Take a Cab Instead

What is the deal about parking in Kuwait? We all know there is a shortage of parking spaces wherever you go, but why is it that some idiot always decides to make the situation worse by taking up two or more spaces? I don't support it, but I can understand if someone who drives a Hummer, Escalade or some other land yacht has problems "docking" the vehicle between two narrow lines, but there is no excuse for a Mini to straddle spaces. A few days ago, my mother and I took advantage of the beautiful weather to drive out to Al Kut mall. The last time I tried to go, I abandoned my quest because the lines into the parking lot were too long. Friday, the lot was crowded as cars snaked in and out of the lanes in search of the perfect spot. I don't mind the hunt, but it was infuriating to see car after car after car taking up more than one space. What is the reason for such obnoxious behavior? Is it poor driving skills?(It's a rhetorical question, but I had to ask.) I tend to think that it is utter selfishness, the whole me-first attitude that propels drivers to cut you off on the expressway and stop a lane of traffic as they try to make a u-turn from a non-turning lane. The Government recently cracked down on the issuance of driver's licenses. It's going to take a lot more than forbidding some low wage worker from South Asia from driving to improve the traffic situation. Don't even get me started on the thousands of small childern on restrained by car seats or seat belts. I recently saw a mother driving, talking on her mobile, and holding an infant in her lap. God forbid her airbag deploy because the child would have been instantly killed.

Lost & Found; Karma Revisited

The missing puppy has been found. After five agonizing days of wondering where he was and how he was being treated, a colleague alerted me that he thought he saw my dog on the grounds of Bayan Palace (for my U.S. readers, the palace is a compound used by the Government for visitors, like Blair house, and is also the site for some security elements). We dashed out of the office and spent 30 minutes walking and cruising the perimeter of the palace while I yelled at the top of my voice, "Kamir, come here bubble!" I asked the gardeners if they had seen a dog and had another colleague call the palace guards to see if they had seen a dog and to seek permission for me to search the grounds. And then, suddenly, he appeared at the fence. He was dirty, thirsty, and stinky, but otherwise in good condition. I still can't figure out how he got onto the grounds and find it interesting that of all the places he could have gone, he went to a royal abode. All of us -- my mother, myself, the wanderer, and the two other dogs -- finally got a good night's sleep. I'm deeply grateful to all my co-workers who began searching for him the minute they heard he was missing, and especially appreciative of good friends who gave up their weekends to console me and help me look for my beloved beast. The International Veterinary Hospital was also supportive as were the volunteers from PAWS who had lots of good ideas on where to look and who made follow-up phone calls. While part of me hoped to find Kamir at the Friday Market, I am greatly relieved that he was not there. While most of the dogs and cats I saw there appeared to be well fed and relatively healthy, it was heart-breaking to see so many beautiful animals tied to poles by short tethers, startled by bratty kids shooting off firecrackers, and menaced by even brattier kids who found it amusing to yell at and scare the dogs while their parents watched in indifference. I'd like nothing better than to put a permanent end to the sale of domestic animals this way. Some of the puppies were too young to have been away from their mothers and it sickened me to see some of the dogs transported in the trunks of cars. We need to prove our humanity by better treating our animals. Related to the recovery of my four-legged friend is revisiting the Karma issue. Previously I pondered the issue and its affect on relationships. Once again, I'm thinking about Karma, but in a new way. Many of my friends here told me they were convinced Kamir would return safely because I'm a nice person and my behavior would be rewarded. While it's a great thing to hear, I have a lot of deep, dark thoughts and questioned whether I would be favorably rewarded. I guess I was, because Kamir is back. But also, yesterday, the date of his return, I wore a ring that my father used to wear on his pinky finger. (It fits my middle finger.) When I put it on yesterday, I told my mother I was wearing it because it always brought me luck. And voila, Kamir appeared. So was it fate, intervention from my father, or some other mysterious force? I don't know and I don't think I'll dwell on it. I'll just be thankful for his safe return, the generous help and support of so many, and the fact that Kamir is now afraid to go outside.

More on the Missing Puppy

He is reddish brown with a white face and white stomach. He weighs 27 kilos and is missing several teeth. He has a burgundy collar which a purple tag that says "charmer." Other tags are proof of his vaccinations and a number to call if he is lost. He has a microchip. If you see him, please leave a message on this blog or call 962-0791. Thanks!

My Baby is Missing

My best friend, my companion, my baby got out on Wednesday night. He's been missing for 24 hours and I am devastated. If you see him, please contact me. His name is Kamir and he is 15 years old. He is starting to show his age and needs special medical attention. He disappeared from the Bayan, Block 6 area. There is a reward for his safe return.

I think I'm in Love

After a decades-long quest, I think I have finally found what I’ve been looking for. I’ve searched and searched, and suffered many disappointments, but I’m finally satisfied – at least for now. In case you think I’m writing about some man, let me clarify that after a series of rants, I’m finally raving … raving about my new jeans. I think I have found my perfect pair. A little history: growing up, jeans were only for the weekend and I was in my teens when my mother finally let me and my sister wear them to school. Of course, they had to be ironed with a razor sharp crease down the leg. When my mother was angry with us, she sent the jeans to the cleaners where they were starched and pressed which made getting dressed in the era of skin-tight jeans very difficult. I have lain on the floor to wiggle into my jeans. By my senior year of high school, my favorite pair of jeans were men’s Levi’s which had been so well worn that the denim felt like soft flannel. They had faded to an almost white, the belt loops had come off, and one pocket was missing. Thinking they were rags, my mom threw them away, thus the start of my search, which was complicated by the fact that I need a 36” inseam. In college, my uncle’s girlfriend introduced me to Gap jeans. They were long enough, but not quite right. Over the years, each time Levi’s launched a custom-fit program, I was measured and bought a pair of jeans. I even sat in the tub in the San Francisco store so that my 501s would shrink to fit. I got some decent jeans out of the program, but something was always not quite right: too high of a waist giving the Mom-jeans look, a straight leg that was a little too wide since there was no tapering from my thunder thighs to the hem, or a really heavy fabric that never gave. I’ve also tried every designer option available. I did guess jeans when they were popular and wore once, a pair of Dolce & Gabbana jeans that were cut too low for my comfort. I’ve invested in a few pairs of 7 for all mankind, which I believe only truly look good on stick figures. And I have a great pair from a tall company, but they are so ornate and detailed, that they can’t be worn too often. In the spring, I discovered Christopher Blue jeans, but while everyone is wearing dark denim, they only make a faded style in my size. I was ready to give up, but while lolling around on vacation, I read an issue of Real Simple, which I always considered to be real stupid. There was an article on the best of everything and at the top of the list was Lucky Brand Jeans, which come in tall sizes. I ordered 2 pair since I had nothing to lose. They are low-rise without being obscenely low (meaning I can sit and bend without flashing anyone), long enough that I can wear a slight heel with them, dark enough that they can be dressed up, and while there’s enough room to fit my ample things, they are snug enough around my narrow (for my build) hips that I don’t have to wear a belt. They are so comfortable that the first day I wore them, I even took a nap in them. How I wish I had found these jeans before. But maybe it’s true that good things come to those you wait and had I not had so many jean failures, I would not appreciate this sweet success.

My Reading Rant

Aaarrgh!!! I was really looking forward to my vacation and the opportunity to catch up on reading. Not serious stuff – although I do have one serious book with me – but rather, fluff, you know, bestseller nonfiction. I wanted a good story that did not require a lot of thought. I wanted to be able to coast though a book and just enjoy the ride. Completely missing Sex and the City, at the top of my list was Candace Bushnell’s latest work, Lipstick Jungle. What a rip-off. The book had to have been published based on her name only. I was annoyed by the characters and 353 pages I read in search of a plot. Moreover, the references to pop culture as well as the secondary characters and stories drawn from the tabloids just got to be too much. Yet, I read the entire book. Why? I can’t explain it, but for some reason I feel compelled to finish books that I start, even when they are really bad. I think that at some point, the story has to get better. It rarely does. The only upside is that I did not pay full price for the book. Gotta love Amazon.

Cutting up Cosmo

While at KCIA airport, I decided to kill some time by checking out the duty free. I was browsing the magazine rack and saw the latest edition of Cosmo. I rarely read the magazine, but was intrigued by 3 cover stories: something on understanding the male mind, a list of 100 things to do in bed, and something about your hidden sexual self. If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know I need all the help I can get when it comes to figuring out men. I was leafing through the magazine and questioning why I would pay KD3.750 for it, when I noticed 2 of the 3 articles that I wanted had been cut out of the magazine. WTF?! I was irked because they were charging almost $12 for an incomplete product and also perturbed by the idiots making the decisions on what is haram and what is halal in this country. Information itself – not that Cosmo should be considered the definitive source for anything – is not dangerous.

• Why cut out pages on tricks in bed when women wearing hijab sell at charity bazaars creams to pinken the nipples. (I kid you not; it was “pink nipple cream” from China with before and after pictures on the box.)
• Why ink out advertisements when satellite offers all varieties of porn. (Following the death of King Fahd, all I got for a week was prayer or porn.)
• Why edit a nude portrait by one of the great masters yet run right next to it a picture of Tyra Banks and who she underwent a sonogram to prove that her boobs are real?
• And why sell Cosmo at all if you remove the silly sex stories which is why women buy the darn magazine in the first place?

Gizmos

So I'm trying to lay out everything I need for my vacation which starts in 3 days. And I'm growing increasingly frustrated because of all the accoutrements I need for the electronic gadgets which are now part of my life:

• There's the laptop and the clunky battery pack and electrical cord.
• I not only need the ipod, but there's the AC charger, the cord so that I can copy music from my PC to the device, and the adapters so that I can use it in the car.
• The digital camera needs the battery charger.
• And of course I need two charges for my phones since is one is a Nokia and the other a Motorola.
• Even my toothbrush is electric which requires a charger.

Is anyone else overwhelmed by all the stuff that is supposed to make life easier?

If It's Ramadan, Why Am I Getting Ready for Christmas?

I leave for almost 4 weeks of vacation (well deserved in my humble opinion) at o-dark-thirty on Friday and I have yet to pack. I've been out every night this week and the pile of work on my desk is growing instead of decreasing. Yet, I blog. Why? HRHSamboose guilted me into updating my site in her most recent blog. So I write for the 3 of you that occasionally check out this page. Anyway, it's only the beginning of October, and yet I have finished much of my holiday shopping. In part because I am anal & obsessive, and in part because I am a professional shopper*. I've taken care of the gifts for all 5 of my godchildren and the other little kids whose company I enjoy. They are all in the same age group so I tend to buy gifts in bulk or according to a theme (last year they all got a certain type of book and this year it's a game), but I put a lot of thought into finding something both fun and educational, so it's not like I'm copping out by not personalizing each gift. For the first few years of their lives, I bought a separate gift for each one, but it got so stressful around birthdays and holidays when I had to remember what I bought and for whom. I've selected, but not ordered, my mother's gift. Although the odds of her reading this are extremely slim, I still won't reveal the gift lest someone spill the beans. Let it suffice, that I indulge one of her vices and have created a monster. Likewise, I've picked out my sister's gift. Lately I've been giving her jewelry because I think she needs it. She often looses it, but I've moved beyond that. I give her something I want her to have and something I think she deserves and I've learned not to care whether she wears or misplaces it. I'm most excited about the gifts that I have identified for my friends here. I came across something silly, but that I think they will appreciate. I spent a lot of time picking the right one for each person, and it's gonna kill me to keep my mouth shut for the next 2 and 1/2 months. All the items are sitting in my shopping cart on Amazon, and I'm trying to balance ordering them in time for December 25 with having the items around my house goading me to distribute them early. Yes, presents, like chocolate, talk to me. I still haven't selected gifts for my niece (23 yrs, working on her master's) and the man in my life. Any suggestions? *On professional shopping, I've often thought that for my next career, I would be a professional shopper. But I don't think I would handle well a client that disagrees with my purchases. So, I'll just shop for myself and think what it would be like to spend someone else's money.

I think I'm my Mother

For years now, I've been steadily turning into my mother. Today, I think the transformation is complete. Allow me to explain... As a child, I was very much like my father -- quiet, reserved, easily hurt. Physically, I also took after him -- tall, long feet and limbs, as well as flat feet and a flat derriere. There's more, but you get the idea. Some traits of my mother I knew I inherited long ago -- a love of shopping, a taste for the finer things in life, no patience for fools, etc. But over the years I noticed that I started picking up her habits -- leaving change in my pockets, buying gifts for myself, but today I noticed I have mastered her most amusing and possibly her worst habit. My mother names people. The monikers are always fitting, but not always appropriate. They endure because they are funny. For example: One of my sister's first boyfriends neglected to give her a Christmas gift after she spent all her allowance on him. We remember him as Cheapskate. Mommie spent 40 minutes in the back seat of my car with one of my friends who did not quite appreciate the usefulness of deodorant. To this day, that friend is known, within the family, as Stinky. A man who was deeply in love with my sister was, and always will be Boring. A previously mentioned ex, who was substantially older then me, became Old Seasoned One when he failed to show excitement for something accomplished that he had experienced long ago. And there are more. I admit I've christened some people. Old Seasoned One became Osama Bin Idiot. But Tuesday night, I don't know what happened. I was at a concert with some friends and the more I looked at the band, the more familiar they became. And then it struck me. One of the guitarists could have been a Hobbit in the "Lord of the Rings." He was small in stature, had the wavy hair, and his ears were slightly pointed. The drummer also perplexed me. By the end of the night, I realized he was a dead-ringer for the Captain from Captain & Tenille, complete with Greek fisherman's hat. Everyone laughed and I didn't give the names out of malice, but why did I do it at all?

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yesterday on the eve of my birthday, I posted a blog about aging. Today, one year older, I've had a revelation. (Is it true with age comes wisdom?) As I was eating birthday cake for breakfast, although it's almost lunch time, I was looking at my gifts and rereading my cards, and remembered age isn't important. What is important is how you live your life and what you do with it, and perhaps birthdays are a not so subtle reminder of that. Last night friends treated me to a wonderful dinner and gave me many beautiful gifts that show they really know who I am and what I like: jewelry and chocolate! This morning my in-box was flooded with greetings from friends all over the world, including one whom I haven't seen in over 10 years. Good friends don't care about gray hair, extra pounds, or whether I feel as if I've been professionally successful. Good friends simply care. But this revelation has created something else for me to worry about. I had a touching birthday message from my sister that made me cry, and my eyes welled up as I started to write thank-you notes. Is the ultimate stoic becoming a sap in her old age?

Hurricanes

Okay, everyone keeps asking me why this year’s devastating storms are all named after women.  Check out the following link for the history and policy of naming storms.  

FEMA History on naming Hurricanes

For a comprehensive list of storm names, click on:

Six-year list of storm names

Oddly enough, the “adult pages” were devoid of useful content.

Age: Is it really just a number?

My birthday is coming up soon -- the 23rd for curious readers -- and I keep thinking of the scene from "When Harry Met Sally" in which Sally cries about turning 40. Harry asks when and she replies, "In six years, but I'm still going to be 40." My 40th is not yet here, but I keep thinking about the number. Forty is not that far off and it sounds so grown up. But I don't feel grown up. And if I believe the masses, I look much younger than my age. So if I don't feel or look grown up, and if 40 is the new 30, why am I worrying about aging? The issue permeates every aspect of my day:

• While brushing my teeth in the morning, I study the wrinkles over the bridge of my nose. They are only visible when I squint, but the lines are deep. I look at the grooves around my mouth and I wonder how long they've been there. I question the elasticity of my skin. I'm even more obsessed since a dear friend, who has a flawless complexion, told me about a recent encounter in which someone told her she looks older than her oldest sister.

• I've always admired my mother's silver hair (I've only seen her with naturally dark hair in old photos), but I'm freaking out about the ones on my own head. I'm thrilled they are silver and not a dull gray, and I don't want to dye them because I don't think I could keep up with the maintenance. Yet, they are everywhere now and they won't behave, so I curse them. A cool streak might be okay, but my hairs stick out at all angles and drive me nuts.

• Every morning I also see on the scale the pounds I've gained since arriving in Kuwait. I've modified my diet -- all except for giving up chocolate -- yet they stay. I know more exercise would help, but ... And I wonder if it's all futile as I hear my sister's words echoing in my head that I'm old and the weight gain is unavoidable.

And while I try to come to terms with aging -- I'm cool with the concept, but the reality is a bitch -- I have to ponder the effects of age on my relationship that is or isn't. I've come to terms with the fact that my friend, although grayer, is younger (it's only 1 year and 11 months, but I'm used to dating men 20 years my senior). Yet I can't help but think that at my age, every day, month, and year is magnified and matters. I still haven't decided whether I want children at all, let alone naturally, but at my steadily advancing age, the decision may no longer be mine. If he follows the example set by movie and music stars, he's got at least 40 more years to decide if parenthood is for him. I don't have that luxury. I'm beginning to think it's now or never as I was rudely reminded this week in an editorial by English doctors that women can't have it all. You can't beat biology. Still, I don't want to do something stupid because 20 years from now I might have regrets.

So am I simply obsessing about another thing I can't control or are my concerns valid?

Rage

I tend to be a pretty even tempered person, and I pride myself on it. In the past week however, I can tell that too much work, too little sleep, and a long to-do list are starting to get to me. In today's New York Times, there was an interesting article by Natalie Angier (check out her book "Woman") about cursing and how it has been around as long as language itself. I took note that some people curse more when they are under stress. Apparently it's a way to relieve tension and not explode. Angier also reported that people tend to swear more around people they know and like. My poor office -- I've been cursing like a sailor this week. Thankfully, they know and like me, and vice verse. Anyway, I guess things came to a head tonight because I expressed my rage and frustration in a very Hollywood way. The house next door to me is under construction. I can handle the noise. The problem is the sloppy workers. They somehow manage to sling concrete in my yard and on two occasions, have covered my car with it. Fortunately, whatever mixture they use washes off without damage to the finish of my car. There are also wood, nails, and screws all over. As a result of the mess and noise, my dogs are afraid to go out and have been leaving little puddles and piles around the house and on my favorite rug. I've complained and cajoled, and the workers often apologize and clean up. But last Friday I cursed. I was on my way out the door when a worker dumped a bucket of trash into my yard. Forgetting it was Friday and a mosque is nearby, I yelled, "WTF?!" The guy shrugged and I lit into his colleague in a mixture of Arabic and English. More complaints were made to the owner and yesterday they cleaned up much of the mess. Tonight, however, after a long and stressful day, I pulled into my driveway to again find the mesh screening that is supposed to protect my home from their mess, flapping in the wind and wooden boards in the driveway. In a fit of pique -- but after I changed out of my suit and good shoes -- I went out determined to pull down all the sheeting. I tugged and tugged, but only managed to tear it more. The bottom half made it into my yard, but they did a pretty good job of securing the top. Plan B: Using one of the boards in the yard, and glad I had a tetanus shot, I shoved all the sheeting over the wall, tossing the boards afterwards. In the end, it was a comical sight and made me laugh. I found another way to relieve stress. What do you do when it all gets to be too much?

Woe is Woman

One of the reasons I started this blog was to express my concerns about the status and treatment of women. My frustration and outrage have grown as I read the papers and absorb stories about women being abducted for marriage in Kyrgyzstan (April 30, 2005 NYT), a Nigerian ban on women being passengers on motorbikes because the men might harass them, and the rape of young school girls in China. I can't comprehend why so many women continue to be subjugated and abused when women have made so many advances: 2 Secretaries of State, prime ministers (what's with the braid on the former Ukrainian PM?), a candidate for German Chancellor (Angela, why the hard "g?" It sounds so...so... German.), business moguls, etc. Why? Why? Why? Worldwide, women do must of the child rearing. They have an opportunity to shape and influence boys and young men for years. So why do so few of these boys and young men grow up to appreciate women as equals and partners and not treat them as objects? Is it nature? Is there something so deeply ingrained in our DNA from ancient history when brute strength was key to survival that we can't escape? Below the surface, is society so sexist that there will never be any real change? Or are women to blame for alienating those who have made it in a "man's world" and at the same time belittling women who choose to stay home and lead a more "traditional" life? I asked myself these questions while watching an Oprah episode about 7 cheating husbands. I'm not trying to create a link between infidelity and inequality, but I wondered why the wives chose to stay with the duplicitious men after multiple episodes of extramarital affairs. I'd like to think that love really is blind and forgiving, and that their husbands have truly repented. But I suspect the reasons they endure are economic, social (the whole status thing), and the need to preserve the family for the sake of the children. I wanted to yell at them, "Move on, you don't need a man -- especially the one you're married to." But then I remembered that yesterday I wrote about my deliberations on what to put first: my career or a still undefined relationship. I'm a hypocrite.

Karma

I was tucked into bed -- 11:30PM, earlier than usual -- thinking I might actually make it to work on time in the morning. That's not going to happen now since I'm sitting at my desk blogging away. What happened? I was attacked by random thoughts. It started off innocently enough: tomorrow's to do list, what to wear, how to get the water out my ear, and then karma. Why karma? I'm not a very spiritual person, and eastern philosophy, meditation, etc. mean very little to me. But I really think there's something to karma... This revelation was prompted by reflection on my current relationship. I suddenly realized the guy I'm dating is me, or the me I used to be: satisfied, content, and living in the now, not really thinking about the past or the future. Before some of you who know me well object, allow me to qualify this. I'm focusing on relationships only; we all know I'm anal retentive and obsess over the smallest details in every other aspect of my life. But traditionally, when involved with someone, I've preferred to enjoy (or try to enjoy) each day and put off discussions about "where are we going" or "is there a future?" This has frustrated many a man. The tables have now been turned however. Two weeks ago, I too was avoiding that 800-pound gorilla in the middle of the room. I now have no choice to confront it as my time in Kuwait will come to an end within a year and I have to decide what to do with my life. Do I do what's good for me professionally or do I think about my personal life and try to accommodate it? Given the options available to me, there is no truly happy medium; there will have to be a sacrifice. For the first time in my life, I think I'm ready to consider the interests of someone else, but I'm not getting clear, consistent encouragement about whether I should do so. The feminist in me says, "Move on and do what's best for you." The side of me that knows this man well, understands his hesitancy -- hey, he's doing what I normally do -- and recognizes that the little things he does convey what he cannot say. But what does all of this have to do with karma? I'd like a verbal expression of his feelings and hopes. (I'm still not ready to make any plans.) The karma is the last man I dated often asked, and in clear terms, how I felt about him. I deftly avoided answering because I knew he would not like the response and for a variety of reasons -- some twisted -- I did not want to immediately end the relationship. "But, that's only one example," you say. That's no proof of karma. Read on: Before him, Old Seasoned One (as my mother called him) or Osama bin Idiot (as I and my colleagues named him -- shortly after 9/11 we realized that a physical description of bin Ladin also described this man) broke my heart by doing something he knew would hurt me and never providing a full explanation. I did the same thing to the man I dated before the bin Ladin twin, although my transgression was less evil. The guy has never forgiven me, just like I can't forgive my personal terrorist. (It took a while, but I did get over the sordid saga.) There's no need to list all the previous boyfriends, but as I think back, the not so nice things that I did and the pain that I caused, I have since experienced. I think about how easily I walked away from a man who was by my side through some very tough times. Occasionally, he mentions that I never looked back when I got on the plane. He'll agree, that the relationship was limited to a certain time and place, but still, I made the departure chillier than necessary. Subsequently, someone walked away from me with surgical precision. So all of this raises the question, "Am I where I am because of human nature and the whole male/female thing, or is some greater power just evening the score?"