They are called private for a reason...

(Excerpt from Gulf News article about women undergoing surgery to restore their virginity).

"The law in the UAE and most GCC countries does not define such practices as a crime. However, the UAE Supreme Court has set a law that prohibits touching the female's private parts in any way except with permission of the woman's guardian such as the father or husband."

What I do with my private parts is my business. Period.

"Summer lovin', had me a blast....Summer lovin', happened so fast..."

Nothing like a summer romance to leave you feeling nostalgic for a while, lingering on every little detail of every kiss, every look and every word. And that lingering goodbye, where you wish it could all just last a little longer...It'll all make a girl feel 15 again and give her those butterflies everyone seems to be after.

Halfway during my summer trip to Greece, I had my unexpected "Summer Lovin'" moment. He was French, not-so-tall, dark and oh so handsome, but I didn't tick right away. As we hung out drinking Bacardi breezers under the stars with the group that first night, I even thought 'nah, this guy isn't for me,' for no particular reason. But there were a couple of looks that tipped me off to the fact that he may be into me.

The second night, as we had more drinks under the stars at a bar in Milos, it was clear he was going after me, and our conversation flowed as we flirted back and forth, and our hands 'accidentally' touched over 300 times.

The next two days flew by as my Frenchie and I got to know each other a little better. And then there was the inevitable goodbye in Athens, after a long overnight ferry trip to the mainland. It was brief and cute...nothing over the top, with a customary and polite 'let's keep in touch.'

We emailed back and forth when I came back to Abu Dhabi and he went back to Barcelona, and the words on the screen just flowed. Virtually, we clicked unbelievably...I laughed and blushed as I read his words. Very cheesy!

I never thought I'd see him again until he started talking of visiting me here. When that didn't work out, I suggested we meet up in Europe somewhere. Since I had planned to visit a friend in Geneva, this was going to be our meeting point....a far cry from the perfect sun and sea of the Greek islands.

And so on my previously mentionned mini-break, I reconnected with my Frenchie from Greece. I was so nervous that it would be awkward, and truth be told, I almost wanted to cancel the whole thing. We had met when I was relaxed, tan, thinner, and it was summer...everyone is happy in the summer! Now he would see me pale, stressed, rounder...I didn't know if I was ready to lose the summer's magic.

We met up and said hello as if we'd left each other the day before. There were the inevitably awkward first few moments, but from then on, we clicked the way we did through our emails, and it turned out the couple-hating Frenchie with the mysterious air is quite a softie. He was all around cute, and even made my still heart skip a beat when he told me "You're part of my life now...you moved me."

The goodbye stung once again; I of course wanted it all to last a little longer, as I'm sure he did too. But it was what it was, and we're now back to our lives. And in my post-holiday blues, I'm left asking myself the questions millions of girls ask themselves.

Am I building up this fling in my head, making it more ideal than it really is, because we are away from each other? Maybe this could be something great, and we're just letting it slip by? Maybe maybe maybe...who knows.

Meanwhile, Frenchie has slightly restored my faith in fun, interesting and slightly unconventional men, and for that I'm grateful. I needed to be looked at the way he looked at me, I needed to be spoken to the way he spoke to me, I needed to laugh the way he made me laugh....without all the relationship drama.

Post mini-break

So, instead of dealing with the fact that I am bored shitless of Abu Dhabi and my job like a big girl should, I just took a vacation!

YAY!

I flew to my beloved land of cows, Switzerland, to visit a friend I haven't seen in a couple of years, and just to generally get some well-deserved R&R. My friend and her husband live right across the border in France (little town called Bon en Chablais), in the country! Their lovely little home was so warm and cosy I did not leave it for the first three days, during which I gorged myself with cheese, coldcuts, wine and chocolate!

It also helped that they own the most vocal cat in the world, Max. I swear, I could have conversations with him for hours! The night before I left, he just barged into the bathroom while I was taking a wee and just sat there miawing at me....a little unnerving, but very cute!
All in all, the trip was extremely relaxing and a nice change of scenery. Geneva can be quite dead in the winter, but it didn't seem to bother me one bit. I'm feeling the post-holiday blues now for more than one reason, which I may (or may not) tell you all about soon ;)

And just because, here's a picture of my favourite part of flying :)

Lines of time...

I’m thinking that it’s a momentous and unnerving event the day a girl buys her first anti-wrinkle cream. Girl? What am I saying…woman. Buying an expensive and possibly useless age-defying cream is one more step taken into that much sought-after womanhood. I’ve often wondered what makes a woman, well, a woman. Boobs? Check. Hips? Check. Boyfriends? Check. Broken heart? Check. Job? Check. Wrinkles? Not quite check.

Enter New Year’s Eve, this one night where everyone is supposed to have a great time and look their best. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one of those ‘new-year’s-is-so-overrated’ cynics; I was partying it up, holding my liquor like a woman should, dancing with everyone in the room and making out with a crush. All was well in my world and 2007 seemed to be settling in quite nicely. That was until the age thing came up.

I’m 26, loud and proud, and have looked 26 for the past 10 years or so. I got in to clubs at 14, bought alcohol and cigarettes freely, and have never ever been ID-ed. Finally, I thought I was settling into my look, my skin, my face. But BAM: on new year’s eve, a new friend told me I looked 5 years older than my youthful 29 year old sister (sorry DS!).

…..
…..
…..

Yes I almost didn’t recover. I have no problem looking older than my age, but having someone think I was over 30 was a bit of a reality check. The stresses of my young life have definitely begun to show on my face, and so the sun had barely dawned on the second day of the new year that I was already out looking for anything that would keep my face together.

And right when I lay my hand on the little jar filled with genetically engineered and scientifically enhanced hope, I felt old. Not like a woman….just old.

Happy Holidays

Just in case anyone had any doubt that it's been too long since I last blogged: I just spent 10 minutes trying to remember my Blogger username and password....and I drew a blank! Had to ask good ol' Blogger to help me retrieve them...that's a little sad isn't it?

Thank you to the few who still drop by on occasion, even though I've been an absolutely terrible blogger. Merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone, here's hoping that this season will bring some much needed peace to our lives.

Truth be told I've been uninspired to write so I don't want to pollute the blogosphere with useless and inane rants, but I promise I will try to get back in to it...if not, then I will announce my formal resignation from the blogosphere :)

Do know that I still read my favourite blogs regularly, even if I don't comment!
xo

the voices in my head

We were discussing senses last night over a very yummy dinner (Rodeo Grill, I heart you!). The sense of smell mostly, and how powerful it is. I think I have a very good sense of hearing (knock on wood...lest I go deaf tomorrow). And I love, love, love voices. A person's voice is a big deal to me, especially with guys ;)

I was actually thinking about this the other night, while I layed on my bed, earphones connected to my laptop, downloading the music of my latest discovery, James Morrison. I'm listening to him as I type, and I'm in love. I loved his voice the minute I heard the song "One Last Chance", but I had no idea who he was or what he looked like. Hearing him and seeing him is quite disconcerting...not the voice you'd expect from a 20-something Brit. Check him out...ear candy!

Back in 2002, I 'interned' at Radio One (mainly to get through the really boring AD summer). The first person I was introduced to was Chris Moran, who was a long-time Capitol Radio/Radio One DJ/Producer/ladies' man. My jaw nearly fell to the floor when he opened his mouth. His voice was so deep, so sexy, so strong, and so British, I seriously could not focus on anything he was saying. Whenever he would walk into the room, I'd be in a complete trance. Seriously, his voice practically reverberated off the walls. Hmm...

Another voice that gets to me is Michael Bubble's. I think I was watching a movie the other night where his song "Home" was featured. Now his voice is generally not the kind that makes me weak in the knees (I'm into the hoarser, raspier kinda voices), but it gives me a really odd mixture of feelings. Most of the time, his voice sounds so sincere it makes my heart ache and almost makes me uncomfortable. Sexy in an unconventional way...

Other voices that make me feel all kinds of emotions: Jeff Martin's (lead singer for the Tea Party); it's so angry yet so soothing, and in some of their songs, there is so much emotion that his voice cracks sometimes and breaks my heart. Khaleeji singer Rashid Al Majid, gives me butterflies. James Hetfield (Metallica) makes me want to shed every inhibition I have. Gavin Rossdale (Bush), calming yet full of apprehension. David Gahan (Depeche Mode), haunts me. Mark Knopfler (Dire Straits)...the verbalisation of his guitar. J.R Richards (Dishwalla), infuriatingly sexy. Elvis Presley...he gives me fever. George Michael, so incredibly soothing. Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails), whatever kind of pain you've felt, he's probably felt it too.

(I do also love women's voices, but I'll reserve this post for all the men who send shivers down my spine.)

In need of balls

I'm guessing there's something seriously wrong when I've opted to stay home from work and play pacman all day instead for the second time this week. No shit Sherlock...

I WANT TO QUIT!
All I want is someone to tell me 'come on, you can quit, don't worry, even if you haven't found another job yet, it's not the end of the world'. I am so freaked out about leaving my job and not having a back up, but I have really reached the limit of my patience.

I've been sleeping restless nights and waking up with that nauseous feeling in my gut, like the one I used to get going to primary school, knowing that I had Arabic class that day with the evil witch. I can no longer stand the thought of going into the office.

When did work become the primary focus of our lives? Why are we so freaked out about not having a job? I am educated, I have some experience, why wouldn't I find another job? I have the fortunate privilege of living with the family, so I am not really going to end up broke and on the street right away.

I know I haven't posted in ages and now I come back with a whiny post. But this is the reality of my life these days. Between doing the bare minimum at work, smoking sheeshas all night, eating iftar every other day and trying to avoid and outsmart Inkey, Blinkey, Pinkey and Clyde...I can only think of how much I want to leave my job and how miserable I am working with a bunch of unprofessional and unappreciative people.

I need to grow some balls (guys, how do you do it?) and just make a decision.