ONE SCOOP IS FOR PUSSIES

So, this is the highlight of my entire work day, which started and ended at like stupid o'clock.

Pistachio Almond ice cream. It seemed a man at the bus station was intrigued by this as well and decided to approach me, sit quietly for 6 minutes, then wait until I stuffed my mouth like a Thanksgiving turkey, hanging perilously from my red plastic spoon with his eyes, it seemed. He was menatally saying "wait for it...wait forrrr ittttt..." until the green sloppy jet was safe and sound in the hangar. ZOOOOOMMM! And then was when he opened his mouth to say something obscure to me like,

"arampashalmasjardeyhai ice cream heeramsita, ya?"
I said something along the same lines, but you can guess why, "shovvy?"
I still never figured out what he said, but he introduced himself to me several times, while laughing and saying how this and that and ice cream was the meaning of happy times. Yeah. Great fun. He stuck out his hand a grand total of three times for me to shake it, which I then counteracted with three shakes of my head and three stifled smiles and three look aways. Maybe more.


"You waiting on the bus?"
"Yes sir." Otherwise I would be sitting in a sweaty crowded bus station enjoying some pistachio ice cream just for the filthy fun of it; waving at the spit globules that flew all around me by dark, dirty, robed men with all manner of sacks in their hands. I wish I had told him that. But then, he probably would not have understood after the words hit four syllables.

"So, which bus? Where are you going?"
I pointed to the one that was loaded up with its 12 women already, which meant that the several BAZILLION seats at the back after the plexiglass partition could only be reserved for men, so I waited, with a sigh...and a scoop, for the next one to almost never come.


"Where do you live?"
"Around. You really think I'm going to tell you that, right? I'm afraid my mother taught me well."
"Ah, it is just friendship talk...just blah blah blah gobble mumble friend mumble jumble I not kidnapper yadda yadda yadda."

Anyway, so it went like this and then he opened his wallet and told me the most pleasant thing that could have burst my seams and had me shitting myself right there and then.

"I'm a writer. I write English poetry."

He then started rifling through his wallet for a badly folded piece of paper the size of a business card, where one of his poems was typed; something about a cup of tea and milk of some other f-word faith, tea leaves of promises and things like that.


"Ummm, that's cute!"
"Yah, like you, yar?"
"Sure, why not?"


He said it was crazy faith since I'm a writer too and that we should stay friends and exchange emails and phone numbers (and here he would not rest even after my 96.375 firm 'NO's') and look out for each other as we're in the same area.
Sorry palos.
Not happening.
In fact, how's bout never.
But I did take the "business card" he offered me, saying he started doing them up when he got a couple stuffs published in Gulf News over here. I took it because, as soon as he said "I have a blog where I share my work, here have my business card and check it out sometime and contact me pls pls pls contact me" I was thinking of YOU; my blog babies. I thought you might, at best, be ticklishly amused by this...'S.H. Ghazi', says his card with a feathery quill icon in one corner.

The catch is...I haven't checked it out yet, and in order for you to come back and visit my blog tomorrow (yes, it has come to this) I am going to withold this amusing information from you until tomorrow. Hopefully you're still interested...or even STARTED off interested at the very least.

BEDTIME! CHEERIO!

LIVE FROM DUBAI

Already two more days then my work week is complete!
Hi guys. Been real busy at the office, researching for features and content and what have you. No news, no pictures, no interesting tales. I just know a few things:

1) It's very difficult trying not to spend too much in the city when THE BEST HUMMUS IN THE WORLD is literally three doors away; as well as a decent sushi place.

2) Once it hits 6pm (or sometimes earlier) I am outta here like nobody's business; and in all corners of my existence too, mind, body and soul. It's not that I'm not having a blast. It's just if I have ever worked as many hours as this in my short lifetime, it has been in the later part of the day steering clear of my beauty sleep, and in comfier clothes. Also, it hasn't been this BLOODY SWELTERING!

3) My father has the coolest friends in the world. They really stick together and have each other's backs. They all did pilot training when they were teenagers back in Trinidad, flew for the same local airline, and when it got bankrupt, they all eventually split and met back up in the Middle East working for another airline. I have been surrounded by this sort of pilots and their families culture, and it's quite amazing. It's like having 5 godfathers. They always look out for me being my father's daughter. So, this month, one of them has taken me in and provided me with generous accommodation (own room, own bathroom, free internet and food(I get packed lunch everyday and am forced to eat by the pilot wife), another picked me up from work yesterday, after perching near the bus stop for nearly two hours with a half melted Toblerone, and another (my actual godfather) gave me $300 US this morning!

4) Although I feel all proud and grown-up strutting down the street madly and purposefully in heels and fancy clothes, it's great to wake up to the occasional packed lunch (complete with fruit, vegetarian meal, bottled water, raisins, mints, porridge packet). Reminds me that I'm still a well taken care of fresh youthling. Yeah, I think I just made that up and I love it!

5) I STILL haven't seen Sex and the City okay? Shove your Manolos down your throat and get over it. That movie will never come to this country; this country that won't let us feature gay men, won't let us write an article on Darfur for our magazine, and deport us for getting pregnant!

6) What with all the research I do for the magazine, I've been finding the most amazing articles. Have a read...
Latest Indian Jones movie inspired by crystal skull-worshipping community in Mexico - http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-crystalskulls8-2008jun08,0,3549594.story?track=rss

Middle-aged bank employee running gladiator school in Rome-
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-gladiator8-2008jun08,0,2128413.story

Naked cyclists pedal the streets of Mexico City to promote Emission-free lifestyle- http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-gladiator8-2008jun08,0,2128413.story

Bank run by and for street children in India- http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-bank7-2008jun07,0,3767951.story

(THIS HAD ME IN TEARS) Albinos killed in Tanzania due to local superstitions-
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/08/world/africa/08albino.html?ref=world

Anyways, it's about that time in the office so I'm out. Have a great day! And Happy Belated Philippines Independence!

DIARY OF AN INTERN: DAYS 3 & 4

It's been a really busy week. By the time I got home yesterday and the day before from work, it was quite late and I was quite tired so I have not been posting about my experiences at the Viva office on the exact days. Hence, this bursting weekend post.

Day 3

Okay so Day 3 wasn't particularly exciting. I was told to do extensive research on some articles that could be possible hooks for the features and spreads they planned to produce in the next issue. So basically, I spent the day slurping a take-away Pina Colada from TGIF next door and browsing story-hoarding websites like Digg, Fark, and Pretty Social (a relatively new website where women can 'share and discuss stories from around the web'). For the record, since I love the guy, I found out about the last website from Joe, which means, he made my job at the office even easier. Millefois Merci.


As a result of all that internet research, I stumbled upon my favourite story of the lot: Isolated Tribe Spotted in Brazil. Beautiful. I have a thing for tribes, especially after thoroughly indulging in 'Apocalypto' three times. So great that they're still out there today. It's so fascinating seeing them protect themselves with their bows and arrows from the camera in its helicopter above. Most beautiful thing I've read all week; along with Amy Tan's novel 'Saving Fish From Drowning', which I finished last night, which of course you MUST read, and which is actually quite focused on a Burmese tribe called the Karen tribe.

Anyway, this what I stupidly wore to work that day as I braved the excruciating heat on the way to work. All black.

DAY 4

Apart from the events that happened between 7:30pm and 2am yesterday, I had a great day. Allow me to briefly sum up those unfortunate events before going on about the activities that were internship-related. Finding my way home from a different location other than the usual Viva office (as the photoshoot was elsewhere) resulted in:

me searching for a nearby bus stop which wasn't nearby and had me walking up and down several highways like a prostitute (which some people slowed thinking I was), finding one, figuring out which bus from there would take me to my destination, waiting an hour and a half for a bus to actually even stop for me as they were all packed with workers, finally getting one an hour and a half later, arriving at the bus terminal for the express to Abu Dhabi and finding that there were no more for the evening, calling my dad from a party to tell him I would be spending the night in a nearby bush if he didn't come for me, arranging to meet him just outside the city, getting to the planned location (Dubai Marina) and discovering that the area was so newly constructed that there were no road signs or street names yet, stumbling around in painful shoes looking for a familiar building to stand and wait at, finding out my dad was still an hour away and had no idea where I was, bursting into tears from all the wandering, the crippled feet, the seclusion, the heat, the parched throat, finding a security guard outside a place called La Riviera Towers who said he would talk to my dad, my dad telling me after I was given the phone back that he had no idea what the guy was talking about, my phone beeping saying the battery was low, being fed water and tissues by the guard who allowed me to sit in the blissfully air-conditioned lobby to wait, then standing out on the highway with him to wave at my dad's car as he flew by then turned around and collected me. Yes, we gave him a bloody good tip. I got home at 4am and thanked Allah, God, Buddha and Mother Lakshmi that it was the weekend and I didn't have to get up an hour later for work again.

PHEW! Now the photoshoot! Yes, I went on my first fashion photoshoot (photos posted here) with Viva, which was located at a newly opened club called Alpha, which is part of Le Meridien Hotel Dubai. All clubs and restaurants serving alcohol have to be situated at a hotel in the U.A.E. Alcohol can barely be obtained elsewhere. They don't sell it at supermarkets or anything. So people make a big deal about going for 'booze runs' (which the photographer informed everyone she was going on this weekend) and my dad, as he's a pilot, usually just stocks up when coming through Duty Free.

Anyway, so I helped out the Fashion and Beauty editor Chee, and her assistant Gaby by organizing the clothes, shoes and accessories for the shoot. There was a huge crisis when the steamer refused to work and we had to go ask to borrow an iron and ironing board from the hotel staff. The first one they sent us didn't work, so we had to go back and request another, which took nearly half an hour to come, and tested it out in a nearby outlet in the vast lobby; with the hotel's guests brunching, bozing and smoking eyeing us with amused expressions.

The whole organizing an iron and ironing board ordeal took nearly an hour; the reason being that the immigrant workers who come to this country and apply for jobs barely even know what the job entails or how to do it. They're just grabbing what they can, and fast. Once they are given orders, they follow them mechanically. Anything outside of what they are ordered to do, they know absolutely nothing about. This is also the reason I spent so much time getting more and more lost yesterday evening. Not even the bus drivers knew about the correct buses or directions I should take, around this city they have been working in for quite some time, I imagine. This is also why once when I jumped in a taxi and asked some advice about where a particular building might be on a particular street, the driver (who was hired to drive) barely knew english, could not understand what I wanted him to do and told me 'Cannot showing me where? I'm sorry, no,' opening the door for me to get out.

So what happened when we approached the front desk about the iron TWICE was we were faced with a tiny Indian man, who merely looked at us with bulging eyes, then looked down at the ground racking his brain and muttering 'what to do? what to do?' We could see the doom in his eyes as he thought about impatient Gaby seeking out the manager to complain about him, and him getting fired as a result. Anyway, eventually he talked to someone, and they talked to someone, and so forth, and we received a new iron. All was well.

The photoshoot featured real everyday women with different body types, showing which clothes flattered their body types most. I was the first person to show up at Alpha, then the photographer Candy, next. She was a lanky Australian woman with fried bleached ringlets and thick black glasses.
"Are you the first model today?"
"Oh no, no, no, " I stammered, flattered, staring at her concerning lack of breasts printed through her Karl Lagerfeld tank top. "I'm just the intern. The team's all on their way."

Of all the cool people I met that day, Candy was the most exciting. In fact, I might be harbouring a small girl crush. She had 6 tattooes, blasted Sheryl Crow and Bob Marley songs through her Mac, her butt-crack peek-a-booed over her briefs and baggy surfer jeans when she stooped and crouched and jumped about excitedly to take pictures, and she wasn't at ALL pretty. Actually, when she took off her glasses, she looked the way Carrie Bradshaw might look if she wore absolutely no make-up and hadn't slept in several days. In other words, she wasn't too ugly either. On the breaks in between, she sat reading a book about 'thinking big' while lounging on one of the club's longue chaises. She rolled and smoked copious amounts of brown-papered cigarettes.
"They're licorice flavoured," she told me.

Although we were served an unlimited amount of drinks by one of the bar staff they had provided us with, she asked several times for the only thing they didn't serve; coffee. They diligently trekked up to the hotel to get it for her. And in between tiny porcelain cups of those, she chugged Red Bull, and yet remained pleasantly aware of her surroundings and not maniacally buzzed. I marvelled. She also called me over once and to my surprise (I shouldn't have been surprised. She was satisfyingly crazy), she asked me to help her pick out a model of Jeep Wrangler on her laptop. She was thinking of buying a new car this week. We chose this.

The make-up artist was also quite talented, and the only one who scarfed down as much of the meditarranean food that I ordered for everyone as me. We chatted quite a lot. She gave some of the staff, who were going out afterwards, a new face for the evening. Chee, the fashion director, asked the Plus Size girl they used for the shoot to bring along 6 gift bags to thank all the models for taking part, as she worked at some cosmetics department or other. But the girl brought too many bags, so Chee handed me one. So happy was I for this bag containing the latest DKNY mini roll-on perfume, DKNY shower gel, a mini London Fashion Week make-up set and Sean John's latest fragrance for women called Unforgiveable. I'm usually quite picky with scents, but everything in there smelt FANTASTIC! And they were no longer mine anyway. I knew exactly what I had to do. I presented the pretty gift bag reading 'Unforgiveable' to my mother this morning, asking her to forgive me for forgetting her birthday, which was a few weeks ago. She left the house a few minutes ago, the roll-on perfume tucked neatly into her clutch bag.

DIARY OF AN INTERN: DAY 2

Well, I wasn't as late as last time. Just 20 minutes. Making progress. Got off early today because of a power cut and am going in an hour and half later tomorrow morning because the rest of the team have something to attend to. Can I get a 'WOHOO!' for an hour's worth more of beauty sleep? I bought myself a scoop of mint chocolate chip for that small miracle.

May I just profess my love for tea? ESPECIALLY Vanilla Black Tea? Great smell, great taste, bigger shock to my system than coffee (and without even realising it too, what with all the heavy heart-beating I get from Starbucks), and good for slimming. 4 out of 4. I never noticed until now how bright and in tune with the world I am when under the influence. Good stuff. Think I might take a couple tea bags to work with me next time. And a box of Pop Pan Spring Onion Crackers! Pure, innocent indulgence. I've also become quite prone to snacking on almonds, and of course, as any desert going working gal should, copious amounts of water.

They say the sun, ram-packed with all its vitamin D is supposed to make you feel naturally energized, but in the desert, I beg to differ. It just drains me. 5 minutes walking to the bank a couple of buildings away and I want to bury myself alive in a sand pile. The next thing I will be investing in, sadly, won't be:

[Topshop]

OR...

[Warehouse]

but rather a parasol and some major SPF something! It saddens me that I am officially 'The Baked One' at the office, while everyone else remains happily reddened in all the right places, with their rouged lips and cheeks. HMPH!

Anyway, I spent all of 5 and a half hours compiling an extensive calendar for the team to follow in upcoming months if ever searching for inspiration for a feature or photoshoot etc. I scoured the internet for music and film festivals, movie premieres, trade shows, fairs, galas, award ceremonies, cultural events across the globe, worldly observances, celebrations and more. I was surprised at how long it took to do that, and found myself at it all day. And I still never got to finishing by 4pm because of the power outage.

When electricity said its rude goodbye, and the girl in charge of a photoshoot going on at precisely that moment came back in grumbling and scowling about the studio's pitch black nothingness, we huddled in our corner enjoying the swivel of our swivelly chairs, and did a Post Mortem of the latest issue (June) which came out 2 days ago (Yeah, things run differently here). In case you didn't catch on, a Post Mortem is a review of the publication by the staff. I must say, they all had keen eyes, especially I, once I discovered that one of the pictures labelled 'Lindsay Lohan' did, in fact, look like her, but ABSOLUTELY WASN'T! And that made me realise two things; that I am a Pop Culture harlot, and that I would be a fabulous editor. Spelling Bee champion three times in a row, photographic memory, annoying as fuck conversationalist as I itchily interrupt my friend's every verbal wrong-doing, my sole problem in Creative Writing being that I can't keep my editing self out of the free writing process because scrappiness is UNCOOL! Yeah. It was really great to see that while I quietly shadowed the team, they were voicing my stifled opinions. They and I were thinking and scrutinizing alike.

The team at Viva really knows how to put together a comfy read of a magazine. I'm pleased with the June issue, especially because the black pouffy top with ruffles down the breast that I chose to wear today was emblazoned across one of its pages. GOOD CALL! Even if the Editor in Chief (who failed to notice) was wearing jeans. To my annoyance, the VIVA team tend to leave me standing alone and have completely ditched the officewear look in exchange for that of a day at the beach, wearing things like Bermuda shorts, thong sandals, halter tops, and over-the-bikini floral dresses. If I weren't so traditional, and hadn't spent money purchasing officewear specifically for this internship, then I would've said 'Fuck it' and rocked some tight ass skinny jeans, hot pink flip flops and a fierce t-shirt. *sigh* You can never win.

TTFN,
The Lonely Londoner

P.S. I had a picture or two for you of What I wore today on my camera but for some reason when I plug my camera into the computer today it's not registering it and I can't find it anywhere. So...maybe I'll add them another time. Curfew calls.

DIARY OF AN INTERN: DAY 1

It started at 5am. Not really. My sleep habits have been whack for centuries, it seems, so I was really blinking and tossing in the dark from 3am. Christ. There are approximately 160km between Abu Dhabi and Dubai(my destination, headquarters of Viva Magazine), and so that is the distance I travelled today, and then some.

I jumped on the first running Emirates Express of the morning at 6:20am, bopped to Peter Bjorn and John and the likes during the 2 hour bus-ride, while everyone else slumbered. This really surprised me because of my usual need to sleep through 5/8's of my day, everyday, without fail. Well, today, that wasn't happening for a second. Here I am at 10pm writing this out with renewed fervour.

With my usual sleeping habits in mind, the original plan was to refuel several times per day on Red Bull, like a gas guzzling SUV. But I was too late to browse the bus station's mini mart before we set off, so the cup of Vanilla Black Tea was all I had in my system on the way to Dubai; and it worked wonders for my consciousness. I stress. Here I am. Still. I mean, I remembered from the two tourist trap coffee plantation tours I did in Costa Rica that tea has more caffeine than soda and coffee, but I didn't expect to turn my back on energy drinks and Starbucks after one day!

Anyway, when we got to a place called Al Karama, I jumped off, head turning every which way in search of my next bus, although thighs quaking from my rupturing bladder as well(and here my problem lies. I am one of those folks who needs to go to the bathroom half an hour after drinking half a cup of anything. Worst habit for someone lost in the scalding delapidated and dirty backroads of a foreign country, where every shop-keeper either doesn't know what 'washroom/bathroom/toilet' means or is shocked at the audacity of a woman to approach Arab men in such a crazily candid manner about her bladder. 'Bloody Westerners...').

Look. It was serious. And the clock was ticking. Still hadn't found the correct bus stop, still hadn't relieved myself, still waddled around wearing head to toe black under a full-on desert sun (how do they do it? And covered even more so?). Finally, a shady Lebanese restaurant with a friendly man (and the type who wasn't over-friendly in that sleazy Arab way. No offense.) I spent a fortune of my time left to get to the office in that bathroom, not only enjoying a lighter pelvic area, but also tidying up, prettying up and deciding whether to give this man some money for his kindness because I wasn't about to buy his very un-delectable items behind their glass casings. I decided, even though the bathroom was putrid and leaked (but had soap and toilet paper, thank Allah) that I would give him some change. He was absolutely shocked and said 'no no no, ma'am. You go. No need.' Great. I must've said 'Shukran' five times, even as I was out the door.

At the correct bus stop now, I discovered the small perks of being a female member of an Emirati society. In the distance, about 12 of us watched with furrowed sweating brows as the 44 bus rippled its way towards us in all the unseen heat devouring us. When it squeaked to a stop and hummed two cars away in light traffic, there was jostling. We had been melting a full 30 minutes for this bus. So definitely jostling, or else wait an hour for the next and faint. An indian man offered me his sweaty armpits as he tried to stink his way to the front. Screeeech. Hissssss. Bus. Doors swing open, threatening to flatten any outstretched limb, and the driver eyeballs us in our imaginary sidewalk sardine tin.

"Get back! Ladies first!" If only the rest of the world worked this way with their queues, OH what blissful lives women could lead. I guess it's to make up for all the other stories we hear about women out here (oops! foul mouth). There were also stickers on the windows of the first 5 rows or so that read 'Reserved For Ladies Only', then plexiglass, then several more rows of men with their heads out in the aisle. Needless to say, once the women jostled past, hiding smirks, tucking their colourful sari fabrics and bejeweled black burka skirts under their happy bums, half the men waiting to get on outside were given the cold shoulder (or bus door, I should say).
"No more room. SORRY!" chuckled the bus driver, revving up and speeding off. A few stops away, he was a little more generous, letting a few newcomers stand in the aisle.

"Ganda! Ganda! Ganda!" he shouted, gesturing for them to squeeze themselves, and their many scents, back to the men's section.

Two Filipina women at the front giggled into their Chinese fans.
"Hehe, Ganda. Beautiful." ('ganda' means beautiful in tagalog)

That kind of chaotic cosmopolitan togetherness really gets me all the time. I smiled with them.

Anyway, I got to the office at 9:45am, 45 minutes too late; not that anyone noticed because Claire Turrell, Editor in Chief of Viva Magazine, and my main source of correspondance, was not in today, had been sick for roughly a week now and hadn'f informed anyone of my arrival.

"We thought you were coming in May!"
"Yes, well, that was the original plan. But I got stuck in London doing this and that and arranged for June instead with Claire. So...here I am?"
"Well, we haven't actually planned anything. Hmmm...what can we give you to do?"

Not much. The June issue of Viva came out today, meaning a slow office day was expected until things started heating up later on in the month to get July's sassed up and sorted. All I did was call up a few companies to query the prices of some of their beauty products, conspire some letters to the editor on the last issue, seeing as not many readers felt the need to comment on Kate Hudson being on the cover or how much they enjoyed or abhorred so and so article on so and so page. "Dear Viva, it was SUCH a pleasure to read up on the debate on whether women should take back a cheating lover. I was surprised to find that some women out there still have that level of perseverance, patience and pathetic-ness to give the lying bastard wanker a second chance. I for one..." Yes.

And then I was set up with a temporary log in account in which I typed up such letters, as well as a list of past 'Careers' Features in their archives for the new writer so she could make sure she wasn't regurgitating anything recently written. Then much banter, gasps and sighs about the tragedy of the 'Sex and the City' movie not gracing our shores, and explaining to the new writer/resident that single women who got pregnant in the Gulf are immediately deported, and what each of us would do in such a situation. Half the team agreed that they would get hitched with the sole male member of Viva staff.

Then, for about 3 hours, while licking the side of my lip to re-confirm that there was no leftover hummus from lunch lying there, and twirling my office chair while reading some Amy Tan, one of the girls turned to me and said I should probably just leave early today and start full-force tomorrow. So 'tis the plan. And now that I'm waking at ungodly hours, working 9-6, braving scorching weather conditions in fashionable office garb while getting glamorously lost in an ever-growing, ever-ambitious city, and travelling roughly 6 hours a day, I have a curfew. And that would be now. So, 'til Day 2, Salaam!

CLEAR DE WAY!

FWTT? Uhhh yes. My hometown Trinidad and Tobago launched its first ever annual Fashion Week a couple days ago (26th-31st May). I am still anxiously awaiting pictures from the event to share with you, so hold tight. I only found out about it because my friend just put up a shaky album on Facebook. So above is one of the few distinct shots she managed to get.

“Trinidad & Tobago has so much to offer outside of sun, sand and sea. It is our fashion, culture, music, and food that make us who we are. Our hope is that the established and up and coming fashion designers participating in this show will attract buyers and fashion media from around the world and generate buzz in the industry,” says Jason Baptiste, TDC marketing manager.

-Caribbean Net News

The other models are draped in the same ole same ole kaftan-esque/glamourous beachwear junk I have been seeing on Trinidadian catwalks from day one of my youth. I am looking for something a little more promising this year as I imagine they would take it up a notch for their debut Fashion Week. And I imagine my friend's pictures are only from one show so...my fingers are still crossed, and crossed so tight they're chafing. So I'll get back to you as soon as possible!

Meanwhile, in a fashion industry on the other side of the world...

VIVA MAGAZINE INTERNSHIP STARTS IN 2 DAYS! Not posting much today as I have been out since 7am getting lost in Dubai with a Filipina woman who was extremely late for a secretarial interview...which, when we later met up again (lost) and jumped on the same bus home, she told me she got the job. GOOD FOR HER! I, however, got nothing done in the space of 8 hours spent in the city, jumping on and off buses, making calls, asking directions, blistering my feet, nearly fainting from the heat and starving to save money to get home. So I STILL don't know how to get to the Viva Magazine office for my internship which starts Sunday (yes, Monday is Sunday in the U.A.E. and Thursday is Friday. Clear?) Anyway, so all in all, to ASSUME, is to make an ASS out of U and ME. And that is what I did. Will procrastinate again tomorrow. Ciao for now!

P.S. If you ever come to the U.A.E. for work, make sure you have a license and can rent a car, or buy one. The transportation system sucks! It's like a melee of hitch-hiking and Sunday morning fish markets.

SALAAM INSTEAD OF HELLO

Finally. I'm home. Abu Dhabi. My friends back in Trinidad would wring my neck for saying that. Always a true trini, but with many a home elsewhere. I'm tired talking about the strenuous week I was under, packing and moving, so I won't apologise any further for my absence.

Nothing much is going on at the moment though. I went to Chili's rather reluctantly for lunch today with my brother and his girlfriend, (after consulting my I-Ching), which surprisingly turned out to be great fun, even though it took me 20 minutes to receive my guacamole for my shrimp quesadillas. And while poking at each other's chins coquettishly, my sibling and his other half argued over whether a diced vegetable on his plate was cucumber or zucchini. Apart from the girl's keen interest in green foods, she seemed rather caught up in every little bit of ramble I had to say; with eager nodding of her sweet little head and epileptic fits of laughter. And already, I have excited invitations to a club this weekend called Zenith ("just dress like a slut and you'll get in"), her birthday party and their prom.

"Your brother's friend Grahm can be your date. Do you have a dress?"
Honey, I ALWAYS have a dress. And no, 17 year old Grahm can't. Not happening. Zenith? I will consider. I am yet to be turned down by a bouncer.

She also cheerfully said she'd like to see me drunk, and has heard many a drunken tale of mine.
"Really," I muttered, un-impressed and eyeing my brother.

We were also with her older sister who was calling up friends complaining that she found a picture of herself clubbing on Facebook and that it needed to be eradicated....fast. ahhhh muslim life...

That's all the tales I have for today. I'm spending quality time with the old man; movie marathon with our respective laptops and dead silence, save for "pass the popcorn, please." I tell you, we are the exact same person, minus the nose hair and male parts. 'The Prestige' is next! Salaam!

GOD DAMN THE B52's

I did the unthinkable; caffeine-wise. First, I had a leftover slice of pizza and a can of arabic coke for breakfast. Caffeine intake number one.

As I was getting all engrossed and shit in the Gnarlitude blog, my gnarlitude factor increased significantly and I started thrashing around my room when songs like 'Loveshack' came on on my iPod. As a result of the biker chic and glam goth fashion overload on that chick's metablog, I felt a shopping spree coming on...and a want of Starbucks.

Because it's almost impossible to get a taxi right outside our building, as its relatively new and at the very end of a very long street, I took a trek to the new Al Wahda mall a few streets away (with sand in my damn yellow flats because they decided that only some parts of the road should have sidewalks).

When I got there, I shopped. Gap. Accesorize. Some other unidentifiable Arabic teenage haunt where I somehow managed to find some tanks that I liked. You know those "teen chic" stores that play Pussycat Dolls tracks? Ya. I set foot in one of those out of desperation, thinking I should've taken a damn taxi to the further away but well worth it Abu Dhabi Mall. BUT Accessorize had these super cute jump ropes with Russian doll handles. I decided my new at-home workout routine will be consisting of jump rope and hoola hoops. So I bought a red pair of those. SO FUN! To buy shit like that. So, as I had lost the gnarlitude and had settled into furry bunny-tude I decided to throw in another headband with a dainty bow, and skipped away.

Then I sat in the vast food court with a styrofoam plate of really cheap, really great phad thai koong sod and a coke. Caffeine intake number two. The lady at the thai place was very kind as to offer me a taster of this obscure concoction I was watching behind the counter, milling in its container. Something called Nam Traklai (a Thai lemongrass cooler). Very refreshing. Quaint in taste. Didn't mean I took my mind off of the Grande Iced White Caffe Mocha I still wanted. She thanked me with a bow and hands in prayer for waiting 15 minutes for my food (I guess the Arabs don't wait).

I read some Hanif Kurieshi in a corner for a bit, while watching the Arabs in mall mode. The women sauntered leisurely in their black veils, blinged out purse and shoes intact, laiden with bags of one or more of these things, the Arab woman's essentials: La Senza lingerie, Aldo shoes, Fair & Lovely skin bleaching cream (for confidence and success, according to the TV ads), a barrage of cosmetics from every famous brand worldwide and Damas jewelry (the main jeweller for the Middle East, owned by a friend's family). They smell like perfurmeries; fucking nauseating.

I SAW TWO TEENAGED BOYS IN "BURBERRY" PRINT ROBES AND HEADWRAPS. NOOOO!!!!!

And when I could no longer read because the word 'ambition' came up on the page, which reminded me of the deadline for the Harper's Bazaar short story competition themed 'Ambition', I went downstairs to Sbucks for my iced coffee and left. Caffeine intake number 3. Outside, there was an impressive line at the mall taxi stop, which amazed me, because I walked a few paces around the corner to the taxi stop before that one and found it deserted, with a lit cab in waiting.

Maybe the waiting crowd had a hunch because my driver had me puzzling over how he managed to get his license. He spoke almost no english, which is abnormal, he had no idea of the streets I was calling and said, "You know? You know?" so I could direct him the whole way, and he made rash decisions with no indicator, leaving honking horns in his wake. Then when it was time to point out where to stop, as soon as he heard the word 'stop', he stopped, in front of a car trying to turn out of a street, so I told him to 'Go up! Move'. This time, all he heard was 'go' and sped off. So, we passed my house and I had to tell him stop and walk a bit. Somebody tell me WHAT THE HELL!?

Anyway, I'm home now, rinsed my sandy feet and need to try on my goods before 'The In-Laws' starts so I'll check you later. Sadly, I'm also about to indulge in caffeine intake number four. I'm expecting to be quivering in front of the TV at 6am later. Why am I doing this to myself?

THAT WAS FAST

Shit, I can't even see the keyboard. Hold on. I thought I could do this without the light but I'm proving myself foolishly wrong. Lemme get the light.

Good.

You know what just happened? I woke up at a very reasonable morning hour, took a shower, did laundry, ate two bran muffins that really got my stomach going with all their fibry goodness, did YOU KNOW WHAT as a result, went through my blogroll, and did a good amount of work on my college essays, while talking to my mom who was calling from some Hilton in Manchester, where she is probably sexually holed up with my dad, the pilot, for the weekend.

I was just checking my sitemeter stats, checking how many people are interested in reading my dirt, when suddenly the exotic voice of the Islamic nation on speaker came on, resonating around the city. It's evening prayer time! And sure enough, I looked up from the blue screen illuminating my face, and everything was dark! Is that how my day is supposed to end? THAT WAS BORING! I was gonna go for Starbucks and a mini shopping spree! I mean, technically, as it's Friday and the muslims just go weekend crazy, resulting in all the shops closing at 2am, I can still go, but man! It's nearly 7pm and according to me, I had just finished starting my day.

And usually at 8pm, I plant myself in front of the TV for all the ridiculously censored B-movies until midnight. LAME, LAME, LAME! No wonder I haven't heard my brother and sister all day. They actually knew what time it was! I'm the only one home. Hello?

WISH YOU WERE HERE!

Doesn't that picture just scream that?

Not much to report because yesterday I stayed in and shovelled junk into my mouth all day. So, as a result, I locked myself out of the house today and tried to do something actively adventurous. I mean, I'm a resident of this place I don't even know anything about, except where all the Starbucks branches are. My sister curses me in arabic and runs off snickering because she knows I'm clueless.

Anyways, I found myself on a man-made island with a notebook, a pen and sand between my toes. Got a lot of writing done, as well as some studying, AND ESPECIALLY a lot of walking done, being permanently, happily lost. There were camels on the island! that we could ride, but when I got to the pen the workers were at the mosque praying because they were on break. I was in a strong writing frame of mind anyways so I sat myself near the pristine blue water's edge, watching the city amidst a cloud of fog on the other side of the water, and dished out some words.

It was the weirdest thing. Every now and then a part of the water would start to bubble and splash, as if the Loch Ness was about to surface, and flocks of birds would come rushing at the spot and scoop up fat fish. And then all was quiet again. And once, when I looked up, I could see absolutely nothing to the right and left of me; no more thatched umbrellas with disgustingly red-faced tourists underneath, no sandy shore, no palm trees. A strange fog had approached us. It soon dispersed, after like, an hour. Creepy as fuck. I nearly didn't see the bus coming towards me at the stop.

But it was such a great day, minus the jacked up tourist trinkets this arab woman at Heritage Village was trying to sell me and a throng of excited Europeans handing over their cash.

PRISTINE

That's my word for the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Pristine. And precise. And a paragon of mastery in the art of sforzandos, crescendos and decrescendos. Firstly, our VIP seats were dead smack in the centre of the auditorium, in line with the conductor's ass. BEST SEATS IN THE HOUSE; and not cuz of his ass. We had the orchestra fanned out around us, illuminated under the Gulf's golden eagle.

There were Mexican Waves of violin bows, upping and downing. They beckoned to the violas and the violas sang back. The cellos hollered in response to double bass groans. AND THE DOUBLE BASSES. I mean, all I could see were their heads; but WHAT MAGNIFICENT HEADS. Like the front masts of Viking ships. And the spouts of the trumpets and trombones, so brightly yellow in the stage lights they looked like sunflowers. REALLY, they did!

Oh, man. Tonight, a bunch of old people cradling some pieces of wood, string and brass just BLEW ME THE FUCK AWAY! In the last piece, which was probably 20 minutes long, where my bladder threatened to self destruct, the conductor threw the most beautiful tantrum I'd ever seen in my life; his only weapon, a stick.

This performance. Tchaikovsky (my past life's only screw probably). This....THING was the soundtrack to my suicide drama. The only thing missing was the silver screen.

And just one last thought on the night. Nikolaj Znaider, the featured violinist, he got me good. He got me so good with his vibrato and his sweating earnest brow at the mercy of his heavily varnished violin, I wanted to rip off my clothes and roll around in anguish in the red-carpeted aisles.

Here's what I wore. Couldn't NOT share that with you guys. Also, some pictures of the Palace and the one shot I managed to blurrily get of the Orchestra before the ushers started coming at me.

GOD LOVES ME

Hey guys,
I just spent a really long day with my mom. It was so fun. And she likes Sonic Youth's 'Superstar' cover so we're practically best friends now. Anyways I can tell you all about it later with pictures but right now GOD LOVES ME! He loves me so much that when he heard me moaning about the London Philharmonic Orchestra Concert today featuring renowned violinist Nikolaj Znaider being sold out, he made these two women friends of my mom's get food poisoning so they had to give up their tickets. Luckily my mom is uber nice and perfect and shits ice cream so they called her up first! AND THEY'RE V.I.FUCKING.P! WOHOOO!!!! It's at the fantastic Emirates Palace (Palace featured in the movie The Kingdom. More later, I gotta go. Show starts in 40 minutes.

TODAY THINGS

Salaam from Abu Dhabi, and Happy Good Friday to those who care; because no one here does. I finally ventured out today so I have things to talk about.

1.BREAKING NEWS! My ex-boyfriend has finally conformed to the Blogosphere and now has his own rant corner called the mind of a eu-phe-mism. Nothing up yet except this hilarious 'About Me' passage:


A site where we try to find the euphemism's of the world. I plan to talk about Politics, Food, Films,Travel, Science and Technology... basically things that interest me. This site is called Euphemism, because I think the word defines who/what I am. An offensive and blunt person with the charming exterior of a choir boy.


Exterior of a fuckin' choir boy. Tis all on that.
YA, so check it out. I'm adding it to my Link List like...now...


2. Went to Egypt today to do some shopping for respectable internship clothes at Forever 21. Also got my sushi and starbuck's fix; no, not at the same time. That would be ventricular suicide. Okay, so in case you didn't catch that, no I didn't breezily go to Egypt for the day to shop. I went to the Egypt Section of Ibn Battuta mall in Dubai, which is a mall split up into different parts of the world and decorated in their theme. For our family, 2pm means 5pm and it takes about an hour and a half to two hours to get to Dubai from Abu Dhabi, so we got there at 10pm and didn't get to visit the rest of the world. But I think shopping at Forever 21, while slurping Starbucks and then my family and I indulging in sushi and sashimi, kebabs, and sweet and sour chicken with chop suey means we pretty much got a taste of a ton of cultures anyways so it doesn't matter. It would've been great to have pictures of the rest of the place for you guys but personally I didn't miss out because I've walked through the whole place already on my first visit. I'm too tired to go trying on outfits now for you so that will have to wait another day but here are some Abu Dhabi/Dubai pictures.

ABOVE THREE: Egypt Court at Ibn Battuta Mall, Dubai

BEHOLD: the stupidest name for a mexican restaurant IN.THE.WORLD.

A massive billboard in homage to the late Father of the Nation, Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan.

A...coat monument on the Corniche taken from my car window.

3. My mom and I are waking bright and early tomorrow to go to 'the white pearl of the Gulf'', the newly finished Sheikh Zayed Mosque. After 12 years of construction, with an estimated spendage of 2.167 billion Durhams, the mosque opened last year for Ramadan. It's one of the 10 largest mosques in the world and can house 40,000 worshippers. It only opens from 9am-11:30am apparently so...gotta catch an early night tonight. And by early I mean 2-ish? I can't do early. My body clock is fucked to bits. This is the best I can do so far, picture-wise (from google) but hopefully tomorrow I'll have a good picture day.

4. According to my ridiculously whacky and fun sources, this month, among other things, is 'National Talk to Your Teen About Sex' month. Now, I like to think that my 17 year old brother, and soon-to-be-in-a-month 13 year old sister, are my teens. I know I am still one, but barely. I am ONE OVER-PROTECTIVE BIG SISTER. You would NOT believe. Today, as the family drove through a highway of nothingness on our way to Dubai, my mother snapping her little fingers to her brazilian music on the 5 track, my brother informed us that tomorrow was him and his girlfriend's monthiversary, marking four happy months together. My sister laughed along with him and blurted "That's all?! I..." She punched feverishly at her Motorola keypad a short and sweet message that read '5 months'. WHAT. THE. HELL. Well, anyways, as crazy as that is for me, the world is heading that way. I'm old. I'll get over it. So, back to my brother. I came home from the gym the other day and found he had a handful of friends over, including this ...GIRL, wearing his hoodie. He tickled her chin when I came in the door and said, "Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Uh huh," I managed.

The two of them usually congregate in his room for hours, and I CAN'T STAND how loud the air conditioning is in this house and how thick and expensive the doors are. I couldn't get an inch of a decibel of sound back to me from that room. All I know is that later, my brother did something clean I have never seen him do. He changed his sheets. OH, TAKE ME BACK! TAKE ME BACK TO MY CAREFREE DAYS! I feel an old crone. My neck hurts and I have knots in my back from all this. He is now on the Corniche (the waterside) fishing with friends, one of whom is THAT GIRL. Fishing my ass...

5. My mother decided to tell me today that she just remembered that the London Philharmonic Orchestra is playing at the Emirates Palace this weekend and next week is Swan Lake. I love how breezily on-dope she is about remembering. Naturally, they are exaggeratedly sold out. And OH YEAH, Dubai Fashion Week ends tomorrow and I already missed Abu Dhabi Fashion Week *mopes*

*PULLS HAIR OUT*

They can show a man's head getting chopped off clean on TV but they ban my daily dose of The Cobra Snake and Flickr? Oh no you DIDN'T ABU DHABI!

HOME AWAY FROM HOME AWAY FROM HOME

It is 5:18am Abu Dhabi time. I got in from Heathrow and a relentless day about 3 hours ago. I have strategically placed my things in my strategically placed room away from dorm, I have just taken a well deserved shower, had a glass of water, am responding to emails and Facebook and the like, but really need to just let my body marinate for a bit and get my brain unscrambled before I fill you guys in on my weekend and flight highlights. And boy are there some highlights. So bare with me.

P.S. What should I call these Abu Dhabi segments? As this IS a blog devoted to me being a Lonely Londoner, but a girl's gotta come home every now and then...and travel. This summer, there will be MUCH of that, so much so that 5 months of my blog will be completely UNdevoted to Lonely Londoner lifestyle. What can I say? It's hard to keep up with an international student. Goodnight!

VIVA MAGAZINE

HOLYSHIT DOT COM! If I hadn't spent my phone credit on a five minute call to the US, right now I would be calling up my mother to tell her to purchase every issue of Viva that comes out from February until May and air mail them to me, for research purposes. Do you care to know why?

Well, only because I will be INTERNING WITH THEM COME MAY OF THIS YEAR! Viva magazine is a popular fashion and lifestyle publication in the United Arab Emirates. I decided today, why not email some middle eastern publications about work experience this summer since I will be back home in Abu Dhabi for vacation with nothing doing but attending to this here blog.

Well, as simple as that, in a matter of three short emails back and forth with their editor Claire Turell, I got an internship working in Fashion and Features from May 11th until July 11th. IN DUBAI! I might have to rent somewhere there for a month because I don't live there but do you think this stops me from shitting ice cream right now? I'm still grinning as I type this and think about how the hell I am going to figure out accommodation. It's so exciting; very spur of the moment.

Now all I need to do is find a part time job to wile away the time here in England until that faithul May day. After all, I still have nearly three more months of vacation time to fill up after that and if I want to go to South America with my best friend I'm going to need some cash.

Well look at that! It's only February and 2008 is the coolest year EVER already!

[UPDATE: No longer May 11th to July 11th. Now June 1st for a month. Boohoo. Yeah, life happened. Don't ask]

SUDDENLY SUNDAY

This week flew away a lot faster than my last, I must say. Very productive week all the same.

I went to that journalism workshop, which was brilliant, and expect to hear back from my one-day tutor with feedback on my breaking news story. I'm reasonably proud of the outcome.

I still haven't found a job or any work experience but I have a couple publications in mind to apply to in the Middle East so I can have something to do when I head back home for summer vacation. And when I say 'something', I mean other than swaddling myself in sheets, laptop to the left of me, ipod to the right and television straight ahead with 'Beaches' coming on next.

I'm in the middle of watching Stephen King's 'It' right now. I wish my brother was here to watch it with me. He is probably one of the few people I know who appreciate it because we welcomed it as our first horror movie experience back when we were 'chisai'(that's my japanese word of the day; 'small'. Just making sure I remember). None of the real scary bits have come up yet, however, minus the awesome beginning where the kid with the sailboat gets lured in by 'It', who is talking to him from the little drainage space in the road. HOW CREEPY!? Can't wait to post this sucker and see what happens next.

I've started using my window ledge as a mini fridge. My Brita and a can of coke are out there at the moment. It's a very seasonal mini-fridge though and I dread the summer day when it will no longer work. We're only allowed one 'chisai' shelf of space in the flat's fridge and I just did my groceries, so bare with me while I write about this small miracle. It means a lot to me. I'm sure you'll understand and appreciate this a lot more when you start living in dorms.

In other news, my mother says she's going to call me today! Another small miracle when you live on your own in a foreign country. It's a good thing too because I just pathetically signed myself up for a Stardoll account out of boredom, and have been decorating my suite and living in a 'chisai' virtual world with uber fabulous clothes. The people on there are 12!

For the record, I am not completely loser-ish, only in small doses. But I went to (*clears throat*), no, was specifically called up and cordially invited to, a house party last night and drank loads of cider in response to the popular drinking game 'Never Ever', so HA!