The Dubai World Cup was held recently, and sure enough it was hailed as the "social event of the year" (wait until you hear my wedding plans). Flipping through a magazine I picked up yesterday, I scanned through only to find 7 pages which actually had a picture of a horse on them. The rest of the magazine was filled with pictures of women in gigantic hats and men in constipated suits (hats off to the chaps in the kilts though). The DWC is becoming less of a sporting event and more of a social spoof. Let's do a quick breakdown about the kind of people who turned up for this event:

47% - women dressed to supposedly impress
4% - men accompanying the women mentioned above
10% - random people who were bored
0.37% - jockeys and handlers taking part in the races
1.80% - people who own the horses that are taking part
34% - people there for the booze
2.83% - people who actually have a clue about horse racing

Never in my life have I read about such completely idiotic people. Who in their right mind goes to a horse race and not pay any attention to the horses? Mind you, there were a few people who were staring at the race track rather than at the dead bird on someone's head. I think the highlight of reading this magazine was seeing a picture of a lady in a rainbow outfit, wearing a hat that actually had a rainbow on it. And I mean a rainbow that was actually standing up on her hat. Now if that isn't all-out gay pride, then I don't know what is.

I'm getting to be quite popular methinks...had a quick glance at yesterday's visits and was quite pleased indeed...





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Jim has been recently talking about putting his blog to rest. He's come to the point where he's stopping himself from blogging about certain things:

"There are things I am battling that I don't consider alright to put out in this forum today, that kind of bums me out, but what can I do?"

Well Jim, we all do need an outlet - my blog has been my centrestage for quite some time now. Often I think twice about posting certain things, should someone I care about stumble upon this blog. But at the end of the day, I am happy that I have this blog, because no matter how I am feeling, I can always post something for my readers, and at the same time indulge in a little blog therapy. Jim's blog was the inspiration behind mine, so if you should stop blogging Jim, I will really miss your blog. I am proud of how far you have come in your life, and I wish you the very best in whatever you do.

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I think the quality of music concerts in Dubai has hit an official low. Mizz Jay-lo is giving a concert here next month - wonder how many people are going to be out at 4am to buy tickets to that pile of crap. Sure, she may have given big-bootied women a definate ego boost, but this chic has serious issues. What the hell was she thinking when she dumped Ben Affleck? Okay I admit, he isn't the hottest 'Ben on the block' but gurl I think you pretty much had it made with that guy. But no, you had to go and marry the guy who sounds like he's being strangled when he sings. I mean what is up with this woman? Not to mention her tacky and totally talentless acting career - need I remind you all of Gigli or whatever the hell that movie was called? In my opinion, Mizz Jenny has been around the block, but it sure hasn't helped her popularity. I wouldn't even date her if I was a lesbian! Now that Portia De Rossi...another story.

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My cap is pulled down low and I am wearing my shades on this cool yet surprisingly sunny evening. With my iPod filling my head with music, I walk down a once familiar street, past the shops with brightly patterned saris and exquisite sherwanis. The shopkeepers all beckon me inside to take a look at their wares, but I move quickly on, should anyone recognize me. At a corner I stop to cross the road and I catch the eye of the man standing on the opposite side of the road. His gaze is fixed on me, and a gentle shiver creeps over my body. But he senses my disinterest, and crosses the street in search of more willing subjects. I am still standing stupidly at the corner, looking around at the shops, the groups of men talking to each other on the street, the families walking by with shopping bags. This was once a street I knew well, but I dare not walk that path again. For in the back room of a shop somewhere, naked mannequins stand as mute witnesses to the two men getting undressed in the dark.

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It suprised me last week that somone special to me had to be reminded that there are people out there who wuv him. He happens to be one of the few men in my life who I care about a lot, and yes he just happens to be straight, before you ask me. Love you loads babe, hope your big day 'met with your approval' and can't wait for next year!

I often wonder why women spend 87% of their time trying to understand what makes men tick. Men on the other hand, spend a slightly higher percentage of their time (91.35%) trying to understand why women object to a screw at 2:30 in the afternoon. I've often been told that if I drive a Porsche I'll turn straight, so I'm happily driving my Corolla for the time being. However, I do wish to bestow some words of wisdom for all the poor lost women out there who have wasted their time trying to understand men.

From the apparent 'straight' side of me:

• We don't care about outfit coordination. If it smells clean, we'll wear it.
• Don't expect us to get your subtle hints. We are programmed to sit and pretend to listen to you when we are actually imaging what you would look like in the new G-string under your pillow.
• If we are going out to 'hang with the guys' expect us to be at a strip club. If you find a bra in the apartment that is not yours, do not over react.
• We interpret crying as a bodily malfunction, not as a cue to hold or hug you.
• We will scratch ourselves in public. Feel free to grab your breast if you're feeling left out.
• Our genetic makeup prohibits us from seeing the apparent joy of the activity you call 'shopping'. Instead, we see our hard earned, boss' ass-kissing money go down the toilet.
• It is not compulsory for us to lock the door when we are in the toilet.
• The only thing we use the Internet for is dirty chat rooms and porn. You can check your damn e-mails from an Internet Cafe.

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Robbie Williams is performing in Dubai in April. And tickets to his show are totally sold out. Am I the only one who is pissed off at the people who have bought 14-18 tickets in one go? I mean how unfair is that? I know that you'd like all your wonderful friends and family members to go to this concert, but will you give the rest of us a chance to snag a ticket? The one time my gayboy husband is coming down here and I'm going to miss it. Anyone care to give me a Golden Ticket?

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I never understand why my mum insists I fill petrol only at Eppco stations. No, no, I have been going there for fuel for more than 10 years...fill the car only from Eppco and not any other place. Yes mum, because at Emarat they fill your car with maple syrup.


Today I realized that it is perfectly normal to not have any eyebrows - thank you for that Whoopi.

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A couple of things to blog about today...and here I was thinking it would be a dull Saturday. So let's get on with things, shall we?

Having strolled into an electronics store at my favorite mall to look at some PC games, I was greeted by an extremely bubbly and loud gentleman who insisted I come with him and check out his "special offer ONLY for you". Now he was kinda cute, and I know how sucky Sales can be, so I obliged. At this point, someone should have strangled me with an electric cable, because talking with him was going to be a huge mistake. After listening to him drone on about the fantastic packages he had on offer, and how they get the latest movies and series, I proceeded to explain to him quite calmly that I already had cable at my house, and I was quite happy with that. This drone apparently didn't hear me, because he rewound his internal tapes and began repeating what he had just spend the last 10 minutes explaining to me. I don't need fucking cable, I just want to look around the damn store! Sad to say, before I knew it I was walking out of the store with a damn subscription form, but I clearly explained to the dumbass that I probably wasn't going to go for the offer, no matter how god damn great it was. Well, he's supposed to call me at around 5pm, so will post updates shortly.
(Mental note: with reference to above, when a guy describes a woman as 'fit', he is not necessarily talking about her athletic abilities.)

Driving home through the depressing traffic, I was utterly repulsed when at a traffic light, the driver in front of me opened his door and spat out a chunk of unknown matter clearly into the nearby bushes. As a friend of mine clearly put it, "Sheikh Zayed Road is not your ashtray", and neither is it your spitoon.

Since today was my day off, I decided to get to Dubai and process my degree for attestation. After circling the damn building with my brother for about 10 minutes, I left him in the traffic jam and sprinted up to the building. When I entered the 'office' I really thought I had come to the wrong place. There was a rather burly chap sitting at a desk at one end of the room, engrossed in a newspaper, with a fan sputtering away in the corner. There was a safe, two chairs, and the man. The entire 'office' was no bigger than my bedroom. So pardon me for feeling a bit nervous handing this Jabba-the-Hutt my hard earned degree.

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Say hello to my manic-depresed cat, Smokey.

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