Do I look like a chump to you?

Apparently I do.

Just kinda wanted to show off my nails again

Yesterday evening, while standing on the sidewalk with a group of friends waiting for a table at a Chinese restaurant, a short Muslim lady in a niqab (veil that only bares they eyes) walked out of a tailor shop, strolled up to me, and asked me for money.  She said her husband had a medical problem, and kept repeating "5 dirhams only."

I am so poor

Well, I said no.  If your husband really has a problem, it seems to be that the sleeves of his shirts are too long and not that he needs a surgery.  Now, I do give money to panhandlers.  I'll give my doggie bag to a man on the street or put my spare change into someone's hat.  But if you come up to me, and brazenly ask me for cash (not very modest for a woman who covers everything but her eyes in the name of God and honor!), you're not getting anything.  She just stood there, uncomfortably close, for several minutes.  I ignored her, but the two gentlemen I was with opened their wallets and gave her money.  Which probably increases the chances that the next time I'm standing around, I'll get asked for cash again.  There are people who need help.  Then there are obvious scammers who think you (me!) are an easy target because you're western.  If you are reading this, scammer (and you might be, you probably have a computer), leave me alone.  You make it harder for people who really need help to get it.

Now that I think about it, I should have told her I'd give her 5 dirhams if she let me take her photo.  I've had such trouble getting a good shot of how women dress around here.

Coming Attractions

Greetings Followers!  All three of you will be pleased to learn I am working on something special for y'all.  I am going to document everything that I cook and bake for the next seven days.  I started today (which was kind of a bad choice seeing as the weekend starts tomorrow, but one must Carpe Diem!)

Seize the Day!

I am also taking photographs of the many feral cats that live in and around my apartment complex.  Mostly for my own entertainment, but I will graciously share them with you to waste your time as well.

Face it, those TPS reports weren't getting done anyway

An old anecdote that's surprisingly relevant

When I was about 12 years old, my family took a trip to Las Vegas for my Grammy's (maternal grandfather's mother) 85th Birthday party.  It was somewhat of a family reunion, and kind of a big deal.  I don't remember much about Grammy, she was a small frail woman who was wheeled outside to smoke cigars and drink martinis until the day she died.  This was also the trip where I learned to french braid my own hair.  This is not the relevant part.

We stayed at the Excalibur Hotel, during that time when Las Vegas was trying to be more family friendly.

It's just like Disneyland!  We Promise!

There was a small area of shops around a small stage above the arcade where my sister and I spent hours watching shows and spending our money on rock candy.  One of the acts was a quick change artist.  It was a couple, man and a woman, and I was very impressed having never seen such a thing before.  A few hours later I went to the restroom and ran into the woman in the act, and told her I liked her act very much.  She thanked me nicely, although I don't believe she spoke very much english, and I realized that she was a drag queen.

I know we don't call them drag queens anymore, they are transsexuals or some other politically correct term, but it was a man dressed as a woman.  At the age of 12, I was not at all shocked to encounter her in the women's restroom, and as the subject becomes increasingly popular, I find I still, 18 years later, am not shocked or appalled by transsexual females in women's restrooms.  I don't care what's in their pants, I don't care if they are doing a good job at "passing" as a woman.  I just plain don't  care, and don't really understand why other people have such a problem.

She doesn't understand your problem either

I guess anything outside of normal is too much for the frail people of Tennessee, where a bill has been introduced to make it illegal to use the "incorrect" restroom.  This, I have a problem with, not just because legislating bigotry is wrong, but because I personally, have used a men's restroom on more than one occasion, and if it's warranted, will do so again, legal or not.

When you gotta go...

I guess I'm just not good at being a bigot.  I should be taking this recently recalled memory of meeting a drag queen as an adolescent and start a crusade against people who are different than I.  Well, I'm not gonna.  I have better things to do than hate on people who have it tough enough already.  If I want to get my hate on, I'll start cheering for a sports team, or read the local news here in Abu Dhabi.  Maybe watch that movie where the talking cats and dogs start a war or something.  I dunno.  But it won't be hating on people who are different than I am.

I'll be too busy asking them for hair and make-up advice

Yes, I'm sad. I'll stop soon.

I've had a hard week.  People who follow me on Facebook know that.  Dark messages, swear words, a cover photo of a darkened stormy sky.

Well, it happens.  It's hard living here in Abu Dhabi.  I've gone out to meet people on three separate occassions and had a wonderful time.  I thought the other parties did too, but then my messages and calls went unanswered.  I think I might be unlikeable, and that makes me very sad.

This is the not the first time this has happened.  On two previous occassions, whole groups of girls decided that I was not worthy to be my friend and left me crying on the curb, once even literally.  Being here, meeting people who don't want to meet again, it's like living through that all again.  It suxxx <multiple x's indicate how much suckitude).

I do meet people who are great, but they are all coworkers of Dan's or their wives.  They have jobs.  Lives outside of their homes.  I do not.  I do not know how to connect with a group of women who are all teachers or all have children in common.  That's not my bag, and I don't understand it.  So I spend my days baking, watching old movies, trying to crochet (despite the severe lack of supplies here), and posting on a local internet forum. 

That forum recently decided that I was unworthy of them because of a negative review I posted on Amazon about a book written by a member.  Trust me, the book is terrible, and the positive reviews are all due to cronyism and a free coupon book.  Well, now I've been rejected by a large segment of the expat woman community in Abu Dhabi, and it hurts.  I've also had the unfortunate experience of posting on somethingawful.com on the advice of a friend.  There I was lambasted and then other members proceeded to send me IMs.  Here are a couple highlights:

The middle east is the best place for you.  I hope your husband beats you every day and passes you around like a blundt

You deserve all the vitriol and hate you get until you can't stand it anymore and just die

You fucking cunt

Bitchbitchbitchbitch......

And those are just a few.  These are the result of a topic regarding a woman who came into the gym, went to the machine next to me, and spritzed herself down with sandalwood perfume until I started gagging and had to leave. 

The internet is a terrible place, but I don't know how else to remain connected to the world.  It's not coffee with a group of biddies whose biggest problem is that the maid is lazy and their manicurist is slow.

Dan won't do this to my nails.  Maybe if I make the pouty face enough...

Luckily, a few people have reached out.  It's nice to know people care, but it's hard knowing they are so far away.  I got a call last night at 2am.  My new nephew, Shaeleb Mathias was about to be born.  I might not get to see him until he's almost a year old, and the thought brings tears to my eyes.

His too.  He's sad he won't get to meet his Aunty for a while yet

I appreciate every message you send, even if your just telling me about your job or your dog or the time of day there.  I'm very lonely.  Sometimes I can't hide it anymore.  Now is one of those times.  Bare with me.  It'll get better and I'll go back to light-hearted posts with photoshops of cats.

That's how I feel about McDonald's fries too

Friday Trip to Dubai

For Dan's birthday, we decided to make a pilgrimage to that decadent western import: Red Lobster.  Crab legs are a favorite food of both Dan and myself, and the temptation to have a special birthday dinner was just too great, so off we went at the bright early hour of 1pm.  The biggest excitement of the day: I drove!

I haven't been behind the wheel of a car in over a year, except that one time I went to Carrefour (French Wal-Mart) while Dan played soccer.  It was a two minute drive across the street, and Dan was still a little worried.  But this drive (and my trip to C4) was without event.

The Dubai Mall was as the usual: huge and terrible.  It's a tourist trap.  You can't really shop there because prices seem to be at least 10% higher than anywhere else.

 But they have this amazing fountain where Ken dolls dive into infinity, so I'm sure the price is worth it

We stopped at the sports stores to try and find me a good pair of work out shoes (the Nike Pegasus I bought in Jersey are perfect for walking, but not so great for the high intensity of my workout obsession).  The only shoes that even began to reach our price range were those ridiculous trainers that are meant to work your calves and buttocks.

If I wanted to walk funny, I'd just head to Africa and get polio.

Aside from the horrifying experience of shopping at such a huge and pointless cathedral to capitalism, Red Lobster was great.  The food was just as expected and REALLY fast.  I don't think I could have gotten a Whopper My Way as fast as those crab legs arrived, and boy did we enjoy them.

Next up was a trip to a craft store I'd heard wonderful things about.  Another let down (too much for a girl already suffering from PMS).  None of the crochet needles I needed to make a slew of Sun Devil themed coasters, and not a great selection of yarn.  I guess when I start work on a baby blanket for my new nephew I'll have to seek elsewhere.

 Of course, I have everything you need...

Overall, it was good to get out of the house for the day, drive a car, and get some crab legs.  I meant to add a little bit of last Friday's excursion to the RIPE Farmer's Market, but I just don't feel like it, and we might perhaps end up there next weekend (there's a cute little Mexican Muslim woman who sells homemade salsa and tortillas we need to visit again).  Here's a photo preview:

On Dieting

I don't know where or when I learned that fad dieting is bad, but at some point I did.  I've never had body image issues or dysfunctional eating habits, and I've been very lucky.  Maybe my mom's love of Richard Simmons helped.

 What's not to love?

At some point in the last several years I got fat and didn't even know it (that's how unaware of my body I was).  Now I've lost several pounds, partially due to the lack of easy to make, fattening foods around here.  Now, I have to actively make the fatty foods myself.

What has inspired this post is the latest fad diet that the ladies of the local forum I belong to have bought into: The Dukan Diet.  It's the same low and no carb bullshit that rich white men have been selling desperate women since the 1800s (that's when voluptuous women stopped being desirable and started being fat).  The Dukan Diet is one of the worst diets of 2011 according to the British Dietetic Association, but still these women buy the book, throw out anything forbidden, and follow his words as if they were handed down from a deity, and no criticism will they allow.  Well fine, I criticized the diet, got called out as a meenie, and that's that.  Here's my take on dieting:

There is no skinny person living inside me.  Instead, there is a chronically obese person who wants to eat nothing but carbohydrates and surf the internet.  I have to live with this person, so we make compromises.  I don't drink soda at home, but I'll have a Coke when I'm eating out.  I can surf the internet for hours, but I still have to hit the gym at least three times a week.  And sometimes, even that goes out the window and the fat person inside me (who I've named Edith after Lot's wife who was turned into a pillar of salt, and Archie Bunker's wife) wins.  That's OK.  It's not really cheating because there's nothing set in stone (or in a book that's costs $12.95 and is available everywhere). 

I don't fool my body with low fat foods or fake sugars, and I think that helped get rid of the pounds I've needed to lose.  My body didn't know it needed to hoard calories because I've never deprived it before. 

So far I think I've lost about 40 pounds.   That's a helluva a lot considering I didn't know I was fat in the first place.  My understanding husband never said a word.  I don't have a goal.  I work out, eat junk when I want, and just kind of go with the flow (the flow is made of Lipton Forest Fruits iced tea).  Edith and I are getting along fine.  The poor saps who listened to this jerk who claims school chidren should get graded on math, spelling, and fatness, are blaming themselves for "cheating" because of the holidays, vowing to get back on the horse, and tossing real pasta for some weird stuff made out of mushrooms.  I have three words for that, and two of them are inappropriate for a family blog.

You don't need a book and holy man to lose weight.  You need support and willpower.  And you have to remember that it sucks.  Exercise is hard, Cheetos are delicious, and snake oil salesman are very persuasive.

"Trust me, I'm a doctor."

Speaking English

This post was originally a Note on my Facebook page, but I'm putting it here because that's just what I'm doing now.


When I say I live in Abu Dhabi, people ask me what language they speak here.  The answer is English.  I have yet to meet anyone who doesn't speak English to some degree or another.  Well what about Arabic, hypothetical person reading this might ask.  Sure, I could learn Arabic, and then have so little chance to use it I'd probably forget it.  So I speak English and don't think twice about it, until now.

A couple of days ago I was in the gym, looking particularly fetching in Dan's Big Willie Style basketball shorts and a shirt with a map of the USA made out of animals on it.  I was alone in the work out room, and JT and I were bringing sexy back (translation: Justin Timberlake was on the radio and I was singing out loud).  I'd been huffing and puffing on the eliptical for about half an hour, and suddenly an Arab man comes up next to me and asks if he can change the TV.  Being the considerate person I am, I of course reply "Knock yourself out" at which point the gentleman in question turned and started walking away, leading to my hurriedly yelling "That means Yes!" at his back, before he left thinking how rude Americans are.

Is there are moral to this story? Probably.  Mostly I'm sharing because I thought it was amusing.

Today is Dan's Birthday

I think he might be getting too old for me, me being a dazzling 20-something and him being a 30-something, but that is another post.  On to the topic at hand: Birthday Goodies!

I'm no good at cakes.  I don't know why, but their light, fluffy moistness seems to elude me, and I can't blame it entirely on my terrible oven.  So I decided on this recipe for German Chocolate Brownies.  Brownies I can do with my eyes closed.  Then of course my food processor didn't work.  I don't know what's wrong, it's one I carted back from New Jersey on my recent trip and this was it's first test.  It failed.  Well, on to Plan B.

There wasn't a Plan B.

I rolled up my sleeves (metaphorically, I hate sleeves, which is one reason Islam and I don't get along.  My arms and shoulders like to be free), and decided to fake it.  Over the weekend I faked a batch of White Chocolate Cherry Macadamia Nut Cookies and they are delicious.  Dan was supposed to take them to work to prevent me from eating them all, but he's too late, I refuse to give them up, even if I have to sleep with them nestled under my pillow.  The first step in faking a recipe is a rum and coke.  Trust me, it's essential.

I don't know where they're hiding the free can.  Looks like a regular 6-pack to me.

After that, I decided to find a nice fudgy brownie recipe, make it bigger (so it fits in a 9x13 inch pan) and make it fudgier.  While it cooled, I started on the german frosting part of the brownies, and realized Dan would be home soon....oops!  So much for my plan to make chicken and trans-fats alfredo.  So we called in for Texas Chicken (Church's Chicken for my American readers),

and watched Saturday Night Live.

Fans of Discovery ID know they need more programming

The brownies came out delicious, according to Dan.  I wouldn't know, I don't like coconut.

Festivities to be continued on Friday with a trip to Dubai so I can visit the craft store and we can eat at the Red Lobster in the Dubai Mall.

Update:  The problem wasn't with the food processor, it was with my inability to determine which plug gadgets are required to make things with different voltages work.  My bad.

How was your day, Honey?

Dan rarely asks me this.  I think it's mostly that he doesn't think to, because generally what I do is so boring/pointless and I will chatter about it for the rest of the evening anyway.  For those unfamiliar with my routine (everyone), here's a rundown of today, Wednesday January 4, 2012:

Woke up about 4am.  Sounds early, but since I rarely sleep a whole night through without medicinal help, I was satisfied.  The next couple hours are devoted to surfing the internet and watching Turner Classic Movies (Pan Europe).  I start to toy with the idea of going to the gym.  It takes a few hours for the idea to take root and blossom into action, but it does mid-morning, so I head down to kill it on the elliptical and work my arms.  I am a little afraid of getting Hulk arms, so I haven't upped my weight in over a month.  After a shower and some more TCM Pan Europe (I don't care for Glenn Ford.  He's a handsome enough man, but I much prefer George Brent), I go to the store.  It's a brief walk through a parking lot, and the grocery store is in the mall.  I have dressed like it's winter in a tank top, flannel shirt, and jeans, which is a mistake.  It's 70 degrees outside, but approaching 80 inside the mall.  I think building management works on the principle that since it's winter, air conditioning isn't necessary.  They are wrong.

Pictured: Winter

Now I have returned from the store with much more food than I intended (I went hungry, you know how that is), and I'm eating a pretty delicious turkey club on oregano ciabatta bread.  The "club" part is turkey bacon, but on a sandwich it's acceptable.

(Note to Dan's former boss: Turkey bacon is not "just as good or better" than real bacon.  That's a lie you told yourself because your cholesterol is high)

Forecast for the rest of the day:  Dinner, with a chance of snuggling.  Possible brownies.

New Year's Resolutions

Even though I don't really buy into the idea of New Year's Resolutions (I think you're just setting yourself up to fail), I am going to make an effort to write more on this blog, even if only my grandma reads it (Hi Grandma! I made your rolls for Xmas dinner and they came out flat).  Two of my other goals: breaking my bad internet habits (AbuDhabiWoman.com and The HuffPo), and learning to crochet. 

For people who are sticklers about it, I will be using the Oxford comma and two spaces after a period.  Deal with it.