Living Arrangments

I have found an apartment! (That I like/accepts Kuwaitis and Westerners/is in our price range/is in a good location) WOOT! WOOT!

Meshari and I are going to meet with the gentleman tomorrow to fill out all the paper work and pick out which floor/layout we would like. That may sound a little odd, but that’s because the whole building is completely new. Each floor is the same, with three different layouts. I’m hoping to get the 9th floor. We have heard that once you go higher than that the wireless gets weird. (I’m not sure why)

That being said…we can’t move in right away. They will be finishing construction as soon as possible and plan on having everything fuctional by August. So we will have to wait. However, we don’t want to wait in Hawally anymore. the screaming children and the traffic has driven us absolutely mad!

Our next course of action is to live with Mama Oda for the next two months. This means we will have to move twice, but saving money and getting away from the chaos here will be worth it.

Once the paperwork is official, I’ll post pictures and more details.

 

Apartment Hunting

This phase has never really struck me, until yesterday. I have been researching, searching and talking about apartments for three months now. The first month was really light, just looking at prices and seeing what’s available. Now as the date of moving out of our current apartment draws near, the hunt is on!

The only issue…I don’t know my prey.

I am a hunter. Like many people. I hunt deer, I hunt for art supplies, I hunt for wild blackberries, I hunt for jeans and so forth. Everyone in a sense is a hunter.

Example…Deer vs Kuwait Apartments.

We will start with deer. There are laws for when, and where you can hunt them, with that comes a license. The best times to hunt, early morning as the sun comes up, and late afternoon. That’s when the deer are moving to find breakfast/water/dinner/a safe place to sleep. (Depending on if it was a full moon and clear out, normally deer will stay up and eat all night if they can see. PARTY!) Smell, I like smelling like dirt, because I don’t like purposely putting deer piss on me. I prefer hunting in a ground blind so I can nap without worry of falling out of a tree. Unless it’s winter, then I will be in a tree, it’s too cold to nap in the winter. Sounds…the difference of “Lets get out of here!” compared to “what is that?” to just them walking/running. Knowing what to pay attention too. What else…how to dress, is really important. Your weapon of choice. Each has it’s pros and cons. Etc. Etc. I am a capable independent hunter.

Apartments in Kuwait…I don’t know arabic, BOOM half if not more of the ads I see need to be translated. So already I’m not independent. Where should I look?…I’m learning what places are considered safe, others not safe at all and the nice areas. However, I’m learning as I’m looking. I spend a couple hours out tracking down places to see them only to find out from Noor, the family driver that this is a very bad area. Mark that off the list. I have searched countless websites, I have talked with friends, I have gone building to building. “Shlonik! Are there any apartments open?” Then continues the mix of arabic I know with the english they know. Normally I have Noor with me as back up, but I’m learning that when I enter and get the ball rolling I am less successful. Because of language? Because I’m a women? Because I’m white? I’m not sure…either way I’m a hunter. If my “prey” gets startled because I’m a white chick asking direct questions in semi broken arabic. I’ll taken another approach. I have now been seeking out apartments that are not even build yet. For one, I know that they have openings. Two, the men are distracted with working to really focus on what I’m doing. (checking water pressure, looking in the cabinets/closets, checking windows for drafts…the normal apartment check.) I’m starting to think that’s not a normal thing here. Next, the fun fact that Kuwait likes having ghettos, meaning a part of a city for certain groups of people to live. (social/economic) I have seen written/posted ad saying “Westerners Only” Some that say “Western Females Only” For one, that is incredibly creepy. Next there are areas where it says “Kuwaitis Only”. I have been hung up on twice now when I call these places. Now before anyone asks…Meshari is Kuwaiti and I have found myself in the position where Noor tells whoever is behind the desk “Her husband is Kuwaiti .” Boom, I get whisked to a different (always cleaner) room. Or I get taken care of next. Another prime example of discrimination. Sure, I am benefiting from it, but I feel like an asshole. It’s not fair. When I brought it up to Meshari’s dad he didn’t understand how it was unfair. He just saw it as “Of course you are treated better! Why should you have to wait?” I replied “I’m a person. He is a person. She is a person. They were their first.” And he retorted with “But they are not Kuwaiti.” It’s ingrained that they believe they are better than others.

WHICH brings me to my next problem. Most/Some Kuwaitis believe that they are better than everyone else and don’t have to follow laws/rules. Enough so where landlords do not accept Kuwaitis as tenants. Weeeeeeelllllll why is that? What are they doing/Not dining?! It has become common for a Kuwaiti to rent an apartment to serve as his/her love nest. However if that Kuwaiti doesn’t feel like they got full usage of that love nest. Maybe the couple broke up for a week, or one of them were on vacation for three weeks and they didn’t get to use the apartment. They do not pay rent. And to be clear, I have heard and witnessed this from friends, relatives and realtors.

That being said, yesterday I found myself at an apartment which I had already seen. They were using two different realtors, and they never post the names of the buildings. You literally have to make an appointment to come see it for them to give you a location NEAR the apartment. Then you call again as you get closer until they can give you the final location. It’s really irritating. Either way I was going to speak with them, maybe they would give me different information. I straight out tell them, I saw this apartment last month, the other realtor said that the landlord did not want us here because my husband is Kuwaiti. Is this true?

Come to find out…they do accept Kuwaitis…they just have to pay a whole year in advance. Excuse me? A year? 450kdx12= 5,400kd…I was saying “what the fuck?” over and over under my breath. Never have I heard of having to pay a whole year in advance! Who has that kind of money just laying around…and let’s just do the math for shits and giggles. 5,400kdx3.55 (exchange rate) = $19,170 USD… Stupid money…I can’t even imagine just being like ‘yeah sure, here ya go! No problem!”

Again…I don’t know how to apartment hunt here…or I’m just not very good at it.

How do you like Kuwait?

I cannot count how many times this question has been asked. At first, I would answer politely with a smile. “The food is really good! And there is so many different people and cultures here!”

I have been AWOL for the past month or so because …to put it in lame man’s terms…it’s been shitty.

It really started with a “baby shower” aka Look at how much fucking money I have! SHOW CASE *throws glitter*

Women were being completely rude by American and Kuwaiti standards. “What is she?” They made me feel like shit because I wasn’t like them. They made me uncomfortable because I wasn’t wearing a pound of gold around my neck, or had a diamond the size of my eyeball on my finger. I was pissed because I was in a room full of shallow humans beings who were wearing enough money to feed a small country for years. I talked with women who were confused as to why I worked, who were confused as to why I had a bachelors degree. I couldn’t even mention my masters. I went to a baby shower to celebrate new life…and I didn’t even see the baby. I saw a waste of life instead.

Next, the blatant racism. It’s everywhere. The worst part is everyone is used to it! To them it’s normal.

I can feel this turning into a list…

I just read an article asking students to report any classmate that may be gay so they can get “proper treatment”. What the fuck?! It was in the newspaper! And it distinctly stated “They are not supporting any homosexual activities.” I knew before I came here that they are not openly supportive, it was more like “don’t ask don’t tell”. So seeing it published in a paper was over the edge.

Next, I have yet to hear ANYONE say “thank you” to servers or cashiers. (besides Meshari) But the looks we get from them when we say thank you, it’s like we turned green.

Next, it’s Kuwait they can afford to pay their workers a decent living wage. They choose not to.

It’s a fucking shit show.

OH Copyright…yeah that doesn’t matter here. Steal whatever you want. It’s disgusting.

In short, how do I like Kuwait?

I don’t.

 

 

Take the bull by the horns.

I am so excited and nervous I’m feel like I’m going to blow chunks! (throw up, vomit, etc)

Yesterday was my 26th birthday. Meshari and I did nothing special because money is tight and a wedding is happening so everyone is running around with their heads cut off. Plus I had two meeting, plus normal designing work to catch up on. So we are pushing my birthday back to April 18th, gifts, small party what have you.

But the most exciting/stressful nervous thing is….I am in the works of starting up my own design studio. That was what my first meeting was about. And while writing this post, I have gotten three phone calls, a dozen texts and what looks like our first client and we haven’t even established our own branding yet!

This is so overwhelming, the cart is way ahead of the horse! But I’m excited and want to keep this ball rolling!

I have so much work to do!

Word Vomit Rant

This was going to be called “Job Search & Being Productive”…but as it developed into “word vomit rant” suited it better.

Since the age of 12 I have been working. Baby sitting and yard work were so I could join ski club and get those cool hoodies with your name on the back for all the sports I played in middle school. I upgraded to a horse farm where I worked for riding lessons. Then I milked cows at a dairy farm when I was 15. I rode my bike back and forth before I got my driving license. I had to save up for college, so while also working on the farm I worked as a secretary in the middle and high school during my flex periods. And if I couldn’t be busy enough during high school with cross country, musical, yearbook, the farm, track and the secretary gig…I started working at Subway so I could transfer that job to the city my college was in. In college I worked for subway till I found a job on campus that worked better with my cross country and class schedule. Then I added working for the graphics department…and so on. And this pattern of always working continued through till I left the States.

I have always planned. I have always worked. I have always had a car. I was independent.

In 4 days it will be two months “without” me working here. I am still designing remotely…and I am developing a class to teach online over the summer for Oswego. So I am WORKING…but I feel because I haven’t landed a job HERE I am a complete and utter failure. It’s sounds dramatic…but I have always had the plan and routine of one job flowing into the other. Or even having 3-4 jobs happening all at the same time. With the confusion of work permits, criminal records, health blah blah blah…I looked at jobs but never applied because I knew it would be months before I even set foot in the country and now once in Kuwait the paper work itself is taking exceedingly longer.  I have been actively searching for a month…I have a few nibbles, which is good, but my confidence is shot to hell.

“Hi, we love your work! Ohhhh your paper work isn’t complete…” *Click*

They don’t say that…but I feel I can’t push forward the way I want because both my feet are not on the ground.

And this last piece of paperwork that needs to be done is literally a fucking bitch. If I was in the States it would be easily taken care of…here a big “sucks to be you” at every turn.

If anyone in Kuwait tells you “Oh that will be easy, don’t worry about it.” Don’t fucking believe them. Do all your homework, understand the ins and outs…even if you THINK you understand…you don’t. Nothing is updated, nothing is a sure thing, whoever you go to will give you different information than the guy sitting next to him. And honestly …if you ask the same person the same question…you are going to get a different answer.

In lame mans terms…I am in a cluster fuck.

….

Anyway…I’m in the second day of this very odd, tech support, super non formal interview via text. So I have that. And many little birds have told me…that “I don’t exactly need the paper work to be done…to work right now.” Sounds fishy, right? Because it smells fishy and looks fishy too. Remember cluster fuck…but everybody does it and everybody is in it. Everyone is in the cluster fuck storm. I can’t change the weather…but I can sure wear a rain jacket…but if this storm is a monsoon…I guess I’m SOL.

Learn to dance in the rain.

National Kuwait Day & Liberation Day

Gulf Road is the main drag along …wait for it…the gulf, it is normally filled with cars, bumper to bumper for the celebrations. Fireworks are creating beautiful displays of color in the skies. Children are covered from head to toe with the green, red, white and black of Kuwait’s flag. Even some cars are covered in the flags. The children carry around an assortment of water guns, spraying into the cars and the people singing and dancing in the streets. This continues for two days. One to celebrate the National day, which represents when Kuwait gained independence from the British in 1961. And second day to celebrate their liberation from Iraq in 1991.

I did not get to personally witness this type of celebration, just like any place in the world celebrating isn’t a cookie cutter event. I must admit I was caught off guard with the invitation to the farm in the middle of the work week. There have been celebrations the entire month, so I wasn’t completely surprised, but Meshari and I gladly accepted.

We packed our bags to stay overnight. I packed my camera and laptop because I still had a few designs to finish, and if work needed me they could reach me.

The farm is 45min outside the city. It’s amazing how quickly and dramatically the landscape changes from huge glass and concrete buildings to tents and sand.

The quiet was so nice. In the city the constent noise is nothing like a slow moving river, or a gentle breeze though the trees. Some people claim that cities have their own song. Their own music. My experience has given me the impression that this city is just a city filled with cars. People are not talking. There is no music coming from shops or cafes. Vendors are not welcoming you to see their wares. Just cars. Angry honking. Impatient honking. Enough where I have had half a mind to slash every tire in this entire country. Maybe one day I will hear it as a sweet melody… But that day is not today.

So back to the farm, chickens are happily clucking. You can hear goats bleating in the distance. Every other sounds are bird songs I don’t recognize and the wind. Voices of people talking and laughing. It’s a place where all friends are welcome. A place where you can really relax, almost as if time moves slower here.

We played football in the yard and didn’t bother to keep score. Just chasing and kicking. The best kind of sport.

When lunch on the first day rolled around food began to appear. Lamb ribs, chicken, lamb kabobs, grilled onions, garlic and potatoes. Seared pieces of fat that just melted in your mouth. Warm pieces of bread that made perfect mini sandwiches. Colorful salads and desserts. Everything was delicious and delightful. All the food over the holiday was like that. And after all the meals a huge display of fruits and nuts would be placed on the table outside.

As night fell on the first night we started playing music from one of the vehicles. Everyone was talking and laughing. We enjoyed another huge meal after evening prayer. Meshari and I took a walk, we watched as a man was trying to get, what must of been a new horse, used to the trouble maker of the group. We were at the edge of the desert so night much darker than in the city. And we could see an oil field on the horizon burning. With all the dust and sand in the air the fire looked like something out of Mordor. In the nicest way…

Once we got back most of the women were dancing. The men were smoking shesha and laughing. I danced, a bit of my style mixed with some of the moves the women were showing me. I tried to get Meshari to dance but he didn’t want to. They were saying I must have “arab in my blood” based on how I jiggy down. Throughout the night there was continuous eating, drinking, smoking, dancing, and just good laughs. As some people started to head back to the city, a hand full of us went to one of the large tents to play hand. (It’s a card game similar to rummy…but only by a little bit.) More fruits and nuts were brought out, some continued to smoke shesha. It was starting to make me dizzy, which is why I think I was doing so poorly during the game. It’s was around 1:30am that Meshari and I turned in for the night.

This holiday was almost two weeks ago. I thought for a long time of how I should write it, what to include and what would be better left unsaid. I’m not one for lying. I’m not one for sugar coating. And I received an e-mail from a beloved friend she wrote…

“Write. Write a lot. Photograph things and post them – don’t edit yourself – be real, be raw and be all of you, even when that can only be true through your blog site – use the blog to rediscover your spirit – and you are not being negative, you are just being honest. There is a difference.”

Meshari and I woke suddenly to doors slamming, and many voice yelling. All in arabic. We sat up in bed, just listening. Was it a fight? An argument? The main voice was so angry I couldn’t quite pin point who was so upset. I started pulling words out mainly because they were being repeated. “Stop!” and “Enough!” We both wanted to go see/help/understand what was happening, but without actually knowing what was being said made the decision difficult. Meshari quietly put himself between the door and myself. The voices left…we whispered to each other…we had no idea what could have made him so angry. All I could think about was how this must be similar to what it’s like to be in a verbally abusive family. I felt very small. If I understood the language I’m sure I would of felt and acted differently…looking back there are so many what ifs in this situation…I felt embarrassed for the man. Being around his friends and throwing a tantrum. Not being able to control yourself and being civil. The voices returned…doors were slamming again, and then all was quiet.

The next morning we saw that the angry man, his family and maid were gone. We went outside and said our good mornings…it was as if it never happened. Ignore the problem and it will go away. We started drinking coffee before I asked “Is everything all right?” From what we are told, and what we all pieced together…the wife had hurt her hand/wrist. She was on pain meds. From what I witnessed she also enjoyed being the center of attention. The mixing of the medication, and shesha was not a good idea. Staying awake into the wee hours of the morning when you should be resting is not a good idea. On top of having a very protective, competitive husband. In a country where you can beat your maids/servants if you want to. PLUS the notion that a gold watch went missing…if it was even brought in the first place, who can say. A formula just waiting to explode. Still uncalled for.

The rest of the holiday was calm. We cleaned the dust off the pouch with many buckets of water and sqeeggy booms.

We continued to play games and eat. We took walks around to other peoples farms. There was a fair mix of horses, goats, chickens and camels.

I wanted to find a camel to pet, so we drove out to the main rode. On our way there we found a dead horse just laying on the side of the rode. You can see that there are wires around his back hooves. So either he died and was dragged…or he was just dragged we don’t know.

As we reached the main road, we could see a trail of dust raising up in the distance. Once we got closer we could see that it wasn’t just one, but two trails of dust. Two 4-wheelers were chasing a horse. And as we got even closer we could make out a man leading a beautiful white mare and the horse that was being chased was her baby. By the time we stopped in front of them the two children 7-8 years old. (little punks) Had gotten one of the 4-wheelers stuck in some loose sand. (Karma is a bitch) But the gentleman stopped and let me pet the mare. The baby kept his/her distance, which I can understand.

The sun was setting so we had to quickly find a herd if we wanted a chance to pet some camels. And as we were looking for a turn around point, boom camels!

We stopped and asked if it was ok to take pictures. As soon as I stopped walking and put my eye up to my camera, I see a huge dark camel plodding his way over to me. One of the men who were with the herd whips out some bread and slows him down as he still moved closer to me. They didn’t speak any English but is was clear that they wanted me to pet (maybe) his prize camel. He did have a personality that’s for sure. They are just and awesome animal. They are so tall, and their fur is so soft and curly, I love it. The camel kept trying to eat my hand, but growing up around horses and cows, I wasn’t worried, even though with my hand flat he could almost fit it in his mouth. From middle finger tip to the bottom of my palm…so yeah camels have huge mouths.

We started heading back but before we could a man had also found some loose sand and had gotten his SUV stuck. With an odd mix of english and arabic we lent our pushing power. From the looks of it getting stuck in sand is very much like getting stuck in mud. You want to move slow and not dig yourself deeper.

The rest of the holiday was the same, games, music, food, drinks, more food, more games.

I started putting small sentences together. “The horse eats grass.”, “My name is Alesha.”, “I am an American.”

And that is that.

Saturday Lunch

In the states Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter are the big important meals. In addition to Mother’s day and Father’s day. And maybe Birthday dinners.

In Kuwait however, you bet your ass you better be at either Friday lunch or Saturday lunch every week. These meals are huge, normally there are 6-8 chickens, two different types of rice dishes, fish stew and a fish the size of my thigh, in addition to salads, fresh veggies, finger foods and red sauce. Kuwaitis (from my experience) really take family face-to-face time very seriously. Which can be really great, there is always someone who has an answer to your issue, or has at least some insight.

Yet it seems everyone is always meeting up for coffee, weekly men’s gatherings, weekly women’s gathering, lunches, dinners, breakfast…everything really is with family… Which can be really suffocating if you normally are independent. It just feels like you are expected to be present. Actually participate…maybe…but you must be present. An extra face…for example…I can show up to lunch say hello to everyone in turn, sit, and no one will talk to me, everyone will be speaking arabic (which is great because this is where I learn most of my new words) but I’m not included. I will ask how someone is, I’ll get an answer, and the conversation will end. We eat, have chai, everyone will talk more, say good bye and that will be that. 2+ hours of being an extra body. However, if Meshari or I happen to miss a lunch, either of us…we will be asked about it 4-8 times.

Some days I don’t want to see anyone…other days I would like to be around people… maybe it’s because I still don’t feel like they are family yet. Some of them are caring, don’t get me wrong…but I still can’t hold anyone in true confidence. Does that make sense?

I did say I would be more positive didn’t I? I’m being fair…which is MORE positive than being negative…yeah…let’s just roll with that…it is getting better. I have stopped directly comparing my side of family to Meshari’s side. There are more conversations…which is normal…I’m new to them…and they are new to me…anyway here are the left overs of today’s lunch…

 

One month in list form.

The last month in a nutshell.

1. Jet lag is evil.
2. Culture shock is…annoying.
3. When most people know and speak English makes learning arabic difficult.
4. Driving is stressful.
5. Job hunting is the same shit show where ever you go.
6. Mango juice is awesome!
7. If you want booze, weed, pork or any other illegal thing…you can find it if you know where to look.
8. Nothing is as it seems.
9. 98% of Kuwait’s food is imported. I assuming the 2%  is their fish…but it’s not that great.
10. Nescafe is the devil.
11. Stray cats are everywhere.
12. Tissues are the only paper product you actually need.
13. All safe water is in bottles.
14. Trash everywhere.
15. No one recycles.
16. The movie theater BLASTS the volume because everyone talks during the show.
17. If they say it will take a hour plan on it taking 4-5 hours. The same goes for if it will take a day.

I find myself being very negative…which isn’t my normal character. I’m going to say this is all due to culture shock…with the addition of not working full time. I am still working remotely part time, but that’s not enough.

Again…I need to update this more…maybe just getting my thoughts out will allow me to not dwell on them so much.

I just reread this…next post won’t be as negative. I will find some silver linings.

 

To Q8 with Cat

Forgive the length. I pulled these from my Facebook, because all my friends and family wanted updates while I was traveling. And saying “Everything is good” doesn’t cut it for some of them. They get mini novels while I travel.

First leg of the journey is complete…Rochester was awesome all the TSA agents loved Clover. They made sure her crate wasn’t explosive, I got to get a tiny peak at the inner workings of the airport. (It looked very confusing). Said a fond farewell to the parental units.

Hopped on my flight, nothing to report. I sat next to a very boring man.

Everyone is unloading off the plane. I see Clover’s crate which is covered with “live animal” stickers and the like. A gentleman was there and asked if it was my cat. I said yes. I then asked him, if I could take her now or if she had to be processed or something. He told me I could just collect her at baggage claim. (She is in a pretty good sized crate.) EXCELLENT! I was told three or four days ago by a different woman that I would have to get a taxi and claim her at a cargo unit, so this was awesome! One point for the good guys!

My two HUGE bags come out first so I snag them. I have a back pack and small carry on, therefore you can tell there is no way I can carry all that plus Cloverface. I wait….and wait….and wait. I ask another gent where animals are dropped off, he points at a door across the way. I wait, and wait…wtf mate?! After being told to wait “5 more minutes” 6 different times, I went to lost luggage. I am a very patient person. So I quietly waited my turn, as an older woman was freaking out because she left her iPad setting on a seat as she went to the bathroom. A couple of pilots had their bags missing. Finally I get asked what I’m missing….At this point we have been on the ground 40min. I saw Clover and left her. I feel like the shittest cat-mom alive. So as soon as I open my month to say. “My cat is missing” My throat tightens, tears are pouring down my face. I keep saying “I’m trying not to be upset” The pilots are all “Oh no!” The lady helping me, hops sings to the rescue while the old bat shuts up real quick about her stupid iPad. Phones are ringing, walkie talkies are going off. Full on search for a little white cat at JFK. No luck. I cry some more. She was right there! I saw her, I should of just grabbed her off the tarmac. Half hour more passes with no luck, until I hear the woman say “You found her?! Ohh good! Can you bring her to us? Oh thank you!” BOOM I love this woman! Yes…now onward to the hotel!

Now remember I have these HUGE bags, plus a cat. And where the hell am I going?! Hotel shuttle, right. I snag one of the gents who was helping in the Clover search. We load up a cart, and head to the shuttle. We have our small talk, really nice guy. I call the hotel because the shuttles are never where they are supposed to be. Sure enough, we have to wait again. I apologize to the gentleman that I am messing up his day with my bad luck. He says something really insightful, that I can’t remember. (figures) And sure as shit, that shuttle pops out of no where. Farwell! Thank you!

Next to the hotel… my bags couldn’t fit through the elevator doors. My room is awesome. Chicken wings and a slice of pizza is on the way and Clover is scoping the joint out. *phew* This concludes this episode of “Cat to Q8”

Cat to Q8 episode 2. The time in the hotel was boring. Bath, movie, designed a few ads, shower, played hide and seek with Cloverface. She is a master by the way. Repacked everything. I stayed in the hotel for a full 22 hours.

Headed to the airport on the shuttle. The gentleman was the same as last night, so we chatted back and forth. I pay the 5bucks for a cart, which is still too small for all my bags. I get in line to Qatar airways. Everyone and their mother slow down to take a peek at Clover. Even a French family! Le chat! Alloyez! All the attention was nice because people parted for me and a woman from Qatar came to me lickitty split. She gave me short instructions which I already knew but it was nice that she wanted everything to run smoothly. She took all Clover’s papers to start her process. It’s my turn. I have an older gent checking me in. I knew my two big bags were over weight… but he weighted my carry-ons… yeah I had another extra 10lbs…shit… He was telling me to repack them,….  I tell him I know these two are already overweight.. so this one carry-on will have to go as extra luggage. Coo-coo bucks my friends. I tell him “This is my life. I am moving there.” Long story short, he gives me a wink makes me move a few pieces and BOOM! I save $250. Thank you good sir! He has a brother living in Kuwait. Next Clover needs to see the TSA agents. They make me take her out of her crate… they take the crate and have me go through security with her! Security is a bitch already! Add Clover to the mix… so much cat hair everywhere… thank god I packed her leash on one of my carry-ons. I say “there has to be a better way to do this. ” to the agent standing in front of me. He nods like “yeah”… I’m pulling out my laptop, tablet, camera, phone. I’m trying to hold onto my tickets and passport. I have this terrible habit of just setting it down. I feel like any moment Clover is going to piss all over me. I set her down and keep her between my legs so she doesn’t get crushed by anyone. At this point it’s crazy, some Russians are going nuts because they have 10min to catch their flight. All the while Clover is now getting petted by a child who has no parent in sight. “Who do you belong to?!” The Russians are running now, I have a kid petting my cat.. I’m trying to flag down an agent. Finally one sees me…I point at the child and word vomit “he is lost. he is not mine.” I feel like i’m slow motion running away from that circus. I get back to Clover’s crate and they ripped it all apart. He bedding and food is everywhere, her comfort dog thing (You stuff it with things that smell like yourself, so your pet can be semi comforted)… I just kept repeating “just keep swimming”… I put it back together.. put clover inside, said see you soon.

And now I’m sitting at my gate. There are children about… not my friend… so let’s hope we don’t have much crying this flight.

It’s has been a day or so…I have no concept of time at this point. I keep asking what day it is. So for those of you wondering who how the adventure progressed…where were we…Leaving JFK.

We have roughly a half hour before we even board…and of course a line is already forming. This is even before small children can board. Just a mass of people, speaking all different languages crowding together. I never really understood why people did this. We all have assigned seats, we are all being crammed into a tin can, its going to be uncomfortable. Why stand for 45min+ to have that tiny comfort of getting on the plane first? That just means you will have to stand for others to reach their seats or get smacked in the face with everyones bag as they walk by.

I find my seat, I didn’t have to crawl over anyone, so I was grateful for that. We spent an hour and a half on the plane waiting for the take off.

There were only two children that were really crying, but they only were fussy when we have drastic altitude changes. So it is understandable, ear popping and what not. I watched the sunrise and set within an eleven hour period.

I kept trying to figure out “my time” vs “Kuwait time” so I could gauge when and how long I should sleep for.

Once we landed in Qatar, we were shuttled to the transfer/departure hub. I have been to this area twice before so I knew that this could be hell in a hand basket, and with my late departure, I may not make my connecting flight. Now know that I may not make it, how are the airlines going to treat Clover? Will they rush her over? Or will they treat her like other luggage and wait for the next flight out. Which happened last time Meshari and I flew in, we couldn’t pick up our bags until the next day. Imagine Clover, being stuck in her crate for over 28 hours…not going to happen. So when I was on the shuttle heading over to the hub I positioned myself by the door so I could be one of the firsts to jump out. To my misfortune there was a super creeper standing next to me. He must of seen my boarding pass because he was asking “You are traveling alone?” It was kinda obvious that I was. “The middle east isn’t a safe place for a woman to travel alone…” He was not saying this in any helpful tone. Wonderful. He was starting to make another comment when the shuttle came to a stop. I hopped out lickity split and hopped sang to security.

I was kinda an ass and dodged and passed to older men, but I was putting distance between myself and McCreeperpants. I put my bags on the belts to go through the scanners. One thing I like about Qatar is, they don’t make you take all your electronics out, or have you take off your shoes. This allowed me to get a bit more time. I went to my gate and asked the woman there about Clover and if they would have enough time to transfer her over. She directed me to find the transfer desk upstairs…cool upstairs is huge place…by my calculations I had 30min before boarding started. It only took three flicks of a badgers tail to find it. Qatar airways has excellent branding. I ask my question, the women tells me she will find out in 45mins. WHAT?! I have to be boarding in 30?! No, no, no…alesha can’t do the numbers and the time and the sun moving across the sky number zone thing. So I had an hour and half, wonderful! I was about to go back to my gate, but I figured McCreeperpants might be down there so I stayed next to a small group of French gamers. I picked up some words but I couldn’t put together what they were saying. I liked their clothing and hairs styles, it was wild.

Ok onward! So I find out that Clover has been boarded! I board. I stay awake long enough to get the little hard candy they hand out in my mouth before I fall asleep. I wake up twenty minutes later, I had not moved. The candy started doing something weird to my tongue, it was all tingly. Ugh. So I’m struggling to stay awake. We finally land! WOOOOOOO! I’m pumped! Last leg done! I’m here! I did it! Fuck a duck…I still need to get my visa. I’m off the plane for not even 10min and I find my “Eleshea Hall” sign. (Sometimes is nice having a easy last name) The woman was really nice helping take care of my visa, then I was passed on to a gent who would help get Clover. I hand over all the paper work that has been done for Clover. It’s a nice little stack. Grab a cart, wait for bags…wait for bags…When is Clover coming? Soon….wait for the bags some more…waiting. It felt like forever because I knew Meshari was somewhere very close by. BAGS! The bags! Get the bags not even 15mintues later Clover is brought out! Oh this is so wonderful! EEeeeeeee! All my bags have to go through security. We are about to go through the final doors to meet Meshari and Bassam….but no…turn back around, two more security guards appear…we are ushered to a room in the back. Everyone is speaking arabic, its late, the chai is late, the man in charge seems pissed. I sign a paper. The chai appears, head hancho is happy! Woot! Get me out of here sir! Meanwhile Bassam and Meshari saw me being escorted away with these three men, so he is thinking they found my nutmeg (Nutmeg is banned sometimes, it’s just extremely hard to find, and the powers at be can’t decide weather or not it’s illegal or not. So I packed a nice big bottle of it.) or something crazy. But the first gent who was helping me explained that I will have to leave Clover at the airport, they will transfer her to a different building to where the vet is, so she can be checked out…even though I did all that paper work and vet appointments in the states. 5 minutes. “It’s easy, they look at her and sign a paper. It will be quick.” Fine. I go back through security again. MESHARI!!!!! Hugs, one kiss on the forehead. It was so good seeing him. We were both all smiles. Chatty, chatty. Let’s go get Clover! It will be easy and quick.

THREE HOURS LATER…yeah no joke…there were 8+ papers and stamps and signatures and three different buildings we had to go through before they would let us take her. And that vet “Checking her out” that’s exactly what he did. He looked in her crate for a millisecond. Ridiculous.

But Clover is digging the new apartment. Exploring and watching the pigeons.

So this concludes my traveling cat to Q8 experience.

As of now…I have had many lunches, breakfasts, and coffee outings with family and friends of Meshari’s. Today is the day I requested to be left alone. Even no Meshari. Just me. Being relatively alone for 5 months, this change of so many people all the time is really overwhelming.

Wow…if you made it this far! I hope you enjoyed the ride!

Oswego coming to a close.

This is a bit of ride, so hold tight! Ps. near the end there will be a tiny bit…(kinda) of blood so you have been warned!

My time at Oswego is finally coming to a close. After 7 years, it’s about damn time! My last final was given Thursday, this was my last real scheduled time with my students. It was bittersweet. I even found this gem.

 

I laughed wildly as I pulled the desk out of line and slid it to the back of the room. Saying “Not today!” Then the on slot of grading…and grading…and grading…I’m still not done yet. Grading and packing, and packing and moving. Two trips to the storage unit later.Then back to grading, I had to take a break today or I knew I was going to just start looking for every fault instead of every positive in there work.

A nice interruption was a student wanted to take my picture for a project he is doing. I don’t think he has fully developed what exactly he wants to create or do, but he has a general direction. It was defiantly odd being on the other side of the camera.

My last day official day in Oswego was ohhh so fun filled. It started with grading at home while I waited for Jenilee to wake up. I packed the rest of my bags, and started my last load of laundry.

We planned on going out to breakfast at the Ritz. My car was parked behind hers, and we both had an errand to do, her to the post office, myself I needed to go to the bank. We decided to car pool because we both needed to come back to the apartment anyway. Brush off car. Get in. Turn key. *whaaa* *wha* *whaaa* “Sometimes when it’s cold she doesn’t like to start right away.” Turn key again. *whaaaaaa* *Wha* *wha* I looked to see if I left the lights on. Nope. The engine would just not turn over. I didn’t panic outwardly…mentally I was slightly panicked. I had 4 paychecks that needed to be deposited in the account that had less than $100, with a $138 automatic withdrawal planned for today for loan. I would get to the bank by noon. I would fucking walk if Jenilee wouldn’t give me a ride. That was my solution if worst came to worst. However, getting to campus to drop off my G5 and to pick up student work to bring with me to grade was another matter. On top of getting to Rochester before the huge storm rolled in. On top of, if it was the starter, transmission or what not that needed to be fixed A. how much would that cost? B. How long would it take to fix? C. Did I have enough to pay for it?

Jenilee tried to pop the clutch to start it. She acted as if she had successfully done this maneuver before…apparently not. She said that it had to be something other than the battery. I don’t want to believe her. All I wa$ thinking about wa$ how am I going to pay for thi$?

I added stopping at the gas sation to our errand list. I parked my car and we jumped in Jenilee’s new car. It said it was 8 degrees out. Yeah, a bit chilly. And we headed to the Ritz. Those errands could not wait on a Saturday afternoon.  Post office check. I called my Dad just to ask what he thought and to give him a heads up that I will be running late on my journey home. He said to give her a jump, that it sounded like the cold drained the battery. That was the plan. And if it wasn’t the battery, then to call him back. The fate of my car is yet to be decided, so if this was her final bow, she would be let go. He didn’t want to drive the two hours to get me but he would. To be honest, at this point my car is a death trap. The tires are next to bald, the struts are fucked, and she just started making a new bad sound. I can’t sell her as is because I know, whoever was dumb enough to buy her would surely kill themselves or someone else. I just know how fucked she is so I know how to handle her. (I know it must be so comforting for people to read this.)

Anyway…The Ritz. Cheap good food. Crap coffee which is always comforting. A small town diner with a big heart. I had my normal order. Veggie scramble with peppers, onions, american cheese and wheat toast. I added eggnog french toast. It was a special. Fantastic.

 

This meal made me miss Cala. We would spend hours drinking that crap coffee and just shooting the shit.

Next was the gas station. I jumped out with $5 ran in, snagged a Coke, paid and got back in the car. Jenilee gave me a look as if to say “This is important?!” She is a woman of few words. I said “I bet my battery was really corroded last time, so this is just in case.”

We made it to the bank, I went in deposited my checks. I talked with the woman behind the counter, she asked me where I had been. (5 checks) End of semester nightmares and moving. Prime time to ask a few quick questions. All answered, excellent. Jenilee was playing on her phone when I got back in the car. ONWARD.

We opened our hoods, sure enough my battery had a nice little battery acid fro working. I poured my coke all over the sucker. Grabbed a sponge from my car, and cleaned it off, poured more coke to let it set. Now, I would like to comment. Even though my car is falling apart, she has been through a lot, and she carries pretty much everything I need. Food, water, blankets, shoes, extra money …machete …I could live in my car if I really wanted too. Actually, I did for a weekend in Balitmore once…alright off topic. Even though she is a piece of shit…she is the shit! I love her and hate her in the same breath. We have a relationship just like anyone else. I take care of her as best as I can, and she does the same for me. And so it goes…anyway, in the now 10 degree of awesome, we hook up our batteries. Wait ten minutes. Get in my car. Turn key. She starts. I LOVE YOU!!!! YES! We let them run for another 5min then I drive around for another to seal the deal. You know, confirm our relationship.

Load up her up with my bags, and get everything set for Liz when she comes to pick up my shelf. Say “See ya later” To jenilee. I’ll be back in less than a week for my going away/department lunch Friday. Next stop campus. Liz meets me and we grade binders. Easy, easy. Boom, boom. Load one of my suitcases full of student work because there is no way I can get through all their projects in a few hours. I save files and double, triple check e-mails. Everything is squared away in a few hours. Next, dinner? Nope storm is coming in. Race over back to the apartment. Pack my left over food and Clover. And lastly help Liz shove the shelf into her car. I have no idea how she is going to manage to get it out by herself.

Next, the journey home. Normally a two hour trip took close to three. Bad weather, shitty drivers, and shittier roads. Imagine a tiny falling apart car, packed with your all your possessions, your crying cat and yourself driving home. One trip, one last trip is all she needed. I cursed at least every five minutes. I imagined myself dying, getting hit by a massive snow plow. I got pissed after that. A calm rage really, a focused anger. I was jealous of all the big SUVs with their nice tires, the 18 wheelers that never got any muck splashed across their windshields. It’s a really fucked up situation to drive a tiny car in a snow belt. You learn to be very cautious. You realize rather quickly that if anything bad really happens, you will never win. There is no room for error. I listened to Snap Judgement to calm me down. It didn’t work, ass hats everywhere. And the closer to Rochester I got, more of them appeared. I finally made it to my un plowed road. Perfect. So unbelievably perfect. I hoped for the best, drove down the middle, slow and steady. Deer running everywhere. Brake fish tailed twice. Slow and steady. Up hill, down hill, up, down. In the driveway, and park. HUZZAH!

Needless to say, I wanted a glass of wine. But when both your parents are recovering alcoholics, there will not be a wine opener in the house….second BUT…if your parents are recovering alcoholics they may or my not show you what they used to do in the same situation.

 

And the cork goes right back in. None of that finishing the bottle non sense.

Now you must be wondering….I thought there was blood…Oh there is…but that happened then next day. Today rather. So stop now, if you can’t handle it.

I dislike doctors. I avoid them at all costs. So naturally when a skin tag of mine started to get caught on my bra strap I knew it had to go. I tried to cut it off myself, I have done it before. A little ice and toe nail clippers is all you need. However, the location of this one on my side under my arm made it difficult to get a clean cut. So today I asked my mom to help. She wanted none of it. I asked again and again. At that point, my brother and Dad had to take a look at it. I got the whole, maybe you should just leave it alone. I told them it sits right along my bra line and is getting pulled at every time I moved. They all saw how red it was so we busted out the exactos. The blade was burned and my dad did the honors. It was a weird feeling, I felt the blade slice back and forth. It didn’t hurt. It was more of a pinch. However, I have a really high pain tolerance…so who knows. I gushed blood from this tiny perfect circle for a good half hour. I kept pressure on it, but whenever I would look to see how it was I would string a leak.

Until next time!

ps. 26 days!

pss. This is so long I’m not going to proof read…I’m going to bed!