Have You Any Wool?

New York Friend Jessica has weird things happen to her a lot. Whether it’s being accosted on a pedi-cab by a Jesus lover or getting to be a VIP doorwoman at a celebrity party, Jessica is fond of looking to the heavens, rolling her eyes and exclaiming loudly “How is this my life?”

I was always amused by these stranger-than-life stories, the ones that you couldn’t even made up if you tried. I never thought I would have those kinds of experiences until I myself moved to a big city. Then, I moved to Kuwait.

I’m not sure if it was the sudden change in climate or if it was the 11 hour time difference. All I know is, I was driving home from a friends house when a cop pulled me over because my “lights were too bright”. As he wrote me a ticket, I saw about five cars drive by with no lights on at 9:30 p.m., all going about 120 kph (75mph). I cursed at the heavens, and wondered how, exactly, this was my life.

The other day, I was coming back from lunch with some coworkers. I work in the middle of nowhere, practically the ghetto. Farm-land ghetto, not East-Compton style ghetto, mind you. As we drove back, we noticed an orange cab in front of us.

For those of you not familiar with the Kuwaiti cab system, the orange cabs are the worst in Kuwait. They’re practically falling apart and, well, they just look dirty. This cab was no exception. But there was one unusual thing about it. In the backseat of this cab was a sheep.

As in the animal.

Just the animal. And the driver.

A sheep.

Uno sheep.

One sheep.

The sheep was just hanging out in the backseat of the cab, as if it were a Golden Retriever hanging out in the backseat of a station wagon driven by a soccer mom. As we passed by, it blinked at us, completely unfazed.

After getting over the initial shock, we all started wondering how, exactly the sheep got back there. Was it just hanging out by the side of the road and suddenly thought, “Dude, I am so over this joint. I want to go somewhere fun. Dubai! Where’s a cab?” Did someone ask the cab driver to take the sheep somewhere as a favour? Why a CAB? Are there no pick-up trucks that could be borrowed? Is it the cab driver’s sheep? Is the sheep being taken to slaughter? If so, is it aware of its fate? Is it being dropped off at the airport to be put on a flight to Egypt where it will meet its new Egyptian husband?

Had we not been on our way back to work, I would have insisted that we follow the cab, so we could find out what the story was. I mean, a sheep. In the backseat of a cab.

How is this my life?

Britney Spears is officially looney tunes

You know, I have definitely had my "I hate the world and men" moments, but at least I've never gone out and shaved my head.

Boycott Gucci, Buy Target

I love shoes.

Anyone who knows me can attest to this. I own over thirty pairs of shoes, which, by Imelda Marcos standards, isn't all that much, but for a normal girl it’s a fair amount. Heels, flats, flip flops – you name it, I've probably got at least one pair in my closet.

Shoes, in my opinion, make the outfit. I don't discriminate when it comes to places to buy shoes. Payless, Target, Nine West – if the shoes are cute, the shoes will be bought. And if the shoes are on sale? Well, Sale is my favourite designer.

That's why, when I found a pair of Gucci shoes in the Villa Moda warehouse, that were discounted from 100KD to 50KD (Translation: $345 down to $170), I leapt for it.$170 is a lot for a pair of shoes, but for Gucci's? Not that bad. They were a pair of classic black heels, an investment.

That is to say, they were an investment. Because last night, around 7 p.m. as I was walking on the marble-tiled lobby in my apartment complex, I heard a snap. And then realized that one foot was suddenly lower than the other.

Those of you who have ever seen a chickflick know what's coming. The heel of my Gucci shoes snapped off. The heel of my $170 shoe SNAPPED OFF. I have never in my life had this happen to me before, ever. And believe me, I have worn $15 heels. I have worn $70 heels. I have actually bent the heels of boots before, by leaning back on them and yet, I have never had a heel snap off. I have worn heels day in and day out and still, I have never had a heel snap off.

I'm not sure what this says about Gucci. That their shoes are overpriced? Definitely. I mean, if my Target heels never broke, then why should my Gucci's? And I realize the name dropping makes me sound really spoiled and rich, so I'd like to clarify that these are the only pair of designer shoes I've ever bought, because I generally dislike spending more than $100 on a pair of shoes.

In conclusion: Gucci is a piece of crap. Boycott Gucci. And, Villa Moda – I'd like my 50KD back, thanks.

Life Lessons Learned at the Pump

I’m not good at getting out of sticky situations. Particularly when there are men involved.

In September, I left California and spent a month and a half traveling around the East Coast, visiting friends in Boston, New York and Washington, D.C. At Washington/Dulles International Airport, I was accosted by a Jet Blue check-in boy, who, in a non-threatening yet still very creepy manner, twisted my arm until I gave him my phone number. Which was going to be cancelled about two weeks later, leaving me with no worries about any sort of repercussion. Yet, as I walked way from him, I mentally slapped myself for not giving him a fake number. I don’t think of a reaction to these things until it’s too late.

Like I said. I'm not good at getting out of situations.

Last week, I was getting gas. It was a pump-before-you-pay kind of place. As I drove up to the payment counter, I handed the 40-something-year-old guy a 20KD note for my 4KD gas bill (for those of you in less oil-friendly regions: Yes, I was paying about $20 to fill up my gas tank when the light was on and it was on E. And I have an SUV). He asked me if I had anything smaller, and, noting my poor Arabic, asked where I was from.

This is where my California-friendliness comes in. If I’m ever shopping and someone strikes up a conversation with me, I usually chat back. Harmless, of course. So, like a fool, I respond that I’m half Kuwaiti and half Iranian, and he laughs at my Arabic. (Mistake #1) His next question to me is if my husband is Iranian. Again, like a fool, I respond that I have no husband. Between his broken English and my non-ability to speak broken English, we go around in circles as he keeps inquiring about my husband, before it’s established that I don’t have a husband. (Mistake #2)

At this, his eyes light up. Let me state for the record that he is still holding my 20KD note, and I am still waiting for the change otherwise I would have driven away ages ago. He leans a little bit out the window, and looks me straight in the eye. “I manager of gas station,” he says to me, enthusiastically. “And,” he added, “I run madrasa (school) in Jleeb Al Shyook.*”

At this, I’m sure my facial expressions went from “I’m trying to be polite, so please give me my money,” to “WTF”. “That’s great?” I respond, trying to figure out how I can get my money from him so I can just leave already. I am praying for my phone to ring so I have an excuse to end the conversation. No such miracle occurs.

“You like?” he asks.

Now I’m at a loss. Is he asking me if I’m pleased with the fact that he runs a gas station or that he runs a school? Or both? Am I supposed to be impressed? At this point, I should have busted out a Do-You-Know-Who-My-Father-Is kind of line, but I resist, since bragging like that is really just Not Me.

“Um. I hate kids,” I respond, like an idiot. (Mistake #3)

He chortles, grinning up at me. “You like Kuwaiti man?"

At this I really start to lose my shit, mentally, and am trying to decide if I should just drive away and chalk the 16KD I’d lose up to a way to save my life.

“Um, I don’t care?”

He laughs again, and starts to hand me my change, much to my relief. Right before my fingers can grab for the money (allowing me to make my getaway), he snatches it back. “You want number?” he asks.

“What?” I’m thinking he’s asking if I want a recipt or something.

“You want my number?” he clarifies.

“Um. No.”

He laughs again, hands me my money, and I break the sound barrier in my frantic attempt to get the hell away from there.

While this makes for an amusing story, the biggest thing here is the two lessons I’ve learned when it comes to dealing with men in Kuwait:

1) If asked “Where are you from?” answer with “It’s none of your business.”
2) If asked “Do you have a husband?” the answer is always, always “Yes, and he’s part of the ruling family who will have you beheaded for asking me these questions.”
3) It is okay to say “Give me my change so I can leave before my rich, famous, powerful husband has you killed.”

*Jleeb Al Shyook: Ghetto.