Thursday, December 31, 2009
so much for the beach
Just got done with work. I'm not going to Dubai. I'll probably spend the evening writing and try not to fall asleep before midnight.
bondi beach bash
Somehow, I've managed to get talked into attending the Australian new year's party this evening in Dubai. It's called the Bondi Beach Bash.
I hope I survive.
I hope I survive.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
snippy, sticky
I called feline friends today, in accordance with the email I received Christmas Eve. I reached a rather snippy brit who informed me that Macavity is not a candidate for adoption because he's "well fed and taken care of" at the Meridien.
I was like dude, you can't be serious. He's getting beat up every day by this cat I've named lady marmalade. He doesn't have a shelter. He's always hungry. And he is pretty darn cute. Someone would definitely take him. She gave me some blah blah argument about resources, which is not a point of discussion since I said I would pay for his room and board until someone took him in. She said "I have other cats that actually NEED our services!" and then she hung up on me.
Ech. So now I'm trying to spread the word about him in the hopes someone here might take him. Annoying.
And at the end of the day today I was so bored I did something bad. My mom sent me, for reasons that aren't totally clear, a half eaten bag of gummi bears. I brought it into the office but no one can eat them because they're made with gelatin. So, I was trying to figure out what to do with them, when suddenly it seemed like a good idea to stick them on A's cactus.
Then Texas Kid encouraged me to do something else, so I licked one and stuck it on the map of Dubai, he looks like he's going to the emirates palace, and then I put one on our white board. I wonder if anyone is going to notice.
Texas Kid and I are the only consultants in the office, so we've been causing trouble. We are playing an elaborate joke on our manager Dr. T. We keep sending each other emails about a "top secret" project we are working on. TK named it "project SPOCK". Dr. T is a bit of a control freak who likes to know everything that's going on. He's on vacation now, though, and neither of us will tell him what the project is (there is a project, which is going to be so cool when it's finished).
TK and I keep sending each other cryptic emails about what we are doing. For example, today I sent TK an email, and cc:ed Dr. T, that said "after you finish the thing, do the other thing we talked about, and then tomorrow we'll bring the things together, so we can move on to phase 3". TK sent me an email that said "Shall I secure the project with 256 bit AES encryption? Also when I'm done with my half of the work perhaps we'll do a merge before I go on holiday next week? Be sure to select "mark as confidential" and "encrypt" any emails regarding this project to prevent anyone from downloading any data we work on."
I know the second Dr. T gets back from vacation he's going to come into the office and demand to know what project SPOCK is. I've created a bunch of meaningless design diagrams on a white board to keep him guessing. Hee.
I was like dude, you can't be serious. He's getting beat up every day by this cat I've named lady marmalade. He doesn't have a shelter. He's always hungry. And he is pretty darn cute. Someone would definitely take him. She gave me some blah blah argument about resources, which is not a point of discussion since I said I would pay for his room and board until someone took him in. She said "I have other cats that actually NEED our services!" and then she hung up on me.
Ech. So now I'm trying to spread the word about him in the hopes someone here might take him. Annoying.
And at the end of the day today I was so bored I did something bad. My mom sent me, for reasons that aren't totally clear, a half eaten bag of gummi bears. I brought it into the office but no one can eat them because they're made with gelatin. So, I was trying to figure out what to do with them, when suddenly it seemed like a good idea to stick them on A's cactus.
Then Texas Kid encouraged me to do something else, so I licked one and stuck it on the map of Dubai, he looks like he's going to the emirates palace, and then I put one on our white board. I wonder if anyone is going to notice.
Texas Kid and I are the only consultants in the office, so we've been causing trouble. We are playing an elaborate joke on our manager Dr. T. We keep sending each other emails about a "top secret" project we are working on. TK named it "project SPOCK". Dr. T is a bit of a control freak who likes to know everything that's going on. He's on vacation now, though, and neither of us will tell him what the project is (there is a project, which is going to be so cool when it's finished).
TK and I keep sending each other cryptic emails about what we are doing. For example, today I sent TK an email, and cc:ed Dr. T, that said "after you finish the thing, do the other thing we talked about, and then tomorrow we'll bring the things together, so we can move on to phase 3". TK sent me an email that said "Shall I secure the project with 256 bit AES encryption? Also when I'm done with my half of the work perhaps we'll do a merge before I go on holiday next week? Be sure to select "mark as confidential" and "encrypt" any emails regarding this project to prevent anyone from downloading any data we work on."
I know the second Dr. T gets back from vacation he's going to come into the office and demand to know what project SPOCK is. I've created a bunch of meaningless design diagrams on a white board to keep him guessing. Hee.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
dolphins
Last night I dreamed that I was in the antarctic studying great white sharks. I kept thinking that I wouldn't see any sharks because it was too cold. I was in a submarine under this huge shelf of ice and I saw some great whites. I was like "what are you guys doing here? what are you eating?" One of the great whites tossed a dead seal towards the submarine, and I started laughing, even though I felt bad for the poor seal. I was like "but don't you get cold?" and one of the great whites swam by the front of the submarine and made his extensible jaw teeth chatter. I started laughing. Great whites have the best sense of humor in my dreams.
Then I decided I needed to go home, and somehow as the submarine was surfacing I ended up in the swimming pool at the meridien, except that it had an island in the middle of it, and all these dolphins swimming around. I wanted to get into the water with the dolphins, but I was wearing normal clothes, and it was my only outfit, so I took this yellow inflatable kayak from the submarine to the edge of the pool. The dolphins were bouncing around the boat and they were like "come in the water and play with us!" and I was like "dudes, I have to change first, this is my only outfit and I can't get it dirty". Then I got to the edge of the pool and stepped out of the kayak, and the dolphins popped it and dragged it way down underwater. One of the dolphins was like "you have to come get your boat!"
So I went to this hallway that had bleachers in it to change into my diving suit. I was standing there in a 3mm dive suit when I looked down the hallway and realized Paul McCartney and his daughter were walking towards me. I was really embarrassed for some reason, I guess because I was standing there in my dive suit. Paul came up to me and shook my hand and said "I know you from somewhere. Did we meet when we invaded the moon?" which I guess was a reference to my diving suit. I realized his daughter was a kid I had always played with in the pool without knowing who she was. I asked if he wanted to bring his daughter to the pool so we could dive with dolphins but Paul said they had a plane to catch and walked away.
I went back to the pool and jumped in. All these dolphins came up to me and said "we just bit the shit out of your boat and it's totally sunk, do you want to dive to the bottom of the pool with us to go get it?" I looked into the water and it was very murky. I realized it was night and only the top part of the pool was lit up and it was so deep I couldn't see the bottom. I was like "I'm not sure that would be safe" and the dolphins said "don't worry, we'll stay with you". They surrounded me in this dolphin pod and we started swimming towards the bottom of the pool.
Then I woke up.
Then I decided I needed to go home, and somehow as the submarine was surfacing I ended up in the swimming pool at the meridien, except that it had an island in the middle of it, and all these dolphins swimming around. I wanted to get into the water with the dolphins, but I was wearing normal clothes, and it was my only outfit, so I took this yellow inflatable kayak from the submarine to the edge of the pool. The dolphins were bouncing around the boat and they were like "come in the water and play with us!" and I was like "dudes, I have to change first, this is my only outfit and I can't get it dirty". Then I got to the edge of the pool and stepped out of the kayak, and the dolphins popped it and dragged it way down underwater. One of the dolphins was like "you have to come get your boat!"
So I went to this hallway that had bleachers in it to change into my diving suit. I was standing there in a 3mm dive suit when I looked down the hallway and realized Paul McCartney and his daughter were walking towards me. I was really embarrassed for some reason, I guess because I was standing there in my dive suit. Paul came up to me and shook my hand and said "I know you from somewhere. Did we meet when we invaded the moon?" which I guess was a reference to my diving suit. I realized his daughter was a kid I had always played with in the pool without knowing who she was. I asked if he wanted to bring his daughter to the pool so we could dive with dolphins but Paul said they had a plane to catch and walked away.
I went back to the pool and jumped in. All these dolphins came up to me and said "we just bit the shit out of your boat and it's totally sunk, do you want to dive to the bottom of the pool with us to go get it?" I looked into the water and it was very murky. I realized it was night and only the top part of the pool was lit up and it was so deep I couldn't see the bottom. I was like "I'm not sure that would be safe" and the dolphins said "don't worry, we'll stay with you". They surrounded me in this dolphin pod and we started swimming towards the bottom of the pool.
Then I woke up.
local talk
Yesterday I had my first conversation with a local emirati woman.
I was at this lebanese pizza place getting pizza for dinner. I'd never been there on the weekend, and usually go there pretty late in the evening (I rarely start thinking about dinner until around 8 pm). The place was packed with locals.
I placed my order and then tried to find somewhere out of the way to stand while I waited. There are two benches in the front of the restaurant but they were both full. Then an emirati couple vacated one of the benches and went to look at the buffet (they serve a buffet of Lebanese food in addition to making pizza). After a few minutes of them looking at the buffet food I assumed that they were going to sit at a table so I took a seat on their bench.
I started reading my book, and an egyptian woman came over and sat practically in my lap (she wasn't small) and pulled her daughter up on the bench too. She said excuse me in French because I guess she assumed I was french. They figured out their order and got up. Then the emirati woman came over and sat back down on the bench. Her husband was making a fuss about something, I assumed because I was sitting in his seat. He was not being quiet about whatever it was he was bitching about, even though the emirati woman kept telling him to calm down.
I put my book mark in my book, and indicated to her that I would go stand somewhere so her husband could have his seat back. She put her hand on my forearm, which was shocking because no one ever touches you here, and then said "No, he can stand. You stay here and read your book." Most of the locals I run into are not polite in the western sense, partially because of the culture, and partially because they resent westerners doing stupid stuff in their country. I was touched in a way that is hard to explain that she did that.
Then, even more surprising, she said "What is this book you are reading?" I showed her the cover, which is dark except for a lighted arch with a robed monk standing in the middle of the arch. "It's called Ananthem" I said. "Oh, it's a very nice book" she responded, even though I'm thinking Neal Stephenson doesn't sell many books here.
"It's about math" I said, lest she think I was reading some kind of weird subversive religious literature. "Events that happen in the book are used to illustrate mathematical principles and the solving of equations". I showed here the calcas, as the math problems are called in the book. The first one is about how to cut a square into 8 pieces that are of equal size given that the square is measured by a spatula that you have to use to make the cuts. The first iteration, you can cut the square into four even pieces (the square is two pieces long by two pieces wide). The second iteration, you can cut the square into 16 even pieces (each of the four pieces in the previous example is cut again into four pieces, squaring the square, with 4 squared equalling 16). So that's why the 8 piece problem is hard. The solution is to cut the square into triangles, if you were wondering.
Anyway, it was hard to tell what she made of my book, though she did seem to be listening to my explanation about the squares. I could only see her eyes, but not even much of those because she would look down every time I made eye contact with her. Then her order was ready and she wished me a good evening and left.
I wonder what she was thinking on the car ride home. Probably "note to self: never talk to westerners reading books".
I was at this lebanese pizza place getting pizza for dinner. I'd never been there on the weekend, and usually go there pretty late in the evening (I rarely start thinking about dinner until around 8 pm). The place was packed with locals.
I placed my order and then tried to find somewhere out of the way to stand while I waited. There are two benches in the front of the restaurant but they were both full. Then an emirati couple vacated one of the benches and went to look at the buffet (they serve a buffet of Lebanese food in addition to making pizza). After a few minutes of them looking at the buffet food I assumed that they were going to sit at a table so I took a seat on their bench.
I started reading my book, and an egyptian woman came over and sat practically in my lap (she wasn't small) and pulled her daughter up on the bench too. She said excuse me in French because I guess she assumed I was french. They figured out their order and got up. Then the emirati woman came over and sat back down on the bench. Her husband was making a fuss about something, I assumed because I was sitting in his seat. He was not being quiet about whatever it was he was bitching about, even though the emirati woman kept telling him to calm down.
I put my book mark in my book, and indicated to her that I would go stand somewhere so her husband could have his seat back. She put her hand on my forearm, which was shocking because no one ever touches you here, and then said "No, he can stand. You stay here and read your book." Most of the locals I run into are not polite in the western sense, partially because of the culture, and partially because they resent westerners doing stupid stuff in their country. I was touched in a way that is hard to explain that she did that.
Then, even more surprising, she said "What is this book you are reading?" I showed her the cover, which is dark except for a lighted arch with a robed monk standing in the middle of the arch. "It's called Ananthem" I said. "Oh, it's a very nice book" she responded, even though I'm thinking Neal Stephenson doesn't sell many books here.
"It's about math" I said, lest she think I was reading some kind of weird subversive religious literature. "Events that happen in the book are used to illustrate mathematical principles and the solving of equations". I showed here the calcas, as the math problems are called in the book. The first one is about how to cut a square into 8 pieces that are of equal size given that the square is measured by a spatula that you have to use to make the cuts. The first iteration, you can cut the square into four even pieces (the square is two pieces long by two pieces wide). The second iteration, you can cut the square into 16 even pieces (each of the four pieces in the previous example is cut again into four pieces, squaring the square, with 4 squared equalling 16). So that's why the 8 piece problem is hard. The solution is to cut the square into triangles, if you were wondering.
Anyway, it was hard to tell what she made of my book, though she did seem to be listening to my explanation about the squares. I could only see her eyes, but not even much of those because she would look down every time I made eye contact with her. Then her order was ready and she wished me a good evening and left.
I wonder what she was thinking on the car ride home. Probably "note to self: never talk to westerners reading books".
Friday, December 25, 2009
a christmas cleaning calamity
This morning I woke up early, with the thought that I would do my laundry in Ireland's apartment, eat some eggs that M gave to Ireland before she went back to France, and then, after I hung my laundry up, go to the beach. Seemed like a nice way to spend Christmas.
Except.
I got to Ireland's apartment after getting a bit lost (last time I walked there it was dark and I could see the bank sign on her building from a mile away because it was lit up) and put my laundry in the washing machine. I was confronted with an array of buttons that weren't labeled. I couldn't remember which one I was supposed to press to turn the machine on. So, I kept pressing different buttons until the thing started making noise.
Figuring I had an hour to kill, I wandered into the kitchen and took out the eggs. I got a pan out, and tried to figure out how to turn on the gas stove. I could smell the gas coming out as I twisted the different knobs, but I couldn't get a burner to light. Giving up on that, I made the incredibly stupid decision, since I had already broken two eggs open, to cook them in the microwave. Explosion. Chaos. Bad smells. No breakfast.
I settled in on the sofa, hungry, figuring I would read my book Ananthem until my clothes were done. An hour later I was still reading. Two hours later, the washing machine seemed to have stopped. I went to pull out my clothes so I could go to the beach, but the door wouldn't open. I tried pressing buttons. Nothing. I unplugged the thing. Still nothing. I sent a text message to the Texas Kid that said "Say, do you know anything about washing machines?" I smoked a few cigarettes, checking the machine every few minutes. It was definitely stopped, and the door was definitely not opening.
F this, I thought to myself, copying down the model number. I decided to go back to the hotel, a 45 minute walk, run some errands, look up directions for the washer on line, and then walk back to Ireland's.
When I got back to the hotel, Texas Kid had called. He ridiculed me for my ineptness and said that it explained why I'm still single. He tried to find a manual for the washer online, but couldn't. He made fun of me to his wife, who was sitting next to him, and I could hear her laughing. I was like dude, are you telling the whole world my clothes are stuck in Ireland's washer? Ech.
A few hours later, errands complete, I headed back to Ireland's. I was sure some christmas miracle would have occurred, and that my clothes would be free. It was an unfortunate choice I had made to put all my normal, non-work clothes in the washer. If I couldn't get them out, I'd have nothing to wear until Ireland got home. I imagined my running clothes as a moldy mess since she won't be back for at least 7 days.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I sang a little song in the elevator about the washing machine opening. It didn't. I got pissed. I poked buttons. I spun the dial. I cursed and yanked on the door with all my strength.
Suddenly the door opened. I couldn't remember what combination of buttons I had pressed, though. I started taking my clothes out, but they were soaking wet. Water was getting all over the marble tiled floor, causing me to slide and almost fall over the washing machine plug. My white shirts had turned grey. There were weird spots on everything.
Against my better judgment, I closed the door again after I had removed half my clothes, to see if I could get the water to drain. I spun the dial, pressed some buttons, and the machine started again. I hung all my sopping wet stuff I had taken out already on the drying rack.
M called me from France. I told her what had happened. She laughed and said I should have taken up her offer to come home with her for the holidays (south of France, million dollar chateau, yeah, why DIDN'T I do that???). She said I needed someone to take care of me, and that she would be back to Abu Dhabi soon and make me something nice to eat that wasn't an egg in the microwave.
By the time we rang off, the washing machine had stopped again. I was able to open the door, and the clothes were in a state of more dryness than the previous batch. I hung them up too, and decided the best course of action would be not to watch a movie on Ireland's dvd (at that point, I was afraid to try to do anything else in that apartment), as previously planned, but to return to the hotel and not think about my laundry until Sunday morning when I would hopefully return to Ireland's apartment to find my laundry dry.
And not dirty from sand blowing on it since I had to leave it out on the balcony because it was so wet I was afraid it would never dry otherwise.
On a positive note, the hotel gave me a huge chocolate christmas tree to eat. It has weird blobs at the base of it, which may be children opening presents, or may be panda bears trying to eat the tree.
I need a glass of wine. And, maybe room service...I don't think I should leave my hotel room again for the rest of the night, and not just because I have nothing to wear.
Except.
I got to Ireland's apartment after getting a bit lost (last time I walked there it was dark and I could see the bank sign on her building from a mile away because it was lit up) and put my laundry in the washing machine. I was confronted with an array of buttons that weren't labeled. I couldn't remember which one I was supposed to press to turn the machine on. So, I kept pressing different buttons until the thing started making noise.
Figuring I had an hour to kill, I wandered into the kitchen and took out the eggs. I got a pan out, and tried to figure out how to turn on the gas stove. I could smell the gas coming out as I twisted the different knobs, but I couldn't get a burner to light. Giving up on that, I made the incredibly stupid decision, since I had already broken two eggs open, to cook them in the microwave. Explosion. Chaos. Bad smells. No breakfast.
I settled in on the sofa, hungry, figuring I would read my book Ananthem until my clothes were done. An hour later I was still reading. Two hours later, the washing machine seemed to have stopped. I went to pull out my clothes so I could go to the beach, but the door wouldn't open. I tried pressing buttons. Nothing. I unplugged the thing. Still nothing. I sent a text message to the Texas Kid that said "Say, do you know anything about washing machines?" I smoked a few cigarettes, checking the machine every few minutes. It was definitely stopped, and the door was definitely not opening.
F this, I thought to myself, copying down the model number. I decided to go back to the hotel, a 45 minute walk, run some errands, look up directions for the washer on line, and then walk back to Ireland's.
When I got back to the hotel, Texas Kid had called. He ridiculed me for my ineptness and said that it explained why I'm still single. He tried to find a manual for the washer online, but couldn't. He made fun of me to his wife, who was sitting next to him, and I could hear her laughing. I was like dude, are you telling the whole world my clothes are stuck in Ireland's washer? Ech.
A few hours later, errands complete, I headed back to Ireland's. I was sure some christmas miracle would have occurred, and that my clothes would be free. It was an unfortunate choice I had made to put all my normal, non-work clothes in the washer. If I couldn't get them out, I'd have nothing to wear until Ireland got home. I imagined my running clothes as a moldy mess since she won't be back for at least 7 days.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I sang a little song in the elevator about the washing machine opening. It didn't. I got pissed. I poked buttons. I spun the dial. I cursed and yanked on the door with all my strength.
Suddenly the door opened. I couldn't remember what combination of buttons I had pressed, though. I started taking my clothes out, but they were soaking wet. Water was getting all over the marble tiled floor, causing me to slide and almost fall over the washing machine plug. My white shirts had turned grey. There were weird spots on everything.
Against my better judgment, I closed the door again after I had removed half my clothes, to see if I could get the water to drain. I spun the dial, pressed some buttons, and the machine started again. I hung all my sopping wet stuff I had taken out already on the drying rack.
M called me from France. I told her what had happened. She laughed and said I should have taken up her offer to come home with her for the holidays (south of France, million dollar chateau, yeah, why DIDN'T I do that???). She said I needed someone to take care of me, and that she would be back to Abu Dhabi soon and make me something nice to eat that wasn't an egg in the microwave.
By the time we rang off, the washing machine had stopped again. I was able to open the door, and the clothes were in a state of more dryness than the previous batch. I hung them up too, and decided the best course of action would be not to watch a movie on Ireland's dvd (at that point, I was afraid to try to do anything else in that apartment), as previously planned, but to return to the hotel and not think about my laundry until Sunday morning when I would hopefully return to Ireland's apartment to find my laundry dry.
And not dirty from sand blowing on it since I had to leave it out on the balcony because it was so wet I was afraid it would never dry otherwise.
On a positive note, the hotel gave me a huge chocolate christmas tree to eat. It has weird blobs at the base of it, which may be children opening presents, or may be panda bears trying to eat the tree.
I need a glass of wine. And, maybe room service...I don't think I should leave my hotel room again for the rest of the night, and not just because I have nothing to wear.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
macavity
Since Lancelot seems to have disappeared, I've adopted a new cat, Macavity. He's super friendly and much more tame than Lance. I am pretty sure he was abandoned after being some one's pet (happens here a lot - nice job ex pats!).
Cav has bad fighting skills, doesn't like food that isn't cat food, and he can't really take care of himself. His little ear is all beat up from this other cat that is twice his size. I don't like that other cat at all.
I missed feeding Cav the other night because I had dinner with Ireland and M (both left for holidays so it was a going away thing). Then when I got home yesterday, and went out on my balcony, I heard this little meow. I looked out on the roof and saw Cav's head poking up so just his ears were showing.
I was like "Dude, what are you doing? Come here!" Cav came running over to the building but he was a floor below me.
I threw him some cheese, since I was out of cat food, but he didn't want it (unlike Lance, he's not a fan of laughing cow). I told him I would get him some food and be right back. He started crying, and then running around trying to find a way to climb up to my balcony. It was so cute, but made me feel bad (in this pic you can barely see his little body and tail as he tried to climb up a pipe).
I got him some food but by the time I got back from the co-op (15 minutes, I was running) he was gone. I didn't get to see him because I had to go over to Ireland's house to pick up my shoes.
I decided this morning that I have to find Cav a home. I emailed feline friends, and organization here that rescues abandoned animals. Here's the response I got:
"Thanks for your email.
Does that cat have a V cut in one of his ears? If so, it might be a cat we have already sterilised. There was a whole little black and white colony there, that we sterilised.
I cannot really tell from the pic.
Please call me on my personal mobile [] after the 26th of Dec. as I will be away from the 24th to the 26th.HOping to hear from you after the 26th of Dec."
So maybe, hopefully, I'll be able to get Cav into a nice home or shelter. I wish I could sneak him into my room, but if I get caught they're definitely going to throw me out of the hotel...
Sunday, December 20, 2009
security sneak
Today I went to a government base to do a briefing for some high level government people. I'm always paranoid that something will happen to my presentation, so I normally copy it on to two USBs (no single point of failure).
But today Dr. T decided I should also bring my laptop as a back up. I was like, hm, secure facility, that seems like a really bad idea, but he insisted.
We got half way to the building where Dr. T thought we were doing the presentation. It turned out, we were expected in a different building half way across town. We got to the base in a rush, and Dr. T attempted to drive right in. Another bad idea. Three guys with machine guns got very excited. Then, to make matters worse, Dr. T opened his car door (his electrical system isn't working and he can't roll down the windows). More yelling. We made a U turn and parked outside the base, then went in to get our badges. As we were leaving the guy noticed my computer bag and asked if I had a computer. I pretended I had no idea what was going on, as first my colleagues tried to pretend I didn't have a computer. But I was busted.
Meanwhile, the presentation was supposed to start in 10 minutes, and we were not even close to being able to get on the base. We were detained at the gate while they tried to figure out what to do with my laptop. I offered to give the bag to the guard, but that agitated him to the point that he stood right outside my car window with the barrel of his gun pointing in my direction. I noticed the safety was off. I wanted to slide out of the way, but I was trapped by children's car seats.
Finally our gov sponsor came out of the base in his car, accompanied by two other high ranking officers. We made a U turn again, drove down to the end of the street, pulled over, and I gave them my computer bag. Then we all went back to the base. This time, because we were following high ranking officers, they let us through the gate. We noticed a car of 4 american military guys who had been sitting at the base check point for over a half hour. They didn't look happy at all. As we drove by them Dr. T said "are you trying to bring a lap top in?" I don't think they found that funny.
The presentation went well, and after it was over we again followed the officers off the base, to the end of the street, and they gave my laptop bag back. The one who had taken it made a joke that he hoped nothing was missing (no one ever steals anything in this country, even if it's something valuable that you leave out in public, like a wallet). And I was happy that almost all of the officers shook my hand as we were leaving.
But next time, I'm going to tell Dr. T to take his computer.
But today Dr. T decided I should also bring my laptop as a back up. I was like, hm, secure facility, that seems like a really bad idea, but he insisted.
We got half way to the building where Dr. T thought we were doing the presentation. It turned out, we were expected in a different building half way across town. We got to the base in a rush, and Dr. T attempted to drive right in. Another bad idea. Three guys with machine guns got very excited. Then, to make matters worse, Dr. T opened his car door (his electrical system isn't working and he can't roll down the windows). More yelling. We made a U turn and parked outside the base, then went in to get our badges. As we were leaving the guy noticed my computer bag and asked if I had a computer. I pretended I had no idea what was going on, as first my colleagues tried to pretend I didn't have a computer. But I was busted.
Meanwhile, the presentation was supposed to start in 10 minutes, and we were not even close to being able to get on the base. We were detained at the gate while they tried to figure out what to do with my laptop. I offered to give the bag to the guard, but that agitated him to the point that he stood right outside my car window with the barrel of his gun pointing in my direction. I noticed the safety was off. I wanted to slide out of the way, but I was trapped by children's car seats.
Finally our gov sponsor came out of the base in his car, accompanied by two other high ranking officers. We made a U turn again, drove down to the end of the street, pulled over, and I gave them my computer bag. Then we all went back to the base. This time, because we were following high ranking officers, they let us through the gate. We noticed a car of 4 american military guys who had been sitting at the base check point for over a half hour. They didn't look happy at all. As we drove by them Dr. T said "are you trying to bring a lap top in?" I don't think they found that funny.
The presentation went well, and after it was over we again followed the officers off the base, to the end of the street, and they gave my laptop bag back. The one who had taken it made a joke that he hoped nothing was missing (no one ever steals anything in this country, even if it's something valuable that you leave out in public, like a wallet). And I was happy that almost all of the officers shook my hand as we were leaving.
But next time, I'm going to tell Dr. T to take his computer.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
dinner at M's
On Thursday night Ireland and I went over to M's flat for dinner. Unlike me, when she visits the UAE she takes a flat.
We were late, as usual, but M didn't mind because I brought her a box of Patchi chocolates. I'm not sure who makes them, but they are the best chocolates ever. Even I occasionally eat them, even though I'm not a huge fan of chocolate.
M made a salad that had a little baked goat cheese pie in the center. Then we had tuna, wasabi mashed potatoes, and asparagus. I got some looks from M and Ireland when I picked up an asparagus spear. I said "It's a finger food, you can look on the web" and M said "Someone needs to teach you americans how to eat properly".
Then we had a bottle of pink champagne. While it was good at the time, I woke up the next morning with a headache. We sat on the sofa and started planning our travel for next year. Ireland is going to take me to Ireland. And we are going to go to Stockholm to visit the Bouncer and his family.
I was telling them that I wanted to take surfing lessons for my birthday. M devised a plan where I would fly to Italy, and she and Ireland would hang out on the beach having wine while I surfed. I expressed some doubts that there is surfing in Italy, but M assured me there was. So, hopefully, that's what I'll be doing for my birthday next year.
Ireland fell asleep on the sofa, but M and I kept talking. Finally Ireland woke up, and we realized it was 2.30 in the morning. We took a taxi home, and I decided to stay in bed the next day until 11 am, then came into the office to get some work done. I spent the rest of the weekend in the office, and only spent 2 hours working on my book.
Hopefully my schedule will lighten up in the new year...
We were late, as usual, but M didn't mind because I brought her a box of Patchi chocolates. I'm not sure who makes them, but they are the best chocolates ever. Even I occasionally eat them, even though I'm not a huge fan of chocolate.
M made a salad that had a little baked goat cheese pie in the center. Then we had tuna, wasabi mashed potatoes, and asparagus. I got some looks from M and Ireland when I picked up an asparagus spear. I said "It's a finger food, you can look on the web" and M said "Someone needs to teach you americans how to eat properly".
Then we had a bottle of pink champagne. While it was good at the time, I woke up the next morning with a headache. We sat on the sofa and started planning our travel for next year. Ireland is going to take me to Ireland. And we are going to go to Stockholm to visit the Bouncer and his family.
I was telling them that I wanted to take surfing lessons for my birthday. M devised a plan where I would fly to Italy, and she and Ireland would hang out on the beach having wine while I surfed. I expressed some doubts that there is surfing in Italy, but M assured me there was. So, hopefully, that's what I'll be doing for my birthday next year.
Ireland fell asleep on the sofa, but M and I kept talking. Finally Ireland woke up, and we realized it was 2.30 in the morning. We took a taxi home, and I decided to stay in bed the next day until 11 am, then came into the office to get some work done. I spent the rest of the weekend in the office, and only spent 2 hours working on my book.
Hopefully my schedule will lighten up in the new year...
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
egyptian, the sequel
There are a lot of idiots in the world. Somehow, they always seem to be attracted to me.
Today I had a very long day at work, and went to the gym as soon as I got home. I ran for a while, and then headed back to my room. I had to walk through this outdoor courtyard where some insane christmas festival thing was going on. Wall to wall kids carrying cotton candy and screaming. I left my MP3 player on to block out the sound of the band mangling christmas carols.
And, who should stop me as I was dodging some woman attempting to run me over with a humvee style stroller? The egyptian H. He grabbed my arm from behind, and I turned around ready to punch someone. Then I was like, are you [bad word] kidding me. Ech.
He said "Do you remember my name?" and I was like "Yes, H". I want him to know I know his name in case he does something bad. Then he said "Why did I no see you for a long time?" I was like dude, I just saw you on Saturday, and that visit was enough for the month. I tried to walk away from him, but he grabbed me again.
"I want to send flowers, and a fruit basket to your room. Where is your room?" Someone on the staff told him I was staying at the Meridien. If I find out who it was, I'll break his legs. I was like "I am not going to tell you where my room is. Please stop touching me." He said "Let's go for breakfast tomorrow or come by for a free drink in the evening". As if I don't have a job, and as if I would spend my free time with him.
Giving him a few pity points because, I don't know, maybe he didn't get enough nutrition as a child causing his obvious lack of brain power, I explained that I wouldn't be going to breakfast with him tomorrow morning, or ever. I patiently reiterated that I didn't want a fruit basket, flowers, or a free drink from him.
He said "I'm glad, because I don't like you when you're drinking. You're mean." I asked him how he came to that assumption (I am actually quite happy when I'm buzzed) and he said "You were being mean the other night (when I told him to f off)". I pointed out to him that I wasn't drunk that night, said I had to leave, and tried to walk away again, except I was blocked from making much progress because of all the kids with cotton candy milling around the sidewalk.
H said "Why don't you give me your room number?" and I said "Because I don't trust you". He said "If you can't trust me, who can you trust?" I didn't have time to make a list for him, so I left instead.
I hope H doesn't make the mistake of following me around the hotel for the next few months. Because I'll have to get one of my special forces guys to chat with him. Or get the Bouncer to come back. No one messes with the Bouncer.
Today I had a very long day at work, and went to the gym as soon as I got home. I ran for a while, and then headed back to my room. I had to walk through this outdoor courtyard where some insane christmas festival thing was going on. Wall to wall kids carrying cotton candy and screaming. I left my MP3 player on to block out the sound of the band mangling christmas carols.
And, who should stop me as I was dodging some woman attempting to run me over with a humvee style stroller? The egyptian H. He grabbed my arm from behind, and I turned around ready to punch someone. Then I was like, are you [bad word] kidding me. Ech.
He said "Do you remember my name?" and I was like "Yes, H". I want him to know I know his name in case he does something bad. Then he said "Why did I no see you for a long time?" I was like dude, I just saw you on Saturday, and that visit was enough for the month. I tried to walk away from him, but he grabbed me again.
"I want to send flowers, and a fruit basket to your room. Where is your room?" Someone on the staff told him I was staying at the Meridien. If I find out who it was, I'll break his legs. I was like "I am not going to tell you where my room is. Please stop touching me." He said "Let's go for breakfast tomorrow or come by for a free drink in the evening". As if I don't have a job, and as if I would spend my free time with him.
Giving him a few pity points because, I don't know, maybe he didn't get enough nutrition as a child causing his obvious lack of brain power, I explained that I wouldn't be going to breakfast with him tomorrow morning, or ever. I patiently reiterated that I didn't want a fruit basket, flowers, or a free drink from him.
He said "I'm glad, because I don't like you when you're drinking. You're mean." I asked him how he came to that assumption (I am actually quite happy when I'm buzzed) and he said "You were being mean the other night (when I told him to f off)". I pointed out to him that I wasn't drunk that night, said I had to leave, and tried to walk away again, except I was blocked from making much progress because of all the kids with cotton candy milling around the sidewalk.
H said "Why don't you give me your room number?" and I said "Because I don't trust you". He said "If you can't trust me, who can you trust?" I didn't have time to make a list for him, so I left instead.
I hope H doesn't make the mistake of following me around the hotel for the next few months. Because I'll have to get one of my special forces guys to chat with him. Or get the Bouncer to come back. No one messes with the Bouncer.
tigers
I've been having a philosophical discussion with myself the past few days because of the whole Tiger scandal. Not that I usually care about shit like that, but, it's been better than reading about all the unrest happening in my neighboring countries...
I heard two interesting things, both said by women. And, I'm not sure they're true. The first thing was about what attracts people to each other. It was along the lines of "half of the attraction to someone is that they're attracted to you and interested in you, so that makes them attractive". The second thing was a snarky comment "If everything is fine in your relationship, you aren't looking around".
While I think both of these things apply to WOMEN, I don't believe that they apply to men. But, I may be wrong.
In the first instance, I think men are just as attracted to people who aren't attracted to them. I see this all the time at work with these nimrods who will do things that even becoming physically threatening to me just to get my attention. It's not that I think they have some great interest in me, but rather that they hate that I am not interested in them. Once I show interest the problem usually goes away.
In the second instance, I think men are ALWAYS looking around. They aren't doing it for the same reason as women. Women are looking around to see if they can find a better guy. Men are looking around because they're worried they'll miss the opportunity to fuck someone who might want to fuck them. Most of the time guys who cheat, at least the ones I've known, are not looking for a new girlfriend, they're just looking for a new piece of ass. And when they're done, they'll dismiss that piece of ass without a second thought. Women, on the other hand, usually want to keep the new piece of ass around, preferably to replace the old piece of ass.
I may be wrong. Or maybe I just know some fucked up people. But this is what my experience has shown. I know plenty of married guys who mess around behind their partners' backs, not because they are unhappy with their partner but because they can. That might be why men and women have so many problems. Someone in the media was speculating that Tiger loved one of the girls that he was fucking. I thought that was a preposterous assumption. He did it to feed his ego, not because he cared about any of the girls, even if he was telling them otherwise.
Lesson learned, the hard way. Just because a guy says he loves you and is attracted to you, if he isn't with you, then what he's saying is bullshit. Sure, he might "love" you; but he really loves the person he stays with.
Also, just because a guy screws around on you, you can't assume he doesn't love you. Maybe he just loves himself more. He isn't cheating on you because he loves the person he cheated with. He did it to make himself feel better and to build up his ego, at the expense of yours. So it's not necessarily the right thing to leave him, because most guys will put themselves before you.
Until women start doing the same, we'll keep getting screwed in this game.
I heard two interesting things, both said by women. And, I'm not sure they're true. The first thing was about what attracts people to each other. It was along the lines of "half of the attraction to someone is that they're attracted to you and interested in you, so that makes them attractive". The second thing was a snarky comment "If everything is fine in your relationship, you aren't looking around".
While I think both of these things apply to WOMEN, I don't believe that they apply to men. But, I may be wrong.
In the first instance, I think men are just as attracted to people who aren't attracted to them. I see this all the time at work with these nimrods who will do things that even becoming physically threatening to me just to get my attention. It's not that I think they have some great interest in me, but rather that they hate that I am not interested in them. Once I show interest the problem usually goes away.
In the second instance, I think men are ALWAYS looking around. They aren't doing it for the same reason as women. Women are looking around to see if they can find a better guy. Men are looking around because they're worried they'll miss the opportunity to fuck someone who might want to fuck them. Most of the time guys who cheat, at least the ones I've known, are not looking for a new girlfriend, they're just looking for a new piece of ass. And when they're done, they'll dismiss that piece of ass without a second thought. Women, on the other hand, usually want to keep the new piece of ass around, preferably to replace the old piece of ass.
I may be wrong. Or maybe I just know some fucked up people. But this is what my experience has shown. I know plenty of married guys who mess around behind their partners' backs, not because they are unhappy with their partner but because they can. That might be why men and women have so many problems. Someone in the media was speculating that Tiger loved one of the girls that he was fucking. I thought that was a preposterous assumption. He did it to feed his ego, not because he cared about any of the girls, even if he was telling them otherwise.
Lesson learned, the hard way. Just because a guy says he loves you and is attracted to you, if he isn't with you, then what he's saying is bullshit. Sure, he might "love" you; but he really loves the person he stays with.
Also, just because a guy screws around on you, you can't assume he doesn't love you. Maybe he just loves himself more. He isn't cheating on you because he loves the person he cheated with. He did it to make himself feel better and to build up his ego, at the expense of yours. So it's not necessarily the right thing to leave him, because most guys will put themselves before you.
Until women start doing the same, we'll keep getting screwed in this game.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
talk like an egyptian
Friday was Bouncer's last day, and his flight left at 2 am Saturday morning (that's normal for this area of the world) so Ireland and I met him for a glass of wine at Wakatua (which I've been mistakenly calling Chi Chi's all this time). Then we had dinner at an Italian restaurant.
While we were at the restaurant the egyptian manager, H, came over and said hi to Ireland. They've known each other for 4 years. Then Ireland introduced me to H. He grabbed my hand, and then dropped it and said "your hand is too cold to shake". He asked if I had a hot heart because people with cold hands have a hot heart. And then he felt my forehead to see if I had a fever, but my face was red because I was blushing because I was embarrassed that I was being hassled by a maniac egyptian guy. I didn't respond to anything he said to me and stared at my bread plate until he walked away.
Undeterred, H brought a three string roaming band over to our table and had them play John Lennin's "woman" while he stood on the balcony above our table and stared at me. The romance of the gesture was somewhat marred by the filipino band's english, resulting in lines like "the little child in spite of a man" and "please remember my life is in the band". I thought it was weird, but decided to ignore it.
The Bouncer left and then M, Ireland's friend, showed up. We got our check and decided to sit at the restaurant outside the italian place to have another glass of wine. H came over and sat down on the bench next to me, and put his arm around me. Again, I thought it was strange but didn't want to piss off Ireland by being mean to her friend. Ireland told H he needed to upgrade me to the suite the Bouncer had. H said there was a nicer suite and told me he had a key for it. He said that he could give me a 20 minute tour of the suite.
That really pissed me off. I know exactly what he was implying. So I looked at him and said "Can you please not touch me?" He looked offended, but I was just getting started. I said "What exactly do you mean you're going to give me a 20 minute tour of the suite? Do you honestly think that I would go anywhere with you? And would you talk to an Eastern woman like that?"
H obviously didn't know what to say. He got up from the bench and said he was sorry. I was like "You're damn right you should be sorry. You assume just because I'm a western woman that you can just come up to me and put your arm around me and proposition me? What the [bad word] is WRONG with you?"
H apologized again and walked away. Ireland and M and I were talking about what a creep he was. Even if what he said was meant as a joke, he didn't know me well enough to say things like that. And frankly, I am tired of guys in this area of the world treating every woman like she's nothing but a prostitute. Of course, H positioned himself right outside the Italian restaurant and kept staring at our table.
About 20 minutes later I went in to the ladies and when I came out H walked up to me and apologized again. He said he had seen me hanging out in Wakatua with the Bouncer and that he liked me. I was like WHATEVER dude. He asked me to come by the restaurant some time to see him so he could talk to me. I said "Let me think about that for a second. Um, no."
I went back to the table and told Ireland and M what happened. I was tired anyway so we decided to leave. The stupid waiter brought our bill, and then, after I paid it with cash, told me I owed him an extra 100 dirhams. I thought that I might have put in the wrong cash because I'm always getting the money here confused (a lot of bills look alike, and it was kind of dark outside). As we were walking away from the table H came running up to me and told me the waiter had ripped me off, and gave me my 100 dirhams back.
Needless to say, I won't be going back to any of those places again. I really can't tolerate that kind of behavior anymore. I hate having to be distrustful of people because they think they can rip me off because I'm a western woman. I'm tired of guys coming up to me and acting like I should be happy they are paying attention to me.
Some times I wonder if this place is for real...
While we were at the restaurant the egyptian manager, H, came over and said hi to Ireland. They've known each other for 4 years. Then Ireland introduced me to H. He grabbed my hand, and then dropped it and said "your hand is too cold to shake". He asked if I had a hot heart because people with cold hands have a hot heart. And then he felt my forehead to see if I had a fever, but my face was red because I was blushing because I was embarrassed that I was being hassled by a maniac egyptian guy. I didn't respond to anything he said to me and stared at my bread plate until he walked away.
Undeterred, H brought a three string roaming band over to our table and had them play John Lennin's "woman" while he stood on the balcony above our table and stared at me. The romance of the gesture was somewhat marred by the filipino band's english, resulting in lines like "the little child in spite of a man" and "please remember my life is in the band". I thought it was weird, but decided to ignore it.
The Bouncer left and then M, Ireland's friend, showed up. We got our check and decided to sit at the restaurant outside the italian place to have another glass of wine. H came over and sat down on the bench next to me, and put his arm around me. Again, I thought it was strange but didn't want to piss off Ireland by being mean to her friend. Ireland told H he needed to upgrade me to the suite the Bouncer had. H said there was a nicer suite and told me he had a key for it. He said that he could give me a 20 minute tour of the suite.
That really pissed me off. I know exactly what he was implying. So I looked at him and said "Can you please not touch me?" He looked offended, but I was just getting started. I said "What exactly do you mean you're going to give me a 20 minute tour of the suite? Do you honestly think that I would go anywhere with you? And would you talk to an Eastern woman like that?"
H obviously didn't know what to say. He got up from the bench and said he was sorry. I was like "You're damn right you should be sorry. You assume just because I'm a western woman that you can just come up to me and put your arm around me and proposition me? What the [bad word] is WRONG with you?"
H apologized again and walked away. Ireland and M and I were talking about what a creep he was. Even if what he said was meant as a joke, he didn't know me well enough to say things like that. And frankly, I am tired of guys in this area of the world treating every woman like she's nothing but a prostitute. Of course, H positioned himself right outside the Italian restaurant and kept staring at our table.
About 20 minutes later I went in to the ladies and when I came out H walked up to me and apologized again. He said he had seen me hanging out in Wakatua with the Bouncer and that he liked me. I was like WHATEVER dude. He asked me to come by the restaurant some time to see him so he could talk to me. I said "Let me think about that for a second. Um, no."
I went back to the table and told Ireland and M what happened. I was tired anyway so we decided to leave. The stupid waiter brought our bill, and then, after I paid it with cash, told me I owed him an extra 100 dirhams. I thought that I might have put in the wrong cash because I'm always getting the money here confused (a lot of bills look alike, and it was kind of dark outside). As we were walking away from the table H came running up to me and told me the waiter had ripped me off, and gave me my 100 dirhams back.
Needless to say, I won't be going back to any of those places again. I really can't tolerate that kind of behavior anymore. I hate having to be distrustful of people because they think they can rip me off because I'm a western woman. I'm tired of guys coming up to me and acting like I should be happy they are paying attention to me.
Some times I wonder if this place is for real...
project close out
This past week has been insanely busy. It was my last week on a contract I've been supporting and since I was in Banff for 3 weeks I had a lot of work to do to get ready for the project close out.
Thursday night the project team got together for a celebration that went really, really late. We started out on the Bouncer's balcony with a bottle of champagne. The Bouncer got upgraded to the second nicest suite in the hotel, which included fresh floral arrangements and a platter of fruit every night. His balcony was larger than my hotel room. A band started playing below us and A was singing along, and he can sing really well, so I kept making him and Ireland sing along with the band (you could hear the music really clearly). I was like "We are starting a band and I'm the manager. I want you to practice!"
A got up and started dancing, including doing the moon walk. I was laughing so hard I was in tears. Then everyone got up and started dancing on the balcony. At one point A and I were doing chorus kicks. Unfortunately, Ireland took a picture of that. Then A and I threw rose petals off the balcony and they landed on people walking through the restaurant below the Bouncer's room.
The Bouncer gave Ireland and I all of his toiletries that came free with the room because they were from Hermes. I got a box of soap. It was so nice I kept taking it out of my bag and smelling it. Ireland was given some soap and shampoo and conditioner. We were joking with the Bouncer that I was going to move into his suite when he left because my room is crap in comparison.
We decided to go to the restaurant and the Bouncer, still in his suit, and A, wearing a suit coat, put roses in their lapels from a different floral arrangement than the one that A and I threw off the balcony. A guy came over to our table while we were having another bottle of champagne and made a comment about the Bouncer's suit and rose in lapel. Without missing a beat the Bouncer said "I was supposed to get married today, but the bride didn't show up". I said I was supposed to be the maid of honor. We kept the story going for the rest of the night. The guy felt really bad for making a comment to the Bouncer. Ha ha. The Bouncer later said "I never go into bars and do things like that". Ireland says I'm corrupting the team.
Then we met some helicopter pilots. One was very nice but the one who was sitting next to me was really creepy. I made the Bouncer switch seats with me. At one point we all decided to climb under the table and take a picture for Ireland's friend, who sent her a text saying that we should party so much we ended up under the table.
A ended up leaving early, and then I left about an hour later because I was totally exhausted. Ireland and the Bouncer kept going until 4 in the morning. I woke up the next day and was so tired I didn't do much of anything. I think I'm a little burned out...
Thursday night the project team got together for a celebration that went really, really late. We started out on the Bouncer's balcony with a bottle of champagne. The Bouncer got upgraded to the second nicest suite in the hotel, which included fresh floral arrangements and a platter of fruit every night. His balcony was larger than my hotel room. A band started playing below us and A was singing along, and he can sing really well, so I kept making him and Ireland sing along with the band (you could hear the music really clearly). I was like "We are starting a band and I'm the manager. I want you to practice!"
A got up and started dancing, including doing the moon walk. I was laughing so hard I was in tears. Then everyone got up and started dancing on the balcony. At one point A and I were doing chorus kicks. Unfortunately, Ireland took a picture of that. Then A and I threw rose petals off the balcony and they landed on people walking through the restaurant below the Bouncer's room.
The Bouncer gave Ireland and I all of his toiletries that came free with the room because they were from Hermes. I got a box of soap. It was so nice I kept taking it out of my bag and smelling it. Ireland was given some soap and shampoo and conditioner. We were joking with the Bouncer that I was going to move into his suite when he left because my room is crap in comparison.
We decided to go to the restaurant and the Bouncer, still in his suit, and A, wearing a suit coat, put roses in their lapels from a different floral arrangement than the one that A and I threw off the balcony. A guy came over to our table while we were having another bottle of champagne and made a comment about the Bouncer's suit and rose in lapel. Without missing a beat the Bouncer said "I was supposed to get married today, but the bride didn't show up". I said I was supposed to be the maid of honor. We kept the story going for the rest of the night. The guy felt really bad for making a comment to the Bouncer. Ha ha. The Bouncer later said "I never go into bars and do things like that". Ireland says I'm corrupting the team.
Then we met some helicopter pilots. One was very nice but the one who was sitting next to me was really creepy. I made the Bouncer switch seats with me. At one point we all decided to climb under the table and take a picture for Ireland's friend, who sent her a text saying that we should party so much we ended up under the table.
A ended up leaving early, and then I left about an hour later because I was totally exhausted. Ireland and the Bouncer kept going until 4 in the morning. I woke up the next day and was so tired I didn't do much of anything. I think I'm a little burned out...
don't see THAT too often in the desert
It's been raining here for two days straight. Which is weird because it usually rains here just a few days during the year in February, and it normally only rains for a few minutes (this is what the locals tell me anyway). Apparently last year they got so little rain that planes had to seed the clouds over the ocean to get a sprinkle in Abu Dhabi.
Well, the drought is over. Yesterday I went for a walk around 2 pm and got drenched by the rain. When I got back to the hotel it had started lightning and thundering. Same thing when I woke up this morning. The roof of my hotel is flooded. The roads are flooded. All the street signals went out in the tourist club area of Abu Dhabi so traffic was a mess. It was like experiencing a bad snow storm in the US. But worse.
Only two people came into the office today because of the weather. I left early because it had started raining again and I was getting worried the streets would be impassible going back to the hotel. Because I'm right on the beach all of the streets near my hotel are filled with water. This street next to my hotel is so flooded cars can't drive down it anymore.
Wishing I had a rain jacket and sweat shirt. It's chilly here too. I'm guessing Ireland and I won't be going to the beach next weekend if this weather keeps up.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
my fake oatmeal injury
WARNING: kind of gross picture of my injury at the bottom of this blog
Today I sustained my worst UAE injury since I tripped over those tiles and cut up the top of my foot (I still have scars). I was injured by fake oatmeal.
I went to the co-op yesterday to buy some breakfast cereal since the breakfast here at the Meridien is crap (except for the coconut cupcakes). I bought what I thought was a can of oatmeal. The picture on the can sure looks like oats. And it had a name "Virginia", the only english writing on the can. Isn't Virginia a farm state? Isn't it very possible they grow oats there? They have lots of horse in VA too, and don't horses eat oats?
The "cereal" came in a tin with a metal seal on it (like a can of pringles). I started opening the metal seal thingy and somehow managed to gash my thumb with it as I was pulling the last part off. It hurt. A lot. Then my thumb started bleeding and wouldn't stop. I didn't have any bandaids so I took some packing tape and taped a kleenex over the cut. But, not before getting blood on the floor. I guess it kind of blends in with the carpet.
The worst part is, what ever is in that tin is NOT oatmeal. I poured boiling water over the "oats" and after 3 minutes, during which the oatmeal was supposed to be cooking, I looked inside my coffee mug expecting to see oatmeal. Instead there was this gelatinous goo with a few "oat balls" floating in it. I tried stirring to see if that would help but the balls just kept sticking to my spoon. I tried to eat it, but it was way too disgusting. It tasted like sand, actually.
I left what ever it is in the coffee mug and figured the maid would clean it when he did my room. Ha. The only thing he seems to spend time on in my room is going through my clothes. I had a meeting with Ireland, and when I got back to my hotel room 3 hours later I saw that the oat stuff had turned to sludge in a mug. Gross. I can't wait to find out at work on Sunday what this stuff is.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
the wrong mercure
I'm back in Abu Dhabi after 3 1/2 weeks in Banff, Canada and a half week in Denver with my parents. The writing workshop I went to was the best thing I've ever done, and I would encourage any aspiring writer to apply for it (www.banffcentre.ca).
As usual, though, something weird happened on my trip from the states. Flying to Canada from UAE I ended up having a 30 hour layover in Frankfurt. I didn't realize I had such a long layover until I got to Frankfurt, so I called my company's travel desk and they booked me into a Mercure hotel close to the airport. I went to the airport info desk after I got the address and they told me there was a free shuttle to the hotel. Perfect. I got there, walked around the very nice village where the Mercure was located, had some great food from a street vendor stand, and made it to Denver even though there was a huge snowstorm.
On the way back to UAE, I had a 24 hour layover. I contacted the travel desk and asked them to put me in the Mercure again. I left pretty late on Friday night, and was exhausted by the time I got to Frankfurt because this terrorist kid (guessing age 3 or 4) screamed, no, not cried, screamed the entire flight. Yes, all 10 1/2 hours. It was so bad that people on the plane were yelling at the parents to shut the kid up. But, they were busy watching a movie, and did nothing.
Anyway, I went to the hotel shuttle station and got the shuttle. I was so happy that, in 30 minutes, I was going to be in a bed, sleeping. We pulled up to a hotel. Sure, it had the Mercure sign. But, it looked different. I got to the front desk and found out not only did I not have a reservation there, but the price of the room was 3 times what my company would pay. The woman that I would have to take a taxi to the Mercure hotel where I had a reservation. I said I would just take the shuttle back to the airport and catch the other Mercure shuttle to the right hotel. The woman and shuttle driver BOTH insisted there was no "other Mercure shuttle". I said "But I just stayed there a month ago and took the shuttle". The woman patted me on the arm and said I looked really tired.
I got a taxi and he took me to a Mercure hotel. But it was not the hotel I had stayed at. I asked him to wait while I went inside but he took off as soon as my suitcase was out of his trunk. I went in and found out, no surprise, that I didn't have a reservation there either. The check in desk told me there are three Mercure hotels in Frankfurt and that this confusion happens all the time.
Great. I stood in the rain for 20 minutes waiting for a taxi. Thankfully he spoke english. He promised me he could have me to the hotel in 15 minutes because by then I was ready to pass out from exhaustion. I fell asleep in his cab. I woke up when we got to the hotel and...it was NOT the hotel I had stayed in. I was like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! wrong hotel again!!!!!!!! and begged the taxi driver not to leave me until I found the right hotel. I went in and it turns out it was the hotel where I had a reservation. But it was definitely NOT the hotel I had stayed in before. As the woman was checking me in I asked her about the fourth Mercure hotel and she also insisted it didn't exist, there were only 3 Mercures in Frankfurt, and that the expensive Mercure I went to first was the only hotel that had a shuttle from the airport.
I thought maybe I was tired and going crazy. But then when I got up to my room I looked in my computer bag and sure enough, there was my Mercure hotel key from my previous stay. Then, because I'm obsessive compulsive, I did a web search to find the other hotel I stayed at. It didn't list in the results for Mercures within a certain distance from the Frankfurt airport.
Crazy. I wonder if I was staying in the twilight zone...
So, on deck for the rest of the week. Tomorrow's a holiday (National day, which means people driving their cars around at crazy speeds, and fireworks), then this weekend I promised Ireland I would go with her to rugby 7s. I may regret that. She said, after I promised to go, and I quote "It's so great! You get to sit in the stands with all these crazy rugby fans spilling beer all over you!"
Uh. Yeah.
As usual, though, something weird happened on my trip from the states. Flying to Canada from UAE I ended up having a 30 hour layover in Frankfurt. I didn't realize I had such a long layover until I got to Frankfurt, so I called my company's travel desk and they booked me into a Mercure hotel close to the airport. I went to the airport info desk after I got the address and they told me there was a free shuttle to the hotel. Perfect. I got there, walked around the very nice village where the Mercure was located, had some great food from a street vendor stand, and made it to Denver even though there was a huge snowstorm.
On the way back to UAE, I had a 24 hour layover. I contacted the travel desk and asked them to put me in the Mercure again. I left pretty late on Friday night, and was exhausted by the time I got to Frankfurt because this terrorist kid (guessing age 3 or 4) screamed, no, not cried, screamed the entire flight. Yes, all 10 1/2 hours. It was so bad that people on the plane were yelling at the parents to shut the kid up. But, they were busy watching a movie, and did nothing.
Anyway, I went to the hotel shuttle station and got the shuttle. I was so happy that, in 30 minutes, I was going to be in a bed, sleeping. We pulled up to a hotel. Sure, it had the Mercure sign. But, it looked different. I got to the front desk and found out not only did I not have a reservation there, but the price of the room was 3 times what my company would pay. The woman that I would have to take a taxi to the Mercure hotel where I had a reservation. I said I would just take the shuttle back to the airport and catch the other Mercure shuttle to the right hotel. The woman and shuttle driver BOTH insisted there was no "other Mercure shuttle". I said "But I just stayed there a month ago and took the shuttle". The woman patted me on the arm and said I looked really tired.
I got a taxi and he took me to a Mercure hotel. But it was not the hotel I had stayed at. I asked him to wait while I went inside but he took off as soon as my suitcase was out of his trunk. I went in and found out, no surprise, that I didn't have a reservation there either. The check in desk told me there are three Mercure hotels in Frankfurt and that this confusion happens all the time.
Great. I stood in the rain for 20 minutes waiting for a taxi. Thankfully he spoke english. He promised me he could have me to the hotel in 15 minutes because by then I was ready to pass out from exhaustion. I fell asleep in his cab. I woke up when we got to the hotel and...it was NOT the hotel I had stayed in. I was like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! wrong hotel again!!!!!!!! and begged the taxi driver not to leave me until I found the right hotel. I went in and it turns out it was the hotel where I had a reservation. But it was definitely NOT the hotel I had stayed in before. As the woman was checking me in I asked her about the fourth Mercure hotel and she also insisted it didn't exist, there were only 3 Mercures in Frankfurt, and that the expensive Mercure I went to first was the only hotel that had a shuttle from the airport.
I thought maybe I was tired and going crazy. But then when I got up to my room I looked in my computer bag and sure enough, there was my Mercure hotel key from my previous stay. Then, because I'm obsessive compulsive, I did a web search to find the other hotel I stayed at. It didn't list in the results for Mercures within a certain distance from the Frankfurt airport.
Crazy. I wonder if I was staying in the twilight zone...
So, on deck for the rest of the week. Tomorrow's a holiday (National day, which means people driving their cars around at crazy speeds, and fireworks), then this weekend I promised Ireland I would go with her to rugby 7s. I may regret that. She said, after I promised to go, and I quote "It's so great! You get to sit in the stands with all these crazy rugby fans spilling beer all over you!"
Uh. Yeah.
Friday, November 13, 2009
why I love great whites
My fake publisher asked me to explain why I love great whites in this piece I'm writing. I told him I didn't know why I love them, and then he said I should write something to try to figure it out.
So, why I love great whites...
I'm obsessed with teeth. Not just shark teeth, but all teeth. I don't know why. They're shiny, and white, and when I look at teeth, nice teeth, it makes me feel calm. Sharks have lots of nice teeth. But, really I like great white teeth. And tiger shark teeth. I don't like sand shark teeth. Or alligator teeth. Okay...I like triangular teeth.
Fuck, I'm an engineer, of course I like triangles.
Great whites have well organized teeth. I like that. And they are well arranged. It's weird that they seem a bit obese, and I don't normally like that. They have the fattest necks ever. But for some reason, I like that on great whites.
That Jaws poster. I loved that poster. I used to cut the advert for Jaws out of the paper and put it on the wall next to my bed. Why would I like that poster? Because the shark has the element of surprise. I felt more like the shark than the person swimming.
Which is weird. I should take a poll. When people look at that advert, who do they identify more with? Am I the only one who thinks I'm the shark?
No one tells a great white what to do. They can't be tamed or kept in captivity.
I often have dreams that great whites take me to live with them. In those dreams I feel like I'm flying, I feel protected by the sharks, and I feel like the sharks have adopted me. I have always, insanely maybe, believed that even if I encountered a great white in the wild it wouldn't eat me. I also believe a great white would let me pet it.
If I were a great white, no one could fuck with me except for an orca. I saw a video of a great white getting fucked up by an orca. I didn't love it less. I felt bad for it. I like orcas too. But I don't like their teeth. They have the stupidest teeth ever. And they're totally black and white. Great whites are mottled. They can hide against the rocks.
Great whites travel a lot. So do I. They hang out in packs sometimes, but are really loners. Other sharks know how to do math. Great whites might know how to do math.
You can't ever tell what a great white is thinking. It doesn't have a pupil. It's like their dead. Which is weird. Because I don't like snakes because they don't have a pupil.
When people display dead great whites they're still scary.
Sometimes I think it would be fun if I could climb into a great white's mouth and ride around in there while the shark is swimming. I think it would be funny if the shark swam up to a boat and opened its mouth. Then I would wave to the people and then the shark would close its mouth and swim away. We would laugh about that for hours. The shark would keep saying "Did you SEE their faces when I swam up? I thought I was going to die laughing when you were all like "hi people on the boat!""
Time to meet everyone for dinner. I'm going to do my experiment. I still don't know why I love great whites.
So, why I love great whites...
I'm obsessed with teeth. Not just shark teeth, but all teeth. I don't know why. They're shiny, and white, and when I look at teeth, nice teeth, it makes me feel calm. Sharks have lots of nice teeth. But, really I like great white teeth. And tiger shark teeth. I don't like sand shark teeth. Or alligator teeth. Okay...I like triangular teeth.
Fuck, I'm an engineer, of course I like triangles.
Great whites have well organized teeth. I like that. And they are well arranged. It's weird that they seem a bit obese, and I don't normally like that. They have the fattest necks ever. But for some reason, I like that on great whites.
That Jaws poster. I loved that poster. I used to cut the advert for Jaws out of the paper and put it on the wall next to my bed. Why would I like that poster? Because the shark has the element of surprise. I felt more like the shark than the person swimming.
Which is weird. I should take a poll. When people look at that advert, who do they identify more with? Am I the only one who thinks I'm the shark?
No one tells a great white what to do. They can't be tamed or kept in captivity.
I often have dreams that great whites take me to live with them. In those dreams I feel like I'm flying, I feel protected by the sharks, and I feel like the sharks have adopted me. I have always, insanely maybe, believed that even if I encountered a great white in the wild it wouldn't eat me. I also believe a great white would let me pet it.
If I were a great white, no one could fuck with me except for an orca. I saw a video of a great white getting fucked up by an orca. I didn't love it less. I felt bad for it. I like orcas too. But I don't like their teeth. They have the stupidest teeth ever. And they're totally black and white. Great whites are mottled. They can hide against the rocks.
Great whites travel a lot. So do I. They hang out in packs sometimes, but are really loners. Other sharks know how to do math. Great whites might know how to do math.
You can't ever tell what a great white is thinking. It doesn't have a pupil. It's like their dead. Which is weird. Because I don't like snakes because they don't have a pupil.
When people display dead great whites they're still scary.
Sometimes I think it would be fun if I could climb into a great white's mouth and ride around in there while the shark is swimming. I think it would be funny if the shark swam up to a boat and opened its mouth. Then I would wave to the people and then the shark would close its mouth and swim away. We would laugh about that for hours. The shark would keep saying "Did you SEE their faces when I swam up? I thought I was going to die laughing when you were all like "hi people on the boat!""
Time to meet everyone for dinner. I'm going to do my experiment. I still don't know why I love great whites.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
climbing grade love
I've been thinking about love, and lack there of, lately. That's because I think it's strange when people say they love me. What exactly does that mean?
So this morning I got an idea. The word "love" should be prefaced with a grade, like a rock climb. That way everyone knows exactly what the claim of love implies.
Here's a suggested scale:
5.4 love - You're interested in love, but more as a tourist. You don't want to do anything too hard. You want to say that you loved, even if it was just a weekend trip. 5.4 love is predictable and easy. You feel a sense of accomplishment because you don't know there's more to it than what you experienced.
5.6 love - Now you're trying a little harder. There's a few challenges, but that's because you don't know what you're doing. Endurance is usually an issue with 5.6 love. You get pumped before you top out. A person who attempts 5.6 love will make a decision to step up the game or just go back to 5.4 love.
5.8 love - You can definitely say you're a lover now. But, maybe not the kind that knows how to handle challenges and cruxes. This is married people love, with the spouse and kids, looking at the harder stuff but being to scared to try it. People in 5.8 love like to play it safe. It might be challenging at first, but then it gets boring, but at least you know what to expect. There's little chance of getting hurt on 5.8 love.
5.9 love - There are a few crux moves here, and you might be surprised how hard it is sometimes. You might find yourself thinking "this is harder than 5.9 love should be". It's a weird place. You want something more exciting than 5.8 love, but you are afraid to push yourself to a 5.10 love. Basically, you're mediocre. Just go back to 5.8 love and quit wasting people's time.
5.10 love - This is the perfect love. Solid, but with challenges. It shows you've mastered love. It's the last love grade before things get start getting weird. 5.10 love requires dedication and style.
5.11 love - This is where love starts to get bad. Sure, it's great, but all you're doing is potentially hurting yourself hanging on to little bits and pieces of things, trying to make a route out of them. There may be some good holds to get you to the top, but there's a lot of crimp shit too.
5.12 love - Now you've over worked love. You've put it on some pedestal and are chasing after it to the exclusion of other, healthier things. You might feel great when you top out on 5.12 love, but then you have to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. Pretty soon you're going to be thinking that 5.12 love is really scary, and the rewards aren't that great. 5.12 love always hurts. It's like a Roy Orbison song.
5.13 love - This love is best described with an image: pet bunny in a pot on the stove.
So this morning I got an idea. The word "love" should be prefaced with a grade, like a rock climb. That way everyone knows exactly what the claim of love implies.
Here's a suggested scale:
5.4 love - You're interested in love, but more as a tourist. You don't want to do anything too hard. You want to say that you loved, even if it was just a weekend trip. 5.4 love is predictable and easy. You feel a sense of accomplishment because you don't know there's more to it than what you experienced.
5.6 love - Now you're trying a little harder. There's a few challenges, but that's because you don't know what you're doing. Endurance is usually an issue with 5.6 love. You get pumped before you top out. A person who attempts 5.6 love will make a decision to step up the game or just go back to 5.4 love.
5.8 love - You can definitely say you're a lover now. But, maybe not the kind that knows how to handle challenges and cruxes. This is married people love, with the spouse and kids, looking at the harder stuff but being to scared to try it. People in 5.8 love like to play it safe. It might be challenging at first, but then it gets boring, but at least you know what to expect. There's little chance of getting hurt on 5.8 love.
5.9 love - There are a few crux moves here, and you might be surprised how hard it is sometimes. You might find yourself thinking "this is harder than 5.9 love should be". It's a weird place. You want something more exciting than 5.8 love, but you are afraid to push yourself to a 5.10 love. Basically, you're mediocre. Just go back to 5.8 love and quit wasting people's time.
5.10 love - This is the perfect love. Solid, but with challenges. It shows you've mastered love. It's the last love grade before things get start getting weird. 5.10 love requires dedication and style.
5.11 love - This is where love starts to get bad. Sure, it's great, but all you're doing is potentially hurting yourself hanging on to little bits and pieces of things, trying to make a route out of them. There may be some good holds to get you to the top, but there's a lot of crimp shit too.
5.12 love - Now you've over worked love. You've put it on some pedestal and are chasing after it to the exclusion of other, healthier things. You might feel great when you top out on 5.12 love, but then you have to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. Pretty soon you're going to be thinking that 5.12 love is really scary, and the rewards aren't that great. 5.12 love always hurts. It's like a Roy Orbison song.
5.13 love - This love is best described with an image: pet bunny in a pot on the stove.
Monday, November 9, 2009
banff film fest wrap party
Apologies for the stream of consciousness writing. I have a writing deadline and am not supposed to be writing on my blog...
So, I showed up to the wrap party fashionably late. That was what doomed me. When I got there I ran into Lana, who was my volunteer coordinator last year. I hadn't brought any money so I thought I wasn't going to be drinking. Instead Lana, who had been drinking, stuffed about 6 drink tickets in my pocket. Oy vey.
Then I ran into M and N, who were talking to this Jon guy. Jon said my turquoise necklace from Nepal was ceramic (I wasn't wearing the necklace, so he didn't see it, he was just being a negative nancy). Then some tall French (?) guy named Alain, who knows Jon, came up behind me and pulled my hair really really hard. I turned around and was like "dude, what the fuck???" in a mean way and that little french prick just smiled and said "I like your hair". Fucking french.
Then this guy who looked like a child molester started stalking me and I had to hang out with N but no matter where we went he kept following me. Then I went to get another drink at the bar and was accosted by a midget. The dude fucking glommed on to me and kept trying to touch me and wanted to introduce me to all his friends. I was like uh, I have to go smoke, exit stage left.
But the dude followed me outside, where I was next accosted by some stupid little snowboarding punk who was wearing this totally retarded outfit and who kept trying to tell me a story about some invisible animal that he made up that's his only friend. Finally I was like "if I give you a cigarette will you leave me alone?" I had to give him two, because after he finished the first one he came back. Oh, and that kid told me my writing probably sucks because you have to be ego less when you write. Out of the mouths of 16 year old punks. And midget boy told me about writing one line haikus about mountaineering, and I was like dude, if it's only one line, it's not a haiku, but then realized it wasn't worth arguing about when he recited his haiku "men, we will go into the mountains, and we will climb to the sky" or some shit like that. He puts his poems on a web site. Ech.
Finally I saw N, who I think was hiding from me because I was making fun of him because he can't swim and said "octopuses" instead of "octopi", and F. I mouthed "help me" to F and we stuck N with the midget while F and I went and got cake. Actually, F got cake, but I just pulled the strawberries off the tops of the pieces of cake and ate those. No one seemed to notice because people kept eating the cake. F said "that creepy guy is still following you" and I thought he meant the midget but it was actually the child molester guy. So we went over to the coffee and F revealed a top secret aspect of his story which he had just found out before the wrap party. F jumped up and down for like 5 minutes after he told me the ending. Like, seriously jumped up and down. It was cute.
Then F went away and N got mad because I wouldn't dance with him on the dance floor, so he walked away, and the midget came up to me again. I tried to lose him at the bar, but then he took me over to a table and introduced me to some good looking guys.
Then I started talking to this swiss guy named U. U was mad I missed his presentation on the Eiger. I mentioned I have a friend who's climbed the Eiger 4 times and U said he's climbed it 37 times. I'm going to guess he's a water sign, and that we wouldn't have gotten along anyway, but I'll never know because midget guy came up to me and yelled at me for dropping pretzels all over U because I had two handfuls of them because I was hungry and drunk so the only way I could eat the pretzels was to take a bite out of what ever piece was hanging out between my fingers and then sometimes I would accidentally squeeze my pretzels too hard and they would break and fall on U's little vest thing he was wearing. Oh, and I punched U in the arm for god knows what reason and a pretzel flew out of my fist and accidentally hit him on the ear but he was laughing. Uh, from what I remember.
After midget boy yelled at me for dropping pretzels on U he was telling everyone to do these hula hoop things. Everyone was horrible. Midget boy was trying to show off I think, but he was the worst. While he was distracted with the hula hoop I ran away and found N, but by then I was tired, drunker than drunk, and ready to leave.
U followed me over to N and I was going to say goodbye to him too but midget boy accosted me again as U was approaching me and U just waved to me and walked away. So I headed up the stairs and then midget boy grabbed my arm and I do NOT like being touched by random people so I palmed his face and pushed him backwards and then ran up the steps. Then N ran up after me to make sure I remembered where I left my coat because he had promised me earlier in the evening that if I got really drunk he would keep track of where I left my jacket. Because I was so drunk I think I said "Nice work soldier. You remembered your mission, and executed it well." Then I saluted him and almost fell over.
...and woke up with a class 4 hangover for a 730 am conference call. My head hurts. The end.
So, I showed up to the wrap party fashionably late. That was what doomed me. When I got there I ran into Lana, who was my volunteer coordinator last year. I hadn't brought any money so I thought I wasn't going to be drinking. Instead Lana, who had been drinking, stuffed about 6 drink tickets in my pocket. Oy vey.
Then I ran into M and N, who were talking to this Jon guy. Jon said my turquoise necklace from Nepal was ceramic (I wasn't wearing the necklace, so he didn't see it, he was just being a negative nancy). Then some tall French (?) guy named Alain, who knows Jon, came up behind me and pulled my hair really really hard. I turned around and was like "dude, what the fuck???" in a mean way and that little french prick just smiled and said "I like your hair". Fucking french.
Then this guy who looked like a child molester started stalking me and I had to hang out with N but no matter where we went he kept following me. Then I went to get another drink at the bar and was accosted by a midget. The dude fucking glommed on to me and kept trying to touch me and wanted to introduce me to all his friends. I was like uh, I have to go smoke, exit stage left.
But the dude followed me outside, where I was next accosted by some stupid little snowboarding punk who was wearing this totally retarded outfit and who kept trying to tell me a story about some invisible animal that he made up that's his only friend. Finally I was like "if I give you a cigarette will you leave me alone?" I had to give him two, because after he finished the first one he came back. Oh, and that kid told me my writing probably sucks because you have to be ego less when you write. Out of the mouths of 16 year old punks. And midget boy told me about writing one line haikus about mountaineering, and I was like dude, if it's only one line, it's not a haiku, but then realized it wasn't worth arguing about when he recited his haiku "men, we will go into the mountains, and we will climb to the sky" or some shit like that. He puts his poems on a web site. Ech.
Finally I saw N, who I think was hiding from me because I was making fun of him because he can't swim and said "octopuses" instead of "octopi", and F. I mouthed "help me" to F and we stuck N with the midget while F and I went and got cake. Actually, F got cake, but I just pulled the strawberries off the tops of the pieces of cake and ate those. No one seemed to notice because people kept eating the cake. F said "that creepy guy is still following you" and I thought he meant the midget but it was actually the child molester guy. So we went over to the coffee and F revealed a top secret aspect of his story which he had just found out before the wrap party. F jumped up and down for like 5 minutes after he told me the ending. Like, seriously jumped up and down. It was cute.
Then F went away and N got mad because I wouldn't dance with him on the dance floor, so he walked away, and the midget came up to me again. I tried to lose him at the bar, but then he took me over to a table and introduced me to some good looking guys.
Then I started talking to this swiss guy named U. U was mad I missed his presentation on the Eiger. I mentioned I have a friend who's climbed the Eiger 4 times and U said he's climbed it 37 times. I'm going to guess he's a water sign, and that we wouldn't have gotten along anyway, but I'll never know because midget guy came up to me and yelled at me for dropping pretzels all over U because I had two handfuls of them because I was hungry and drunk so the only way I could eat the pretzels was to take a bite out of what ever piece was hanging out between my fingers and then sometimes I would accidentally squeeze my pretzels too hard and they would break and fall on U's little vest thing he was wearing. Oh, and I punched U in the arm for god knows what reason and a pretzel flew out of my fist and accidentally hit him on the ear but he was laughing. Uh, from what I remember.
After midget boy yelled at me for dropping pretzels on U he was telling everyone to do these hula hoop things. Everyone was horrible. Midget boy was trying to show off I think, but he was the worst. While he was distracted with the hula hoop I ran away and found N, but by then I was tired, drunker than drunk, and ready to leave.
U followed me over to N and I was going to say goodbye to him too but midget boy accosted me again as U was approaching me and U just waved to me and walked away. So I headed up the stairs and then midget boy grabbed my arm and I do NOT like being touched by random people so I palmed his face and pushed him backwards and then ran up the steps. Then N ran up after me to make sure I remembered where I left my coat because he had promised me earlier in the evening that if I got really drunk he would keep track of where I left my jacket. Because I was so drunk I think I said "Nice work soldier. You remembered your mission, and executed it well." Then I saluted him and almost fell over.
...and woke up with a class 4 hangover for a 730 am conference call. My head hurts. The end.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
fake labels
Today we had our second writing workshop. We had it in this cool house that was moved from somewhere in Banff up to the Banff Centre. There's no alcohol allowed in the house and our editors strongly emphasized this.
So, I went out and bought a bottle of red and white (the discussions are always more fun when alcohol is involved) and created two fake labels for the wine. The first one, for the red, had a picture of a cheesy little girl angel and said this:
Absolutely Not Alcoholic Juice Stuff
Nope, no alcohol in here. It’s just purple liquid made from grapes with antioxidants that’s really good for you. We would never break the rules.
For the white bottle, I made a label that had a picture of a little girl in goggles swimming under water next to a white whale. That one said:
Great White Whale Solution
No whales were harmed in the making of this non-alcoholic drink that has no alcohol in it. In fact, it’s alcohol free!
The problem is, no one realized it was a joke. They all thought I had brought non-alcoholic wine to the work shop. I finally had to point out that the labels were taped on the bottle with packing tape. Then everyone was like "oh, ha ha ha".
I won't go into the assassin jokes around the table because I killed three flies during the workshop. Ha ha ha.
So, I went out and bought a bottle of red and white (the discussions are always more fun when alcohol is involved) and created two fake labels for the wine. The first one, for the red, had a picture of a cheesy little girl angel and said this:
Absolutely Not Alcoholic Juice Stuff
Nope, no alcohol in here. It’s just purple liquid made from grapes with antioxidants that’s really good for you. We would never break the rules.
For the white bottle, I made a label that had a picture of a little girl in goggles swimming under water next to a white whale. That one said:
Great White Whale Solution
No whales were harmed in the making of this non-alcoholic drink that has no alcohol in it. In fact, it’s alcohol free!
The problem is, no one realized it was a joke. They all thought I had brought non-alcoholic wine to the work shop. I finally had to point out that the labels were taped on the bottle with packing tape. Then everyone was like "oh, ha ha ha".
I won't go into the assassin jokes around the table because I killed three flies during the workshop. Ha ha ha.
Monday, November 2, 2009
finally, I figured out what I'm doing
So I was busily editing my stories for my book, trying to ignore the massive doubts I was starting to have about my book.
I met with my publisher Tony, and he was having the same doubts. Uh oh. I tried to talk through the point I wanted to make with my book, but I couldn't even do that very well.
Tony suggested I write a piece about the motorcycle accident that led to my pursuit of extreme sports. I sat down on Saturday morning to write it.
I wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more. It was horrible. I'd never documented what happened when I went through my two horrific knee surgeries. After everything was said and done my career was in tatters, my husband had left me, and I had been forced to leave San Fran to work on the east coast. It was really hard to write about all that stuff. At the same time, what was wrong with my book is that it was just about stupid adventures I'd had, with no personal information. It's going to be really hard to let people read the stuff I'm writing now, but at the same time it's cathartic. Though the past two days have been really hard, emotionally, because I'm dredging up all this stuff I've been suppressing.
I finished the story in about 4 hours of intense writing. I then spent all night Saturday (until 1 am) and all day Sunday revising and trying to make the story funny.
Tony liked it, and liked my new idea for the book. I'm going to introduce each story with a piece that explains what was going on in my life and why I chose that particular adventure. The interspersed pieces will be a little cliffhanger and will help add some cohesion to the stories.
I'm pretty excited about the book now. I'm getting my first piece workshopped on Wednesday. I'm the first to go. Should be interesting.
I met with my publisher Tony, and he was having the same doubts. Uh oh. I tried to talk through the point I wanted to make with my book, but I couldn't even do that very well.
Tony suggested I write a piece about the motorcycle accident that led to my pursuit of extreme sports. I sat down on Saturday morning to write it.
I wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more. It was horrible. I'd never documented what happened when I went through my two horrific knee surgeries. After everything was said and done my career was in tatters, my husband had left me, and I had been forced to leave San Fran to work on the east coast. It was really hard to write about all that stuff. At the same time, what was wrong with my book is that it was just about stupid adventures I'd had, with no personal information. It's going to be really hard to let people read the stuff I'm writing now, but at the same time it's cathartic. Though the past two days have been really hard, emotionally, because I'm dredging up all this stuff I've been suppressing.
I finished the story in about 4 hours of intense writing. I then spent all night Saturday (until 1 am) and all day Sunday revising and trying to make the story funny.
Tony liked it, and liked my new idea for the book. I'm going to introduce each story with a piece that explains what was going on in my life and why I chose that particular adventure. The interspersed pieces will be a little cliffhanger and will help add some cohesion to the stories.
I'm pretty excited about the book now. I'm getting my first piece workshopped on Wednesday. I'm the first to go. Should be interesting.
which one is it?
Last night I had one of the worst dreams I've had in a long time. All the guys in this dream are climbers I know or knew.
In the dream I was walking through an area that was like the Banff Centre, but it was a rough neighborhood. I was walking with my friend Will. He was supposed to be taking me to a climbing gym, and we walked into this building, but it looked like an administration building.
He was like "oops, we must have come through the office!" Just then I noticed a little girl with brown curly hair. I realized I was in my ex-boyfriend Chris' office, and that the little girl was his daughter. I was like "dude, why did you take me here? there has to be another climbing gym!" Will apologized and we went outside, where we ran into my fake co-author Dave.
Dave was standing kind of hunched over and had a big beer gut. I almost didn't recognize him. But then he stood up and all the weight from his gut moved into his chest. He was a lot bigger than anyone else. Will asked him where we could climb and Dave said "I need to meet with Franki about the book". Just as I started telling him about the book I'm working on now this blond woman from Europe came up. She was beautiful. Dave turned to me and said "Watch, I can hypnotize her into having sex with me".
His eyes turned this really weird purple color and the woman couldn't stop staring into them. Dave was saying something quietly to her. I realized that he was asking her to be his new co-author. I was like "dude, you're an asshole! I was supposed to write that book with you!" He told me to shut up and then took the European woman off to have sex somewhere. As they were walking away he said "You see, I can fuck anyone I want".
Will apologized to me again and started saying something about divorce. I was like "you mean Dave got divorced?" and Will said "No, Chris got divorced". Suddenly Chris showed up and started saying "Someone needs to help me clean up this mess!" and Will asked me if I wanted to get back together with Chris. I said no, and then Will said "I'll help you do whatever you want" and I told him I wanted to get away from this horrible place.
I started running and Will didn't follow because he was stuck talking to Chris, who was bragging about owning the biggest climbing gym in the world. I got to this area where there was a narrow sidewalk surrounded by buildings on either side. Then these 5 guys came up and I realized they were going to rob me and beat me up. I said "Did you see that giant man? I was with him and if you touch me he'll kill you!" And they said "Well, he isn't here now. And he said he doesn't know you."
Then I was running down this narrow spiral staircase that had barbed wire on the top. The only way I could get my legs to move was to lift them with my hands. I kept cutting myself on the barbed wire. Then, as I got to the end of the spiral staircase, I was on a roof and my family was there. We were supposed to take a helicopter off the top of the building where the spiral staircase had ended. When I looked out over the city skyline I realized I was in Dubai.
I got on the helicopter and the pilot said we couldn't bring my mom because there wasn't enough room. I got off the helicopter and told my mom that. She started crying and I realized she was drunk. My dad started yelling "I told her she couldn't come!" Then I saw that my mom had jumped across a huge gap from her hotel roof to this roof. That was the only way she could get off the building roof. I was afraid she was going to jump and fall because she was drunk. She told me she didn't care if she fell and started running towards the edge of the roof.
Then I woke up.
In the dream I was walking through an area that was like the Banff Centre, but it was a rough neighborhood. I was walking with my friend Will. He was supposed to be taking me to a climbing gym, and we walked into this building, but it looked like an administration building.
He was like "oops, we must have come through the office!" Just then I noticed a little girl with brown curly hair. I realized I was in my ex-boyfriend Chris' office, and that the little girl was his daughter. I was like "dude, why did you take me here? there has to be another climbing gym!" Will apologized and we went outside, where we ran into my fake co-author Dave.
Dave was standing kind of hunched over and had a big beer gut. I almost didn't recognize him. But then he stood up and all the weight from his gut moved into his chest. He was a lot bigger than anyone else. Will asked him where we could climb and Dave said "I need to meet with Franki about the book". Just as I started telling him about the book I'm working on now this blond woman from Europe came up. She was beautiful. Dave turned to me and said "Watch, I can hypnotize her into having sex with me".
His eyes turned this really weird purple color and the woman couldn't stop staring into them. Dave was saying something quietly to her. I realized that he was asking her to be his new co-author. I was like "dude, you're an asshole! I was supposed to write that book with you!" He told me to shut up and then took the European woman off to have sex somewhere. As they were walking away he said "You see, I can fuck anyone I want".
Will apologized to me again and started saying something about divorce. I was like "you mean Dave got divorced?" and Will said "No, Chris got divorced". Suddenly Chris showed up and started saying "Someone needs to help me clean up this mess!" and Will asked me if I wanted to get back together with Chris. I said no, and then Will said "I'll help you do whatever you want" and I told him I wanted to get away from this horrible place.
I started running and Will didn't follow because he was stuck talking to Chris, who was bragging about owning the biggest climbing gym in the world. I got to this area where there was a narrow sidewalk surrounded by buildings on either side. Then these 5 guys came up and I realized they were going to rob me and beat me up. I said "Did you see that giant man? I was with him and if you touch me he'll kill you!" And they said "Well, he isn't here now. And he said he doesn't know you."
Then I was running down this narrow spiral staircase that had barbed wire on the top. The only way I could get my legs to move was to lift them with my hands. I kept cutting myself on the barbed wire. Then, as I got to the end of the spiral staircase, I was on a roof and my family was there. We were supposed to take a helicopter off the top of the building where the spiral staircase had ended. When I looked out over the city skyline I realized I was in Dubai.
I got on the helicopter and the pilot said we couldn't bring my mom because there wasn't enough room. I got off the helicopter and told my mom that. She started crying and I realized she was drunk. My dad started yelling "I told her she couldn't come!" Then I saw that my mom had jumped across a huge gap from her hotel roof to this roof. That was the only way she could get off the building roof. I was afraid she was going to jump and fall because she was drunk. She told me she didn't care if she fell and started running towards the edge of the roof.
Then I woke up.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
artist in residence
So here I am, ensconced in my very nice hotel room in Banff, two days into my artist in residence writing program.
Things got off to an interesting start when I had an unscheduled 30 hour layover in Frankfurt because my company bought such a cheap ticket that I was forcibly bumped from my flight due to overbooking, only to arrive in Denver to massive snow storms. My friend Will kindly picked me up at the airport, fed me, and even helped me pack. The poor thing drove me through a snowstorm to DIA so I could catch my flight to Banff the day after I got to Denver. The flight was delayed, and I ended up getting here at 1 in the morning Friday. Jet lag doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling right now. I won't even go into dealing with the switch from 100 degree F temps to 30 degree temps.
Friday at 8 am I had a work con call (was I even there? not really) and then a 10 am orientation for the writing program. I almost fell asleep. The other participants in the program are famous, most of them athletes, they've all published before, and I was getting more and more intimidated as we went around the circle to talk about our projects. I was the last to go, so I started by saying "I think I'm the outlier in the group. I actually have a corporate job." One of the participants said "You mean...you get a paycheck?"
Everyone has made a huge effort to make me feel at home, and I'm embarrassed to say I've been having these insane conversations just because I am finally in a group that can talk about subjects other than farting. The publisher I'm working with is great, and I'm meeting his wife on Monday because she has a similar story to mine.
I met with him one on one this morning. I was worried about the meeting because, on the multiple plane rides out here, I realized I wasn't quite sure what my book was about. We spent most of the 2 hours talking about structure. He gave me a new writing assignment that needs to be done by Sunday night so it can be workshopped next week (I'm the second writer to be workshopped - the first is an award winning, published writer - yeah, no pressure). I wrote for most of the day today, and will be getting up early to finish tomorrow. I spent 5 hours on the writing assignment and am only halfway through (never could say anything in 20 words or less, to quote concrete blonde).
I did take an hour and a half to go to the gym. I ran two miles, felt fine, except that towards the end all the stuff in my lungs started making bad noises. The last 5 minutes of my run I sounded like a rattling car. Right after I got off the treadmill a woman sprayed it down with chemicals. How embarrassing.
But. Carrying on. It's the first time in my life I've had the opportunity to do nothing but write. So, I'm happy.
Things got off to an interesting start when I had an unscheduled 30 hour layover in Frankfurt because my company bought such a cheap ticket that I was forcibly bumped from my flight due to overbooking, only to arrive in Denver to massive snow storms. My friend Will kindly picked me up at the airport, fed me, and even helped me pack. The poor thing drove me through a snowstorm to DIA so I could catch my flight to Banff the day after I got to Denver. The flight was delayed, and I ended up getting here at 1 in the morning Friday. Jet lag doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling right now. I won't even go into dealing with the switch from 100 degree F temps to 30 degree temps.
Friday at 8 am I had a work con call (was I even there? not really) and then a 10 am orientation for the writing program. I almost fell asleep. The other participants in the program are famous, most of them athletes, they've all published before, and I was getting more and more intimidated as we went around the circle to talk about our projects. I was the last to go, so I started by saying "I think I'm the outlier in the group. I actually have a corporate job." One of the participants said "You mean...you get a paycheck?"
Everyone has made a huge effort to make me feel at home, and I'm embarrassed to say I've been having these insane conversations just because I am finally in a group that can talk about subjects other than farting. The publisher I'm working with is great, and I'm meeting his wife on Monday because she has a similar story to mine.
I met with him one on one this morning. I was worried about the meeting because, on the multiple plane rides out here, I realized I wasn't quite sure what my book was about. We spent most of the 2 hours talking about structure. He gave me a new writing assignment that needs to be done by Sunday night so it can be workshopped next week (I'm the second writer to be workshopped - the first is an award winning, published writer - yeah, no pressure). I wrote for most of the day today, and will be getting up early to finish tomorrow. I spent 5 hours on the writing assignment and am only halfway through (never could say anything in 20 words or less, to quote concrete blonde).
I did take an hour and a half to go to the gym. I ran two miles, felt fine, except that towards the end all the stuff in my lungs started making bad noises. The last 5 minutes of my run I sounded like a rattling car. Right after I got off the treadmill a woman sprayed it down with chemicals. How embarrassing.
But. Carrying on. It's the first time in my life I've had the opportunity to do nothing but write. So, I'm happy.
Monday, October 26, 2009
commodities
There's a little bar called Chi Chi's on the beach at my hotel. It's pathetic that I've been working so much, and not going out, except when Ireland drags me out, that I didn't even know this bar existed until the bouncer came. He invited me one night to sit with him and have a glass of wine. He goes there every night to work (but only drinks when I'm there - yes, I know, bad influence).
We were hanging out there before my flight to Frankfurt (which left at 2 in the morning, how insane is that) and we started talking about love. He's been married for almost 20 years. He said he thinks that the most important thing any person can learn is how to love. The second most important is to make other people happy.
He was a little taken aback by some of my comments about relationships. I was talking about how hard it is to find a guy that will accept that I have a career and that I might make more money. Sports are a weird thing too. Guys seem to get intimidated by women who are athletic. Then there's the whole travel thing. The only person I know who travels more than I do is my dad.
The bouncer said that in a relationship partners should support each other, and that the success of one should be seen as a success for both. I think women are good at understanding that, but I think most men suck at understanding that. In fact, of all the men I know, I can't think of a single one that is successful in business AND married or partnered with a woman who is as, if not more, successful. I only know a few guys who have wives or partners that work. Bouncer said maybe that's an american thing and that I should move abroad for a while.
The most interesting thing he said had to do with sex. We were talking about how neither of us watch tv. I mentioned that the few times I'm exposed to the tv in the gym I'm appalled by the shit they show (that's the main reason I turn off all the tvs in the gym, even though it drives the trainer nuts and he turns them all back on as soon as I leave). The bouncer was talking about generations, and he said that our generation (we're around the same age) was raised to think love is the most important things. Younger people are more focused on material wealth. The generation before us was more about "free love".
I asked him what he thought about that since, culturally, the country he comes from supports the idea of free love, and not committing to a single partner (I say this not because I'm an expert in his country's culture, but because of what I've read on the web and in the news). He said when you have relationships where the driving factor is sex, and that you are not having sex because you love the person, you are commoditizing sex. I thought that was a very profound thing to say, and it makes a lot of sense to me.
Love is something I often wonder about, and try to understand, because most of the time it seems so fucked up. But if you look at it from the bouncer's perspective, things are a little clearer. People who are trying to get other people to have sex with them not because they care but because they want to show some kind of ownership...makes perfect sense.
I am hoping the bouncer is still there when I get back to dhabi. We've had a lot of interesting conversations.
We were hanging out there before my flight to Frankfurt (which left at 2 in the morning, how insane is that) and we started talking about love. He's been married for almost 20 years. He said he thinks that the most important thing any person can learn is how to love. The second most important is to make other people happy.
He was a little taken aback by some of my comments about relationships. I was talking about how hard it is to find a guy that will accept that I have a career and that I might make more money. Sports are a weird thing too. Guys seem to get intimidated by women who are athletic. Then there's the whole travel thing. The only person I know who travels more than I do is my dad.
The bouncer said that in a relationship partners should support each other, and that the success of one should be seen as a success for both. I think women are good at understanding that, but I think most men suck at understanding that. In fact, of all the men I know, I can't think of a single one that is successful in business AND married or partnered with a woman who is as, if not more, successful. I only know a few guys who have wives or partners that work. Bouncer said maybe that's an american thing and that I should move abroad for a while.
The most interesting thing he said had to do with sex. We were talking about how neither of us watch tv. I mentioned that the few times I'm exposed to the tv in the gym I'm appalled by the shit they show (that's the main reason I turn off all the tvs in the gym, even though it drives the trainer nuts and he turns them all back on as soon as I leave). The bouncer was talking about generations, and he said that our generation (we're around the same age) was raised to think love is the most important things. Younger people are more focused on material wealth. The generation before us was more about "free love".
I asked him what he thought about that since, culturally, the country he comes from supports the idea of free love, and not committing to a single partner (I say this not because I'm an expert in his country's culture, but because of what I've read on the web and in the news). He said when you have relationships where the driving factor is sex, and that you are not having sex because you love the person, you are commoditizing sex. I thought that was a very profound thing to say, and it makes a lot of sense to me.
Love is something I often wonder about, and try to understand, because most of the time it seems so fucked up. But if you look at it from the bouncer's perspective, things are a little clearer. People who are trying to get other people to have sex with them not because they care but because they want to show some kind of ownership...makes perfect sense.
I am hoping the bouncer is still there when I get back to dhabi. We've had a lot of interesting conversations.
cutting the cheese
I don't know why, but I seem to be bringing out the most immature side of my team. Even Ireland, after sitting in a car with three of my team members, listening to us laughing about fart jokes, said I'm a bad influence. The fart joke, as told by Texas Kid: Two saudi guys wanted to get drunk but obviously there's no alcohol in the kingdom. One of them reads on the internet that drinking jet fuel causes a buzz. So the two guys drink jet fuel and go home. The next day one calls the other and says "How are you feeling after drinking jet fuel?" and the other says "I'm fine, but don't fart". "Why not?" the first guy inquires. "Because I'm 200 km away" the other responds.
The joke is funny at 5 o'clock in the morning when you've only gotten a few hours of sleep.
Anyway, the other day I was sitting in the office and someone had once again switched out my chair. I tried to lower it to fit under my desk, turned a screw, and the bottom side of the chair fell apart. Hm, I thought, and continued on with my work. When I went to turn around the chair tilted precariously to the right side. I almost fell out of it.
I tried to fix it, but couldn't. So I switched my chair out with Texas Kid's chair. He sat in it a few minutes later and almost fell out of it as well. We started laughing and calling it the fart chair because he would tilt the chair over in my direction and pretend to fart, especially when I was asking him the status of his tasks to update the project plan.
Texas Kid had also brought in some swiss cheese. Many jokes about cutting the cheese ensued. The bouncer came in at one point while we were making these jokes, but he didn't say anything. At some point, as always happens, I started to get pissed about something and went off on a little tirade. Bouncer said "Uh oh, Franki's cutting the cheese!"
Texas Kid and I looked at each other and started laughing hysterically. It turns out, the bouncer thought the expression meant getting angry and yelling at people. He asked me the origin of the expression but I have no idea where it came from. Texas Kid got a lot of mileage out of that one. Every time I tried to talk to him he would say "Franki, are you about to start cutting the cheese?"
I introduced them to the expressions "going postal" and "I love me jacket" (a straitjacket, that courtesy of Jeffy). I also explained to them "stove piped organizations" and "pulling off the kid gloves".
I guess Ireland is right. I am a bad influence.
Another totally inappropriate joke going around the office among the pakis: A paki guy is really depressed so he calls a suicide hot line. The person answers and the guy says "I'm so depressed I want to die." The hot line guy responds "Well, do you know how to drive a truck?"
I bet my dad is going to yell at me for putting that joke out here...
The joke is funny at 5 o'clock in the morning when you've only gotten a few hours of sleep.
Anyway, the other day I was sitting in the office and someone had once again switched out my chair. I tried to lower it to fit under my desk, turned a screw, and the bottom side of the chair fell apart. Hm, I thought, and continued on with my work. When I went to turn around the chair tilted precariously to the right side. I almost fell out of it.
I tried to fix it, but couldn't. So I switched my chair out with Texas Kid's chair. He sat in it a few minutes later and almost fell out of it as well. We started laughing and calling it the fart chair because he would tilt the chair over in my direction and pretend to fart, especially when I was asking him the status of his tasks to update the project plan.
Texas Kid had also brought in some swiss cheese. Many jokes about cutting the cheese ensued. The bouncer came in at one point while we were making these jokes, but he didn't say anything. At some point, as always happens, I started to get pissed about something and went off on a little tirade. Bouncer said "Uh oh, Franki's cutting the cheese!"
Texas Kid and I looked at each other and started laughing hysterically. It turns out, the bouncer thought the expression meant getting angry and yelling at people. He asked me the origin of the expression but I have no idea where it came from. Texas Kid got a lot of mileage out of that one. Every time I tried to talk to him he would say "Franki, are you about to start cutting the cheese?"
I introduced them to the expressions "going postal" and "I love me jacket" (a straitjacket, that courtesy of Jeffy). I also explained to them "stove piped organizations" and "pulling off the kid gloves".
I guess Ireland is right. I am a bad influence.
Another totally inappropriate joke going around the office among the pakis: A paki guy is really depressed so he calls a suicide hot line. The person answers and the guy says "I'm so depressed I want to die." The hot line guy responds "Well, do you know how to drive a truck?"
I bet my dad is going to yell at me for putting that joke out here...
Sunday, October 25, 2009
octoberfest
They had a three day octoberfest celebration at my hotel. Ireland made reservations for us to go on Friday.
We have a new team member, from Sweden, and I immediately nicknamed him "the Bouncer" because he's been good at stepping in between me and who ever is having a problem with me at the office. He's a typical tall, burly swedish guy, and he's very sweet. But, I found out that he was upset at first that I called him the bouncer because apparently there is some show in Europe that has a dog called bouncer on it, and he thought I was insulting him.
Anyway, the bouncer and I got to octoberfest, which was set up on the tennis courts here at the hotel. There were flags across the top of the courts, and plaster statues of two germans, two horses, and a weird cow in one corner. The cow was about half the size of the horses, and nowhere close to the size of a real cow. Some people who were drunk picked the cow up half way through the night and ran around the tennis courts with it.
Ireland and her friend M showed up and we went to get food. Everything was pork, which I don't eat, except for one section that had sauerkraut, a weird purple salad thing, cooked carrots, and these balls of something that tasted like flour. I only got the balls because I thought they were potatoes. They looked like potatoes.
Anyway, as the night progressed I was getting drunk, due to being dehydrated from the beach, as well as the meds I'm taking for my bronchitis. At some point M ordered shots of schnapps, but after one sip I decided there was no way I was going to finish the shot. I dumped it in the bouncer's glass while he wasn't looking (he was filming these insane people dancing on a table next to us - I was sure the table was going to collapse).
At some point I decided to read everyone's palms. I told Ireland she was going to get married and have an affair. I told the bouncer that I thought he was going to have a short life. This bothered him so much that he had a nightmare about it. He told me that he dreamed we were in a meeting and I said "I've done some models to show that you will have a short life", and then I started showing him architecture diagrams. The dream was so bad that he woke up at 430 in the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. Oops.
I was somehow talked into procuring some shot glasses and putting them in my bag before we left. It was kind of funny because as I was walking I was making a clinking sound and everyone was freaking out but me. Luckily the security at the party was distracted by these two idiots that decided they wanted to have their pictures taken on the horse. They jumped up on the horse and the legs broke off the horse. It was really funny but also sad. Then they tried to pick up the horse and run around with it, but security stopped them.
We ended up going to my room. M laid down on my bed and Ireland ate all my patchi chocolates that the hotel staff keeps leaving on my pillow. Someone had given me a bottle of champagne so they drank that, and we also finished a bottle of wine. The next morning when I woke up I was like "what happened to my room????" because there were glasses everywhere, and a big ice bucket. I think I got to bed around 4 am.
I got Ireland to promise to take me next time she goes home because I've never been to Ireland. Of course, I don't know if I could survive the trip, if it's anything like octoberfest.
We have a new team member, from Sweden, and I immediately nicknamed him "the Bouncer" because he's been good at stepping in between me and who ever is having a problem with me at the office. He's a typical tall, burly swedish guy, and he's very sweet. But, I found out that he was upset at first that I called him the bouncer because apparently there is some show in Europe that has a dog called bouncer on it, and he thought I was insulting him.
Anyway, the bouncer and I got to octoberfest, which was set up on the tennis courts here at the hotel. There were flags across the top of the courts, and plaster statues of two germans, two horses, and a weird cow in one corner. The cow was about half the size of the horses, and nowhere close to the size of a real cow. Some people who were drunk picked the cow up half way through the night and ran around the tennis courts with it.
Ireland and her friend M showed up and we went to get food. Everything was pork, which I don't eat, except for one section that had sauerkraut, a weird purple salad thing, cooked carrots, and these balls of something that tasted like flour. I only got the balls because I thought they were potatoes. They looked like potatoes.
Anyway, as the night progressed I was getting drunk, due to being dehydrated from the beach, as well as the meds I'm taking for my bronchitis. At some point M ordered shots of schnapps, but after one sip I decided there was no way I was going to finish the shot. I dumped it in the bouncer's glass while he wasn't looking (he was filming these insane people dancing on a table next to us - I was sure the table was going to collapse).
At some point I decided to read everyone's palms. I told Ireland she was going to get married and have an affair. I told the bouncer that I thought he was going to have a short life. This bothered him so much that he had a nightmare about it. He told me that he dreamed we were in a meeting and I said "I've done some models to show that you will have a short life", and then I started showing him architecture diagrams. The dream was so bad that he woke up at 430 in the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. Oops.
I was somehow talked into procuring some shot glasses and putting them in my bag before we left. It was kind of funny because as I was walking I was making a clinking sound and everyone was freaking out but me. Luckily the security at the party was distracted by these two idiots that decided they wanted to have their pictures taken on the horse. They jumped up on the horse and the legs broke off the horse. It was really funny but also sad. Then they tried to pick up the horse and run around with it, but security stopped them.
We ended up going to my room. M laid down on my bed and Ireland ate all my patchi chocolates that the hotel staff keeps leaving on my pillow. Someone had given me a bottle of champagne so they drank that, and we also finished a bottle of wine. The next morning when I woke up I was like "what happened to my room????" because there were glasses everywhere, and a big ice bucket. I think I got to bed around 4 am.
I got Ireland to promise to take me next time she goes home because I've never been to Ireland. Of course, I don't know if I could survive the trip, if it's anything like octoberfest.
catastrophe averted...hopefully
This morning I got to work stressed out because I had a presentation for a very high ranking officer and there was no news on my passport. I was worried I'd have to go to Dubai immigration and didn't know how I was going to do that since I had my presentation. Matters got worse when I found out I had to do the presentation in another building, which I couldn't get into, because they required my passport, which I didn't have.
I was talking to one of the officers, who was teasing me about leaving, and I told him I couldn't leave due to my passport issues. I also mentioned to him that I couldn't get into the building where I was supposed to do my presentation.
He called the military guy I work for, who called the high ranking officer, who said he would call immigration and get everything straightened out. An hour later my passport was delivered to me. Also, the officer I was supposed to brief told me to wait until I come back here to come see him because he didn't want me to be stressed and tired before leaving for Canada.
What a great guy.
So, the day ended up well, except that, when I got back to the hotel and tried to check in on my flight, the check in didn't work. That's when I looked at my itinerary and realized my last name is spelled wrong. I called the airline and the travel agent, and they both said that it's no big deal. We'll see when I get to the airport.
Hopefully I'll be in Canada in a few days and not still in Abu Dhabi waiting for my ticket to get straightened out.
I was talking to one of the officers, who was teasing me about leaving, and I told him I couldn't leave due to my passport issues. I also mentioned to him that I couldn't get into the building where I was supposed to do my presentation.
He called the military guy I work for, who called the high ranking officer, who said he would call immigration and get everything straightened out. An hour later my passport was delivered to me. Also, the officer I was supposed to brief told me to wait until I come back here to come see him because he didn't want me to be stressed and tired before leaving for Canada.
What a great guy.
So, the day ended up well, except that, when I got back to the hotel and tried to check in on my flight, the check in didn't work. That's when I looked at my itinerary and realized my last name is spelled wrong. I called the airline and the travel agent, and they both said that it's no big deal. We'll see when I get to the airport.
Hopefully I'll be in Canada in a few days and not still in Abu Dhabi waiting for my ticket to get straightened out.
Friday, October 23, 2009
death by doughnut
First, a funny story. Texas Kid was upstairs in the conference room with me waiting for me to start a presentation. He found a box of doughnuts, and ate some of them. It turns out the doughnuts were for the base commander to eat during my presentation. Worse, Texas Kid ate the commander's favorite flavor doughnuts. We pretended we didn't know what happened to the doughnuts when the meeting started.
Then, I got a call back finally from the [insert bad word that begins with B] who is supposed to be processing my visa, and who is a total twit from the UK. I am supposed to leave at 2 am monday morning for Banff, and, as thursday is the last working day of the week, was wondering why I didn't have my passport back.
Turns out B has the flu. Yeah, I'm sympathetic. I've been going to work with bronchitis for the past two weeks. She didn't follow up with the PRO to see if my passport was ready. Worse, they were supposed to expedite it so that I could have it back Thursday. But B outright lied to me and said that wouldn't be possible (I confirmed it IS possible with the immigration office).
So, I may or may not get my passport back in time to leave on Monday. Worse, B, who is about the rudest person I've dealt with here, told me if I wanted my passport back I could go down to immigration and get it myself. I pointed out to her that it's HER job and what she is getting paid for. She said "I have the flu" and hung up on me.
I called back to try to get the number of the PRO to make sure his ass is in the immigration office Sunday to pick up my passport. She refused to give the number to me. Other things have happened, but I won't go into them now, except to say that she wanted me to email her my travel itinerary to prove I had to leave on Monday (I should note when I gave her my passport almost three weeks ago she assured me it would only take 7 days to process it, and when I checked with her on Sunday she said I would have my passport back by Tuesday - I also told her a million times that I had to leave on Monday).
So, I have a screaming pain in my stomach from my ulcer, I may arrive for my class late, and my ticket, assuming I can change my existing one, is going to cost a fortune. I have never experienced such incompetence in my life. If I ever see B again I am going to have to restrain myself to not punch her in the face for lying to me and then being rude.
In the mean time, an Iraqi colleague of mine is going to immigration for me on Sunday morning because he has contacts there and thinks he can help me. Allah willing...
And I'm going to tell the base commander that B ate his doughnuts.
Then, I got a call back finally from the [insert bad word that begins with B] who is supposed to be processing my visa, and who is a total twit from the UK. I am supposed to leave at 2 am monday morning for Banff, and, as thursday is the last working day of the week, was wondering why I didn't have my passport back.
Turns out B has the flu. Yeah, I'm sympathetic. I've been going to work with bronchitis for the past two weeks. She didn't follow up with the PRO to see if my passport was ready. Worse, they were supposed to expedite it so that I could have it back Thursday. But B outright lied to me and said that wouldn't be possible (I confirmed it IS possible with the immigration office).
So, I may or may not get my passport back in time to leave on Monday. Worse, B, who is about the rudest person I've dealt with here, told me if I wanted my passport back I could go down to immigration and get it myself. I pointed out to her that it's HER job and what she is getting paid for. She said "I have the flu" and hung up on me.
I called back to try to get the number of the PRO to make sure his ass is in the immigration office Sunday to pick up my passport. She refused to give the number to me. Other things have happened, but I won't go into them now, except to say that she wanted me to email her my travel itinerary to prove I had to leave on Monday (I should note when I gave her my passport almost three weeks ago she assured me it would only take 7 days to process it, and when I checked with her on Sunday she said I would have my passport back by Tuesday - I also told her a million times that I had to leave on Monday).
So, I have a screaming pain in my stomach from my ulcer, I may arrive for my class late, and my ticket, assuming I can change my existing one, is going to cost a fortune. I have never experienced such incompetence in my life. If I ever see B again I am going to have to restrain myself to not punch her in the face for lying to me and then being rude.
In the mean time, an Iraqi colleague of mine is going to immigration for me on Sunday morning because he has contacts there and thinks he can help me. Allah willing...
And I'm going to tell the base commander that B ate his doughnuts.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
excuses
I haven't been updating my blog because:
- I've been working 90 hour weeks the past few weeks
- I have bronchitis (though, hopefully at the tail end of it)
- I'm leaving for Banff in a few days and have been trying to get my project in order before I go
- I've been working 90 hour weeks the past few weeks
- I have bronchitis (though, hopefully at the tail end of it)
- I'm leaving for Banff in a few days and have been trying to get my project in order before I go
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
escalation unknown
Well, the events of last week's cranial explosion still haven't blown over. The guys in my office are getting more and more evil with their little pranks, especially since they were also yelled at by my customer for distracting me when I'm trying to work.
Sunday they hatched a plot where one of the guys would pretend he had to talk to me about work, luring me out of my chair. As soon as I would get out of my chair, and walk away from my desk, another guy would run over, sit in my chair, and fart. I know. Forty years old going on four. This little prank left me with a dilemma. I didn't want to sit in the fart chair. No one would exchange their chair for the fart chair, unless they farted on their chair first, leaving me still with a farty chair. I tried standing up to do my work, but that just caused more problems, namely...
They also paid the poor guy who cleans our office 30 dirhams (the equivalent of about $9 US) to constantly sweep around my cube (if you guys are reading this, I have moles in your organization). So if I am standing up trying to work on my computer, this guy is constantly behind me with his broom trying to sweep up my feet. He's not exactly right in the head, and finds this riotously funny, because everyone else in the office is like "sweep more!" and "you missed a spot!". I can't get mad at the poor thing, so I have to let him sweep, but it really makes me want to wring the necks of other people who shall not be mentioned here.
They keep raiding my stash of food, eating it, and stuffing paper into the packaging so that I won't know my food is missing until I decide I'm hungry. One enterprising chap took my grapefruit today, ate it (he better have eaten it), and then spent who knows how long retaping the peel together after filling it with little pieces of paper. I pulled the grapefruit out after a meeting and it fell apart, spilling paper pieces all over my desk. Then the guy with the broom came to clean it up. Though, I don't think they were smart enough to coordinate that. I think it was an unplanned outcome of the exploding grapefruit attack.
Today the pranks got a little dangerous when we had a meeting in the downstairs conference room. It has chairs normally screwed into the floor in a row, like a movie theater. I always sit in the front row because I'm a total control freak, and have to get up and fix things as people are drawing diagrams. I am working on not doing this, but it's hard. And the guy drawing today was purposely doing stuff that he knew would upset me, because his group had a nefarious plan.
Every time I got up to fix something today, the clever lad behind me unscrewed one of the screws under my chair. I facilitated this little prank because after I'm done at the computer I always slide across the floor (in my flip flops, on the marble floor, it's fun) until my shin hits the row of chairs where I'm sitting, then I do a little spin and drop ungracefully into my chair. After the last screw was out, when I dropped into my chair, it caused my entire row to fall backwards. I ended up in the lap of the incredible hulk.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
I was so sad I wasn't holding a scalding cup of tea at the time.
What they don't know is that I'm hatching a plan of my own, to be executed the day after I leave for Banff. Then we'll see who gets the last laugh.
Um, if anyone has any ideas for the above mentioned plan, please let me know.
Sunday they hatched a plot where one of the guys would pretend he had to talk to me about work, luring me out of my chair. As soon as I would get out of my chair, and walk away from my desk, another guy would run over, sit in my chair, and fart. I know. Forty years old going on four. This little prank left me with a dilemma. I didn't want to sit in the fart chair. No one would exchange their chair for the fart chair, unless they farted on their chair first, leaving me still with a farty chair. I tried standing up to do my work, but that just caused more problems, namely...
They also paid the poor guy who cleans our office 30 dirhams (the equivalent of about $9 US) to constantly sweep around my cube (if you guys are reading this, I have moles in your organization). So if I am standing up trying to work on my computer, this guy is constantly behind me with his broom trying to sweep up my feet. He's not exactly right in the head, and finds this riotously funny, because everyone else in the office is like "sweep more!" and "you missed a spot!". I can't get mad at the poor thing, so I have to let him sweep, but it really makes me want to wring the necks of other people who shall not be mentioned here.
They keep raiding my stash of food, eating it, and stuffing paper into the packaging so that I won't know my food is missing until I decide I'm hungry. One enterprising chap took my grapefruit today, ate it (he better have eaten it), and then spent who knows how long retaping the peel together after filling it with little pieces of paper. I pulled the grapefruit out after a meeting and it fell apart, spilling paper pieces all over my desk. Then the guy with the broom came to clean it up. Though, I don't think they were smart enough to coordinate that. I think it was an unplanned outcome of the exploding grapefruit attack.
Today the pranks got a little dangerous when we had a meeting in the downstairs conference room. It has chairs normally screwed into the floor in a row, like a movie theater. I always sit in the front row because I'm a total control freak, and have to get up and fix things as people are drawing diagrams. I am working on not doing this, but it's hard. And the guy drawing today was purposely doing stuff that he knew would upset me, because his group had a nefarious plan.
Every time I got up to fix something today, the clever lad behind me unscrewed one of the screws under my chair. I facilitated this little prank because after I'm done at the computer I always slide across the floor (in my flip flops, on the marble floor, it's fun) until my shin hits the row of chairs where I'm sitting, then I do a little spin and drop ungracefully into my chair. After the last screw was out, when I dropped into my chair, it caused my entire row to fall backwards. I ended up in the lap of the incredible hulk.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
I was so sad I wasn't holding a scalding cup of tea at the time.
What they don't know is that I'm hatching a plan of my own, to be executed the day after I leave for Banff. Then we'll see who gets the last laugh.
Um, if anyone has any ideas for the above mentioned plan, please let me know.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
suspicious, with potato chips
Today was a great day because my unrelationship with hot guy is finally over. After not seeing him for a week I went to the beach today and he showed up in the afternoon with 6 kids in tow. None of them appear to be over the age of 8. I knew he was going to have a billion kids. His wife is even better looking than he is, and he appears to be like typical dads, shuffling the kids over to her when they start crying. Good for her, if she likes doing the shit work.
And, I finally figured out today why he might have been staring at me. He's friends with the guy who runs the gym here. The gym guy, if I were going to describe him as an inanimate object, would be one of the bottom stones in the great pyramid. He's about as wide as he is tall and looks like he could bench press a truck.
I've always thought he was annoyed by me because I'm always making suggestions on the music, how to save energy by turning all the tvs off, better configurations for the gym equipment, etc. But this past week, every time I've gone into the gym, he gets on the treadmill next to me and walks really slowly while staring at me. I finally figured out today that he has a crush on me because I was looking for the scale and he ran and got it for me, and then he stood near the treadmill and picked my towel up off the floor every time I dropped it. So, I think hot guy was staring at me maybe trying to figure out what the gym guy might see in me.
Of course, the gym guy is married, which goes without saying here. The single men here are all migrant workers and Nepalese taxi drivers who want to marry an American so they can get a blue passport.
The good thing is I discovered on the scale at the gym that I've put on 3 pounds in the past two weeks. When I got here I weighed around 120 lbs. After ramadan I was down to 106. Now I'm at 110.
Likely that's because my colleague N introduced me to my new most favorite thing ever, mango frescettas. We get them from this french coffee shop across from the base. They take two mangos and grind them up with ice. It's the best thing ever, although half way through I get a sugar headache and have to take a break from drinking them. I have one every day, though one day I had two. I felt sick and had to lay down.
Though, after the first run to get mango frescettas I was no longer allowed to go pick them up because N got me in trouble. I don't have an official pass to get on the base, but most of the guards just wave me through as long as the driver of the car I'm in doesn't slow down when we get to the gate. But N, for some inexplicable reason, ALWAYS slows down. Usually I can talk my way into the base by showing my temporary pass and smiling.
But, the first time we went to get mango frescettas I only brought money and didn't have my pass. I was sitting in the back of N's car because when I sit up front and can see his driving first hand I'm so terrified I almost have a heart attack (it's never a good thing when N is entering a traffic circle with a billion cars in it going so fast on the turn that the steering wheel is shaking - but, that's a normal occurrence). He thinks it's funny that I sit in the back and calls it "driving miss daisy".
Anyway, I was in the back of the car with my mango drink and a bag of potato chips that I was only supposed to be holding for N. We were approaching the gate and I was like "N, speed up, speed up speed up" because he was slowing down. He did speed up and then suddenly slammed on the brakes when we got to the guard shack. I was like "DUDE, why did you do that???" as the guard approached. N didn't have his pass either. The guard made him get out of the car, and asked him who that suspicious blond was in the back of his car. N said "why do you think she's suspicious?" and the guard said "because she's eating potato chips".
N looked over and started yelling at me for eating his potato chips. I told him I had to because the mango drink was giving me a sugar headache. Then N said that he hadn't had breakfast and now he was going to starve because I ate his potato chips. I handed the bag to him and apologized. The potato chips were from Kuwait and tasted horrible so I didn't want anymore anyway. The guard interrupted us yelling at each other, yelled at both of us to never forget our pass again, and let us go.
Then the project manager got a call about us not having our pass, and said I'm never allowed to get a mango frescetta during work again. Which is fine with me. The less time I spend in N's car the better. Lest you think I exaggerate about his driving, he failed the driving test in the US 7 times and wasn't allowed to take it again. So he took it in Malaysia and failed twice before passing. Then he failed the UAE test, but realized he could get an international driver's license with his Malaysia license and that's what he drives on here. Scary.
And, I finally figured out today why he might have been staring at me. He's friends with the guy who runs the gym here. The gym guy, if I were going to describe him as an inanimate object, would be one of the bottom stones in the great pyramid. He's about as wide as he is tall and looks like he could bench press a truck.
I've always thought he was annoyed by me because I'm always making suggestions on the music, how to save energy by turning all the tvs off, better configurations for the gym equipment, etc. But this past week, every time I've gone into the gym, he gets on the treadmill next to me and walks really slowly while staring at me. I finally figured out today that he has a crush on me because I was looking for the scale and he ran and got it for me, and then he stood near the treadmill and picked my towel up off the floor every time I dropped it. So, I think hot guy was staring at me maybe trying to figure out what the gym guy might see in me.
Of course, the gym guy is married, which goes without saying here. The single men here are all migrant workers and Nepalese taxi drivers who want to marry an American so they can get a blue passport.
The good thing is I discovered on the scale at the gym that I've put on 3 pounds in the past two weeks. When I got here I weighed around 120 lbs. After ramadan I was down to 106. Now I'm at 110.
Likely that's because my colleague N introduced me to my new most favorite thing ever, mango frescettas. We get them from this french coffee shop across from the base. They take two mangos and grind them up with ice. It's the best thing ever, although half way through I get a sugar headache and have to take a break from drinking them. I have one every day, though one day I had two. I felt sick and had to lay down.
Though, after the first run to get mango frescettas I was no longer allowed to go pick them up because N got me in trouble. I don't have an official pass to get on the base, but most of the guards just wave me through as long as the driver of the car I'm in doesn't slow down when we get to the gate. But N, for some inexplicable reason, ALWAYS slows down. Usually I can talk my way into the base by showing my temporary pass and smiling.
But, the first time we went to get mango frescettas I only brought money and didn't have my pass. I was sitting in the back of N's car because when I sit up front and can see his driving first hand I'm so terrified I almost have a heart attack (it's never a good thing when N is entering a traffic circle with a billion cars in it going so fast on the turn that the steering wheel is shaking - but, that's a normal occurrence). He thinks it's funny that I sit in the back and calls it "driving miss daisy".
Anyway, I was in the back of the car with my mango drink and a bag of potato chips that I was only supposed to be holding for N. We were approaching the gate and I was like "N, speed up, speed up speed up" because he was slowing down. He did speed up and then suddenly slammed on the brakes when we got to the guard shack. I was like "DUDE, why did you do that???" as the guard approached. N didn't have his pass either. The guard made him get out of the car, and asked him who that suspicious blond was in the back of his car. N said "why do you think she's suspicious?" and the guard said "because she's eating potato chips".
N looked over and started yelling at me for eating his potato chips. I told him I had to because the mango drink was giving me a sugar headache. Then N said that he hadn't had breakfast and now he was going to starve because I ate his potato chips. I handed the bag to him and apologized. The potato chips were from Kuwait and tasted horrible so I didn't want anymore anyway. The guard interrupted us yelling at each other, yelled at both of us to never forget our pass again, and let us go.
Then the project manager got a call about us not having our pass, and said I'm never allowed to get a mango frescetta during work again. Which is fine with me. The less time I spend in N's car the better. Lest you think I exaggerate about his driving, he failed the driving test in the US 7 times and wasn't allowed to take it again. So he took it in Malaysia and failed twice before passing. Then he failed the UAE test, but realized he could get an international driver's license with his Malaysia license and that's what he drives on here. Scary.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
hot dog
After my outburst yesterday some of my paki colleagues have given me a new nickname, in urdu. It's pronounced "garum kut ti". It means hot dog. I thought this was a reference to me being pink, but it turns out the urdu word for hot dog literally means "dog that is on fire". And, the "ti" ending means a female dog. But, they didn't mean it in a bad way. I told them that I was going to have t-shirts made up with that phrase, and that I would give them each one once they had joined my fan club. I later had to tell them that I was joking about that.
But I was certainly a bitch on fire later in the afternoon when I went all the way to Dubai to get my medical exam for my visa. After my driver tried to take me to a veterinarian clinic, twice, we finally found the right clinic, conveniently located behind a huge shopping mall, with no sign, on a different road than the road the clinic claimed to be on when I called them.
I got in line, and when it was my turn at the desk was told I needed my "papers" to get the exam. I was ushered into the "papers" room, labeled "typist area". They took many photocopies of my passport, and then informed me I couldn't get my exam until I had applied for a residence visa.
That's weird, I thought to myself, because I had been told by my company that I had to get the exam first. Turns out, my company was wrong. So I spent 2 hours of my life that I will never get back driving to Dubai for no reason. I was told to contact my P.R.O. (no idea what that stands for, but they are the liaison between me and the UAE gov) by the person who sent me on the medical exam boondoggle to find out what I was supposed to be doing, which was obviously not getting my medical exam.
The PRO emailed me her mobile number so I could call her. But, she sent me the WRONG number. There was also an office number on her email, but that was out of service. After a while I figured out even though she gave me an area code of 040 I was supposed to call area code 050. Ridiculous.
Then I had to give my taxi driver directions to her office, even though I've never been there before. It's in an area called Internet City. Imagine the largest office park ever. I'll spare you the rest of that story. It's sufficient to say we found it. Eventually. And I learned some bad words in urdu.
The PRO greeted me in the lobby and asked why I hadn't submitted my paperwork 2 weeks ago. Grr. I told her I had TRIED to but was told I couldn't until I got my medical. Then she informed me they couldn't expedite my visa, and that her assistant is on vacation for the next month so she is processing all visas herself.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
european skirmish
Last night I went out with Ireland (never again on a week day will that happen though - I got home at 1 am and woke up this morning at 430 feeling like I had a concussion) and met a friend of her's, M, who is in charge of this big football event thing that is going on in Abu Dhabi. M and I hit it off right away and I told her I would be a volunteer at the event (it's fifo, or something like that, all these soccer teams from all over the world playing in a world cup). She said I get to be security because I have nice arms, and if I have time to do it, will be guarding the soccer players. Ireland was offered a position doing data entry. Hee.
This morning I was planning to sit at my desk all day and draw diagrams quietly, in the hopes my head would feel better. But, a fight broke out between the french and scottish guys I share an office with. One of the french guys used an electric tea kettle belonging to one of the scots. The scot got really mad (though, in the entire time I've been here, I've never once seen him use the kettle, and it's sitting on a communal table) and said some rather inflammatory things about french people in general.
So the french guys started making fun of the scots because for some reason they all wear really squeaky shoes. It's so annoying. You can hear them coming when they are still miles away. One french guy said something about wanting to know where the scots buy their shoes so he would never be seen in such a cheap and horrible place. Then the scot said something about french guys' wives hanging out in cheap and horrible places, but the reference was no longer about shoes.
My old nemesis frog said "darling, your hair makes you look like the incredible hulk" (I admit, I'm the one who first noticed that, and told the frog). The scot, who really does look like the incredible hulk, was so pissed I thought he was going to punch the frog. Then all the scots moved their stuff to one side of the room and kept saying "death to french people". Then the french guys responded by insulting the manhood of the scots. Because of where my desk is, I was literally smack in the middle of this insanity.
Then an englishman joined in on the scots side, so the french kept saying to him "Oh, cook my beef. You are too unsophisticated to eat it raw." More insults to each other's wives and sexual prowess. I should mention, these are MEN, all around my age, or older. And though it comes across here as joking, it was actually quite tense. And it was making it VERY hard for me to get any work done.
Finally one of the french guys took my lighter off my desk because he was going to set fire to something on a scot's desk, since the scots had decamped to the conference room to complain more about the french. I'd had enough, and when the scots came back to find a smoldering paper on the incredible hulk's desk, at which point they threatened to kill the french by means that I don't think would have been physically possible, I stood up and yelled "If you (explicative deleted) guys don't (explicative deleted) sit the (explicative deleted) down and do some (explicative deleted) work instead of (explicative deleted) running your (explicative deleted) mouths, I am (explicative deleted) going to (explicative deleted) scream !" Though, at that point, I think I was kind of screaming. Absolute silence descended. I stomped out of the room to take a breather because, even though I wasn't even part of the skirmish, I felt like punching someone.
While I was standing outside trying to not scream, the two muslim men who had been in the room came out. I apologized to them because I had used profanity. This caused one of them to get a big smile on his face. He said "You know, when you first got here, you were so nice and trying to be gentle. Everyone thought you were afraid of us. Now we see you, and we are afraid of you. No one will ever wish for you to be their wife again."
Then he shook my hand and said "(explicative deleted) europeans".
We could have our own reality show here.
This morning I was planning to sit at my desk all day and draw diagrams quietly, in the hopes my head would feel better. But, a fight broke out between the french and scottish guys I share an office with. One of the french guys used an electric tea kettle belonging to one of the scots. The scot got really mad (though, in the entire time I've been here, I've never once seen him use the kettle, and it's sitting on a communal table) and said some rather inflammatory things about french people in general.
So the french guys started making fun of the scots because for some reason they all wear really squeaky shoes. It's so annoying. You can hear them coming when they are still miles away. One french guy said something about wanting to know where the scots buy their shoes so he would never be seen in such a cheap and horrible place. Then the scot said something about french guys' wives hanging out in cheap and horrible places, but the reference was no longer about shoes.
My old nemesis frog said "darling, your hair makes you look like the incredible hulk" (I admit, I'm the one who first noticed that, and told the frog). The scot, who really does look like the incredible hulk, was so pissed I thought he was going to punch the frog. Then all the scots moved their stuff to one side of the room and kept saying "death to french people". Then the french guys responded by insulting the manhood of the scots. Because of where my desk is, I was literally smack in the middle of this insanity.
Then an englishman joined in on the scots side, so the french kept saying to him "Oh, cook my beef. You are too unsophisticated to eat it raw." More insults to each other's wives and sexual prowess. I should mention, these are MEN, all around my age, or older. And though it comes across here as joking, it was actually quite tense. And it was making it VERY hard for me to get any work done.
Finally one of the french guys took my lighter off my desk because he was going to set fire to something on a scot's desk, since the scots had decamped to the conference room to complain more about the french. I'd had enough, and when the scots came back to find a smoldering paper on the incredible hulk's desk, at which point they threatened to kill the french by means that I don't think would have been physically possible, I stood up and yelled "If you (explicative deleted) guys don't (explicative deleted) sit the (explicative deleted) down and do some (explicative deleted) work instead of (explicative deleted) running your (explicative deleted) mouths, I am (explicative deleted) going to (explicative deleted) scream !" Though, at that point, I think I was kind of screaming. Absolute silence descended. I stomped out of the room to take a breather because, even though I wasn't even part of the skirmish, I felt like punching someone.
While I was standing outside trying to not scream, the two muslim men who had been in the room came out. I apologized to them because I had used profanity. This caused one of them to get a big smile on his face. He said "You know, when you first got here, you were so nice and trying to be gentle. Everyone thought you were afraid of us. Now we see you, and we are afraid of you. No one will ever wish for you to be their wife again."
Then he shook my hand and said "(explicative deleted) europeans".
We could have our own reality show here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
