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.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
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.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
the OTHER beach story from yesterday
I wasn't going to mention this incident, but since certain individuals that I work with who read my blog have threatened to leave comments about this "incident". I've decided to tell the story before someone else does.
There's a hot guy at my hotel. I used to call him the spaniard but recent evidence suggests he's actually lebanese. For purposes of the story, he'll be hg. He's been at the hotel since I got here, and he works out in the gym around the same time I do, and I always see him at the beach. This guy is so hot that I noticed him immediately the first day I was at the gym (harbinger of things to come - the first day I saw him he walked by me and I dropped a weight on my toe). Also, I've seen him in a bathing suit so I know there's no "surprises" about him, e.g. the hairiest back ever.
I mentioned him in passing to a guy I work with at the base because aforementioned guy was trying to set me up on a date with someone. I really, really hate people trying to play matchmaker because they always think some idiot cousin of theirs with no hair or muscle tone would be a good match for me because we're both single. I politely declined the offer and said I was interested in hg.
Well, all you have to do is tell one person something on the base and then everyone knows. People in my office starting asking me what was up with hg. The truth is, I just wanted to look at him, and had no desire to talk to him in case he's a moron. But, the longer time has gone on, the more pressure people put on me to talk to him.
So, last week I decided to say hi to him in the gym for the purposes of reporting status back to my office. But, he didn't come to the gym all week. I was sure he was gone from the hotel, breathed a sigh of relief that I managed to avoid yet another attempt at a relationship, and that was that.
But then on Friday, while I was cleaning off my flip flops in this little sunken pool thing because I was done swimming, I spied hg walking by himself on the stone path that goes around the beach. He was about 30 feet in front of me. It's the first time I've ever seen him alone as he's usually with this group of equally good looking guys (but, I like him the best). Since I was leaving the beach I had this big beach bag with me that had two full bottles of water, two rather large books, my swim stuff, and a towel. Visualize a big and bulky bag, tucked under my arm.
I got this surge of adrenaline, and as he got closer I took a quick step towards him to kind of get in front of him on the path before he went by me. Unfortunately, I forgot I was standing in the sunken pool, and tripped, practically face planting right in front of him. Then my beach bag swung around and hit me in the face. I got up as quickly as I could and ran in the other direction before he had time to say anything to me.
I saw him at the gym on Thursday, walking in as I was walking out, but, I was walking out because I had to puke, so I didn't have time to stop and say hi (gym was insanely hot and I drank way too much water before deciding to do some sprints on the treadmill - stupid mistake - that always makes me puke). As I was explaining this to Ireland later in the evening she said that she was going to come to my hotel and track hg down if I didn't do something.
Friday I was at the beach when hg showed up with his friends. They were sitting about 40 feet away from me, next to the beach bar, which is currently being renovated. Hg was standing by himself, again, and I thought maybe he was looking at me. I texted Ireland and she told me to put my phone down and go over to him IMMEDIATELY. Then she said "I want scandal in the office on Sunday! Go get him!"
I made my way carefully towards him, focusing on not tripping, when I was suddenly cut off by this 20 something french girl. She threw her towel down on a beach chair positioned as kind of a dmz between me and hg, and then proceeded to take her top off.
All of hg's friends swarmed her chair and started talking to her. That's when I realized hg speaks french (and I heard him speaking arabic and english in the gym, thus the guess that he is in fact lebanese). I sent Ireland a text explaining what happened, and went for a swim. When I came back someone had yelled at the french tart to put her top back on (total no no to go topless here), and I thought maybe I could get hg's attention. But then this guy showed up with a yellow canoe and hg and his friends started talking to canoe guy. I sent Ireland a message that the situation was hopeless as I'm not as interesting as a topless french girl or a yellow canoe. I gave up talking to him, slumped onto my beach chair, and started reading the new yorker.
Lance showed up, and we were hanging out, and I was telling him about hg. Suddenly, and I am NOT making this up, Lance ran out from under my chair and ran under hg's chair. Then he started crying really loudly. I sent a text to Ireland saying Lance, the little kitty genius, had found a way for me to talk to hg. I started walking over to hg's chair to retrieve Lance, on the same stone path as the previous week's disaster.
Unfortunately, in the time I had spent texting Ireland, a billion little kids from the pool had run over and surrounded hg's chair. I was so focused on Lance, and trying to figure out how to get all those kids out of my way so I could talk to hg, that I failed to notice a foot tall pile of tiles that were being used to renovate the pool bar.
I tripped right over them and once again fell in front of hg. But this time was worse, because the tiles falling over made a lot of noise, and the guys working on the bar saw me and kept going "Oh my god! Are you okay?!?!?" and making a big production. I was like "um, I'm fine" even though the top of my foot was sliced to shreds. I got up and tried to, with some dignity, walk back to my chair but my foot was gushing blood and one of the workers was yelling after me "you should go get a tetanus shot!"
When it seemed matters could not get any worse, they did. A little indian fellow, who cleans up trash on the beach, started following me down the stone path with this huge blue bucket full of water, trying to wipe the blood from my foot up with this little white cloth. Well, he would splash around in the bucket, take a few swipes at my bloody footprints with the cloth flying all around, and then he would pick up the bucket and run as fast as he could, which, frankly, was unnecessary, to wipe the next bloody footprint.
I was totally humiliated, and Lance must have been too, because I didn't see him the rest of the afternoon. As soon as my foot stopped bleeding I decided to leave the beach, making sure to use the flip flop cleaning pool located as far as possible from hg.
When I got into N's car to go to the base this morning, he was like "gross! what happened to your foot?" Why I told him the truth, I will never know. And now everyone knows.
I just got a text message from N about 15 minutes ago that said "fastest thumbs in the west but the slowest toes in the east - pls watch where you step".
Sigh...
There's a hot guy at my hotel. I used to call him the spaniard but recent evidence suggests he's actually lebanese. For purposes of the story, he'll be hg. He's been at the hotel since I got here, and he works out in the gym around the same time I do, and I always see him at the beach. This guy is so hot that I noticed him immediately the first day I was at the gym (harbinger of things to come - the first day I saw him he walked by me and I dropped a weight on my toe). Also, I've seen him in a bathing suit so I know there's no "surprises" about him, e.g. the hairiest back ever.
I mentioned him in passing to a guy I work with at the base because aforementioned guy was trying to set me up on a date with someone. I really, really hate people trying to play matchmaker because they always think some idiot cousin of theirs with no hair or muscle tone would be a good match for me because we're both single. I politely declined the offer and said I was interested in hg.
Well, all you have to do is tell one person something on the base and then everyone knows. People in my office starting asking me what was up with hg. The truth is, I just wanted to look at him, and had no desire to talk to him in case he's a moron. But, the longer time has gone on, the more pressure people put on me to talk to him.
So, last week I decided to say hi to him in the gym for the purposes of reporting status back to my office. But, he didn't come to the gym all week. I was sure he was gone from the hotel, breathed a sigh of relief that I managed to avoid yet another attempt at a relationship, and that was that.
But then on Friday, while I was cleaning off my flip flops in this little sunken pool thing because I was done swimming, I spied hg walking by himself on the stone path that goes around the beach. He was about 30 feet in front of me. It's the first time I've ever seen him alone as he's usually with this group of equally good looking guys (but, I like him the best). Since I was leaving the beach I had this big beach bag with me that had two full bottles of water, two rather large books, my swim stuff, and a towel. Visualize a big and bulky bag, tucked under my arm.
I got this surge of adrenaline, and as he got closer I took a quick step towards him to kind of get in front of him on the path before he went by me. Unfortunately, I forgot I was standing in the sunken pool, and tripped, practically face planting right in front of him. Then my beach bag swung around and hit me in the face. I got up as quickly as I could and ran in the other direction before he had time to say anything to me.
I saw him at the gym on Thursday, walking in as I was walking out, but, I was walking out because I had to puke, so I didn't have time to stop and say hi (gym was insanely hot and I drank way too much water before deciding to do some sprints on the treadmill - stupid mistake - that always makes me puke). As I was explaining this to Ireland later in the evening she said that she was going to come to my hotel and track hg down if I didn't do something.
Friday I was at the beach when hg showed up with his friends. They were sitting about 40 feet away from me, next to the beach bar, which is currently being renovated. Hg was standing by himself, again, and I thought maybe he was looking at me. I texted Ireland and she told me to put my phone down and go over to him IMMEDIATELY. Then she said "I want scandal in the office on Sunday! Go get him!"
I made my way carefully towards him, focusing on not tripping, when I was suddenly cut off by this 20 something french girl. She threw her towel down on a beach chair positioned as kind of a dmz between me and hg, and then proceeded to take her top off.
All of hg's friends swarmed her chair and started talking to her. That's when I realized hg speaks french (and I heard him speaking arabic and english in the gym, thus the guess that he is in fact lebanese). I sent Ireland a text explaining what happened, and went for a swim. When I came back someone had yelled at the french tart to put her top back on (total no no to go topless here), and I thought maybe I could get hg's attention. But then this guy showed up with a yellow canoe and hg and his friends started talking to canoe guy. I sent Ireland a message that the situation was hopeless as I'm not as interesting as a topless french girl or a yellow canoe. I gave up talking to him, slumped onto my beach chair, and started reading the new yorker.
Lance showed up, and we were hanging out, and I was telling him about hg. Suddenly, and I am NOT making this up, Lance ran out from under my chair and ran under hg's chair. Then he started crying really loudly. I sent a text to Ireland saying Lance, the little kitty genius, had found a way for me to talk to hg. I started walking over to hg's chair to retrieve Lance, on the same stone path as the previous week's disaster.
Unfortunately, in the time I had spent texting Ireland, a billion little kids from the pool had run over and surrounded hg's chair. I was so focused on Lance, and trying to figure out how to get all those kids out of my way so I could talk to hg, that I failed to notice a foot tall pile of tiles that were being used to renovate the pool bar.
I tripped right over them and once again fell in front of hg. But this time was worse, because the tiles falling over made a lot of noise, and the guys working on the bar saw me and kept going "Oh my god! Are you okay?!?!?" and making a big production. I was like "um, I'm fine" even though the top of my foot was sliced to shreds. I got up and tried to, with some dignity, walk back to my chair but my foot was gushing blood and one of the workers was yelling after me "you should go get a tetanus shot!"
When it seemed matters could not get any worse, they did. A little indian fellow, who cleans up trash on the beach, started following me down the stone path with this huge blue bucket full of water, trying to wipe the blood from my foot up with this little white cloth. Well, he would splash around in the bucket, take a few swipes at my bloody footprints with the cloth flying all around, and then he would pick up the bucket and run as fast as he could, which, frankly, was unnecessary, to wipe the next bloody footprint.
I was totally humiliated, and Lance must have been too, because I didn't see him the rest of the afternoon. As soon as my foot stopped bleeding I decided to leave the beach, making sure to use the flip flop cleaning pool located as far as possible from hg.
When I got into N's car to go to the base this morning, he was like "gross! what happened to your foot?" Why I told him the truth, I will never know. And now everyone knows.
I just got a text message from N about 15 minutes ago that said "fastest thumbs in the west but the slowest toes in the east - pls watch where you step".
Sigh...
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