Lance comes to the beach

I was laying on a chair at the beach today, reading back issues of the new yorker, when I heard someone crying. I looked around, and there was Lancelot, whom I haven't seen for two weeks. I was like "dude, come here!" because he was hiding in the bushes about 15 feet away from me.

He ran over to me and then crawled under my chair (the sand is insanely hot). Then he put his head in my beach bag to see if I had any cheese (it was under there because that's the only shade on the beach). I didn't, so he looked at me and started crying again. I was like "fine, I'll go get you some cheese". I went to my room and when I came back he had taken a bite out of a few pages of my new yorker. I was like "dude, that's totally not cool". He smirked back at me and waved his tail like "hurry up and open the cheese!"
I put his cheese on a little plastic lid and he knocked it into the sand and started crying. I had to brush the sand off with my beach towel before he would eat it. I noticed one of his teeth looks a little messed up, but I don't know if I'll be able to convince him to go to a kitty dentist.

I went for a swim and when I came back Lance had bitten some holes in my water bottle and was drinking it. Luckily I had another bottle, so I let him keep that one. It was nice to have him to hang out with. I was laying on my stomach on the chair with the new yorker in the sand, and every time a breeze would blow and the pages would start to ruffle I would see this little white and orange paw come out from under the chair to smack down the page.

He might be a brat, but he's also helpful when he wants to be.

the making, and breaking, of planets

The children of my colleague were in the office the other day, waiting for him to get done with a meeting because they were going to Dubai. The boy is 4 and his sister is 7. My colleague is always, always running late. So when I saw the kids in the lobby of our office, looking bored, I asked them if they wanted to make a planet with me.

Of course they did. What kid wouldn't want to make a planet? We went into the kitchen and took the glass plate and that little rotating ring thingy out of the microwave (the tea boy looked on, fear in his eyes). Then we got some binder clips out of the supply closet (no one uses paper clips here, weird, they didn't use them in Greece, either). Finally we took some paper out of the trash next to the printer, and headed to the conference room.

We spent a few minutes making space debris by wrinkling up the paper into balls. Boy seemed to really enjoy that. Then we put the space debris on the microwave plate so we would have our solar belt. An argument ensued between Boy and Girl, because they both wanted to be the sun, but then I convinced Girl that being the space debris manager was a much harder job, so she finally agreed to do that. While I was selling Girl on the management position, Boy was practicing making sun noises. He did a good job of sounding like the sun.

We got our solar belt rotating, and then Boy, playing the sun, started having sun flashes and knocking the space debris out of its orderly orbit and into other space debris. Girl did her best to keep up, but she's very methodical, and it was taking over a minute for her to combine to bits of space debris together with the binder clips because she wanted it to look nice. Meanwhile the sun was going crazy with sun flashes, and spinning the microwave plate way too fast. I explained to Girl that no planet is perfect in shape, and that they are more interesting for being not perfect in shape, and we were able to continue on at a faster pace.

Finally, all the space debris had been joined up. Girl was holding this mash up of wadded paper and binder clips. Boy was interested in seeing it, but luckily did not try to grab it away from her. His hands were busy still spinning the microwave plate.

"Behold," I said, "the planet you created!"

Now, most people might be excited for at least 5 minutes after creating a planet. But, kids have a shorter attention span than that. So, after naming the planet ("Dog" because they both want a pet dog), I realized they were getting bored and that perhaps the microwave plate was going to get broken.

So I asked them if their planet was going to be dense or light. They wanted dense. Then I created another planet, out of one piece of space debris, and said mine was a light planet, and then I was going to show them how these planets could orbit, except that they took this as an opportunity to chase me. So we started running around the conference room with our planets, and I started to worry because there are a lot of power strips laying on the floor, and most of them give off sparks because they aren't fully plugged in to the wall sockets, and I didn't want anyone to get an electric shock or trip, so I thought it might be time for a location change.

My planet, coming to the end of a conference room rotation, near the door, said "this galaxy is too scary, I'm going to another galaxy somewhere else where planets aren't trying to crash into me". Then I ran out of the conference room, but not before slowing down the killer planet Dog by closing the door after I exited. I dashed across the lobby, ran into my office, and hid under the desk.

By this point I could hear the planet Dog, more clever than I, slowly walking across the lobby so as to not get yelled at for running in the office. I could hear them whispering in the hall, trying to figure out where I was, so my planet said "I like this galaxy a lot better, because no planet is trying to get me". Boy and Girl ran into my room and I jumped out from under the desk, brandishing my planet. They both shrieked, and then Boy slapped my planet out of my hand. It landed on the floor and was flattened by Boy's sandal. Girl participated in the destruction too, grinding the little paper wad ridges down with her fabulous low heeled sparkly pink shoes.

"This is a cosmic catastrophe!" I said. I picked my planet up and pretended it was crying.

Girl told my planet that it could be part of planet Dog if it would just stop crying. So my planet stopped crying and we tried to fasten it on to planet Dog. But it was crushed so badly the fastening wasn't working. We finally folded my planet up and put it inside their planet (this can actually happen in real life).

Meanwhile, my colleague had walked into the office. He was giving me that look like what in the hell are you doing besides teaching my kids to run around the office? They showed him their planet. I think he was expecting something a little more, I don't know, stylish. He wanted them to throw it away but they wouldn't. He growled at me "I don't want that thing in the car" because he's a super neat freak (worse than me, even). I said I would keep the planet in my galaxy until they came back to the office and that it might get lonely not being with other planets. Girl said "But we can make more planets at home". My colleague looked even more unhappy.

Anyway, last I saw of planet Dog, it was leaving my galaxy and heading off to another galaxy far, far away. I got a text from my colleague last night. Boy is still making noises, pretending to be the sun, and Girl keeps saying "this is a cosmic catastrophe" every time the littlest thing goes wrong.

two burners

Today I was reading an article in a back issue of the new yorker (thanks mom for fed exing! even though I know you never read my blog!) written by David Sedaris. He was talking about this succeed in your career seminar. The woman giving the seminar said people should imagine their life as a four burner stove. The burners are: family, career, health, and friends. At any one time, only two burners can be going at the same time.

I thought that was really interesting because I've been having a bit of a life crisis lately because all I do is work and work out. Even though I thought my assignment in the middle east was going to be less stress and work, it's the same as in the US except that I don't have to fly (thought about going to Muscat or Petra this weekend, but then was like I have to work, and if I went I'd have to get on a plane). Some of my colleagues here think I'm crazy, but I can't stand having something work related looming over my head. Even if I took a day off I wouldn't enjoy it because I would be stressing the whole time about getting my work done.

I guess I'm lucky in a way that my family and friends are geographically dispersed, so they don't expect to see me that much. I actually do pretty good on email though some of my friends don't like that and want me to call them. I never call because I'm always busy working.

I don't know. I've punted things in my career to try to make a relationship work. But the end result is always the same. It drives the pakis that I work with nuts that I am not married and won't even meet their single friends (single, I'm sure, for a reason). I had a long conversation the other night in the office with Dr. T, who was almost thrown out of his family for marrying a european woman. He was going on blah blah blah and finally I was like dude, I have no idea where anyone else in my life will be in 6 months. All I can worry about is where I'm going to be.

The weird thing is, this seems to be working, in some ways, in my favor. A relationship I had that imploded due to my job/master's degree/cancer has come full circle and I'm friends with the guy. And I can't say that for most of my ex boyfriends. And most of my US friends send me supportive emails and pictures to get me through some of the shit show experiences I'm having here.

Maybe some day my priorities will change. After putting in a 16 hour work day on my "saturday" (even though it's friday) all I can think of is laying on a chair tomorrow listening to the waves coming in on the beach.

Though I know, in the back of my mind, I'll be stressing about getting all my stories in order for Banff. Thank allah for sand on the beach. Otherwise I'd be sitting under an umbrella pecking away at the keyboard.

get rich or die trying

Today I learned a valuable lesson, which is never ever ever, ever, go to the co-op on Friday (which is actually Saturday in most countries, but, I forgot since I was at work today). The traffic in there was worse than the traffic going from the base to Abu Dhabi. I actually glared at a woman who cut in front of me in line with a shopping cart full of produce, when I only had a bag of tangerines and nectarines to get weighed. My death stare must have frightened her because she moved and then apologized, and that never happens here, as people don't really understand the concept of orderly queuing.

That was probably karmic payment for the silliness I've been up to lately. Now that the gov guys are talking to me, they want me to teach them American things. So I've been educating them in gangster parlance. I taught them the concept of OPP, which they liked a lot. I taught them the expression "don't be a playa hater", though they don't always use it appropriately:

me: I'm going to the kitchen for tea, does anyone need anything?
customer: Don't be a playa hater. Bring me an orange juice.

Some of their favorite expressions include:
"I wasn't born a hustler, I was birthin them"
"This ain't TV but I'll show you what a fear factor is"
"I'm expressin with my full capabilities, and now I'm living in correctional facilities"
"Oh look how he's rapping, look how he's collapsin"
"I want y'all to reach in your (edited for them because I don't want to use bad words) pockets and pay me some (edited for them because I don't want to use bad words) attention"

And, after sitting through a few breakfast "meetings" (during which I'm getting an ulcer because I have a lot of work to do but am spending quality time with the customer instead), I was asked what the US gov says when a meeting has ended. This question was posed after I impolitely left to go work on architecture. I told them that every meeting ends with the top ranking officer saying "get rich or die trying". They loved it.

Okay, most of the US military doesn't say that at the end of meetings. But the cool guys do.

america's most wanted

My etiquette handbook is really lacking for the situations I find myself in. For example, when my customer invited me to go shoot RPGs tomorrow, I really wasn't sure how to respond. So I said maybe we should stick to guns and archery. The customer said "oh, but it's so much easier to hit the target with an RPG". When my manager got wind of this invite, he said I couldn't go. I can't say I'm too disappointed.

And today, I accidentally stuck my hand out to the wrong guy, and was completely humiliated by his reaction. This happened in a group of my customers. I apologized profusely but then one told me afterwards not to worry about it. I would like to point out that my etiquette book SAID I should offer my hand first as most ME men will not take the initiative. That was completely wrong, and in fact it's the opposite. I'm supposed to wait until they offer their hand to me.

And, I'm never quite sure what to do when people bring me things. One of the frogs has started calling me "the don" because people bring food to my desk all the time (today I was brought a Thai banana from a frog, a normal banana from a brit who gets fresh fruit at his hotel, a sandwich from one of the officers who doesn't even work in my building and whom I've met once, a bag of sesame sticks, a breakfast bar, and a coke). He jokes that he is my tea boy, and made a big production in the office the other day, shifting my tea cup around saying "Today, she wants her tea here. Tomorrow, if she is not happy, I will move her tea here. And every day I will clean her desk." The tea boy in our office cleans my desk every morning and then arranges my cup exactly where it was when he started cleaning my desk. I don't know why he does this. He doesn't clean anyone else's desk. Maybe because my desk is always sticky from eating grapefruit.

I've started calling the frog that fixed my hotel room, and that pretends to be my tea boy, "Cheeky". He calls me "darling" (well, he calls everyone darling). I've nicknamed one of my colleagues "gangsta" and the other one "kid Texas". The brits call me blondie, the MEs are all starting to call me Freddie, and the scots, I just found out today, refer to me as "america's most wanted". Who knew they were fans of Ice Cube.

My etiquette book, BTW, says that nicknames are considered inappropriate since they are normally reserved for family because they are considered too informal for outsiders.

the boy's club

Today I was summoned to this AF guy's office. I was surprised, and a little apprehensive, as the officers avoid me like the plague unless they have to talk to me. Except for the 3 secretaries I'm the only woman in the building, the only woman in western dress, and I'm taller than most of the men I work with.

I walked into the office and there were four other guys there. I was invited to sit down, and given a large glass of watermelon juice. Then a tea boy came in and gave everyone else orange juice. The AF guy told me that he had heard I like watermelon (probably from the meat sandwich incident) and he had sent someone out to get it for me.

I tried to discuss something I've been working on, but the officer finally told me to chill. He just wanted to hang out. It was kind of strange because people kept coming in to his office to get papers signed and permissions for things and we were all just sitting there while he yelled at people and refused to sign forms.

Then I was given a hummus wrap. The officer asked if I knew what hummus was. I launched into a description of the different places I buy hummus in the US. He asked if I was scared to be in his country. I told him I wasn't, and that I wanted to go rock climbing in a particular area which, by coincidence, is where he is from, though most people never visit there because it's really remote and considered the back water. Brownie points.

There was another officer there who apparently thought I was british, who launched into a diatribe about americans who come to this country. Then someone else pointed out I obviously am not british. I told the officer that I enjoyed his diatribe, and that he should have his own TV show. This was surprisingly the right thing to say. I also nicknamed him the Rock because I couldn't really pronounce his name. More brownie points.

After about an hour I said that I had to get some work done. The officers invited me to go shooting with them. But they shoot not just guns but RPGs. I was like I don't think I should shoot an RPG and one of the officers said "they are much easier to hit targets with than guns".

So, somehow, I suspect because of my colleague AH, I've been inducted into the boys' club at the base. They apparently frequent the restaurants at my hotel so I'll probably meet up with them one night. Weirdly, I think rock climbing is what made them think I might be more fun to hang out with than the average girl. They want to learn.

As I was leaving, the officer who invited me up said if I ever have any problems to call him. Since I am scheduled to go out for ladies' night with Ireland and her UK friends, I thought it wouldn't hurt to have an ace in my back pocket.

french high five

These days, I am perplexed and a bit confused by the world in which I live.

Take, for example, my hotel odyssey this weekend. Every day, for three days starting Thursday night, my hotel would call me and say that they had expected me to check out, even though, in the system, my reservation clearly shows I am at this hotel until I leave for Banff at the end of October. When I would go down to the front desk to try to sort the matter, I was told they could only check me in for one more day, and the next day the process would be repeated (going to the front desk, having my credit card imprint taken, closing the previous day's bill, having my passport re-copied, getting new keys, having the towel boy stop by my room to see if I needed fresh towels, and then the annoying phone call from the manager welcoming me to the hotel).

I was complaining about this at work on Sunday, when I discovered one of the frogs I work with knows the general manager of my hotel (all the frogs here know each other). He called the GM, got my reservation sorted, and even got me invited to the nicest restaurant in my hotel for a private dinner with the GM. Since I have all my hotel room phones stuffed in the bedside table drawers because I really don't like phones, I missed that invite. But still. I was amazed the frog tried to help me.

Then, today, he brought me a "surprise" of "sweeties". The "sweeties" were these miniature Thai bananas that are sort of dried out, but they still look like miniature bananas. They are covered in something brown, which isn't honey, or sugar. Maybe I don't want to know what the brown stuff is. But it's mildly sweet, and the bananas were really good.

Being somewhat suspicious of the frogs being nice to me, I headed into a meeting this afternoon with the one who brought me the bananas. It was supposed to be only an hour, but ended up being almost three hours. We worked out some strategic issues on a new project, and then, at the end, he said, in french, my hat is off to you. The only reason I knew what he was saying is because of reading a version of cat in the hat with a french translation that went along with the english. Then the frog gave me a high five.

The french, they are such an odd group. They bring you nice snacks and then try to kill you. They're moody, prone to strange pronunciations, and think the entire US is built on a foundation of chicken wire.

But every once in a while, you get along with them. And that's nice.