Destination: Relaxation (And Wife Hunting on the Side)

Babar and I spent most of the day in his office as we were one of the few idiots to go to work today. We are also one of the few idiots to go to work tomorrow. Not because we are dedicated (well, he is, but seeing as I am not, he must conform) but because we have nothing better to do. I forwarded my calls to his phone (preparation for the unlikely event of my boss calling) and exchanged stories from our long weekend.

Babar, who is the loveliest person in existence (which means I am actively channeling Austen's Emma and hunting for a wife for him - eligible ladies apply within) spent the last three days in Marsa Alam (as yet unspoiled Red Sea fishing village) and came back in ecstasy. He also came back redder than a Man United jersey and with most of his head peeling off, but that's another story.

Note that Babar is very difficult to please. So if he fell in love with Marsa Alam and came back completely relaxed, then Marsa Alam should equate that to divine blessings from the Pope and the Dalai Lama combined. The ground visibly shakes when Babar is in the vicinity. The whole floor must be warned when he enters the building to find cover and protect their eyes from his holy glow.



His Grace described crystal turquoise waters, abundant marine life, untouched beaches and all that jazz, as you can see from the photo above. Babar had a very stressful couple of weeks at work, so he needed this. I should know, I had to wiggle, jiggle, contort my face, tell embarrassing stories and make a right fool of myself several times in feeble attempts to cheer him up. So anyone in need of a break, Babar recommends Marsa Alam.

And now, a few words on Babar himself (for all you ladies waiting with bated breath. You know I wasn't going to disappoint):

Babar is a gentle giant. Fantabulously talented, he is very good at what he does (and juggles a million more responsibilities in several positions than the average 25-year-old) meaning he will go very far in life. He has countless interests and will give everything a try. He is intellectual without being pretentious. He is kind, patient and compassionate without being soppy. He is spontaneous, he is hilarious, his joie de vivre is enviable, and he is an amazing friend and gentlemen. He even paid for lunch today. Yes, those kinds of men still exist! In a word, he's perfect.

So ladies, email your resumes. I'd take him myself, but I can't bring myself to put him through all my commitmentphobic baggage and megalomaniac complexes. The boy is much too good to be damaged.

Sewage System for Tea

Yesterday, we went to my aunt's house for a Good Friday meal and tea. When tea time came around, I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup. Once the kettle came to a boil, I began to pour the water into the mug.

I noticed something black flow down with the water. Unfortunately, the teabag was already in the mug, so the liquid was too dark to see what was inside. So I hunted around with my teaspoon a little to make sure there was nothing there that wasn't supposed to be there.

Lo and behold, a little cockroach was in my tea.

Yes. A black icky cockroach, the size of my index finger's first section (from the tip to the first joint) had been in the kettle.

Apparently, my aunt had removed the little filter nozzle from the faucet and so as I filled the kettle, the cockroach came down into it from our lovely water system.

This is the cleanliness of the water in fair Egypt. Don't drink the water, folks.

Unless you want to collect cockroaches to fry. In that case, let the faucets flow!

The Week of Pain Isn't Just for JC

The last couple of days have been super.

Yesterday, my boss calls me in to FINALLY pay attention to a follow-up project to the chemical poo factory visit. Basically, we're (meaning I'm) supposed to come up with a fancy-schmancy monthly report on the factory's performance. The whole works. Right down to the number of cogs replaced per day. Big Brother on paper - or rather, Excel.

I'd drawn up a skeleton based on the meagre supply of information the chemical poo execs had given us, but we both knew that we'd have to force them to do all the filling-in-the-boxes themselves. So all we needed to do was the mechanics of the structure. Like architects. We do all the thinking and the factory people do all the donkey work.

Or so I thought.

Conversation goes something like this:

12:30pm:
Big Boss Man: Eureka, I need you to take the old monthly report's structure and create a new one for the chemical poo factory. I need it by tomorrow morning. Can you do it?
[Rocky theme music playing as he leans in like the editor dude in Superman and awaits my response]
Eureka: ARE YOU ON CHRYSTAL METH? THAT'LL TAKE A WEEK! MINIMUM! You must be on crack or maybe crack's on you but you know that's not possible. Even for a genius like me. ESPECIALLY since I don't know how to use Excel for more than 1+1=(Cell A:CellB)

I wish.

Really:

Eureka: Sure. I can't promise that the links will work perfectly though because you've only just taught me how to do it - in theory - ten seconds ago.
Big Boss Man: No problem, we'll fix the links in the morning.

Eureka shuffles off to her desk wracking her brain for any IT geek to do it for her. Lightbulb! The IT geek and Excel Genius who sits behind her! Looks frantically for him. He took the day off. GOD DAMN DAYS OFF! You mean I listen to him whining and sending me depressed emails every day for him to take the day off the ONE time I want to call in those favours? So much for no good deed goes unpunished.

I sit there working from 1pm to 9:30pm. Straight. I KID YOU NOT. I can actually concentrate like that when I need to. By 9:30 though, I am exhausted. I can't see straight. So I send him what I have (most of it was done) and tell him where I need his help (the links were screwy as I said they'd be) and head home.

Next morning:

Wake up, go through the whole bathroom, closet, kitchen routine and get into the car. Oh hello? You're not my car. Turns out my car's in the shop and here's Grandpa's car subbing. Ok, no problem. Grandpa's car is parked 24/7 since he never uses it so nothing could possibly be the matter with it. I won't be late. Good start. Let's go, driver!

And so we go.

We are in the middle of Ramses street, which is one of the most crowded and gross streets in the city. Today is the hottest day of the year so far, ringing in at 45ºC in the shade. The SHADE. And it's only April 23rd. I can't imagine what June will be like.

Suddenly huge pillars of white smoke billows out from under the hood.

Yes, ladies and gents. The car decided to do it and overheat on the one day I neeeeeeeded to be at work on time. I guess I'm being punished by the great angry gods for not paying attention to JC being crucified tomorrow and not paying my respects to His honourable deed by going to church and snoring 15 times a day. Yeah, because my snores add that special touch to worship that JC just can't survive without. Told you I'm special.

So after finding a suitable place to park the dinosaur's dinosaur (i.e. not in the middle of the street), my driver stops a cab and takes me to work. Cabs in Cairo are not fun. They are dirty, broken-down and smelly. Not suitable for a girl in a summer dress and red ballerinas.

I get to work hot, sticky, probably smelly and seriously pissed off.

BUT, on the bright side, I fix the links problems when my boss shows me how and do everything he asks for. Correctly! When I'm done (this is around 3:30pm), he decided he wants more stuff. And this stuff is IMPOSSIBLE to fit in the same table. Which is exactly what he wants.

So bang your head on the 6 rocks and 12 hard places you're squished between, Eureka. Because this will be another loooong night.

I soldier on.

And on.

And on and on.

And at 7pm, I whimper uncle. I tell him it cannot be done. What does he say?

"It's ok, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

So I could have given up at 5 and gone home.

And I have to go through all this again tomorrow. Which incidentally is a public holiday but my company decided not to take it off.

BASTARDS.

Oh, but wait... I love my job.

Don't I?

Ad Infinitum

*Warning* This will be an ongoing project where I will list my blessings as I remember them. Forgive me for boring you, but if you read this, then you're bored anyway.

1. I have loving, nurturing parents and the best siblings in the world.
2. I have an aunt who personifies strength and courage in the face of adversity. The world is lucky to have such a role model. They should make a movie about her. And have Angelina Jolie star. Scratch that, she's not as hot as my aunt.
2(b) They should make a movie about my mother, too. Because she's just as awesome.
3. I have strong women to look up. On the flipside, that means I have huge stiletto's to fill.
4. I have the best friends in the world. Whole package: smart, gorgeous, funny, supportive men and women. The Abercrombie & Fitch of the friends world. Except mine are all dressed in Prada and Zegna.
5. I make good money in a cushy job where I can spend all day reading, flirting and gossiping. All I have to do is make sure when I do get an assignment, I do it well.
6. Seeing as I'm a perfectionist, 5 goes without saying anyway.
7. I have AMAZING boobs.
8. Even though my hair is thinning, it's still great quality and I can generally hide the thinning part with a good haircut.
9. I have the luxury of living in a country where hired help is the norm, so I never need to do my own chores. (Score!)
10. No matter how bad things get, I'll never be alone and abandoned because I have a great support system. Thank you everyone.

To be continued.

Remembering to Breathe

Some days life just isn't worth living. I should know, those days seem to chase after me like they're Eureka-seeking missiles.



It is those days where you need to remember to stop, count your blessings and just relax.

Otherwise, you'll miss out on the good as well. Like enjoying the view at St. Andrews (see above). Or having a glass of wine with the people who make you laugh the hardest.

And finally arriving at the end of the tunnel and having a reason to feel accomplished.

I can't wait for that day.

If you're having an off minute, or week, or even lifetime, just think about that sense of accomplishment when you finally pull through.

It'll make it all worth it.

Hey, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

365 People, 365 Days

I just came across an interesting blogging experiment called x365, where you are to write about one person you know a day. You can write whatever you want about them and should ideally say how they affected you.

It's a pretty cool idea and will definitely raise a lot of questions about yourself, about the people you've known and how they helped mold you into the person you've become or are in the process of becoming.

They don't have to be long, they don't have to be particularly positive. They just have to be people who've affected you in some way.

Now ask yourself this question: do you even know 365 people who've truly affected you? Makes you think about the quality of relationships you've had, doesn't it?

Partying on the Wrong Side of Town

You'd think having lived in Cairo for just about my entire life, I'd have a basic understanding - if not actual working knowledge - of its main streets. Cairo is too large and discombobulating for one to be well versed in every nook and cranny, but main streets are pretty easy... You'd think.

Thursday night proved that I am either a complete and total mindless goof, or totally clueless when it comes to Cairo's streets. I am, in fact, both.

A couple of friends and I decided to go to a party at the Four Seasons in Garden City and met up at our usual haunt for pre-party drinks. About an hour later, O called saying he was on his way and would meet us at the Four Seasons. We got into our respective cars. I told my driver to take me to the Four Seasons.

Here I must interrupt our little story for an explanatory note. Cairo has two Four Seasons; one hosts a club/lounge I often frequent, the other one of the two department stores my mother and I shop at. The former is in Giza, the latter in Garden City. Two completely different areas of Cairo.

Now where was I? Leaving La Bodega. This is in Zamalek, which is near the Four Seasons I wanted to go. My driver asks me, "which of the Four Seasons are we going to?"

I confidently reply, "the one in Giza where 35 is."

For reasons only a psychiatrist could come up with, I was absolutely convinced - even when saying the name of the club instead of the store - that I was right.

I remained convinced as I saw the club itself. I was certain as I asked the concierge where the party was, even though I knew it was in the store itself. For some reason, my mind refused to register my error.

The poor concierge looked at me quizzically, and asked which party I meant. As I said, "Why the Beymen one, of course," it began to hit me that I may - just maybe - be at the wrong hotel. The man looked at me pityingly but kindly. "Mademoiselle, you are at the wrong Four Seasons."

"Ah. Yes. My mistake. Thank you very much." With my tail between my legs, I skulked off to a corner and called my driver.

Finally, a little past midnight, I arrive at the party. No problems at the door, my name was on the list. Wouldn't have been too surprised if it hadn't been though, given the way the night was going.

Party was very well put together. Hats off. However, can't say the same for the ambiance. Best description of the night came from a girl I do not know talking to her friend as they waited for their car as we left, "the music was great, the bar was great, the decorations were great. So what was wrong? The people were all constipated."

Welcome to Cairo, the city that never sleeps. Because everyone is up, constipated.