Would You Rather?

After 24 hours of hotel room stink and sympathy pains, I made a trip to the pharmacy. This, in itself is a victory. I woke up this morning feeling like a prisoner of this country, which is silly considering they have just changed their laws on women in the workplace. How generous. I cried a little and told Matt I'm ready to go home.
Try explaining to a group of women gathered at a cash register that your "husband" has constipation. Do they have laxatives?
"Laxatives?"
Then we have the problem of trying to explain that it's not too much, it's too little.
"Maybe better to go to the pharmacy."
"Oh, thank you."
Now I have returned with the most foul, thick paste-of-a-drink and Matt refuses to consume the mixture: "It might actually be worse than the farties."
"Drink the Movi-Col."
[time passes]
"Do you want food, honey?"
"I want you to drink the Movi-Col."
[more time]
"Uhgllghggg. It's slimy. Could I just have water instead?"
"Does the water have Movi-Col in it?"
"Dammit! Couldn't you have gotten pills?"
"They didn't have any."
"Did you ask?"
"Well...? No. But I would have if I thought of it. I asked for laxatives. They gave me Movi-Col."

Channel 33

I'm not drunk. I just have incredibly persistent hiccups after a pint of beer.
It's illegal to be drunk in the UAE. Which is ok, because I'm Not. Drunk.
Actually, it's illegal to have any drink and drive a car. One guy just got arrested because he was caught in his car after one beer, sleeping. Luckily for me, our hotel room is not a car.
Ahem.
Matt and I took the Lama Desert Safari today. Not llama. But there was a lot of sand and we drove through it in Land Cruisers (tire pressure deflated to 16 psi for "more traction, smoother ride." My ass). When I wasn't clutching the plastic throwup baggie, I disrupted Matt's bloodflow with my talons. The rest of the evening was touristy bologna. Henna and belly dancing and camels.
We indulged by taking a bit of video and some pretentious photos. Perfectly legal.
So I'll just lie here watching Al Jazeera for a little while until I drift off to some patriotic dreamland.
More tomorrow.

The Future Looks Good

By way of a wrap up, and a week's delay in posting, and a country change (Surprise, we're in the United Arab Emirates! Ask me questions about this strange and foreign land! I will answer them in broken English in the order in which they were received.) I have searched my noodle for some appropriately impressive words. Finding none, let's just say that a couple of trees got in the way, and they had them moved.
And, just for fun, they had a nation's worth of fruit shipped to an island off the coast of another island off the coast of Madagascar as a set dressing.
And, Waiter, I am displeased with the frills on my toothpick. Bring me another club sandwich.

This wedding--and I've seen a few--was kick a** (Dammit, Dubai! Where are my good descriptors?!). Aside from the firework display, allow me to list famous-ish people in attendance (In A Very Particular Order):
1. A Mona Who's the Boss Look-alike. Plus 20 years, minus 20 lbs and a few clothing items.
2. Emilio Estefan. (Sans Gloria.) He did bring along his troupe of salsa dancers from Miami.
3. Thom, the interior design guy from Queer Eye.
4. DJ Tony from the Ellen DeGeneres show. See Matt's blog for a red-hot shot of your man during his big event. The bride and groom are on there as well.

We're about 10 hours ahead of you, there, so from the future let me just say that tonight is so much fun. Definitely the black top with the acid wash jeans.

Palm Fronds

Oh, hi...
Who, me?...
Sure. I'd love a cold towel...
A fingerbowl? Absolutely. Now confidentially, what is this for?...
Right. Great...
Brioche. Yes, thanks...
Ok. This place is swarming with people who call me Madame without a shred of irritation.
Matt and I are at the One and Only in Mauritius. Please believe me when I say it. It's true. I couldn't dream this place up. Google map us. I'll be waving to you from the white sand beaches. We're gearing up to photograph a five-day-marathon-wedding extravaganza.

Amelia Bedelia Collects a Sample

Sifting through your own poo on a Wednesday is better than doing the same thing on a Monday or a Friday. It could really ruin a week, you know?
I might have a parasite.
I've been sick since before we returned from Mexico and when the doctor requested a stool sample, I asked if he was kidding. He wasn't. But he did have a weird smile, so you can see how I got confused.
If, someday after a meal and a glass of fine wine, you'd like for me to explain my process, I absolutely will. But not here, not like this. ([Caressing a statue of Prince Eric] "...It's all so--so sudden." In times of trouble, my mind turns to Disney movie featurettes.)
If not, that's cool, too.

Babe, I Hate to Go

Sunset. Two-on-two Trivial Pursuit on Derek's rooftop. Dan convinces his partner, Matt, that he has the wrong answer.
Me: "What song originally had the lyrics 'midnight plane to Houston'?"
Matt: "Uh...'Midnight Train to Georgia'?"
Dan: "Well, it could also be 'Leaving on a Jet Plane.'"
Matt and Dan: [singing] "Mid-night Plane to Hous-ton, I don't know when I'll be back again..."
Matt: "Yeah, that's it. 'Leaving on a Jet Plane.'"
[silence]
Me: "Um. No."

We've Got Work to Do

In the last week we've had a stabbing, a drug deal, and a kid complaining of someone's balls in his face. All unrelated, if you can believe it.
Anyway, I'm going to Guadalajara for a week. Dan, Matt, and I will be flying down to visit our friend Derek, who is teaching expatriated children. We're hoping our luggage will come with us.

Today...
A student reads my shirt: "Hollllllla!"
"It says Hola."
"Oh. I'm not real good at..."
"Get Señor Diaz on the phone."

Move to Canada (because there's a hit out on you)

Carly's 22nd Annual Celebration was rudely interrupted last night by this piece of sexist propaganda.
Seriously?
"Why is your logo the international symbol for 'male?'" was not addressed in the Volvocars.com FAQs. Am I the first person to ask? Somewhere somebody is talking about how people subconsciously feel safer with a male symbol. I want to yell at those people.
Volvo's newest model has a few special features. My feelings on those are as follows:

• If you need the blind spot sensor, maybe you should hand over your driver's license to the authorities. It's sort of your job to check there, anyway.
  
• It also has a heartbeat monitor; helpful in case someone is hiding out in your car, waiting to kill you. It will show up on your key fob in the form of a blinking light. If you see it, you should run away like the woman in the commercial and then figure out why the locks and car alarm couldn't keep an intruder out. It's just too bad that you'll barely have time to ask, since someone is hiding out in your car, waiting to kill you.

Carly, I got you something special--yes, you can keep the first edition Nancy Drew--it is your freedom from a sexist car that underestimates your abilities and intelligence. Ehhh? Ehh?
Happy birthday.

Churning Urn of Burning Funk

Since Last We Met

• I sat next to the Archbishop at dinner on St. Patrick's Day. He was good company, even if he did leave before my third beer.
• If my arms slip off my desk, I will not be able to type any more. Four shots yesterday: tetanus; Hep A, B; typhoid. I was due. There are bruises.
• Are there other people out there who delete every forward that comes their way? My sweet cousin Maya sent me a "flat" version of herself. I just re-read that sentence. Excuse me while I sound like an angry old woman. Flat Maya was much harder to delete. So I sent it to France. Let that be a lesson to any of you kids out there, with your paper dolls.
  

This Sh*t Will Blow Your Minds
And if it doesn't, why didn't you tell me before?
The more I learn about something, the harder it is... Or the more simple a concept, the more trouble it causes. (Subtraction has always been a problem for me.) Last night at improv--(Woops, that's right, I don't talk here about my nightlife as an improvisational comedy warlord. That's the other blog.)--we talked about story arc. And Holy Cats!
You mean that there's no reason to be coy; my character can just state my objectives? MMMWhaaa? Well, kick me in the face! And at the end, the story must make good on the promise it made in the first scene!
The culprit: reading non-linear books. Messes up the whole brain process. Only Jane Austen for me from now on.

Benevolent Authority Figurines

I never had Dooce's problem. I love my boss. She is caring and supportive and says things like "you're a rock star" and "you go, girl!" in complete earnestness.
And now she is retiring.
To be with her children and her husband and her mother.
They don't need her like we need her.
I will do the adolescent thing for a couple more days and feel as if no one understands me in all my loneliness and workplace strife and then I will move on, happy for her family because they get to be around her all the time.
In other retiring news, Matt is officially going full time at his photography. The world of youth ministry misses him already. Don't worry, honey. They've got Jesus.