To All the Scatophiliacs Out There
Dubai has a social network for you…
There is almost too much to say about this…and the more I want to say the more I ruin the layers of humor in this massive advertisement…
In case you don’t get it, here is the definition of Scatophiliac
If Hairs Be Wires, Orange Wires Grow On His Head
Shakespeare, we agree yet again. If I could write a sequel to Twelfth Night, my Malvolio would have to be insprited by this dude…
I don’t know if you, my kind and gentle readers, think I’m kidding about my observations on my way to and from work. Do you recall when I told you that Indian men dye their hair orange with henna?
I wasn’t kidding.
And it doesn’t necessarily look bad. Until it gets flourescent. And then it’s just difficult to discern if his wife was annoyed when she was dying his hair or if he’s making a point with the depth of his color. Like maybe he’s protesting flourescent lights? And, by allah, at least someone is!
My colleague doesn’t look exactly like this. Mainly because my colleague has far thinner hair. And wears checkered suits.
PS - when I say that Indian men dye their hair, please note that I don’t mean all Indian men. I don’t pretend to know in which part of India this is most common. Nor can I shed any light on the reason. All I can say is that I’ve seen it. A lot. And beyond that, I don’t plan on doing any research. xo
Me, A Lady of the Night
Remember when I said that when I get out of a taxi early I have to walk on the highway to get home…well, it’s not a highway so much as a service road off the highway. So, it’s pretty much a highway. And if I take the metro home, I have to walk on this road regardless. Logistics = Dubai’s weak point.
So, last night, on my way home, this pulled over beside me…
And when the window rolled down, I met this dude…
Who asked if I needed any help. Or maybe he asked me to help him. Either way, my first thought was…
And so, of course, I kept walking. Because why would I need help and why would he need help. As I kept walking, my memory toyed with my brain. So that by the time I got home, the man in the dish dash became this:
And suddenly I hadn’t been confused for a prostitute but rather I had rejected the advances of a superstar celebrity.
Oh Bobblehead, My Bobblehead
I’m sorry but you see what I see when you look at Bouy, right? And then in front of Bouy there’s Bouy Jr…he wears massive headphones every day. I wonder if he’s hiding his ears.
You may wonder why there is a slight blurr to this photo. I was sprinting to keep up so I could take it. SPRINTING!! I’m shocked they didn’t turn around when they heard me stampeding down the corridor…
Good Evening Dubai!
Honsetly, I hear myself as Robin Williams every time I start my blog post with a Good Morning or Good Anything. I sort of wish that every time someone came to my blog, I could play his morning line from Good Morning Vietnam.
But on to my first point of business. The annoying dude in my office is wearing a plaid suit coat with a black undershirt. I get the feeling he finds himself attractive. I wonder if anyone will ever have the balls to tell him he’s greasy and gross and really needs to stop biting his lips. Also, he just dyed his hair orange with henna. This is a normal custom in India. But I just find it funny because this dude claims to not hold on to any Indian traditions. So I guess he just likes orange hair. With plaid coats. I really could keep going but I think it will just be too mean.
And yes, I’m in the office on my Friday evening (this is our “saturday”).
I had a second point of business. But it seems my business is calling. So over and out for now!
xo
Good Morning Dubai!
Good morning Dubai!
I have been told that my blog is slightly angry. I have also been told that I should add some photos. So, even though I was going to write about how I think that Dubai is a 3rd world country masking as a cosmopolitan business mecca, I will first do the photos. The 3rd world post will come some day soon.
I took these photos from my airplane. Don’t question why my phone was on. It wasn’t. Sort of. The body of water that you see below is a man made lake.
As you can see, this is the desert. And then, every now and then, there are some buildings. When you come up close and personal to the city it looks like its all buildings. But, when you come even closer and are actually on the ground, you realize that between every building there continues to be sand. Because Dubai, like the smart city that it is, forgot to build sidewalks.
Not kidding. See these photos that I took from my metro ride. On my way to work I go through a no-man’s land of factories before ending up at the financial center. These factories are also surrounded by desert. Let me put it this way. There is the old part of dubai, then there is the financial center, there is the area where the locals live and the areas where the media companies live and the expats reside. Between the financial center/local residences and the media/expat areas there are factories with sand. This is, in some ways, “mid-town”…only don’t even dare wear your nice shoes. They will get sand in them.
xx
Last night I tripped.
On myself.
When I was sober.
After a company dinner.
When some big MDs were in town from London, France and Saudi.
Because tripping on yourself, when you’re sober, in front of some of the smartest people you’ve ever met that already think you are just a silly girl with no direction in life is completely acceptable. And the reality is that no one actually had to know I tripped and fell. For all intents and purposes, I was far enough away from the clan because I was on my way to the taxi stand. Except for the fact that I fell onto the aluminium sheet in front of the escalator and the clang echoed through the financial centre and into the desert, shifting sand and parting seas. I fell in slow motion and exited my body so that I could see the mortifying event happen from the 3rd party perspective, I could feel my shoe get tangled in itself as I tried to pull my foot out of the mess and instead loose balance. I reached out my hand so that I could catch myself but forgot my hand was holding my phone, which only further enhanced the sound waves’ explosion into a mushroom cloud over Dubai. The guys from my office called out from the other side of the plaza to see if I was ok. Those nearby rushed over to help me up and check my well being. And, to make matters worse, this actually and truly hurt making everyone’s attention not welcome. To add insult to injury, one of the guys from my office decided to share a cab with me. Why, you ask, am I rejecting everyone’s concern? All I wanted was to go, hide in a corner and let my tears heal my wound. Instead, I had to force a happy face and pretend like this was just a bump on the knee. Oh haha, I’m so clumsy. Silly me. So, like the psycho that I am, I told the taxi driver to drop me a few blocks from my home so that I could finally use those blocks to feel extraordinarily sorry for myself. Which was dumb, of course, because that meant that I was walking home along the highway like some hooker dressed up in a suit for weird roleplay.
Yay for me, my pride and my stubbornness.
Sexism or culture, that is my question…
Within a few weeks of starting my job, I went out to lunch with my boss. He said to me, “we don’t hire many women because it’s so hard with the visa.”
Hard. Hard? What does that mean exactly? It’s hard. Does it physically strain you? Is it an arduous task? And do you, you you, actually have to go do something on my behalf? Or are you making a grandiose statement about the actual process of getting visas for women? And is this for all women? Is this what you will say to your daughter when she is looking for a job? Honey, don’t try because it’s just harder on the employer?
Let us be clear. Your statement resembles some truth. It is difficult for single women of certain nationalities and within certain age groups to get a tourist visa, let alone a work visa, to the UAE. Fact. But in no way, shape or form does my boss have anything to do with that process. Also fact. And once the application has been submitted, all you have to do is wait for the response. Again, fact. So, if doing this for a woman made you break a sweat more than had you done it for a man then all that says to me is you are very deprived. Because the only reason why you should be sweating is because you were looking at 6 identical passport photos of her face.
And shame on you. Shame on you for giving up before starting. Shame on you for taking on a battle and not fighting it. Shame on you for having an opinion on something of which you are not a part. Every single person in the UAE (except for Emiratis, who make up 20% of the population) needs a visa to work. Getting a visa for your employee is the norm. So how dare you decide to which sex you will pay attention before you look at qualifications and decide if you will engage in a process you will have to do anyway.
You can argue cost. Or even opportunity cost. But if you did then you don’t get it. The point is not that you choose to hire men over women (because that happens every day everywhere). Your crime is far worse. The point is that you know women have a battle and you choose to follow the crowd and stand on the sidelines and wait for someone else to call a truce and make it equal for women. Because trying might break your nails. And all the while, you are in a position to make a quiet move and a pose a small opposition. You are lazy and spineless.
I am one of two women in my office. Over the past 3 weeks, my tasks have been to put together some mindless databases, order the kitchen food and book restaurant reservations. And yesterday, one of the men had the balls to say, “well, we all have to work our way up.” Fuck. You. The other junior in my office who happens to have a penis? Well, he gets to work on pitches and go to more client meetings than I get to attend. So. Shove.Your.Stupid.Excuse.Up.Your.Ass. At least have the kindness to tell me you think I’m dumb. Because your comment implies you think I am (and I apologize for being un-pc here) retarded.
However, I do wonder. Is this just plain old sexism? Or is this cultural sexism? Neither is ok but one comes from ignorance. In my office, when blue collar workers come to deliver food or fix the lights or water the plants, they all always come to my desk to sign paperwork or get approval. There is really absolutely no reason for this other than the fact that they are used to dealing with women running offices. In general, when anyone has logistics questions, they come to me. I rarely have the answer and yet it doesn’t stop them from venturing again in the future.
After giving it some thought, I guess it’s both. Because some people don’t know any better and they are probably easier to train. Those who do know better are just sexist and a danger to their companies and our society. Let’s disregard the facts about women in education and changes in the workforce because those are almost too easy. Let me put this to them in a way which they might understand. Men are incapable of living without women. They either need 4 wives or don’t need wives at all but they do need women. Women, on the other hand, do very well without men. Yes, we need them at times. But women find closer relationships with other women and can survive (not procreate) without men. Why else would some of these countries go to such lengths to stop women from getting educations and from driving and from leaving the house? Because they think they can’t? Or because they are worried what will happen if the women are free? In the UAE, more women than men are graduating from college and will not marry their local men because they are not of high enough calibre.
If men can’t see the facts and only make decisions on superficial reasons, what then? We agree to live shadowed by the reign of stupidity? Does that sound sustainable?
Thank you for letting me vent…
On Mars, They Jerk Each Other Off
Men love being men. And women love being women. But I rarely get the impression that women want to congratulate each other for having vaginas. Sometimes I think men would gladly jerk each other off as a high five and pat on the back as a congratulatory gesture for just being men. Of course, this would never be seen as gay. In fact, this would likely be the epitome of masculinity.
Psych…ed For Burqas
I have decided that I think my therapist should wear a burqa. Because, honestly, we would get through a shit ton more stuff if I didn’t have to see his face.
I’m going to write a memo to all the psychiatrists in the world. I’ll call it Psych…ed for Burqas!
It will read as follows:
Memo: Psych…ed For Burqas!
Friends, Shrinks, Psychoanalysts. Lend me your eyes!
The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of psychological struggles.
Balanced and unbalanced, patrician and plebian, CEOs and assistants, Priests and pilgrims, in a word, the manipulator and the weak of mind, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary individual panic attack and mental breakdown or in the common ruin of effected multiple personalities, hallucinations, families and friends.
In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a manifold gradation of psychological rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, plebians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, psychos.
The modern psychiatrists’ society that has sprouted from the ruins of freud’s society has not done away with psychological antagonisms. It has but established new diseases, new conditions of mania, new forms of internal struggle with external manifestations in place of the old ones.…
The psychiatrists should disdain to conceal their views and aims. They openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social norms. Let the ruling classes tremble at the psychiatrists’ revolution as they cover their face. The crazies have nothing to lose but their crazy. They have a world to win.
Shrinks of all countries, unite! Burqa yourself and open yourself to the new world of psychological and psychiatrical freedom.
By the way, while searching for these photos, I came across porn in burqas. Talk about needing therapy…
