I knew it would be an adventure to go to Jordan with Ireland.
Last night I met up with Ireland in Dubai. We had to fly out to Petra at 8 am, so we swore we would just go out to dinner and then go to bed early (we were crashing at a friend's place). 11:30 rolled around, and we were still at this restaurant/bar called Barasti. I knew, in the cab home, that in 5 hours I would not be having a pleasant time.
Woke up with a hangover, got on the flight, and 4 hours later we landed in Jordan. Luckily Ireland changed some money when we arrived so that we could buy visas. I kept telling her she was wasting her time as there was sure to be an ATM after we got through customs. There wasn't. Then we had to faff around with the rental car guys for over an hour to get our car (which is a nice car, a Peugeot, that's manual, hooray! we call it the grey ghost). The idiots did not fill the car with gas, so as we left the airport the tank was on empty. The one thing they did do was give us a GPS. And they warned us that the road to Petra might be closed. I was like "Why?" and the guy said "Much snow". Ireland and I looked at each other. He said "You are not the only white visitors we are happy to see".
"No probs on the gas", I said to Ireland. "We'll just stop at the first petrol station." That was a bit further from the airport than I thought it would be. I was actually getting worried. The station had one pump and only took cash. If Ireland hadn't changed money we would be sitting on the side of the Dead Sea Highway with a car that didn't run. Though, it took us a while to explain that we wanted gas for the car. You'd think the guys at that station had never seen tourists. The whole time he was filling the tank we were getting hammered with rain. I was like this could be an eventful road trip.
As we made it 50K from Petra, with rain, and some fog, but no snow, we started joking around that the guy was wrong about the snow. Then I took the turn off for Petra. Suddenly, we went from a multi-lane highway to a winding mountain road. We started seeing snow. I was like, hm, I hope this car is front wheel drive. We got to a stretch of the road where the snow was over a foot deep. Ireland and I were like "you have got to be f*king kidding!" I was wearing flip flops and a fleece. Ireland was wearing a thin sweater. I was worried the car would go off the road and we would have to push it out in our pathetic UAE appropriate clothes.
When it seemed things couldn't get any more sporty, fog set in. I literally could not see more than 5 feet in front of the car. The wind was blowing us around on the snow and I skated, more than drove, the road. I came around a bank of snow some guys had made clearing the road manually with shovels. Some idiots (Ireland called them muppets) had left their car in the middle of the road, without their lights on, and were taking pictures in the snow. The car was white. It's a miracle I didn't hit it. Ireland started to get aggro with the woman on our GPS, who kept advising us "Follow the direction of the road" as I was sliding around trying to keep the car on the road. Finally Ireland screamed "shut up you stupid tit!" to the GPS and then she ripped it off the windscreen. I was like "I will kill you if you throw the GPS out the window!" because it appeared she was about to do just that. The GPS did not get thrown out the window. We left it in the car tonight and it's probably frozen solid.
Eventually we made it to Petra and our hotel, which is fab. My room overlooks the ruins, but the wind is howling so loudly outside it seems like there's a hurricane about to blow everything away. Ireland got a room on the opposite wing and it's quieter, but without the view.
We thought to go down to the ruins but it there was torrential rain and the wind was blowing so hard that it hurt to stand in it. The guys at the hotel advised us to wait until tomorrow as Petra is a canyon and not the place to be when it's raining/windy. Instead we went into town and bought two absolutely hideous hats (we're calling them our Petra caps) and a fleece for Ireland who didn't bring a jacket (though she has 5 tank tops, because apparently she didn't believe the weather forecast that said it was 36 degrees F here). As we walked through the streets cars would honk at us. A guy approached us as we headed to the only ATM in Petra and he said "I love you! I am so glad you're here! Please stay with me because I love you!" Ireland said "It's nice to arrive somewhere and have an instant fan club".
We drove around for a bit more, but it was starting to snow/sleet so we went back to the hotel. Every time we got out of the car to take a picture the wind was so strong we could barely walk. We decided to get a facial. Weirdly, I think the woman at the spa thought we were a couple because she booked our facials at the same time, in the same room. That was a recipe for disaster. I laughed hysterically through my facial. Ireland kept saying "You aren't taking our couples therapy seriously!"
The woman and man doing the facials were trying not to laugh at us. At one point we both had this green sludge on our faces, and this Carpenter's song came on. I don't know what the name of it is, but it has a refrain that goes "sha la la la". Ireland sang the refrain very quietly and I could not stop laughing. They turned the music to a different track, which was a christmas song, and I laughed even harder. Then this woman was scrubbing my face with something and I said "Is that Dead Sea Salt?" and I don't know why, but that made Ireland and I laugh more. When she started massaging my face she did this thing where she was wiggling my nose, and at that point I went into hysterics and could not stop laughing for the rest of the facial, even after she slapped me hard on the shoulder and said "You! Need! To! Relax!" Ireland said she will never do a spa treatment with me again because I laughed too much. And, Ireland waited until we got to dinner to tell me I had green face mask all over the rim of my right nostril. Gross.
We had a great dinner, and I was propositioned by a bedouin, who told Ireland he would give her 20 camels and a trunk of gold for me. We teased him and then he said he would show us the gold. Ireland got excited, but I was like "I don't think I want to live in a tent". Then the bedouin said that he drinks two cups of camel milk every day because it improves his "virility" and that's how he has 3 wives. He wanted me to meet him tomorrow to drink camel milk. Also, he said that I am responsible for bringing the worst weather ever to Petra, but that he wants to keep me because I make it rain (could be true, they've had record rain fall in Abu Dhabi this year also).
I told him I couldn't go unless he promised I could have a glass of wine every night. Wrong thing to say. Turns out he makes wine. Ech.
If I'm never heard from again, assume either I've blown away in the canyon at the Petra site, or that Ireland has sold me to bedouins and is now the happy owner of 20 camels.
Tomorrow should be an exciting tour through Petra. I hope.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
sand storm
It wouldn’t have been fair for me to be in the UAE for so long without experiencing a sand storm.
Today I woke up to a loud wind. I looked outside and the trees around the merid were leaning in the wind. The air was so full of sand and dirt that it was almost like a fog. I walked down the street and spent 20 minutes trying to find a cab. It was hideous. I got to work and washed my face but my clothes were covered with sandy dust.
Then at lunch texas kid and I walked to lunch and the wind was blowing so hard it almost knocked me over. I got sand in my eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. It was disgusting. Everyone is walking around looking dusty. The floor of the office building is treacherous because of the mix of sand and marble tile. I’ve almost slipped twice on the stairs.
The wind seems to be getting worse. I’m heading to Dubai in a few hours because I fly from there to Jordan tomorrow. I hope the weather improves.
I don’t like sand storms.
Today I woke up to a loud wind. I looked outside and the trees around the merid were leaning in the wind. The air was so full of sand and dirt that it was almost like a fog. I walked down the street and spent 20 minutes trying to find a cab. It was hideous. I got to work and washed my face but my clothes were covered with sandy dust.
Then at lunch texas kid and I walked to lunch and the wind was blowing so hard it almost knocked me over. I got sand in my eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. It was disgusting. Everyone is walking around looking dusty. The floor of the office building is treacherous because of the mix of sand and marble tile. I’ve almost slipped twice on the stairs.
The wind seems to be getting worse. I’m heading to Dubai in a few hours because I fly from there to Jordan tomorrow. I hope the weather improves.
I don’t like sand storms.
Friday, January 29, 2010
creative management
I've been mentoring two guys at work, trying to train them to teach classes. They are both not serious about their careers, and total screw offs at work. So annoying. I can yell at them or do other stuff, but since I'm not their manager, I have limited power over what I can do to them.
So, they were supposed to give training classes Wednesday and Thursday to some people internal to my company. They did a horrible job. When they were able to answer a question from the students, they gave the wrong answer. They hadn't gone over the software exercises and couldn't get things to work. It was a disaster, and after the class on Wednesday I was so depressed I wanted to quit my job.
I yelled at them Wednesday night, and they did do better on Thursday. But still. The class was horrible. I was stalking around outside the building where the class was held because I couldn't listen to them anymore, smoking and plotting how to kill the two of them, when their manager came out. I had a short word with him about their performance. He also was upset, and asked me what we should do. I was like "dude, I am out of ideas."
Moments later, an idea hit me. Their manager is a pretty passive guy. He never yells at anyone, and didn't want to yell at them about their abysmal performance. So I suggested to him that he call the boys and myself in for a talk after the class was over, and yell at all of us together for the horrible job they had done. I said that he should really yell as if their poor performance were my fault. He thought it was a great idea.
Then, as the afternoon wore on, I kept coming up with more and more ideas of what he should do and say in the meeting. He was really getting into it and wrote notes down on a piece of paper so we could script the whole meeting. He couldn't yell at someone in real life, but if he thought he was faking it, he was able to do it. I was hoping that he would be able to pull it off.
After the class we all got pulled into a conference room. I decided to look at the floor so I wouldn't laugh. The manager started out yelling at everyone. The two guys were shocked. Then he yelled at me. I pretended that I was about to cry because I was really about to laugh. Then he went absolutely insane and started yelling and screaming so much that his face turned red and he was spitting all over the place. It was awesome.
One of the guys, who is in his late forties and who speaks english as a second language, tried to defend himself (bad mistake). But he was rattled from getting yelled at so, in my favorite part of the meeting, he said "I know there was a large boob in my presentation", meaning, that he had a mistake in his presentation (he picked up the expression boo boo from me, which I say when I want to annoy Ireland). The manager, who also speaks english as a second language, screamed at him "There were MANY large boobs in your presentation!" I thought I was going to have to bite through my lip to keep from laughing.
The manager had fun yelling at me. He said totally insane stuff like "if you don't do what I say, you will fear me because I am like a gorilla!" After the meeting was over he told the two guys to leave so he could talk to me in private. We laughed for about 10 minutes. I was in tears I was laughing so hard which was great because the guys thought I had been crying.
In any case, the guys were in shock and it will hopefully make a difference in their work performance. We'll see what happens next week.
So, they were supposed to give training classes Wednesday and Thursday to some people internal to my company. They did a horrible job. When they were able to answer a question from the students, they gave the wrong answer. They hadn't gone over the software exercises and couldn't get things to work. It was a disaster, and after the class on Wednesday I was so depressed I wanted to quit my job.
I yelled at them Wednesday night, and they did do better on Thursday. But still. The class was horrible. I was stalking around outside the building where the class was held because I couldn't listen to them anymore, smoking and plotting how to kill the two of them, when their manager came out. I had a short word with him about their performance. He also was upset, and asked me what we should do. I was like "dude, I am out of ideas."
Moments later, an idea hit me. Their manager is a pretty passive guy. He never yells at anyone, and didn't want to yell at them about their abysmal performance. So I suggested to him that he call the boys and myself in for a talk after the class was over, and yell at all of us together for the horrible job they had done. I said that he should really yell as if their poor performance were my fault. He thought it was a great idea.
Then, as the afternoon wore on, I kept coming up with more and more ideas of what he should do and say in the meeting. He was really getting into it and wrote notes down on a piece of paper so we could script the whole meeting. He couldn't yell at someone in real life, but if he thought he was faking it, he was able to do it. I was hoping that he would be able to pull it off.
After the class we all got pulled into a conference room. I decided to look at the floor so I wouldn't laugh. The manager started out yelling at everyone. The two guys were shocked. Then he yelled at me. I pretended that I was about to cry because I was really about to laugh. Then he went absolutely insane and started yelling and screaming so much that his face turned red and he was spitting all over the place. It was awesome.
One of the guys, who is in his late forties and who speaks english as a second language, tried to defend himself (bad mistake). But he was rattled from getting yelled at so, in my favorite part of the meeting, he said "I know there was a large boob in my presentation", meaning, that he had a mistake in his presentation (he picked up the expression boo boo from me, which I say when I want to annoy Ireland). The manager, who also speaks english as a second language, screamed at him "There were MANY large boobs in your presentation!" I thought I was going to have to bite through my lip to keep from laughing.
The manager had fun yelling at me. He said totally insane stuff like "if you don't do what I say, you will fear me because I am like a gorilla!" After the meeting was over he told the two guys to leave so he could talk to me in private. We laughed for about 10 minutes. I was in tears I was laughing so hard which was great because the guys thought I had been crying.
In any case, the guys were in shock and it will hopefully make a difference in their work performance. We'll see what happens next week.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
breaky jakey
Two nights ago Jakey was attacked by a UED (uninsured exploding deer).Which is odd because that same day I was telling people in my office that I was worried that something was going to happen to my car.
But, the damage isn't that bad.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
artwork
Ireland and I were sitting at the onetoone beer garden having a bit of a piss up (and somewhere, the bouncer smiles) because we both had the longest, worst week ever (except for the previous week, etc.) when suddenly this little girl ran up to me, and handed me the piece of paper you see to the right.Ireland was like "What, you don't have a picture for me?" The little girl looked at me. I said "She's kind of mean, isn't she?" The little girl ran away.
We both looked at the picture. I said "Maybe it's a secret message from an alien space craft that has managed to recruit a small child to deliver their very important communication to me. I hope I can decipher it."
Ireland said "I think it's a picture of your hair." Touche.
Then, in a very boring meeting today, I happened to look over and see the texas kid with his shoes off. He's always copying me and trying to be as cool as me. So I drew a picture of his feet with a bad smell coming from them (center right). Then he drew a picture of me (leftish centerish) showing me being sweaty (because I don't wear deodorant and walk to work, which takes over an hour) spouting off about my two favorite subjects, EA and SA.So I drew a picture of him (bottom leftish) making fun of him because I have to tell him the same thing 10 times before he remembers it. Then he drew me (top right) pretending I fart in the office, when really it's him that's always farting. So I looked over at him and saw him slumped over in his chair, half asleep. So I drew him on the bottom right saying that he didn't have a spine.
At that point Ireland took our paper away, and didn't give it back until the meeting was over. Which is good, because I had no intention of taking notes.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
party at the merid
Someone has thrown a party to end all parties at the merid. I went out on my balcony today to watch the sun rise only to find someone had thrown all of their furniture out of their room.Rock on.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
polo
On Friday Ireland and I went with a group of people to watch a polo game between UAE and Palastine. We stayed in Dubai for the weekend, for free because of my hotel points, in a five star Sheraton.
I just realized this weekend that everyone I work with is independently wealthy. These guys show up for parties and stuff driving Mercedes and porsches, even the kids who are in their early 20s. And they all talk about boarding school and shopping at Gucci for suits. It’s weird.
Ireland straightened my hair so I would look somewhat presentable. I wore a pink dress I bought 10 years ago for $15 at an outlet store, my grey flip flops, and a little sweater that Ireland picked out for me. Everyone else was wearing designer clothes. To sit in the grass. Hm.
The polo game itself was fun. You get to sit in the grass about 10 feet from the field (though, most of the people at the game were in the stands on the other side of the field). During the match the horses and the ball sometimes ended up very close to the spectators in the grass.
The game lasted for only about 2 hours. I was kind of disappointed. After I figured out what was going on it was interesting to watch. I had a horse that I really liked because he was badly behaved. He got taken out after the beginning of the game to rest (they play half a game and then switch horses).
We had gotten there an hour before the game started, but then the game started late (middle eastern time). Then we decided to keep eating and drinking (over the course of 6 hours 8 bottles of champagne, 4 bottles of white wine, 3 bottles of red wine, and one bottle of rose and vanilla vodka were consumed), and before we knew it the sun was going down. The palastinian polo players ended up parking their range rovers and sports cars right next to us (we were, at that point, 9 single girls) and they came over and asked us for some food. One player, named Mohamed, wanted me to go to some party with him. I was like “uh, no thanks”, prompting him to spend the next 45 minutes telling me how rich he was until finally Ireland noticed my hand waving and told the guy to go away.
One of the girls that was at polo with us used to be the world champion at wake boarding. I talked with her for a long time. She has a friend named Squash who is going to climb everest this year. We compared knee scars.
After polo we went to a place called the Irish Village. That’s when the night got a little chaotic. We met some guy who was in a band who couldn’t decide which girl to hit on so he tried making the rounds with each of us. Some bad behavior was going on as one of the brits started ordering shots. I was sitting at the end of the table, since I was the oldest, trying to make sure we didn’t get kicked out or arrested.
Finally, Ireland and I decided we were tired and we went back to the hotel, thinking we could have a night cap in the lounge there, called Moods. If you saw the advertisements for Moods through out the hotel you would think it was a rocking joint. It was actually full of really old men and prostitutes. It was so depressing we just stole some matches and left.
Ireland and I are going to Petra in a few weeks, and I really glad because I was going to go by myself. It should be fun!
I just realized this weekend that everyone I work with is independently wealthy. These guys show up for parties and stuff driving Mercedes and porsches, even the kids who are in their early 20s. And they all talk about boarding school and shopping at Gucci for suits. It’s weird.
Ireland straightened my hair so I would look somewhat presentable. I wore a pink dress I bought 10 years ago for $15 at an outlet store, my grey flip flops, and a little sweater that Ireland picked out for me. Everyone else was wearing designer clothes. To sit in the grass. Hm.
The polo game itself was fun. You get to sit in the grass about 10 feet from the field (though, most of the people at the game were in the stands on the other side of the field). During the match the horses and the ball sometimes ended up very close to the spectators in the grass.
The game lasted for only about 2 hours. I was kind of disappointed. After I figured out what was going on it was interesting to watch. I had a horse that I really liked because he was badly behaved. He got taken out after the beginning of the game to rest (they play half a game and then switch horses).
We had gotten there an hour before the game started, but then the game started late (middle eastern time). Then we decided to keep eating and drinking (over the course of 6 hours 8 bottles of champagne, 4 bottles of white wine, 3 bottles of red wine, and one bottle of rose and vanilla vodka were consumed), and before we knew it the sun was going down. The palastinian polo players ended up parking their range rovers and sports cars right next to us (we were, at that point, 9 single girls) and they came over and asked us for some food. One player, named Mohamed, wanted me to go to some party with him. I was like “uh, no thanks”, prompting him to spend the next 45 minutes telling me how rich he was until finally Ireland noticed my hand waving and told the guy to go away.
One of the girls that was at polo with us used to be the world champion at wake boarding. I talked with her for a long time. She has a friend named Squash who is going to climb everest this year. We compared knee scars.
After polo we went to a place called the Irish Village. That’s when the night got a little chaotic. We met some guy who was in a band who couldn’t decide which girl to hit on so he tried making the rounds with each of us. Some bad behavior was going on as one of the brits started ordering shots. I was sitting at the end of the table, since I was the oldest, trying to make sure we didn’t get kicked out or arrested.
Finally, Ireland and I decided we were tired and we went back to the hotel, thinking we could have a night cap in the lounge there, called Moods. If you saw the advertisements for Moods through out the hotel you would think it was a rocking joint. It was actually full of really old men and prostitutes. It was so depressing we just stole some matches and left.
Ireland and I are going to Petra in a few weeks, and I really glad because I was going to go by myself. It should be fun!
kung fu cab
I had the weirdest, most disconcerting experience I've had since I got here in a cab last night.
Ireland and I spent the weekend in Dubai so we could go to watch a polo match (more on that later). We called a cab last night when we were ready to leave Dubai. We had stopped by Ireland's friend's place to drop something off. Normally the cabs come within 5 minutes of a call. Our cab didn't show up. Ireland called the cab service back and they said the driver had tried to ring her but she hadn't answered our phone. We knew this was BS for numerous reasons, the most important being we were sitting on a balcony eating strawberries and the balcony overlooked the only entrance gate to the apartment complex and we didn't see a taxi come in.
They sent another driver. He was a young kid with greasy curls. And he was rude. Ireland had to yell at him to get him to listen to her directions to her apartment (this is actually a common thing with male drivers/female passengers here). After Ireland got out I asked him to take me to the merid. To put things in perspective, there's even a merid sign on the highway showing which exit to take to get there. There isn't a person in the world who doesn't know where the merid is (especially since it's right next to the abu dhabi mall - it's like not being able to find the washington monument).
This kid claimed he didn't know where to go. I was like fine, and started to give him directions. He ignored me, and drove down a side street, where there was a man smoking next to his car. The cabbie rolled down his window and said something in urdu. I only picked up a few words because he was talking so fast. Then he started backing up. I was like "dude, what are you doing?" and he said "this man is going to the meridien so I will follow him". I told him I could give him directions but he held his hand up like "stop talking blondie".
I don't know why, but I started to get a bad feeling. I was trying to remember if the smoking man's car had driven past us while I was helping Ireland get her bag out. And, I remembered the cabbie talking on the phone. Normally they do that when they don't know where they are going, and they get directions. But obviously this kid was talking to someone who wasn't giving him directions.
And then some strange man shows up on the side of the road to take us to the merid.
We got close to the merid, and turned on electra street. The merid is where electra dead ends. You have to go either right or left. Left goes to the merid (there are signs) and right goes out to the highway. You have to drive at least 3 miles before you can turn around.
I was watching closely as we headed towards the dead end. At the last second, the car we were following went right. The taxi driver cut a car off to follow. I was sitting in the back seat between the two front seats watching what happened. I was like "no, left" and the driver said "he goes right" and I said "go LEFT". The taxi driver ignored me. We were getting closer and closer to the dead end. So I stood up in the back seat and put my face right next to the driver's face and yelled "F*ing go LEFT f*ing NOW!" Then I put my hand out like I was going to grab the wheel.
The driver made a sudden turn left. We almost hit a concrete barrier, which would have been a bummer for me since I was now standing up in the back seat leaning in to the front seat. And normally I would never use a bad word in public because you can get arrested. The fact that the driver said nothing to me about my language was a little disconcerting.
We pulled into the merid parking lot and the driver drove right by the entrance and started trying to take a one way side road that paralleled the road the car we had been following was on. I was like "what the F are you DOING???? Stop the car!" He stopped the car and said he couldn't see where the entrance to the merid was (yeah, those neon signs and the fact that it's the most lit up thing in the tourist area make me wonder how anyone could miss the entrance). I told him to let me get my stuff out and I looked at the meter to see how much money I owed him.
The screen that's supposed to have his name and taxi number was blank.
It could be that he was a new kid and they didn't have him officially registered as a driver. And he was trying to rip me off (not uncommon) by driving me 6 miles out of my way. But the fact that his phone had been blinking with a call since we split off from the other car made me wonder what was going on since the man we were following was some stranger he "met" on a side street.
Anyway, I'm going to be a lot more careful when I get in a cab. This pak I work with thinks I was almost kidnapped. I was like "Dude, if anyone tries to kidnap me I'll tell them I know kung fu. And then I'll say I'm going to chop socky them if they don't take me where I want to go." He processed that for a minute and said "I don't know what kung fu is." I was like "Karate." And he said "If anyone's trying to kidnap you, say karate instead of kung fu so they understand you."
Noted and remembered.
Ireland and I spent the weekend in Dubai so we could go to watch a polo match (more on that later). We called a cab last night when we were ready to leave Dubai. We had stopped by Ireland's friend's place to drop something off. Normally the cabs come within 5 minutes of a call. Our cab didn't show up. Ireland called the cab service back and they said the driver had tried to ring her but she hadn't answered our phone. We knew this was BS for numerous reasons, the most important being we were sitting on a balcony eating strawberries and the balcony overlooked the only entrance gate to the apartment complex and we didn't see a taxi come in.
They sent another driver. He was a young kid with greasy curls. And he was rude. Ireland had to yell at him to get him to listen to her directions to her apartment (this is actually a common thing with male drivers/female passengers here). After Ireland got out I asked him to take me to the merid. To put things in perspective, there's even a merid sign on the highway showing which exit to take to get there. There isn't a person in the world who doesn't know where the merid is (especially since it's right next to the abu dhabi mall - it's like not being able to find the washington monument).
This kid claimed he didn't know where to go. I was like fine, and started to give him directions. He ignored me, and drove down a side street, where there was a man smoking next to his car. The cabbie rolled down his window and said something in urdu. I only picked up a few words because he was talking so fast. Then he started backing up. I was like "dude, what are you doing?" and he said "this man is going to the meridien so I will follow him". I told him I could give him directions but he held his hand up like "stop talking blondie".
I don't know why, but I started to get a bad feeling. I was trying to remember if the smoking man's car had driven past us while I was helping Ireland get her bag out. And, I remembered the cabbie talking on the phone. Normally they do that when they don't know where they are going, and they get directions. But obviously this kid was talking to someone who wasn't giving him directions.
And then some strange man shows up on the side of the road to take us to the merid.
We got close to the merid, and turned on electra street. The merid is where electra dead ends. You have to go either right or left. Left goes to the merid (there are signs) and right goes out to the highway. You have to drive at least 3 miles before you can turn around.
I was watching closely as we headed towards the dead end. At the last second, the car we were following went right. The taxi driver cut a car off to follow. I was sitting in the back seat between the two front seats watching what happened. I was like "no, left" and the driver said "he goes right" and I said "go LEFT". The taxi driver ignored me. We were getting closer and closer to the dead end. So I stood up in the back seat and put my face right next to the driver's face and yelled "F*ing go LEFT f*ing NOW!" Then I put my hand out like I was going to grab the wheel.
The driver made a sudden turn left. We almost hit a concrete barrier, which would have been a bummer for me since I was now standing up in the back seat leaning in to the front seat. And normally I would never use a bad word in public because you can get arrested. The fact that the driver said nothing to me about my language was a little disconcerting.
We pulled into the merid parking lot and the driver drove right by the entrance and started trying to take a one way side road that paralleled the road the car we had been following was on. I was like "what the F are you DOING???? Stop the car!" He stopped the car and said he couldn't see where the entrance to the merid was (yeah, those neon signs and the fact that it's the most lit up thing in the tourist area make me wonder how anyone could miss the entrance). I told him to let me get my stuff out and I looked at the meter to see how much money I owed him.
The screen that's supposed to have his name and taxi number was blank.
It could be that he was a new kid and they didn't have him officially registered as a driver. And he was trying to rip me off (not uncommon) by driving me 6 miles out of my way. But the fact that his phone had been blinking with a call since we split off from the other car made me wonder what was going on since the man we were following was some stranger he "met" on a side street.
Anyway, I'm going to be a lot more careful when I get in a cab. This pak I work with thinks I was almost kidnapped. I was like "Dude, if anyone tries to kidnap me I'll tell them I know kung fu. And then I'll say I'm going to chop socky them if they don't take me where I want to go." He processed that for a minute and said "I don't know what kung fu is." I was like "Karate." And he said "If anyone's trying to kidnap you, say karate instead of kung fu so they understand you."
Noted and remembered.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
the talking toilet
I was working at a customer site when I happened on this sign. Weirdly, I had seen the sign many times, but only really looked at it today.Seriously? A talking toilet?
Monday, January 11, 2010
hot desking
The texas kid and I were in the dubai office waiting for a meeting to finish so we could head back to dhabi. We had left at 5 in the morning, done a full day of work, and were now stuck in the office for what would turn out to be another 2 hours before we could go home. We were sent down to an area where there were some open hot desks so we could do work.
It was as if everyone in the room knew that texas kid and I had no intention of working. We found two seats next to each other, but there was a plastic partition between us. We pretended that it was a bullet proof partition, and shot at each other with our fingers.
Then I decided I should do some work. I was answering an email when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a flurry of movement. I looked over at the texas kid to see what was going on. He had shoved a kleenex partially up his nose, so it flared out at the bottom, and he was shaking his head rapidly from side to side. I started laughing and put my head under my desk in the hopes that no one would notice. That squished my stomach, so while I was under my desk I sent tk a text message that I had to fart.
When my text dinged on tk's phone, he was so startled he jumped, and he farted. That made me laugh again. He sent me a text saying "you scared the fart out of me". Both of us put our heads down on our desks so no one would notice us in hysterics.
I figured that I shouldn't look over at tk anymore, and that I should answer some emails. I sat back up in my chair and started typing. My hand felt weird, and when I looked down I saw an ant crawling across it. I almost screamed. Instead, I sent a text to tk saying "I'm being attacked by an ant!" He looked over at me and I held up my hand, and then acted like the ant was killing me. By this point neither of us could stop laughing, so we decided we should leave the office, and find some food. We were probably about to get kicked out anyway.
As we were leaving, tk, who had been making fun of everyone's american or aussie accent, whispered "I'm going to pretend to be american" and then as we were walking out the office door he said, really loudly in a pakistani southern accent "We need to round them all up and send them back to Texas, I reckon".
We were still laughing about that on the way home. I'm sure the taxi driver hated us. One of us would say "ant" or "texas" and we would both laugh like idiots.
The sad thing is, I'm 16 years older than tk. And I'm supposed to be his mentor.
It was as if everyone in the room knew that texas kid and I had no intention of working. We found two seats next to each other, but there was a plastic partition between us. We pretended that it was a bullet proof partition, and shot at each other with our fingers.
Then I decided I should do some work. I was answering an email when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a flurry of movement. I looked over at the texas kid to see what was going on. He had shoved a kleenex partially up his nose, so it flared out at the bottom, and he was shaking his head rapidly from side to side. I started laughing and put my head under my desk in the hopes that no one would notice. That squished my stomach, so while I was under my desk I sent tk a text message that I had to fart.
When my text dinged on tk's phone, he was so startled he jumped, and he farted. That made me laugh again. He sent me a text saying "you scared the fart out of me". Both of us put our heads down on our desks so no one would notice us in hysterics.
I figured that I shouldn't look over at tk anymore, and that I should answer some emails. I sat back up in my chair and started typing. My hand felt weird, and when I looked down I saw an ant crawling across it. I almost screamed. Instead, I sent a text to tk saying "I'm being attacked by an ant!" He looked over at me and I held up my hand, and then acted like the ant was killing me. By this point neither of us could stop laughing, so we decided we should leave the office, and find some food. We were probably about to get kicked out anyway.
As we were leaving, tk, who had been making fun of everyone's american or aussie accent, whispered "I'm going to pretend to be american" and then as we were walking out the office door he said, really loudly in a pakistani southern accent "We need to round them all up and send them back to Texas, I reckon".
We were still laughing about that on the way home. I'm sure the taxi driver hated us. One of us would say "ant" or "texas" and we would both laugh like idiots.
The sad thing is, I'm 16 years older than tk. And I'm supposed to be his mentor.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
nomad
Yesterday I was doing some work and I got a text from Ireland saying she was leaving a 1 year old's birthday party and coming to the merid, and did I want to meet her out? I agreed, and an hour later I was sitting in this british bar called the captain's table with two of her friends.
I didn't want to sit inside, so Ireland's friend L said "I'll find us a table outside". She left and came back in 5 minutes, not saying anything. An hour later this woman came in, wearing a really short leopard skirt, and told us we could have her table. I was like who was that and L said "oh, it's just a random". People from UK here are always talking to each other and being best friends even though the only thing they have in common is an accent. L calls them randoms. She had walked through all the outside tables until she heard a british accent, and then asked the people if we could have their table when they were done.
We went out to the table, and the people hadn't left yet. Much joking about us having to take the tab with the table. It was two older couples and a guy around my age, who decided to flirt with me. He's in construction, so I told him that I watch the cranes on the buildings going up on the island across from my hotel room. He looked at me and said "That's really stupid. Why don't you just watch tv?"
Then, as they were getting ready to leave after paying the bill, a guy at the table next to us, who was very inebriated, tripped and fell head first into a 3 foot concrete wall surrounding the patio we were sitting on. Ireland said "Oh bless!" There was blood everywhere. His friends tried to get him some ice, but the waiters told them to leave. Broken head guy stumbled off into the dark with a lot of blood pouring out of his nose and his forehead. His friends stayed at the table and kept drinking.
L was telling a bunch of stories about snogging. Ireland's other friend left to meet some guy. Catty conversation ensued about the girl who left. I was bored and watching for Macavity. He didn't come, but another cat did. These two prostitutes who were sitting on the aforementioned concrete wall with their, um, employer, picked up the cat and started trying to pet it. The cat was crying. I gave one of the prostitutes a packet of cat food and, seriously, she put it in her purse. I got mad and was like "dude, that prostitute is stealing food from the cat" and Ireland said "stop assuming she's going to eat it later".
Then one of the women from the party whose table we took came over and said "we're going to energy, come join us". I was like I really don't want to go to another bar, but then discovered that energy (actually NRG) is right next door to the captain's table. We joined the two couples and the construction guy. I'll just call him jug ears. Jug ears started telling me some scaffolding story but it was too hard to follow because he was drunk. When he found out how old I was he ignored me and started hitting on Ireland and L.
I turned to talk to the woman who had invited us over to NRG. Her name was Effy. She was definitely the piss queen, but so entertaining. She showed me some tattoos she had that were in places I really didn't need to see. Then she asked where I was from. I said "nowhere really" because the list was too long of where I've lived. She turned to her husband and said "Honey, guess what. This is a nomad." (though, it took me a few minutes to figure out she was saying "nomad")
Effy and her husband are well known here in Dhabi. They're super rich. Effy invited me to their summer house in Italy. I started talking to the husband of the other couple about skiing in Colorado (he goes to Aspen every year, and was leaving in a week for his trip). Effy got upset because she couldn't contribute to the conversation, so she patted me on the hand and said "but dear, you can go skiing at our summer cottage".
More brits came by the table. Effy was ordering champagne two bottles at a time. She would introduce me to who ever, and then said "And she's a nomad". She was smoking really skinny cigarettes and her makeup was kind of crazy. She kept pinching my cheeks and saying "You. Look. So. Healthy! I just want to pinch you!"
At some point there were about 20 people sitting at or milling around the table drinking free champagne. Effy decided, since we had every aspect of UK covered except for Scotland at our table, that I would have to be scottish. She taught me some expression which was apparently a very bad thing to say in scottish. Then she started introducing me to people as a scot. They would say "You don't have a scottish accent" and then Effy would say "that's because she's a nomad darling".
Like that explains everything.
Around 2 am I decided to leave because things were getting a little too insane, and there was now food involved. Effy's husband ordered food from somewhere and had them deliver it to our table. They were talking about going dancing after eating their snacks.
I got a text from Ireland at 1 pm today, saying she wished she had left when I did. She was just waking up.
Ah yes, to be old and responsible...
I didn't want to sit inside, so Ireland's friend L said "I'll find us a table outside". She left and came back in 5 minutes, not saying anything. An hour later this woman came in, wearing a really short leopard skirt, and told us we could have her table. I was like who was that and L said "oh, it's just a random". People from UK here are always talking to each other and being best friends even though the only thing they have in common is an accent. L calls them randoms. She had walked through all the outside tables until she heard a british accent, and then asked the people if we could have their table when they were done.
We went out to the table, and the people hadn't left yet. Much joking about us having to take the tab with the table. It was two older couples and a guy around my age, who decided to flirt with me. He's in construction, so I told him that I watch the cranes on the buildings going up on the island across from my hotel room. He looked at me and said "That's really stupid. Why don't you just watch tv?"
Then, as they were getting ready to leave after paying the bill, a guy at the table next to us, who was very inebriated, tripped and fell head first into a 3 foot concrete wall surrounding the patio we were sitting on. Ireland said "Oh bless!" There was blood everywhere. His friends tried to get him some ice, but the waiters told them to leave. Broken head guy stumbled off into the dark with a lot of blood pouring out of his nose and his forehead. His friends stayed at the table and kept drinking.
L was telling a bunch of stories about snogging. Ireland's other friend left to meet some guy. Catty conversation ensued about the girl who left. I was bored and watching for Macavity. He didn't come, but another cat did. These two prostitutes who were sitting on the aforementioned concrete wall with their, um, employer, picked up the cat and started trying to pet it. The cat was crying. I gave one of the prostitutes a packet of cat food and, seriously, she put it in her purse. I got mad and was like "dude, that prostitute is stealing food from the cat" and Ireland said "stop assuming she's going to eat it later".
Then one of the women from the party whose table we took came over and said "we're going to energy, come join us". I was like I really don't want to go to another bar, but then discovered that energy (actually NRG) is right next door to the captain's table. We joined the two couples and the construction guy. I'll just call him jug ears. Jug ears started telling me some scaffolding story but it was too hard to follow because he was drunk. When he found out how old I was he ignored me and started hitting on Ireland and L.
I turned to talk to the woman who had invited us over to NRG. Her name was Effy. She was definitely the piss queen, but so entertaining. She showed me some tattoos she had that were in places I really didn't need to see. Then she asked where I was from. I said "nowhere really" because the list was too long of where I've lived. She turned to her husband and said "Honey, guess what. This is a nomad." (though, it took me a few minutes to figure out she was saying "nomad")
Effy and her husband are well known here in Dhabi. They're super rich. Effy invited me to their summer house in Italy. I started talking to the husband of the other couple about skiing in Colorado (he goes to Aspen every year, and was leaving in a week for his trip). Effy got upset because she couldn't contribute to the conversation, so she patted me on the hand and said "but dear, you can go skiing at our summer cottage".
More brits came by the table. Effy was ordering champagne two bottles at a time. She would introduce me to who ever, and then said "And she's a nomad". She was smoking really skinny cigarettes and her makeup was kind of crazy. She kept pinching my cheeks and saying "You. Look. So. Healthy! I just want to pinch you!"
At some point there were about 20 people sitting at or milling around the table drinking free champagne. Effy decided, since we had every aspect of UK covered except for Scotland at our table, that I would have to be scottish. She taught me some expression which was apparently a very bad thing to say in scottish. Then she started introducing me to people as a scot. They would say "You don't have a scottish accent" and then Effy would say "that's because she's a nomad darling".
Like that explains everything.
Around 2 am I decided to leave because things were getting a little too insane, and there was now food involved. Effy's husband ordered food from somewhere and had them deliver it to our table. They were talking about going dancing after eating their snacks.
I got a text from Ireland at 1 pm today, saying she wished she had left when I did. She was just waking up.
Ah yes, to be old and responsible...
Friday, January 8, 2010
new expressions
Here in Abu Dhabi we've been making up our own expressions. Some of my favorites:
taking the number 11 bus - This was an invention of the Texas kid. It means walking (he says that legs look like the number 11). This expression is used to make fun of me because I walk everywhere. If someone offers me a ride, TK usually says "no, she's taking the number 11 bus". Then we both laugh, because no one knows what we're talking about.
pull my elbow - TK, again. It's an enhancement of sorts to the expression "pull my finger", which TK finds funny. You use this expression when you are about to dump a really crap job on someone, or when someone has dumped a crap job on you. For example:
me: TK, I need you to go to the printers and get a bunch of training material copied
TK: pull my elbow
posh totty - This is the invention of Ireland. It refers to the british women who hang out in bars dressed to the nines. You think they are going to be super classy, but then you start talking to them and they end up being trashy. Besides a person, a thing can be posh totty. For example, when M served us pink champagne, we said it was posh totty because pink champagne is trashy, yet expensive here
piss queen - This was mine, referring to the person who is the most inebriated at whatever social event we are attending.
divine cheese sandwich - At 530 one morning, as TK, Ireland and I were driving to Dubai for a customer engagement, we stopped at an Adnoc gas station to get food (the customer was in a remote location with no food nearby). I don't think eating gas station food is a good idea because it just seems gross. TK and Ireland got chicken sandwiches, and I got a cheese sandwich, which, on further inspection in the car, turned out to be white bread (like wonder bread) with one slice of orange processed cheese on it. And that's it (for the record, the sandwich only cost 60 cents). As I went off on a tirade about how disappointed I was, Ireland said "I'm sure it will be a divine cheese sandwich" which doesn't look that funny in print, but is very funny when said by someone with a thick Irish brogue. Now, we use the expression to describe situations or things:
Ireland: How was that white paper they gave you so you could figure out how that software integration is going to happen?
Me: It was a divine cheese sandwich (meaning, there was no useful information in the paper)
Paul - Once Ireland stayed with 3 of her friends in the Burg Al Arab. When you stay there, you get your own butler. Their butler was named Paul. They sent Paul off to do all sorts of silly errands for them. Now, when we want to send each other on joke errands, we'll call each other Paul:
TK: Paul, will you go make me some freshly squeezed orange juice without pips?
Me: Paul, my flip flops need a good scrubbing.
I know. We're having way too much fun here.
taking the number 11 bus - This was an invention of the Texas kid. It means walking (he says that legs look like the number 11). This expression is used to make fun of me because I walk everywhere. If someone offers me a ride, TK usually says "no, she's taking the number 11 bus". Then we both laugh, because no one knows what we're talking about.
pull my elbow - TK, again. It's an enhancement of sorts to the expression "pull my finger", which TK finds funny. You use this expression when you are about to dump a really crap job on someone, or when someone has dumped a crap job on you. For example:
me: TK, I need you to go to the printers and get a bunch of training material copied
TK: pull my elbow
posh totty - This is the invention of Ireland. It refers to the british women who hang out in bars dressed to the nines. You think they are going to be super classy, but then you start talking to them and they end up being trashy. Besides a person, a thing can be posh totty. For example, when M served us pink champagne, we said it was posh totty because pink champagne is trashy, yet expensive here
piss queen - This was mine, referring to the person who is the most inebriated at whatever social event we are attending.
divine cheese sandwich - At 530 one morning, as TK, Ireland and I were driving to Dubai for a customer engagement, we stopped at an Adnoc gas station to get food (the customer was in a remote location with no food nearby). I don't think eating gas station food is a good idea because it just seems gross. TK and Ireland got chicken sandwiches, and I got a cheese sandwich, which, on further inspection in the car, turned out to be white bread (like wonder bread) with one slice of orange processed cheese on it. And that's it (for the record, the sandwich only cost 60 cents). As I went off on a tirade about how disappointed I was, Ireland said "I'm sure it will be a divine cheese sandwich" which doesn't look that funny in print, but is very funny when said by someone with a thick Irish brogue. Now, we use the expression to describe situations or things:
Ireland: How was that white paper they gave you so you could figure out how that software integration is going to happen?
Me: It was a divine cheese sandwich (meaning, there was no useful information in the paper)
Paul - Once Ireland stayed with 3 of her friends in the Burg Al Arab. When you stay there, you get your own butler. Their butler was named Paul. They sent Paul off to do all sorts of silly errands for them. Now, when we want to send each other on joke errands, we'll call each other Paul:
TK: Paul, will you go make me some freshly squeezed orange juice without pips?
Me: Paul, my flip flops need a good scrubbing.
I know. We're having way too much fun here.
Monday, January 4, 2010
smurfs aren't sexy
I now understand why guys always get upset when women change their hair.
There I was yesterday, on the dreadmill, minding my own business, trying to avoid eye contact with the trainer. I kept seeing these white legs walking back and forth behind me in the mirror. I thought it might be someone upset that I way over extended my allotted time on the dreadmill.
But then suddenly, I was like I know those legs.
After I finished running I made my usual graceless exit off the tread, and came face to face with hot guy. I guess he was upset that I've ignored his presence for the past few weeks (I have other things to worry about these days) and he had been pacing behind me, trying to make eye contact. I was going to look at him and smile when suddenly I noticed his hair.
The nice grey with a few streaks of black had been transformed into what, under the fluorescent lights, looked like that weird coloring old ladies get when they are trying to make their grey hair more shiny.
I was like seriously, does hot guy have blue hair?
I should have looked at him, smiled, and thought to myself it doesn't matter what color your hair is honey. But all I could think is hot guy looks like a smurf.
Smurfs aren't sexy.
There I was yesterday, on the dreadmill, minding my own business, trying to avoid eye contact with the trainer. I kept seeing these white legs walking back and forth behind me in the mirror. I thought it might be someone upset that I way over extended my allotted time on the dreadmill.
But then suddenly, I was like I know those legs.
After I finished running I made my usual graceless exit off the tread, and came face to face with hot guy. I guess he was upset that I've ignored his presence for the past few weeks (I have other things to worry about these days) and he had been pacing behind me, trying to make eye contact. I was going to look at him and smile when suddenly I noticed his hair.
The nice grey with a few streaks of black had been transformed into what, under the fluorescent lights, looked like that weird coloring old ladies get when they are trying to make their grey hair more shiny.
I was like seriously, does hot guy have blue hair?
I should have looked at him, smiled, and thought to myself it doesn't matter what color your hair is honey. But all I could think is hot guy looks like a smurf.
Smurfs aren't sexy.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
new year, new chapters
I've spent the weekend working on my book. I put in extra hours last week at work so I wouldn't have to do anything except focus on writing some chapters.
If anyone is interested in reading, let me know. I have a bunch of new stuff that has only been read by me, and I'm not sure if it sucks or not.
I should also come up with some new year's resolutions. And plan my trip to Muscat so I can go diving with dolphins. I'm going to try to do that in the next few weeks.
If anyone is interested in reading, let me know. I have a bunch of new stuff that has only been read by me, and I'm not sure if it sucks or not.
I should also come up with some new year's resolutions. And plan my trip to Muscat so I can go diving with dolphins. I'm going to try to do that in the next few weeks.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
so much for the beach
Just got done with work. I'm not going to Dubai. I'll probably spend the evening writing and try not to fall asleep before midnight.
bondi beach bash
Somehow, I've managed to get talked into attending the Australian new year's party this evening in Dubai. It's called the Bondi Beach Bash.
I hope I survive.
I hope I survive.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
snippy, sticky
I called feline friends today, in accordance with the email I received Christmas Eve. I reached a rather snippy brit who informed me that Macavity is not a candidate for adoption because he's "well fed and taken care of" at the Meridien.
I was like dude, you can't be serious. He's getting beat up every day by this cat I've named lady marmalade. He doesn't have a shelter. He's always hungry. And he is pretty darn cute. Someone would definitely take him. She gave me some blah blah argument about resources, which is not a point of discussion since I said I would pay for his room and board until someone took him in. She said "I have other cats that actually NEED our services!" and then she hung up on me.
Ech. So now I'm trying to spread the word about him in the hopes someone here might take him. Annoying.
And at the end of the day today I was so bored I did something bad. My mom sent me, for reasons that aren't totally clear, a half eaten bag of gummi bears. I brought it into the office but no one can eat them because they're made with gelatin. So, I was trying to figure out what to do with them, when suddenly it seemed like a good idea to stick them on A's cactus.
Then Texas Kid encouraged me to do something else, so I licked one and stuck it on the map of Dubai, he looks like he's going to the emirates palace, and then I put one on our white board. I wonder if anyone is going to notice.
Texas Kid and I are the only consultants in the office, so we've been causing trouble. We are playing an elaborate joke on our manager Dr. T. We keep sending each other emails about a "top secret" project we are working on. TK named it "project SPOCK". Dr. T is a bit of a control freak who likes to know everything that's going on. He's on vacation now, though, and neither of us will tell him what the project is (there is a project, which is going to be so cool when it's finished).
TK and I keep sending each other cryptic emails about what we are doing. For example, today I sent TK an email, and cc:ed Dr. T, that said "after you finish the thing, do the other thing we talked about, and then tomorrow we'll bring the things together, so we can move on to phase 3". TK sent me an email that said "Shall I secure the project with 256 bit AES encryption? Also when I'm done with my half of the work perhaps we'll do a merge before I go on holiday next week? Be sure to select "mark as confidential" and "encrypt" any emails regarding this project to prevent anyone from downloading any data we work on."
I know the second Dr. T gets back from vacation he's going to come into the office and demand to know what project SPOCK is. I've created a bunch of meaningless design diagrams on a white board to keep him guessing. Hee.
I was like dude, you can't be serious. He's getting beat up every day by this cat I've named lady marmalade. He doesn't have a shelter. He's always hungry. And he is pretty darn cute. Someone would definitely take him. She gave me some blah blah argument about resources, which is not a point of discussion since I said I would pay for his room and board until someone took him in. She said "I have other cats that actually NEED our services!" and then she hung up on me.
Ech. So now I'm trying to spread the word about him in the hopes someone here might take him. Annoying.
And at the end of the day today I was so bored I did something bad. My mom sent me, for reasons that aren't totally clear, a half eaten bag of gummi bears. I brought it into the office but no one can eat them because they're made with gelatin. So, I was trying to figure out what to do with them, when suddenly it seemed like a good idea to stick them on A's cactus.
Then Texas Kid encouraged me to do something else, so I licked one and stuck it on the map of Dubai, he looks like he's going to the emirates palace, and then I put one on our white board. I wonder if anyone is going to notice.
Texas Kid and I are the only consultants in the office, so we've been causing trouble. We are playing an elaborate joke on our manager Dr. T. We keep sending each other emails about a "top secret" project we are working on. TK named it "project SPOCK". Dr. T is a bit of a control freak who likes to know everything that's going on. He's on vacation now, though, and neither of us will tell him what the project is (there is a project, which is going to be so cool when it's finished).
TK and I keep sending each other cryptic emails about what we are doing. For example, today I sent TK an email, and cc:ed Dr. T, that said "after you finish the thing, do the other thing we talked about, and then tomorrow we'll bring the things together, so we can move on to phase 3". TK sent me an email that said "Shall I secure the project with 256 bit AES encryption? Also when I'm done with my half of the work perhaps we'll do a merge before I go on holiday next week? Be sure to select "mark as confidential" and "encrypt" any emails regarding this project to prevent anyone from downloading any data we work on."
I know the second Dr. T gets back from vacation he's going to come into the office and demand to know what project SPOCK is. I've created a bunch of meaningless design diagrams on a white board to keep him guessing. Hee.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
dolphins
Last night I dreamed that I was in the antarctic studying great white sharks. I kept thinking that I wouldn't see any sharks because it was too cold. I was in a submarine under this huge shelf of ice and I saw some great whites. I was like "what are you guys doing here? what are you eating?" One of the great whites tossed a dead seal towards the submarine, and I started laughing, even though I felt bad for the poor seal. I was like "but don't you get cold?" and one of the great whites swam by the front of the submarine and made his extensible jaw teeth chatter. I started laughing. Great whites have the best sense of humor in my dreams.
Then I decided I needed to go home, and somehow as the submarine was surfacing I ended up in the swimming pool at the meridien, except that it had an island in the middle of it, and all these dolphins swimming around. I wanted to get into the water with the dolphins, but I was wearing normal clothes, and it was my only outfit, so I took this yellow inflatable kayak from the submarine to the edge of the pool. The dolphins were bouncing around the boat and they were like "come in the water and play with us!" and I was like "dudes, I have to change first, this is my only outfit and I can't get it dirty". Then I got to the edge of the pool and stepped out of the kayak, and the dolphins popped it and dragged it way down underwater. One of the dolphins was like "you have to come get your boat!"
So I went to this hallway that had bleachers in it to change into my diving suit. I was standing there in a 3mm dive suit when I looked down the hallway and realized Paul McCartney and his daughter were walking towards me. I was really embarrassed for some reason, I guess because I was standing there in my dive suit. Paul came up to me and shook my hand and said "I know you from somewhere. Did we meet when we invaded the moon?" which I guess was a reference to my diving suit. I realized his daughter was a kid I had always played with in the pool without knowing who she was. I asked if he wanted to bring his daughter to the pool so we could dive with dolphins but Paul said they had a plane to catch and walked away.
I went back to the pool and jumped in. All these dolphins came up to me and said "we just bit the shit out of your boat and it's totally sunk, do you want to dive to the bottom of the pool with us to go get it?" I looked into the water and it was very murky. I realized it was night and only the top part of the pool was lit up and it was so deep I couldn't see the bottom. I was like "I'm not sure that would be safe" and the dolphins said "don't worry, we'll stay with you". They surrounded me in this dolphin pod and we started swimming towards the bottom of the pool.
Then I woke up.
Then I decided I needed to go home, and somehow as the submarine was surfacing I ended up in the swimming pool at the meridien, except that it had an island in the middle of it, and all these dolphins swimming around. I wanted to get into the water with the dolphins, but I was wearing normal clothes, and it was my only outfit, so I took this yellow inflatable kayak from the submarine to the edge of the pool. The dolphins were bouncing around the boat and they were like "come in the water and play with us!" and I was like "dudes, I have to change first, this is my only outfit and I can't get it dirty". Then I got to the edge of the pool and stepped out of the kayak, and the dolphins popped it and dragged it way down underwater. One of the dolphins was like "you have to come get your boat!"
So I went to this hallway that had bleachers in it to change into my diving suit. I was standing there in a 3mm dive suit when I looked down the hallway and realized Paul McCartney and his daughter were walking towards me. I was really embarrassed for some reason, I guess because I was standing there in my dive suit. Paul came up to me and shook my hand and said "I know you from somewhere. Did we meet when we invaded the moon?" which I guess was a reference to my diving suit. I realized his daughter was a kid I had always played with in the pool without knowing who she was. I asked if he wanted to bring his daughter to the pool so we could dive with dolphins but Paul said they had a plane to catch and walked away.
I went back to the pool and jumped in. All these dolphins came up to me and said "we just bit the shit out of your boat and it's totally sunk, do you want to dive to the bottom of the pool with us to go get it?" I looked into the water and it was very murky. I realized it was night and only the top part of the pool was lit up and it was so deep I couldn't see the bottom. I was like "I'm not sure that would be safe" and the dolphins said "don't worry, we'll stay with you". They surrounded me in this dolphin pod and we started swimming towards the bottom of the pool.
Then I woke up.
local talk
Yesterday I had my first conversation with a local emirati woman.
I was at this lebanese pizza place getting pizza for dinner. I'd never been there on the weekend, and usually go there pretty late in the evening (I rarely start thinking about dinner until around 8 pm). The place was packed with locals.
I placed my order and then tried to find somewhere out of the way to stand while I waited. There are two benches in the front of the restaurant but they were both full. Then an emirati couple vacated one of the benches and went to look at the buffet (they serve a buffet of Lebanese food in addition to making pizza). After a few minutes of them looking at the buffet food I assumed that they were going to sit at a table so I took a seat on their bench.
I started reading my book, and an egyptian woman came over and sat practically in my lap (she wasn't small) and pulled her daughter up on the bench too. She said excuse me in French because I guess she assumed I was french. They figured out their order and got up. Then the emirati woman came over and sat back down on the bench. Her husband was making a fuss about something, I assumed because I was sitting in his seat. He was not being quiet about whatever it was he was bitching about, even though the emirati woman kept telling him to calm down.
I put my book mark in my book, and indicated to her that I would go stand somewhere so her husband could have his seat back. She put her hand on my forearm, which was shocking because no one ever touches you here, and then said "No, he can stand. You stay here and read your book." Most of the locals I run into are not polite in the western sense, partially because of the culture, and partially because they resent westerners doing stupid stuff in their country. I was touched in a way that is hard to explain that she did that.
Then, even more surprising, she said "What is this book you are reading?" I showed her the cover, which is dark except for a lighted arch with a robed monk standing in the middle of the arch. "It's called Ananthem" I said. "Oh, it's a very nice book" she responded, even though I'm thinking Neal Stephenson doesn't sell many books here.
"It's about math" I said, lest she think I was reading some kind of weird subversive religious literature. "Events that happen in the book are used to illustrate mathematical principles and the solving of equations". I showed here the calcas, as the math problems are called in the book. The first one is about how to cut a square into 8 pieces that are of equal size given that the square is measured by a spatula that you have to use to make the cuts. The first iteration, you can cut the square into four even pieces (the square is two pieces long by two pieces wide). The second iteration, you can cut the square into 16 even pieces (each of the four pieces in the previous example is cut again into four pieces, squaring the square, with 4 squared equalling 16). So that's why the 8 piece problem is hard. The solution is to cut the square into triangles, if you were wondering.
Anyway, it was hard to tell what she made of my book, though she did seem to be listening to my explanation about the squares. I could only see her eyes, but not even much of those because she would look down every time I made eye contact with her. Then her order was ready and she wished me a good evening and left.
I wonder what she was thinking on the car ride home. Probably "note to self: never talk to westerners reading books".
I was at this lebanese pizza place getting pizza for dinner. I'd never been there on the weekend, and usually go there pretty late in the evening (I rarely start thinking about dinner until around 8 pm). The place was packed with locals.
I placed my order and then tried to find somewhere out of the way to stand while I waited. There are two benches in the front of the restaurant but they were both full. Then an emirati couple vacated one of the benches and went to look at the buffet (they serve a buffet of Lebanese food in addition to making pizza). After a few minutes of them looking at the buffet food I assumed that they were going to sit at a table so I took a seat on their bench.
I started reading my book, and an egyptian woman came over and sat practically in my lap (she wasn't small) and pulled her daughter up on the bench too. She said excuse me in French because I guess she assumed I was french. They figured out their order and got up. Then the emirati woman came over and sat back down on the bench. Her husband was making a fuss about something, I assumed because I was sitting in his seat. He was not being quiet about whatever it was he was bitching about, even though the emirati woman kept telling him to calm down.
I put my book mark in my book, and indicated to her that I would go stand somewhere so her husband could have his seat back. She put her hand on my forearm, which was shocking because no one ever touches you here, and then said "No, he can stand. You stay here and read your book." Most of the locals I run into are not polite in the western sense, partially because of the culture, and partially because they resent westerners doing stupid stuff in their country. I was touched in a way that is hard to explain that she did that.
Then, even more surprising, she said "What is this book you are reading?" I showed her the cover, which is dark except for a lighted arch with a robed monk standing in the middle of the arch. "It's called Ananthem" I said. "Oh, it's a very nice book" she responded, even though I'm thinking Neal Stephenson doesn't sell many books here.
"It's about math" I said, lest she think I was reading some kind of weird subversive religious literature. "Events that happen in the book are used to illustrate mathematical principles and the solving of equations". I showed here the calcas, as the math problems are called in the book. The first one is about how to cut a square into 8 pieces that are of equal size given that the square is measured by a spatula that you have to use to make the cuts. The first iteration, you can cut the square into four even pieces (the square is two pieces long by two pieces wide). The second iteration, you can cut the square into 16 even pieces (each of the four pieces in the previous example is cut again into four pieces, squaring the square, with 4 squared equalling 16). So that's why the 8 piece problem is hard. The solution is to cut the square into triangles, if you were wondering.
Anyway, it was hard to tell what she made of my book, though she did seem to be listening to my explanation about the squares. I could only see her eyes, but not even much of those because she would look down every time I made eye contact with her. Then her order was ready and she wished me a good evening and left.
I wonder what she was thinking on the car ride home. Probably "note to self: never talk to westerners reading books".
Friday, December 25, 2009
a christmas cleaning calamity
This morning I woke up early, with the thought that I would do my laundry in Ireland's apartment, eat some eggs that M gave to Ireland before she went back to France, and then, after I hung my laundry up, go to the beach. Seemed like a nice way to spend Christmas.
Except.
I got to Ireland's apartment after getting a bit lost (last time I walked there it was dark and I could see the bank sign on her building from a mile away because it was lit up) and put my laundry in the washing machine. I was confronted with an array of buttons that weren't labeled. I couldn't remember which one I was supposed to press to turn the machine on. So, I kept pressing different buttons until the thing started making noise.
Figuring I had an hour to kill, I wandered into the kitchen and took out the eggs. I got a pan out, and tried to figure out how to turn on the gas stove. I could smell the gas coming out as I twisted the different knobs, but I couldn't get a burner to light. Giving up on that, I made the incredibly stupid decision, since I had already broken two eggs open, to cook them in the microwave. Explosion. Chaos. Bad smells. No breakfast.
I settled in on the sofa, hungry, figuring I would read my book Ananthem until my clothes were done. An hour later I was still reading. Two hours later, the washing machine seemed to have stopped. I went to pull out my clothes so I could go to the beach, but the door wouldn't open. I tried pressing buttons. Nothing. I unplugged the thing. Still nothing. I sent a text message to the Texas Kid that said "Say, do you know anything about washing machines?" I smoked a few cigarettes, checking the machine every few minutes. It was definitely stopped, and the door was definitely not opening.
F this, I thought to myself, copying down the model number. I decided to go back to the hotel, a 45 minute walk, run some errands, look up directions for the washer on line, and then walk back to Ireland's.
When I got back to the hotel, Texas Kid had called. He ridiculed me for my ineptness and said that it explained why I'm still single. He tried to find a manual for the washer online, but couldn't. He made fun of me to his wife, who was sitting next to him, and I could hear her laughing. I was like dude, are you telling the whole world my clothes are stuck in Ireland's washer? Ech.
A few hours later, errands complete, I headed back to Ireland's. I was sure some christmas miracle would have occurred, and that my clothes would be free. It was an unfortunate choice I had made to put all my normal, non-work clothes in the washer. If I couldn't get them out, I'd have nothing to wear until Ireland got home. I imagined my running clothes as a moldy mess since she won't be back for at least 7 days.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I sang a little song in the elevator about the washing machine opening. It didn't. I got pissed. I poked buttons. I spun the dial. I cursed and yanked on the door with all my strength.
Suddenly the door opened. I couldn't remember what combination of buttons I had pressed, though. I started taking my clothes out, but they were soaking wet. Water was getting all over the marble tiled floor, causing me to slide and almost fall over the washing machine plug. My white shirts had turned grey. There were weird spots on everything.
Against my better judgment, I closed the door again after I had removed half my clothes, to see if I could get the water to drain. I spun the dial, pressed some buttons, and the machine started again. I hung all my sopping wet stuff I had taken out already on the drying rack.
M called me from France. I told her what had happened. She laughed and said I should have taken up her offer to come home with her for the holidays (south of France, million dollar chateau, yeah, why DIDN'T I do that???). She said I needed someone to take care of me, and that she would be back to Abu Dhabi soon and make me something nice to eat that wasn't an egg in the microwave.
By the time we rang off, the washing machine had stopped again. I was able to open the door, and the clothes were in a state of more dryness than the previous batch. I hung them up too, and decided the best course of action would be not to watch a movie on Ireland's dvd (at that point, I was afraid to try to do anything else in that apartment), as previously planned, but to return to the hotel and not think about my laundry until Sunday morning when I would hopefully return to Ireland's apartment to find my laundry dry.
And not dirty from sand blowing on it since I had to leave it out on the balcony because it was so wet I was afraid it would never dry otherwise.
On a positive note, the hotel gave me a huge chocolate christmas tree to eat. It has weird blobs at the base of it, which may be children opening presents, or may be panda bears trying to eat the tree.
I need a glass of wine. And, maybe room service...I don't think I should leave my hotel room again for the rest of the night, and not just because I have nothing to wear.
Except.
I got to Ireland's apartment after getting a bit lost (last time I walked there it was dark and I could see the bank sign on her building from a mile away because it was lit up) and put my laundry in the washing machine. I was confronted with an array of buttons that weren't labeled. I couldn't remember which one I was supposed to press to turn the machine on. So, I kept pressing different buttons until the thing started making noise.
Figuring I had an hour to kill, I wandered into the kitchen and took out the eggs. I got a pan out, and tried to figure out how to turn on the gas stove. I could smell the gas coming out as I twisted the different knobs, but I couldn't get a burner to light. Giving up on that, I made the incredibly stupid decision, since I had already broken two eggs open, to cook them in the microwave. Explosion. Chaos. Bad smells. No breakfast.
I settled in on the sofa, hungry, figuring I would read my book Ananthem until my clothes were done. An hour later I was still reading. Two hours later, the washing machine seemed to have stopped. I went to pull out my clothes so I could go to the beach, but the door wouldn't open. I tried pressing buttons. Nothing. I unplugged the thing. Still nothing. I sent a text message to the Texas Kid that said "Say, do you know anything about washing machines?" I smoked a few cigarettes, checking the machine every few minutes. It was definitely stopped, and the door was definitely not opening.
F this, I thought to myself, copying down the model number. I decided to go back to the hotel, a 45 minute walk, run some errands, look up directions for the washer on line, and then walk back to Ireland's.
When I got back to the hotel, Texas Kid had called. He ridiculed me for my ineptness and said that it explained why I'm still single. He tried to find a manual for the washer online, but couldn't. He made fun of me to his wife, who was sitting next to him, and I could hear her laughing. I was like dude, are you telling the whole world my clothes are stuck in Ireland's washer? Ech.
A few hours later, errands complete, I headed back to Ireland's. I was sure some christmas miracle would have occurred, and that my clothes would be free. It was an unfortunate choice I had made to put all my normal, non-work clothes in the washer. If I couldn't get them out, I'd have nothing to wear until Ireland got home. I imagined my running clothes as a moldy mess since she won't be back for at least 7 days.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I sang a little song in the elevator about the washing machine opening. It didn't. I got pissed. I poked buttons. I spun the dial. I cursed and yanked on the door with all my strength.
Suddenly the door opened. I couldn't remember what combination of buttons I had pressed, though. I started taking my clothes out, but they were soaking wet. Water was getting all over the marble tiled floor, causing me to slide and almost fall over the washing machine plug. My white shirts had turned grey. There were weird spots on everything.
Against my better judgment, I closed the door again after I had removed half my clothes, to see if I could get the water to drain. I spun the dial, pressed some buttons, and the machine started again. I hung all my sopping wet stuff I had taken out already on the drying rack.
M called me from France. I told her what had happened. She laughed and said I should have taken up her offer to come home with her for the holidays (south of France, million dollar chateau, yeah, why DIDN'T I do that???). She said I needed someone to take care of me, and that she would be back to Abu Dhabi soon and make me something nice to eat that wasn't an egg in the microwave.
By the time we rang off, the washing machine had stopped again. I was able to open the door, and the clothes were in a state of more dryness than the previous batch. I hung them up too, and decided the best course of action would be not to watch a movie on Ireland's dvd (at that point, I was afraid to try to do anything else in that apartment), as previously planned, but to return to the hotel and not think about my laundry until Sunday morning when I would hopefully return to Ireland's apartment to find my laundry dry.
And not dirty from sand blowing on it since I had to leave it out on the balcony because it was so wet I was afraid it would never dry otherwise.
On a positive note, the hotel gave me a huge chocolate christmas tree to eat. It has weird blobs at the base of it, which may be children opening presents, or may be panda bears trying to eat the tree.
I need a glass of wine. And, maybe room service...I don't think I should leave my hotel room again for the rest of the night, and not just because I have nothing to wear.
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