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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

I may never see my passport again, which is bad, because I'm supposed to be leaving for Canada in a few weeks. My ulcer was kicking into full gear when I got back to the hotel, and saw my horoscope for the day:

I guess, cosmically, everything is okay.

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.

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...