.. you have friends in Kuwait that you party with?
Hot Indian Harvard Guy: Yes, I met them from my days in Boston. I know (a famous Kuwaiti person) and (another famous Kuwaiti person) and (a bigtime Kuwaiti jackpot). (Bigtime Kuwaiti jackpot) throws great parties in his yatch at this time of year, with always the best entertainers.

I thought about offering to show Hot Indian Harvard Guy around Kuwait but I realized it was pointless, he was in the hands of much more glamourous people that throw parties with fire shows and human statues and actually, this is not the point of my post! The point is that I too, would like to indulge in some partying every now and then, I mean I'm young, I'm single, and I want to do what I used to do when I was in college, which is to have some fun. But because I'm in kuwait, I automatically have to put up the "I'm holier than thou" front so that everyone will think of me as the 'sweet girl from highschool' they endearingly remember. And as much as I get tempted to tiptoe out of my house in the wee hours of the morning to a roaring party, there is always a nagging fear that I might run into Oppressive Cousin or a member of his clan that will surely deliver the gossip. Besides, its not really worth to risk my untarnished (at least in my belief) reputation to be in the company of people who ultimately won't even respect me. So my decision was to maintain a low profile at all times, and just not socialise out of the limits of cultural propriety defined by soceity & traditional convention.
The way I rectified wild urges, depression, and creeping temptations is by travelling. Everytime I get invited to a hot party, I make it a point to travel to another country. That way, I don't feel like I'm missing out on a great experience, heck, I'm in another city with far more excitement, so there! It also feels kinda fabulous to turn down an invitation by saying "sorry, dear, can't come, I'll be in London at the time (or Paris, or Nyc, or Dubai..whatever destination affordable at the moment). This technique has obviously diluted my resources, but it saved me from possible mental instability.

Now the time has come where I am yet again invited to a great post Eid party, the attendees of which will probably mostly be expats, but I'm still not willing to risk being spotted. So now I am about to spend fifty percent of what I earned this month on a trip out of Kuwait for 5 days to avoid feeling sorry for myself. We all have our sneaky methods of survival, don't we?