Anonymous & UAE IP’s

Anonymous (Balushi after playing with his IP; kid got smart for a minute!) stated as a fact that UAE IP’s must start with 195 in my chat box over there. Since I’m set on highlighting their intelligence I thought I’d post another little picture of my stat counter pages here, to give you all an idea about the varying ways a UAE IP address can start.



**This image has been replaced due to a personal request made; however relevance is the same.

And for those of you lost in this conversation, here’s Wikipedia’s definition of an IP address. (I’m a little computer challenged myself, so I know this sort of information can come in handy to those who don’t know much about the internet)

Wikipedia Definition of IP Address:

“An IP address (Internet Protocol address) is a unique number that devices use in order to identify and communicate with each other on a computer network utilizing the Internet Protocol standard (IP). Any participating network device — including routers, computers, time-servers, printers, internet fax machines, and some telephones — must have its own unique address.”

**Now, there is an entry I really want to be writing just now… So could you guys stop forcing me to prove silly shit for ya? Thank you much.

Ahhhh. It’s good to be back! And I KNOW Balushi missed me. He said so in his last post! Click here to see for yourself!

Suddenly Sunday: Balushi & Secret Dubai

Before I begin, how many of you all missed my potty-mouth? This is not a hypothetical question; I actually would like a response. I know I missed you all!

Especially missed my favorites, Balushi & Secret Dubai. But it looked as though the two of them kept you all entertained while I was away. I know that, looks can be deceiving now… Do you?

Before I continue with this, I must thank Samurai Sam, UAE’s #1 HackAr for showing me all the tricks to do this, being a super-cool detective, and an awesome friend!

On to what I was actually about to say; I gotta say, Thank God for Balushi! I wasn’t sure what kind of shocking little rant I was going to give you all when I finally got here.

Thank you B, for making my task a little easier.

For all y’all who don’t know any better, there’s just about nothing someone with the brain the size of peanut can do around here that’s actually anonymous. That includes wearing the Secret Dubai Mask.

I’m sorry to disappoint you all with the notion that Secret Dubai’s comment on the chat box aside, was written by none-other than the one she ‘attacked’, or as he would have you believe. Among dressing up like SD, it turns out Balushi is able to wear a couple of masks; almost none of the comments with reference to Balushi & Secret Dubai’s fabled night of little penis passion, were actually written by third, or fourth parties. Well done Balushi, for your one-man show!

Can’t help but wonder if you were having a one man show while fantasizing about this; and explicitly sharing the details of your imagination with Blogsville…?

Anyway, on to the proof:



Notice the IP address’ of all the comments made here?! B, you should get paid for the drama you make hun. I love you.

Give an inch…

Inch. (along with all the labor rights advertisements, the hotline for abuse reports, the luxury accommodation I posted about last)

They’ll try to take a mile?

Mile. (along with the million dollar or dhs, I can’t remember, damage done in a previous protest because a few busses were late)


~*~

I’m tired today.

Took yesterday off, just to relax and be lazy. Today… I’m still relaxed, lazy, and with little to say.

Ahh, it’s the weekend.

What I actually wanted to say…

…was lost in traffic on Emirates road today. So, here are a few things I probably should be writing about:

O Canada! Why aren’t you there? And why the FUCK do people think that since I’m a Canadian, I should know how to get them residency there?

Fact: Canada is just as much a prostitute as the UAE, with even more whorish standards. Canada doesn’t want you unless you’ve got a tone of money in your bank account (that she can somehow get her hands on), or a tone of educational background and experience that she can take advantage of. She has NO sympathy for you, unless you’ve got something to give her in advance.

At least the UAE will give you a place to work, make money, and possibly support those back home; regardless of your education level or the amount of money you can bring in.

Fact: I didn’t ever go through Canada’s immigration process as a foreigner and I know almost nothing about immigrating there. You’re just annoying me by assuming I should know; and by pestering me with your questions.

Call the FUCKING embassy.

Luxury Labor Camps! Not moving fast enough for you? Still can’t see the progress?

What in the world will you bitch about once these camps are the standard? How long it took?

Fact: Laborers are treated like shit by many companies here & all across the Middle East. It’s a problem, that’s in the process of being corrected in the UAE. Shit like this take time & patience is a fucking virtue!

And guess what, I haven’t been paid my fucking salary for last month yet, so it’s not as much just a fucking discrimination/racial thing as many of you would like to make out.

Nationals get off easy, NO MORE! In these instances nationals get a fucking year in jail, while foreigners get a month before being deported.

Fact: A lot of you will most certainly find a way to protest deportation, and claim it’s the bigger punishment.

If you don’t break the fucking laws you get to stay; that fucking simple. Why the FUCK should a country home you, if you can’t obey the fucking laws? For the nationals, THIS IS THEIR HOME. Makes perfect sense to deport them too, to you, I suppose though huh? I’ve got an idea; let’s swap! The UAE will keep the expatriates from your countries who commit crimes, but only in return for your country homing one for one, UAE national criminals in their place?!

British Attitude, defended by Brits over Airport drunkenness!

Fact: I worked in a customer service call center for more than two years for a satellite television company, here. I certainly encountered far more, ruder, more abusive, and down right out insulting British customers than customers of just about any other nationality. The only nationality that was even remotely as rude as the Brits I encountered, believe it or not, were Indians, and even they were a far-cry from the Brits.

International studies done on cultures & common courtesy show that Brits are in fact one of the rudest nations in the world. Why bother denying it? If you don’t like the accusation, start working towards correcting it. Don't fight with us because you're giving us that impression of you.

BBC Report about rude Brits

Now, it’s too bad I lost my original post in the traffic this morning. Damn that was nasty (was any one else stuck in it?). I’m pretty sure these little tidbits of rants will piss enough of you off to hold you all over until I’ve got something more solid or elegantly composed to share.

Fictitious Threesome

I’m gonna wrap up two earlier entries here; both of which I knew were incomplete, while you readers were in the dark about my deliciously super, secret, secrets!

I AM JUHA!!

First, the incomplete entries…

Shall we Clique?

Seks, Seks, Seks

Both these entries were written with a certain aspect of what’s going on in my personal life, in mind. Here’s the truth without the delicious rumors the UAE society loves to relish in; and bloggers around here were happily sketching when the first whiff of Sam & my off-line friendship started.

Samurai Sam and I are friends, off-line. I have been talking to him on the phone since before he entered the UAE. A while back, we learned we have a certain person in common. Actually, it’s a person I’ve blogged about in his entirety for being such an amazing aspect of my social life. Through that friend; whom I assure you, there could be no better friend on earth, Sam and I found one of our first similarities.

As soon as Bloggers around here got a hint that he and I might be building an off-line friendship, sewing circle lips with lying tongues started at it. Allow me to clarify a few things for those concerned and those who are not; as well.

I am a twenty-five year old woman with a three year old son and an ex-husband. I am currently in a long-term relationship with a man who is 26 years old, and may or may not be my fiancée; depending on how both he and I are feeling and the decisions we’re currently working on. I have no sexual desire and no intention to create a lustful, romantic relationship with Sam, what-so-ever.

Social Interaction requires intellect. The lack of that intellect in this country not only goes to create the artless social interaction & cliquish clusters as I mentioned in previous blogs, but also is the root of such pointless talk.

An untold lie is most usually kept quiet subconsciously, because you know what an idiot it will make you look, under your own paint.

Intellect, among a few other things, is what makes Sam and I such great friends. It just so happens, that Sam is someone I can relate to and who can relate to me. Sam is a person whose company I enjoy and whom I’m pretty such enjoys spending time with me. Sam has a face just like you and me, beyond his blog, and it’s one that I respect and understand.

If any of you want to fantasize that his and my relationship goes beyond that, by all means, do. But since you’ve got the truth here, coming from the source itself; you’d be a real idiot to fall for your own fiction or even share it with someone else.

And if you want to take it there anyway, you might as well throw MD into the plot too. MD is also an off-line friend of mine and of my sister-in-law, and I love this girl terribly. And don’t you stop with just this threesome; make your drama an award winner, throw Dengrous Boy in bed with me too; because he’s the one who is responsible for the new layout of my blog. And please, PLEASE, don’t forget to add the real romantic interest of my life to your story-line, since it looks like Sam and him will be ditching me tonight, to see a show.

In a normal community; friendship doesn’t have boundaries based on age, religion, sex, skin-color, nationality, financial status, or even (in Dengrous’ case) language abilities, or the likes of such superficial bull-shit. Friendship is based on trust, mutual understanding, acceptance, and the sheer joy of one another’s company.

Like the joy I experienced this morning since my wish to kidnap both Sam & MD came true; and both joined me in my office.

The UAE could be a ‘normal’ community, but so many of you seem to fight to keep it fake, I don’t see it happening any time soon; so I’ll keep living my fairytale with those who want to live it with me, and the rest of you can write your fantasies until your fingers swell and turn blue for all I care.

Criminal Blogs; Before Kevin Underwood there was Joseph Duncan

There are no words to describe this sort of thing.

His murder of a ten year old girl was discovered two days after his last post. She went missing, a day before the last post. Tell-tale signs in the Blog?

Kevin Underwood’s Blog

CNN Article on This

And he’s not the first. This man kidnapped an eight year old girl and her brother, up until two days before murdering her parents kept his Blog; which in my eyes is far more evident and telling of violent behavior, than the more recent Blog of Kevin Underwood.

Joseph Edward Duncan III’s Blog

CNN Article on This

Blogs like this and the Law?

I feel sick to my stomach after looking through all this. The idea that someone like Joseph Duncan was convicted of such a crime years ago; and nothing that I know of monitors Blogs for these sorts of telling signs; while then came Underwood, is really fucking scary.

I can’t help but wonder how many other murderers/violent criminals are writing about their personal torture; giving clues to their future heinous activities are being read by multiple people all over the world, and yet no one is able to see deep enough between the lines, to catch it before it’s too late.

What if you’re reading? What if I’m reading? And why aren’t we catching these things before they’re too late?

I can pin-point a low self-esteem through typed words on a screen. I can feel a mood through choice of words. I can see when someone is truly happy for another, or just feigning it. Or at least I think I can; but then, I shouldn’t be the only one. Others should be able to see and feel such things too. Why were these guys missed?

Seks, Seks, Seks in the UAE Society!

Social intercourse in the Emirates sucks.

I’ve finally decided its true, and not just me who’s the reject.
This place, the people here; they fuck with your mind. And it’s NOT a nationality thing… It’s a social thing.

The UAE society is a bitch; a prostitute for tourists to come, get off, drop a few dollars and go back home with a couple fond memories. But to live here; like existing in the heart of a prostitute; is hollow.

That’s all there is really; nothing more than a pussy protecting cock teaser. And where I’m from, there’s just about nothing worse than being labeled that. She sure looks pretty; tastes good with the first bite; but leaves a nasty after taste in your mouth once you’re done chewing.

And no, you dumb fucks! This isn’t about sex.

The weekend is over, and I’m back! And these are the thoughts that followed me here.

About Podcasting… Thank you much for the invite, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.

Shall we Clique; School Girl?

I’d been stereotyped. I was the popular girl; the blonde bimbo; I was a princess and I’ve got the year books to prove it. I’m pretty sure, if our highschool here had a cheerleading squad, it’d be assumed that I’d be on it.

Fact: I wouldn’t have joined a cheerleading squad. I was too rebellious to entertain any optional, recreational school activities.

But that’s not the point of this entry, really. There’s something more I have to say. It has more to do with UAE society as a whole, than school. The only reason school came up was because I was happy to leave the cliques behind when I left; no doubt, I was a very bug part of them in my time. But they were tiring; and even-more, as I grew; I realized I was missing out on a lot in life because of them.

The only friends I still have today are the ones that weren’t really part of my clique. Those who cliqued, either slipped away silently, or have become no more than acquaintances. Life is funny that way. I guess it’s because those who weren’t in my clique had more real things in common with me than the ability to follow dress-sense of someone else, or duplicate opinions. We had deeper reasons to become friends in the first place.

In my honest opinion the UAE society cliques no matter where you are; or what stage of life you’re at. Those of us, who reject those cliques, find that just about everyone can find a reason to hate us; we disagreed with a ‘clique member;’ we don’t believe friendship should be restricted by age, or opinion, nationality, or financial status; we think for ourselves; we can’t be understood; or even harder to decipher, less obvious reasons.

If I’m part of a clique today, it’s an elusive and ever changing one. It’s a clique where members have bonded out of respect, understanding, and acceptance of one another’s differences as vast as they may be. All those who are a part of this know that I’ll never turn my back on you because you disagreed with someone I love, I’ll never judge you because you fucked up and only realized it later, I’ll never deny help because we’re fighting, and I’ll always welcome you’re call. And you know this is true; because the same is offered to me by you.

I’m out of here for the weekend now. Nothing too controversial for you all to attack me over while I’m gone; hope it’s not too much of a disappointment for you.

Florescent Pee with Ornamin C!

If the title meant something more than just a funky rhyme tainted used as a title, this entry is for you.

20% in any society are leaders. The remaining 80% are followers. This falls in line with Pareto Law for business and economics. Only twenty percent of any action actually causes a ripple result, creating an effect.

When you think of yourself, who is it you believe you are? When you think of how others see you, who is it you think you are to them? And most importantly what are you basing your answers to both questions on?

Most of us, don’t know who we really are; even up until that last moment before we die. And many of us aren’t even aware of it. I believe you know who you are, or at least who you want to be.

The only step you have left to getting there; is the first one. Most of the time; that seems like the hardest one. I know you can do it.

And when you feel you can’t, don’t forget…

…I’m there for you all the way.

Black – White Chocolate Chip Cookies

Sometimes, my mind gets over-loaded and I can’t think of much to say. Either I know my input will have no effect, or there’s just so much to be said, it’d be virtually impossible to cover it all.

I’ve decided that when I feel like this, I’m just going to offer whoever is around a cookie, whether I have one or not.

Cookies taste good. They make your belly smile. And they go great with milk. And milk is good for you too!

I like cookies today. I’m in a cookie mood. And there’s too much in my mind to even bother trying to push it out.

So, you want a cookie?

…I do too. Pick some up on your way?


**Thank you two, for the pretty cookie image...

Warm & Fuzzy Feelings...

That’s rather flattering, isn’t it?

Looks like there are a few more similarities we can throw in the pot…

Today is a brilliant day. Sincere compliments are often found in indirect actions; and rarely found in pretty words.

Thank you, for unexpectedly, possibly unintentionally making my day.

The Final Twist…

I get off on the psychology of people. I find real people far more entertaining than any movie, program, play or fictional story. Real people are complex, interesting to dissect, and can instill deeper raw emotion than much else in existence.

Anyone who knows me well knows this about me. When I read, I read non-fiction, the movies I enjoy most are based on true-stories, and when I’m interacting with people I’m looking a little deeper than the surface.

I took yesterday off work to sort out the issues I was facing. I realized the mistake I made by entering the real ‘twists’ the “Happy Hooker” preceded. For a moment, I forgot the majority of the readers to this blog are UAE based, which in my honest opinion, generally means the audience here is far more judgmental and far less understanding than elsewhere.

I think I need to state this again. This Blog, is mainly for the sake of my entertainment. Not one of you readers should claim to have missed this, at the header:

TAINTED
LOST IN THE UNITED ARAB EMIRATES; LOST IN MY MIND; LOST IN THOUGHTS OF YOU AND HIM; I’M A TAINTED FEMALE, AND SO WILL BE MY BLOG. TRUTHS TAINTED WITH LIES; REALITY TAINTED WITH DREAMS; YOU WILL BE TAINTED BY ME.

If by chance you did miss that, I should hope you saw this in my profile:

My mind plays tricks on me, and I enjoy them; most of the time. I have a dirty mouth, and even dirtier thoughts. I’m a living contradiction. And finally, I’m genuinely bored.

One of the most basic statements is that, I’m pretty much just bored. The significance of that is relevant to the intentional context of this blog. Satisfying that boredom is the response I get from anon, and non-anon commenters. Whether you know it or not; each and every one of you gives me something to think about, something to ponder, regardless of the intention of your words.

Posts like the ones detailing what’s happening in my life, how I’m confused, hurt, shocked, or emotionally distraught over such a certain situation are normally placed in another, more personal Blog, that I maintain on an American based site. It is quite possible it was the defense I gave my ex-fiancée to bloggers that inspired the entry about him admitting to sleeping with them. The truth I was expressing in his defense suddenly became a lie, so I attempted to correct that. Finally, the realization that I had pretty much done the same thing hit me; and the fact that I was acting no more than a hypocrite sunk in. How could I possibly allow readers to think he was trash, and I could do better, when it turns out, we’re pretty much one in the same? It would eat me up inside; allowing anyone to judge him over me in this case; without allowing them all the facts.

That’s how it all spiraled out. Now, I feel obliged to finish telling the story as it played out, since Saturday. I feel obliged to fill in the detail gaps as well. With any luck, this will be the last of such personal stories I post here; thus, I might as well tell it in whole and explain it right.

I have been with the ex-fiancée on and off for almost two years now. About the time I started this blog, I decided it was time to let go of this relationship once and for all. He and I had been apart for more than a month, when he showed up at my door last week.

He came to ask for me back. He came to tell me we could make it work this time. He came because he decided he didn’t want to live his life without me. I had spent the month in separation making new plans for my future that didn’t involve him. I honestly believed I didn’t love him anymore. But that night, emotions I failed to understand took over; and left me confused beyond reason. I didn’t know whether I was willing to take him back or not; and thus the reason I didn’t tell him about the other guy. He was visibly distraught; and I figured there was no sense in making the man suffer more than he was already, if I wasn’t willing to stand by him and help comfort his pain in the long run.

For the record, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do, or what I feel about all of this. And that’s because there’s one more twist to the story that I’ve not yet shared.

When I left the office, he had stopped messaging; his last message a threat to hurt himself. After bearing with his silence for a long while I sent him a message, confessing. He didn’t respond. I sent his bother a message asking him to check on him. His brother replied, saying he was sound asleep. An hour later, he started messaging and calling like mad. Only, there was no reaction to my confession. He kept telling me he loved me, and couldn’t live without me. He kept begging me to speak to him; at least once so he can clear everything up before I decided to walk away for certain.

When I got home, he insisted I let him in to talk. Eventually, I agreed. He sat down, looked at me, and said, “I really fucked up this time.” He put his head in his hands and continued, “I lied about sleeping with them. I swear to God, I did not touch either of them. I just wanted to know if you had been with someone else.”

I don’t know if I believed him, or if I do now, even. At the time, I told him it’s the same bullshit. We’re no good for one another. He responded with, “You showed no jealousy what-so-ever about the other girls who were calling. I needed to see you cared.”

I screamed until the early morning hours. I told him either way, he was still a fucking liar, and that he knew I’d have told him about the other person if I decided we should go ahead and give this relationship another attempt. The last thing I remember before passing out, was telling him no matter how much I hated him at that moment, I was not letting him drive home drunk. I hid the house keys, and told him, “When you wake up in the morning, you leave. I never want to see you again.”

We drank; a lot. It was his first time, ever getting drunk. His biggest concern when he woke was what the Mulla in Saudi was going to scream at him, when he confessed to get an answer on how to repent; and whether or not he was allowed to continue praying.

I woke in my bed, without remembering how I got there. His arms were wrapped around me tightly. I let myself loose, he apologized again, and I couldn’t help but smile.

We spent yesterday together. He promised me he’d never drink again. He still swears up and down he didn’t touch either woman; I’m leaning towards believing that’s the truth, while part of me is inclined to call myself a naive little girl. He seems to regret the massive head-game he played. He claims to have learned something bigger from this charade about him, and I, and us, than he’d ever learned in the past.

I made it clear I am still confused. I made it clear I don’t know whether or not I want to welcome him in my life or my plans for the future, again. He’s decided to be patient while I figure it out, and not allow too much pressure.

That’s the end of this story as far as this Blog is concerned; that’s also where it all stands just now.

Spotlight on You

Some of you people make me laugh so hard, I could split my gut while reading your comments. Others gain my respect through a few lines. After reading through the numerous comments made on my last few entries I’ve made, I’ve decided that some of you need recognition for different reasons. So this entry, friends, is a dedication to you.

The first person I must mention is Emirati.

Out of the many things that went through my head after I left the net Saturday night, Emirati’s words, “Like I said, people who choose to let themselves suffer, suffer” took the spotlight of my thoughts. You see, little to Emirati’s knowledge Bipolar people tend to blame themselves for not only their own misery, but the rest of the world’s as well, without insight as arrogant as this to conceive of that torturous thought. I can only assume this man failed to read this entry of mine, before he chose to open his mouth.

Emirati, your comments had such an initial effect on me, they outweighed everything else that was happening in my life on Saturday night. I broke my own rule and took what you had to say personally. In response to that, I went home and emptied all the left-over anti-anxiety, antidepressant, anti-psychotic, and mood-stabilizers from my long-term relationship with the mental care profession, into a bowl. For a good hour, I stared at this cocktail of tablets and considered ‘ending my suffering’ because all my other attempts were obviously failing, as far as you saw.

By the grace of God, staring at those tablets made me remember the state I was in while one them, and the reason I left them to begin with; because it was pretty much the only other time in my life I considered suicide, while under their influence. By the grace of God, I remembered the reality about the amount of time I suffer compared to the amount of time I’m content. I saw my sons face and realized one persons ignorance has no right to push his mamma that far. By the grace of God, I realized if I swallowed those pills, I’d truly be no less insane than you and many others would like to make out.

Today, I found a couple more wise, kind-hearted comments made by this brilliantly-insightful gentleman:

‘Tainted, my suggestions were in the interest of the well being of your son. Not yours.’

’ Ive taken psych courses before and have a very good friend who is a psychiatrist. I'll quote him from a phone call a few hours ago..

"With the proper treatment and follow up, if someone is motivated to go through it, even people with the severest forms of bipolar can live full and happy lives"

Understanding people is great. Understanding why they wont do anything about their situation isnt. My comment was directed at tainted, anyone besides her offended can find a nice cliff to practice arm flapping off of.’

I’ve got to say Emirati, you’re an impeccable human being; and should get an award for figuring me all out, conclusively psychoanalyzing me, while dozens of doctors who not only have degrees in medicine but have also spent years treating those of the likes of me, couldn’t quiet put their fingers on it, though I’ve spent hours answering their questions and taking their tests. Hell, you’ve managed to get it all with little to no interaction with your ‘subject’ and rather simply skimmed a few on-line journal entries! Amazing! Why aren’t you successfully treating the ill?

You’re brilliant advice, “people who choose to let themselves suffer, suffer” should be enough to heal the planet of all its atrocities and human kind should have the likes of you as a leader. Your sincere care for my son, needs to be noted since surely your love for him, your interest in his well-being, and your up-most concern for his well-being is clearly beyond that of his own mothers'. You might consider offering services as a foster parent to other children with parents similar to me, as a part time thing after thumping your life-saving rationality into the mentally ill. And finally, your indication that those other than myself who might be offended by what you said should jump off a cliff, makes more solid my belief that you and I have a lot more in common than you’d like to think. Not only are we both assholes, we both don’t give a fuck about people we’re not connected with. The biggest differences I can see are a two-fold; one, I’m not suffering behind a charade of plastic & paint, incrusted over my soul by society and self-righteousness; and two, I’m not nearly as insightful as you are to be able to figure out the psyche of a person based on a few blog entries.

Unfortunately my abilities to psycho-analyze are far less accurate than yours are. You see, my insight into you based on what you’ve written in your blog and comments around the blogging world, though were once rather positive, lately only leads to me inconclusively deciding that you’re an arrogant, single-sighted fellow, who probably doesn’t have many close friends, defiantly few of his own nationality; a fellow whose lived a pretty average life and yet still finds himself miserable for reasons beyond your own understanding, though is in too much denial to admit it, because you’d find it a shame to be human, to have faults, to make mistakes. Though, I’m almost positive this is all way off, since I don't have your skill.

For your information hun, I’m a pretty positive, happy person, in general; don’t believe me? Send an email my way, I’m officially inviting you for coffee and I’d love for you to take me up on that offer. Maybe face to face, we’ll find common ground and true understanding of one another? Because, as far as I can see now, you’re just another fellow who loves to hate, who has committed no mistake of his own and thus has every right to judge another; sort of like those I’m bringing to the spotlight next. Choose to stay just as you are if you will, you don’t affect me or my loved ones in the slightest.

Before I close this Emirati, I can’t help but wonder if you or your ‘friend’ who is a psychiatrist has been informed of the FDA’s direction insisting that all antidepressants be labeled with ‘Black Box Warning for, increased Suicidal Inclination of users’?

Other common side-effects of clinical treatment of bipolar can be found by clicking this link; if you’re truly interested in gaining understanding.


The next comment I need to bring to the front was left by none other than Anonymous:

Admitting being a fucked woman is more or less like taking anticipatory bail before commiting a crime. So, you have already admitted it, but i am echoing the it again, I doubt your sanity. Better go for complete check-up (physical and mental). Didn't mean to hurt you, but I do mean all what I said and expect you to take it seriously. I am your wellwisher.

All I can say about this one is I love elusive echoers. Not only do they bring entertainment, but they also wish me well and think cruel advice, and sugar-coated stabs at my sanity are the way to help me get there. Allow me to offer some more stable, and internationally recognized and accepted wisdom Anon, Admitting you have problem is the first step to correcting it.

And thanks for the well-wishes, but I assure you I have enough of those from people I know and love already, and can do without the finger-pointing anonymous ones. Consider spending your attention on others, I don’t put much thought into words left by those without a face.

My sincerely favorite of all comments was left by Moona:

‘tainted my suggestion is you should try to think less about your Bipolar disorder ... or it will be worse. Maybe this blog is a good way for you to feel better Did you try with qur'an? Listening to qur'an? I know it might sound a muttawah thing but it might help you. think of it and nshallah u'll feel better’

Moona, thank you for not fearing me and for sharing your thoughts with me; despite my obviously growing reputation for attacking those who do the same. I appreciate your suggestion, the way you’ve read into what’s going on with my Blog and me, and the way you’ve accepted it without judging me as a person. To be honest, I have another blog that usually serves the purpose you’ve suggested, and this one is meant to be pretty-much entertainment. But I messed things up a little on Saturday; I probably shouldn’t have posted these entries here.

Offering a little more information, I don’t dwell on my Bipolar and am pretty-much average 99% of the time. To answer your question, yes, I listen to Quraan. And yes, it helps lots. I don’t think you sound mattawah like, I think it’s rational advice and offer the same suggestion to lots of Muslims when suffering.

Now, I couldn’t exactly end this entry without spotlighting what my favorite pussy had to say:

’ im wondering why u are not in Desperate Housewives.. Diva?’

Considering the fact that I’ve never seen this show, I can’t say much about this other than, this little kitty just can’t seem to get enough of me, can she? I wonder if she relates her addiction with what I’ve been told is some soppy girly show that’s currently making it big internationally, and her addiction to loving-to-hate me.

~*~

For the rest of you, shaking your heads in disgust and bewilderedness, I have a simple suggestion… Stop reading my blog if what I’ve got to say aggravates you so. And those who choose not to take this suggestion please keep in mind that just because my door is open, doesn’t mean I invited you in. Deal with me respectfully and I’ll offer you the same in return.

How’s this for irony?

So upset with this whole situation… I failed to mention or even remember that I’d been with someone else during this past month while we’ve been apart, and lied to him about it too.

Only difference, the guy I was seeing for a while... He was also an ex boyfriend; someone I've known for years.

Now, I know the truth about what he’s done. And he still doesn’t know the truth about what I’ve done.

Makes him the better person, now doesn’t it? Please don’t send me any comments about him never changing, or him being trash. And I don’t need to hear that I’m a bitch, either. I know it all.

WE WERE NOT TOGETHER, while seeing other people.

It was the lies that upset me. And I was completely blinded to the fact that I was telling the same lies right back. Now, the truth is even harder to fucking face. I dare any one of you judgmental fuckers to come out and tell it like it is, as I’m doing just now before you point any fucking fingers at me.

I told you women suck. I’m a perfect fucking example of that, right now. Fuck; people suck all together.

Balushi; be gentle while commenting on these ones please.

Women Suck

And I hate the fact that I'm one of them.

We're stupid. Emotional. And we all deserve to be tortured. I don't know what the point of women's life is. We're so fucking stupid we hurt ourselves time and time again, and let other hurt us too... Knowing that's all that's going to come out of it; we still walk ahead and welcome it.

I'd love to say this were the last fucking time. But it'd be the same lie I've told time and time again when it comes to this man. I so wish it were the truth.

He fucked the prostitute. And he fucked the Saudi/Yemini one too. And I don't give a shit, because we weren't together. But he fucking lied about it. He made me stupid. And I defended his ass in the comments on the last fucking post; based on that stupidity.

You all were right. He's trash. I'm filth for putting up with it. And we probably both fucking deserve one another.

Women deserve to be fucked over. If no one were out to do it, we'd do it to ourselves.

Heartbroken Hooker in Dubai

“Why don’t you come around and fuck me, for 1500Dhs?” The nineteen year old Syrian woman, my ex met in a club wasn’t joking when she asked him this over the phone.

He explained to her he wasn’t into bitches, respected her just not her job. She explained she makes more than 22,000Dhs each month and can charge this high because she’s new. A few days later, the “I miss you” calls started coming through.

She wants him to be her boyfriend; for free. She wants his attention. She still wants to keep her job; she’s happy with it.

I’m pretty sure my ex is probably the first to turn her down. According to him; she wasn’t bad looking at all. My bet is, she found herself attracted to that rejection, since it meant he was looking for more than a cheap fuck when he met her.

When he told me this, I actually felt sorry for her. It must be real lonely knowing your phone is only ringing when someone wants to buy a bit of your flesh and a fraction of your time; only to walk away without second thought. She claims to be happy with it; and says it’s better than the job in the clothing factory she thought she was taking when she moved here a few months back.

Turns out, he’s looked in a number of places since I left him last month; to fill that emptiness inside him. Aside from the Syrian he came across:

The Moroccan; she got in his car for the first time and spent more than 45 minutes talking on the phone to some Saudi guy; completely ignoring the fact that she was sitting with another man.

The divorced Iranian; though a bit over-weight and always complaining about it being hot, she wasn’t so bad; just not his type, and openly not willing to let go of the males in her social life.

And then there’s the one going through an identity crisis; she told him she was Saudi first, then that she was Iranian, and more recently that she was Yemeni. She only calls at night; has asked him for phone cards and even to borrow his car. And from what I know they haven’t known each other a few weeks. She’s got no shame and he doubts she’s any less than a bitch.

That’s four women he told me about over this weekend. He showed at my door the night before last, actually; visibly broken hearted. Left me in a bit of psychological mess, through his expressions of undying love and inability to do just about anything; without me. I’m not sure where he is, or where I am, or if there’s a ‘we’ again. But I’ve asked him not to stop talking to his girls for now; including the prostitute. I’ve asked him to leave things as they are, and not jump back into things with me. I’ve made it clear that I’ve made many changes in my life and that I’m not ready to give them up again, just yet.

So the Yemini still calls, and the hooker is still dedicating her longing through messages, and I sit and listen to his tales about them, while he patiently waits for me to make up my mind.

I can’t help but wonder if the Syrian hooker isn’t the girl I had that strange staring relationship with in Citicenter; as I mentioned in an earlier Blog.

You can not rape the willing.

I was thinking about the people around here I’d like to kidnap and why. The first few people who popped into my head were MD, and Sam. MD, because I met this wonderful woman this morning over lunch and coffee and I think she could use a break; and Sam because he’s quickly becoming one of my favorite people around here; and he’s already planning on coming back to the UAE so he’s an easy target.

I was thinking up sophisticated plans about how I’d pull off each attempt without hurting either of them, right down to where I’d buy the cuffs to keep them in, and blind-folds to block their vision, until I revealed the identity of their kidnapper, and giggled the whole thing off.

But then I realized something… I don’t want to be the kidnapper. I want to be kidnapped. I’m sick of being in control of my life. I suck at decision making. I want someone else to do it for a while. I really do.

Where are all the games?

I feel like shit. I shouldn’t have bothered with work. Too fucking tired to be here. Don’t really give a shit about anything today. Though, I have to admit… I look alright.

So much is going on I could almost vomit. My psychology & physical-self are interconnected. I’m fucked in the head; I’m fucked physically and vice-versa.

3 months till my housing contract ends. Need to hand in the paper that states whether or not I’ll be staying next year. Don’t think I will; but moving means looking for a new place and packing. I loathe doing both those things; and am not sure where I’m going to be financially in a few months time.

Was offered another job, kind of. It’s under the condition that I remove the abaya & shayla. I’m considering it. I don’t wear it well anymore, anyway. The only problem… need to talk with the ex first. Make sure he’s not going to trump up some new case for custody or whatever based on it. Don’t like having these sorts of conversations with him. Never know where they’ll end up. Don’t know how to start, but got the courage to go ahead about it.

Was offered second job too. But that’s a little different and I’m not really into joining a brand new company now. I think it’s time I found something stable.

My manager keeps looking for ways to blame me about the resignation of the last sales guy. Went from, “What did she do,” to “Why didn’t she keep his passport and make him stay an extra month?” Probation period. UAE law. What the FUCK do you know about business or ethics? Still waiting for that call. Last I heard direct from him was that he wasn’t sure about what he wanted to do with this company; means maybe he’s planning on throwing a tantrum and closing it. Be fucked if I’ll even consider staying in such an environment for long. Still haven’t received the rest of my salary.

People hire me because I’m Canadian. It’s the truth. Probably why I don’t know about moving back home. Probably end up on welfare. Racism sucks; even on the flipside. Gives false hope and self-image. Here, my passport is enough to get an awesome job. I have no experience. I haven’t complted university. I’m Canadian.

Am tired. Can’t write worth shit today. Getting rejected by feline; hurts.

Told him I didn’t love him anymore. Don’t know if it’s true; don’t know much about what I’m feeling towards him now.

A Kuwaiti IP watching my blog makes me tick. Is it you? And if so, why are you so quiet? And who’s answering your phone these days? Don’t have anymore stories to tell?

Need to find a school for my son. Not going to government one. The ex and I agreed. He was also molested there as a child. Never told me, until I expressed my fears for my son.

So much and so little. Girls here want to grow up too fast. Grass is always greener. I wish I were sheltered. Wouldn’t have such an ugly view. Dumb people are usually happy. Depression is a disease of the intelligent.

I’m not really psychotic. I just play on diagnosis. That’s what he says. I’m Bipolar; that’s the actual diagnosis. Most days, I’m alright.

Today isn’t one of those days.

Vacation? Canada? US? Or shall I wait another few years? Leave and what about the apartment? Stay, and what about the apartment? Work? Here, or in Dubai?

Swallow a pill & shut up.

Nothing.

Just a blank page today.

Allow me to present to you:

A woman with no secrets; one who truly tells all; infamous author of all these comments, whose whit is stunningly sharp enough to sarcastically throw me off my soap-box and back into humble abode I shall always reside in, and all in matter of less than an hour, crossing over more than ONE blog entry on more than TWO blogs!

“diva tainted...i formally appoint u as the ambassador to expose all secrets in Dubai ...u are larger than life to make it interesting..lol”

&

“it's a newly created post..u are now the one and only Queen Tainted...and u have the sole right to paint the streets of Dubai red...bravo....Queen Tainted...we are unworthy..lol“

~*~

“gee...baluchi..u are mad...watch out....monica is stalking u with an ice pick...follow closely behind by Diva tainted..lol”

&

Diva Tainted...im unworthy..u are truly the Queen here..lol..

~*~

“i agree...there can only be one Queen Bee...and her name is tainted..the rest are concubines....listen well baluchi...lol”

~*~

“Gee...we have a hit here...Diva Tainted...61 entries to date (incl mine) for this post..u are a bona fide star! I think the other woman can pack up and go home now..lol”

~*~

“i second it...Diva Tainted..Im beginning to hear blood curling scream all around..lol...meow”

Allow me to introduce to you all, with my personal pleasure:
Black Feline

cm85.sigma152.maxonline.com.sg (218.212.152.85)


For envy and jealousy are not something I believe one of her outstandingly strait forward nature should have to suffer, especially at my personal expense. And we all know what an attention whore I am. I should be able to manage letting a little attention go, for the sake of charity.

Since I shan’t be around tomorrow, would all my dedicated readers mind popping into her Blog and letting her know she’s still popular; still loved, for the sake of easing some of her less-than-obvious pain?

Appreciate it much.

Diva Tainted…

I think it’s a suiting tag, don’t you?

You should ALL refer to me with this prefix wherever you go. I certainly deserve it according to some.

Meooooow.

Enough to fight without the phantoms

This entry on the community blog reminded me of something that happened years ago.

Actually, I think it was the arrogance of the comment, “Friends, how many of you think this would have happened if this man held a European or American passport?” that bugs me the most.

Let me share a story with you all. There once was an American guy called David Remple, living in Dubai. Actually, Dr. David Remple; as he was a falcon veterinarian. As you can assume, he was sponsored in the UAE by a Sheikh.

Like all of us, every four years this doctor needed to get his blood tested for visa purposes. After eight years of living in the UAE, and after taking his third blood test, this happily married man was woken in the middle of the night by his door being smashed in and CID agents screaming for him to pack his shit to leave.

He was informed that he was HIV positive; and that the UAE wouldn’t tolerate infected expatriates living here. He was told his flight out was booked and tickets ready, he had less than three hours. Dr. David was almost in the airport by the time he was able to reach his sponsor; explaining the accusation was impossible.

Re-testing (I assure you, arranged through ‘wasta’ alone; due to his professional demand mind you and not his nationality) showed that he was in fact not infected with the virus; samples had been mixed up in the hospital.

Point of the story (aside from the fact that years ago some foreign fellow with HIV slipped through the system) is; shit happens regardless of your race or passport. And I’m getting sick and tired of the excruciating calls about racism in cases where that’s simply not what’s going on.

I feel for the guy in that article. But I believe it’s got a hell of a lot more to do with the unfortunate similarity in names, rather than his race or what passport he holds. Give me a fucking break people. Stop calling racism where is doesn’t exist, there is enough of it that’s SOLID and should be fought against with all the extra efforts. Maybe we’d win the battle a lot more efficiently that way?

Mother Foooooooooooocking terrorist.

Article - Because I just don't know how to do it in the title.

How many more Muslim countries is the US going to attack before the American’s themselves throw Bush out of office or maybe put a bullet in his brain?

And what a fucking reason! For the Iranian Publics sake! Amazing, sort of like freeing the Iraqi’s from Saddam as the excuse molded?

Syria will be next. I believe that’s what was said during the starting days of the Iraq invasion, along with the Iranian threat.

He said: I want to finger you.

I said: Finger yourself and get double the joy.

I have no problem with stupid, vulgar conversation. I have no problem with stating your mind, even if you’re vocalizing demeaning, sexual, or repulsive things you’d like to do.

Thoughts are thoughts and I won’t punish anyone for what they’re thinking; let alone for sharing those thoughts with me.

I do have a problem with the way people process truths; and chose to welcome themselves to mine only to find ammunition they might be able to twist and throw at me. This is processing truths to voice an opinion you’ve already formed; and what you’re stating is rarely relevant and even less common, accurate in the context of which you’re using it.

Tell me...

You love me...

...and if you don't, lie. Cause it'll make me smile tomorrow morning when I log in here again.

Nunnight all.

Gonna get you LAID?

It’s incredible really. It doesn’t matter where they’re from, or what they’ve been through in their lives; men in the Emirates have got to be the best collectors of “How not to get laid tactics” I’ve ever come across.

Some time ago, it was the norm for men to shout their numbers at you almost everywhere here. It still happens here, but not as common as it once did. Here’s a list of how you’re NOT going to get laid by me (all of which have actually happened in poor attempts to attract me):

1) Sending hardcore porn through Bluetooth with your phone number attached. Dude, I’m gonna suggest you get psychiatric help, and a video camera to record your solitary displays of affection for future thrills before I even consider calling your ass.

2) Sending a self-portrait via Bluetooth, especially when you’re an ugly mother fucker. Who ever lied to you and said you were good looking enough to make a woman drop her panties at first site was playing history’s cruelest joke; and I swear you’re the blunt of it.

3) Following me around like some sort of creepy stalker, buying something from some random shop and trying to offer it to me as a gift. Seriously dude, you’re scaring me now.

4) Telling me I’m a lesbian, while calling up a lesbian friend of yours so you can hook us up, when I tell you I’m not interested in fucking you. Dude, this one is just gonna make you look like a dick; literally. Not to mention dissolve any respect I may have had for you, while conclusively ending any possibility for even the least obscure relationship to happen between the two of us; ever.

5) Offering me money. Well I’ll be fucked, the girls who are looking for this sort of give and take relationship spend their whole lives bitching about not finding the men who are willing to give it. I swear, just a month or so ago, a Kuwaiti guy I met seemed unable to finish a sentence without adding, “Do you need anything from me? Do you want money?” Idiot. Thank you very much, no.

6) Taking money from me. More and more men around here seem to be getting more and more comfortable with allowing their dates (as in romantic dates) pay for bills. Not gonna get you in my pants; simply because I’m one of those girls who considers it disrespect for you to ask me out then let me pay for it.

7) Jerking off in an alley, while looking at me as I’m in the car stopped at a red light. Not gonna happen. Hell, the fact that you were pissing in the street when my eyes fell on your ass is enough to make the concept of sex some fictional aspect of another persons life.

I’m sure there are a lot more of them. These are just the ones that have come to mind in the last few minutes. So, if any of you men reading this think this is the way to get a woman, think again… If that woman’s even remotely like me (ie female) chances are most of these things are gonna send you home to your palm, and no better if you attempt them.

I’m not racist…

… I hate you all.

I was thinking over the weekend about how bias my Blog must seem to some people. I’m pretty sure a lot of you think I’m in denial, or even blinded to the many injustices that take place in this country.
That’s not it at all. I know all the dirty stuff; I’d love to see some changes made in certain areas. I’m well aware of the discrepancies that take place on day to day bases here; the racism, the sexism; and the absurd use of ‘wasta.’

The point of my Blog isn’t the trash the rest of the world or make living in the UAE seem like a life of luxury for just about anyone who has been graced enough to get here. The point is to balance all the other negative bullshit people are blogging about when it comes to this beautiful place.

People complain too much. They center on the bad points and tend to forget the good. It’s simply not alright for me; because a clear picture of what living here is really all about is never seen in most blogs. Mine probably isn’t all that clear either. Maybe I do make living in the emirates look like peaches and cream; and it’s my right to do this.

The way I see it, if one person comes across your blog, and then follows on to mine; maybe the picture they’ll form is more realistic than either yours or mine on an individual bases.

I had one hell of a weekend. And I sure have a lot to say. But for now; I need to calm the fuck down over the racist son of a bitch who assaulted on the street this morning.

Calming down now…

And since there are still a few minutes before I leave… Let me make something clear before I get outta here for the weekend; I do not hate Secret Dubai. I don’t know her to hate her. And I don’t really care what she chooses to put in her blog and what she doesn’t; until it affects me or someone I love personally.

I do feel she bases a lot of what she does on double-standards. Freedom of Speech (where she chooses who has that freedom and who doesn’t; Etisalat shouldn’t ban site, but she should ban Balushi?), is probably the biggest one.

And I do feel that a lot of you are idolizing her for her fame; without realizing the rants that take place between you all in her blog are the only reason she has that fame in the first place. I’ve not been around here long enough to know her history, and I haven’t read her whole blog; I have no intention of doing so.

But what I’ve seen is in my opinion a very negative point of view of the UAE, or at least a very negative presentation off all that’s to offer here; only choosing the nasty stories to comment on and rarely saying anything appreciative.

I also believe that if she can draw the line and cut someone like Balushi out, or delete comments she feels are insulting; she should be able to delete the ones that someone tells her are personally insulting because it has to do with her family, and potentially very hurtful.

I over-reacted; and maybe I wasn’t patient enough with my response. That’s how anger works sometimes, I suppose.

I called SD a bunch of horrible names and I had no right. I have no excuse, other than the fact that I’m a stupid, little, emotionally immature girl sometimes. I’m not going to offer one better than that, either.

I’m not going to delete this rant of mine; unless SD requests it. And that’s because I don’t believe deleting something you regret saying can take it all away; but I do believe in respect for another person (so long as I’m not fuming with rage).

And yes, I regret that outburst.

I’m sorry for the nasty names, and I’m sorry for the anger, and I’m sorry if I acted too soon and maybe if I hadn’t, you would have deleted those posts on my behalf. If not, I believe you need to learn a little about respecting others, despite the free speech line you’re famous for.

But I meant what I said about what I feel for your Blog, and the way you represent yourself. I didn’t really form a solid opinion of that until this, actually. And I may still change my mind. But for now, this is the truth of it from my eyes.

And yup…

By placing this comment here instead of there, I admit to being an attention whore.

At least when I invite intention I do it with my thoughts, my fucking stories, and not some hypothetical, possibly truthful, copied & pasted published bits from what can only be defined as mockeries of the fucking English Language newspapers.

Deleted from Secret Dubai Diary

~*~ because helping fill that attention whores need to be admired by the masses of mindless here, and growth of views on a one-sided hate blog isn’t something I need to contribute to. You all can rant all you fucking want about this in her blog. I won’t be there, because I see through her shit and refuse to feed it.

Her pretty much plagiarized** whatever that instigated a link to a newspaper article about someone I know, love and care about, naturally instigating a number of lovely little assumptions by idiots with no knowledge about what he would and would not consider acceptable did have my comment as follows:

**And she MUST use stories from the papers; because when she doesn’t, all that’s in her fucking head is the trees and how they’ve been pruned. And just browsing over the comments on those entries proves; she doesn’t fucking have it in herself to be all she wants you to believe she is.

~*~

Deleted Comment:

Point to prove...

Newspapers in this country are ONLY ever printing SHIT. And the fact that you all sit here and comment on this as if ANY of these stories are accurate is a waste of fucking time.

1) Hamada here is my brother in law. Don't believe me? Ask Sam; I was telling him about it this morning before I came in here – in reference to another conversation we were having.

2) That is NOT a photo of him. And Hamad is NOT is birth name. This is a distorted version of HIS story though. I went with him to the courts. And all the laws & regulations that have been stated here are BULLSHIT. He is the first here. He refused to do an interview with Khaleej Times when they called him up.

3) None of you have any right to comment on or suggest that you know what's ok to say about this situation or what's not, simply because you know NOTHING about it. And for the record Sharper, deformity is the way he fucking describes it himself.

4) He was a VERY respected person here before he was diagnosed with prostate cancer at 19 years old, found out he had ovaries through X-rays. And regardless of what you’re reading here, nothing has been done about it until now by the courts or anyone. The guy currently lives in his fucking room, is a pile in debt and is the most depressed person I’ve ever met.

Start printing REAL stories about your own lives and commenting on the same. Stop wasting so much time on the 80% fiction based remotely on truth, you find in the fucking papers here.

And don’t any of you give me shit for calling Hamada (A name he chose himself, not a fucking childhood pen-name as the paper printed) a he, I still refer to him as the MALE name I first met him as, due to habit.

~*~
And SD responds with:

I thought it was an interesting article that fairly shows the dilemmas faced by transgender people in the UAE, and in no way shows "Hamada" in a negative light.

I imagine other transgendered people would find it useful and reassuring to know that they are not alone.

~*~

Finally, I have to say:

My problem isn’t with the fucking article. In the UAE you have to be an idiot to believe what’s printed in any of the papers. My fucking problem is with the fact that you will stop at NOTHING, not even spreading falsities; even after proven false to expand on the already bad enough image of the UAE, the national people, and even make a fucking mockery of those who may otherwise be rational people; excepting you giving them a fucking stone to throw, all the while making them believe you’re just an innocent well-wisher for the UAE & who live here.

My problem is with the fact that you’re a fucking hypocrite without the fucking back to state your real fucking feelings for this place; but rather make others do it for you. I have more fucking respect for Cokey. At least he’s got balls, and doesn't mind throwing his own back into what he believes.

Is it fair that you’re allowing another potentially explosive, almost certain to turn insult-slinging conversation to take place in your blog? Is it fair, the subject matter’s family will have to see it? Is it fucking fair? But let’s call for fairness in the UAE laws, everyone!

Please note, I did ask someone she does like, that she removes the sensitive comments, before I posted this at all. She refused. Being the attention whore that she clearly is; why the FUCK should she care about hurting someone on a personal level, by allowing a discussion that she has NO fucking relation to what-so-ever, take place in her blog?

The bitch has all the answers to save the whole FUCKING UAE from all its catastrophes & inhumane practices; why should she give a shit about sparing the decency of one person? Especially at the cost of possibly losing a little face in front of a few fans, or having a few lingering questions about some unexplained deletions.

Because that’s ALL she’s really about you fools! She doesn’t give a shit about any of you, or any of the fucking practices, she’s just a fucking expert at reverse-social-psychology; got you all bitching and complaining to her advantage; about all the shit she’d like to comment on but doesn’t have the spine to do it herself! She’s making her self fucking famous and all you fans are doing all the work, taking all the back-firing, all the shit for it. Just the other fucking day, one of you said you were famous by association to her in her blog; how you failed to realize her fame is at your expense ceases to amaze me! Her pretty little hands stay clean as a whistle because she’s SO fucking convincing when it comes to playing the innocent one.

Bitch can delete Balushi’s absurd comments; but can’t delete something that she knows actually HURTS another reader, for their sake. Humane Hypocrite.

While I’m doing that, why don’t you all take a look at how fucking civilized she is in this thread; and how in her own words she says:

“The deletions I have made include plenty of race-hate comments against arabs and even anti-islamic comments made by anonymous people.

Does that also upset you, or would you rather I left such things up?”

Funny, bitch can remove these comments because they might upset readers. But not the ones about my son’s uncle, when she’s been told they DO upset me and will most certainly upset Hamada should he ever come across this.

For the record, if any of you want to know the actual TRUTH about his situation; I’d be more than happy to share; and Hamada wouldn’t mind me telling it. But I’m not doing it in place where as much bullshit-marked-truth fills the thread as reality; as in her blog.

Yeah, and when a little of my anger wears off… I’ll probably have a hell of a lot more to say and in a more coherent fashion. So tear into me SD fan club, I fucking dare you.

I have a whole fucking weekend away to think about this shit.

Dreaming Reality

I’m never really sure what I want; but almost always certain about what I don’t want.

Last night I slept wonderfully, wishing I were somewhere else. This wish melted into my dreams, becoming a mini show playing for an audience of one. I spent maybe an hour or more talking to that friend I mentioned in the last email. As the memories of him came flashing back I realized something new that I don’t want.

I don’t want to forget.

I don’t want to let go of the memories that fill me with true contentment; while the ones that hurt still linger in my mind.

For you my old friend and a little more eligible than the one I wrote for you five years ago;

You are the source of some of the best memories I’ve ever had; and for the sake of helping those memories stick around; I will note some of them down now. Because last night, you reminded me of one that had almost slipped away, and I fear I will lose them all too soon.

I forced you into conversing on the phone; until you learned to like it.

You forced me to see both sides; though you may not know it.

Laughter through more of our classes; than we listened. And English essays written tongue-an-cheek. What was his name? That geek who sat beside you; envied you, though would never admit it. He told me once during class, ‘Ten years from now, you’ll see.” It’s almost been that long, but I’ve forgotten what I’m supposed to learn.

We played aside your pool; mocking the neighboring trolls.
And your neighbors; those little girls adored me. Do you remember them? Do you remember why? I don’t, but last night they flashed back into my mind.

I watched as you surpassed a particular IT teacher, and created your own secure email for only the worthy to share. You consoled me, when she terrified me about the Sharjah arrest; and loved me, though he wanted to hurt you.

And so many other times; though I may have never spoken it out loud.

A drawing on your wall,
a rest on your bed,
and a cigarette on your balcony as cars rushed by below.
A note in your scrapbook,
a mark in my heart,
and Love Inc though not for too long.
Chocolate bars in a bamboo dish on top of your refrigerator.
A flashy red sports car and mounds of books on your mother’s shelves.
And a little sister as they always are.
A Satanic Bible I refused to read.
Michelle Remembers; I don’t recall you returned?
A religion created waging war with authority; success by surpassing all norms and defying those who should have known better.
Marzden & Kay; who were having that affair I inquired about.

A hug hello; on the street as though no one should care, because we sure didn’t..
…and an old man who smiled approvingly.

Jules
Salty peanuts and Filipino singers,
and my view from a dim lit table
as you danced with my out-dated, tipsy, laughing mom.
…without embarrassment

The laughter we shared that night my friend, is the one that almost slipped away.

And how much more has already gone? And when will we make new ones?

A door that’s always open.
...If I get on that plane my friend; I promise to never let go a minute shared you with you again.

You are too close to my heart to ever become a lover; but close enough for me to know I’ll love eternally. If I had every reason to regret the day I was born, you my friend are enough to dissolve that rational.

May we spend our futures not ever again, separate for so long; so that we may develop that goal we strategically outlined time and time again but never realized.

I said it 5 years ago, and I’ll say it again today;

I love you. And I always will.

Banks, Bosses & great old Buds.

Today, has been one hell of a day. And it’s not yet 3pm.

Where to start?

We didn’t receive the salary checks last night, and with my rent check due out this morning, I ended up borrowing the money from one of the many angels I know. Unfortunately, by the time I reached Dubai, the banks were closed and since I bank with Emirates Bank there’s no chance you can trust deposit machines to show the money in your account when it’s needed. They’ve proven that time and time again.
I decided to go to the teller this morning on my way to work. Only, when I got there I learned that the systems were down and deposits will not be shown in the account until the systems were back up. Emirates Bank System seems to go down no less than once a month, and always when you need it the most; holidays, etc. I asked whether the check I issued could be processed despite this, and was told that it most probably would. So, then, what’s the solution?

Just wait and see. If the check bounces, I get a wonderful 200Dhs fine because of it. If I have any luck and there’s any logic to their systems, the check shouldn’t be able to go through until the systems are up and the money shows in my account. Why I should be fined for their systems not working; I’m not sure. But it’s just about as logical as in dealing with anything supposedly professional in this country.

I drove the whole way here from Dubai with some guy pretty much on my tail at 200km/h. He wasn’t trying to push me away, and even smiled and waved at me as we reached those speed bumps about half-way here. That was interesting, cause usually guys driving as fast as me along the highway, tell me to slow down, when the get the chance, and not just smile and wave at me. I love the way men here honestly feel its their duty to protect all women from danger; even though they don’t mind putting themselves in the same situation.

When I reached the office I found the Internet cut; good old Etisalat, never willing to explain their fees always willing to cut you off without warning. We just had it installed a month or so ago and found a HUGE unexplained fee on the first bill; thus the delay in payment, we were trying to figure out what it was for. We enquired about the fees prior to installation and were told nothing other than the monthly fee. Sounded too good to be true, but hell, maybe it was their way of making up for the inflated monthly internet rates they’ll charge us for so long as we’ve got the account? Nope, the guy was wrong. There was a fee; for the modem & installation.

Upon sorting that out, I found an email I’ve been hoping for. One of my greatest friends from high-school, that I tried to find a few weeks back finally found one of the emails I sent in hopes or reaching him. I loved the guy then, love him now, and always will admire the person he is. And I’m so damn proud of what he’s made with his life over the last few years; I think despite the fact that the salary checks came (only in partial amounts) today, and the fact that I may get fined for a bounced check I tried so desperately to avoid, the fact that my head feels like it’s three sizes too big and heavy for my shoulders, I’ll smile for the rest of the day knowing he’s doing just fine.

Got a message last night from the ex fiancé. Said he was worried. I’m so proud of myself for replying (to relieve any possible real worry), but doing it in a way that wouldn’t invite further conversation; thus keeping my distance.

See, I’m even an idiot.

I just published this in the Community Blog without realizing it! ~*Slap me if I didn’t delete it before anyone saw it there!*~

Let’s just get this outta the way, already…

A while back, I wrote this lover-ly little disclaimer in my other on-line journal. I really didn’t think it was needed here, since this journal is toned waaaaay down in comparison; but it seems some people still don’t get it.

So here we go:

Let’s make this real fucking clear

14/04/05

I don’t need you to tell me that:the syntax in my journal is completely fucked. I don’t give a shit. I don’t intend for this fucking book to become a “great piece of literature,” nor do I give a fuck if people can or can’t understand what I’m saying because I’ve misplaced a few fucking commas or mistyped a few fucking words.

that I can be mean, immature, incredibly emotional, a complete contradiction, a nasty little bitch that you don’t like, manipulative, opinionative, loud spoken, incredibly stupid at times, offensive, my own worst enemy, or even that I need help. You see, I’m already fucking aware of all this. And it’s just sad for you, if this is all you can see in me, because there is so much more that you refuse to see.

that I am hated. I’m well fucking aware of that one too. But you see, the number of people who hate me compared to the number that would give me the shirt off their backs is fucking minimal. If you’re delusional enough to think that every fucking person you know likes you, then I pity you.

that I have a dirty mouth. If you think I can’t see the shit that I type, or acknowledge the content rating on my own fucking journal, then I’m afraid it’s you that needs some serious advice possibly from a professional.
that I can be wrong. I know that one too. And you know what; most of us have this fucking attribute! The difference between the majority and myself, I can fucking admit it when I’m proven wrong, and even consider the possibility when I’m not wrong and offer an apology in both cases.

that you just don’t *get* why I write what I do. This shit isn’t for you to get. It’s for me. And you shouldn’t be in here if you can’t comprehend that.

that I’m always fucking angry at someone. The only fucking way you could come to such a conclusion is if you’ve only read a few select entries here and there, therefore you’re in no fucking position to judge me as a whole.

that I can be egocentric, immodest, crude, vulgar, heartless, destructive, a fucking idiot at times. I’ve heard it all before and I know it as well.

The fact is, I’ve been called, heard and noted almost every negative thing a person could possibly have attributed to them. The bottom line is, I’m as honest about what I think and feel as I fucking can be. When you lay it all out the way I do here, chances are you’re going to have to hear the same sort of shit. If you think I haven’t already heard or pondered your negative shit on my own, you’re sadly mistaken. But on top of all these shitty attributes, I’m a pretty great fucking person.I love and I am loved. I give, and I care. I am a true fucking friend, to friends. And I always, always try to make sense of my world. I mean what I say, when I say it. But that doesn’t mean that statement is forever true. Things change, and so do I, almost on a daily basis.I try very hard to make myself a better person. If you think you’re in a position to judge me, you can get fucked and that’s the last word.

Well, we certainly agree here…

Some of the best damn advice I’ve ever seen on-line.

You should think before you speak/type/comment; thus avoiding saying that which may be torn to shreds; especially if you can’t handle such a response.

Personally, I feel anyone who is able to write ‘dramatic & over-powering’ anything should be recognized for their abilities and not just left as a blank for other readers to ponder and assume identity; not to mention be pointed out, so that readers are able to verify any implied accusations on their own, rather than just taking some other persons word for it. But hey, that’s just my opinion; and we all agree those are much like assholes, huh?

For the record… I’m not the blonde in the red sports car. Ironically, I kind of wish I was just now.

And what will YOU score?

I love on-line I.Q. Tests, though I have to admit… The last time I took one of these, I scored much, much better. Maybe I wasn’t so wrong in assuming my I.Q. is plummeting?

Congratulations, Tainted!Your IQ score is 126

This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others. Your Intellectual Type is Insightful Linguist. This means you are highly intelligent and have the natural fluency of a writer and the visual and spatial strengths of an artist. Those skills contribute to your creative and expressive mind. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results.

Heeeeere kitty, kitty, kitty…

…wheeeeere aaaaareeee you?

How is it that I’ve written three or four new entries and my infamous friendly anonymous admirer hasn’t had anything to say?

Come out, come out, wherever you are!

Told you...

I'm tainted.

Gross…

That’s the only word to describe what I’m feeling today. Just gross.

The anger of last night that crept into my sleep, disturbing my dreams was only what I’d expect come out of a business relationship with the likes of him. My boss is something else all together. And to make a very long story short; he’s a multinational business owner, never here, knows that I’ve been searching for sales employees for more than 4 months now, without luck. I finally suggested that we bring an old friend of mine in from Serbia; to fill the position, because she’s the best fucking sales person I’d ever seen in the Emirates, and he agreed.
She’s in Egypt now, for a formal interview with him and some basic sales training from his staff there. Yesterday, she calls telling me he’s told her to find an apartment in Egypt and stay working for one of his companies there; something she doesn’t want to do, but feels obliged because he’s already flown her from Serbia to Egypt, and he’s so fucking old she doesn’t want to disappoint him.

FOUR fucking months, I’ve been sifting through CV’s and interviewing one hopeless potential sales person after another without any luck. Business is shit, because right now I only have 1 sales person, and this same manager doesn’t believe in spending money on marketing (or promotional activities of any sort) until he’s made money; an ass-backwards business philosophy if I’ve ever heard one. Even more fucked is that when sales aren’t at their highest; I’m the one to blame… despite the fact the he seems to be doing just about anything & everything to run this company into the ground. Why should he care about it? He’s got so many more that are already established, right? FUCK.

Lets add to this the fact that he’s not yet transferred last months salaries; and I have a rent check due out on the 4th, and you’ll see where this anger is coming from. I’ve just about had it with this company. It sucks because I’m so in love with the products and I know the potential in Abu Dhabi is HUGE; but I’m on the verge of giving up and moving into some dark, shadowy place under some big rock.

He called me eventually last night. I held my tongue and temper as best I could. But it didn’t stop him from somehow making himself out to be the good guy, and her being the indirect one about what she wants. The WHOLE fucking thing was arranged around her coming here, because we fucking need her. I MADE IT CLEAR before I even sent him her CV.

Anyway… That’s the cause of all my anger last night. Some people really piss me off. He’s promised to send the checks for salary today. You think I’ll end up in some court in Ajman, over a bounced check?

I’m tired. I’m really cranky. And my head doesn’t want to work because sleep was just about the last thing I did last night.

Oh... And the entry about looking stupid was about something else all together.

And really…

Do you have any idea how stupid you make yourself look?

!

There are no fucking words to describe how fucking angry I am at this moment.

Chances are, I’m not going to bother coming to work for the next few days. About a thousand racial slurs are running through my head right now, and I SO want to spit them out.

But it’s not fair. One person DOES NOT equate to a whole fucking race; no matter how fucking hard it is to believe it right now. It sure fucking feels like it. Two-faced back-stabbing mother-fucker. Funny, I just read a number of racial slurs about your nationality today. Kept my mouth shut; oh how I’d like to open it now.

You’re not the fucking first either;.

I just don’t get it!

You fucking lose like this too. Why the fuck would you intentionally run your own business into the fucking ground? What the fuck is the purpose of this?

I don’t even know why the fuck I care.

Asshole.

And you won’t answer your phone now, will you? You know it’s me. What the FUCK are you going to say?

The fourth? No thanks…

I was proposed to over the weekend. I was proposed to by a man whose name I don’t know, whose intentions I’m unsure of, and whose truths are yet untold.

“Are you married?” It’s a question you have to ask when you meet someone new here.

“To three.”

“You’re joking, right?” The guy can’t be serious. How in the world would he have time to chat with me?

“Nope. And I’m looking for the forth.” He paused before saying, “But number four seems to be the hardest. You interested?”

“Ummm, no thanks. In fact, if you’re not joking you shouldn’t be talking to me at all. But I have a feeling you are. How in the world would you find the time?”

“I told you, I’m a fantastic time manager.”

I’m still not sure if he was bullshitting or not. I’m not sure how sincere he was about the proposal either. But it’s not strange to other proposals, which I know were serious, made in the past.

Anyway, that was one of the more interesting conversations I had over the weekend. Another was with my Indonesian maid; God bless her soul, she’s great. I tend NOT to treat the people who take care of my personal business, laundry, food, even my child; even if I am paying them, like shit. She’s more like a member of my family and I love her terribly.

She was upset because all of her younger sisters were getting married before her. She couldn’t accept that they could do this to her; what would people think? What would people say? How could she allow them to do this? It turns out all of her friends had been insisting that she make her sisters postpone and wait until she found a fiancée and married herself. She was actually torn, as if it was really horrible for her to be 23 or 24 years old; and have her younger sister marry before her.

I talked with her for a long while and she came to realize how bizarre what she was thinking really was. You see, the same maid sends all of her money back home so that her sister can be educated beyond her own experience because she wants better for those she loves than what she herself has. She was recently torn when she thought her sister would have to quit school because of a few family problems in combination with financial issues that wouldn’t accommodate a new schooling arrangement for her. She was only able to rest once this situation was sorted out.

The irony in this all was concealed to her. Her sister’s happiness & contentment only mattered when it didn’t have to do with love; or men.

Why is it women react to men so differently than any other aspect in their lives? Why are the emotions so screwed up, so blurry that even our own hearts will deceive us? She feels a lot better now and decided that since she loves her sisters she will only offer blessings and prayers for happiness even in a situation that floods her heart with jealousy. She admitted to still feeling hurt by the whole situation; but agrees it’s the right thing to do.

I don’t particularly like women much these days. There’s a lot more to that thought, but I suppose I’ll save it for another entry.

For now, I’m wondering what my ‘friendly anonymous’ will have to say about all of this.

Sensitivities…

If I could make a generalization about the UAE society, I’d have to say we’re a sensitive bunch. Minor insults seem to make their way into every conversation; no matter what the nationalities or genders involved.

People are offended by use of language, social conduct, even an inconclusive glance.

I remember once, sitting in Starbucks reading some book waiting for a friend of mine to finish work, so I could take her home. This attractive young woman couldn’t seem to help but stare at me from another table. I’d never seen her before, but her stare was so powerful I could feel it. The look on her face was indecisively empty; not angry or intimidating, nor curious or even admiring. I couldn’t figure her out, so as contagious as these things are I found myself staring right back at her. I couldn’t concentrate on my book due to the power of her look; so I’d look her right back in the eye for long periods of time trying to figure it out, before giving up and attempting to read again.

This went on for quite some time; all the while I ended up rereading the same page over and over again, because it just wouldn’t register. I watched as she befriended a guy sitting next to her; all the while taking moments to stare at me a little more. I watched as he bought her a drink; and then as she borrowed his mobile to make a call. I watched as the two of them left, only to return a short while later. I’m assuming they went to eat or something.

Since this friend I was waiting for was staying in my house and didn’t drive, I found myself waiting in that same Starbucks, reading a book, almost daily. For the next week or so, I encountered that same girl; always sitting alone without a coffee, always watching me. She would sometimes befriend whoever was sitting next to her, and almost always borrowed his or her mobile to make a call before leaving. Eventually, the looks she gave me turned almost challenging; like she was attempting to somehow gain a non-spoken power over the strange, silent relationship we had built. Again, I looked directly into her piercing stare only to hold it for as long as I had done numerous times in the past, and then broke it with laughter. I shuck my head, as she caught my giggling infection and was finally able to look back at my book and concentrate on what I was reading.

Just a few moments later she got up and sat down in the chair next to me. She introduced herself to me, in Arabic, and I explained my Arabic wasn’t fluent enough to have a conversation. She told me she was new in the UAE from Syria, didn’t speak English and was working in one of the shops in the center. She asked to borrow my mobile, called some guy friend of hers before wishing me well and leaving.

I saw her a few times after that and each time she greeted me with a smile and said hello before moving on. She never stared at me with that ambiguous look again. Whatever caught her curiosity in the first place had been cured by a little laughter and a 5 minute conversation.

I don’t think many other women would have reacted the way I did in this situation. In fact, I’ve seen girls in public get offended by such things and shout out, “Sho? What are you looking at?” time and time again. I’m not really sure why a look is taken as an insult by so many here. But it seems most people are more willing to feel angered or sensitive about social interaction than just accepting it.

I’ve insulted my fair share of people; knowingly and unknowingly of course. There was the Sheikh who invited my family out to dinner and decided to blame me because he got lost in the parking of Emirates Towers when it was new, among other teasing directed towards me. I decided that since he started it; I would continue it. I picked on his height the minute we stepped out of the car; something my father will forever remind me was taking it too far. I was 15 or 16 years old then. The last time I was at my father’s house and this particular person stopped by, he refused to enter the sitting room where I could be seen through the windows of the porch. All the apologies in the world won’t change the fact that this man doesn’t like me much, I’m sure. I am sorry about this; as I wasn’t aware the man’s height is something he himself feels really insecure about.

I insulted my biology teacher by asking him if I could ask him a personal question, to which he agreed, and then asking him if he was actually having the affair all the students were talking about anyway, with another teacher. He so wanted to suspend or punish me, but found he was unable due to his prior acceptance that I ask him something personal. He never answered my question, but did come into my office years later with that other teacher; his new bride. They did insist on only dealing with me, and making my working life as miserable as they, as my customers could. I’ll never be sorry about this. Both of these teachers were walking horrors while I was in their school, and while they were in my office. And I wasn’t wrong; the rumor was right!

I insulted the Egyptian men in my last office, when they attempted to play with me and I reminded them the heels on my shoes were pointy enough to cause damage; and I would kick ass if needed. It was the shoe reference and the word ‘ass’ that was the cause of that insult. They got over it, and eventually started using both my references among themselves. In fact, a day wasn’t the same if one of the two comments wasn’t used. I’ll never be sorry about this one either; I’m loved by that whole office for my bazaar ways and ability to see things a little differently than the rest of them. And I love them right back for accepting the fact that social morals aren’t internationally based upon the same guidelines as in their own.

I’ve insulted some here, with that entry comparing opinions to assholes; as the comments seem to show. I’m not sure what to make of that, though I’m not sorry about it. It’s my journal, my blog, my thoughts. How can you possibly blame someone for what they think?

I guess to make me feel insulted you have to tell me something I don’t already know about myself, or show me something that simply proves pure ignorance and arrogance towards something I love, admire, or care about, or treat me with complete disrespect for some reason I’m not aware of. I suppose the word “Bitch’ uttered by someone I have no reason to respect in the first place, just doesn’t make a dent on my heart; whereas some false accusation or implication made by someone I’d never want to hurt, might tear my world in two. I guess I have to care about you personally enough before I’m able to take your words or actions to heart.

Which leads me to conclude; either the rest of these people care too much about people they don’t know, or I just don’t care enough.