Catching Up

The close-call heart attack I had this morning was quickly remedied: Blogger kindly restored my cooking blog after I wrote to them that I had no idea why it would have been removed (because I didn't, though I suspected it was somehow related to the hacking of my gmail account) and shortly thereafter Cooking The Globe was back online with additional site moderation. Yay!

In other news, I have been unfortunately slack in keeping up-to-date with the news, be it international, local or personal. I blame it on the stresses of moving and relocating (which is legitimate enough: last weekend was the first time in two months Seth and I didn't have to go anywhere. I felt guilty not doing anything.) I also have no idea how to comment on the plethora of shit going on in the world currently so I will do what so many Americans do and simply ignore it. Weee, now life is simple!

Oh, except I am still writhing in pity and self-doubt as I attempt to write cover letters for potential jobs. I have finally written two sentences describing that I am, indeed, awesome; now I just two paragraphs detailing that assertion (nay: fact.) My lack of faith in my abilities amazes not only me, but my husband as well. Woe is me, I know.

On a positive note I have been learning Austin streets through the age-old tactic of driving around and getting lost; my kitty is adorable and will stick his face in mine in the morning, meowing, until I pet him - yes, that is adorable rather than annoying; and my friend Kerry and I solidified our undying devotion to the movie Showgirls with tattoos. Our love is eternal.

 

Pretty good silhouette on our legs, eh?

And there it is. Damn, I currently miss Uganda (and Africa in general) something fierce right now, though unsurprisingly, not Kuwait. Hopefully Seth and I will be able to make enough money to be able to travel a bit (albeit not at frequently as before.) Of course, I also hope I will get a job in the (near) future that will pay me to travel around the globe. How can I cover it without visiting it? There, I just gave myself a third excuse. I should add that talent to my list of awesomeness in those cover letters.

HIRE ME!

Happy New Year! and Goodbye Kuwait!

 It's only been 1 1/2 months since I've posted anything - nice consistency with covering the globe. The biggest news on 2011 (the five days we've had of it) is that Seth and I are leaving Kuwait, me in early February, Seth around the middle. At first both of us were worried and I was slightly panicked, but at this point we are both excited for a variety of reasons, including my mental health.

Seth has asked me if I am depressed and I have repeatedly answered "no" because I don't feel depressed, sad, lost - any of the "telltale" signs of depression - but if I take time to think about myself I suppose I have fallen into a certain state of melancholy. I sleep cat's hours, find it difficult to write my thoughts even on my personal blog (I have several half-sentences save over the last 6 weeks), hardly leave the apartment. I say to myself (and Seth) that I have become a better cook over the past few months yet if I am honest with myself I would say I use cooking as a crutch, as a reason to not leave the apartment to go for a walk; to not leave past four in the afternoon; to keep my mind focused on that one easy detail: what's for dinner. I began the Master Cleanse today yet am considering making broths for tomorrow and juicing my lemons early because I am accustomed to planning my day around food preparation.

I know it's my own fault, that another person may have written four novels and started two businesses by now, all while sculpting a nymph-like body; I end up, as my friend Kerry described, floating, which is probably why I haven't considered myself depressed. I am floating, no rising in exuberance or sinking in despair - just here. In 2009 I spent months trying to find work while possessing only a tourist visa and was overcome with rejection; I came back in 2010 and began the job search again but just didn't have the heart to give the search as much effort as I had before because nothing had changed except the year. So I floated. And then I turned 30. I never thought I would have a problem with turning 30, but leading up to my birthday and then on the actual day I was struck with the thought that I have peaked, that if I haven't accomplished anything significant with life by now then I have lost my chance. That may have caused me to sink a little.

Leaving Kuwait will be a needed change for me, so Seth, for our marriage - hell, for this blog. I completely abandoned my genocide series for no reason other than I lost the drive. Screw that: I can cover the globe from anywhere, including the eclectic land of Austin. Bring it, 2011.

Crazy Cat Lady

Seth's roommate, Ryan, adopted to stray kittens (more like saved them from the street) and I got to help take care of them during my recent visit. Ryan wanted to but cat litter, but I decided that since we live in a sandbox, I'll just fill the litter box with sand from outside. One time, while scooping up sand from the parking lost, three boys approached me and asked if I was okay.

"Yes, just sand for cats."

One looked doubtful. "Help?" he said.

"No, cats."

I realized I must look like quite a crazy cat lady, considering that the litter pan I was scooping dirt into was an aluminum roasting pan. And the fact that I was wearing slippers. Or maybe just the fact that my slippers have mouse faces.

Runty.

Sharkbait.

They're hugging :)

She's playing with his armpit hair.

Traveling Make Me Crazy, Part 2

Both crazy.

Which on one hand is odd, considering how much I travel, yet because of how much I travel, also quite understandable. This current trip to Kuwait, though, was big even for me.

To start, I was in alternating moods of absolute panic and apathetic reserve over the fact that my Ugandan visa was almost three weeks expired. Considering how many travelers I meet by living in a hostel I was sure I would find someone who had overstayed their visit, yet passed through immigration with no problems, but it seems the travelers available at the time were much more cautious than I had hoped. Laurie, who works with Edirisa Multimedia, had once overextended by two days and after rough questioning by immigration she burst into tears and that let her off. Hmm, not the best advice, but it was something to work with. However, my panic increased a thousandfold when I discovered the penalty fee was $30/ day, totaling about $600 for me.

Oh, Jesus, I may faint.

The U.S. Embassy, which I realize probably can't give advice on illegally exiting the country, told me to head to the Immigration Office as soon as possible. Useless advice, as the office would only make me pay. I'll just risk it at the airport.

While heading to the airport I steeled myself with the knowledge that no expiration date was written on my visa, a thought heavily supported by half a bottle of wine and a Xanax. No one can stop me! Yet who knew the most trouble I would have would be at the check-in counter? Seth made my reservation using my bankcard, which means I didn't have it with me. Not ever having been asked to show the card used before, I thought it unnecessary. Apparently Emirates Airlines does not agree. The attendant explained that if he let me through, the airlines might not accept my ticket.

"But if you let me through, it means the airline has accepted my ticket."
"What?"
"You know, logic: if you let me through, it means I get through. No one else will ask questions."
"What?"

Ah. I tried to explain that the card has my name on it, which matches the name on my passport, but no. I called Seth to provide some sort of confirmation for the card and was even prepared to pull out my marriage certificate, but no: I would have to buy another ticket at the airport or my husband would have to go to a travel agency and another one. That option was easily ruled out.

"My husband is working, he can't just run off to a travel agency."
"Your husband is working today?"
"Yes, like you, my husband works on Saturday."

Not that I wanted to cancel my flight and be stuck with price of the ticket plus a cancellation fee. When I explained the fact that airlines don't refund tickets because of customer error, the attendant kindly informed me that I was speaking of "airlines", but this was Emirates. Ah.

"Well, until Emirates begins teleporting people, it's still an airline."*
"What?" Considering the attendant, while working for an airline, had likely never flown in his life, I let the matter drop.

And they better provide the glitter effect free of charge.

The other irritating fact is that Entebbe doesn't have the technology to handle plastic transactions, which meant I would have to withdraw over $700 in cash to pay for a new ticket. Yet, frantic as I was about my visa, and the time it might take to convince immigration to let me through, I was almost tempted to go ahead and go through the trouble of getting another ticket.

I don't have Picard's willpower.

Then the attendant got a hold of someone in Dubai and asked the pivotal question:

"Can you confirm your billing address?"

And with that done I was clear. Off to the bathroom to apply a bit of blush and mascara, then skillfully chose the immigration line with a male attendant. With barely a glance at my passport or my face, he asked:

"How long have you been in Uganda?"
"About three months."
"Have a safe flight." Stamp. Stamp. Stamp.

What a total waste of a Xanax.


*It turns out Emirates only charges a $75 cancellation fee and will fully refund your ticket if you reschedule your flight. Federation of Planets, here we come.

Digression

I'm not even an egg person.

Yes, yes, I will getting back to that whole war crimes topic I raised last post, but seriously (or, I suppose, somewhat less so) how sad is it that, a week before traveling to Kuwait, I spend almost two hours downloading recipes to cook while there?

Caramelized shallots: who wouldn't want to cook this?

I fully agree and empathize with Foxy by Nature's thoughts about being married while feminist, but at the same time I can't help but feel, I don't even know, ashamed? No, embarrassed, by my overwhelming desire to fatten up my husband with delicious meals.

I bet you want to get fat with this, too.

No, no, that's inaccurate: it is my desire to express my love and devotion through tantalizing and amazing meals. Because I don't make any money. And that's where the embarrassment comes, or uneasiness, even: that I feel the only way to properly or fully express my love is through cooking. Am I simply unimaginative? How many other non-financially contributing partners try to ease their guilt with similar excesses? I don't mean stay-at-home moms - their contributions are evident - but rather, housewives or, I suppose, people like me: working (volunteering) elsewhere for little more than living costs.

Yes, yes, I also love cooking and the availability of both ingredients and cooking options in Kuwait (as opposed to the lack thereof in Kabale) throw me into all sorts of ecstatic revelries. However, this doesn't erase the awkwardness that comes with each love-filled meal. I just feel so antiquated, stereotypical, the archetype woman who knows the way to a man's heart is through his stomach; certainly not his mind. I know without a doubt that I think about things, some things more than others, too much, but what about you? Am I over-analyzing a simple situation or have I unwittingly forced myself into this awkwardness? Moreover, is it so bad to express emotion through a personally well-versed medium, i.e., cooking?

All photos courtesy http://smittenkitchen.com/.

No Peeking!

Years ago, when my sisters and I were much younger, our parents protected our innocent minds by ordering us to "cover our eyes" during nude or partially-nude scenes in movies. Though for them "cover your eyes, kids!" seemed like a declaration all parents should make in order to keep their children ignorant about sex and sexuality for as long as possible, for the three of us it was code for, "just look through your fingers!" I can remember many movie scenes viewed this way, though I can't always remember the movie the scenes were attached to.

Now that I am 29 I no longer have to cover my eyes to protect an innocence long shattered; however, the choice is not always mine. Movie theaters in Kuwait are all owned and operated by the Kuwait National Cinema Company (also known as Cinescape), which is responsible for editing offensive or inappropriate scenes from movies, including love scenes and kisses. I knew of this practice in theory and saw in practice when Seth and I went to see Terminator: Salvation. You know that part in the beginning when Sam Worthington and Helena Bonham Carter's characters kiss? Well, I can only assume they kiss because one moment they're talking and, after an odd jump, are talking again. It's no big deal, really: what do kisses and love scenes add to a plot, anyway? So when Seth and I went to see Avatar last week we were told that two scenes were cut out but thought nothing of it.

Until the first cut came during nothing romantic, but a fight scene when alien wolf-like things are being killed. I was caught off guard, but whatever, right? Until 30 minutes or so later the screen suddenly went white. What the fuck, I thought, is something wrong with the film? We could hear the movie, only the picture was mysteriously missing. The white screen went away after a couple of minutes, yet returned during the mating scene. Again, we heard the movie but the screen remained obscured. Impatient and irritated I turned my attention towards the projection booth - and saw the man there holding a piece of paper in front of the projector. Seriously. A random fight scene was edited but when two characters "make their bond" all that's needed is a sheet of paper to uphold Islamic law and custom.

And the worst thing about it? I couldn't even peek.

It's Beginning to Feel A Lot like Christmas

Last year the holiday was an extrememly odd time for me: first Christmas without both parents; first away from family; first in a Muslim country. The lack of ubiquitous seasonal decorations and music coupled with my continuing grief left me, for the first time, not caring at all about the holiday despite it also being the first Christmas with Seth. We did have our little tree, which I took great care and tenderness to decorate, but neither it nor gifts could diminsh my apathetic attitude. I wondered if it would continue from then on, making me yet another person who dislikes Christmas because of the conflicting and troubling emotions it brings.

Fortunately, that hasn't happened. "It never gets easier, just different"; so true. Besides, what sort of lasting tribute would it be the my mother, the human embodiment of Christmas spirit, if I were to hate the holiday season because of her absence? Or my father, who, despite always grumbling about the excessive decorations in the house, smiled whenever he looked at the lit tree and played Christmas music all day long.

And so this year my spirit has returned, remembering and mourning those who are gone but grateful and happy for my life as it is now. Seth, being the wonderful man he is, bought a larger tree for the apartment and helped decorate it, even gathering an old sheet to act as the skirt. Plus, we are hosting a Christmas Eve dinner; how festive is that?


To those in the States, and elsewhere, I wish you a very Merry Christmas.


And offer some holiday lights, courtesy of the Kuwait oil fields.

I've Been Missin' You

Since people often want to know what I miss when I am away from home (I assume they mean the States) I figured a handy blog would best explain my nostalgia. Considering I had a dream last night in which I thought of writing a blog like this before I realized I was no longer in Kuwait but actually back in the US I'd say the timing is spot on.
To be clear: I don't consider "friends and family" as a valid answer for "what do you miss?" because those, to me, are a given. If I could take my closest friends, and perhaps a few family members, and bring them all together here (by here meaning "not Kuwait") I totally would. However, my nostalgia operates somehow along the guidelines of reality, so here it goes:


1. Wine - Not even beer or liquor, but just the ability to go down to the store, pick up a bottle and enjoy a glass or two at night - or 10am; whatever, I don't work - and perhaps find myself surprised at the little gem I discovered for only $5, rather than going to the store for sparkling grape juice, yeast and sugar and a week later expressing surprise at the malodorous vinegar I just created.

2. American Washers - And dryers, just to be even. I don't know what miniature race washers here were invented for, but I would like something with the capacity to handle clothing of an average-sized human adult. Think I am exaggerating? The first picture is an example of a typical outfit for the Sergeant: jeans, t-shirt, underwear, undershirt, socks. Please note the items crammed into the washer with space remaining for perhaps another t-shirt.



Plus the fact that the setting for "cotton" takes 2 hours to complete. Seriously:





I either wash everything on "delicate' (53 minutes) or handwash. I saw these same miniscule machines in England; what the hell, people?


3. Lettuce - You may know I love salads, not because I am forever watching my weight (though I do) but because I love the myriad flavor combinations possible with them. I am under no delusions that lettuce topped with fried chicken breast, corn, beans, cheese, tortilla strips and ranch dressing is healthy - shit just tastes real good. However, iceberg lettuce costs about $6/ head, so I don't venture down that path ofextravagance. White cabbage is also expensive (!) topping out at around $8/ kilo. Pita bread, on the other hand, costs about 20 cents for a package of 6.


4. Recycling - I would say I have been "environmentally aware" since I was 8 or so - around the time I received my first issue of Ranger Rick. While I am currently nowhere near as involved as I once was, I like to at least recycle because to me it is an extremely visual way to reduce impact. Yet there is no recycling here. I drink 3 liters of bottled water a day (because it's better to drink than the desalinated water from the tap.) What am I supposed to do with all those? How do I reuse that many bottles each week!?

On the plus side, I do enjoy being able to simply switch my electrical outlets "on" or "off". If this was widely available in the States we wouldn't have to worry about all that unplugging nonsense: just turn off the outlet.

Bam.

PS - I apologize for the wonky font settings. Apparently Blogger.com continues to befuddle me!