The internet isn’t a sentient being, so I should probably stop starting every post by greeting the internet. But then neither is the universe and the universe and I talk all the time. INTERNET, HELLO.
This is my first Ramadan experience, despite coming from a country with one of the largest Muslim populations in the world. When I’m not marveling at my cultural ignorance, I’m in awe of the hardcore fasting people are capable of. Other than the standard no food / drink fast there are people who also don’t swallow for the entire period, with the basic idea being that nothing should go down your throat. Thirteen hours of nothing going down your throat. And the whole experience is meant to remind you of how insignificant you are, a lesson in humility and the awesomeness of the god you believe in.
I now live in Dubai (have I mentioned that here earlier?) and it’s illegal to eat / drink in a public place during this month. There’s a room somewhere in my office where non fasting employees can convene to eat / drink. I personally find the thought of going to some secret room, with the door closed and stuffing your face while a significant percentage of your fellow employees are fasting in remarkably poor taste. So I also end up not eating / drinking till I get home (reduced working hours means home at 4) and even though today’s only day 4, the whole thing has been a shocking realization of what a toxic sewer my insides are. It’s not that I’m hungry by the time I get home (which I am, but is manageable). It’s the nicotine, caffeine and aspartame cravings that give me migraines and reduce my brain to mulch, that are alarming. Apparently, I can NOT go hours without any of the three. Which makes me wonder how would I live on a deserted island / in a small city / on a farm. It’s a charmed solipsistic life I tells ya.
Can I revoke my invitation to my manfriend to visit me? The women here are too pretty, it’s a horrible mistake. I know I say that a lot (the thing about the pretty women), pretty much every time I travel. But seriously! Dubai is numero uno when it comes to the babeliness of its women. Other than the hordes of beautiful expats who’re flitting about the place looking fresh and lovely, the effect local women have on all who lay their eyes on the only visible bit of skin, their dignified, demure face surrounded by meters of black fabric, is pretty fucking damaging.
One of the kittens I feed has finally finally FINALLY decided that she can trust me and now every day at feeding time I get rubbed against in a manner that if not adorable would be downright perverted. I know I can’t take them home, because a) I’m not home much b) I don’t how long I am in Dubai, but it’s a thought that’s begun gnawing at my heart. Its easier when I put a ‘doing what’s best for them’ spin on it as I figure they’d be pretty miserable being locked into an empty flat for most of the day.
And to continue with the inane domestic roundub (I’m a diarist, not a blogger SEE) I got my lockjaw insurance claim from the evil insurance company. Considering this has been my first ever experience with any sort of insurance company and they coughed up as per process without any harassment (real or assumed) at all I should probably think a little more favourably of them. I’ve however been conditioned to think of insurance companies as the epitome of corporate evil (ho ho ho I work at one of the oldest MFing banks in the world) and was fully prepared to hand over my claim documents and stab the insurance rep in the scrotum.
In what I could consider to be supremely ironic, my brother has moved to the village (while I have moved out of the country). However, since he is my favourite human being I’m also super happy that he gets to enjoy beautiful weather and kickass coffee and very narrow roads and the sexism of the landlord community. Better there than in hotter parts of the country I say. And it’s too early but I’m already excited about my two week long trip back home in October. I can’t wait to get bitten and ignored by my own babies. I. Can. Not. Wait
I’m looking forward to the manfriend’s impending visit on so many levels. In the top three is the fact that I intend to constantly get wasted with him. Dipsomania aside, this visit is also very worrying and I want to keep you posted with daily updates of ‘god, how do I get him out of the house without seeming insane, considering the bitchfit I threw to get him to visit in the first place’ and ‘why must he snore all the time!’ and ‘is it okay if I start staying late at work to avoid him?’ but I can’t since he knows the link to my blog :(